Who Goes There
"My lord!"
A subordinate came running up, torch in hand.
"I think it would be best for us to set out again the moment day breaks."
He turned back toward Yunhwi with an uneasy expression. Something felt dangerous.
Even the sky he gazed up at was dark. Clouds were slowly swallowing the moon.
"What is all this! I suffered for days on end for THIS? A dump so worn-down it's about to collapse? Ugh, for god's sake. I told you the last place was better. There's not so much as a soul to be seen anywhere near here."
Seoryeong gawked at the rugged cave in horror. Then she pulled a soft cloth from her bundle and pressed it to her cheek. Typical of a pampered young master.
"This is precious, you know! And it's about to get all filthy. Honestly, how is this any different from being a beggar."
"Even if it's sullied, so long as it satisfies your heart it is a fine enough thing. Do not cast it aside—use it long and well."
"Long and well, my foot! I hate anything grimy more than anything! Care to praise me at least for wearing this shabby old bracelet?"
Fussing over her cleanliness, Seoryeong pulled a few worn garments from her bundle and spread them across the ground. Then, with the utmost reverence, she laid the expensive silk on top of them.
Only then did her sleeping arrangement wear a smile of satisfaction.
"Agh. I thought I was going to die getting here! Whew… honestly. Give me some water!"
Jeong-an held out the gourd hanging at her waist.
The look in Jeong-an's eyes as she quietly watched Seoryeong drink was subtle. She did not take her gaze off the girl gulping down the water.
Taking back the gourd Seoryeong handed her, Jeong-an did not drink—she pressed the stopper firmly shut.
"Sooo exhausting, exhausting…. My eyes are closing all on their own…."
Seoryeong gave her mouth a rough swipe with her sleeve, then flopped down onto the floor. Within moments she was fast asleep.
Looking down at her, Jeong-an slowly drew an old, coarse blanket from her own small bundle and tucked it around her.
Sriiitch—
Then, at Seoryeong's bedside, she tore a talisman in two.
Heeheeheek! Heeheeheeheek!
Heeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheek!
In the far distance, someone could be seen laughing madly and thrashing about. It looked like wild dancing—or like someone stamping their feet, unable to contain their own rage.
Even though it was only a shadow, a backlit silhouette, it made the back of his neck stiffen with tension.
Every time the figure shook its head, its unkempt hair whipped about like a mane.
"Who goes there?"
Gathering his courage, Yunhwi called out to it.
Heeheeheek….
It chuckled softly, gasping for breath. Was that even a human being?
Without realizing it, Yunhwi staggered backward. There came the snap of a dry branch breaking beneath his foot.
After that short snap, an incessant skittering swept over the tops of his feet.
Russsstle— russsstle—
Centipedes were crawling across the tops of Yunhwi's feet in their white silk socks. The wriggling legs were too many to count.
When his eyes dropped to the ground at that repulsive sensation, what lay before Yunhwi was not his own bare feet alone.
"Ngh…."
The tops of that thing's feet—so far away mere moments ago—came into view. He could not bring himself to lift his gaze any higher. His whole body had frozen solid.
Its feet, mottled with grime and split open with wounds weeping blood, stood rooted in place, utterly still.
Sha-rak—
While he stood frozen, that thing slowly extended its foot toward the tip of Yunhwi's—
"My lord."
In that instant, Yunhwi's eyes flew open.
Myeong-do was calling him.
Just as Yunhwi, roused from the nightmare by the low voice, was about to answer—
"Hush…."
Myeong-do bade him be silent.
Following his gaze, Yunhwi found the shadow of something there. Was it that? Had it finally come for him in the real world?
Gulp. Crown Prince Yunhwi swallowed.
Myeong-do slowly drew the sword at his side from its sheath. Yunhwi too picked up the sword lying by his pillow and spoke.
"Who goes there. Reveal your identity."
A pristine, stately tone—nothing like that of a man who had been screaming through a nightmare only moments ago. And from within the shadow flowed a clear, gentle voice.
"I come before the Crown Prince, my lord."
When the figure slowly reached up and removed her bamboo hat, what emerged was a Buddhist nun wearing a smile of serene compassion.
"Oh god, that scared the absolute hell out of me…."
Reporter Wi glanced at the clock and jumped. Only about twenty minutes of Strange Tales (Gimyodam) had passed.
With the seamless scene transitions and the relentless parade of horror sequences, it felt like hours had gone by.
"Director Jjang, seriously, his pacing is masterful."
The nun Jeong-an bowed to Yunhwi, then respectfully presented a talisman. One written in her own blood.
Whether she had judged the nun a dangerous figure or not, the talisman ended up in the hand of Myeong-do, who stood firmly blocking Yunhwi's path.
"What is this thing. Explain yourself."
"Wicked things are after you, my lord."
"…To what end?"
When the strange truths Myeong-do could never have spoken aloud came pouring from Jeong-an's mouth, Yunhwi, standing behind him, finally spoke. Jeong-an answered calmly.
"To go against the natural order of things."
"The natural order…. Why? Am I to be their sacrificial offering, then?"
Yunhwi asked with a self-mocking smile. That he was still sane at all, tormented by nightmares like these night after night, was remarkable in itself.
He had endured on sheer willpower alone. Without leaning on a single soul.
"Yes."
Jeong-an, who had been smiling gently until that very moment, said it with a face gone hard.
Whooooosh—. A sharp wind began to blow from far off. Myeong-do fixed the nun with a fierce glare.
"Insolence."
Even under Myeong-do's intimidating rebuke, Jeong-an did not yield—she spoke nothing but the truth.
"Because one who should not be alive has had his life forcibly grafted back on."
"…How could you possibly know that. Such a thing could never have leaked beyond the palace walls."
