Chapter 5
“Do you remember, Baek I-han? When we were kids, some Taoist masters came to Seochang. They showed all kinds of miraculous magic and stuff.”
It had already been more than five years. I-han frowned.
“I remember… but why?”
“Do you remember how, back then, when they set fire to a stone tablet, words suddenly appeared?”
I-han shook his head.
Right, you’re not the type to waste your brain on useless things. Back then, he had scolded me for wasting time on such spectacles.
Idam, however, continued speaking without care.
“I thought it was amazing. So I wondered how it worked, and I kind of figured out the principle.”
“The principle?”
Ra-yeon asked incredulously.
If he had said Baek I-han figured it out, she would have looked pleased. But her expression said she didn’t trust her own brain. Still, he didn’t feel slighted.
“Do you know about pyrite?”
Unlike his puzzled sister, I-han seemed to know.
“Like the kind you use as a fire starter?”
“Exactly. Pyrite is normally a pale gold color, right? But when it burns, it turns a deep brown. And the Taoist’s tablet was pale gold, too. If you write on it with pyrite powder from a little distance, you can’t see it. Then, when fire touches it, only the writing turns brown.”
Ra-yeon repeated Idam’s explanation to herself.
“So you pre-write the letters on the wall with pyrite and wait for it to burn?”
“Exactly! The newly built shrine is made of wood, so it would burn away quickly….”
“The oldest shrine is made of stone, so it can withstand fire longer.”
“In that case, we could even do it in front of people.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
As if refusing to give up credit, Idam shot his cousin a sharp look. I-han just shrugged.
“I think we could use charcoal. That way, the fire spreads more slowly. If we’re at the scene when it catches, it might look suspicious.”
These kids accepted this outrageously blasphemous plan to burn a shrine as if it were nothing. They were even thinking together about how to pull it off successfully.
How could they be like this? What was I supposed to say?
Ra-yeon smiled faintly.
“Let’s practice once. If it doesn’t go as planned, we’ll need a backup plan.”
No backup plan was needed. Everything went according to plan.
They mixed pyrite with water and wrote the letters. In each shrine, they set fire with charcoal and then poured coal and oil to encourage larger flames.
“It’ll be magnificent once it’s all burned.”
I-han had a natural talent, as if he had done this before.
“It’s a disaster! The shrine is on fire!”
Idam’s acting skills played a role. Villagers rushed over at the sound of his panicked voice.
Once it was over, Ra-yeon decided she would properly praise him. She would praise him a little more than I-han.
“Good heavens, the shrine is completely burning…”
This was the place where people offered sacrifices to the gods of heaven and earth. That sacred place was burning. The villagers’ murmurs were unusually loud.
“What’s going on?”
“Have the gods of heaven and earth grown angry? Did we complain that we couldn’t offer tributes…?”
“Aren’t we all going to be punished?”
This reaction wasn’t right. Ra-yeon signaled Idam, who lightly tapped a man nearby.
“What is that?”
The man, following the pointing finger, looked and gasped.
“What’s that? Words… they’re appearing!”
On the oldest shrine, as planned, brown letters appeared:
*“The people’s cries split the heavens,
Their tears flow as rivers.
Do not use heaven as an excuse to bring further suffering.
Heaven already knows their pain.”*
“The gods…”
A villager woman slumped to her knees, muttering in awe.
“The gods of heaven and earth know our hardships. So they burned the shrine for us… for us…”
Others bowed their heads in the same way. Idam subtly bent his body, and Ra-yeon pulled I-han down to kneel with them.
“Thank you, gods of heaven and earth.”
Exclamations spread here and there.
“Thank you, gods of heaven and earth,” Ra-yeon murmured quietly. They would never know it was actually her—the god—who had done it. She felt a small twinge of regret.
The emperor tapped the armrest of his throne.
His moderately oval face and sharp jawline gave him an unexpectedly manly aura. Contrary to rumors that the Jang family had picked him up from obscurity, he carried a certain dignity.
“Is today’s agenda finished here?”
But his expression was full of boredom.
He always wondered if he had to attend these meetings every day. More than four years had passed since he ascended the throne. Yet nothing had changed since he first became emperor: officials still treated him like a puppet.
Was his presence truly necessary? If so, shouldn’t they at least pretend to listen? He couldn’t help but feel frustrated.
“There is one more matter.”
“What is it?”
“There are rumors of inauspicious events in Seochang that I wish to report.”
Boring, boring, boring.
What could an “inauspicious event” be? Probably a two-headed chicken being born, or fish dying en masse in the river. Then they’d blame the emperor for being unvirtuous.
The country was run by the Jang family, after all.
“What is the matter?”
“The shrines in Seochang burned down all at once.”
Whether the official understood the emperor’s mood or not, he replied calmly.
Let’s see who committed arson. Perhaps out of exhaustion from offering tributes endlessly. Exhausted to the point of breaking.
“It’s autumn. It’s dry, so a fire could happen naturally.”
He replied nonchalantly, as if to say there was no need for a fuss. The official shook his head at such calmness.
“It wouldn’t be an issue if they just burned. But that’s not all. Words suddenly appeared on the walls of the shrines as they burned.”
The emperor, who had been brushing his face with his palm, froze.
“Words? What words?”
