The lingering scent of death soaked deep into my thoughts.
What horrible rage could possibly drive someone to bludgeon a woman, and then hold her head beneath the water until she drowned? What had kept the culprit from hesitating, from extending mercy as Kyunghee must have thrashed in the water, desperate to come up for air?
The thought that the truth was finally within our reach left me jittery. Nurse Kyunghee knew the answers; the investigation would soon be over.
I pulled a dry straw cloak from the storage room wall and stepped out into the yard, only to see two police officers backing Nurse Kyunghee against the wall. Their arms were crossed, their voices sharp and demanding:
“So? Who did this to you?”
“You must remember something. Man or woman? Tall or short?”
The cloak nearly fell from my arm as I rushed over to the river-drenched nurse. Stepping between her and the two officers, I bowed my head and politely said, “Please, this woman isn’t well. She needs to be brought to the Hyeminseo, and perhaps you can question her afterward.”
The two men hesitated, then grumbled as they stalked off to guard the brushwood gate.
“Here.” I wrapped my straw cloak around Nurse Kyunghee’s shivering figure. The rain had stopped, but I was troubled by the sound of her breath still rattling in her chest. She had not drowned, but I knew of patients who had died afterward from resulting complications. “Come, you should sit down.”
I led her to the raised platform, a low wooden structure where her friend had likely eaten her meals on sunny days, and never would again. We sat down, and in the quiet that fell between us, I followed the direction of her gaze—it went beyond the yard and back into the hut, where the silhouette of the dead still lingered.
“There is no need to speak until you’re ready,” I whispered.
Kyunghee remained unresponsive, her staring eyes glazed over and her pale lips slightly parted, her breath continuing to rattle in and out. Expecting another hour or more of silence, I sat up straight and crossed my ankles, prepared to wait.
Eojin had left with Damo Sulbi for some reason, but it wasn’t long before I saw him reappear down the path. His arms were folded and his brows furrowed as he stepped into the yard.
“Nauri,” I called out as he approached. He flicked a glance my way, his brows lifting. “Nurse Kyunghee needs medical attention.”
“Yes, of course. I’ve sent Damo Sulbi to inform the commander,” he replied, “and to prepare transportation on the other side of the river. We will bring her to the Hyeminseo as soon as they arrive.”
I glanced at Nurse Kyunghee, wanting to reassure her, and was surprised to see her turning her head, her stare latching on to the inspector.
“I am ready,” came her voice, a scratchy whisper. “I’m ready to talk now.”
Eojin and I exchanged a frantic glance. He walked over, though not too close, then gathered his hands behind his back. “I know this is difficult to talk about,” he said, his voice low-toned and as gentle as he could make it. “You can take your time.”
Kyunghee nodded stiffly.
“Could you tell me more about what you meant?” he asked. “You said you knew why Nurse Aram died, and that you, too, ought to die.”
She clasped her hands together, wringing her fingers like they were secrets that needed to be twisted out of her. “It is in the mountain somewhere—” She gave me a nervous glance. “Our secret.”
“You can tell us this secret,” I whispered. “If it is what led to your near death, perhaps sharing it with us will lead to your safety.”
Staring down at her white knuckles, she said, “Court Lady Ahnbi, Nurse Aram, and I … we were witnesses.”
I tensed as a prickle ran down my back.
“Witnesses to what?” Eojin asked slowly.
Her shoulders rose and closed in around her, as though she wanted to disappear. “A … a murder.” A note of devastation twisted her voice, and her features crumpled. “He was in a fit of rage over his father, and … he took his anger out on an innocent nurse. The Crown P-Prince … d-decapitated her … and rode off with her head.”
Nausea stirred in the pit of my stomach. The prince wouldn’t do such a thing. I had seen him holding a puppy so gently in his arms, and he hadn’t at all looked like a murderer. Lady Hyegyoung had also assured me of his innocence, and I trusted her. Yet Eojin’s expression only tightened, and a focused alertness lit his eyes. He believed her.
“Then what happened?” he asked.
“We ran away and hid. We knew the prince had seen our faces. He knew we were witnesses.” Kyunghee dug her trembling fingers into her eyes, perhaps trying to blot away a vision. “Court Lady Ahnbi left to seek advice for us. We didn’t know what to do.” A shuddering breath escaped her as she shook her head. “Oh gods, I wish we hadn’t listened to her.”
