Episode 5
Those Who Wait, and Those Who Break
Sohwa clearly remembered the Taoist priests saying it.
“The Third Prince and his bodyguard are missing.”
The bodyguard assigned to the Third Prince was her younger brother, Ji-seok. From the Taoists’ frantic search, it was obvious—he had escaped successfully, together with the prince.
So he lived… didn’t he?
Then another thought struck her.
What about Ju-an?
Her fiancé. Her secret lover.
They had executed every noble man they could lay hands on. Ju-an wasn’t merely a noble—he was royalty. A Jin prince. If anyone was marked for extermination, it would be him.
Yet Sohwa clung to hope.
He had to be alive. He had to be.
“Mother…” she whispered, forcing calm into her voice. “Ji-seok will come. Ju-an will come too.”
She repeated her father’s words like a prayer.
“A woman follows her father before marriage, her husband after marriage, and her son after her husband’s death. If there is no father, a brother protects you. If there is no brother, a husband. And if there is no husband, a son…”
“So women live like flowers,” her father had always said.
“They will come,” Sohwa insisted. “My brother will come. Ju-an will come and save us.”
Her fingers closed around the necklace hanging at her chest.
The firefly pendant.
Her father had given it to her on her eighteenth birthday—a treasured charm she had never removed. Whenever fear threatened to overwhelm her, holding it made her feel as though her father were still beside her.
But—
Her hand closed around nothing.
The pendant was gone.
No matter how desperately she searched, the firefly was nowhere to be found. Had she lost it during the chaos? When? Where?
Her father’s voice echoed in her memory.
“Use it sparingly. And when a noble person appears in your life, give it to them.”
“A noble person?” she had asked.
“Yes. It is tradition. The first firefly is given to one.”
“Then… if someone is precious to you, someone you love… should I give it to Ju-an?”
He had laughed.
“A lover may be a noble person—but not always. A true noble is the one you are most grateful to in your life.”
The memory stabbed her heart.
Was this a warning? That I would never meet such a person…?
“No,” she whispered fiercely. “They’ll come. Ji-seok will come. Ju-an will come.”
She clenched the empty chain in her fist, imagining them storming through the prison gates, cutting down the Taoists, rescuing her and her mother.
Morning came.
No one came.
At dawn, the Taoists tossed a single bottle of water into each cell.
More than ten people were crammed into one space. The water was nowhere near enough. Having gone without food since the previous day, desperation turned people into beasts. They lunged forward like starving dogs, eyes glazed, clawing for survival.
Sohwa barely managed to get a sip for her mother.
She herself tasted only a single drop.
“Move. Follow us.”
They were lined up and dragged away. Whispers spread through the crowd like poison.
“The women will become sex slaves.”
“The men will be worked to death.”
“I heard Taoists eat children…”
“Everyone ends up in Hannya…”
Not one hopeful rumor. Only horror.
If this was fate, then perhaps the dead were the fortunate ones.
“Be grateful,” a Taoist said coldly. “Some of you were sent to Hannya. You remain in Yeonang by His Majesty’s grace.”
The place they were taken to was Sari Village, on the outskirts of the city.
Sohwa recognized it immediately.
The Sari people who once lived there had long since fled. Empty huts and abandoned tents were all that remained.
“From now on, you will live here and work for the Kingdom of Doya.”
Their tasks were endless—repairing broken walls and bridges, remodeling the palace to suit Doya’s aesthetics, tearing down statues of Muyeon and erecting massive stone idols of Yeondogyo in their place.
“When the work is done, you’ll be free,” the Taoist announced. “If you don’t wish to work, we won’t force you. But those who don’t work receive no food. One meal per day. Only for those who earn it.”
A man hesitated before speaking.
“But… there are people who are old or sick. They want to work but can’t…”
Beside him stood an elderly woman, frail and trembling.
The Taoist chuckled.
“Yes. There are such people.”
“Then… what should we do with them?”
“Kill them.”
Silence fell like ice water.
“We are merciful,” the Taoist continued calmly. “We do not rape helpless women, separate children from parents, or harm the elderly. We merely grant you the authority to decide who deserves to live.”
“If you wish to feed useless mouths, go ahead. But someone else will starve.”
After he left, the people cursed him under their breath. Yet relief spread among them—relief that children and women would not be immediately harmed.
Sohwa felt it too.
She did not yet understand the horror of being cornered and handed the power of life and death.
All non-Taoists were reduced to slaves, regardless of status.
Some servants abandoned their masters. Others remained—out of loyalty, affection, or simple habit.
The Mun family’s servants stayed.
“Madam, we’ll work and bring you food. Please stay here and don’t move.”
They left Sohwa and Lady Baekhwa behind.
But the Taoists counted workers precisely. One meal only. Resentment festered quickly.
Why should slaves starve for nobles now that all were equal in misery?
Six days passed.
Then ten.
After fourteen days, Sohwa stood up.
Her mother lay bedridden, weak and broken. But Sohwa could still move.
Ignoring Kkotbun and Pandong’s pleas, she joined the workers—breaking stones, hauling rubble, earning what was called food wages.
“Good,” a slave muttered. “That’s another spoonful of rice.”
Approval followed.
But those who could not earn their keep met horrific ends.
A son strangled his sick mother.
A mother suffocated her crying child.
A banished noblewoman was raped and murdered in the dark.
Power twisted desperation into monstrosity.
“I’ll protect you,” Pandong said each time. “I’ll beat all the bad people.”
Once, he had called them “bad Doya people.”
Now they were “bad Muyeon people.”
Sohwa did not correct him.
She hated them.
Perhaps this had been the Taoists’ goal—to turn Muyeon against itself. To redirect hatred inward.
Even knowing that, Sohwa could not stop herself.
Every night, she clutched the empty necklace and prayed.
Ji-seok… please come.
Ju-an… please come.
Please… come before hatred consumes us all.
