Chapter 28
The One Who Will Be King
Uncle Mandol’s eyes bulged even more and his cheeks puffed out, brimming with anger.
“What on earth were you thinking?”
Miyu tilted her head, puzzled.
“What do you mean?”
“They say you told my mom yesterday that smoking is bad, didn’t you?”
Ah, so that’s why he’s here.
“Yes. Because it is bad. Really, really bad,” Miyu replied, straightening her back with confidence.
“Why d’you say that? Maybe you don’t know how good tobacco can be?”
“I can say for certain—it’s very bad.”
Her clear, unwavering gaze made Mandol hesitate.
“Wh-why? Everyone says it’s fine.”
“Think about it. Doesn’t your throat hurt when you smoke?”
“Y-yeah, it does.”
“It makes phlegm build up and leaves a nasty smell on your body, right?”
“That’s true.”
“It also stains your teeth yellow.”
“Right.”
“And it’s not just on the surface.”
“Wh-what do you mean?”
“Here—your bronchial tubes.”
Miyu stretched out a finger and tapped the side of his neck.
“Here is your heart. If this stops, you die.”
She pointed to his chest.
“And here, your stomach and other organs.”
Finally, she poked his forehead, just beneath his hat.
“Even inside the bones.”
“W-why are you saying all this?”
“They all rot and decay. Even your bones will weaken,” Miyu declared.
“Is… is that true?”
“Don’t you know Jomi-yu? Have I ever been wrong?”
“Miyu-unni is a master!” Bok-sil, who’d been watching, shouted.
“I… I know, I know.”
“Then that’s settled.”
Miyu dusted off her hands and sat back down on the porch.
“Huh?”
“You can go now. And don’t even dream about smoking.”
“Al… alright.”
Gulping hard, Uncle Mandol turned and shuffled away.
Grand Prince I-un (Hyean-daegun) halted mid-step as he descended the stairs of Gyeongchunjeon Hall in Changgyeong Palace, where the Grand Queen Dowager resided.
From the steps he looked across the courtyard between Gyeongchunjeon and Hwanggyeongjeon, the corners of his finely drawn lips lifting slightly.
“This is where I first saw you,” he said, remembering the boy who had suddenly kicked a ball toward him years ago.
“How could I ever forget that day?” replied Choi Gang-ja, the boy now grown.
After I-un lost his mother, the Grand Queen Dowager, the highest elder of the palace, had taken him under her wing.
She worried as the bright, perceptive prince grew quiet and subdued.
The dowager knew well how harsh life in the deep palace could be for a child who’d lost his mother.
To survive, one needed strength—both the ability to hide emotions and, at times, to express them.
Without that, the heart withers and one lives as a shell.
Choi Gang-ja was the secret remedy she prepared for her grandson’s spirit.
Two years older than I-un, Gang-ja was notorious among the eunuchs: slipping toads into court ladies’ shoes, pretending to be a ghost at night—an incorrigible prankster.
He was fearless and naturally cheerful, never cowed even when scolded, impossible to tame with the rod.
At only ten, he was already taller and stronger than many grown men.
Yet to the dowager, this troublemaker was the perfect companion to revive her grandson’s vitality.
By her order, Gang-ja became I-un’s friend, spending his days leading the prince into endless mischief.
“Looking back, you made me laugh so much,” I-un said, memories of their childhood games vivid before his eyes.
“I played ball with you countless times,” Gang-ja replied with a proud tilt of his shoulders.
“You’re two years older. That was only natural.”
“Don’t say that. I can’t stand losing, yet I could never beat you at ball. I lost so many nights of sleep over it.”
“That’s just your temper.”
“Want to settle it with a real match right now?”
“Quick to flare up, aren’t you? Do you want another sleepless night? Honestly, I held back. Since you’re older, I didn’t want to win too big. Height doesn’t mean you’re better at ball.”
It was true.
Though no one could match Gang-ja’s strength, ball-playing was different. I-un had natural athletic sense and nimble feet.
“You only know who’s taller by standing side by side,” Gang-ja muttered.
“I’d love to put you in your place, but I have somewhere to be today,” I-un said.
“Where to, Your Highness?”
“To Donggungjeon.”
“To show a painting, perhaps?”
I-un merely nodded with a small smile.
As they passed through Hamyang Gate, leaving Changgyeong Palace for Changdeok Palace, they spotted fifteen-year-old Crown Prince Geon-ho emerging from Seongjeonggak, trailed by eunuchs and court ladies.
“Your Highness, the Crown Prince,” I-un greeted.