“What did she tell you to do?”
“Court Lady Ahnbi returned and ordered us to—” Her voice shook. “To pretend we saw nothing. She said that if we did not, there would only be more blood. Our blood! If we didn’t wish to die, too, we had to make it so that nothing had happened.”
My mind had gone blank, unable to process what I was hearing. It was one thing to hear rumors about the bloodstained palace, whispers carried in the roaming wind, and quite another thing to hear an eyewitness testimony—if Kyunghee was telling the truth. But why would she lie?
“When did this occur?”
“Last year,” she said. “On the first lunar month.”
A shadow dropped over Eojin’s face. “What happened to the victim’s body?”
A cough-ridden sob escaped her. “I … I don’t know. Someone hid the corpse somewhere … It’s not my fault! What were we to do? I am a mere servant. No one in my position would dare go against the Crown Prince.” Her eyes whirled to me, wild with guilt. “You wouldn’t, either. You wouldn’t have tried to stop him!”
“Of course not,” I whispered, and a part of me believed it.
“Ever since that nurse’s death,” Nurse Kyunghee went on, “we’ve tried to find the body. To give her a proper burial. Aram and I … we searched the mountains several times, but she was nowhere to be found.”
The weight of Nurse Kyunghee’s testimony pressed in around us, the horror of her tale prickling like icicles against my tender skin. “What was the nurse’s name?” I asked. “The one whom—” I couldn’t finish my sentence. The one whom the prince killed.
“It was Nurse Hyo-ok.”
I shook my head—I’d never heard this name before.
“Nurse Kyunghee.” Eojin’s voice was quiet, almost protective. “Is there anything else you want me to know?”
“I…” She stared down at her hands. “I remembered lending Nurse Hyo-ok my handkerchief. I didn’t want the crime to be traced back to me, so before the body disappeared, I ran back and searched her pockets, and I found a note.”
“A note?”
“It … it was a note to Physician Khun.”
Shock jabbed under my ribs. “Physician Khun?” I whispered.
Kyunghee sent another glance my way. “Nurse Hyo-ok was his mother.”
“What did the note say?” I asked.
“I d-don’t know. I burned it at once.”
“You do know,” Eojin said. “You must know. You would have read it first, I’m sure.”
She hesitated, her gaze darting around, then at last she said, “It was an ordinary note.”
“What did it say?” Eojin pressed.
It took a few moments, then finally Nurse Kyunghee replied, her voice so low I could hardly hear her. “She wrote, Khun Muyeong, I am concerned for you since you have not talked to me for a while. You avoid me in the palace, ashamed to be seen with your own mother.” A faraway, haunted look fogged Kyunghee’s face. “You say you are a grown man now, and do not wish to be seen as a mother’s little boy. Yet, like a child, you keep company with childish friends who enjoy the practice of drinking and womanizing. I warned you not to befriend such people … And that was it.”
I tilted my head to the side, sensing something important lurking under these words. But I couldn’t put my finger on what that was.
“Do you and Nurse Aram know Physician Khun?” Eojin asked.
“Yes,” she replied. “Although not well; we’ve only seen him once or twice, since we work on alternate days. But Court Lady Ahnbi always spoke of him when we were together.”
“Do you know Nurse Inyeong? The one who reported the massacre?” I asked, then quickly added, “Or my mentor, Nurse Jeongsu? She works at the Hyeminseo.”
Kyunghee paused, a frown knotting her brows. “I don’t think so. Neither of their names are familiar to me.” We all fell silent, and at the sound of rippling water, I looked over to see the silhouette of approaching police officers in two boats.
“They’re here,” Eojin said.
“Please!” Kyunghee jolted up onto her feet. “Do not tell the commander about the prince. I have heard of peasants being killed for defaming a royal—”
“I will not.” His voice was firm, a promise. But when Kyunghee stumbled away, moving toward the brushwood fence, he uttered under his breath, “Not yet.”
I glanced at him, and he read the question in my eyes.
“If what she said is true,” Eojin said, for my ears alone, “then the prince must be stopped.”
“But how?” Not even speaking in a whisper seemed quiet enough. “What if the king chooses to dismiss it? The Crown Prince, killer or not, is still his son. It would look bad for him and his family.”
