Chapter 13
The Strongest One’s Duty
The Grand Queen Dowager thought of Yi-un’s late mother, her first daughter-in-law—a woman of gentle heart and keen wisdom. Her natural grace had charmed not only the king and royal family but also the palace maids and eunuchs alike.
But beauty often walks hand-in-hand with tragedy. When Yi-un was eight, his mother fell ill and passed away. Afterward, the current queen entered the palace, backed by the powerful Andong Kim clan.
When that queen bore a son, the Andong Kims swayed officials and scholars alike to have her child named crown prince.
The Grand Dowager still regretted it.
If Yi-un had wished it, he could have resisted. She herself had her own family and close ministers, not as strong as the queen’s faction, but far from weak. Yet Yi-un showed no desire for the throne, and that alone had stayed the Dowager’s hand.
A king’s son must seize the sword of power first and wield it, or its edge will one day turn against him. Without endless ambition and struggle, he is devoured.
“I still lament that I could not place you in the Crown Prince’s Palace,” she said. “I have no face to show your mother in the afterlife.”
“The Crown Prince resides there now, Grandmother,” Yi-un replied quickly, bowing.
“So little greed… truly the child of your mother.” She clicked her tongue with regret.
Even now, if Yi-un showed resolve, she would gladly overturn the board. The current crown prince was weak; if he became king, the Andong Kim clan would own the nation. Then her own power would fade, the title of Grand Dowager in name only.
But Yi-un said, “His Highness the Crown Prince is already known for his wisdom and generosity. He will be a virtuous ruler.”
“I understand,” she sighed. “Still, I worry. From now on, do not go out in disguise.”
Her grandson, who had lost his mother so young, was the one she cherished most in this intrigue-filled palace.
“Grandmother, painting is the breath of my life,” he said.
“I’m not forbidding painting,” she answered, though the word “breath” pricked her heart.
“I am happiest when I see, feel, and paint the living lives of the common folk.”
“More important than your grandmother?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
“Of course not. Nothing is more important to me than you.”
Her stern look softened.
Yi-un often wondered about her own heart. Brought to the palace at twelve and made queen, she held the greatest power a woman could—but lived cut off from the world. Sometimes she would confess her stifling loneliness to him. Surely she understood him.
“As a grand prince, I have kept my conduct proper. Is there more you wish to say?” His eyes shone.
“You read my thoughts well,” she said with a wistful frown.
He faced her boldly yet knew how to please her, a rare mix of keen wit and steadfast dignity.
Truly, the throne ought to be yours… she thought.
“You’ve heard that the Vice-Minister of Justice was murdered by an assassin two weeks ago?”
Kim Du-ryeom had been killed in a courtesan’s house, where he spent his nights. The authorities still had no culprit.
“Do not worry. I have no reason to linger in such places,” Yi-un replied.
“When waves rise, one can be swept away unawares. If you must leave the palace, take a bodyguard.”
Now Yi-un grasped her intent: not to forbid his outings but to set a watch on him.
“A bodyguard, Grandmother… that is difficult.”
The thought of someone shadowing and reporting every move made him bristle.
“Do not refuse. Take the eunuch Choi Gang-ja.”
At that name Yi-un shut his eyes. Choi was her right hand, a eunuch of extraordinary talents—over six feet tall, loud-voiced, a furnace of strength. He had become a eunuch only to survive, but he looked more like a born strongman.
“Grandmother, he is your personal messenger and royal guard. How could I use him for myself?”
“Indeed?” She smiled meaningfully.
“If not him,” she continued, “shall I assign thirty guards from the Royal Martial Office instead? Choi’s skill alone is enough for my peace of mind, but if you dislike him, thirty men should suffice.”
“I will obey,” Yi-un conceded with a sigh.
Leaving the Dowager’s quarters, Yi-un was greeted by a man whose strength and presence seemed to lift mountains and shake the world.
“Grand Prince, I pay my respects,” said Eunuch Choi Gang-ja.
