Eojin escorted me home in silence, and later that night, I lay buried deep beneath my blanket. Each time I fell asleep, I woke up in a cold sweat, remembering the decision awaiting me. A dangerous private investigation, and Nurse Jeongsu’s life on the line.
By morning, stress had risen to my skin in the shape of hives looking like massive clumps of mosquito bites. I remained in my room the rest of that day, writing out a list of all that I had at stake.
Palace rules are strict.
Crown Prince a suspect.
The dead peasant.
My nursing practice at risk.
It went on and on, then finally I wrote:
Disapproval.
My attention lingered there.
What I dreaded most wasn’t defaming the Crown Prince or even losing my life. My fear was quieter than that. I dreaded Father’s disapproval, and disapproval from those like him—the powerful and highly respected. I’d somehow come to believe that if only Father would acknowledge my worth, then it would be like a badge of honor that the rest of the world could see, too.
And perhaps because of this desire, Father had become like a ghost to me, haunting the corners of my mind. Perhaps it had begun the day he’d visited the Hyeminseo five years ago. The professors here speak highly of you, he’d said. They say you might even become an eo-uinyeo one day, the highest-ranking nurse; a woman whom even the king himself trusts and respects. I could hardly believe them, but perhaps you will surprise me.
A smile had glimmered in his eyes, and I’d never forgotten that look. It was this yearning for a second such glance that haunted me, the fear that I would never receive another warm recognition from him. A fear that sometimes dipped into anger.
I grabbed the paper and crumpled it in my fist. Nurse Jeongsu’s life was at stake, and here I was worrying about Father’s approval. It seemed so trite, so selfish. I did not want to be like this, a girl too afraid to do what was right for fear of what others would think.
And I did know what was right. I recognized it as clearly as I did the sun in the sky.
The next morning, I changed into a fresh new uniform. I usually carried it to the palace and changed there, to avoid dirtying the skirt on my journey, but today I didn’t want to expose my hive-ridden skin. Once the bumps were hidden—my sleeves pulled low and jibun face powder applied to my welted cheeks—I slipped out of the house with quiet steps, hoping not to wake my little brother, and emerged into the early morning. White mist hazed the landscape; the scent of budding green filled my nostrils. Winter was coming to an end.
Picking up the hem of my skirt, I ran down the road to shake off my restless edge. I ran until my lungs were on fire and my forehead beaded with sweat. I arrived at the fortress gate in no time, and when I was halfway toward the palace, I caught a glimpse of Jieun walking with her shoulders tucked in, clutching her travel sack.
“Jieun-ah!” I called out.
Jieun flinched and jolted around, dropping her sack as her face drained of all color. “Oh, it’s you!” Relief whooshed out of her as she placed a hand over her chest. “You scared me for a moment.”
I picked up the cotton sack, which I knew held her uniform, and gave it to her. “What is the matter?”
“I haven’t been sleeping well.” Then she flicked a glance my way. “I didn’t get a chance to speak with you at the palace two days ago. I wanted to ask how you were faring. About the killings. My cousin told me it was awful, what happened to those girls.”
The warmth I’d felt at the sight of Jieun immediately cooled, replaced by the memory of Eojin and the urgent decision awaiting me. It was difficult to believe that my path had tangled with his, the young man Jieun had spoken about for years. She had never referred to Eojin by his name, though. She was illegitimate, and so would always refer to him as “my cousin” or “Young Master Seo” or “Inspector Seo” ever since he’d come to live with her father to study in the capital.
“What is it?” Jieun asked.
I must have stared blankly at her. “Your cousin is Seo Eojin, is he not?” I asked, a part of me still suspended in disbelief. “The one you called a rare prodigy?”
Jieun nodded as we made our way to the palace. “Have you met him? Perhaps you saw him that day at the Hyeminseo. He’d just returned from a long travel.” She shook her head. “I think he was investigating something in the countryside, and he arrived dressed as a pauper.”
“But…” I still couldn’t get over his age, and the pinch of jealousy. “He is so young to be a jongsagwan.”
“The previous inspector was only twenty-one,” Jieun said with a shrug. “Inspectors are often young; No one minds their age, so long as they are from a good family.”
I fell silent, my brows furrowed as I tried to understand how an eighteen-year-old could possibly lead a police investigation. Once we arrived at the palace gate, we presented our identification tags and were admitted.
