DAENGGI MŎRI TAMJŎNG WAS THE name Father had given me because of the way my hair was fashioned, braided down my back, then tied with a silk daenggi ribbon … and because I was always picking apart information, refusing to believe anything without evidence.
Young Hwani—the girl who had sought after and had solved many petty crimes, like the case of the stolen jade ring or the case of the dead hawk—would have stayed hopeful, and not allowed herself to be overwhelmed by the fear that had awoken in me at my old home. A fear that told me that perhaps Father was truly gone, and no house, no room, would ever be filled with the sound of his laughter, of his voice calling my name. Ddal-ah. Daughter.
But he is not dead, young Hwani would have hissed at me. You have no evidence; he is simply absent!
I wanted to believe that. Fathers weren’t supposed to disappear. Fathers were supposed to stay forever.
“He is simply absent,” I whispered to myself. “Until you find evidence, Min Hwani, he is not dead.”
I repeated this over and over until the heavy weight in my chest eased. It was true; there was no point preparing a funeral in my heart when there was no corpse to bury.
Feeling the strength return to my limbs, I kicked the pony’s sides, urging her to quicken her pace. We raced through the village streets, my ears filled with the sound of hooves thundering across the dirt, and finally arrived at Gaekju Inn. Tethering my companion, I took my journal and writing utensils from a traveling pouch and entered through the gate into a vast yard containing eight large straw-roofed stone houses. The place was packed with customers lounging on a platform covered in low-legged tables strewn with bottles of rice wine and bowls of stew, as well as merchants streaming in and out of the yard with their A-frames loaded with goods. Gaekju Inn was the center of all merchant activities in Nowon, for the owner of this establishment was the middle person between the mainland and Jeju merchants.
“Oi.”
I turned to see the chiseled face of Scholar Yu, his mustache twitching as his lips perked into a smile. He seemed to be the only one in this entire village who remembered to smile—who thought it appropriate to smile—when there was a serial kidnapper wandering loose through the shadows.
And perhaps that was why he was bound up, a red rope wrapped around his torso, and with a stout guard keeping watch over him.
Together the men lounged on the platform, a table before them—as well as a bottle of rice wine. The guard poured himself a drink and emptied it in one swallow. He warily eyed Scholar Yu, who was gesturing at me to approach.
“In case you are wondering,” Yu said as I drew near, “I was brought here to be scolded for trying to run away this morning. I’ve always dreamed of getting on a smuggling boat to escape this damned island.”
The guard mumbled, “For a man who claims to be eager to escape, you seem most determined to stay and overly curious about the goings-on here in Nowon.”
Yu, whose wrists were also tied, flicked his fingers, as though waving the guard’s voice away. “And you?” he asked me, his voice bright and loud. “What brings you here?”
“I’m looking for someone. I heard Hyunok’s sister, Koh Iseul, works here.”
“Ah, I do indeed know her.”
“You do?”
“He knows everyone,” the guard grumbled. “The nosy drunkard.”
Scholar Yu ignored the comment. “I saw her in the workroom at the end of the main house—”
My stomach grumbled, audible enough that both Scholar Yu and the guard dropped their gaze to my abdomen.
“Have you eaten?” Yu asked, and when I shook my head, for the barest moment, I saw concern cross his smiling face. “It’s well past noon. You must take care of yourself, or you will be unable to take care of others.”
Hunger sharpened in my stomach, and I suddenly noticed how my hands trembled, as they often did when I missed a meal. “I should eat,” I mumbled.
I sat down on the raised platform and ordered a seafood stew from a passing servant. The bowl that arrived was filled with hairtail, squid, shrimp, and vegetables. I leaned forward and took a whiff; it smelled like the sea. I ate the soup alongside coarse grain rice, savoring the chewy white fish, until my thoughts drifted away. The taste of food weakened, turning as bland as ash in my mouth, then tasting like nothing at all, as I lost myself in worry. Village Elder Moon knew who I was. Could I trust him?
I wolfed down the rest of my meal and wiped the corners of my mouth. “Do you know anything about the village elder?” I asked.
Scholar Yu arched a brow. “Why this sudden curiosity?”
“I encountered him on my way here.”
“Well, well.” He shifted, trying to get comfortable despite the rope tied tightly around him. “I only know of him because of the library he keeps. A vast one in Mehwadang. Books on medicine, law, history, everything. But mostly poetry.”
