The Spider's Web
The SBC Drama Bureau chief stared at the monitor for a moment, then quietly picked up his phone. Playing on the screen was the current top InTube trending video.
He could already see the follow-up articles lining up in a neat, unbroken row.
"Ah, Director Na."
Cool, sharp, and smart — every inch the elite chief of an SBC drama division packed with nothing but the best.
"Let's do Ju Jun-seo's shirtless scene properly this time. Pour our souls into it, all of us."
The center chief hung up on Director Na of Top Class and caught his breath for a moment. Then he roared.
"Release the making-of and behind-the-scenes footage—!!!"
What Strange Tales (Gimyo-dam) had fired at them was a fire arrow. The flames had to be stamped out.
What would actually land with the public? Start light, he told himself. Yes — the key was keeping things light.
Jegal Rok, the man behind JC ENM's innovation who had mapped everything from consumer demand to the A-to-Z of drawing fire, pushed up his glasses as he watched the reactions to episode one come pouring in.
Just as expected. Alongside episode one, the spotlight had begun to swing toward Strange Tales (Gimyo-dam).
"Rotate more of the variety clips. Cut them together with the scene where she channels the god — and splice in that meme everyone's running."
A drama airing live was only watched by those who made a point of watching it. Which meant that once word got around that a drama was fun, a sizable crowd of viewers would arrive only then.
Jegal Rok tossed the bait of "Han Yeo-reum's variety persona" out to the public. Not just the viewers who had grasped episode one's full arc and come back for episode two, but the casual audience who had first met her through a variety clip could be reeled in as well.
The comments under the trending video were already telling the story.
As it happened, the side of Yeo-reum she had shown on After School Quiz Show locked into place perfectly with Seoryeong of Gimyo-dam. Comments calling her "the Foolish Regretful Girl" popped up here and there as well.
Time to set last episode's buzz on fire again.
The recent clips from After School Quiz Show had settled comfortably into the real-time trending videos. Curiosity about the god-possessed Yeo-reum alone would be enough to pull viewers into tonight's episode two of Gimyo-dam — or into a search on InTube.
For a single work to succeed, you had to lay a spiderweb of traps this dense and seamless. Watching the public wander in one by one, Jegal Rok's phone buzzed eagerly on the desk, practically trembling with anticipation.
Ziing— ziing—.
Checking the name on the screen, Jegal Rok deliberately took the call with a slow, unhurried hand.
"Yes. Jegal Rok speaking."
"Th-that thing we talked about last time! That! Let's move on it right away!"
"Yes. We'll pick up the pace."
The export market for Gimyo-dam in Southeast Asia, the hanbok industry and foreign tourists, the drama's regional shooting location in Namwon, Jeollabuk-do and its famous local apples — and the Creamy Soda and white makgeolli Han Yeo-reum was advertising. One by one, they began snagging on Jegal Rok's finely woven net.
What his web caught, in short, was not merely drama viewers. The traps had begun to fill.
And this was barely right after episode one had aired.
Chapter Two. Taejagwi — The Ghost of the Crown Prince
"Jeong-an! Look what I brought you."
Slamming the door open with impatient hands, Seoryeong swaggered into the old hut, a wide, bright smile full of innocence.
Rustling open her bundle, she held a pair of flower-patterned shoes high in one hand.
"Look at these! Enough with those beggar's rags you call shoes — wear these from now on. Aren't they pretty? Pretty enough you'd forget that whole 'owning nothing' spiel of yours entirely?"
Hee-hee — Seoryeong's cheeks rose with her grin. Eyes sparkling, she looked around for Jeong-an. Still, no sign of anyone stirring inside.
And then whooo — a small wind breathed through the hut with an eerie, desolate chill. Seoryeong's upturned mouth slowly slid back into place.
"Jeong-an? Where are you?"
Calling her name, Seoryeong made her way toward the back of the old hut.
The ominous wind went on sighing. A hollow, mournful flute note filled the silence with grief. A faint, shuffling sound trembled for a moment.
Far from the long strides with which she had come running to Jeong-an, Seoryeong's steps now dragged, dreadfully slow.
Behind the hut, Jeong-an lay collapsed before an old water bowl.
The wooden bracelet — the same kind Seoryeong herself wore — had snapped from Jeong-an's wrist, its beads rolling one by one across the ground.
Seoryeong simply looked down at Jeong-an. The flower shoes in her hand were, unlike everything else in this moment, achingly beautiful.
Far too beautiful for the nun lying there in a stained habit caked with dirt and blood.
"Jeong-an...?"