A resolute look hardened in his face. “The Old Doctrine. They are the leading faction, and desperate to rid the kingdom of the prince. His ideas are too revolutionary for them, and he is too determined to distribute their consolidated power to the other factions. Should I provide the Old Doctrine with infallible evidence of His Highness’s violent crimes, they will devour him alive. To turn the king against his son, we will have to move those around His Majesty.”
I didn’t like this. I ran a hand over my throat, wishing suddenly that this was just a nightmare. I had begun the task of assisting Eojin thinking I could find the truth without being scathed. Yet now Lady Hyegyoung’s warning hung over me, too close to my skin. Her plea that I not disturb the royal family.
It was at the brink of my tongue, a remark about how I no longer wished to assist, that this investigation was getting out of hand. But then a memory gasped to the surface of my mind. “I remember,” I whispered. “I remember why Nurse Aram’s name was so familiar.”
Eojin frowned. “Why?”
Lady Hyegyoung had mentioned her to me. “She was Madam Mun’s spy as well.” My heart thrummed fast; I was afraid, but unable to look away from the gleaming thread that connected the women. “Court Lady Ahnbi and Nurse Aram, they were both her spies.”
The look on Eojin’s face told me that he was thinking the same thing: The death of one spy might be a coincidence, but the death of two?
I picked up the hem of my skirt and hurried over to Nurse Kyunghee. She was staring out at the river.
“Uinyeo-nim.” I sounded breathless. “I have one last question. Did Madam Mun use you as her spy?”
Her lips thinned, and a bitter look darkened her eyes. “She blackmailed us into spying for her. Somehow she knew what we had done—or, rather, had not done.”
I barely managed to hold in my gasp. Madam Mun had a knack for blackmailing. And for some reason, I was certain that when the prince had killed and decapitated the nurse last year, Court Lady Ahnbi had run to her mistress for advice. And Madam Mun must have immediately wondered how she could use this tale of horror to her own advantage.
“Wait for me at the inn.”
I glanced at Eojin. He was staring past the crowd of ailing peasants at the Hyeminseo, at the seventh sliding door to the right. It was the room we had settled Nurse Kyunghee in, guarded now by police officers.
“I need to report back to the commander,” he said under his breath, “but once I am done, there is something I need to tell you.”
I ran an uneasy hand over my skirt. The last time he’d spoken to me at the inn, he had revealed that he was not a servant as I was, but a police inspector. I wondered what else he hadn’t told me. “Very well,” I replied. “I suppose the inn is to be our command post.”
His lips twitched: a near smile. “I suppose so.”
We went our separate ways, and I quickened my steps, desperate to be away from the market chaos. When I finally stepped out of the fort and onto the silent road, I took in a deep breath. After days of what seemed like finding only a trail of bewildering questions, we had finally caught a glimpse of the truth. A truth so crisp and clarifying, it was like having spent days with fog in my eyes, only to finally rub it out for the barest moment to truly see. And I wanted to see more.
We were one step closer to the truth.
Stretching my arm up to the sky, I reached for it with my other hand to loosen the knotted tension in my back.
A faint rustle shuddered through the reeds next to me, and I froze.
I glanced behind me only to find an empty road that curved out of sight around a field of tall grass, and mist that rippled like restless spirits.
“Just the wind,” I murmured, lowering my arms, my heart thrumming at the memory of the peasant who had died out here.
I took another step forward, then heard it again—the rustling of grass, then the squelch of mud under footsteps. Someone had stepped out of the reed field behind me.
The footfalls continued toward me, closer, and everything in me whispered, You were followed. Grabbing my skirt, I quickened my steps, long strides that turned into a run as I heard the person behind me pick up speed.
The thick, wet ground slipped under my feet, and when it stole my shoe, I risked a glance over my shoulder. A gasp escaped me at the sight of a gentleman—for he was dressed as one—wearing a tall black hat, the wide brim lowered over his brow. A red scarf was tied around his face.
And he was garbed in a crisp white robe that was streaked with blood.
Run! my mind screamed, and I managed to turn and bolt forward.
Numb with terror, I couldn’t tell how far I’d run, or why I was scrabbling on all fours, or when I’d left the road. I shoved aside feathery plumes as I dashed across the field, and when I glanced behind to see if I was alone, a hand shot out, grabbed my collar and threw me down. My shoulder hit the ground, and I rolled onto my back in time to see a blade gleaming above like a bared fang.