Just like Father’s library.
“Oh, and of course there is his daughter. I once caught a glimpse of her on one of her rare visits to Nowon, and I forgot how to breathe seeing her remarkable beauty. I simply had to learn more about her. Apparently, Village Elder Moon is preparing his daughter, Chaewon, for the crown princess selection—she is one of the thirty candidates. She qualified despite her family’s humble roots as poor nobles, and also despite her age.”
What felt at first like acidity deepened into the sharp prick of envy. How fortunate she is, I thought, to be someone’s daughter. She could call out “Abeoji!” whenever she desired, and he would always answer in his warm voice, “Ddal-ah.” It was pathetic, this ache in my chest, but it was there. Of all the fathers in this kingdom, mine was missing, and I felt Father’s absence more than ever.
“How old is she?” I asked brusquely.
“Nineteen.”
I nodded as I struck my palm against my chest, pretending that my heartache was indigestion. Once the pain subsided, I said, “That is indeed late.” And it was. Noble-born girls between the ages of eleven and twenty could be selected, but most were merely twelve or thirteen years of age. The most important duty of a queen—the most important duty of any woman, my aunt had pointed out to me too many times—was to provide an heir, and the older a girl was, the more value she lost. I’d managed to avoid being forced into marriage for the entire year, for I—along with other young ladies—was forbidden to marry during the royal selection period.
“She is old and also a noble from Jeju, disadvantages to be sure. But Lady Moon is a special case. I have seen many beautiful women in my life, but she is the most exquisite. I call her ‘the Pearl of Joseon.’”
“The most beautiful?” I wondered what she looked like, this daughter of Village Elder Moon.
“Yes, but, as the village elder said, it is dangerous for a girl to be so beautiful in this time and age.”
I remembered also the words of the magistrate, that the one thing in common among the missing girls was that they were pretty. “With a beautiful daughter like Lady Moon,” I said slowly, “would he not be concerned for her safety? Girls are going missing here in Nowon. What has he done to stop that?”
“He has made several reports, submitted them to Magistrate Hong’s office, but each time his reports were dismissed due to lack of evidence.”
Lack of evidence. A thought lit up in my mind. If I could find enough evidence, I could assist the village elder in convincing the magistrate to cooperate … I clenched my fingers tight, trying to douse my excitement. My main concern about investigating had been that I had no power—no power to arrest, no power to interrogate. But the village elder? He had the authority where I had none.
“Last night, what was it you told Iseul’s family in the forest?” Scholar Yu asked. “I followed her family to see what the commotion was all about and heard you explaining something. You are related to Detective Min in what way?”
I opened my mouth to reply with a lie—about being young Master Gyu, about how I’d come to find my uncle. But I remembered Village Elder Moon’s promise to protect me from being sent back home. I also remembered the hostility of the villagers toward me, a foreigner to the Jeju people, even though we were of the same kingdom. And there had been Iseul as well, unable to meet my gaze when speaking to me. If I wanted her to open up, I could not be a nobleman from the peninsula.
“I am Min Hwani,” I whispered, clutching the journal tight. “Daughter of Detective Min.”
At the end of the main house was indeed a workroom; the wooden doors were opened onto a girl with sunburned skin. She sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, weaving jipsin—straw shoes. At her feet lay a bundle of straw and loops of saekki rope. She worked slowly, like she wanted an excuse to stay alone in this small room for as long as possible.
My journal tucked between my arm and side, I waited for her to look my way. But when she didn’t, I called out—as gently as I would to a wounded bird. “Good afternoon.”
She looked up, her lips pale. She didn’t look glad to see me.
“I wasn’t able to ask you many questions last night, but I’d like to continue, if you would let me.”
She rose to her feet and hurried down the stone steps to stand before me, hands gathered and head bowed in supplication. “Please excuse me, young master, I should go—”
“I am Hwani. Min Hwani,” I said. “I am Detective Min’s other daughter.”
Confused suspicion clouded her face.
“It is dangerous for a young woman to travel alone,” I explained, “so I had no choice but to disguise myself, though I have no need for it anymore.”
Understanding seemed to dawn in her eyes, and as it did, her expression softened. “Detective Min did mention a second daughter … Now that I think of it, your eyes look exactly like his. Mistress Min.”
