The next day, I visited the Hyeminseo on my way to the palace.
Everyone seemed on edge. The scent of death was too fresh in the early morning air, the bloodstains still present on the snow. A shaman had been discreetly summoned to perform a ritual to exorcise any lingering evil spirits.
In the midst of the chaos, I managed to take Nurse Oksun aside. We’d studied together since we were eleven, and I knew her to have a good head on her shoulders, always calm, no matter how dire the circumstance.
“When you have time”—I slipped a piece of paper from my travel sack and gave it to her—“could you ask around to see where Nurse Jeongsu went last night at around midnight? I’ve written down all the details.”
“The streets are usually empty during curfew,” Oksun said, glancing down at my note. “I doubt anyone would have an answer.”
I hesitated, but I knew Oksun admired Nurse Jeongsu as much as I did. “Please, try at least. Something is better than no information at all.”
“Hyeon-ah…” She flicked a glance up at me. “Are you leading an investigation?”
“No, of course not,” I said. “I’m simply collecting a few pieces of evidence. I only need to find enough to prove Nurse Jeongsu’s innocence. Only that, and then I will be done.”
She watched me with doubt-filled eyes, like she didn’t believe me. “I know you, Hyeon-ah. I know you too well. You get obsessed with tasks.” She hesitated, then murmured, “But you are a friend, so I’ll ask everyone I know. Discreetly.”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
The market stalls were just opening by the time I left the Hyeminseo. Rolls of precious Chinese silk laid out to tempt the wealthy. Brassware gleaming in the wintry morning light. Stacks of straw hats and baskets shivering in the mountain breeze. A new day had begun, and my shoulders felt heavy with the new danger it came with.
When I finally arrived before Changdeok Palace, I presented my wooden identification tag and entered through Tonghwa Gate. I half expected guards to drag me away, to tie me to an interrogation chair where I’d have to confess the prince’s whereabouts on the night of the massacre. But they paid me no more heed than usual.
Father’s warning steadied me. Keep your head low. Let the commander do his job.
Clutching the travel sack against my chest, I strode into the Royal Apothecary, a large courtyard with several stately pavilions. Black roofs undulated like the mountain ridge and eaves flared with majestic colors. Walls and beams were painted red, with bursts of jade green latticed windows. The building I was heading toward, in contrast, was lackluster and tucked at the far back. I stepped into a vast quarter where three other nurses were quickly changing into their uniforms. They were young women with sharp black eyes and subtly rouged lips. They didn’t like me, for they thought themselves above me.
Keeping my eyes lowered, I bowed and offered them a greeting before moving to a corner, then proceeded to change into my own uniform. I pretended to mind my own business, but as they whispered, I listened closely.
“Did you hear?” One nurse dipped her finger into a small pot of honey and dabbed it on her hair, to control loose strands and add a bit of gleam. “About the massacre in the Hyeminseo?”
The second nurse shrugged into her apron. “Nurse Inyeong was the first to stumble upon the scene, apparently.”
“I heard she was a damo for years.” The third nurse smoothed out her blue skirt, the silk whispering under her touch. “She became a palace nurse only last year or so, and she is twenty-five years of age! Ancient, if you ask me.”
They walked off, still gossiping among themselves. After waiting a moment, I stepped outside and made my way to the medical office, my mind circling around what I’d overheard.
I didn’t know Nurse Inyeong well, but I felt sorry for her. No one seemed to like her. Palace nurses often shunned those who had worked as a damo first, a demeaning position for a nurse to be in. Damos were extensions of the police, mostly dealing with dead female bodies and violent female criminals, since male officers were forbidden by law from touching women unrelated to them. It took only three failed tests for a nurse to become a damo; anyone could easily become one. I, too, could have become one had Nurse Jeongsu not taken the time to tutor me.
Not everyone had a Nurse Jeongsu in their life.
At last I arrived before the office, a grand and stately pavilion. A male voice echoed from within, likely Physician Nanshin delegating the day’s tasks to the nurses.
I hurried up the stone steps and strode inside. All the palace medical personnel were clustered in the main hall, hands gathered in their sleeves, heads bowed. I quickly joined the row and breathed in the earthy scent of dried herbs, stored in the drawers of large medical cabinets and suspended from the ceiling in white pouches. Normally the scent put me at ease. I’d spent seven years breathing in this aromatic smell while studying, assisting with patients, and giggling and gossiping with my peers.
Today, however, I couldn’t help but wonder what horrors hid beneath the familiar.
