Chapter 26
Seojun stood dripping wet before his residence.
For days, he had tried to pretend the Seogeomjeong incident had never occurred; he had tried to cut the memory from his mind. He could think of no other way to endure the raw heartache.
But then, from over the courtyard wall, he had heard her name being called. And he had known in that moment that he was a fool to think he could ever forget her. Shin Haewon had cracked open his carefully arranged world, and it would always remain so.
Before he’d known it, he had broken into a run across the courtyard, stunning every servant he passed.
Lord Yu Seojun had been raised to uphold decorum, taught to be ever composed, to avoid acting rashly—and to never run.
He had certainly never before bolted across Myeongwoldang.
But all such concerns had fled his mind as he’d searched for her.
And he had found her.
And he had felt a pleasure so keen.
If, at any moment, she had crooked her finger, he would have knelt before her feet, willing to give up anything and all just to win even a sliver of her affection. Instead, she had backed away. All the blood had drained from her face, in utter panic at the sight of him.
Whatever delight he’d felt had splintered into heartache. Everywhere still ached.
When would this end? This sheer torment?
All he wanted at the moment was to be alone. To fall into a deep slumber and awaken only once he could finally breathe without hurting.
Seojun trudged into his residence, through the courtyard, and into his room, unmindful of his trail of wet footsteps.
The servants moved silently around him, stripping off his outer and inner garments, eyes carefully averted from the scars carved into his arms and back.
Water pooled on the floor, a steady drip, drip, drip that aggravated him.
He felt himself unraveling, yet he didn’t have the luxury to do so; there was an exam to pass, a break-in to investigate … and Haewon had mentioned Mistress Wol.
“Housekeeper Myeongsu,” he called to the senior attendant as he was being dressed in a fresh robe, “send for my manservant—”
He froze. The realization struck an instant before she spoke.
“Namgil has been absent again since earlier today, doryeonnim,” the woman said. “He left you a note this time. Shall I retrieve it for you?”
“Leave it in my study. I’ll look at it later.”
He massaged his aching temples, his mind circling around the events of this afternoon.
Maid Aji had revealed that Namgil was Maid Daebi’s lover, and with this revelation came a hundred questions, such as: Why were the pair involved in the break-in, and why would Namgil want his manuscript?
Questions that frustrated him when he was still struggling with the most important one:
If Wol was indeed in trouble, why had Haewon come here?
Seojun paced, and as time passed, the sunlight bathing the chamber dwindled into strips of burning gold and elongated shadows.
Jade vases and mother-of-pearl-inlaid furniture glowed in the late afternoon light.
It painted a picturesque scene of comfort, safety, and harmony.
He could remain in his little world, never peer out the window, and pretend that there were no emergencies, no friends calling out to him for help.
But he cared too much to pretend.
After inspecting his appearance, ensuring no wrinkle, no loose sash belt, he then strode out of his chamber. Upon arriving before his father’s study, servants announced him in, sliding the doors open.
The study room was spacious. In the summer, Minister Yu would have the large latticed windows opened, letting the breeze in.
In the winter, the ondol floor would be warm, the air would be heated, yet Father would let it all out by opening one window.
And in the spring, too, he often had a window open.
In all seasons, ever since Mother’s death, Minister Yu could be found gazing out the window.
The pine is eternally green, he always said.
Every morning it looks newer to me. Seojun had thought it strange, how his father could spend hours staring out the window at the same set of pine trees.
“Father,” Seojun said, announcing his presence.
His father held court before a low desk, a folding screen stretched behind him.
“You seek out this elderly father of yours only when you have something to demand,” his father remarked, his gaze never wavering from the letter before him.
Four stones held the paper in place as his brush moved steadily across the page.
After dipping his brush once more, he continued writing.
“I hear that your manservant ran away, eloped with one of the maids. Is that why you are here? I think there’s nothing much more to discuss. They are gone—what more can be done?”
“I think Namgil knows more about the break-in than he is letting on,” Seojun noted, “but it isn’t the reason why I am here, abeoji.”
“Speak, then. I have little time to spare.”
Seojun’s muscles tensed. Minister Yu, these recent few weeks, was in a constant state of being disappointed in him. No matter what he said or did, his father always seemed to find something to criticize.
“It seems, Father, that officials at the ministry are making efforts to apprehend writers of forbidden books.”
“And what is it to you?”
Silence weighed on his shoulders. He couldn’t tell his father the truth, that he was Black Lotus. “Is it under your orders?”
“Of course not. I am too busy dealing with Catholics. More destroyed ancestral tablets. The spread of a belief that strikes at the very pillars of our Confucian society. But a group of officers has clandestinely taken it upon themselves to enforce the edict.”
“Wol is being held for questioning by Inspector Wuyeong.”
“Yes, so I’ve heard. A girl I told Gwideok to stop associating with.”