I’d never thought I resembled Father, but two people today had already mentioned this. “Then you must understand why I am most determined to find answers. If I can find out what happened to your sister, I am sure I’ll also discover what happened to my father.”
She shook her head and, in a despondent voice, said, “I had so much hope when Detective Min approached me, promising to help find my sister.” She dug her nail into her thumb, as though attempting to ease her inner turmoil with pain. “But now there is no point investigating my sister’s death, Mistress Min.”
“Why not?”
“The detective is gone. And when I requested audience with the magistrate this morning, he said he’d heard rumors of the way men looked at my sister, that she was one of the prettiest in this village. He said my sister must have run away with a man. That she must have plunged herself down the slope out of guilt. He said”—her nostrils flared as she took in a deep, aching breath—“that such cases were unworthy of his attention.”
An incompetent magistrate who ignored suspicious circumstances. Clearly, he was the local tyrant of this village, whom no one—not even the village elder—seemed capable of challenging.
“She would be fourteen now,” Iseul said, a muscle in her jaw working. “She was thirteen when she went missing. How could someone so young have a lover? And if she did have a lover, how could she still be a virgin after having lived with her lover for an entire year?”
My hand that clutched the journal weakened. A pretty girl, missing for an entire year. I’d assumed the most gruesome and abhorrent crimes would have been committed against her during that time, but she was still a virgin. “Are you certain?”
“The midwife is my aunt, and she examined Hyunok quickly. We knew Magistrate Hong would have buried her without an examination; he is like that. So we did it ourselves. We examined Hyunok, and my aunt concluded that my sister hadn’t been harmed in … that way. Besides the bruises caused from the fall, there were no marks on her person, no signs of violence at all.”
“Gone for an entire year, held captive by a stranger…” I spoke my thoughts aloud, unable to process them. “Untouched. Unharmed. How curious … Surely the strangeness of this case would draw the magistrate’s attention?”
“The magistrate cares for naught. He is an idle man who has no interest in wielding justice.” A quick, bitter laugh escaped her. “But he is very diligent about finding all the ways to steal from us.”
“How so?”
A look of hesitation crossed her face. Then she shook her head. “I shouldn’t say more. I could get in trouble.”
“If you think I would expose you,” I rushed to say, “I promise—I promise on my mother’s grave and upon my father’s life—that your secrets are safe with me.”
Her knuckles had turned white; she was digging all her nails into her palm now. Nervous. Untrusting.
“Please. I don’t care about the magistrate,” I said in a quiet voice. “I just want to find who is behind all the disappearances.”
Her hesitation lasted for a few more moments. Then she looked around before ushering me inside the workroom. Once I stepped in, she finally whispered, “He is a callous man, the magistrate. He burdens us with heavy taxes for all sorts of reasons. I do not even think it is allowed. A few years ago, Mr. Cho went around collecting petitions begging the magistrate to remove the taxation injustices. But, of course, the magistrate ignored the pleas. He even had Mr. Cho executed. It is this man, Mistress Min, who is in charge of justice here.” Iseul shook her head, then, in a sign of defeat, threw her hand in the air. “My sister is gone, and no one will find the killer.”
“I will help you,” I said.
Her clear brown eyes met mine. A bold move of a servant to stare her superior in the eyes, but I didn’t care.
“I promise.”
A pause ensued, then determination sharpened in her eyes as she ushered me to sit down. “No one will hear us here, Mistress Min,” she said, settling beside me. “What did you want to ask me?”
I set up the inkstone and held my brush tight, ready to jot down her responses. “Were you close to your sister?”
“We were born eight years apart, my sister and I. So I was old enough to…” She closed her eyes, her jaws clenched as though she were fighting for composure. And when she spoke, her voice sounded raw, prickling with grief. “To hold her when she was just born. She was so tiny. I could hold her in the palms of my two hands.”
“When did you last see your sister?”
“The night before her disappearance, a year ago.”
I jotted this information down in my journal. “Did anything stand out to you that night?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I told this to Detective Min as well, but before my sister disappeared, two odd things happened. The first is that on the night of her disappearance, there was a report of a horse and wagon filled with hay, sighted right outside the village tethered to a tree. No one knew who it belonged to.”
“And the second…?” I said.
“My sister told me someone was following her. I noticed it was Convict Baek, and I told Mother of this. Mother, of course, was terrified by the rumors going around—that someone was kidnapping girls. So she confronted Convict Baek, and he growled at her that one ought to hide their daughters. ‘Don’t let them wander the island. There are bad people out there,’ he said. And then he walked off. I thought it so odd.”