“I’m going to visit the bookshop after work,” Jieun said, the barest hint of color returning to her cheeks. She looked less like a ghost now. “If you’d like, we could go together?”
When Jieun and I had served in the Hyeminseo, Mr. Jang’s bookshop had been our favorite place to spend our breaks, and the place Jieun escaped to whenever the days grew too dark.
“I’m hoping to finally get my copy of—” Jieun glanced around, then whispered, “The Tale of Unyeong.”
A faint smile tugged at my lips. The story revolved around the illicit love affair between a palace woman and a young scholar. Ever since Jieun and I had entered the palace, she’d spent all her time looking for a copy.
“But then again…” A shadow passed over Jieun’s countenance. Her smile slipped into a nervous twitch. “Perhaps The Tale of Unyong is not an appropriate read at the moment. I think it’ll remind me of that dead palace woman. What was her name again? Court Lady Ahnbi?” Her voice faltered as she glanced up.
It was then that I sensed a pair of eyes watching us.
Physician Nanshin stood ahead, a slight frown wrinkling his brows, his hands gathered in his sleeves as his robe billowed in the chilly breeze. For a moment I feared he’d overheard us and would rebuke us for either talking about the scandalous book or about the Hyeminseo incident. But then, he looked more troubled than he did upset.
“Nurse Hyeon.” He uttered my name with a heavy, foreboding note. At once my shoulders tensed. “Lady Hyegyoung wishes to speak with you at her residence.”
Why? I wanted to demand. But I had learned that in the palace, one must bite one’s tongue and obey. One must never ask questions.
Clutching my fingers tight, I bowed my head low. “Yeh, uiwon-nim.”
“But you had better wait. Do not go yet.” His worried gaze weighed on me as I remained bowed. “The Crown Prince is there, and it would be wise not to cross paths with the seja-jeoha.” Then he added under his breath, “You look too much like his deceased sister, Princess Hwahyup. It might … upset him.”
It wasn’t the first time someone had remarked on our similarity. Lady Hyegyoung herself had pointed out, two days ago, that I looked like the Crown Prince’s dead sister.
As I waited for Jieun to change into her uniform, I stared into a puddle of melted snow. My reflection rippled on the surface—or perhaps it was the reflection of Princess Hwahyup. Precise features within a powdered white face, a sharp contrast to the dark eyes fringed with midnight-black lashes, and hair the shade of a moonless night.
But what did it matter if I looked similar to Princess Hwahyup? What reason had I to be afraid of the Crown Prince? He had favored his seventh sister, so was this not a good thing? I’d heard once before that Princess Hwahyup had been the Crown Prince’s only true companion. For among all the king’s children, they were the most hated, and must have been companions in their shared misery.
After a moment’s hesitation, I shrugged off the physician’s advice to wait and instead picked up an empty tray from a nearby storage room, so as not to appear aimless as I wandered. This could be my only chance to ever lay eyes on the prince. And I wanted to see for myself:
Who was this prince everyone whispered about?
Was he a killer, or an innocent young man being framed?
I hurried out of the Royal Apothecary and made my way toward Lady Hyegyoung’s residence, facing the guardian mountain that loomed in the distance, a silent observer to whatever lay hidden within these walls. Once I slipped into the compound, I stopped next to a pillar to wait. Time passed slowly, and then I saw it, a flash of blue silk, a robe radiant with silver dragons.
The Crown Prince.
I kept as still as stone as I watched him, unable to blink or breathe, unable to look away. He was a handsome young man of fair complexion, a strong profile, and expressionless black eyes that absorbed the empty palace around him. He moved with the grace of a deer but was built like a military general. I tried to imagine him with a sword, slaying the Hyeminseo women, but instead I found myself conjuring myths about gods and immortals, stories handed down since the beginning of time.
I could almost understand why Commander Song dared not investigate, dared not disturb the seja-jeoha. As I stared at His Highness stride past me, his attendants streaming behind him, it was like watching a man who was the kingdom itself. No one else could compare to the length nor breadth nor height of his existence. He was our future.
Suddenly, a puppy scampered out from Lady Hyegyoung’s residence. The little ball of fur rolled through the slush, skidded across the dirt, then tumbled into His Highness’s robe with a yip.
