50. 1649, March, year of the Earth Ox

  Late March snow lay over the capital like an endless coverlet, muffling sounds, sheltering alike the crooked houses of the poor outskirts and the high roof crowned with dragons above the royal quarters at the very heart of the palace. The paved courtyard, the two flights of steps, the carved stone guardians — all were wrapped in white, and only the faintly smoking bronze braziers at the foot of the stone stair stood out as dark stains amid the all-encompassing pallor. They — and the figure of a man seated on a mat spread before the steps leading upward. Even so, the snow was slowly claiming its due, and the seated man’s headgear no longer looked quite so black.

  The man’s name was Yi Yun, and he was a criminal.

  Earlier that day, scarcely returned and changed into garments befitting a Crown Prince, Yi Yun paid a visit to his father. The king, of course, refused to receive the prince who had angered him. The doors at the top of the high stone stair remained closed, and servants bent in eternal bows would not let him pass.

  The king was furious, the king was disappointed.

  His hope that the title would go to Great Prince Dojun had been thwarted by the impudence of Yi Yun. And now there was no way to fulfill the king’s wish and go against the Emperor’s command. No way to appoint another heir without unleashing war with Great Qing.

  Except, perhaps, one.

  “The king does not wish to see you, Crown Prince,” the Chief Eunuch announced, bowing even deeper.

  Yi Yun made a gesture, and the servant of his brother who accompanied him handed the royal eunuch a small chest with a cinnabar-signed document.

  “I have come to give Father this,” Yi Yun said.

  The Chief Eunuch clicked his tongue in annoyance and scurried inside the throne hall with the offering. He returned almost at once and shook his gray head.

  “The king does not wish to see you, Crown Prince.”

  “Of course. I am at fault and dare not insist,” Yi Yun agreed peacefully. Raising his voice so it would carry beyond the thin doors, he added, “Your Majesty! I wish you robust health and long years of life!”

  Then Yi Yun descended to the very bottom of the steps. The snowfall since morning had made them a little slick, he had to watch his footing.

  His brother’s servants brought the mat he had requested earlier and spread it at the foot of the high stair.

  As was fitting for great sinners, Yi Yun made four full bows toward the royal quarters and, carefully straightening his robes, knelt. It was quite cold, and the fine, biting snow made him dream of a scarf. Unfortunately, a scarf was not part of the Crown Prince’s ceremonial attire.

  Still, if he stopped resisting and let the cold in just as he once let in darkness and killing, it should become easier. How many years had he lived like a dog of the Chief State Councillor Choi, intimidating and killing worthy people? What chance had stayed his hand back then when he nearly shot his own brother in Incheon?

  Of course, now he was again the king’s eldest son, the grandson of the new State Councillor, but he was still a criminal.

  What did the families think whose loved ones, after years of separation, were killed on the threshold of their own homes?

  Did they know it was he, Great Prince Seojin, the king’s heir, who took their kin?

  Did some maid weep for a sister taken too soon?

  Did some official smash his fist bloody against a carved pillar, cursing in helplessness the murderer of his son?

  At times Yi Yun felt a hateful gaze pressing into his back, but he turned and the delusion vanished.

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  And the snow whispered that all of this was bygone — terrible and dark, like these blind heavens from which it fell. It continued to settle on his shoulders, trying to cover his back, erasing every memory of an evil past.

  Long ago, when it was spring and the sun shone brightly, smiling down at him, Yi Yun had been a child, living surrounded by his parents’ love and care. They played together, admired flowers, and his father tossed him high toward the sun, and his mother laughed with joy. When his younger brother was born, they started playing as four, and it was even happier.

  Was he guilty for dreaming of restoring that happiness after losing it?

  Perhaps he had been too greedy.

  Receiving the edict from the hands of the Prince Regent of Great Qing, Yi Yun rejoiced shamelessly. He was happy and proud. It felt as if he had regained his original place! The very place promised to him back then, in spring, when his father lifted him toward blooming clouds and called him a little dragon.

