Chapter 1 — Seolhwa — Regret

Her sijo poem shattered into fragments in midair.

I raised my cup, and within the space where melody drifted, her smile flowed, her delicate, trembling dance weaving through the notes—piercing my heart sharper than any dagger…

She rose gracefully, cleared the tray, and knelt before me once more, bowing deeply.

"Swish…"

The candlelight flickered, and the room filled with a cold, bluish sword aura. The gleam of the raised blade reflected off her silken, three-tiered hair, and for a moment I hesitated—the memory already pulling me back, far back, to the day I first met her…

"What? What's going on at the market?"

"Goodness, I don't know—what is that? A person or a pack of dogs?"

Crowds had gathered near a roadside tavern. As usual on market days, people thronged the area, often erupting into brawls that ended quickly and without much notice. But this time was different.

A thick ring of onlookers blocked the path, silent, their excited shouts stifled as they stared intently ahead.

"Out of the way! Make way!"

The command came from a retainer of Daniel Kim, a man said to be so fearsome even birds fell dead from the sky. Before him sprawled a ragged, disheveled scholar, lying on the ground, weakly chuckling.

"Ah, sir… poor soul like me, can't even afford a bowl of cheap rice wine on market day. How am I to live? Can't stoop to begging—not with scholar's pride. Only thing left is to stop a nobleman's procession and plead…"

"Ha! Calls himself a scholar? Just a mad cripple sitting there shaking!"

"You don't know? That man is David Jangseong—royal blood, though distant. Does the palace even know he's reduced to begging in markets?"

"But if he's royal, shouldn't he be living well?"

"Don't talk nonsense. The king's favor lasts but a day. Sons might be born, but concubines' kin are tossed into obscurity. After the late king passed three years ago, all those leftover nobodies were kicked out of the palace and shoved into temples. You think this one wanted that fate? Of course not. So here he is, clinging to the market, scraping by day after day."

"So his rank was that low?"

"Yes. With the crown prince wide awake and ready, the moment the old king died, he ascended immediately. What chance did this scrap of royal blood have? Even founding ministers get their heads chopped off out of fear later—so why spare someone whose only claim is diluted royal blood? No reason at all."

The retainer tossed a few copper coins from his sleeve, scattering them before the beggar's eyes as if offering alms.

"A life lower than vermin… Is it not pitiful?"

Unmoved by the passing procession, the man frantically scraped the floor, desperate not to miss a single coin.

That man was me. That was my state then. Once immersed in the splendor of palace life, I never dreamed—never imagined—that the death of the king would reduce me to such wretchedness.

"Heehee, money! Money! With this, I'll solve all the people's suffering!"

Mocking madness, I blocked Daniel Kim's procession—my own bitter protest, born of helpless rage.

Only later did I learn the truth: originally, discarded concubines' families were merely ordered to leave the palace, while those holding military titles could remain. If married, they could even live outside with some dignity. But Daniel Kim's memorial had overturned that precedent.

It was his first move—a vile power play to twist the limbs of the new, inexperienced king. Not murder, but humiliation: strip every royal of status, crush their lives into corners, make them invisible. Citing bloody histories of royal infighting, he convinced the court against all objections. Except the crown prince, every royal was stripped of title and office, expelled from the palace.

For someone like me—never in line for the throne, yet once living in comfort—to be cast out with nothing? It was worse than a death sentence.

Clutching my hollow stomach, I staggered to the tavern and shouted at the landlady.

"Madam! Madam! I'm here! See this? Isn't this money? Heehee… Quick, bring me a big bowl of hearty soup and a jug of rice wine!"

But I couldn't outrun hunger—or my drinking. The food and drink I'd consumed already exceeded the value of those coins. The landlady signaled the server with sharp glances: Say nothing. Pour quietly.

She likely thought: let him collapse from exhaustion. If he starts trouble, he'll ruin business on market day.

But I saw it. I saw everything.

When I raised my voice and jabbed a finger at her, burly men emerged from inside, grabbed me, and hurled me through the reed gate.

"Get a grip on yourself! Do you even know what era this is?"

Drunk on empty stomach, I stumbled, the world spinning around me.

Fine. If the world won't turn for me, I'll make it spin anyway.

With the sky turning red above me, I plunged headfirst into a ditch and lost consciousness.

