The Night of Japan, The Beginning of the Record

Name: Fujiwara (58)

Occupation: ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Exclusive attendant to Hwawon Doyun (by order of the Daikan)

Specialty: Street smarts, Korean language proficiency (Intermediate)

After checking the System window next to Fujiwara, I finally understood the nature of our relationship. He was my subordinate, a servant bound to absolute obedience.

"I understand. Fujiwara-san... please wait for a moment."

I closed the door and let out a long, held-back breath. Once I grasped the situation, my frozen brain began to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠race. "I really did end up in the Edo period..."

The Joseon Tongsinsa. I had become a member of that very procession I’d only read about in history books, dropped into the heart of Japan as a Hwawon—a royal painter.

I gripped the brush in question, which lay on the table. The moment I touched it, a stinging electric current surged through my fingertips, and a soft blue light emanated from the center of the brush. Then, the System window appeared once more.

The following message explained the full extent of this absurd situation. Seomun Jin, a royal painter who had joined the Tongsinsa procession under a secret royal order to observe and record every facet of Japan's 'sexuality,' had died suddenly. His resentful spirit and the King's command had been sealed within this brush, waiting for hundreds of years for a Korean hand to claim it.

"Learn and record Japan's sexuality, huh..." Just as I was about to stifle a hollow laugh at the absurdity, the blue text of the System window flickered into a blood-red color, and a warning alarm blared.

"... ... !"

My breath hitched. Refusing the mission meant death? And I could only return to my own time if I completed it? My head throbbed as if it were splitting. This wasn't a prank or a hidden camera show. The word 'vanish' flashing before my eyes triggered a primal fear. If I wanted to live, and if I wanted to go home, I had to shut up and complete this ridiculous royal command.

Just then, cautious footsteps crunched beyond the thin paper sliding door.

"Hwawon-nim, may I bring in the breakfast tray?" It was Fujiwara. From now on, I couldn't afford to act strangely out of panic or let it slip that I was from the future. This was the Edo period, where a single sword stroke could end a life as easily as swatting a fly. To survive, I had to thoroughly melt into the role of a 'Joseon Hwawon' of this era.

'Stay calm. If I get caught, the mission and everything else is over. Just play along with the situation. As naturally as possible...'

I hurriedly shoved the brush deep into my robes. Then, suppressing my pounding heart, I steadied my voice. "Yes, come in."

The door opened, and Fujiwara, dressed in Edo-period attire, entered with a neatly arranged Japanese breakfast tray. Miso soup, grilled fish, and tsukemono. The menu was similar to what I’d seen at the inn last night. Watching Fujiwara set down the tray, I spoke casually.

"Fujiwara-san, why don't you join me? You haven't eaten yet, have you?"

Fujiwara jumped in surprise and bowed his head. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠"Oh, Hwawon-nim! That would never do. How could a servant like me dare to share a table with you? That is absolutely out of the question!"

As if to demonstrate the strict class hierarchy of Japan, he waved his hands, carefully slid the door shut, and stepped outside. Left alone, I stared blankly at the breakfast tray before picking up my chopsticks and lifting a piece of fish. Honestly, it was strange to be hungry in such an absurd situation, but perhaps because my nerves had been so frayed, a very strong ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hunger was gnawing at my stomach.

The salty scent of soy sauce and the soft texture of the white fish filled my mouth. "Hmm... it's good."

A strange, vivid realization hit me: 'Ah, so this is what they ate in Japan back in the day.' I really had come to the past.

After filling my stomach, I decided I needed to grasp this strange situation and my surroundings in more detail. I couldn't just stay cooped up in the room forever. I slid open the door and stepped into the hallway. Fujiwara, who had been waiting right by the door, lifted his head and asked politely.

"Hwawon-nim, was the meal to your liking? Is there anything you are uncomfortable with..."

"It was delicious. I'd like to look around the neighborhood to help with digestion, would you join me?"

