17. Iseul
“We live in a timewhen we must hide our innermost thoughts.” Wonsik moved a janggi piece across the game board. “A time when speaking truthfully can result in our execution. It makes those like Nameless Flower all the more dangerous.”
“And why is that?” I asked. We were sitting on the innyard platform, and I was trying not to move my left arm. We had returned from our fraught journey a few hours ago, and the travel had aggravated the wound.
“Nameless Flower kills without any surety. He targets king sympathizers, yet how can he know for certain where one’s loyalty lies? That is how Min Hyukjin ended up dead—on the outside, all the killer saw was a man who was prized by the king for his military prowess. Nothing else.” Wonsik nodded at me. “Make your move.”
I stared down at the game board, welcoming any form of distraction from the ache.
“Do you have an idea of who the killer might be?” I asked, my finger hovering indecisively over the squares, then finally moving the soldier. “Investigator Gu, he is your former mentee? I heard him say that the killer is likely a trusted adviser, or someone close to the king.”
“And why does he think that?”
“Because the killer was aware of the king’s hunting schedule.”
“There are many who are closely acquainted to the king. From princes and princesses to government officials and concubines. And then there are those intimate with the king’s close acquaintances. And we also have those who are close merely in proximity to the king, from servants to entertainers to his thousand courtesans. Anyone can easily know the king’s hunting schedule. The net is too wide.”
I sighed. “We will never find Nameless Flower.”
“Of course we will,” he said, too assuredly. “The truth is often right before us. We simply need to know where to look. And I have been so preoccupied of late, assisting the prince with his plans, that I have not had much time to focus on the case.”
“You have me now to assist, ajusshi.”
He moved the chariot, then nodded at me.
I picked up the general, only to be stopped.
“The general—or as I like to think of him, the king—cannot leave the fort. These four squares here are your palace.”
Tapping my lips, I reexamined the pieces, trying to remember in which direction each one could move.
“And how shall you assist me with the investigation?” Wonsik asked.
“Tell me what I ought to do, and I shall do it.”
“Perhaps you might begin by learning the significance of the bead.”
“You are aware of its significance already, yet you will not tell me the answer,” I said, rather imperiously. “My mind is already too preoccupied with concerns for my sister—”
Wonsik proceeded to overtake my piece, and with my every move, he overtook even more. As he continued to lecture me, I watched, helplessly, as my dynasty fell into shambles.
“Do not expect me to share what I know if you have no intention of even trying to find it for yourself. Such people, I have observed, have no genuine interest in the truth.”
An irritated sigh and a bundle of sharp words gathered in my chest. Then I stopped. This was precisely what had led to my quarrel with Suyeon—my refusal to truly listen to her and to understand her concern, heart deep.
“I am interested in the truth,” I said, finally glancing down at the pouch tied to my skirt string. “I simply—” This sounded awful, but I said the words anyway. “I am accustomed to being provided for.”
Wonsik heaved out a sigh, then said in a gentler voice, “You are capable, though—more than you know. That is why you are here. You traveled all this way to find your sister. With that amount of stubbornness and grit, you have the capacity to find answers no matter how deep that truth is buried.” He gazed at me with such intensity that, for a moment, I felt as though I were his own daughter sitting before him. “The ability to exercise your judgment is invaluable, especially during times when anxiety threatens to sweep you into a current of indecisions and dangerous conclusions.”
I took the bead out of the pouch, then sat straight, poising myself in the manner of a compliant student. “I do not know where to even begin.”
“It is quite simple. Sit with the bead and ask yourself: Where have I seen it before?”
“I have never seen it.”
“Look at it.”
I sat, staring. “It is a bead.”
“What are beads used for?”
“For adornments?”
“What kind of adornments?” He watched me steadily.
“For…” My mind flipped through the pages of my memory, racing through all the beads I had encountered. “For necklaces and bracelets—prayer beads! Are these prayer beads? Used by Buddhist monks?”
“Do they look like prayer beads?”
“No,” I murmured. “Prayer beads are smaller and made of wood.”