How long was I out? A serene gayageum melody reached my ears, and a sweet fragrance tingled in my nose.

"Ugh… my head!"

It throbbed as if split open. But the room was tidy, elegant. On the wall hung a painting of a graceful woman, exquisitely rendered.

Not a noble household, yet the air carried an astonishing calm, a quiet dignity.

I looked around—then down at myself—and nearly jumped.

The clothes I wore were fine silk, clearly expensive. My skin—once filthy, scabbed, crawling with lice like a maddened rabbit—was now clean, pale, scrubbed spotless.

Was this a dream? Or reality?

"Did you cough, sir?"

It was the woman from the painting. She stood holding a bowl of honeyed water.

"How… how did I come to be like this?"

"Humble as I am, I brought you to my quarters. Forgive my presumption."

"Do you even know who I am?"

"How could I not?…Given how things stand, please don't dwell on it. Rest easy here."

I watched her bow softly and leave, stunned.

Coming to my senses, I searched the room for proper attire—but my tattered robe was gone. In its place lay dignified garments and shoes, neatly laid out.

After dressing, I sat upright just as she returned, carrying a tray.

Without a word, she set the meal down and left. I picked up my spoon in silence. But yesterday's drinking left my mouth parched, rough as sandpaper, and I could barely eat.

As I slowly sipped congee, she returned with more broth. After draining the bowl, I stopped her before she could clear the table.

"Why help a wretch like me?"

"Wretch? Never. Preserving your health is paramount now. Say no more—stay here as long as you wish. I'll take my leave. Entry and exit are restricted, so it may feel confining. But no family enters here, so walking in the courtyard is perfectly fine."

"Do you know who I am?"

"Of course I do."

She wouldn't meet my eyes. That she knew I was a worthless remnant of the fallen king's blood—I dared not ask how. Time flew like an arrow. Over a month passed, and curiosity about the outside world began to gnaw at me.

We shared meals daily, but she spoke little. I started to feel like less than a guest—just a freeloading pauper eating away his days.

"Can you tell me how things are outside these walls?"

"Why ask a foolish girl like me? But sensing your concern, I've arranged a meeting tonight with someone who can inform you. Please wait."

She saw straight into my heart. Late that night, she brought in a tall man.

His robe was dignified, his posture broad-shouldered—clearly a warrior. But the front of his hat was lowered with black gauze, hiding his face. I could hear his voice, but not see him.

"Sire, are you in good health?"

"No! How dare you utter such blasphemy? The king lives—how can you address a lowly creature like me with the sovereign's title?"

"That is not so, Your Highness. Though the young king sits the throne, the court is now in Daniel Kim's clutches, sinking deeper into darkness by the hour. Loyal ministers pleaded with him, but their appeals were ignored. Now, with power seized, that traitorous monster uses the puppet king to slaughter the righteous without mercy. And do you know what else? The government, blind to the people's suffering, dumps heavier taxes onto the backs of the powerless. The people's hearts have already turned."

"Then why reveal this to me—a fallen remnant of the old king's blood?"

"For the sake of the nation and ancestral rites. Rise, sire. Restore the crumbling state. Eradicate the corrupt officials and greedy governors gnawing at the foundation of our country. This plea is no treason. I have already failed in my duty by not speaking directly to the king. Now, I swear on my life—worth no more than a blade of grass—to serve this cause. This is not personal sentiment. Please understand."

"Then what should I do?"

"Wait. When the time comes, we will surge into the palace like a flood to restore you. Until then, preserve your strength. Stand as a worthy ruler, one the people and ancestors need not be ashamed of."

Clearly, this man held military authority. After he left, the woman returned.

"Sire, has your curiosity been satisfied? As great deeds loom ahead, let me offer humble counsel: from tomorrow, I will return your old clothes. Return to a beggar's life."

"What? What do you mean?"

"The troops are already moving toward the capital, leaving their camps. People are already whispering about your disappearance. Suspicion must not be invited—it invites danger. Better to give it freely. Let them see again the pitiful life of a fallen royal, lower than a worm. Only then can you survive. Otherwise, Daniel Kim's reach may yet threaten your safety. He already suspects movement—he's placing blades everywhere."

In the candlelight, her eyes shimmered—resolute, yet filled with sorrow.