“You all must have heard about the incident that occurred the night before last,” came Physician Nanshin’s voice, startling me to attention. “And you may have heard of a dangerous rumor being tossed around. But I advise you to keep your silence. Anyone who indulges in this rumor will have to answer for it with their life.”
I bit my lower lip. He was speaking of the anonymous handbills. The accusation about the Crown Prince. I shook my head; I didn’t want to think of it anymore.
“Now!” His voice lifted, like the crisp turn onto a fresh new page. “Today will be a busy day.”
He proceeded to delegate the duties. Nurses were divided by the three specialties—pulse reading, medicine, and acupuncture. Pulse readers like myself were in charge of assessing and determining the level of balance in the mind and body; this was done by examining the symptoms, by making inquiries, and by checking the pulse in accordance with the Royal Medical Bureau manual. The medicine maker was responsible for reporting the symptoms to the physician, discussing possible diagnoses with him, and, once a treatment was decided upon, spending hours preparing the concoction with great care before administering it. As for the acupuncturists, they were the most respected among us, for they were highly skilled nurses who knew how to alleviate illness and pains using the body’s pressure points. They understood the intricate constellation of ki flowing through the body, and knew exactly where and how deep to apply the needles.
“There is one last task,” Physician Nanshin said, once everything else was delegated. He cleared his throat, as though in distaste. “I need one pulse reading nurse and one acupuncture nurse to inspect the health of Madam Mun and her infant.”
I glanced to my side at the rest of the nurses. No one volunteered. No one liked Madam Mun, the eighteen-year-old who had gone from being a mousy kitchen maid to the haughty concubine of the king. But I knew her better than anyone here, and she had always been arrogant, even as a child.
At one time, long ago when we were both eleven, she had been my friend … of a sort. She was the daughter of one of Mother’s friends. When I first met her, she had introduced herself as Mun Seohyun, but had ordered that I call her Mun-ssi, Madam Mun. It had been her way of flaunting her surname—for a lowborn to have a surname was indeed a great and rare honor, no matter how it had been obtained or salvaged. And so I had acquiesced to calling her Mun-ssi—secretly jealous that I was not granted use of a family name—as she ordered me around in all our excursions and mischief-making. A tyrannical friend she had been, but a friend nonetheless.
“I will go,” a female voice abruptly offered. It was Nurse Inyeong.
“Good.” Physician Nanshin cleared his throat again. “We still need a pulse reader.”
I had intended to help Jieun brew medicine today. I’d often help her with the work when there was no patient to tend to. But at the sight of Nurse Inyeong, the urge to speak with her grew strong.
“I will go, too,” I said, my voice clear and determined, even as the other nurses stared at me, their lips turned down with distaste. Inyeong, too, looked my way with a stunned glance. I kept my voice steady, and said, “I will help, uiwon-nim.”
Under Confucian law, men and women could not touch each other if they were not kin, and this custom was enforced and followed by highborns. We, the uinyeos, had therefore been formed after a series of unfortunate—and preventable—deaths among female royals who had refused to be touched by male physicians. In the eyes of most, we were merely assistants to the royal physicians, forbidden from making any decisions of our own.
A young physician therefore led the way, to supervise us. He walked ahead, while Nurse Inyeong and I followed behind. We passed by patrolling guards in red robes and eunuchs scurrying about carrying messages. But once we were alone on the snowy path between courtyards, the physician glanced over his shoulder at us. His face was young despite the facial hair around his mouth.
“What did Physician Nanshin mean?” he asked, his question puffing before him in a white cloud. “What rumor?”
I said nothing, remembering the physician’s warning toward silence.
But to my shock, Nurse Inyeong answered. “Anonymous handbills were found around the capital. They claimed that the Crown Prince is responsible for the Hyeminseo killings. I don’t believe any of the rumors, of course.”
The physician looked a shade paler. “Of course, of course.” He then faced forward and quickened his pace, as though to escape the answer to his own question, leaving me momentarily alone with Nurse Inyeong. I glanced at her powdered face, and I wondered if she knew what other nurses were saying about her.
“You stare,” she said, as I quickly looked away. “Is there something you wish to say?”
I hesitated a moment. “Some say … you were a damo for a very long time.”
Her face remained still, stoic. “You mean the other palace nurses.” A mirthless smile tugged at her lips. “You ought to think twice before talking to me. If you wish to fit in well with the other nae-uinyeos, you had better not be seen associating with me again.”
Hostility was not new to me. I’d grown up with it, shunned by my father and his legitimate children. At a young age I’d discovered ways to cope with disfavor.
“Uinyeo-nim,” I said politely, for she was older than me, “I came into the palace to prove my worth, not to make friends.”
