Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13869099.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      무사_백동수_|_Warrior_Baek_Dong_Soo
  Relationship:
      Dong-soo_x_Woon
  Character:
      Baek_Dong-soo, Yeo_Woon, Sa-mo, Yang_Cho-rip, Commander_Im_Soo-wong, Jin-
      joo, Ji-sun, Dae-ung, Gwang-taek, Ga-ok, Chun, you_know_there_are_lots_of
      characters_in_Warrior_Baek_Dong-soo
  Additional Tags:
      Novelization, Novelization_with_a_difference, Gay_Sex, Bromance_to
      Romance, h/c, Hurt_Comfort_is_a_big_deal_because_emotionally_what_else
      cures_us, Ji_Chang_Wook_as_Baek_Dong-soo, Yoo_Seung-ho_as_Yeo_Woon, These
      boys_are_pretty_but_the_characters_are_pretty_unforgettable, This_one
      felt_like_script-doctoring, This_one_wanted_to_restore_Dong-soo_as_a
      hero, SAVE_YEO_WOON_2018, Dong-soo_x_Yeo_Woon, Dong-soo_has_to_be_the
      hero_in_his_own_story_because_as_Lily_said_"history", K-drama, I_TREAT
      THE_YOUNG_WOMEN_JUST_FINE_with_just_a_teeny_tiny_bit_of_interpretation,
      JIN_JOO_IS_AWESOMESAUCE_but_Woonie_was_Dong-soo's_special_person_am_I
      right?, action_fusion_historical_k-drama
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-03-04 Completed: 2018-03-26 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 59719
****** If You Lie With Me ******
by debbiechan
Summary
     Unlike my “Sanctuary” series which imagines a life for Woon and Dong-
     soo after the canon story, this long story works entirely within
     canon; it re-tells the series. It is, in fact, a novelization of the
     series with a new precipitating scene; the story is shown only from
     the boys’ new perspective and with added scenes and dialogues.
     If Woon had not been so silent and if Dong-soo had been a less clue-
     less participant in the sweep of events, Warrior Baek Dong-soo’s
     final episode could’ve showcased its most compelling message:
     people’s lives are not pre-determined by the stars but determined by
     themselves.

     Although Woon is the fail bad-guy, the fail-last episode hits all the
     wrong notes by making Dong-soo the fail good-guy. This story is for
     the fan who helped me understand that. This story sets Dong-soo and
     Woon on a different course and lets them grow up.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Unlike my “Sanctuary” series which imagines a life for Woon and Dong-soo after
the canon story, this long story works entirely within canon; it re-tells the
series. It is, in fact, a novelization of the series with a new precipitating
scene; the story is shown only from the boys’ new perspective and with added
scenes and dialogues. I hope, though, that you enjoy more than that.
 
If Woon had not been so silent and if Dong-soo had been a less clue-less
participant in the sweep of events, Warrior Baek Dong-soo’s final episode
could’ve showcased its most compelling message: people’s lives are not pre-
determined by the stars but determined by themselves. I’ve always argued that
the script could’ve remained a tragic but consistent narrative if it had
allowed its characters to mature. In a successful coming-of-age story, bravery
helps—that is, pushing through boundaries, conventions, convenient deceptions.
This story is another way I imagine Woon and Dong-soo could have navigated what
Woon believed to be his dark destiny. This story, in rescuing Woon, also
restores Dong-soo as a champion in a historical story; thanks to Lily and other
fans, I realize how much the K-drama failed his character by not allowing him
to accomplish what the historical figure is most famous for—in the script,
Dong-soo is not even the hero responsible for stopping the coup against the
Prince Heir; he merely staves off assassins at first and helps by accident
while others do the real superstar work; neither is he shown to have he learned
what his mentor called “the Living Sword” as any coming-of-age protagonist
would do; he doesn’t understand his best friend.