"You're right. Then why linger here tonight? I should go sleep in some alley corner like a beggar. Why burden your spirit another day?"

"But though I've served you, sire, I've never once brought you joy. That breaks my heart. Allow me just this one night—to bring you happiness."

Only then did I realize: she was Sarah, the famed courtesan, the most celebrated singer in the capital.

That night, her rich, soulful voice and the mournful depth of her gayageum moved me to tears. After setting aside the instrument, she came beside me and poured wine.

I tried to see her face more clearly, but she kept it veiled. Then she rose, loosened her sash, and began to dance.

In the flickering candlelight, her small face wore a tender smile. Her movements floated through the air, so light they seemed to deny the very fabric covering her body.

Her sheer, flowing undergarment slipped down, revealing her entire form. She stepped toward me—and blew out the candle.

The rush of her fragrance… How long had it been? She nestled gently into my arms and spoke.

"Sire, promise me one thing: when the day of victory comes, before your departure, you will come find me…"

"Yes. I will never forget the debt I owe you for sheltering me."

I softly wrapped my arms around her bare shoulders, trembling in my embrace, and laid her down upon the bedding.

Moonlight streamed into the room. Her full, rounded breasts faintly glowed in the dim light—and I truly understood why she was called a legend.

As I opened my robe, she boldly took my manhood into her mouth—something no ordinary woman would dare.

"Sarah… how you inflame me… Ah! Ah! Ah!"

"Sire, tonight, your body is my heaven."

Then she pushed me down, climbed atop me, and lowered her fragrant hips over me like a cap settling onto a peak. Without touching, I felt her wetness flowing, drenching my flesh. My arms were clasped in her hands as her breasts swayed above me, and together we plunged into a chasm of shuddering ecstasy.

It wasn't just the wine. I felt utterly drained, emptied to the core, collapsing into helpless surrender.

"Look at me… look at me…"

I woke with a start. Had last night's union been a dream? I lay sprawled on the street. Children surrounded me, mocking my filthy, tattered robe, crumpled and muddy.

Clearly, Sarah had drugged my wine. While I slept, she changed my clothes, smeared soot over my body, and secretly placed me back on the street.

Her voice rang sharply in my memory:

"Let them see again the pitiful life of a fallen royal, lower than a worm. Only then can you survive. Otherwise, Daniel Kim's reach may yet threaten your safety."

"Kids! I'm hungry—give me food. Hee… hee… hee…"

People clicked their tongues as the children laughed and I played the fool.

"Didn't think he'd end up clinging to a whore?"

"If you had half a brain, you'd know—why would anyone keep a mad beggar around?"

"No wonder the country's falling apart… Tsk, tsk."

One man listening to the gossip was none other than Daniel Kim's retainer—the same one who'd thrown coins at me.

Watching him hurry away, I knew: things were moving as planned. Like a monk who's tasted meat, no flea would be spared. Because of the rare peace I'd known with her, returning to life on the streets—eating, sleeping in filth—felt crueler, harder than ever.

Rumors of rebellion swirled, but no one knew the source. People gossiped endlessly. Meanwhile, the insults and spittle hurled at me—for returning to my wretched existence—were relentless.

Then, on a dark moonless evening, starving, I sought shelter beneath a stranger's eaves when three figures appeared before me like wind.

They glanced around, then whispered urgently.

"Sire, rise quickly. Time is short. Armor has been prepared."

Starving, I let them support me as we moved toward a destination I instantly recognized—Sarah's residence.

"Sire, you've endured great hardship. Wash your body, restore your spirit. Today is the day."

With Sarah's help, I ate, cleansed myself, and dressed in armor in the main hall. Then I entered a private room alone.

But instead of her, an old general waited—armored, sword in hand.

"You? Commander of the Royal Guards?"

"Sire, forgive my insolence. This was necessary for the greater cause. If you wish to punish me, strike my head after the deed is done."

"No. I am grateful for your loyalty in restoring me. But why summon me here?"

The commander dropped to his knees, still armored.

"In plotting this endeavor, we relied on a lowly woman's aid. But now, as the tide turns in our favor, not a single obstacle must remain in your path.