“A girl Mother was fond of.”
His father’s lips pressed into a thin line.
“That Wol girl will be fine. No torture is being used. I heard she was a menace, by all accounts. Charming all the officials. Apparently they’re bending over backward to keep her comfortable.
” Father stilled. “These young and ambitious officers are, rightfully, intent on destroying novels. As the king always tells me, before we can even think to root out Catholicism, we must first put an end to fiction. Fiction is a clever thing, you see. A writer can hide anti-state sentiments inside their words.”
Minister Yu continued to write, and Seojun stared, a dark thought looming over him.
The destruction of books never ended with the written word, like the ban under the former king, King Yeongjo, provoked by the Mingji Jilue by Zhu Lin.
The book had questioned the founder of Joseon, and by extension, the legitimacy of the dynasty itself.
Those in possession of this controversial history book had been executed.
Over a hundred people were implicated—from readers to book peddlers to transcribers.
They had been tortured, stripped, tied up in a straw mat, and laid in the blazing sun, and most put to death.
While Seojun couldn’t imagine their present king spearheading such a bloody attack, he was certain of one thing: Censorship would not stop with fiction.
Finally Minister Yu finished writing. He dried the ink, slipped the letter into an envelope, and then at last looked up at his son.
“Inspector Wuyeong requested to keep Wol in custody until she reveals who Black Lotus is. He’s threatened to raid Five Willows otherwise.
” His father sighed. “An ugly business, this creation and distribution of novels. You would do well to stay away from these obscene books—”
“Do something to help her.”
A quiet scoff, and then Minister Yu muttered, “You must first do something for me then.”
Seojun braced himself.
“You must tell me the truth.” The minister studied him carefully. “You’re in love?”
Seojun tensed.
“What family is she from? The girl you were reported to have leapt into the pond for like a fool. No one of consequence, I’m sure.
” He shook his head. “You cannot hide from your father. I know. I have been informed by a little bird that she is the daughter of Scholar Shin, who is a northerner. No respectable gentleman would marry any woman with family in that region. And the mother isn’t even true yangban aristocracy.
So what were you thinking? What if word gets around? ”
Seojun was speechless. It was as though he were listening to himself back at Seogeomjeong, his father uttering the very words he had uttered to Haewon. He now felt her full offense.
“You will meet with the Minister of Rites,” Minister Yu said, as though finalizing the matter. “He wishes to conduct an interview with you before the engagement is formalized.”
“Father, please,” Seojun said, barely keeping calm.
“I have lived my life according to your wishes. And even now, though I may appear to you as straying, you know I desire nothing more than to make you happy. I will meet with the Minister of Rites. I will get engaged and marry his daughter, as you wish it. But please—let Wol go. You may not be involved in Inspector Wuyeong’s campaign, but surely you have influence to assist her. ”
His father tapped his finger against the desk.
Once. Twice. “You look unhappy. But as you grow older, you will come to realize you cannot always have what you want. I, too, did not live my life exactly as I wished. I had to set aside personal desires for the greater good, as you must learn to do. You must think of what is best for your clan—what will bring honor to our name.”
“I will, Father.”
Minister Yu picked up his brush, snatched another sheet of paper, and muttered, “I will write to Inspector Wuyeong.”
Once outside, Seojun wandered to the back of the residence and simply stood there. A crane landed at the pond’s edge, and its long, skinny legs waded through the murky waters. The wind rustled through the leaves. Everything was as it had been, and yet entirely changed now.
He would soon be engaged. And once married into the family of his father’s choice, Seojun knew he would also be tied down to the life of his father’s choosing.
A heavy pall fell over him. Was this to be his life, then?
Following in his father’s footsteps: heading to his government office at dawn and working until dusk; joining in the clash between factions; purging rivals, betraying peers.
So consumed by factional disputes, he would stop looking at life beyond the government office, forget his home, forget that an entire world lay outside …
Seojun ran a hand over his face.
He would worry about his gloomy and painfully tedious future tomorrow. Today, his heart was too sore for anything but the small problems. Like the break-in. Like Namgil’s note.
Turning, he strode to his study. The housekeeper had left the folded piece of paper on his desk as he’d requested, too distracted as he was to deal with it earlier.
He picked it up now and unfolded it. The handwriting was hurried, the strokes lacking their usual neatness Seojun had once taken the time to teach his manservant.
I had no choice. I had to do it, to protect Daebi.
I am leaving to join her. I wish you health and happiness.
You have treated me with such benevolence and I am ashamed of myself.
I cannot face you. All I can do, in return, is to leave you with this: It would have been impossible to open your two turtle locks with such speed without prior familiarity.
Perhaps your locks were never truly yours to begin with.
Indeed, I recollect you once telling me that most crimes are quite simple and ordinary. I think you were right about that.