“Your humble servant will report, though it may seem presumptuous. ‘The people’s cries split the heavens, their tears flow as rivers. Do not use heaven as an excuse to bring further suffering. Heaven already knows their pain….’ That is all.”
The emperor repeated the sentence to himself. Beautiful words, almost poetic. But he shouldn’t be admiring them.
He questioned as usual:
“Who is the governor of Seochang now?”
“Jang Min-heon.”
“Jang Min-heon?”
Wiping his mouth absentmindedly, the emperor suppressed a smile. He had to hold back, not speak.
“Why didn’t you just behave moderately?”
Ah, he shouldn’t have said that. Naturally, the words slipped out. He knew the complaints would swarm him like bees.
“Your Majesty, what do you mean? The full story is not yet known. If you blame the officials, who will dare to act? Please consider this carefully.”
Now they pretend to lay down their lives for me.
“‘To criticize without knowing right from wrong is like throwing a stone into calm water: the ripples spread far and wide.’ Before you blame the governor of Seochang, please judge after understanding the facts.”
“Ha, really.”
He chuckled bitterly. No, he must stop here. He should apologize for the slip and consult his officials.
“The ministers must have forgotten where I came from before I ascended. Do they not know how much pain these shrines cause the people, how corrupt local officials exploit the people under the pretense of shrines? Did they think I would not know?”
He couldn’t hold back and blurted it out.
The officials exchanged nervous glances at the sudden outburst.
“Judge rightly? Fine. Let’s see how much the governor of Seochang has enriched himself using the shrines, how much that heaven itself had to burn the shrines to punish him! Shall we investigate?”
Tomorrow, endless petitions would flood in.
How could he not trust his officials? A minister’s merit is the emperor’s merit; their faults are the emperor’s faults. Yet he blames them… a foolhardy stance.
The emperor knew why the Jang family raised scholars: to restrain him with petitions. He called these scholars hunting dogs, mocking the fact that he himself was the prey.
“Your Majesty.”
A clear voice rang in the assembly hall. The emperor raised his head.
It was Jang Ye-heon.
His tidy appearance and strikingly black hair complemented his flawless white skin. The subtly lustrous blue silk robe enhanced his elegant and neat appearance.
Even in this situation, the emperor could not deny Ye-heon’s handsome features.
“Your Majesty, your concern is well-founded. Who can deny that shrines are used by local officials to fatten themselves? Moreover, Your Majesty’s care for the people is truly admirable to the gods.”
Ye-heon’s deep eyes lowered gently. His soft smile had something that quietly melted hearts.
“However, Your Majesty is the Son of Heaven. As the Son of Heaven, you rule the world on behalf of the will of heaven. If the gods issue a decree without the Son of Heaven…”
“…If the gods issue a decree without the Son of Heaven, it would undermine the natural order. That is why they act through you, Your Majesty.”
The emperor’s gaze softened slightly. Even in the midst of these tense reports, he could not help but appreciate the wisdom and eloquence of Ye-heon.
“The gods acted not to punish, but to guide,” Ye-heon continued, his voice calm yet firm. “By revealing the words on the shrine, they made clear that the people’s suffering is seen by heaven. It is a warning to the governors, and a lesson for all who would exploit the people under divine pretense.”
The emperor nodded slowly, absorbing the meaning behind the message. His mind traced back to the shrines and the villagers kneeling, muttering their thanks to the gods of heaven and earth—never realizing that the “miracle” had been orchestrated by the clever children of Seochang.
“Indeed,” the emperor said, his voice carrying both authority and a rare note of amusement. “If even heaven itself must intervene to show the people’s suffering, then what of the officials who are supposed to govern justly?”
A faint murmur ran through the council chamber, as the ministers shifted uncomfortably in their seats. They knew well the emperor’s reputation for both strict justice and sudden outbursts. None dared answer immediately.
Ye-heon bowed slightly, his expression serious. “Your Majesty, this is why oversight is crucial. The governor of Seochang must be held accountable. The people suffer not due to fate, but because of human negligence and greed. Let this incident remind all governors that the gods themselves watch their deeds through the Son of Heaven.”
The emperor leaned back, exhaling slowly. For a moment, he allowed himself a quiet smile. Even though the children of Seochang had caused the fire, the result had been a lesson in divine justice—and an opportunity to remind officials of their duties.
“Very well,” the emperor said finally. “Let the governor of Seochang be investigated. Let this incident be recorded in the annals as a warning: exploitation of the people under divine pretense will not be tolerated.”
The ministers quickly began taking notes, bowing low as they scrambled to convey the emperor’s orders to all regions.
As for Ra-yeon, Idam, and I-han, they remained unaware of the full consequences of their clever scheme. To them, it had been a daring, playful act—an experiment in fire and illusion. Yet in the end, their actions had resonated far beyond the walls of Seochang, reaching the throne itself.
The emperor, meanwhile, tapped his throne again, a quiet laugh escaping his lips. The words on the shrine, the fear and awe of the villagers, the lessons delivered without a single official daring to defy him—all of it reminded him that even small, unexpected events could ripple through an entire kingdom.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered faintly about the children who had made the “gods” speak. Perhaps one day, he might meet them. But for now, he smiled quietly, content that justice—divine or otherwise—had been served.