The attendants froze. My back tensed as the Crown Prince crouched and reached out, and I half expected him to crush the creature for dirtying his hem. Instead, his expressionless black eyes turned gentle as he raised the pup before him, and he did not sneer upon receiving a slobbering lick across the mouth.
“It is cold out, Geon-ah.” His Highness’s deep and smooth voice coursed out like spring water. “You should return inside, little one.” He gestured at an attendant, then passed the pup over to her. “Bring him back to his mother.”
He then rose to his feet and disappeared through the gate. I felt a forceful tug of curiosity, a tug that drew me out of the compound. Surely the Crown Prince’s gentleness to animals meant he felt gentleness toward mankind as well …
Keeping several paces behind, I followed the prince and his string of attendants as he made his way further into the heart of Changdeok Palace. When they arrived before a large pavilion gate, I snuck up to the back of the line so that the guards let me through without a second glance.
Once inside, I finally lifted my head and glanced around. A long building—with rows of red pillars and jade green windows, and a roof that rippled like a black dragon with a green underbelly—wrapped around a square courtyard. A solemn quietude pervaded within the walled-in space. Then I saw the sign hanging below the eaves. My blood turned cold.
HUIJEONGDANG HALL. The office of the king.
You shouldn’t be here, a warning voice in my head hissed.
I glanced over my shoulder, and my gaze slammed into the guards who were watching me. I needed to leave now before I drew too much attention, yet my feet wouldn’t move. I realized that I was waiting for something to summon me deeper into the courtyard. I wanted, so very much, to know what whispers were uttered within the king’s office. Perhaps it was the center of all secrets. And perhaps I would know, once and for all, whether investigating this place and these people was a lost cause.
I took in a deep breath and tried to look composed.
I walked slowly, aimlessly, listening for a sign.
Two crows perched on the flared eave, their screeching caws filling the air. Pine trees creaked in the wind. Then I heard voices. I followed the sound to the back courtyard, where at least a dozen hanji-screened windows marched down the wall. There was a small hole punctured into one of them. A hole made by a spy? I peered in.
Inside knelt rows of scholars garbed in silk robes, heads bowed. The Crown Prince knelt among them. Across the room was the white-bearded king in his red dragon robe and black cap, sitting upon a low-legged platform. He sat isolated against a painted background of the sun and moon and the peaks of mountains. A painting that symbolized him: He was the sun, moon, and mountains.
“I read this when I was young, and I can still recite it.” The king held up a five-stitched book. “Yet you can’t even recite one line from it. That is why you can’t explicate it. If you want to understand, you must memorize.”
“I am not the son you wish me to be, and I am sorry for it.” The Crown Prince’s voice was even, toneless almost, and his face was blank. “I have also been too ill these days to study, abamama.”
King Yeongjo heaved out an impatient sigh, his gaze flicking over the scholars. “You always lie to me. You simply do not like to study.” His Majesty’s words were cutting—just like my own father’s, so similarly heavy with disappointment that my chest tightened and a flash of heat seared my back.
“You never seem too ill to play military games in the Forbidden Garden,” the king continued, “and like a child you spend the remainder of your time drawing.” He spat out the last word, then he gestured with his hand. “Bring it here!”
A flustered eunuch scurried over with a sheet of paper on a tray.
“While you avoided your lectures due to illness, it was brought to my attention that you instead used that time to paint. You—the future ruler over a suffering kingdom in need of a wise father—” His Majesty paused against a tight strain in his voice, his brows knitted over a distraught face. “You instead spend your time painting dogs?”
The king snatched up the paper and tore the painting down the center, the sharp rip sending goose bumps across my skin. Piece by piece, the painting turned into a shredded mess. The Crown Prince remained kneeling, his back stiff, the tips of his ears red.
“Get it out of my sight,” the king snarled.
The eunuch gathered the pieces and tossed them out the window. The wind blew a few pieces my way; I set down my tray and collected a handful, gingerly piecing the shreds together. As I did, His Majesty’s voice continued to ring in my ears.
“You are my son, yet you are nothing like me. I worked hard to be worthy of the throne, to become a good king to the people, yet you live so comfortably. Pampered like a mutt. You always dismiss your studies, unlike your own son, who wakes up at dawn and studies until late, right by my side, able to recite everything he learned without stumbling on his words like a fool. How are you less capable than a six-year-old? He would make a better king than you.”
