800 Years of Victory Sleeping Beside a Strawberry Field: Cheoinseong

On the way to Namsa-eup in Yongin for a strawberry-picking trip, as you pass between the sprawling plastic greenhouses and rice paddies, you might come across a small signpost that reads 'Cheoinseong.' It's the kind of sign that's easy to miss when you're hurrying toward the strawberry farm, but buried in the soil beneath it lies the memory of a great battle fought about 800 years ago — one that saved Goryeo. On your way to fill your strawberry basket today, why not pause for a moment and hear the story of what happened on this land long ago? Once you know it, your heart will feel different every time you pass this road from now on. Especially in spring, when the area is filled with the sweet scent of strawberries, surprisingly few people realize that such a weighty history lies sleeping beneath that fragrant path.

1232: The Year the Mongols Came a Second Time

Goryeo had already endured one Mongol invasion. Then in 1232, the Mongols pushed into Goryeo territory again, this time with a second great army. It was an era when even renowned fortresses crumbled helplessly before the Mongol cavalry that dominated the continent. For the people of Goryeo at the time, the mere news of an approaching Mongol army must have struck deep fear. The man leading that fearsome expeditionary force was the Mongol commander Salitai (Sallye-tap). And his next target turned out to be this very land of Yongin — the same place we go to pick strawberries today — specifically, one small fortress. Why the supreme commander of a vast empire ended up heading for this tiny fortress still feels like a strange twist of fate, even now.

Cheoinseong wasn't a great fortress defended by a renowned army. Rather than a sturdily walled stronghold, it's said to have been a small fortress that local residents built and defended themselves after gathering there to escape the chaos of war. Instead of a powerful government garrison, it's said that the ordinary people and monks of the area each took up arms and climbed onto the walls. To any onlooker, it would have seemed hopelessly outmatched against the empire's elite cavalry. But here, history took a turn no one could have predicted.

The Monk Kim Yun-hu Draws His Bow at Salitai

The one who led this small fortress was, surprisingly, a monk-turned-general named Kim Yun-hu. Rather than relying on a regular government army, he gathered local residents and monk soldiers to defend Cheoinseong. The great Mongol army led by supreme commander Salitai pressed all the way to the fortress gates, but Kim Yun-hu and his militia refused to retreat. In the fierce back-and-forth battle, with bows drawn from atop the walls, Salitai lost his life at the hands of the very people defending Cheoinseong. The supreme commander of an empire that had dominated the continent fell before an unnamed monk and a group of villagers — not even a regular army. Could there be a more dramatic reversal than this?

Having lost their commander, the great Mongol army eventually withdrew, and this battle was etched so clearly into history that it later appeared in national history textbooks. Even now, so much time later, it's still deeply moving that what brought down the supreme commander of a vast empire wasn't the tactics of a regular army, but the strength of people determined to protect their own home. The site of Cheoinseong that day is now Namsa-eup in Cheoin-gu — formerly known as Agok-ri, Namsa-myeon. Today it's designated as Historic Site No. 415, with the fortress grounds still preserved intact. What's interesting is that this neighborhood is the very same Namsa-eup now famous as a strawberry-picking destination. The road you take to and from the strawberry farms, it turns out, passes right beside the very battlefield where the nation was defended 800 years ago.

Filling a basket with strawberries is already a delightful outing on its own, but once you know what story lies sleeping just beside it, the same road feels completely different. Just holding your child's hand and saying, 'they say something like this happened here long ago,' can turn a small hill beside the strawberry field — one you'd otherwise just walk past — into a special place. Doesn't it feel like the spirit of those nameless people who protected this land 800 years ago is still lingering somewhere in this soil today?

🐉 Real Photos, via Yongi