She looked at me again, a long, considerate gaze, like she had missed something before and noticed it now. “I was simply a witness to a crime, as you know, so it has drawn unwanted attention my way. Those palace nurses are always so eager to mention my history, to find any way to put me in my place.”
She fell silent when a guard passed by, and once we were alone again, she added, “This is what happens when young uinyeos are promoted to palace nurses. They think they are better than everyone else, especially those like myself. A lowly damo who became a palace nurse later in life.”
A beat passed, and then I asked, “How long were you a damo, uinyeo-nim?”
“Nine years.”
Stunned, I examined her again. Nine years meant she had failed every attempt, every month, to reclaim her position as a nurse. So how had she suddenly managed to become a palace nurse after nine years of failure?
As though reading my mind, she said, “I chose to fail those exams.”
Another jolt of surprise. “You chose?”
“I wanted to continue serving in the police bureau out in Gwangju. The commander there—a mentor to me, as Nurse Jeongsu is to you—was investigating a murder case, and I was swept up in it. For years we searched, and I couldn’t stop thinking about the injustice, the cruelty involved. An entire family was murdered in one night, and only a little girl survived. She’d hidden in a chest and had been forced to listen to her mother being butchered alive.”
The hair on my skin rose. “Was the killer ever caught?”
“Yes.” Her voice rasped, her jaw clenching. “But not until long after we discovered that one of the witnesses had falsely testified. The commander tortured the witness to death. And once the investigation was over, I wanted a fresh start, to forget.”
“Tortured to death…” I whispered. This mentor she spoke of was nothing like Nurse Jeongsu.
“I decided that it was time to move on when another tragedy struck my life. My mother died, and her dream had always been that I become a palace nurse. So I passed every monthly test until I finally managed to receive the highest collective mark by the end of the year. I wanted to enter the palace, for her.” A shake of her head, and she mumbled, “I also needed the money, and palace nurses are paid well.”
I remembered what she’d told me a day ago. “Your father’s gambling…”
“My hair will turn gray early because of him. But how can I fault him? He has gone through a lot in life.” Real emotion strained her voice, a ghost of a shadow crossing her face. “It seems there is always someone in the family determined to drive us mad.”
Like my father, I thought bitterly. And mother.
Before I could respond, the young physician cleared his throat. He was no longer so far away, and I realized that we’d arrived at Madam Mun’s residence. We both sealed our lips as we walked into the pavilion.
A smug look brightened Madam Mun’s face upon our entrance. Her stare followed me, as though to ask, Do you still envy me, Hyeon-ah?
I lowered my head, but I couldn’t stop staring at her from beneath my lashes. I do.
Her skin glowed like a drop of dew, her lips blossomed like a pink rose, and her eyes were as bright as sunset. She wasn’t simply one of the king’s many concubines; she was one of His Majesty’s four highest-ranked royal consorts, a concubine with the privileges of a wife.
“Madam.” The young physician stumbled forward. “We have come to ensure your well-being.”
She lifted a finger. “Proceed.”
Pushing down all my emotions, I wore a polite face as I knelt before Madam Mun and inspected her, asked her questions, and checked her pulse.
“She needs her energy level restored,” I concluded to the young physician, after sharing my findings with him. He nodded in agreement.
Nurse Inyeong proceeded to apply her acupuncture needles to Madam Mun. Looking for a distraction, I turned my attention to the infant, whom the wet nurse transferred into my arms.
“How old is the agisshi now?” I asked, using the honorific for young princess.
The wet nurse scratched the side of her nose. “Two weeks old.”
“How many times has the agisshi drunk from the breast today?”
“One time.”
“Did she have any bowel movements?”
“Once.”
“Good.” I would have to jot this information down later—every few hours other nurses would have to come again to record the health progress of both the mother and child. But for now, I gazed back down at the infant and could feel the weight of Madam Mun’s disappointment in my arms. She had wanted a son so badly. From what I’d heard, she had prayed and made offerings to Samshin Halmoni, the Seven Stars spirits, the mountain spirits, Buddha, and to certain rocks and trees considered to be sacred. She had even eaten all the right foods. Still, the heavens had given her a girl.
I let out a slow breath to ease the ache in my chest. I hope your mother will love you one day, I wanted to whisper to the child. More than my own ever did.
After I had been born, Mother would set me on the floor to play with dirt. But when my brother was born, she’d always carry him around. When I had grown older, she’d left me to be raised by a servant. But when my brother had grown older, she had surrounded him with tutors and rare honey-fried biscuits.