My pulse quickened. “Who is Convict Baek?”
“Lord Baek Hyosung. But he was stripped of his title and exiled to Jeju after his father attempted a coup. His father was a large, angry man, and when the king sent his servants to execute him with arsenic, he wouldn’t die. So Village Elder Moon had to find more arsenic. It took an entire week to kill the man. And like the father, his son too is an angry man. We began referring to him as Convict Baek.”
I twirled this new information around in my mind. “Would you have any reason to think that Convict Baek would want to harm your sister?”
Iseul froze, and I could read the signs of distress surfacing on her—the red staining her cheeks, the way her chest rose and fell in quick succession.
I asked again, slowly, “Did Convict Baek have any reason to hurt Hyunok?”
She wiped her brows. “It’s all my fault,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have…”
“Shouldn’t have what?”
“We borrowed so much that it couldn’t be easily paid back.”
“From him? What did you need all that money for?”
“For Shaman Nokyung.”
My heart froze. “What? Why?”
“Hyunok was born with an ominous prophecy over her, and the fate-changing ritual is costly. We soon fell into debt, and Convict Baek offered to loan us bags of rice to pay the shaman with—as long as we paid it back in increments. But he never told us about the interest that would end up growing faster than we could catch up to.”
“What was the prophecy?”
“Shaman Nokyung told Mother when my little sister was born: When the cloud hides the moon, and the sea rages in the wind, the man whose face is covered will come, and your youngest daughter will be lost.”
“And you believed the prophecy?”
“Yes.” Her voice had dwindled into the barest whisper.
I worried my lower lip, and a string of dread unfurled within me. Belief. From what I’d learned from reading Father’s old journals, belief was the oldest story ever told. It was a desperation, a need to cling on to something that gave our life meaning, something that would help us find our place in this kingdom. But to me, belief without evidence was superstition, and superstition was what the weak clung to. Shaman Nokyung had chosen to either profit from the fear of others without truly knowing their future, or there was another reason why she had known, years in advance, that Hyunok would one day meet a terrible end.
“Begging your pardon, Mistress Min, but you are so young,” Iseul said, a note of hopelessness sinking her voice. “Do you really think you can solve what your father was unable to figure out?”
It was the first time anyone had asked this of me. I blinked, struck by the weight of that question. And without thought the answer came out of me: “He may not have solved it, but he must have found an answer—that is why he disappeared. I just need to find the trail he left behind and follow it.”
“Yes, he must have found the answer. The greatest detective in Joseon, they called him…” As her voice trickled away, a strange expression shifted across her face; it began with a twitch, then the furrowing of brows, punctuated by the widening of eyes. “I remember.”
“Remember what?” I asked, my heart oddly picking up speed.
She stared at me, her eyes so wide I could see the whites. “When Detective Min was investigating, he stayed here at this inn, and I remember which room, for we had to inspect it several times for insects. He swore his room was infested, but it was not—there is a new customer staying there, and he has not seen a single insect in it. Then on the day your father disappeared, he acted so strangely, looking ill and telling us how tired he was from insects keeping him up all night. We were sure that he was going mad. I also overheard him tell the innkeeper he was going to a place with hostile and remembering eyes, to cleanse his conscience and hopefully face his daughter one day without shame. I could never figure out what he meant by this.”
A chill ran down my spine. Iseul had echoed the riddle Father had left behind in his chamber. Hostile and still, with remembering eyes were the exact words Father had used to describe the eyes watching him from the forest. Had he been referring to the Forest Incident? The incident I could not remember, and there was a growing fear in me that all the answers to Father’s disappearance were in the blank space between where my memory ended and began.
I needed to remember. If the truth behind Father’s disappearance was somewhere in my mind, then never remembering might mean never finding him. And it would be my fault.
Panic fluttered in my chest. I looked down and noticed I’d unconsciously written a note in my journal: Go to the forest.
I pressed my fingers into my eyelids, hard, then looked around. I could see the workroom, the bundle of saekki rope, and Iseul’s round face. I turned, glancing over my shoulder, and saw the sky, so clear and blue. It was the perfect weather to venture into the woods, even though I’d promised Father to never enter it alone.
But I had to. It was for him.