Royal Tailoring and the Finger Alphabet
Did you see that lady? Her rack was practically a watermelon!
The one who'd caught Sa-bang-ji was the Crown Prince, but the person actually handing out the reward was his consort-to-be, the woman later known as Queen Hyeondeok. She summoned us to Gyeongbok Palace, saying she'd bestow a gift.
“Wowww...! The palace is as blue as the sky...!”
Eori had been singled out specifically. Ever since shooting arrows in front of King Sejong last time, her guts had grown. Normally she'd be shaking like a leaf, but now she was thrilled, gawking at the palace.
“Hohoho. That impressive, is it? If it's that novel, shall I pry off a roof tile for you?”
Yi Sun-ji was our guide. A fellow modern reincarnate like me, he was swamped teaching trainee instructors at Jip-hyeon-jeon, compiling textbooks, and whatever else the Crown Prince threw at him. But there was a reason he'd carved out time to personally show us around.
“Huh? You can really do that?”
“Why not? You lot caught Sa-bang-ji for us.”
The minister's daughter Sa-bang-ji had his eye on later was none other than Yi Sun-ji's precious girl. Grateful we'd nipped that nasty business in the bud, he'd come guide us himself. And tossed in separate gifts, naturally.
“The Office of Works has some spare blue tiles lying around. I'll send one over later.”
“Isn't that embezzlement?”
“Hohoho. Si-jin.”
Even when I nailed it, Yi Sun-ji never lost his grin. Without breaking stride, he sidled up and whispered low enough Eori couldn't hear.
“You. Been through the military and all, how can you say that? If you don't get caught, it never happened.”
Is this old man nuts?!
“And it's already decided you're getting one. No worries—just take it.”
“Why me?”
“Keep this just between us. Truth is, there's big trouble brewing soon, so we're handing out one to every minister in Hanyang. You're not gonna be around then, so yours early.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“You'll see. This way.”
He clammed up on the details and kept touring. Showed us the sky-piercing Geunjeongjeon, veered west. Past Gyejojeon where the Crown Prince was working, we reached a spot echoing with familiar sounds.
Tatata-tatata! Tata-tatata-tata!
Sewing machines whirred nonstop from that building, palace maids and servants hustling fabrics every which way. In one corner sat an abandoned cart piled high with plain cotton.
“What's this place? Clothes-making?”
“Mm. Pretty much.”
Yi Sun-ji nodded at my blunt question.
“This is the Office of Royal Garments. Main gig is crafting and mending royal attire, but they make palace staff uniforms too.”
“Got it. So why bring us here? Making outfits for us?”
“Hoho. As if.”
“Figured. Yeah, sounded too good.”
“Just for your fiancée.”
“...Pardon?”
“You've arrived, Professor Yi.”
Before I could press, a palace maid in her late thirties approached. Tall hat, attendants trailing—had to be a head seamstress.
“Yes, Head Seamstress of the Needle Room. Good timing. This girl's the one.”
Yi Sun-ji gestured at Eori like they were old pals.
“Y-yes? You mean, me, sir?”
Eori's eyes went saucer-wide at the sudden callout.
“...”
The head seamstress scanned Eori with narrowed eyes, gaze drifting slowly from top... and stalling at her chest.
“Kyung? Or shin? Still bigger than gi, though...”
She muttered under her breath, then bowed to Yi Sun-ji.
“I shall obey. You there—escort this lady inside.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“This way, miss.”
“Wha—huh? Me, master?”
Flanked by three maids, Eori shot me an anxious look. I whipped around to Yi Sun-ji.
“Elder. What's going on?”
“Hoho. Nothing to fret over. A gift from Her Highness the Crown Princess.”
“What kind?”
“Crown Princess is bestowing garments on your fiancée. Can't very well give ill-fitting ones, eh? Just measurements. No big deal.”
Ah, that's why he dragged her along. I nodded reassuringly at Eori.
“Eori-ya. It's fine. Go on.”
“C-can't you come with?”