 
For what it’s worth, Warrior Baek Dong-soo the K-drama may have tried to play
both sides and shown that destiny and self-determination can work together.  (I
tried this game in my WBDS story “To Catch Heaven in Your Hands”). But if so,
the script failed at that. As one fan said, the final episode sent the message
that one isn’t allowed to fight for one’s life.  Yeo Woon died in the end; he
could’ve died in a way that justified the script. The worst sin of the script,
though, may have been killing Dong-soo as a believable hero.
 
A sad ending is not necessarily a bad ending, but Warrior Baek Dong-soo’s is
both. Woon drops his weapons and leaps to a useless death; Dong-soo holds fast
to his sword, averts his eyes, and, believing Woon will kill him, is resigned
to his fate. Woon is in Dong-soo’s arms again, but the script is miserably
unconsummated. The ending is an inversion of everything Dong-soo stood for, and
yes, some stories invert tropes.  But the script doesn’t invert this trope in a
satisfying way; it exploits and belittles the relationship between the main
characters.  It’s not even a decent Romeo and Juliet story because what Woon
did to save Dong-soo and others isn’t revealed, isn’t shown to heal those who
cared for that tragic kid, and Woon’s story disappears, lost to history, no
longer even a blip in subsequent events although Woon’s struggle had been the
focus all through the series. Although Woon is the fail bad-guy, the fail-last
episode hits all the wrong notes by making Dong-soo the fail good-guy. This
story is for the fan who helped me understand that. This story sets Dong-soo
and Woon on a different course and lets them grow up.
 
 
For Lily (Zofolli)
 
 
Sorry, not sorry for still writing to save Yeo Woon. I’ve watched so many K-
dramas where guys die tragically—e.g., I knew Bidam in Queen Seondeok would die
as a historical character, and I watched the script show him accept that his
rejecting mother loved him, that the woman he loved also loved him, so when
Bidam went down, it was sad, but he went down fighting like a man, chasing his
own hubris and trying to reach his impossible love in the end. Woonie? He never
had any reassurance of anyone’s love. By what miracle did he ever follow Dong-
soo far enough to lose him in the end? So, what if Dong-soo had given Woon less
to doubt sooner?
 
Genre: Boy-love, Shounen-ai, Hurt-Comfort, Romance
 
Pairing: Dong-soo x Woon
 
Warnings: Explicit homosexual sex (the first incidence involves arguably
underage boys—two consenting seventeen-year olds—and LOTS of sex because this
precipitating event changes the WBDS script), some violence, mentions of
childhood abuse. Nothing peculiar. Thank you to the longtime fan of this
pairing who encouraged me to write more sex scenes because I believed those to
be my weak area, and practice is a virtue.
 
Screencaps and English subtitles are from the series. Only the first, from when
Dong-soo and Woon were boys at the warrior camp, has been manipulated to
include snow.
 
 
 PART ONE
   1. You’d Save Anyone
A man who jumps off cliffs jumps to conclusions (attributed to Confucius).
 
“What are you doing?” Woon whispered. Dong-soo’s eyebrows were white with
frost. His face was close enough to breathe clouds of warm air onto Woon’s
cheek.
“Ah, there you are.” Dong-soo smiled. “It’s going to be okay.”
Woon couldn’t remember—wait.There had been an argument. Woon had said the geese
were flying downstream to nest because of the cold, and Dong-soo had countered
that their arrows had spooked them further up the mountain. Dong-soo had
already bagged one large goose. He said the best place to shoot them would be
from the cliff-side. Woon wasn’t easily convinced, but Dong-soo could be
convincing. They’d climbed up and up, warming themselves with the exercise,
bickering about nothing and everything. The geese had been there—skimming over
the icy water.
“How many fingers am I holding up?” Dong-soo asked.
“Four.” I’ve been in an accident.
“How old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
All the boys in the warrior camp would be observing their eighteenth birthday,
as had been tradition on the mountain-top for five years now, on the coming New
Year. Woon’s actual seventeenth birthday had been a few days ago. Dong-soo had
given him a boiled egg--stolen from the kitchen—and then he’d asked for a bite.
Just a tiny bite, Woon-ah?
Snow was falling. Snow? No one had expected snow before dawn when Sa-mo had
sent the boys out to hunt game. Snow did fall in mid-November, though. Not
often, but on hazy days like today, without warning….
