“It will be a simple task, and then it will all be over,” I whispered to myself as I hurried through the capital, welcoming the snowflakes melting against my heated cheeks.
I’d spent an hour inquiring after Physician Khun’s whereabouts, an hour scorched by several disapproving looks and questions as to why I wanted to visit the home of an unmarried man.
Regardless, I’d been too stubborn to stop. I was convinced that Physician Khun knew the truth behind the murders, one that would unravel the mystery and free Nurse Jeongsu from the commander’s wrath. After all, the woman Physician Khun had argued with in the garden had turned up dead. He could be, for all I knew, Court Lady Ahnbi’s sweetheart. They were similar in age; he was nineteen, and she was eighteen.
I stopped in my tracks. The possibility that Physician Khun might have killed her suddenly struck me hard. Men often chose to kill their victims with knives, a pattern I’d noticed while tending to the wounded at the Hyeminseo. Moreover, cases of women murdered by their husbands or lovers were not few and far between.
I could see it clearly: Physician Khun slipping a note into Court Lady Ahnbi’s hand, a note luring her out of the palace, threatening to never see her again if she did not. And out in the shadows, he had stabbed her in the chest, only for her to escape into the Hyeminseo. He could have chased her in and then stabbed her in the throat, finishing her off. Physician Khun would have then realized that he had witnesses, a study group of two student nurses and their teacher. And so he had killed them all as well.
A moment later, though, my head cleared and my pounding heart slackened. Physician Khun couldn’t be the killer. He was a healer, a protector of life. Surely he was not capable of murder.
A group of soldiers charged by, and I nearly dropped the note detailing Physician Khun’s address, given to me by another physician. “Find him!” the leader bellowed. “He mustn’t get away!”
I stared after them for a while, then continued on my way, down the crowded road that led up to a massive fortress gate. The guard waved me through after I presented my identification tag, and I stepped out of the capital, onto the path where I’d sometimes encounter Physician Khun as we both walked home from the palace.
Quiet and reserved, he reminded me of the plants that grew in his medicinal garden. So lost in his thoughts, he wouldn’t notice the curious glances I cast his way. His dark eyes would always remain fixed ahead. His long legs would hurry past me until he was striding over the Cheonggye Stream bridge, disappearing into the distance. I would usually continue down the road that would take me to my mother’s home, but today I instead crossed the bridge.
I followed the directions on the note, which I’d only needed to study once. Memorization came easily to me; I could memorize an entire page without much more than a glance. After making my way around the village, I came to the edge of a forest. The directions led me down the woodland path of bare trees and snow-coated rocks. It was difficult to walk—the path was overgrown with branches that snagged my ankles as I passed.
Eventually the forest opened onto a clearing. In the center stood a lone hut with a straw roof and crumbling clay walls, sliding screened doors, and a brushwood gate encircling it.
I paused in my tracks.
Physician Khun’s home was so secluded—I had imagined that his hut would be situated within the hamlet, that we would speak outside while nodding to passing villagers and curious onlookers. I didn’t trust him—or any man—enough to be alone with him in such an isolated place. I had turned to leave when a twig snapped somewhere nearby.
A shadow moved beyond the thicket.
The hair on the back of my neck rose, and I fell very still, counting my shallow breaths as I waited.
A few moments later, a man appeared; he was wearing a black gentleman’s hat and a long dull coat. A poor scholar. The man remained standing in the shadows, and I could tell he was watching Physician Khun’s hut. He stood there for so long that a cloud moved in the sky, and I watched a shaft of light split through the branches and onto him.
My eyes widened as they rested upon a familiar face, handsome without all the mud smears from last time. A striking pair of dark eyes. An aquiline nose and a chiseled jaw. Hollowed cheeks that spoke of hunger, though nothing that a few hearty meals couldn’t fix. It was the police servant, the quiet and stern young man who’d helped me escape from the crime scene.
But what was he doing here, now dressed as a scholar?
He did not move a limb as specks of snow drifted onto his face, a stillness I couldn’t imitate. A branch was digging into the back of my thigh. I glanced around, pushed it aside, then looked ahead again.
He was gone.
I floundered a moment, confused. Then at the sound of sliding doors clacking shut, I hurried forward. I snuck around the side of the hut until I found the back door and slid it ever so slightly open. Peering in, I saw an empty room. I continued following the wall, then carefully cracked open the rickety window that looked into another room. Empty as well. Where had the police servant gone? I turned to inspect the other rooms, only to slam into something solid.
“You again,” came a deep, bemused voice.
I stared up into lucid brown eyes. Snowflakes clung to his dark lashes. My lips parted, but I wasn’t sure what I meant to say, my words stolen by the intensity of his stare. I blinked quickly, then I glanced down to see that he’d drawn a dagger. He sheathed it now—clearly he didn’t see me as a threat. I wasn’t sure whether to be offended by this.