A whimper escaped me. I squeezed my eyes shut as I waited to feel the hard steel slice through me. But then I heard a loud thud and a grunt. When I opened my eyes, I saw nothing but the swaying reeds and the pale sky.
Scrambling onto my unsteady legs, I glanced around until my gaze arrested upon a tall and familiar figure. It was the young inspector, his chest heaving as though he had sprinted all the way here. There was no time to wonder how he’d even found me, for the attacker rose to his feet, the side of his robe covered in mud from having been shoved away, pushed onto the ground.
Eojin unlocked his sword, a whisper of cold steel. “Stay back.”
The gentleman remained wordless and, with graceful ease, angled his own sword horizontally, aimed at Eojin’s heart.
“Hide,” Eojin whispered, and I knew he was speaking to me, though his gaze remained unwavering on the culprit before him.
In one smooth motion, Eojin drew his sword out and tossed the scabbard aside. Both hands on the handle, he rushed forward with startling speed, closing the twenty feet of grass between them quickly. His blade flashed as he struck, but the gentleman parried, steel clashing against steel. The brilliant ring reverberated in my bones. Everything was happening so fast I could hardly follow. I lost all thought of hiding as I watched the explosion of fleeting movements; one moment they were hilt to hilt, the next they were staggering back, and a second later, they were in the air, robes billowing, swords clanging.
Suddenly a strip of blood spurted through the air, followed by a moment of silence and stillness. Whose blood was that?
The gentleman staggered, and right then, Eojin lunged forward to strike. The attacker’s sword whirled off and disappeared into the undulating sea of tall grass.
“Who are you?” Eojin inched toward his opponent, blade angled at the ready. “Tell me now.”
The gentleman remained silent, motionless as he seemed to be staring at Eojin, taking in the sight of him, remembering every detail of his face. Then he turned and ran in the direction of his sword, snatched it up, and continued to run, his shoulder gleaming bright red with blood.
Once the gentleman vanished, I raced over. Reeds whipped my face, and I was out of breath by the time I stood before Eojin. He was bent forward, hands on his knees as sweat gleamed from under the brim of his police hat.
“Shouldn’t we catch him?” I asked.
“Can’t risk it,” Eojin rasped. “He could slip back into the field and hide. The moment I leave, he’ll come back for you.”
“But I could follow you—”
My attention froze on the slash across Eojin’s robe. I’d thought only the attacker had been injured, but I watched as a dark stain blossomed on the blue silk, along his lower leg. My heart hammered against my chest; Eojin could have died, and the thought left my knees weak.
“You’re—you’re bleeding,” I choked out.
“I’m fine. A small cut.” He wiped his brow, then drew himself up to his full height. “I should have wounded him somewhere more visible. A mark to search for on our suspects.” He staggered past me, brows furrowed in concentration as he stared at the nearby forest where the man had disappeared. “One thing is certain about the culprit. He knows how to fight.”
It was difficult to focus on anything else besides Eojin’s bloodstained robe billowing in the breeze.
“Has Physician Khun ever mentioned learning how to wield a sword?” he asked.
It took a moment for his question to register. I dragged my gaze away from Eojin and onto the forest ahead. “No, but Physician Khun had a book on military arts in his home. He could be a self-taught swordsman.”
“And a very skilled one at that. It seems unlikely, but if it is true, Khun does have motive,” Eojin murmured. “His mother was killed, and the women recently murdered were witnesses to his mother’s death.”
“But they were only witnesses … They helped cover up the murder, yet it wasn’t done out of malice.”
“We don’t know the full story yet. I have a feeling there is more to this than what Nurse Kyunghee told us.”
I glanced back down at his slashed robe, hesitated, then asked, “Do you want me to inspect your wound?”
“It’s growing dark. It would be unwise to linger out here any longer.” Staggering off, he searched for something in the reeds, then returned with his scabbard, his sword now sheathed and hanging by his side. “We should leave.”
I walked close by his side, ready to offer him assistance, and as we waded through the vast field a question resurfaced. “How did you find me?”
“I saw your shoe.” He continued to survey our periphery, to ensure that we were alone. “And your tracks disappeared into the reed field.”