I fell into the water.
Woon remembered now.  Another argument. “Step back.” “No, you step back.” Woon
wasn’t one to lose his footing. He wanted the shot because Dong-soo had already
bagged a bird. He stepped forward, and the ground gave way. It wasn’t a long
fall, but the water was so cold his body felt like it was being burned alive.
Then a sharp pain?
I hit my head. Oh, that’s what happened.
Snow was falling fast now, and there was no fire. Woon noticed that he and
Dong-soo weren’t wearing clothes--Dong-soo had on a quilted vest but was
perfectly nude otherwise; he was lying on Woon like the weight of several
blankets. Woon turned his head and saw a pile of drenched fabric.
“Yeah, I’ll make a fire downhill in a little while,” Dong-soo said. “There’s
not quite a cave but a little hole in a boulder I saw on the way up here. The
clothes will dry up in no time, but Jang-mi told all the guys not to get the
vests wet. Yours is ruined.”
“No, you’re wrong,” Woon said. “She said not to get them wet because the duck
feathers inside the lining take forever to dry. When we get back, you need to
rip the cloth open, soak the feathers in vinegar—that way they won’t get moldy
and stink.”
Dong-soo smiled, bright teeth showing. “You didn’t hurt your head that bad, I
guess. You’re still smart.”
“My head?”
“You’ve got a bump the size of a baby pumpkin,” Dong-soo said. “Scared me half
to death when I jumped in and saw all the blood streaming around. I guess you
hit yourself on a rock and swallowed water.”
Woon was quiet. He didn’t remember being rescued by Dong-soo.
“I did everything Sa-mo taught us.” Dong-soo’s voice was proud. “I wasn’t even
thinking of going in after you because the water is deep enough, and it isn’t
fast---but then you didn’t appear—aish, almost had a heart attack. I had
already taken off the vest and cap because the climbing made me hot, so mine
didn’t get soaked when I jumped in after you. See?“ He tugged at his vest. “I
tried to put my cap on you, but it wouldn’t fit because of that bump.”
“We should make a fire.” Woon attempted to get up, but Dong-soo pushed him down
with the full weight of his chest.
“You’re not okay yet. Your lips were blue just a minute ago.” Then Dong-soo
lost his prideful act. His voice dropped to a soft, worried hush. “Woon-ah,
after I pulled you out and turned your head—aigoo, so much water came gushing
out your mouth and nose, and you weren’t breathing.”
Woon stared at Dong-soo.
“Aish, don’t look at me like I stole your first kiss. I blew some air into your
mouth. Can you--? Woon-ah, don’t be stupid and stay still a little while. Your
mind is right, but you’re freezing. Scold me if you want. That might bring your
body heat up.” Dong-soo then lay his cheek next to Woon’s and hugged him
tightly.
The snow was still falling, more lightly now. Woon didn’t want to scold Dong-
soo. It had been Woon’s own fault that he fell into the water. Maybe it was
shock, but he didn’t feel frozen. It wasn’t peculiar to be naked with Dong-
soo—the mountain camp boys bathed together all the time—but it felt strangely
intimate. No fire, no clothes, no source of warmth but Dong-soo…. has anyone
ever held me like this?  Why am I thinking about such things? Woon wondered if
his head wasn’t damaged after all; he felt that instead of being held down
against the earth by his best friend, he was floating above it with him.
When Dong-soo was certain Woon wasn’t in danger of turning into a lifeless
snowman, the two headed out, butt-naked, to the cave, gathering firewood along
the way. “You okay walking?” Dong-soo asked. Woon was angry that Dong-soo even
asked and pushed his shoulder against Dong-soo’s shoulder—a feeble attempt to
knock Dong-soo off balance. Dong-soo had grown into a long lean pillar of
martial arts poise in the past year, harder to topple than a giant Buddha. Both
boys kept walking naked in the cold; this was basic survival training, not even
on a par with some of the difficult and bizarre routines Sa-mo had forced the
mountain camp boys to endure. Woon was wearing the one, good feather-stuffed
vest. Jang-mi had sewn one for each of the boys this year; it was light,
perfect for winter-wear, and it had never felt warmer.