“Why are you following me?” he asked.
“I was here first. Why were you inside Physician Khun’s home?”
“Because he was not in.”
It took a moment to decipher his words. He must have come to snoop through the physician’s belongings—but to search for what? “So the police sent you here, I suppose.”
“No.”
“Then why…?”
“I thought I said I never wanted to see you again.”
“If I remember correctly,” I said in an overly polite tone, “your precise words were I had better not see you lurking around a crime scene again. But is this a crime scene?”
The young man stared at me as though I were a strange creature, as though no one had spoken to him like this before.
I shrugged at his continued silence. “I simply came to speak with the physician. That is all.”
His bewildered expression did not ease. “Why?”
“I have a very interesting explanation, and if you wish to know it…” I looked at the empty hut, wondering where Physician Khun had gone. “First answer my questions. Why are you disguised as a scholar?”
“To blend in with others.”
“And why are you here if the police didn’t send you?”
He paused, and quietly asked, “Are you interrogating me?”
“No. We are having a conversation—”
“I unfortunately don’t have time for this,” he said, turning from me.
Before I could stop him, he disappeared into Physician Khun’s hut—the home of a man who might return at any moment.
Just leave, Hyeon-ah, a voice in my head warned. I didn’t want to get involved, but there was something about the police servant that piqued my interest. My gut told me he had information, and I wanted it, too.
I stepped into the hut and found him hastening from corner to corner, opening drawers and chests and checking under folded blankets and between the pages of books. My gaze lingered on one book he’d flipped through and set back down—a military book.
“This isn’t allowed,” I said. “You can’t just barge into someone’s home and rifle through their things.”
He continued on as though he hadn’t heard me. Each item he inspected, he returned to its exact position: the porcelain vase, the document box, the candlestick holder. He picked up a small jar with a lid, opened it, and glanced inside. A speck of wariness flit through me at the sight of a white powdery substance. But then he closed the lid, set down the jar, and moved on, and I realized he still hadn’t answered me.
“Ya!” I called out rudely. My patience was running thin. “If you don’t want me to report you, then answer me. Why are you here if the police didn’t send you?”
Letting out a sigh, he flipped through another book. “I have good reasons to involve myself in this investigation. Trust me.”
“Why should I trust you? I don’t even know you.”
“You trust me enough to be alone in the woods with me. And it seems you are here for the same reason as I: Physician Khun is suspicious.” He set the book aside and examined the next item, a little box.
“So you do know something,” I whispered to myself. Then to him, I said, “I heard rumors about Physician Khun. He was last seen arguing with Court Lady Ahnbi.” Secretly I hoped that if I offered him intelligence, he might return the favor. “He was holding her shoulders, apparently, and that detail made me wonder if they were sweethearts. If they were, then surely Physician Khun would know something about what had happened to her. That is why I am here.”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “It took me the whole of yesterday to find what you learned in a moment’s time. Then another half to track down Khun’s residence.” He glanced at me with a strange gleam in his eyes. “I suppose, since you work in the palace, you must know things that the police will never find out.”
“It is true,” I said.
“And would you tell the police?”
“Only so much as to lift suspicion from my mentor. I wouldn’t tell the police everything, though.” I walked over to the door and looked out for Physician Khun’s return. “There is a saying among us who work there: Palace secrets must never get out, or else inevitably there will be blood.”
I waited for his response, but none came. The air fell so still I felt alone. When I looked over my shoulder, I saw the police servant reaching for the top of the bookcase. He was tall enough that he didn’t need to rise onto his toes. Then withdrawing his reach, he walked off toward a window and lifted a small item to the light.
“Found it,” he whispered.
I waited, my skin pebbling against a tingle of anticipation. Perhaps he had found evidence that would resolve the Hyeminseo massacre. My muscles tightened as he walked over to me. He stood close—very close—as he held out his hand, revealing a thick silver ring.
“A single garakji?” I said. Usually these rings came in pairs, the double rings worn by married women to symbolize the harmony between husband and wife. Traditionally wives were to wear them up until their own death. “Why were you searching for it?”
“Court Lady Ahnbi wrote to her family and mentioned Physician Khun several times. He was the only man mentioned in her letters,” he explained. “Then during her autopsy, a damo servant found a single garakji ring hanging from her necklace. A ring with a plum blossom engraving.”
He raised the ring between us, allowing us both to inspect it closer. To my surprise, etched into the silver was a delicate plum blossom.
“A married woman wears a double ring throughout her lifetime,” I said. “But in death, one is buried with her and the other is returned to her spouse. Does this mean Ahnbi and Khun were secretly married?” I glanced up and found my face alarmingly close to his. At once I took a step back.
