“Wake up. The sun is already high!”
Ha-hyeon, who had been employing sleep as a remedy to clear his hangover, stirred awake at Wol’s voice.
“Just a little longer.”
When Ha-hyeon refused to get up and held his ground, she moved on to shaking him.
“You can’t. Get up, quickly. There’s a mountain of things to prepare.”
From such a small frame — how could she produce such strength — Wol grabbed Ha-hyeon’s arm as he lay there and forcibly sat him upright. A wet cloth dropped down over his slowly blinking eyes.
“I’m genuinely suffering. I drank too much yesterday. There are still two whole days before His Majesty arrives — why are you in such a rush?”
“Get up and carve this first.”
Wol handed over a block of wood about the size of a forearm and a sheet of paper with a drawing on it. Ha-hyeon squinted and looked over the sketch Wol had pushed toward him. A blunt, rounded head and a long cylindrical body. It looked exactly like a massage wand or a pestle.
“You want me to carve this?”
“Yes. You have the skill for it, don’t you?”
“Of course. But — if I carve it like this, will it fetch more money?”
“Money won’t be the only thing.”
Looking at the wood she had brought, it was the firewood gifted by the Emperor. Specifically, the pieces with the smoothest grain and finest color.
Sa Ha-hyeon assumed that Wol — dead serious about financial management — wasn’t planning to sell the firewood as is, but rather wanted to turn it into laundry bats or crafts to make more money. Since the money earned would go toward feeding both of them anyway, there was no reason not to cooperate.
If the income was decent enough, it might not be a bad idea to use that money to help Wol find a way out of the palace on her own, at the very least.
“Just tell me how many you need.”
“The number isn’t what matters. So put your heart and soul into the carving.”
“You sound like a master craftsman.”
Ha-hyeon grumbled but picked up the carving knife anyway. Who would have thought that the woodworking skills he had learned to make a living would find use in a place like this.
Scrape, scrape. The sound of wood being shaved filled the quiet room. As tends to happen with any physical labor involving the hands and body, the more he focused, the more the stray thoughts drifting through his head faded away. Ha-hyeon forgot to drink water and forgot to eat, absorbed entirely in his carving. By the time the short winter sun disappeared behind the mountains, the first piece was complete.
“Done. Wol-ah, look at this. This should fetch a good price, don’t you think?”
At Ha-hyeon’s words, Wol — who had been working in the kitchen — came rushing into the room in one breath. She covered her mouth with her hand and spoke in an moved voice.
“Your craftsmanship is truly remarkable. So lifelike it’s almost embarrassing….”
“Amazing, isn’t it? Aren’t you impressed? Aren’t you just bursting with pride? Should I make more? If we sell these, we can afford meat side dishes. But do people actually use these? Isn’t it a bit small for doing laundry?”
“Meat side dishes are the least of it. Never mind the size. Can you carve more?”
“Of course. I actually found it fun once I started.”
Before Ha-hyeon even finished his sentence, Wol brought three more blocks of wood.
“Make three more, please. And since you’re making more anyway, it would be nice to make each one a little different.”
Wol dashed off three more drawings in quick succession. They were all roughly the same basic shape, but one was half a hand-span longer, another had its tip curved to the right, and yet another curved to the left. One in particular had a head shaped into a triangular form, like a mushroom.
Whether this was the style of Seoran or the style of the Daehyeon Empire, he had no idea — but regardless, all he could hope was that it would bring in a lot of money.
Sa Ha-hyeon didn’t set down the knife until he fell asleep. The next day too, the moment he opened his eyes, he devoted himself entirely to carving wooden rods — save for eating and washing. His palms were blistering and toughening with calluses, but he didn’t stop. There was the satisfaction of contributing to the household economy, but more than anything, it was genuinely fun.
While Ha-hyeon was turning into an old woodcarver, Wol too was frantically busy. She took up a broom and a rag and scrubbed every corner of the old hall, again and again. That wasn’t all. She cleaned the bathroom — long neglected and thick with cold air — lit the furnace, and kept a great iron cauldron continuously boiling with water.
“Things done at night always require a great deal of hot water, you see.”
Wol made cryptic remarks and kept moving without a moment’s rest.
How much time had passed. The quiet outside the main gate suddenly erupted into noise, and eunuchs and palace servants came pouring in. They brought a towering stack of silk bundles and fine furnishings in a long procession — Ha-hyeon caught enough to understand it was to redecorate the room where His Majesty would be staying. They seemed intent on transforming this run-down, abandoned palace into an imperial bedchamber in a single night.
“Oh my goodness. Jaein!”
Wol, who had been in the kitchen, came flying into the room in a panic. She snatched the carved piece from Ha-hyeon’s hands and swept up all the finished works scattered across the floor, hiding them all within the folds of her skirt.
“Hmm? What’s wrong?”
“Shh. It’ll be a problem if they find out.”
At Wol’s grave expression, Sa Ha-hyeon nodded. Right — strictly speaking, wasn’t this embezzlement? Fortunately, no one appeared to have caught on to Ha-hyeon and Wol’s underhanded scheme.
