The King's Way
The air in Huijeongdang was as solemn as ever, but having been here once before, I felt considerably more at ease.
The Great Hall Court Lady led me not into the inner quarters, but out to the courtyard garden adjoined to the hall. There, standing on one side of the manicured grounds, was the King.
“Your Majesty! Has your royal health remained ever robust and serene?”
Oh. I did it!
I had finally conquered the dreaded trailing nasal consonants, the absolute bane of any four-year-old's existence in this era.
“Aye. Your morning greetings have improved remarkably in so short a span.”
The King clearly appreciated my tireless efforts. As I puffed out my chest, unable to disguise my pride, Geumdeok came trotting over and rubbed her round cheeks against my skirt.
“I brought something new for Geumdeok today, Your Majesty!”
“And what might that be?”
Ta-da!
I proudly flourished my secret weapon: a custom-made fishing rod toy. I had coaxed Sun-rye into snapping a sturdy persimmon branch for me, tied a bit of twine to the tip, and secured a glossy crow feather scavenged from the backyard.
You’d better know how good you have it, Geumdeok, all thanks to me.
The pampered royal cat lost her absolute mind. She leaped into the air, twisting and pouncing like an acrobat. Only when both of us were panting and utterly out of breath did our mock hunting expedition finally wind down.
“That is enough for now; come and sit. Play with Geumdeok any longer and your little body will waste away.”
A rather shameless remark, considering he was the one who had fobbed his pet-sitting duties off on a toddler in the first place.
While we were playing, refreshments had already been laid out on the wooden veranda. Floating in chilled, pale honey water were colorful, bite-sized glutinous rice balls—wonsobyeong. Beside the bowl, a neat row of pine pollen dasik sat glistening softly in the light.
“Thank you for the feast, Your Majesty!”
I scooped up a rice ball and chewed happily. But as I paused to sip the sweet honey broth, a faint scent caught on the breeze made me stop. This smell… surely…
“Your Majesty, there is the scent of incense coming from somewhere.”
“It must be coming from me. I paid my respects at Jongmyo Shrine today.”
With Daeboreum just around the corner, he had evidently gone to offer rites to the ancestral kings of Joseon.
“You are likely too young to know of Jongmyo Shrine. It is the royal sanctuary where the spirit tablets of the preceding monarchs are enshrined.”
“I shall commit it to memory now that Your Majesty has taught me.”
It was basic knowledge found in any modern elementary school history book, but I widened my eyes and replied with the innocent wonder of a child learning something profound. Then again, receiving a private history lesson on Jongmyo directly from King Sukjong was a staggering privilege by any metric.
“However… Your Majesty?”
“Mm?”
I hesitated for a moment, wondering whether to speak, but gathered my courage.
“Your complexion appears… a little troubled.”
“Does it appear so? Well, you are not mistaken.” He paused, gazing into the distance. “Returning from Jongmyo always leaves me heavy with thought.”
“Why is that, Sire?”
“Hmm.” His gaze drifted toward the sky, past the whitewashed walls of Huijeongdang. “Because the King's Way resides there. The paths walked by the great kings before me, and the bloody consequences of their choices—all of it rests within those walls.”
I held my tongue, quietly waiting for him to continue.
“King Taejong ascended the throne only after purging his own flesh and blood. King Sejo seized the crown after driving his young nephew, King Danjong, to his grave.” Sukjong slowly closed his eyes. “To an outsider, it may seem abhorrent. Yet history shows that monarchs of gentle, forgiving temperaments often dragged the realm into ruin.”
His voice dropped, somber and resonant.
“Such is the nature of the throne. One must never flinch from becoming a villain, nor hesitate for an instant when the time comes to wield the sword.”
I gently stroked Geumdeok’s plush fur. I could sense that these words were not truly meant for my ears; they were the solitary confessions of a sovereign wrestling with his own conscience. The King kept his eyes closed for a long while, draped in heavy silence. Sensing his turmoil, Geumdeok slipped away from my side, padded softly across the wooden floor, and curled herself onto Sukjong's lap.
Pulled from his brooding reverie, a faint, wry smile touched his lips. “Here I am, summoning a child only to babble incomprehensible grievances. I suppose I truly am growing old.”
“Oh, no! Your Majesty is still very, very youthful!”
“Youthful? Haha. You little rascal, do you even know how old I am?”
Of course I do. Exactly forty.
Now, however, was the prime moment to deploy the corporate survival instincts I had cultivated in my past life.
“Um…” I tilted my head, feigning deep contemplation, and boldly peered up at the royal visage that ordinary subjects were forbidden to meet. “Twenty!”
I had thrown out the number purely to play the role of an oblivious four-year-old with no concept of age. But perhaps I had laid it on a bit too thick.
“Oho. I am often told my age is difficult to guess, but do I truly appear that young to you?”
It turned out our mighty monarch was not entirely immune to shameless flattery.
“Yes! Did Bong-bong guess right, Sire?”
“Haha. Very well, let us say you did.”
…Correction. He is entirely without shame.
“Twenty, is it? Such a distant time. Let me see… what was I doing back then?” Sukjong began tracing the threads of his memory, only to falter, his expression freezing for a brief second.