Wonsik cleared the janggi board, slowly arranging the pieces on their squares as he watched the innyard crowd with farmers, military officials, and more. All come for a drink after a long day of work.
“Wade through the pool of your memory. Concentrate yourself on the details,” Wonsik said. “Small details are infinitely more important than your general impression.”
“You seem certain that I have seen this bead before.”
“I am quite certain that you have. You simply need to discover it. The truth will wait for you, however long it takes.” He pursed his lips. “In fact, I am reminded of the words of Confucius. Heaven does not let the cause of truth perish.”
The old retired soldier, to whom the janggi board belonged, finally returned to the inn. And as he and Wonsik played a match, with a crowd gathering around them, I went off to the veranda, where I sat, tucking myself behind a pillar to avoid the glaring sunset.
The truth is right before me.I stared down at the bead, rolling it between my fingers as I searched my memory—as one might wade through the sea in search of a pearl. It is impossible…
The sky darkened. Lanterns hanging on eaves were lit. Yeongho appeared, smiled at me as he searched for his golden pouch, and, not finding it, ate his tasteless meal while the other jesters chatted about their performance at the royal court three days ago.
“We need more bawdy jokes.” A performer rubbed his forehead. “If we fail to make the king laugh again, he will surely execute us.”
I felt sorry for Yeongho and his troupe.
Once finished, Yeongho wiped his mouth and hurried up to the veranda, sliding open a door. In the room, Prince Daehyun was flipping through a book, the candlelight and shadows dancing across his chiseled face, tracing the haughty lines of his mouth and nose. He glanced up, and our gazes locked. The bead slipped from my fingers.
“Damn it,” I whispered, trying to catch it.
The bead rolled across the veranda, dropped onto the dirt yard, only to be swept aside by a passing military officer, then kicked to the far end by a little boy. I hurried after it, and when I finally grabbed it, I found myself before a voluminous dark blue skirt.
“I truly wanted you to rest from your travels, and then you looked so preoccupied with whatever Wonsik was telling you,” Yul’s voice huffed. “But the evening crowd is endless!”
Tucking the bead away, I stood and found Yul precariously balancing four trays loaded with stews and wine bottles. I relieved her of one, as I had only one good arm to use. “Does Wonsik do this to you, too?” I asked as I served the meals alongside her. “Never tell you the answer because he wishes for you to find it yourself?”
“No. Well, I never told Wonsik I wished to investigate with him. You brought this upon yourself, Iseul-ah. You have awakened his pedagogical fervor. Now that I think of it…”
Her sentence hung midair, unfinished, as we rushed from table to table, serving and wiping away spills. Once the crowd thinned, Yul let out a dramatic sigh.
“What was I saying?” she murmured, while massaging her arm. “Oh yes. Now that I think of it, I suspect Wonsik misses training investigators at the State Tribunal, and you have become his project…” Her voice dwindled away again. Her gaze fixed on a young woman waving at her, sitting next to a drunk young man.
Yul nervously waved back, then whirled around. She pulled out a small bronze looking glass. “My rouge is all melted off!” she hissed as I followed her into her room. “Why she decided to marry that dirty boar is beyond me.” She froze, then turned to face me. “I was so preoccupied with the rush I absolutely forgot!”
“Forgot?”
“I’ve been meaning to give you something all day long, but that old fart was lecturing you, so I hadn’t the opportunity to approach you.”
“Give me what—?”
Yul stepped in close, wrapping her arms around me in a tight embrace. “Prince Daehyun told me everything, that you have joined the cause to overthrow the monster.” She then held my hand, shaking it. “I am thrilled to have another woman in our circle. Working with only men was growing insufferable.”
The warmth of her embrace lingered, seeping into my heart. Somewhere during my time at the Red Lantern, my determination to remain alone and friendless had crumbled. She must have noticed my glistening eyes, for she asked, “What is the matter?”
“Nothing. And how did you come to join?” I asked, trying to deflect. “What is your duty?”
“Hyukjin was a childhood friend, and he thought having an innkeeper in the circle would be of use. My inn is, after all, a storehouse of information. And a storehouse of weapons. I will show you our secret room later.”