Yi-un glanced at him and strode quickly across the courtyard.
“Your Highness, is something troubling you?” Choi hurried after him.
“You need not follow me everywhere inside the palace,” Yi-un said.
“Assassins lurk everywhere, Highness,” Choi replied.
“I hoped it wouldn’t be you.”
“Pardon?”
“Choi Gang-ja, you are too much!”
“Did the Grand Dowager say you dislike my escort?” Choi asked, displeased.
“I do. Very much.”
“How can you say that after all these years we’ve known each other?”
Yi-un exhaled in a long, musical sigh and turned.
“Gang-ja, do you think I’ve forgotten? As children we hunted tigers in the Changdeok Palace gardens, scraped our knees, snuck into the dessert kitchen for sweets, even stole ribs from the royal kitchen. Once you dragged me into the trainee-maids’ quarters and we were caught and punished!”
“That—well, I was just curious what it was like,” Choi muttered.
“You could have gone alone. Why pull me along?”
“Haha, all childhood memories, Your Highness.”
“I told you then and I’ll say it again: quit being a eunuch and become a mountain bandit. It suits you.”
“My life is devoted to justice, Highness.”
“Then go to China and be a martial-arts hero like the ones in their stories,” Yi-un teased.
Usually calm and cautious, Yi-un was different with Choi. Having lost his mother and grown up in lonely vigilance, he trusted no one—except his grandmother and this eunuch who had been given to him as a companion since childhood.
Yi-un eyed Choi’s broad frame. “You’ve grown even bigger.”
“I’ve taken to exercise,” Choi said, puffing out his chest.
“Enough. You’re hardly eunuch-like.”
“Must a eunuch be frail, Your Highness?”
“Why so defensive?”
“A eunuch must be strong to protect royalty in a crisis!”
“Are you boasting of your martial skills?”
“Not boasting, just saying this body is for your service.”
“Still, you go too far.”
“No more arguments. From now on I won’t leave your side.”
Yi-un shook his head, then spoke in a low, firm tone. “Then promise me something.”
“Name it.”
“You serve as my grandmother’s eyes and ears. I’m sure she ordered you to report everything. But you will keep silent.”
Choi hesitated, then bowed. “I will hold my tongue.”
Yi-un started walking again. “Good. I’m counting on you.”
“Have no fear,” Choi answered, following close.
They stopped before the Crown Prince’s Palace, where Yi-un’s half-brother resided. Lights glowed beyond the tiled walls.
He works hard. Good. Careful, though—one misstep and you’ll fall, Yi-un thought.
“Choi Gang-ja,” he said.
“Yes, Your Highness?”
“From now on, when strangers are near, don’t call me ‘Grand Prince.’”
“Ah—my apologies.”
Outside the palace, that title alone could be dangerous. Choi silently berated himself.
“And one more thing.”
“Your command?”
“There’s a silk scroll I lost at the Songpa Market. It bears my mother’s portrait. Find it.”
“I will investigate.”
“And another matter.”
“Yes?”
“There’s a woman working at the vegetable stall in Songpa Market—Jo Mi-yu, about my age.”
Choi looked surprised. Yi-un had never shown interest in a woman before.
“Surely not… a romantic interest?”
“More likely a spy,” Yi-un said quietly.
“A spy?” Choi scanned the surroundings, alarmed.
“I’m not certain. But she is too unusual to be a Joseon woman. Habits can’t be faked; though she looks Korean, she was not raised here.”
Years of watching masked relatives, ministers, and courtiers—and observing people while sketching the city—had sharpened Yi-un’s eye.
Jo Mi-yu was different.
What was her true identity?
At first he thought the queen or the Andong Kims might have planted her, but it seemed too elaborate. Perhaps she came from Japan—or Qing China.
No ordinary woman would approach both a magistrate and a wealthy translator without hesitation. And if she already knew who he really was…
What did she want?
As the moon slid behind clouds, Yi-un’s heart grew dark with the same shadow.
