12. 1649, late April, year of the Earth Ox

  By the end of April the mountains were covered in lush greenery, and in the cold monastery room it had finally become possible to sleep without shivering under two blankets.

  Yi Hwan welcomed the sun that had begun to warm the earth and the scents of spring. His other affairs pleased him far less. After that memorable speech at the Confucian readings, a little more than ten days ago, he had hoped to gain some visibility at court. Yet it seemed that nothing had changed.

  Yi Hwan sat on the gallery before a low wooden table with writing implements, propping his cheek on his left hand and lazily tracing characters with his right. He had been attempting to “find the balance of lines” since dawn and had already grown bored. His teacher had gone into the city after receiving a note from a bookshop, so there was no one even to talk to. From the mountain slope on which the monastery stood came the chirping of sparrows. The sun had climbed high and was beginning to burn. Perhaps he ought to move into the shade, closer to the wall.

  Yi Hwan yawned, straightened, and stretched, his back cracking loudly. And heard someone clear his throat.

  It so resembled the throat-clearing of Master Pak, his late owner, that Yi Hwan flinched. For the past twenty years such a sound had promised nothing good. He turned cautiously and indeed saw a stout man with a gray beard, a wide-brimmed gat, and expensive robes. He had just entered the courtyard and now stood looking directly at him. The momentary confusion passed — of course, it was not Master Pak.

  “Chief State Councillor!” Yi Hwan hastened to his feet and bowed politely.

  “Hwan,” the man smiled and approached. “So many steps to climb up here… Offer your grandfather some water.”

  Up close it was clear that Councillor Kim’s face was damp with sweat and his breathing heavy. Hwan hurried to seat him on his cushion on the wooden gallery and brought both water and tea.

  “How is your health?” Yi Hwan asked as propriety required, filling his cup.

  Since the Chief State Councillor had called himself his grandfather, he had evidently come as a relative. Unfortunately, Yi Hwan could not feel himself part of this important, somewhat intimidating official’s family. He knew this was the father of his late mother, but he felt no ease in their rare meetings.

  “Not what it once was,” Councillor Kim stroked his beard and took a sip of tea. “But what can be done? Time spares no one.”

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  Yi Hwan was unsure how to respond so he remained silent.

  “What you did at the readings… thank you,” Councillor Kim spoke again. “Those cowards are afraid even to remember Yun. Such misfortune for our family. Such great misfortune.”

  Though he agreed with the councillor’s words, Yi Hwan could not help doubting their sincerity. Nearly two months had passed since his elder brother’s death. Until now, their grandfather had found no time to speak of it.

  “Do you know anything of what happened?” Yi Hwan asked and lowered his gaze, belatedly recalling that meeting another’s eyes was considered impolite.

  “I have no proof,” Councillor Kim, by contrast, ignored etiquette and did not hesitate to grind his teeth. “I might have believed he froze to death, as they announced. But the eunuch I assigned to him was not spared either. That bastard, the second prince, must know something!”

  Yi Hwan’s eyes widened in surprise. His teacher had drilled into him the necessity of concealing one’s feelings, aims, and desires. Such an open insult toward the royal family was dangerous, bordering on treason.

  “Great Prince Dojun will soon become Crown Prince,” he reminded the councillor, warning him against reckless words.

  “If we do not stop him, yes,” Councillor Kim grimaced. “Forgive me, Hwan, but I did not believe you capable of entering this game. When I lost Yun, I thought it was the end of our family. But I was mistaken. You are remarkably intelligent for your age and upbringing, grandson. Therefore I have come to offer you the throne. Do you wish to become Crown Prince in Yun’s stead?”

  Suddenly it appeared that his boldness at the readings had worked even better than he had hoped. Yi Hwan discreetly clenched the hem of his jeonbok. To avoid spoiling everything, he did not immediately nod in eager agreement.

  “The title of Crown Prince is dangerous,” he observed instead. “What will I gain if I accept?”

  Councillor Kim raised a brow, then burst into laughter, slapping his thighs.

  “A clever boy indeed,” he praised. “So the title alone is not enough. What do you want?”

  “Authority to investigate and power to exact retribution,” Yi Hwan answered without hesitation. “If I am to become Crown Prince and survive, I must learn what happened to my elder brother.”

  The Chief State Councillor tugged at his beard.

  “I shall see what can be done,” he promised at last.

  “Then there is one more thing,” Yi Hwan had long considered this plan. Now the time to act had come.

  “Speak,” the councillor encouraged with a nod.

  “I wish to marry,” Yi Hwan blurted out. He had no power of his own. To achieve anything, he would have to rely upon his wife’s family. “Can you obtain for me a list of suitable households?”

  The councillor regarded him with a long, searching look.

  “You never intended to observe the three years of mourning for the Crown Prince,” he said slowly.

  “Of course I did,” Yi Hwan had learned to lie with an honest face long ago, when the Pak household cook sternly demanded to know who had stolen a pastry from the master’s dish. “But since it is no longer required, we should not miss the moment. He who knows when to fight and when not to fight will prevail.”

  “Chapter three of The Art of War,” Councillor Kim’s voice held approval. “Very well. I shall see what can be done.”