If rumors become truth—that you survived by the help of a mere courtesan—it will wound your legacy forever. Thus, I speak this painful truth: before drawing the sword of kingship, though she served you, this low-born woman's life must end. I beg your understanding.

Sire, you are soon to be father of the people, cornerstone of the ancestral rites. Hesitation cannot exist."

He offered me his sword. Cold sweat broke across my back. My vision blurred.

Her delicate figure flashed before my eyes. The sword trembled violently in my hands.

"I understand. Grant me a moment. Summon Sarah. She once risked her life for me. At least let us share a farewell drink. It is only right."

Just then, Sarah entered—dressed in radiant robes, carrying a small lacquered tray.

"Commander, please don't worry. I already asked His Highness. May I briefly honor him before his departure?"

"My apologies. You've done well. But what can I do? I'll reward you generously. Any debt I cannot repay in this life, follow me and claim it in the next."

The commander left. Sarah poured me a cup—so full it overflowed.

"Sire, whenever you raise your cup… remember me… as this cup overflows with grace… I die today without regret. One final song—for your journey ahead."

She sat before me—armored, sword at her side—and gently drew out a fan. With a voice full of sorrow, she sang.

Her melody split the night sky. Tears streamed down my face. Yet she sang on, unwavering, as if detachment itself had taken human form.

If parting means never looking back,
May heaven descend and rivers hold their breath.
When will I sing beside you again?

Her sijo poem shattered into fragments in midair.

I raised my cup. Within the space where melody drifted, her smile flowed, her delicate, trembling dance weaving through the notes—piercing my heart sharper than any dagger.

She rose gracefully, cleared the tray, and knelt before me once more, bowing deeply.

"Sire, having lived thus, I depart with no regrets. Please preserve your health and fulfill your destiny."

"Swish…"

The candlelight flickered, and the room filled with a cold, bluish sword aura. The gleam of the raised blade reflected off her silken, three-tiered hair—and her breath stilled.

The sword had passed through, yet she remained kneeling, hands clasped, eyes closed, facing me proudly, unbroken. I lowered my sword and walked out.

"Commander. Let's go. We have much to do."

That evening, the palace ran red with blood. The commander spent the day purging corrupt officials, wading through rivers of gore.

When the political storm settled, I ascended the throne. Was this heaven's will? With corrupt ministers eliminated, the people's hearts slowly warmed toward the royal house. The loyal commander became Chief State Councillor, reforming the government with relentless integrity.

Soon, urged by ministers, I selected a queen. The palace rejoiced. I buried myself in state affairs, forgetting the bitterness of the past.

Then came the greatest joy: the queen's pregnancy. One day, she traveled to her parents' home for rest.

Though the journey was tiresome, I eagerly followed to visit her.

"Sire, shall we rest a moment?"

"Yes. But what is that white hill in the distance?"

My gaze fixed on a cluster of trees glowing white on a mountainside. Attendants hurried to investigate and soon reported:

"Sire, it's a wildflower unique to this region. Look."

They showed me the bloom—small, modest white flowers clustered like scattered snow.

"What is it called?"

"Some call it Sarah. Others, resembling frost, call it Sanghwa."

"Who… who calls it Sarah? Why?"

"It's… embarrassing to say, but it's where a lowly courtesan named Sarah was buried. They say she loved a man deeply and, fearing defilement, took her own life. But a wicked noble tricked her, claiming her lover was safe, then tore her body apart, scattering her remains across this slope so she couldn't be properly buried. Since then, these flowers bloom—resembling snowflakes. The people, honoring her chastity, call them Sarah."

I remembered the commander's anguish afterward—his futile search for her remains.

It must have been Daniel Kim's remnants who did this.

The white mound in the distance stood firm, as if it had always known I would one day pass before it.

Somewhere, a peasant woman's mournful song drifted from the fields.

Even as the royal procession moved on, my heart remained rooted to that flower-covered grave, unable to stir.

▒ If parting means never looking back,
▒ May heaven descend and rivers hold their breath.
▒ When will I sing beside you again?
▒ Plum blossoms blanket the earth—yet the season feels barren.
▒ Will the day come when you understand this trembling heart?
▒ Though I shake off forgetfulness, undo my braided hair,
▒ Still flows the jade tower, still stretches the longing—
▒ Only your image, turning into distant mountains, remains in my eyes.

-End-