"Yes! Of course, it would be my honor. I, Fujiwara, shall guide you!"

In this absurd and unfamiliar Edo period, Fujiwara was the only person who could help me right away. To survive, I needed to get close to this seasoned guide as soon as possible. At my suggestion, Fujiwara smiled warmly and took the lead. Guided by him, I finally stepped outside the inn. It felt awkward not having a camera in my hand, but my instincts as a freelance photographer hadn't gone anywhere. Every time I looked at the scenery, I was framing the angle of the light filtering through the leaves and the composition of the wooden buildings.

'To think I'd end up living in a place like this... my head hurts, but it has a certain charm.' The low-hanging tiled roofs, the dirt alleyways as straight as if cut by a sword, and the people hurrying by in kimonos. The vivid colors of the Edo period, which I’d only seen in movies, were unfolding before my eyes.

It was just as I was relaxing, observing the neighborhood for a while, that the servant who had been sweeping the yard when we left came running from afar, kicking up dust. "Hwawon-nim! So this is where you were!"

Stopping in front of me, he grabbed his knees and gasped for breath before speaking urgently. "This afternoon, the Daikan sent word that he wishes to have a meal with you! He has prepared a spot at the Yūkaku, so he asks that you come immediately!"

"The Yūkaku? The Daikan called for me?"

It was a word I’d only seen in history books. The local magistrate of the Edo period—in short, the power broker who controlled this region—had called for me. 'Why would a Daikan personally call for a mere Joseon painter like me?'

As if oblivious to my inner turmoil, Fujiwara said with a smile, "Hwawon-nim, the Daikan has prepared a precious occasion. It’s quite a distance to the Yūkaku, so we must travel by palanquin. You should prepare to leave immediately if you don't want to be late."

I nodded as boldly as I could, pretending it was nothing. "Understood. Let's go see the Daikan."

Before meeting the Daikan, I returned to the inn and changed into my most formal attire. To maintain the dignity of a Hwawon of the Joseon Tongsinsa, I donned a neatly pressed hanbok and adjusted my gat (hat). The reflection in the mirror showed a scholar whose grace was clear enough not to be intimidated even in the landscape of an unfamiliar era.

'As expected, the hanbok is a truly magnificent garment.'

When I stepped out the front gate, a crudely built wooden palanquin was waiting. "Hwawon-nim, the Daikan ordered us to bring you. Please, board the palanquin."

"Yes... I understand." At the words of the imposing palanquin bearer, I nervously squeezed my body into the palanquin. It was a small, cramped box that barely fit one adult male.

How much time had passed since I boarded the jolting palanquin? The palanquin stopped, and the door opened. The moment I stepped out, I was overwhelmed by the sight before me. Under the dim night sky, a massive pavilion was lit by endless red lanterns. The languid sound of instruments drifting through the air, the thick scent of powder, and the giggling of women revealing white skin through their kimonos. This was the flamboyant Yūkaku that ruled the nights of the Edo period.

"Hwawon-nim, the Daikan is waiting inside. Please, this way."

A guide dressed in the flashy attire of the Yūkaku gestured politely, leading the way. Fujiwara followed silently one step behind me with a tense expression. We passed through a labyrinthine hallway and arrived at a massive room. As the sliding door opened, a middle-aged man wearing a haori with flamboyant patterns caught my eye. I could recognize him instantly just by his appearance. It was the Daikan. He welcomed me with a boisterous laugh.

"Hahaha! The precious painter from Joseon has finally arrived! Come, sit!"

"It is an honor to be invited, Daikan-nim."

I bowed politely and sat in the designated seat. Inside the spacious room, three or four retainers exuding heavy authority stood solemnly to the left and right of the Daikan, who sat in the seat of honor. The scene was neat yet solemn, with food and alcohol set out on individual tables for each person, spaced quite far apart.