“But you went to the police bureau.”
“I changed my mind.” His voice grew hesitant. Then looking at me from beneath his lashes, he murmured, “I wanted to make sure you arrived at the inn safe. I’m not so thoughtless as to have left you alone right after a new murder.”
Bewilderment tugged at me as I followed him out onto the road where my shoe still was. He crouched despite his wound and pulled it free from the mud; I gingerly held his shoulder for balance as he slipped the wooden namak shoe onto my foot.
“You need to be more careful,” he said, rising to his feet. He looked over his shoulder once again at the reed field, in the direction the attacker had escaped. “Whoever it was knows how to wield a sword, and knows that you are involved. It won’t be the last time they come for you.”
“Or you,” I said. “You’re in as much danger as I am.”
At last our eyes met. “I suppose so,” he whispered.
“But never fear. Next time it will be my turn.”
“Your turn?”
“To watch out for you.”
I’d spoken without thought. But he didn’t laugh my words away, rather seemed to be soberly examining my offer. “Is that a promise?”
I blinked and hesitated for a moment. “It is.”
He held out his hand. I stared at it, never having made a pact with anyone before. A handshake was done between soldiers on battlefields, as a promise to be comrades. Still, I reached out.
His warm fingers wrapped around my hand, his scarred palm pressed into mine, and we shook.
“When the time comes,” he said quietly, holding my gaze the way he held my hand. “You watch out for me. And I will always watch out for you.”
Rain pelted against the hanji screen of the inn room. We’d made it inside just in time.
“So,” I said, sitting down. “What did you mean to tell me before at the Hyeminseo?”
The beads that hung around Eojin’s hat swayed as he sat down before me, and as he shifted his leg, he winced slightly. His wound clearly stung more than he let on. “A year and a half ago, I became an assistant to an amhaengŏsa,” he said.
“A secret royal investigator,” I whispered, frowning. “Is that why you were dressed as a peasant when we first met? You were undercover?”
“No.” Quietly, he explained, “Working with a secret investigator taught me with what ease information can be gathered when disguised. Commoners are reluctant to speak freely to an officer, and so I was dressed as I was in order to gather information for a case, of which I am about to tell you.” I waited as he paused, emotions flitting through his eyes.
“My father was the amhaengŏsa … When he received his assignment in ’56, I went with him. It was a daring move, asking me to follow him, but he was concerned for me. Ever since I passed the exam at a young age, I became too proud, and I found myself accepted into the company of the wealthy and corrupt. He was afraid for me. He wanted me to love justice, to love the people, as much as he did. So he took me with him.
“Father’s task was to simply investigate the Pyongan Province magistrate.” Eojin lowered his gaze, a faraway look glazing his eyes, as though he’d disconnected himself from the memory. A memory too painful to bear. “I managed to be hired as a servant in the magistrate’s office. There I intercepted a letter claiming that the Crown Prince had secretly left the palace to stay in the village, but the magistrate was too afraid to report it, too afraid to report the prince to the king. That week, a villager was found slain, and later in the forest, I found the decapitated head of a woman.”
Nurse Hyo-ok, I thought at once. The prince’s victim—
“And my father, stabbed to death.”
Digging my nails into my palm, I could only stare at him; how still he sat, like he was carved out of ice. His face was now expressionless, his eyes devoid of tears, and I wondered how Eojin could speak of such horror with a straight face.
“I’d thought her to be a local nurse by the garima fixed to the crown of her head. But none of the nurses at the local medical office recognized the sketch of the woman’s face. They told me she had to be a palace nurse, for her garima was made of silk.”
“And then what happened?” I asked softly. “Your father was murdered. Did the magistrate conduct any sort of investigation?”
A gleam in Eojin’s eyes sharpened. “He did all he could to bury the whole affair. He bribed the local police chief and witnesses, and they used a man with a criminal history as scapegoat. Blamed him for Father’s death. The king believed the report, and with my father gone, I felt powerless.
“When I finally returned to the capital a few days later, I was appointed police inspector, and I questioned as many palace nurses as I could. My hope was that in finding the truth behind Nurse Hyo-ok’s death, I’d uncover enough evidence to overturn the magistrate’s lies. But no one would tell me anything.”
“Until now,” I whispered.