The unfairness of it all had festered in me, and I could feel it rearing its head even now. An anger that would burst into little fires. I’d blamed her for being born a bastard. Mother’s cherished jade ring, I’d hidden under a large cabinet. My brother’s study notes, I’d thrown out into the pouring rain. And my half sister’s valuables, gifts Father would pamper her with, I’d stolen and thrown into a stream. I’d broken and destroyed, trying to ease the hurt.
Anger like this never truly went away, but Nurse Jeongsu had kept it from devouring me.
“The shape of who you are is an image of heaven and earth,” I whispered to the baby, Sun Simiao’s words quoted in a book Nurse Jeongsu had gifted me with, an encyclopedia I still perused every year. It was called Dongui Bogam, by the legendary physician Heo Jun. “Your round head resembles the heavens, and your flat foot resembles earth; you have four limbs as the universe has four seasons, you have two eyes as the universe has the sun and the moon.” I dabbed her drool away. “Always remember who you truly are, agisshi—”
“Did you hear?” Madam Mun said, and I felt her gaze on me, as sharp as a dagger held to my throat. “There is an anonymous handbill circulating the capital, and a dangerous rumor. Have you heard it? Do you think it is true, Nurse Hyeon?”
I blinked at her, still holding the infant. “Yeh?”
“From what I was told, you and another nurse were serving the Crown Prince that night. Was he indeed in his chamber the whole time?”
From the corner of my eye, I watched as Nurse Inyeong and the young physician exchanged nervous glances. To gossip about a royal family member with the king’s concubine was more than inappropriate; it could result in rolling heads.
“Well?” she asked.
An icy sheen of sweat formed on my brow. “The Crown Prince was in his chamber, madam. He was feeling ill all day, and so we were called to attend to him. There was concern for his well-being overnight.”
“Indeed? There are usually other nurses for such duties. You are not an overnight nurse, are you?”
My fingertips grew cold. “I am not, madam.”
“Then why were you summoned?”
I paused, wondering if I should spin up a lie. Instead, I answered with the truth. “I’m not sure.”
With a wave of her hand, Madam Mun snapped, “Everyone leave except for Nurse Hyeon.”
Uneasiness coiled in my stomach as I handed the baby off to the wet nurse and waited. Once we were alone, the madam propped an elbow on her knee, a look of determination hardening on her face. “Are you sure you do not know?”
“I am,” I said, with more conviction. “I do not know, madam.”
A long pause. “I believe you. But I have spies in every corner of this palace. If you are lying to me, I will find out and inform His Majesty.” The weight of her stare prickled against the top of my lowered head. “You do know I could tell the king anything about you, and he would believe me.”
A drop of sweat slithered down my back. Madam Mun was the same age as I was; I should have no need to fear her. Yet I felt a twinge of apprehension—she might not frighten me, but the king certainly did.
“But,” she added lightly, “I will make sure to let nothing happen to you, if you become my eyes and ears. If you hear anything about what happened at the Hyeminseo, you are to tell me.” Her voice lowered. “Especially if it has anything to do with the Crown Prince.”
My heart froze. “I will try, madam.”
“No, not try,” she corrected. “You will do so.”
“Yeh.” I gritted my teeth as I bowed my head. “I will.”
It was a lie, of course. Lies are the only defenses the lowly have against the powerful.
“Well.” She sat impeccably straight and raised her chin, a smile on her lips. “Then you are dismissed.”
I rose to leave, eager to escape her presence, then paused. If Madam Mun had spies around the palace, she might have an answer to one of the many questions that had been bothering me.
“A court lady died outside the palace walls,” I said, slowly. “Do you know of anyone who might have wished her ill?”
Madam Mun’s smile dropped. “You do not speak unless you are spoken to,” she hissed.
“Madam,” I tried again. “I am a mere servant, but we were once friends. If you have any fond memories of our childhood at all, couldn’t you please answer me this?”
At her prolonged silence, I peered up from under my lashes. A shadow of dread had paled her countenance; she looked almost perturbed. But the expression vanished, replaced by a gleam of ill-disguised thrill.
“One of my servants saw Court Lady Ahnbi and Royal Physician Khun—the one who works in the medicinal garden—arguing the day before her death,” she said. “Apparently at one point he held her shoulders.” She tsked. “How indecent. Perhaps he is the monster you hunt.” Madam Mun then dismissed me with a wave of her hand.
As I stepped out of her residence, my thoughts drifted, lingering on the web of names being woven in my mind.
Court Lady Ahnbi, Physician Khun, Madam Mun … and the Crown Prince.
The more I pondered, the more troubled I became. I couldn’t help but fear that some hidden truth would soon be unveiled and sweep through the kingdom. A violent storm that would leave nothing untouched.