Dong-soo made the fire which was roaring in no time; Woon hung the wet clothes
on twigs planted into the cave’s clay floor. The boys sat on the ground, not
saying anything to one another for a while, huffing from exertion. Woon felt
the pain in his head throb. He wondered if Sa-mo would scold him. The camp
wasn’t far; they could be back before dinner if the clothes dried fast enough.
If they got back soon, there would be no need for a search party. Nothing, this
is nothing. Maybe Woon could disguise his wound, but it would be difficult to
keep Dong-soo from bragging about his amazing rescue.
Finally, Dong-soo spoke. “Woon-ah, I’m freezing. C’mere.”
It was terribly cold in the sun-less cave. Body heat made sense after all.
Woon didn’t think any more about it. He moved closer to Dong-soo, and Dong-soo
embraced him. They fell sideways onto the clay, which wasn’t warm enough, even
though the fire was high. Dong-soo flipped Woon over so that Woon’s back was
facing the fire. The warmth of the fire on his bare legs, the jacket, Dong-
soo’s body—Woon felt less cold. He understood he was being prioritized,
protected. He didn’t complain. He didn’t believe he was hurt. He was certain he
wasn’t hurt. What was this strange feeling? He wanted to be held and protected
this way.
“I can see the bump.” Dong-soo said. “Does it hurt?”
“No,” Woon lied.
Dong-soo touched Woon’s head with his palm. “Does it hurt now?”
It didn’t hurt more than before. Dong-soo’s hand traveled to Woon’s cheek. That
was a sensation Woon didn’t understand; he and Dong-soo had fought for years;
Dong-soo had always tried to punch Woon or whap him with a wooden sword. Woon
had dodged every single blow. Dong-soo’s attempts to hurt Woon had been all
about competition; Woon never doubted Dong-soo’s growing affection for all the
boys in the camp and the way Dong-soo regarded Woon as his favorite, but… this
touch. Dong-soo’s hand on Woon’s cheek lingered there. The touch burned the way
the ice water had burned Woon’s body. The touch felt that strange and powerful.
“Oh, wait.” Dong-soo stretched the full length of his arm behind him, felt
around for the feather-lined cap, found it, and tucked it under Woon’s head.
“Better?”
“I told you it didn’t hurt.”
“Liar. Bumps on the head always hurt. I should know. I’ve had plenty of them.”
Woon felt Dong-soo’s hard arousal against his thigh. This wasn’t anything new.
The boys had slept together for years. This time, though, instead of feeling
Dong-soo’s massive cock through a blanket and sleep clothes—this time was bare
skin against bare skin. Sa-mo had talked to them about what all the warrior-
camp boys called their “things.”  Sa-mo had said “things” were defiant,
independent, and did not heed the most determined warrior’s orders. They needed
to be ignored most of the time. “Pretend they’re not there,” Sa-mo said.
“They’ll calm down if you ignore them.” If worse came to worse. their attention
needed to be handled properly.
Every few weeks there was the same old lecture about how too much masturbation
depleted a warrior of his strength, how it was a natural activity but to be
done in private, in the outhouse, not near other people or where other people
might possibly pass by.  No boy in the camp was too innocent, though—every few
months someone traded dessert or promised Mi-so a favor (“I’ll do your laundry
duty for two weekends!”) to go to the village and score a naughty book. One kid
had been caught playing with his thing when the barracks were supposed to be
empty—but leave it to Sa-mo to be always on the prowl for an unaccounted-for
warrior. Nearly everyone had been caught jerking off behind a tree. Not Woon—he
was too smart for that. Dong-soo wasn’t smart. He’d been caught just a few
weeks ago. Naughty thoughts were preoccupying everyone lately. Sa-mo said that
was the way of boys their age—and boys who hadn’t been down from the mountain-
top in years to see girls? “Save it for marriage,” Sa-mo warned. “Or never get
married—and you’ll be strong like me.”