“Yes,” he replied, his voice just as soft. “Nurse Kyunghee’s testimony matches what I discovered on my own. A palace nurse, allegedly beheaded by the Crown Prince in the first lunar month of last year…”
I had hoped, so hoped, that the prince was somehow innocent. I had hoped this for Lady Hyegyoung’s sake, and for the sake of our dynasty’s future. But now I saw that hope had been naive.
“Do you truly think the prince killed—” But before I could finish my sentence, the door slid open and the scarred-lipped servant stepped in with the salt water I’d requested, along with a clean cloth and binding material. And just like before, she gave me a wink. Only this time she also asked how many children we intended to have together. At our dead silence, she awkwardly scuttled off, shutting the door behind her.
The room suddenly felt very small, the air a little too charged.
Eojin rubbed his brow, then glanced away, looking flustered.
I cleared my throat, and in a very official manner, I said, “Before we continue our discussion, I should tend to your wound, nauri.”
“I can tend to myself—”
“There’s no need to be embarrassed. This is my job.”
“I’m not embarrassed,” he mumbled, then reluctantly gestured at me to proceed.
Men wore white trousers under their robes, and where the sword had swiped at Eojin’s leg, a bloody cut peeked out from beneath the slashed fabric. The discomfort of the moment slowly eased away, and my mind steadied as I examined his injury.
“The wound looks awful at a glance,” I said as I dabbed away the blood with salt water. “But it’s shallow and should heal on its own, if no infection occurs. You should still visit a physician later.”
Once his wound was clean, I reached for the strip of fabric and wrapped it carefully around his lower leg. “As I was saying earlier,” I said, to keep the both of our minds occupied, “do you really think the prince killed Physician Khun’s mother, Nurse Hyo-ok?”
“I do,” he replied. “And I’m not surprised. Many in the government—including my father—have sensed that the prince is prone to violent rage. It began ever since the Daerichungjung.”
I bowed my head in acknowledgment. I remembered how bewildered everyone had been to hear the announcement that the king had appointed Crown Prince Jangheon as regent, even though the king was healthy enough to continue ruling without assistance.
“The prince is to be seen as ruler, but no one in court treats him like one,” Eojin said. “When the prince makes a decision in court, the king vetoes it. And when the prince stalls and turns to his father for advice, he is rebuked for being a fool unable to make up his own mind. Since then, I’ve heard that the Crown Prince’s temper has turned brittle. His anger will soon explode. Or perhaps it already has.”
“Then do you think prince is also behind the Hyeminseo massacre?” I asked.
“No,” he said, firm. “The anonymous handbill going around … I have a feeling he is being framed as an act of revenge. Even more so now that we know how the violence may have been triggered by Nurse Hyo-ok’s murder.”
“Then Physician Khun has to be involved. Everything is pointing to him, isn’t it?”
“We need more evidence in order to convince anyone—whether it be Commander Song, the king, or the Old Doctrine faction.”
I ran a finger across the old callus on my thumb. The longer I stared at Eojin, the more vivid the death of his father became in my mind’s eye. Of a son holding his father, his entire world bleeding out in his arms. “But you know now, at least,” I whispered, “that it is the prince who likely killed your father … What will you do?”
I waited, hanging on to his silence. He should say, To seek revenge. Filial piety was the backbone of this kingdom.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.
I blinked. “How am I looking at you?”
“As though I’m a pitiful mutt.”
I hesitated before saying, “Because I know what you will do. You’re going to seek revenge against the Crown Prince or die trying.”
“Revenge…” he said under his breath. “In Li Chi’s Book of Rites, we are told that children are duty-bound to murder their parent’s killer, even if in the middle of a public road. But I have no intention of doing so.” He held my gaze, his eyes lucid and clear as his conscience. “After Father’s death, I realized that everything we hold dear can be taken from us, except for one thing: the lessons learned. The things Father has taught me.” A pause. “Before he died, he told me to seek justice—not revenge. I have turned over this plea for more than a year, and serving at the police bureau, I realize there is indeed a difference—a fine difference—between the two.”
My brows furrowed, examining the two words for myself.
“Revenge begets revenge; the anger is unquenchable. We become the monsters we are trying to punish. Justice, however, brings closure, and that is what I want. It can only be achieved by remaining sober-minded and rational. And, in the end, it is not my place to punish the prince. It is the king’s, and only the king’s. All I can do is find enough evidence to make the truth undeniable.”