I thought I knew why.
In the sixth year of his reign, when he was just a fiery twenty-year-old sovereign, he had unleashed the cold, merciless blade known to history as the Gyeongsin Hwanguk—the great purge of 1680.
The King lifted his head, his gaze distant. “It would be wonderful indeed if one could return to those days. I was brimming with vigor then.”
“What do you think would be the best part about going back, Your Majesty?”
“I had far more dreams back then, and far more I wished to accomplish. And because I had yet to learn what bitter fruit my choices would bear, I knew no fear. Above all else…” He turned his eyes slowly toward me. “When I was twenty, I had a dearest friend by my side.”
“Where is that friend now?”
The King fell silent for a long moment.
“He is dead.”
“I… I am sorry, Your Majesty.”
Sukjong did not take his eyes off me. “It is not something you should apologize for.”
“…”
“Rather… I have a premonition that it is I who should be apologizing to you.”
I met his gaze, my heart skipping a beat. It was impossible to fathom the depths of what this monarch was concealing. To bare his soul before a mere four-year-old girl—confessing the agonizing weight of the King’s Way, the bloody destiny of a ruler, and the phantom of a lost friend…
Perhaps King Sukjong… is a profoundly lonely man.
A man with no one in the world to confide in. A ruler forced to bear the crushing, silent weight of a history soaked in the blood of his own choices.
“Child.”
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
“You said you have no memory of your birth parents, correct?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Then this King intends to look into them on your behalf.”
“My parents?”
I was genuinely startled. I knew he harbored suspicions regarding my origin, but I never expected him to take such direct, proactive initiative.
“Aye. I have my own curiosities, and surely you must yearn for your kin. If you can learn even the three characters of their names through this, it would be meaningful for you as well.”
“Yes, Sire. I am deeply moved by your boundless grace.”
It was hardly a bad proposition for me. After all the cryptic hints he had dropped, my own curiosity regarding my birth had reached a boiling point. If the absolute ruler of Joseon mobilized his state apparatus to investigate, the truth would surface in no time.
It was practically effortless on my end. Though…
Wait… what if my real parents turned out to be executed traitors or something?
I had watched far too many historical dramas. I mentally shook my head. Stop the useless paranoia.
Right on cue, a soft voice interrupted from the garden entrance.
“Your Majesty, it is time for the royal day lecture.” The Head Eunuch had stepped discreetly into the courtyard, bowing low.
My audience had come to an end; it was time to return to Chwiseondang.
“Your Majesty, what will you be doing on Daeboreum?” I asked before taking my leave.
“I shall receive formal felicitations from my ministers. Afterward, I plan to stroll through the Rear Secret Garden of Changdeokgung Palace. I intend to inspect the grounds around Ongnyucheon Stream.”
Mental note! File that away immediately!
I had just obtained invaluable intelligence on the King’s exact movements for the holiday.
“Until then, little one.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“I shall see you again soon.”
Oh yes, Sire. You will be seeing me very soon indeed.
I offered a formal bow of farewell, gave Geumdeok one last affectionate pat behind her ears, and departed Huijeongdang. As expected, the Head Court Lady handed me a generous bundle of pine pollen dasik. I would give one to Bok-hee, but as for Yong-hee…
Should I give her one or not?
Mulling over the dilemma, I made my way back to Chwiseondang with light footsteps. But when I stepped into our compound, I found two deeply unwelcome visitors waiting for me.
After Bong-bong departed, King Yi Sun dismissed the Head Eunuch and remained seated alone, submerged in quiet contemplation.
To think he had poured out thoughts he had never breathed to a living soul before a mere four-year-old child. True, she was far too young to comprehend his words, but it was an astonishing departure from his usual guarded nature.
Is it… because she resembles her?
Because she resembled that girl from his youth. Back when he was still the Crown Prince, that girl’s pure, radiant countenance had possessed the uncanny power to disarm his every defense.
A sudden, heavy sigh escaped his lips. The King looked down at his own hands. Though invisible to the naked eye, those hands were drenched in crimson.
The King's Way.
As he had told the child, some kings throughout history had drawn steel with their own hands to sever the throats of kin and political adversaries. Yi Sun had never personally wielded a blade against a man, yet under the bloody mantle of political purges, he had condemned far more lives to the grave.
And… I may well have to kill many more before my reign is done.
He gently closed his eyes. The faces of those who had crumbled ruthlessly beneath the weight of his royal decrees flickered across the darkness of his mind. Among them was one he had once held most dear—the one man he had called his true friend.
“Cheok-ga…”
The King whispered the beloved, long-lost name, the sound barely carrying past his lips.
Is that child truly of your bloodline?
Cheok Woo-myeong, the martial companion he had affectionately called ‘Cheok-ga,’ had a younger sister named Yu-hwa. And on that child’s arm was the exact same vivid red mark that Yu-hwa had carried.
If that little girl is truly Yu-hwa’s daughter… could I ever atone for my sins through her?
The King’s gaze drifted toward the distant horizon, piercing and hollow with suffocating sorrow.
Could I ever atone… for the sin of butchering my dearest friend?