  But that spring had long since ended, and a new one could not begin. That place no longer belonged to him. He left the capital against his Father’s order, and the outcome the king expected turned out otherwise. His younger brother hurried ahead with the precious sword of the Ming emperor. Yi Yun escorted Prince Rui and returned later, burdened with the imperial edict and a growing understanding of his transgression. Seeking his father’s approval and love, he became a criminal once more.

  How might it all have turned out if his greed had been satisfied in some other way, he wondered?

  What if he had, say, a girl who loved him, with a long black braid and bright, mischievous eyes? Or a loyal friend whose sword he could rely on in battle, and with whom he could drink wine in peacetime? Or at least a dog that followed him everywhere and slept at his feet to guard his rest?

  The sun hid behind low, gray clouds. The doors of the throne hall remained closed. From below, Yi Yun could see the small figures of guards standing by the entrance. Several times the Chief Eunuch came out, likely to check whether he was still there, but the king did not appear.

  In truth, that was for the best. The closed doors let Yi Yun imagine that on the other side of the thin partitions his father, too, felt a little sad. Had the king truly come out, lips pressed thin, granting him a contemptuous look, Yi Yun would not have had even that small comfort.

  The snowfall thickened, though the wind nearly died. The guard changed, darkness fell, servants rekindled the braziers along the stair. In their weak amber light, Yi Yun saw that the flakes had grown larger.

  The Chief Eunuch, waddling slightly and careful not to slip, came down to him.

  “Return tomorrow, Crown Prince,” he advised. “And the day after. The king will forgive you one day.”

  Yi Yun shook his head.

  “I am not waiting for forgiveness,” he answered indistinctly, surprised to find his frozen lips barely obeyed him. “I am atoning for my sin.”

  The eunuch lingered as if searching for words, then, saying nothing, set off on his difficult climb back up the slick stone steps.

  By then the snowfall was in full force, and the tracks the Chief Eunuch left soon vanished under fresh snow. Yi Yun sat as if on a snow featherbed, the mat had long since disappeared from sight.

  He wondered whether that official and that maid would consider themselves avenged if they heard of his punishment. The cause was different, but would they not rejoice to learn that the untouchable royal son had finally been overtaken by retribution? It seemed fair to him, if only they knew the fate of the murderer.

  Perhaps it was the method that was not entirely fair.

  The cold proved a merciful ally, and when Yi Yun stopped resisting it, relaxing his muscles and squaring his shoulders, it began to rock him. It was important not to yield to the deceptive snowy lullaby and fall asleep. If he collapsed, he would surely be lifted and carried into warmth. But as long as the Crown Prince sat upright, palace servants dared do nothing.

  At first his skin stung, then the sensation passed, replaced by warm spring memories and the smell of green grass. He must have dozed, because he jolted awake at the sound of footsteps. Thankfully, his stiffened body did not let him fall. Dawn was breaking. The courtyard lay buried in snow up to the first step. The Chief Eunuch descended again, this time with a small retinue.

  “Return to your quarters, Crown Prince,” the eunuch asked.

  Yi Yun tried to shake his head but could not be sure the frozen neck moved at all, so he simply remained as he was. The Chief Eunuch sighed, somehow more heavily than before.

  “The king shows…” he faltered for a moment, “…mercy, not wishing to witness the continuation of your suffering.”

  Efficient servants set a low table before Yi Yun, and upon it a white bowl with steaming brown decoction. He blinked, trying to brush snow from his lashes, and looked up the stair. The doors of the throne hall were still closed, the time for morning council had not yet come.

  Yi Yun looked again at the bowl and smiled.

  “Crown Prince, you may yet return…” the Chief Eunuch began again.

  “My father has not treated me to anything since I was eight,” Yi Yun cut him off. His voice barely obeyed, and his numb fingers refused to bend. With effort he raised his hands to touch the hot bowl, but sharp pain flared in his palms. He looked at the Chief Eunuch. “Help me. I do not wish to spill a drop.”

  The eunuch swallowed, bent, and firmly enclosed the prince’s hands in his own, helping bring the steaming bowl to his mouth.

  In the end, the poison was not even bitter.