New Year's Butterfly: Remarriage and Fried Chicken
It was the last day of 2025, the Year of the Water Monkey. Today was my day off too. I felt like I'd had some good luck this year. Ever since starting my internship, I'd only brought disappointment to my girlfriend. But we'd spent Christmas Eve and Christmas together, and today as well, so it seemed like a solid way to close out the year. Plus, from some day in November, I'd begun communicating with King Munjong via Gatong. For him, with less than a year left to live, and for me, who'd picked a job just for the paycheck and was drifting through life, it brought massive changes. We'd only been at it for barely two months, though.
After breaking up with my girlfriend and heading home, it was already 11 p.m. The TV had kicked off the New Year's countdown broadcast. I sat down at my laptop. The Wikipedia entry on King Munjong showed his lifespan had already shifted. His death, originally in May 1452, had been pushed back to 1453. That meant the Annals of the Joseon Dynasty were changing. It happened right after I'd taught him the Bosin Exercise—what some might call the national exercise routine—and his lifespan extended.
I'd theorized that since the annals are compiled after a king's death, Munjong's entry hadn't updated yet. Tomorrow, the year would change. For Munjong, it would shift from the Year of the Snake to the Year of the Water Monkey, the one he'd originally died in. There was a high chance of major changes in the annals for Munjong, Danjong, and Sejo. And I wouldn't remember them all.
I logged into the Annals of the Joseon Dynasty site. "Damn, no download button. Figures..." I'd heard about these supposedly advanced AI models lately. I shelled out for the paid version and wrote a script to back up the entire Annals. Luckily, it started running before midnight. Tomorrow morning, it might be a pain to navigate, but I'd at least have a snapshot from today.
The TV screen launched the countdown to the new year. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. It was 2026.
Late as it was, I opened my mobile messenger app and sent a Gatong to Munjong.
Read receipt.
Yeah. Joseon's new year is lunar January 1st, while the modern one is solar January 1st. But Gatong had accounted for that difference from the start. When I first got Munjong's message, he was in the world of November 22, 1451. If it was just matching dates, I'd have been living on December 28, 2025—lunar November 22. Back then, I half-thought it was a prank, so I didn't sweat the details.
And just like that, Munjong and I stood before our respective new years.
On New Year's morning, I called my parents to give them my greetings. While brewing coffee, I sat at the table and opened my laptop. It was the Year of the Water Monkey. Time to check if the annals had changed. First, I opened the Annals of the Joseon Dynasty backup.
The King passed away at Gangnyeong Hall. He was 39 years old.
That morning, Jeon Sun-ui and others attended to inquire after His Majesty's condition and finally realized the gravity of his sacred body.
The Crown Prince said, "I am too young and do not know what to do."
The ministers of the State Council hurried to the inner quarters to check on the King, then gathered in the courtyard of Geunjeong Hall, ordering the guards to secure the city gates and proposing to release prisoners, which they reported through the Crown Prince. Though the King could no longer speak, he replied, "No."
Grand Prince Suyang wailed in the outer court, saying, "Why has no Cheongsimwon been offered?" Jeon Sun-ui then tried to administer it, but it was too late.
Shortly after, the King passed away.
Backup of the Annals of the Joseon Dynasty, so no changes, as expected. Next, I went to the site and clicked May 14. Hoping for nothing... But sadly, there was a record. It looked about the same length as the backup at a glance, so I hung my head without even reading it. A moment later, I looked up at the monitor again.
"Huh?"
The Ministry of Rites reported: "The Queen's position has long been vacant, risking disorder in the inner and outer courts. Please select a consort to stabilize the inner palace."
His Majesty approved.
The Ministry of Rites was ordered to submit lists of unmarried girls aged 16 to 20 from noble families nationwide—those whose parents were both alive and not of the Yi clan. A marriage ban was also issued, with legal penalties for non-compliance.
The historians comment: It has been two years since His Majesty's ascension, yet no queen has been appointed, leaving no one to lead the inner court ladies, and the Crown Prince is still young. This decision is fitting for the sake of the ancestral shrines and state.
However, His Majesty endured the mourning for his mother, Queen Sohyeon, unfinished, then his father King Sejong's passing, observing three years of mourning consecutively for six years, greatly weakening his sacred body. The court knows he had no leisure for selecting a queen.
Now that his health is restored, this resolute decision for the shrines and heir befits a sage king.
I nearly knocked over my coffee mug in shock. But I couldn't tear my eyes from the screen. Munjong had decided to remarry. The Ministry of Rites proposed the selection, and he approved. It was now etched in the Annals of the Joseon Dynasty.
Of course, the Ministry's proposal was probably a setup with Munjong. When I'd subtly suggested remarriage, he'd worried about whether the Kwon clan would allow it. Last Christmas, when I said he should meet someone good, he'd replied he'd think about it. That "I'll consider it" on December 25 was, as I'd hoped, acceptance.
The butterfly had flapped its wings. A massive flap.
Thrilled, I grabbed my phone. Time to make up for skimping on Gatong over Christmas Eve and Day.
Read receipt.
I pulled up an online recipe and Gatong'ed it to Munjong.
Wash the chicken thoroughly and cut into pieces with skin on. Marinate with salt, pepper, ginger, and liquor. Mix flour five parts, starch five parts, water ten parts into batter. Coat the marinated chicken. Fry in boiling pork lard until golden. Let cool for about half a gak, then fry again.
New Year's Day, and already feeling bad for the royal kitchen. But that wasn't the end.
When Munjong—and everyone who tries—tastes the fried chicken and garlic fried chicken, they'll be blown away. Plain fried chicken is a pure gift to make up for Christmas. Garlic chicken is dietary therapy to ramp up allicin intake. Allicin has antibacterial and anti-inflammatory effects, with studies showing it inhibits tuberculosis bacteria directly.
The royal kitchen would suffer today. Who knew how many tries it'd take to perfect fried and garlic fried chicken. And what name Jeon Sun-ui or someone might give it. On my commute tomorrow, opening the delivery app might reveal what butterfly effects I'd unleashed.
But none of that mattered. Munjong would live on through the Year of the Water Monkey. And the Annals of the Joseon Dynasty recorded it.
I set down my phone and stared at the laptop screen again. I gazed at the final line of the updated Annals of King Munjong, Volume 13, May 14: It befits the way of a sage king.