“Brother, did you just visit Grandmother the Dowager?” the Crown Prince asked.
His face was youthful and delicate, his build slender like his mother’s.
“Yes, Your Highness,” I-un answered politely.
“Where were you headed?”
“I was on my way to see you at Donggungjeon.”
His voice carried gentle affection.
“Ah! To show me the genre paintings you mentioned?”
“That’s right. And Your Highness, where are you off to?”
“I went for a walk to clear my head. Let’s go to Donggungjeon right now. I can’t wait to see the paintings.”
The Crown Prince eagerly grabbed I-un’s hand.
“People are watching,” I-un murmured.
“Oh, forgive me.”
The prince quickly let go.
“Your Highness, apart from elders of the royal house, never say ‘forgive me’ to anyone,” I-un said more firmly.
“Forgi—… Understood.”
A king-to-be is beyond fault; he carries no sin.
I-un felt a pang of concern for his overly gentle half-brother.
Later, the two sat facing each other, Kim Hong-do’s Danwon Genre Album of twenty-seven paintings spread between them.
Inside were scenes such as Village School, Plowing, Archery, Wrestling, Peddlers, Blacksmith, Fortune Telling, Tiling a Roof, Wayside Tavern, Board Game, Washing Place—vivid, humorous portrayals of commoners’ daily work and lives.
“In this one, the man planing wood is a carpenter, and the one by the pillar is leveling it. The man on the roof is laying tiles. Each has a specific role,” I-un explained as the Crown Prince opened Tiling a Roof.
To the prince, the bustling life of Joseon’s people was another world.
“Brother, it amazes me to see our people living like this,” he said, eyes shining but tinged with sadness.
I-un pitied the future king who had never truly seen or heard the lives of those he would rule.
The prince felt the same shame.
“Their lives are so simple and genuine. I wish I could leave the palace sometimes, visit a marketplace, watch wrestling—just as you do.”
“Someday you will.”
“Do you really think so? Mother will never allow it,” he sighed, thinking of the powerful, domineering Queen.
Crown Prince Geon-ho was bright but gentle, too mild to assert himself against his formidable mother.
I-un felt deep sympathy: destined for the throne, intelligent yet too tender, surrounded by overpowering forces.
“To be a wise king, you must always put the people first. They will be your strength and courage.”
“I truly like you, Brother,” the prince said suddenly, eyes misting.
Despite his powerful family and strong-willed mother, he too was lonely.
That shared loneliness bound the brothers tightly.
“Next time, I’d like to see your own paintings. They say even the palace painters bow to your talent—your portraits and genre scenes are unmatched. Yet I’ve never seen them.”
“You flatter me,” I-un replied quietly.
He disliked showing his work; revealing a painting felt like revealing his soul.
A grand prince’s art was no mere hobby—it could invite attack or expose his innermost thoughts.
Especially his portraits and genre scenes, which laid bare how he saw the world.
He kept those hidden.
“The final painting in this album is Market Road,” I-un said. “A line of palanquins rounds a mountain bend. Notice the ox and horse carry nothing.”
“Indeed. Why is that?”
“They’re returning from the market, all goods sold. The people’s faces are drawn bright and lighthearted.”
“The expressions are so alive. No book can teach this. Please visit me often, Brother.”
As the prince closed the album, his face was full of reluctant admiration.
“I’m glad it was useful to you. I’ll come again at your command,” I-un said, tucking the album under his arm and stepping out.
By then the sun had set, a red dusk settling gently over the palace rooftops.
I-un pictured the village beyond the palace walls: the smoke of cooking fires rising, the scent of rice warming the air, families gathering noisily around their evening meal.
His walk back to his quarters felt lonelier than ever.
He missed his friends of Sobaek Hall—Byun Ha-yeon, Hwang Hee, and Lady Miyu.
He remembered running along the Cheonggye Stream hand in hand with Miyu.
The world blurred around them, the eyes of others unable to keep pace.
Escaping the speed of the world, he felt free.
His breath quickened, heart racing—a vivid proof of being alive.
That memory of her hand in his came back again and again each day, its sensation so real that sunset flushed his cheeks.
Ahem.
He coughed into his fist as if someone might read his thoughts.
“I must simply be missing the lively Songpa market,” he told himself.
“And perhaps puppy Woo-yu as well.”
Just then, the new chief eunuch appointed in place of Choi Gang-ja hurried toward him, bowing low and speaking softly.
“Grand Prince, the Grand Queen Dowager requests your presence once more.”
I-un’s face tightened.
He had already paid his respects. That meant something new had come up.
Could it be… Cheonggye Stream?