Crown Prince Jangheon stayed quiet, his eyes rimmed with red like flames. Not a word of defense left his lips.
The king clucked his tongue, sharp—the sound of utter disdain.
“Confucian learning allows for one to grow in virtue and to cultivate human goodness.” A shadow of defeat sunk his features. “Yet you do not study the ways of Confucius, and therefore you do not grow in virtue. It is because you are not cultivating virtue that the heavens punish the people with this ongoing famine—”
“It is the anniversary of my birth, abamama,” the Crown Prince whispered.
Everyone tensed. I could feel their eyes widening, the blood draining from their faces, their pulses spiking until I could feel their dread pounding in my own chest.
“Every year on the day I was born,” the prince continued, his voice wavering, “you summon me here to rebuke me before your officials. I can never pass the day in peace. I am your son, y-yet…” He paused to calm himself. “Yet nothing I do ever pleases you. How can a father despise his only son so much?”
The king’s white beard trembled, outrage contorting his face. Reminded too much of Father, I snatched up my tray and bolted away. I left the shreds of paper where they lay, what was once a skilled watercolor illustration of a father dog, his back turned to his two pups clamoring for attention.
Once outside the compound, far away from the guards stationed by the gate, I heaved out a shuddering breath and closed my eyes.
Fathers were terrifying.
I knew how to keep my heart calm in the face of death and dying, screaming patients, and yet one sharp word from my father, and I turned into a fragile child. Before him, I never knew how to keep myself from crying—the type of crying that left me in a heap of violent shudders and gasped attempts to speak—no matter how much he resented the sight of it all.
I wanted so much to be accepted by him.
And I hated this feeling; I wished it to go away.
At last I arrived before the lattice-screened doors of Lady Hyegyoung’s chamber, my hair slightly disheveled, my uniform damp from sweat. Two court ladies slid the door open for me.
Hoping that she hadn’t noticed my prolonged absence, I knelt before Her Ladyship. She was dressed impeccably as always, sitting on a floor mat, her heavy silk skirt pooled around her. Her face was gaunt, tired, yet her expression was impassive.
“I hear you are an excellent reader of the pulse,” she said.
My mind scrambled to read between the lines of her words, trying to understand why she’d sent for me. I barely managed a reply. “I—I am honored to be considered as such.”
“Let me see for myself.” She lifted her arm, revealing her bare wrist, threaded with the faint blue of veins.
I took in a few quiet breaths, calming my bewilderment. Shuffling closer, I reached out, placing three fingers on her wrist to take her pulse. Chon, gwan, and cheok. Three different points that offered different threads of one story, the pulse like a language of its own.
I stayed in complete silence, bowed over her wrist, letting the sensitivity of my fingertips listen to the story of her pulse. Sometimes pulses were slippery, choppy, hesitant, or hollow. Reading her pulse was like listening to and deciphering a secret. And the longer I listened, the more I understood Her Ladyship. She was different from how she presented herself. She could lie to everyone, but her pulse could not. For a woman who was only three and twenty, her pulse was tight. She carried the pulse of a grief-stricken fifty-year-old with the propensity to worry, to be beaten daily down by waves of thoughts, the weight crushing.
I slowly removed my hand, and under the steady surveillance of her stare, I dared to present the truth. “You are filled with apprehension every day, my lady.” And I knew why. Seeing what had occurred between the king and the prince, I could hardly imagine how terrified Lady Hyegyoung must be whenever she met with her husband—surely she would be on the receiving end of the prince’s anger, his lashing out. “You feel besieged on all sides, and often feel so overwhelmed.”
As though I had touched a bruised spot, Lady Hyegyoung’s eyes watered, and a drop slid down her cheek before she quickly dashed it aside. Her face veiled, she asked, “Did you tell anyone that the prince was absent that night?”
A jolt ran through me. “Absolutely not, my lady.”
She watched me for a long time. “Do you think Nurse Jieun did?”
I shook my head fiercely. “No, my lady. We are too fearful of our lives to expose this.”
“I believe you.” She remained still, her lips pale. “Recently, one of my court ladies caught Madam Mun’s informant spying on the prince. Her name is Nurse Aram. Do you know her?”