Woon felt like drifting off to sleep. His leg stirred against Dong-soo’s big
warm cock. Woon’s voice was calm: “Don’t lose yourself and ooze all over me.”
He added to the joke in a tired voice: “That would be disgusting.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not that pretty.”
Woon shut his eyes. It’s so warm. Sleep would be sweet.
“Hey. HEY?”
Dong-soo sounded so alarmed that Woon was wide awake in an instant. “What is
it?”  His first thought: Wait, I am that pretty. He knew how some boys in the
camp looked at him. The same boys had taken turns having crushes on Mi-so, and
she on them (Woon never liked her--he thought Mi-so was a brat). Yes, I am that
pretty. Before going to the camp, when Woon was only twelve, full-grown men had
looked at him. Other children had joked that Woon’s father, a drunk who owed
everyone in the village money, would sell Woon on the streets because Woon was
that pretty.
Dong-soo was staring, pupils darkening. Woon felt his pulse quicken.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to go to sleep,” Dong-soo said. “Just lie still
and rest. Sa-mo said when you get a bump on the head, you’re not supposed to go
to sleep. Just lie here. I’ll watch you.”
Oh, that was it. Solicitousness. Dong-soo being Dong-soo and fretting like an
auntie.
“I’m going to feel weird if you’re staring at me,” Woon said. “Not to mention
you’re poking me with your thing.”
“Yours is hard too,” Dong-soo said.
It was. Woon hadn’t noticed. He felt flushed.
Maybe Dong-soo wouldn’t notice from the warm cast of the fire how red Woon’s
face had become. Woon had never fantasized about bratty Mi-so or any drawing in
a book.  For years, he had thought about Dong-soo. Nothing too far. What is
far? I don’t even know. Sa-mo had said naughty thoughts were normal. For Woon,
they came and went like clouds; training held the field of focus. Taekwondo,
acupuncture, the names of poisonous plants. Clouds cast a shadow on goings-on;
some nights Woon shivered a little because of clouds.
“You’re staring at me.” Woon couldn’t even hear his own voice, he had spoken so
softly.
You saved me. You’d save anyone. You’re obsessed with me because I’m the best
at fighting. Because I’m the best at everything.
It’s not like you want to kiss me or anything. Stop looking at me like that.
It’s not like I want to kiss you or anything. I’m not thinking right.
Stop. Staring.
 
 
   1. What Happened Didn’t Happen
Whoever avoids sensual desires — as he would, with his foot, the head of a
snake — goes beyond, mindful, this attachment in the world.  --Buddha, Kama
Sutta, 4.1
 
When Woon hadn’t sprung out of the water as expected, Dong-soo felt the horror
he had felt when Sa-mo didn’t emerge from the fire so many years ago. In an
instant, the world was rushed by Death—only this time by placid freezing water,
not roaring fire. There had been no moment to waste. In the years since Sa-mo
survived that fire, Dong-soo had always wondered why the seconds had passed in
such black torture; yes, Sa-mo had walked, unscathed, toward Dong-soo in no
time, but should not a loyal adopted son have flown into the fire after someone
he loved so much? This time, Dong-soo would not wait. If the water below was
full of jagged rocks or man-eating dragons, Dong-soo would fly towards Woon and
die with him.
The water was deep, freezing, crystal-clear. Not far downstream there were
rivulets of bright red blood. Sa-mo had trained all the boys in saving people
from cold rivers. It would have to be Woon. It would have to be Woon. The
rescue was simple; Dong-soo had outgrown Woon in height and weight in only the
past year. There was an ample gravel shoreline. Turn his head, wait until the
water spills out, blow air and more air.
The campfire in the cave crackled, and the red light shone in Woon’s eyes. He
was pretty. Everyone knew it. Everyone knew that Woon was Dong-soo’s person,
his rival, his best friend. What Dong-soo himself had not known, not until
today, maybe not until this very moment, was how much….
Do I really need you so much I would die if….?