“Me too?”
Tempting plea. I eyed the head seamstress hopefully.
“No.”
Had a feeling.
“Eori-ya. She said no.”
“G-going alone's scary...!”
“It's okay. You're not alone—the maids'll be there.”
“Waaah, master...”
“Miss, this way, please.”
Eori made a pouty face but shuffled after the maids obediently. Not without shooting me resentful glares every few steps.
“So what about me?”
I waited till Eori vanished into the building, then asked Yi Sun-ji.
He beamed like he'd been waiting.
“Hoho. What to do? Head to Jip-hyeon-jeon, obviously.”
“Ah, no way. Hate it. Don't make me.”
“Hohoho. If 'don't wanna' worked, I'd have bailed ages ago. His Highness has a task for you. Make that two.”
“Ah, no—wait, I promised Eori I'd wait right here...!”
Yi Sun-ji circled behind, shoving my back toward Jip-hyeon-jeon. I dragged my feet, totally getting Eori's side. True protagonist move. Crown Prince figured I'd show sans him, tasks prepped. Create a new script. Off Hunminjeongeum, not Sejong-level epic. But the kicker? Infuriatingly, I could do it.
“See? This is giyeok.”
At the desk, I pointed down with my right hand—index and thumb splayed. The Hangul fingerspelling for giyeok. Fingerspelling turns Hangul into hand signs. Freshman lit exam fodder—why sign language? Hated that prof back then. Now? Joseon's deaf'd write Hangul pen-free.
“How's that giyeok?”
Jeong Naegwan across the desk nitpicked sans brush.
“Like this—giyeok, right?”
I flipped my hand back and forth.
He shook his head, flapping his mouth instead.
“Giyeok's vertical short, horizontal long. That just looks like agent-form giyeok.”
Ask the creator, duh. Oh, right—me.
“Just draw it. Like... this? Or this?”
Twisting my wrist mockingly.
But he nodded, pleased.
“Yes. That looks like giyeok.”
“Inconveniences the user. Just call this giyeok and move on.”
“But it doesn't look like giyeok.”
“No! This is giyeok! Look and copy!”
“...Yes, Captain.”
Reluctant, but brush finally moved.
“Like this?”
Result? Solid. Hands tricky to render, they say—but talent here. Bottom intact, could've been a court painter.
“Why stare like that?”
“Eh. Yeah. This is nieun.”
“That does look like nieun.”
Giyeok clockwise 90 degrees: nieun. He got it now, brush flying.
His aha! lasted to laying V flat for digeut.
“How's skipping index-middle-ring make rieul?”
“Closest match!”
“Captain. Crown Prince's command. No fooling around.”
“I'm not! Paid gig!”
Creator decrees, it is—but no dice.
“Captain.”
Patience snapped; brush down. Dead serious eyes locked mine.
“Hunminjeongeum—His Majesty and Crown Prince forged through trials. Can't cheapen it with finger-wiggling.”
Trials? This guy's my trial. Felt modern inventors' pain. Obvious solution, era blocks it. Respect.
“You're misreading Their intent.”
Channeling modern pitch.
“Hunminjeongeum: hun to teach, min the people, jeong proper, eum sounds. Teach folk true speech. But deaf and mute? No grace for them.”
“...!”
Eureka eyes!
“So simple signs spread that grace—how's that 'wiggling'? From someone serving Crown Prince closest?”
“S-sorry, sir.”
“Sorry? Draw. This is rieul.”
“Yes, sir.”
Meek now. Just logged my demos.
Aaah, beat. Finger play tires too. Jip-hyeon-jeon's vibe choked me.
Miss Eori. What now? Maids bullying the Hwacheok girl? Nah...
“Did you see that lady? Her rack was practically a watermelon!”
“Totally. Twice mine.”
“Girl. Two plums don't make a melon.”
“Whatevs. What makes 'em that big? Jealous.”
“She's Hwacheok, right? All that meat.”
“Ooh, yeah. Let's pig out and fix our karma!”