After a few rounds of drinks and as the intoxication was setting in pleasantly, the Daikan's eyes sparkled as he cautiously brought up the main topic. "I have heard that the brushwork of a Joseon painter reaches the realm of the gods. Forgive my impudence, but could I perhaps obtain a piece of calligraphy to commemorate this precious meeting today?"

The historical fact that Japanese people of the time considered obtaining the writing or paintings of the Joseon Tongsinsa as the greatest pride of their family flashed through my mind. As if they had been fully prepared to obtain my writing, the guide placed paper, an inkstone, and a brush in front of me at just the right moment. The Daikan looked at me with an expression full of anticipation, and cold sweat broke out on my back as I was suddenly put to the test.

'I'm doomed. I can't remember a single decent four-character idiom...'

My mind went blank. Perhaps because of the tension, not a single Chinese character I used in daily life came to mind. As my hesitation grew longer, the Daikan furrowed his brow deeply, drinking his wine as if bored. The air in the room turned chilly in an instant. With a 'to hell with it' attitude, I boldly raised the brush. I dipped it generously into the ink and wrote down whatever came to mind on the paper without hesitation.

Swish, swish, swish—

As soon as I finished, the guide took my writing and brought it before the Daikan. The Daikan's face brightened instantly upon receiving the calligraphy. "Oh...! This is Hangul! The unique script of Joseon I have only heard of! It is truly a style overflowing with grace and spirit! It is very much to my liking! Painter-nim, what meaning does this writing hold?"

I stared straight into the Daikan's eyes and recited calmly. "It is a phrase that says, 'A nation that forgets its history has no future.'"

For a moment, a strange silence hung in the room. Soon, the Daikan slapped his knee and burst into a boisterous, hearty laugh once again. "Indeed! Truly a famous saying that strikes at the bone! A nation that forgets its history has no future... Joseon's wisdom is indeed deep. There is much to learn, hahaha!"

"You are too kind."

I let out a sigh of relief, feeling as though I had escaped death by a hair's breadth. The Daikan stared at the Hangul I had written for a long time, then looked at me with eyes full of satisfaction. "Do not worry about anything while you stay here. If you need anything, I will stake my position to help you with whatever it is!"

"Thank you."

The Daikan nodded, his face still flushed with excitement, and soon pulled a rectangular copper plate the size of a palm from his robes and handed it to me. The crest of the Daikan's family, intricately engraved on the copper plate, glinted under the soft lantern light.

"This is a Hopae (identification tag) that proves my status. There is no one among the samurai or merchants in this region who does not know my name and this crest, so wherever you go, if you need anything or run into trouble, show this Hopae. It will exert the same power as if I were there myself."

What lay before me was not just a piece of copper. It was a reliable cheat key that would protect my life in this strange land of Japan and solve most difficult situations in an instant.

"...I am sincerely grateful for such a precious item."

I carefully took the Hopae and tucked it deep into my robes. As if his mood had reached its peak, the Daikan emptied his cup with satisfaction and clapped his hands. "Now! I have received a precious piece of writing, so I must reward you generously. Tonight, I have prepared the most beautiful girl in this Yūkaku for the painter of Joseon. Please, enjoy yourself to your heart's content!"

The Daikan stood up with a boisterous laugh, and the retainers to his left and right followed him out of the room in unison. Left alone in the spacious room in an instant, I wondered what kind of situation this was. 'He prepared the most beautiful girl... A gisaeng? Is he really going to provide a woman from the Yūkaku?'

My mind grew complicated as I belatedly grasped the situation. I didn't particularly like this kind of secret debauchery. "Phew..."

Thinking I couldn't do this, I was about to place my hands on the floor to stand up and leave when—

Srrrk—

The closed sliding door opened.

"Nice to meet you, Hwawon-nim."

The woman who entered the room was unrealistically beautiful. From her porcelain skin and cherry-like lips to her slender neck. I was so captivated that I forgot I was about to stand up. At that moment, the brush in my robes trembled slightly, and the System window appeared.

'Wait, this is too sudden! Experience it? I'm not even mentally prepared yet!...'