Dong-soo knew, because Sa-mo was always reminding him, that Dong-soo was an
immature brat who didn’t think much before acting.  There was the thought. The
thought was there. Like a cloud full of rain. Vague, dark, lust itself. Then
there was no stopping Dong-soo’s hand from reaching out and brushing the hair
at Woon’s forehead. He’s not just pretty—he’s beautiful.
“Woon-ah, does it feel funny in your head? Are you dizzy?”
Woon shook his head; Dong-soo had never seen him look so vulnerable.
Woon cleared his throat, but his voice sounded less angry than he must have
intended it to be. “You’re creeping me out staring at me like that.”
I could stare at you forever.
“Get used to it. I’m going to watch you. Just look away if you have to.”
Woon did, gazing nowhere in particular. Dong-soo could see each long lash in
detail.  If the moments before Sa-mo emerged safe and sound from the fire had
passed in ever-blackening torture, the moments now were pure as snow. The cave
was cold, set apart from the entire world, and the only heat was the small
circle around the fire. The center of the heat wasn’t the fire itself; it was
somewhere deep in Dong-soo’s belly, spreading in luscious waves across his
groin.
After a long time, maybe not a long time, but after the feelings were too much
to bear, Dong-soo lay his face against Woon’s neck. His lower body moved in
what he assumed was an imperceptible up and down, two brisk strokes against
Woon’s body. Woon’s lower body responded, lurching forward.
“Woon-ah,” Dong-soo whispered. “This is ….”
Woon’s cock was rubbing against Dong-soo’s. The motion was deliberate, slow,
maddening.
“I can’t stand it either,” Woon said. He threw a bare leg over Dong-soo’s
thigh. Their hips were swerving, their groins struggling to find the best
position. Awkward—they were facing one another.
Dong-soo flipped Woon over easily so that Woon lay on top—Woon was the lighter
of the pair by far. Dong-soo’s palms found each of Woon’s buttocks, swept down
Woon’s thighs to part them slightly so that all was aligned.  The mutual
humping began, faster now. Anxiety and pleasure together. No--not good. Yes--so
good.
Woon opened his mouth wide but no sound came out.
Dong-soo kissed that mouth. This kiss is what felt the most wrong; the other
parts of their bodies touching could be explained away as youthful sexual
experimentation, some sort of mis-step, a natural happening like the ground
giving way when Woon walked in front of Dong-soo to take that shot at the goose
and fell into the river.
Dong-soo pulled away, stunned. His mouth was drawn back to Woon’s mouth.
As if discovering hell’s flames in heaven, Dong-soo felt heat purifying him
even as it stung him. He pulled away again, trying to assess the feeling. Dong-
soo became aware as his hands found Woon’s wrists, as his fingers folded into
Woon’s fingers, as he looked into Woon’s moist eyes, that the situation was not
only lover-like, it waslove.
Dong-soo didn’t know people kissed this way. He tasted Woon’s tongue. Salt?
Dried fish?Whatever had been in their backpacks for a snack. Woon’s hands were
in Dong-soo’s hair, holding tightly onto the curls. Teeth clicked; there was a
smacking sound.  Dong-soo found his lips pulling away, returning to kiss Woon’s
brow, his jaw, his throat, the corner of his mouth. That mouth would exhale
delight and consent and then return Dong-soo’s kisses with wet passion.
At age twelve or so, Dong-soo had seen a pair of lovers press lips together
behind a market wall. A brief, sweet peck—that was it. Dong-soo had pointed and
laughed, and Sa-mo had whapped Dong-soo's head for that. Dong-soo had imagined
that he would kiss his true love, maybe that noble girl from years ago whose
silk purse had been stolen—Dong-soo had pictured his lips alighting on hers
like a butterfly. Wasn’t that the way kisses were supposed to be? Romantic and
delicate?  One touched a loved one with care and respect.
Whatever Woon and I are doing isn’t normal, is it?
Dong-soo and Woon were mouthing one another’s faces as if trying to eat one
another. Not biting. Woon’s kisses weren’t that rough, but---
He’s acting a little crazy. Has he wanted to do this before? I don’t care. I’m
crazy too.
