18. Daehyun
Iseul’s laughter rung outside, vibrantand bewitching. Daehyun caught himself listening, unable to speak or move, seized by curiosity.
“Daegam?”
Daehyun straightened himself, focusing on the young man before him. The court jester. “Min Hyukjin seemed to trust you. I hear he even gave you a pet name.”
“Doaji!” A nervous smile flitted across Yeongho’s mouth. “Of all the pet names he could have given me…”
“He would often remark upon your righteous spirit. Why is that?”
Yeongho’s gaze brightened into that of an eager child. “When one is able to differentiate good from evil, it is impossible to accept the way things are.”
“We all have the faculty to differentiate good from evil,” Daehyun murmured. “But greed closes the eyes of some, turning people into wolves who throw all ethics and values to the wind.” You are a wolf, the king’s whisper slipped into his ear, just as I am. He poured himself another bowl of rice wine and downed it. “Hyukjin once tasked you to assist him in a discreet matter. Do you recall?”
“Indeed, daegam. He asked me to help him and Yul in the moving of some cargo.”
“Do you know what it contained?”
Yeongho wiped his palm against his robe. “I overheard bits and pieces that day.”
Daehyun examined the jester, calculating the likelihood that the young man knew—of their armory, of their plans. “Hyukjin told me about the performances. You and your troupe would risk your life to criticize the king?”
“I am a gwangdae. That is what I do. Risk my life to criticize the king and to bring joy to the people.”
“From what I understand, you were taken in by the troupe a year ago.”
“They rarely let me perform. I always change the lines, make things more elaborate. I have so much to say!” He spoke fast, and his Southern Jeolla dialect was so strong Daehyun could barely follow. “So I took it upon myself—if they are to let me stay with them, then I will at least provide them with stories. Stories feed them. A few times, government officials have paid me to spread gossip—”
“And before the troupe, what did you do?”
“Two years ago, the king demoted my father, stripped him of his wealth and rank. I hear the king demoted multitudes.”
“He did, indeed.”
“My family fell on hard times. Mother sold herself into servitude to provide for us. Then a year later, there was a plague outbreak—my parents died. I ran away, empty-handed. The troupe took me in out of pity.”
“How good of them,” Daehyun said blandly.
“Perhaps that is why my heart goes to Iseul,” he murmured, snapping up Daehyun’s attention. “She is alone, as I am. She may look unafraid, but truly, when I first met her, I thought to myself, ‘Here is the loneliest girl I have ever seen.’”
Daehyun folded his arms. As reluctant as he was to recruit Yeongho, a man with an apparent fondness for Iseul, he was in need of a rallying figure to stir the hearts of the populace. One to provoke greater unrest and persuade the masses to embrace and join in the changing of the heavens. Only then would the tide of war be in their favor. “You mentioned a government official paid you to spread gossip. What kind of story did you spread?”
“That Concubine Jang Noksu is behind the king’s horrible policy,” Yeongho replied, politely filling up Daehyun’s empty drinking bowl before filling up his own. “I overheard them talking, and they hoped to shift the blame off the king, for this was when rumors were spreading that Lee Jang-gon was planning a coup with other exiled officials. Normally, I would not care to assist in anything that would benefit the king. But I am convinced Jang Noksu practices black magic and has used it to possess the king—”
“Do you believe Lee Jang-gon will overthrow the king?” Daehyun asked.
“If he does not, I am sure someone will.”
“Do you think so?”
“Well, it is inevitable, is it not, daegam?” Abruptly, Yeongho clamped a hand over his mouth. “I have a bad habit of saying whatever is on my mind.”
“I am not here to cause you any trouble,” Daehyun said, then withdrew a bag of coins. “Spread a story for me.”
Yeongho snatched up the bag, and his eyes widened as he stared within. Then he looked at the prince. “What is the story?”
Lantern light filtered in through the latticed hanji screen, stamping the floor in a rectangle of gold. “It is a story about Lady Seungpyeong,” he whispered. “It is a tragic tale of why she killed herself, and your task will be to stir up hatred against the king.”
“But people already despise the king, daegam.”
“Intensify it. Have the hatred be so overwhelming that people can no longer be silent, no longer still.”
Yeongho’s hands were now shaking. “Daegam, I have long waited for this moment, a moment when I can make a difference. I promise you.” He looked up, his eyes gleaming bright. “I will not disappoint you.”