I already knew of that room. “Why are weapons being stored here, of all places?”
“Because I have the space. Because no one would expect it. And when weapons are brought in, no one would notice the crates, as merchants are frequent visitors of mine. Well, they used to be more frequent, before the roads were blocked off by the king’s hunting grounds.”
Memory of the crates of swords flashed through my mind. “Did you… steal them?”
“As I said, merchants are frequent visitors, and one is a trusted friend of mine. And that merchant is good friends with a blacksmith. We were able to arrange a deal. Hyukjin and Doaji spent the entire night unloading the crates—” Yul opened a decorated wooden case, crowded with porcelain cosmetic bottles, then looked around her room. “I wonder where I put my rouge.”
“Who is Doaji?” I asked.
“Yeongho! It is the pet name Hyukjin gave him, but I should stop calling him that. What man wishes to be called a baby pig?” She opened a chest and took out a small, folded blanket. Something else dropped out. A dragon-shaped hairpin with a red pearl.
A quiet gasp escaped me. The hairpin was stunning, more exquisite than any I had ever owned—or even laid eyes upon. “Where did you get that?”
Quickly, Yul retrieved it. “An ajusshi gave it to me.”
“Gave it to you?” I could not dampen my interest. “Is it an heirloom?”
Without looking at me, she proceeded to carefully tuck the pin deep inside the chest. “The ajusshi told me to pawn it in ten years, then use the money to get married and raise children. Though I never intend to get married. I have no interest in men or having children of my own.”
I held the hairpin in my mind, the gold glinting off every corner of my thoughts. I knew everything about ornamental hairpins.
The binyeo pin was worn only by married women, and its material symbolized one’s place in the world. Gold, silver, and jade were severely restricted to the elite, while commoners wore those made from wood or animal bones or horns.
“Symbols…,” I whispered, a thought hovering outside my mind, just out of reach.
“What is it?”
“There are rules governing what we can and cannot wear. Almost every article on our person indicates our status, from hairpins to hat strings.” My hand rose to my throat, thrill rising with a realization. “Beaded hat strings are worn by nobles to indicate their status—as well as military officials—” My breath caught at my throat, and the gulf of my memory illuminated. I was at the cliff’s edge once more, peering down at the royal guards examining Hyukjin’s corpse. They wore military hats, and dangling in a long loop from one corner of the hat to the other was a beaded string. Wax beads that alternated in color—red, yellow, red, yellow, red, yellow.
“Red and yellow.” I could barely speak. “The same color beads that were found at the crime scene.”
“How eerie,” Yul murmured, “you look precisely like Wonsik-samchon when revelation strikes him.”
Ignoring her, I rushed out of the room, and as though the kingdom had slid under crystal glass, I found myself fascinated by the details. The blackwood of a woman’s hairpin, the purple stain on a man’s robe, the dust on a grandfather’s knees. And there they were—the beads. Alternating yellow-red beads dangling from the hats of two police officers. They were hunched over a table, pouring themselves another bowl of liquor. And they were not royal guards.
As I pondered over this, a burly shadow fell by my side. I did not need to look to know who it was. “This wax bead…,” I said under my breath, my heart racing faster. “Nameless Flower is a military official.”
“Not any military official,” Wonsik said. “Remember what the widow told you when you interviewed her.”
“Half man, half wolf. Her husband told her those words before he died…”
And then I finally understood what the dead witness had meant. Most military official hats were round at the top, but the hat of a royal guard had two feathers pointing up on either side. They could look just like a wolf’s ears to an injured and terrified man.
“Nameless Flower is a royal guard.”
“Or someone who wishes to be one,” Wonsik replied. Then, gathering his hands behind his back, he looked at me. “So how does it feel, Young Mistress Iseul? How does it feel to find the truth for yourself?”
I glanced down at the bead resting in the palm of my hand. “Absolutely exhilarating,” I whispered, feeling rather breathless.
The corner of Wonsik’s eyes crinkled, then his amusement deepened into a great, rumbling chuckle. Before I knew it, I was laughing along. And for that brief moment, it truly seemed possible that all would be well in the end.