It felt like fighting but not like fighting—what was that weak feeling? Dong-
soo felt that breathless happiness that followed the thrill of fighting, even
if he always lost to Woon. Dong-soo could not keep up with where his own hands
were traveling. His fingers were on Woon’s hips; Dong-soo was trying not to
press Woon’s body closer, but if such a thing were possible, he wanted to push
Woon  inside him.
“Ah!” Woon gasped against Dong-soo’s neck, and the rubbing against Dong-soo’s
groin stopped. 
Dong-soo wasn’t even aware of what had happened. When he noticed how soft
Woon’s cock had become, a new excitement flew through Dong-soo’s body like a
wildfire. “Woon-ah.” Dong-soo clutched Woon’s shoulders.
Woon pulled away. “I—"
Woon sat up, legs splayed on either side of Dong-soo.
“What’s the matter?” Dong-soo clutched his own cock because it was about to
blow. “Woon-ah?”
The terror in Woon’s face was if all heat had escaped him, and he was going to
turn blue from being cast into the frozen river of Reality. Woon rose, sat
closer to the fire. “I’m sorry.”
Dong-soo was more worried about Woon than disappointed about the loss of a warm
body over his, but, feeling overwhelmed within his own sexual situation, Dong-
soo did what came naturally: he finished himself with a few quick strokes. His
own release felt worthless, though, because Woon wasn’t looking at him.
What have we done? What’s going to happen?
Woon looked up. His eyes met Dong-soo’s with a solemn expression. Woon was a
lonely person—Dong-soo knew that much. “I’m sorry,” Woon repeated.
“About what?” Dong-soo was confused now. “Woon-ah?” Wait. Woon sometimes said
the opposite of things, the backwards, upside-down of things.“I didn’t hurt
you, did I? Are you okay?”
Woon shook his head, hugged his knees. He was sweating, but he still looked
cold.
A few moments passed. Woon chose a stick and poked the fire. “I started it,” he
said. “It’s my fault.”
“It happened,” Dong-soo said. He managed a small laugh. “I liked it, Woon-ah. I
don’t think it was wrong. It’s like one of those things that happen in nature,
not one of those things that proper folk in the cities are always making up.
Rules change from place to place with people. Didn’t Sa-mo teach us that much?
Nature, though….” Dong-soo stretched his arms as if waking up from a long nap.
He wasn’t going to let Woon feel bad about anything. “Nature is….”
“I know.” Woon poked at the fire. His long black hair was dry now, a few sweaty
strands sticking to his forehead. “I thought I had more self-control.”
The fire crackled. The moments passed. No right, no wrong, no clear light, no
absolute darkness. Just the two of them, Woon’s loneliness, and Dong-soo
wanting to take care of everything.
“Hey, Woon-ah, don’t worry about it. I won’t tell anyone. It just happened is
all.”
Woon’s eyelashes were fluttering. He looked drowsy, poking the fire, not
himself.
“Don’t fall asleep. The clothes aren’t dry yet. We still have a bit to go
before heading back to camp.”
“Yeah, I know.”
It was selfish; it was wrong; it was being seventeen years old, and Sa-mo would
punish him if he had even a clue of what Dong-soo was thinking now, but Dong-
soo’s mind and body went there. Dong-soo wanted Woon again. He wanted Woon in
other ways. A line had been crossed; they were alone together; no one would
know. Hadn’t Geol stolen a whole sack of rice cakes from the kitchen once and
never been caught? Wasn’t it Gak who had managed to keep those dirty books
hidden in the outhouse for two years without Sa-mo finding out? There was a vow
among a few boys not to move the books, and those who didn’t know of the dirty
books were never told; that was the blood vow; no one told.
“Woon-ah?” Dong-soo decided to press his luck. “Remember the picture in one of
Gak’s books—the one with the girl sucking on the guy’s thing?”
Woon shot Dong-soo a look. Dong-soo was encouraged because it looked like Woon
wanted to laugh but was holding back. There was a sparkle in Woon’s eye that
wasn’t a reflection of the firelight.
“You remember that picture, right? Woon-ah, you remember?”
“I never really looked at all of them.”
“Liar.”