"Because one unworthy of the heavenly seat covets it, the wicked things seek to overturn the natural order."
The scene shifted, and a flashback from the past began.
A young Seonghwi appeared on screen. With him burning up in fevers and coughing up blood day after day, the palace had become indistinguishable from a house of mourning.
"Quickly! Quickly, summon another physician!"
"My lady, please compose yourself…."
"They're all quacks, every last one of them from corner to corner! Aaagh! AaAAAGH!"
The Queen—mother of Seonghwi and mistress of the Inner Court of Yeomhoguk—had lost her mind.
She seized the physician by the collar like a woman possessed.
Outside the chamber, the palace maids scurried busily about bearing white cloth. The blood Seonghwi had coughed up was blotched across it like scattered flowers.
"My lady. I…."
It was the dead of night. She had dismissed all the attendants and was nursing Seonghwi herself, wiping the sweat from his brow, when the court lady closest to the Queen walked up, trailing someone behind her.
"Yes, it's you…. You've come at last!"
The Queen rushed headlong toward the shadow behind the court lady. Beaming, whether she had heard the rumors of this woman or not, she welcomed her as though overjoyed.
"They say you can raise even the dead? I place my faith in you alone."
The woman receiving the Queen's welcome took a single step forward. The shadow slowly receded, and her face came into view.
Her eyes so unfocused that no one could tell where her pupils were aimed, the woman beamed brightly.
"It is an honor for one so lowly to serve one so noble…?"
The ends of her words strangely blurred and trailed away. She was Yeomga.
Thus it was that Yeomga, having saved Grand Prince Seonghwi's life, stayed behind him from that day on, forcibly stitching his lifespan back together.
Whenever his body ached or he saw things that were not there, Grand Prince Seonghwi sought out Yeomga.
And before anyone noticed, Yeomga had been quietly building her own power base.
The wail of a flute rang out, tightening the tension like a bowstring. The cry of the cuckoo grew suddenly, startlingly near.
Back to the present.
Jeong-an, her expression grave, spoke to Yunhwi.
"No matter what means they employ, all things will flow according to the natural order. That is why you must return to your rightful place, my lord. Lay down nothing—not a single thing."
"My rightful place…. Just how much is it that you know, exactly?"
"I offer you my greetings once more."
Jeong-an bowed to Yunhwi with a look of quiet resolve.
"Your Majesty."
"Agh, another one didn't make it. For real."
IP 85.152 muttered, eyes only half-turned from the screen. If the voice seemed to have the Shift key held down, that was purely a matter of mood.
Gimyodam Minor Gallery
Gazing at the phone in his hand, IP 85.152 steadied his heart. On the screen beyond, the story was marching steadily forward.
Yunhwi did not believe Jeong-an's words.
His elder brother was frail in body, nothing more—he had been gentle and sound of mind, a man who thought of his people before anyone else.
"You seem to know everything, so let me speak plainly. Yes. My brother and I have agreed that when the time comes, we will trade places. I have no intention of ever becoming king."
Otherwise there would have been no reason to travel all this way, in that body of his, to a remote village in the middle of nowhere.
"This seat I occupy now is… merely, yes—merely temporary."
Yunhwi's voice trembled.
"So then why would my brother… why on earth would he do such a thing. It's all nonsense."
His brother knew better than anyone that Yunhwi harbored no greed for the throne.
All those countless days they had shared could not have been lies.
"Tear one of the talismans I have given you before you sleep each night. It will protect you, my lord."
"…."
Putting her bamboo hat back on, Jeong-an gave a small tilt of her chin toward Myeong-do, who clutched the bundle of talismans.
Following her gaze, they found—
"In half a month's time, walk toward the east. Head for the place where the sun draws nearest, and you will meet the one who will guide all things back to their natural order."
The branch to which Myeong-do's handkerchief was tied swayed in the wind.
It was impossible. How could a handkerchief they had tied far off in the distance have moved itself onto the tree standing right before their eyes?
Yet just as when she had arrived, Jeong-an vanished like a mirage on her way out.
Yunhwi's expression, staring at the spot where she had disappeared, was tangled and troubled. Instinct had planted the seed of doubt in him.
Even though he did not want it to, it felt as though something in the corner of his heart was collapsing.
He had to believe his brother—and yet he could not bring himself to believe.
He did not want to believe those words—and yet he had believed them anyway.
If he must not doubt his brother, if he must preserve the bond between them—then what was he to do?
Slowly, Yunhwi pressed his hands together with all his strength. The veins stood out along the backs of his clenched fists. Beside him, Myeong-do spoke.
"…My lord."
Whether the nun's words were truth or lie, Myeong-do had to find out.
"I will go."
He was a Royal Inspector.
He bore the duty of uncovering the truth. If it proved true, then his task was to stop the very foundations of this kingdom from shaking; if false, then it was to seize the scheme of a mere shaman and nun who would toy with a nation in the palms of their hands.
Either way, it would be a calamity beyond bearing for the people.
Royal Inspector Myeong-do judged that this malice, growing from no one knew where, must be severed clean through with a single stroke of his sword.
For his lord. For the people. And for this country.
Boom— boom— boom—.
As if in echo of his resolve, the sound of a great drum rolled beneath everything.
Whether it was the pounding of a heart, or the sound of Yeomhoguk's future crumbling—not even that was yet certain.
And somewhere along the way, the cuckoo's cry could be heard no more.
"When is Han Yeo-reum coming on…."
Just as IP 85.152 muttered it, tense before the TV as Strange Tales (Gimyodam) played on—
"Oh! It's Han Yeo-reum!"
Summer had finally appeared on screen.
That was the reason IP 85.152 had left on a drama he never normally watched. Han Yeo-reum had at last made her full-fledged entrance in Strange Tales (Gimyodam).