His gaze followed me as he said, “Precisely.”
Clearing my throat loudly, I forced my attention back to the ring. Ahnbi was a palace woman—to be married at all was considered adultery against the king. “I don’t understand. Why weren’t both rings in her possession? Why was her body found with only one garakji?”
“That is what I wish to know as well.” He turned to glance out the door. Snow had stopped falling. “He might return at any moment now.”
“Do you know where he went?” I asked.
“I sent him a note saying I was Ahnbi’s brother, asking him to meet me at the inn. That way I’d be able to search his home without…” He glanced at me, something like a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Interruption. He’s probably realized the note was a ruse by now. Come. We should leave.”
As I followed the police servant, stepping out of the forest and entering a field of reeds that reached over our heads, my mind scrambled to make sense of the garakji. Physician Khun had the second ring. Had he taken it before or after Court Lady Ahnbi’s death? And did the truth behind these two rings somehow connect to the massacre?
“You asked earlier what I was doing here,” the police servant said, pulling me from my thoughts. The brittle grass and untouched snow crunched loudly under our feet. “I spent a year working in Pyongan Province, and a similar triple murder occurred there … one involving a loved one. When the Hyeminseo massacre occurred, it led me to wonder if the two incidents were related.”
“How were they similar?” I asked, then had to add, “Don’t you think that is too much of an assumption? There are mass killings that occur all the time, carried out by corrupt magistrates or nobles or soldiers.”
His expression turned to stone, just for a moment. “I have my reasons.”
I wiped a loose strand of hair away from my brow as I fell a step behind, my stare unwavering from the police servant’s back. His shoulders were broad, and he stood as high as a mountain peak.
“What is your name, anyway?” I asked.
His gaze remained fixed ahead, never once turning to look at me. “Seo Eojin.”
I waited for him to ask for mine. He did not. “My name is Baek-hyeon. But I prefer being called Hyeon.” His strides were so long, I had to half run to keep from falling farther behind. “What will you do with the ring now?”
“Hold on to it.”
A current of annoyance rippled through me. Commander Song needed enough evidence to wield justice properly now. “You should tell the commander,” I said.
“Not yet.”
“Why not yet?”
“To allow Khun the opportunity to give his account. Without torture.”
“Eojin,” I said, unable to hide my incredulity, “you are only a servant. You can’t decide this on your own.”
He halted so suddenly my hands reflexively landed on his back—a broad and strong back, I couldn’t help but note—to keep from crashing into him. I wrenched my hands away and retreated as he turned, his eyes falling on mine. “A servant?” he repeated.
“Yes. You are a police servant,” I said. “And it is not your place to do as you wish. You have found evidence, so now you must submit it to the commander—”
Shaking his head, he slipped the ring into a pouch tied to his sash belt, and the sight of evidence disappearing left my face burning. Any day now the police commander could choose to torture Nurse Jeongsu in an attempt to make her confess. Images filled my mind in a haze of red. Of flesh split open. Bones shattered. Blood soaking her clothing and dripping onto the dirt. And I would have to live with the guilt of knowing that, perhaps, I could have prevented such brutality if only I’d presented the commander with the ring.
My hands moved of their own accord, darting to the pouch. My fingers grazed the fabric, but before they could clamp on to the string, Eojin firmly caught both my wrists and held me still. He looked as startled as I felt.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“If you will not submit this evidence,” I said, my voice strained, “I will.”
His grip loosened, but the restraint remained, his tanned fingers wrapped around my pale wrists.
“Listen to me.” His voice was a low murmur. “I know the commander. Once he thinks he knows the truth, nothing will change his mind. He will not help you save your teacher. There is only one who can.”
The red haze slowly cleared from my mind. I had trouble finding my voice, but once I did, I managed to whisper, “Who?”
“The true killer. A full confession will force Commander Song to reconsider. Or,” he added, as he gently let go of my wrists, “the fourth nurse. If she is still alive, her testimony will be key.”
I stared at him in surprise. “What fourth nurse?”
“A woman came to the police bureau, swearing that her daughter—a student nurse—had left early for the Hyeminseo on the night of the massacre and never returned home.”
“What is her name?”
“Minji. Only twelve years old. Perhaps you knew her?”
My heart thudded heavily inside my chest, my mind scrambling. “No … I don’t think so.” I didn’t know too many of the lower-level nurses, and at twelve years old, Minji was likely a chohakui, a beginner student. “What do you think happened to her—”
“Wait.” Eojin raised a hand, and I fell still, the feathery reeds swaying against my face. His eyes widened as he stared at something beyond my shoulder. “I hear something.”
I turned my ear and listened. At first, all I heard was the crisp winter silence.