“No, my lady,” I whispered. “She likely works on the days I am not at the palace.”
“I see.”
I waited, wringing my cold hands.
“Well, I questioned the spy—with a whip to her calves. And she confessed to me that Madam Mun is hunting for information about the Crown Prince’s whereabouts on the night of the massacre. I’m not sure how that Mun woman even came to suspect his disappearance.”
I bit my lower lip, then felt bold enough to ask, “Begging your pardon, my lady, but why do you think Madam Mun is so determined?”
Lady Hyegyoung expelled a tired sigh. “She is ever determined to defame the prince, to turn the king fully against his son. She is a greedy concubine determined to have His Majesty all for herself. The palace is full of her spies—Court Lady Ahnbi was one of her spies, too.”
A gasp escaped me.
Lady Hyegyoung massaged her temples, then she looked at me, her eyes sad. “You must be devastated about your mentor,” she said.
My head was still spinning from the intelligence she had just shared. Court Lady Ahnbi, a spy? But I recomposed myself and finally answered, “Yes, my lady. I know she is innocent.”
“Of course she is. Nurse Jeongsu is dear to my family. My youngest sister grew up motherless, dispirited and sickly. Nurse Jeongsu recommended that my sister learn how to read while young, convinced a healthy mind would lead to a healthy body. It proved to be true, and I came to respect her a great deal.”
I bowed my head, not knowing what to say.
“So, when I learned that two of Nurse Jeongsu’s students were to enter the palace, I summoned her and asked about you and Jieun. She praised you both, and especially you. She said you are like a crane among wolves.” She turned her gaze to the latticed window, and a look of determination furrowed her brows. “You are intelligent and strong-willed, and I’m sure you care for Nurse Jeongsu very much. I know you are looking into the murders.”
My stomach dropped, a free-falling sensation that left me light-headed. “My lady, I wouldn’t dare—”
“Madam Mun’s spy informed me of this as well. She said the madam recruited you to privately investigate.”
I shook my head and blurted, “I only agreed to it because I was already looking for answers. I had no intention of revealing anything important to her—”
“A crane among the wolves,” she said quietly. “I know that is what you are. You have no ill intent toward me. I only hope you will be as loyal to the Crown Prince.”
I dug my nails into my palm, hard. “Of course I will, my lady.” And I meant it, yet a question loomed over me: But what if he is the killer?
As if hearing my thoughts, she said, “I have heard the rumors. This anonymous handbill circulating, suggesting the Crown Prince is guilty of murder and should be convicted…”
A pause ensued. Trepidation prickled under my skin as I waited.
“But do you know, Nurse Hyeon? The anonymous writer does not know what he asks for. To convict the prince is to incriminate our entire family—along with our only son, the only grandchild of King Yeongjo. Neither a convict nor a convict’s son can inherit the throne. So there would be no heir. No future. A conviction would upheave this dynasty.” She reached out and touched my hand, and an overwhelming sensation expanded in my chest. “But I will not try to stop you.”
“Yeh?” I sounded breathless. She was a royal. She could order that I leap off a cliff, and I would have to do so.
“We are women,” she continued, “and nothing short of death stops us from doing precisely what we wish to do. That is what the laws and restrictions binding our lives breed: determination and cunning. The likes of you will not obey me. You will tell me that you intend to be as still as a rock, and yet I know you will dart from shadow to shadow like a fish.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Now, look at me. And listen carefully.”
I did so. My gaze lifted onto a pair of sincere eyes—so sincere that whatever she was about to say had to be the absolute truth.
“When Prince Jangheon returned to the palace that night, his robe was not tarnished. I saw no blood on him, not even a scratch. I need you to believe me. He is innocent, Nurse Hyeon.”
A sigh almost escaped me. He’d had no blood on him, which was impossible if he had indeed been the killer. I had seen the messy wounds, the flesh lining one victim’s nails, the clump of hair in another’s hand. The killer would have borne obvious marks of violence. The prince was indeed innocent.
“You may come speak to me whenever you need, Nurse Hyeon. And in the meanwhile, do all you can to save Nurse Jeongsu; she is a good woman in need of a good friend. All I ask is that you do so without disturbing four hundred years of history.”