A storm blew through and passed. When all those who had been as busy as a swarm of ants had disappeared, quiet returned. The last eunuch to exit through the gate called Wol over. He pulled a bundle wrapped in silk cloth from inside his robe and handed it to her with a few quiet words of instruction. Wol received it with a grave expression. What had they talked about? The moment the eunuch left, Ha-hyeon walked over to Wol and asked.
“What is that? It’s not food, is it?”
“……It’s a scent His Majesty is fond of, apparently. He sent word to burn it in the room beforehand.”
“Right. It’s tomorrow, isn’t it. He said he was coming tomorrow.”
The reality he had been trying so hard to ignore — by throwing himself into carving — was now closing around his throat. Is he really coming tomorrow? What if he changes his mind? If only something urgent would come up. Using alcohol as a dodge already worked once, so I can’t use that trick again….
At this point, maybe I should survive day by day like Scheherazade — spinning out outrageous stories that never reach an end. If I take the most melodramatic plots this world has never seen and serve them up in just the right way, even a heartless tyrant emperor would have no choice but to let me live.
Then, all of a sudden, the Emperor’s words flashed through his mind.
“Oh, right. Wol-ah — does the princess happen to have a red birthmark below her navel? He said it was about the size of a fingernail.”
“Pardon? How did you come to know of that….”
The eyes of ever-steadfast Wol instantly brimmed with tears. It was surely the thought of her true mistress, left behind in Seoran, that made her heart ache. Ha-hyeon hesitated, wondering whether he should pat Wol on the back at least, and reached out an awkward arm. But Wol was a strong woman at her core — rather than leaning on Ha-hyeon and shedding tears, she raised her head and stared hard at the ceiling beam. Once she had blinked all the tears away, Wol spoke in a composed tone.
“Not quite the size of a fingernail. Hmm….”
Searching for the right words, Wol pointed a finger at the rounded tip of the wooden rod Ha-hyeon was holding.
“There’s a red birthmark about exactly this size. I don’t know why — she was born with it. But how does His Majesty know of it? Even within the royal palace, there were very few who knew.”
“I have no idea either.”
“If the area below the navel is ever exposed, it’s over right there. You must keep that in mind. If you cannot win His Majesty’s favor by some other means, that’s the end.”
“Don’t worry. Wol-ah, I’ll improvise and get through tomorrow somehow, one way or another.”
“No. Ha-hyeon, not improvisation.”
“No, stop worrying and get some rest. Sleep is the best medicine at times like this. You need a clear head. Save tomorrow’s worries for tomorrow — let’s just sleep for now. If I manage to get through tomorrow and more gifts come down, take them, make yourself travel funds. And then leave this place without looking back.”
At Sa Ha-hyeon’s suggestion, Wol’s eyes wavered for a moment. But she soon shook her head.
“No. Though you may be a false princess, you are the one who took upon yourself the humiliation that my true mistress would have had to endure. I cannot seek my own survival while leaving my benefactor in mortal danger. I will serve you to the end.”
“Come on, I’m literally giving you a way out.”
“It’s late. Please rest now, for tomorrow’s sake.”
And so the two of them returned to their separate rooms. A long, long night was coming — one that might perhaps be their last in this world.
***
The next day dawned. No sooner had Wol set down the breakfast table than she said there were things to prepare and went back outside. Ha-hyeon sat quietly staring at the food, then reached out and picked up the wooden rod lying beside him.
He had said the birthmark below the princess’s navel was exactly the size of the tip of this rod. Drawing a red dot with a brush would look more obvious — leaving an actual bruise mark that couldn’t be wiped away would look more natural. There would be no risk of it rubbing off either.
There was no one else in the room. Ha-hyeon pulled his trousers down without hesitation. A pale, lean stomach was exposed. He leaned his back at an angle against the wall and sat, lifting both legs to ninety degrees and spreading them slightly to find a comfortable position.
Then he gauged a spot roughly half a hand-span below the navel, pressed the tip of the wooden rod against the bare skin, and pushed down steadily.
“Should I press harder?”
Perhaps because it was a soft, tender area — it hurt far more than he expected. Still, he’d need to apply quite a bit of force to leave a bruise. Ha-hyeon furrowed his brow, gripped the rod with both hands, and pressed it firmly into his lower abdomen again and again.
Damn. This hurts like hell…. Maybe I should just use paint. Ngh.
Pained sounds leaked through his teeth against his will. But if he wanted to produce a convincing bruise, he had to endure it. Holding onto that thought alone, Ha-hyeon — face flushed red — squirmed and twisted with the thick wooden rod pushed between his legs.
He was deep in concentration, working on leaving a bruise mark below his navel, when the sound of creaking hinges reached him. Ha-hyeon naturally assumed it was Wol.
“Wol-ah, now that my head is clear I thought about it and I think this is the better way. But God… it really hurts.”
But the reply that came back was not Wol’s voice. A low, heavy, faintly chilling male voice drove straight into the side of his head.
“Jaein. What exactly are you doing so early in the morning?”
Sa Ha-hyeon’s movements stopped dead, as if someone had pressed a pause button. His heart dropped to the floor. Slowly — very slowly — he turned his head, and an impossible reality came into view.
The person standing there was not Wol.
It was the Emperor, Wei Wuyuan.
His gaze had moved past Ha-hyeon’s scrunched face, past the spread of his legs, and had come to rest — fixed — on the obscene wooden rod lodged between them.