Seoryeong called her name, small and thin — her face betraying no awareness that no answer would come.
The floor is dirty, so why are you lying down like this? It felt as though, if only she asked so innocently, Jeong-an would simply get up.
Seoryeong's expression did not change.
She only stared, blank-eyed, at Jeong-an, as if time itself had stopped.
"Jeong-an."
And she called her name again. Still, Jeong-an did not open her mouth.
Seoryeong's frail voice split the cold, lonely night air, ever so faintly.
"Jeong-an."
Having been so fastidious about her fine silks until now, Seoryeong crouched down at Jeong-an's side, beside the filth and grime, silk robes and all. She didn't care that her hem was being stained.
Raising a trembling hand, she gently shook Jeong-an. The nun's stiff body knocked lightly against the water bowl. The clear water it held spilled across the ground, wetting it in sorrow.
Seoryeong called Jeong-an's name over and over.
The first string of the gayageum shivered and rang out low. The note stretched long and fragile, adrift on the wind as though it might snap at any moment.
"But I brought the flower shoes..."
Over the sobbing strings, Seoryeong's voice seemed to crack. From far, far away, the sound of wind began to rise. The cold wind seemed to whisper to her.
From now on, you are alone.
"They were really nice ones."
Slowly, Seoryeong sank down beside Jeong-an. Hugging her knees against the cold, she kept a silent vigil at Jeong-an's side — and her small back looked strangely shrunken, pitifully small.
"They were really expensive, too."
Through Seoryeong's murmured words spread the mournful breath of a daegeum flute. A long, wailing note filled the silence like weeping.
Whooo — into the slow, aching melody seeped the vast, formless depth of Seoryeong's heart.
She said nothing. She simply sat there at Jeong-an's side. A very long time — a long, long, endless time. With her back turned, her face was never shown.
Jeong-an's final words were heard.
To the child.
Jeong-an had never known Seoryeong's name. Seoryeong had never told her. What use is giving you my name, when I'm bound to die early anyway? — and Jeong-an had answered something, back then.
Yes. Someday, she had said, a day would come when you would want to give your name first.
Live without fear, and live free. Let nothing ever weigh upon your heart.
And yet — after all of that — she had left without ever hearing my name.
Unmoving as a mountain; unwavering and steadfast as stone.
Drawing a small, coughing laugh up from deep in her chest, Seoryeong slowly lifted her head — as if Jeong-an, who had said she was going to meet the sky, might still be lingering somewhere just beyond it.
If the way is right, do not yield it to anyone.
The sun rose slowly in the east.
The bright path pierces through and shines to the very end.
A voice came, warm as sunlight, steeped in all of Jeong-an's warmth.
All things will flow as they are meant to flow. Open eyes long blinded by vengeance — and live out your full span of days.
Jeong-an.
As if to mock Seoryeong, left utterly alone in the world, the world was ruthlessly, blindingly bright.
Into an ornate vanity that looked expensive at a single glance was reflected the pale face of a man.
The hands that tidied his refined features were feather-light. His heart felt ready to take flight. Grand Prince Seonghwi, humming a tune under his breath, drew one calm, deep breath.
"The preparations are complete."
Clunk—. At his word, the doors slid open on both sides at once. His gait as he left the chamber and strode down the broad corridor was proud and commanding.
As though he were the master of this palace.
Arriving before the imposing, dignified doors of the royal office, Seonghwi could not contain his fluttering heart. The corners of his mouth kept rising of their own accord.
"His Highness the Grand Prince has arrived—."
At his chamberlain's announcement, a weighty assent flowed out from within.
"Let him enter."
The King, a roaring tiger embroidered in gold thread across his robes, did not so much as grant the sound of his son's arrival a glance. He simply lifted one of the papers stacked upon the desk and read.
"I trust you have been in good health of late, Father."
Seonghwi bowed respectfully to his father seated on high and offered his greeting. His father gave a small nod.
"Yes. There is something I must say to you."
With that, the King asked him in an indifferent tone, and Seonghwi opened his mouth with care.
"Have you heard word of Cheonmaekji, and of the other regions under my care?"
"Mm."
"There were places cut off deep in the mountains, and places walled in by rivers and streams. But I have made provisions for them all — once this winter has passed, travel to and fro will be a far easier matter."
Seonghwi laid out, one by one, the results he had achieved in the remote places far from the palace. His voice began to tremble with excitement.
The King raised his brush and continued writing. An elegant hand swept across the white paper.
"And so, Your Majesty — I beg of you. Send Yunhwi and me back to our rightful places."
At those words, the King's brush stopped dead in the air.