I let out a breath, the weight of the investigation settling heavy inside my chest.
“But don’t worry about that,” he said, his gaze dropping away from mine. “Don’t concern yourself any longer about the Crown Prince, or about the other suspects.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“About what occurred in the field…” He continued to avoid my gaze. “I’ve given it more thought, and I fear this investigation is growing too dangerous. It would be better if you no longer involved yourself.”
I frowned. “You want me out of the investigation?”
“I regret dragging you into this in the first place. From now on, keep your head low and avoid traveling anywhere alone.” Holding the wall, he struggled up to his feet, and I followed him up. “It’s late. I’ll escort you home—”
I sidestepped and blocked his path, peering up at him and refusing to look away. “You need my assistance,” I pressed. “Everything about this case is pointing to the palace, and without me, you might as well walk off a cliff’s edge blindfolded.”
“I know you are right,” he said. Then an edge sharpened in his voice as he added, adamantly, “But I also know that you could lose everything, including your life. I can’t allow that to happen—”
“But it is my life.” My chest prickled with both anger and confusion. “I said I would help you, and I mean it. Why would you risk an entire investigation to spare me?”
He frowned as he peered down at me, as though confounded by my stubbornness. “I saw you nearly die today. I watched a man hold a blade over your throat.” A muscle worked in his jaw, his face ashen. “You are smart, capable, and you have a dream. Jieun told me all about it. So please, listen to me and don’t let this investigation ruin you. I’ll do all that I can to assist your mentor, so just—” Rawness chafed at his voice as he whispered, “Promise you’ll stay out of this case from now on.”
I had never seen Eojin appear so distressed, and for a moment, I wanted to concede, if only to wipe the concern from his face. But I knew myself too well. I knew that I would not stop until all my questions were answered.
“We made a pact,” I reminded him softly. “We’ll watch out for each other. No one is going to get hurt. No one is going to lose anything.”
“You know that isn’t true,” he warned.
“Well…” I continued. “The reality is, either you allow me to assist you, or you cut me lose and I’ll find the truth on my own. What shall it be, nauri?”
He stared, a line forming between his brows. Then with a shake of his head, he murmured, “You must have been a general in your past life. A most irritatingly stubborn one.”
I offered him a faint smile. “I promise I know how to take care of myself.”
He let out a breath as he sunk back down onto the floor, a look of utter defeat descending on his features. Leaning against the wall, he half stretched his long legs, his arms resting over his bent knees. In the silence that followed, I could feel his gaze on me, studying me for so long that a blush spread across my chest and crawled up my throat.
“We witnessed a man’s execution, and we’ve known each other for the span of another five murders.” A grim smile tugged at the corners of his lips, devoid of any mirth. “We are in a case that will likely kill at least one of us, yet neither one of us intends to leave. Does that make us friends?”
I was suddenly filled with the urge to burst into laughter. Laughter over the terrifyingly ridiculous situation I’d found myself in, and from the sheer sense of wonder that the darkest time had brought a friend into my life.
We continued to discuss the investigation well into the evening. We turned questions over, trying to find answers to lingering ones. One moment I would be walking in circles, arms crossed, and the next I was sitting and he was pacing around.
Eojin had borrowed scrolls of hanji and writing equipment from a scholar next door, and with the paper spread out before us, we connected the lines. Pointing here and there to add more notes. Our heads nearly touching, so lost in the moment, so consumed that I could not tell where he began and where I ended. We seemed to have, in that moment, merged into one mind with one purpose: find the killer, find the truth.
Time moved differently in this room, like it was a rushing current of water. It was evening, and then suddenly the sky was pitch-dark and the moon round in the sky. My eyes itched, exhausted, but I wanted to keep talking to Eojin.
“It’s late,” he said. “Shouldn’t you return home? Your mother might worry for you.”
I shrugged. “My family isn’t the type to notice my absence.”
He hesitated, looking confused.
“There is still work to be done.” A stubbornness settled over me, the stubbornness that had kept me awake all night during my studies for exams. I could not rest until I had finished my portion of work for the night. “We still haven’t talked about Physician Khun.”
“You have work tomorrow,” he said.
“I’ve stayed up all night before,” I replied.