Then came the faint sound of scrambling footsteps and a wheezing gasp for air.
At once, Eojin waded around the reed field, and I followed him out onto a road. A terrified peasant was running our way, his clothing blood-soaked and his skin blue-tinged. One hand was clutching his wounded side, and the other hand was holding on to a roll of paper. When he was about to run past us, Eojin reached out and caught his shoulder. A cry burst from the man as he immediately crumbled to the ground.
“What happened?” When there was no answer, Eojin crouched before the trembling man and gently tried again. “Who did this to you?”
“I—I—” The man pressed his lips together, trying to form a word, yet failing with each attempt. At length, he stammered, “I—I don’t know w-what I did wrong.”
“Tell me,” Eojin said. “I can help you.”
I stepped past Eojin, trying to get a better look at the wound. “I am an uinyeo,” I said reassuringly. “Let me see if I can stop the bleeding.”
The man stared up at me, and tears welled in his eyes, as though he was relieved at the sight of me. “I was paid to paste these up around the capital today, as d-d-discreetly as possible. I can’t even read it.” His voice broke into stutters, but as I knelt before him, he composed himself enough to speak on. “I needed to feed my children so I agreed. I was pasting it up, and then a soldier attacked me and I ran out of the fort.”
Eojin took the handbill from the man and unrolled it. As he read, his expression darkened.
“What is it?” I asked as I worked. The man’s flesh had been cleanly split, down to the ribs. A wound inflicted by a sharp blade.
“It is the same anonymous handbill from the day before,” Eojin said gravely, “accusing the Crown Prince of the murders.”
My blood turned cold. The peasant’s eyes went wide with shock.
“Who told you to post this?” I asked him.
“I don’t know!” His voice was shrill.
“What did the person look like?” Eojin pressed. “Man or woman? Height, any unique traits, any description at all.”
The peasant glanced over his shoulder, at the empty road. “N-now I realize why they wanted to kill me. I had no idea—no idea I had committed such a great crime—Oh gods, I don’t have time to talk.” He shakily struggled to stand. “I need to get away—”
The land trembled beneath our feet. Eojin grabbed both of us and dragged us deep into the reed field. I craned my neck and saw glimpses of horsemen in dark red hats adorned with two plumes, pointed like tiger ears.
“Royal guards,” I whispered.
Eojin pulled me down and ducked over me, his chest covering my back and his arms shielding my head. He hissed at the peasant to duck as well. But the man just grew paler, his eyes wider and wider until they stared ahead like two open graves.
“Heavens help me,” the man whimpered, backing away despite Eojin’s attempts to grab him. “I need to go.”
The peasant turned and stumbled away, pushing aside the grass like he was swimming through it, glancing over his shoulders constantly until he disappeared from sight. But I could still hear him, the whipping of grass as he ran. For a precious moment, escape seemed possible for him.
And then came the thundering of hooves.
I pressed against Eojin as the reeds thrashed around us, the air roaring as riders sped past, the smell of horseflesh whipping by. Eventually the feathery plumes above us fell still as the hooves pounded into the distance.
Turning my head ever so slightly, I found my face close to Eojin’s, his eyes sharpened under dark brows. We exchanged nervous glances, then I watched as his gaze tilted up.
The whistle of an arrowhead sliced the air.
My entire body jolted at the sound of the arrow striking a solid, fleshy object, followed by a scream. The peasant. Shot down like a wild animal. His scream turned into pleas for mercy as I heard a forceful snarl: “You dare slander the Crown Prince of this kingdom? You defamed the seja-jeoha, a crime punishable by death.”
“P-p-please! I did not know—”
There was the sharp ring of metal, and then I heard the wet sound of blood spurting.
My lips fell open to scream in horror. Eojin clamped a hand over my mouth, his heart racing against my back. He was as afraid as I was.
“Take the corpse and bury it in the hills!” the soldier ordered. “And you, find the traitor’s family and arrest them. The king will deal with the rogues as he pleases. The rest of you, continue to tear down the remaining handbills. Not a single one must remain by nightfall.”
I could hardly breathe. I had never witnessed a human life taken so callously, so swiftly, with not even a tremor of remorse. It struck me then that investigating the Hyeminseo massacre might very well get me killed.
Run away, then, a warning voice whispered in my mind. Nurse Jeongsu is not your blood family. Run away. Save yourself.
I stared into the swaying grass, panic rising within me. I was too young to ruin my life, my future too ripe with possibility. I could turn my eyes away from Nurse Jeongsu’s suffering, and no one would blame me. No one at all.
But I must not, I thought, more a plea to myself than a decision. I could never call myself a nurse again, not in good conscience, if I turned my eyes away from such injustice. I must do something.