He finally relented. “I visited his hut to question him again—but he’s nowhere to be found. I interviewed the entire village, and no one has seen him since yesterday.”
I frowned. “Perhaps he’s gone to visit a family member?”
“It’s possible. My officers have only just begun searching for him. And once he’s found, he’ll be arrested. I can’t have him disappear like this again.”
“And then Commander Song will torture him…” Biting my lower lip, I whispered, “And the young student nurse, Minji?”
Eojin sighed. “Still missing, and her parents continue to insist that they have no idea where she is, as do her relatives.”
A feeling of helplessness settled around me, heavy and oppressive. I dipped the brush into ink and wrote out the details of our conversation, desperate for movement in this investigation that felt stagnant once more.
“If only I could speak with Nurse Jeongsu. Surely she must know something…” I said, half to myself. Then my gaze flew up to Eojin. “Is there a way I could speak with her?”
He shook his head. “The commander rarely leaves the bureau during murder investigations. Whenever he does leave, it is so sudden I will have no time to summon you, and he’s usually only gone for a short time, anyway.”
“You could sneak me in! He doesn’t even need to find out.”
“Everyone would notice that you are not part of the police bureau. His men would immediately notify—” He paused. “I could disguise you.”
I straightened, hopeful but confused. “As an officer?”
“No, as a damo.” His gaze was already a thousand li away, already strategizing. “Tomorrow night, right when the great bell rings, meet me outside the small entrance of the bureau. That is when the buildings are most empty, as officers go out to patrol the streets during curfew. And even if you are seen, they will only see a harmless police damo.”
With a rush of energy—spurred by the hope that we might finally gain more important information tomorrow—we returned to the map of suspects we’d drawn out, and the collected notes of all that we knew, no longer encased within separate minds but written out onto sheets of paper.
We continued to talk until my mind burned out, nothing but smoke curling up from the wick. I tried to concentrate, but when Eojin began nodding off, I told myself I’d rest my eyes for a bit. I laid my head down on the table and must have drifted off, for I woke to find pre-dawn shadows slumbering in the gray room, and very dim light streaming in through the hanji screens.
As my mind reoriented itself, I noticed I wasn’t alone on the table. My head lay resting on my folded arms, my brows pressed against Eojin’s, our noses nearly touching.
I watched as his eyelids flinched, moving around in a dream, or perhaps in a nightmare. But not for long. As though sensing my stare, his eyes slowly blinked open, and I was too tired to be flustered when he held my gaze.
“I wonder what time it is, nauri,” I whispered.
“You don’t need to keep calling me that,” he replied just as quietly.
I closed my eyes again. Outside, a woman yawned as her footsteps crunched across the yard. Further off, a dog barked. I would address him properly in the morning.
But just for now in these in-between hours, just for now before the sun rose and everything returned to its rightful place, I whispered, “All right … Eojin.”
I finally woke to the door sliding open and a blanket I didn’t remember placing around my shoulders slipping onto the floor. Blinding sunlight shot through the doorway, and I shaded my eyes with the back of my hand. How long had I been asleep?
It wasn’t Eojin who came in, to my disappointment. It was the scarred-lipped servant.
She crossed the room with a tray of steaming soup and side dishes. “Your husband left for the capital as soon as the fortress gate opened, and asked me to wake you at first light.”
My husband? It took a moment for me to collect my thoughts, then I glanced out the door. I had just enough time to return home, fetch my uniform, and head to work.
“He also told me to give you this.”
The servant set down the tray of food, then scurried to the door to fetch something from the other side. She returned with the familiar cotton sack that I carried my uniform in—I wouldn’t have to return home after all. How had Eojin managed to get this?
I opened the sack, and there lay a note: I asked your servant for your uniform. I informed her that you were assisting the police with the death of Nurse Aram. She agreed not to tell your mother yet, lest it worry her.
The skin under my eyes felt worn and heavy. Without needing to go home first, I had enough time to eat without rushing. Eojin had chosen the most nourishing dish for me: sullungtang, rich and milky beef broth, a hearty soup that was delicate in taste.
I paused, spoon halfway to my mouth, as a fuzzy memory surfaced.
The grayish blur of pre-dawn light. Eojin reaching out to touch the fallen strand of my hair, just long enough to tuck it behind my ear … and then he was gone.
A memory … or a dream?