“I do remember that picture.” Woon poked at the fire.
“If a girl can do that to a guy….” Dong-soo smiled and rubbed his palms across
his own nude thighs. He rubbed his belly and happened on dry semen there. “Ha…
I was thinking…. Can’t a guy do that to another guy?”
Woon didn’t bother to turn his head—his eyes looked at Dong-soo askance.  
“We have plenty time,” Dong-soo said. He knew he could be convincing. “If you
do me first, then I will do you. Make it a contest. See who lasts longer. The
one who lasts longer wins.”
Woon kept poking the fire with the stick. What was that serious look masking?
Then Woon threw the stick into the fire. “Okay,” he said. “But you do me
first.”
“You’re not going to back out?”
“No.” Woon looked Dong-soo directly in the eye. “You said it was a contest,
right? I have never lost to you. So….” Woon narrowed his eyes. “See what you
can do.”
Dong-soo was right before the fire, but he felt himself tremble. “I—I can do
anything?”
“Sure.”
Dong-soo found the duck-feather cap and taking Woon by the shoulders, lay Woon
on the ground and Woon’s head on the cap. “Be still,” Dong-soo ordered. “Don’t
bump your head again.”
It was cute, Dong-soo thought, how Woon’s face went from competitive mode to
startled as soon as his head was pressed against the cap.
Dong-soo startled himself by placing his own lips against Woon’s the way he had
imagined his lips would land on his true heart’s love. Then as lightly as a
butterfly, Dong-soo kissed his way down Woon’s throat and chest, pausing to
flick each nipple. Why? Why not? Woon, so pretty, his skin rosy in the
firelight, such a proud, strong boy and yet such a quiet person, someone whose
eyelashes fluttered and who looked away like a girl—one of those modest, high-
mannered court girls—
Yeo Woon? Lying here, giving himself to Dong-soo like this? Dong-soo didn’t
want to bruise such a perfect person. Not like before, when things had been so
crazy and lustful—this time would be slow and sweet. And Dong-soo wanted to
savor it. It wasn’t a contest.
Woon’s fingers were already clawing the ground, and his “thing” was already
fully upright by the time Dong-soo was breathing hard against Woon’s belly.
Dong-soo didn’t want to hurry by any means, so he palmed Woon’s inner thighs,
kissed there, ran his fingers across the length of Woon’s shaft. Fascinating up
close in the firelight.  It was velvety and veined, not like his thighs which
were smooth as candles. Not at all the thing Sa-mo had described as an entity
separate from a person. No, it didn’t seem like an arm or a leg but like Woon
himself. Dong-soo didn’t know how he knew, but as he ran his tongue from the
bottom to top, he felt all Woon’s lithe, powerful self. Dong-soo felt privy to
a deep secret; his excitement soared. Woon made a little sighing sound.
Dong-soo continued to lick, here, there, and he held onto the base of the
arousal as it grew; a dew began to drip from the top. It tasted delicious, like
the first sip of broth after being sick.  Dong-soo took the whole tip into his
mouth then, swirled his tongue around, felt a fire storm in his own belly as
Woon couldn’t help but moan. Dong-soo began to move his lips up and down.
Not too fast, not too fast, make it last.
Woon tried to last. His hips bucked. Dong-soo’s lips stopped moving. He held
onto the firm bottom half, and his lips resumed a moderately-paced roll across
the glistening top, but before Dong-soo could accelerate the rhythm to match
his own rapid pulse, Woon’s hips squirmed; his right arm flailed; warm liquid
shot into Dong-soo’s mouth.
Heart pounding,  Dong-soo looked up. Woon was sitting up on his elbows.
“How long was that?” Woon breathed. “It’s… it’s… hard to keep track…. “ A
slight laugh. “That wasn’t easy.”
“Just let me know when you’re ready to do me.”
“Did you--?” Woon looked amazed. “Did you swallow it?”
“What else was I supposed to do? It flies right into your mouth.”
“What does it taste like?”
“I couldn’t tell. It just went right on in.”
“Oh.”
No sooner had Dong-soo risen to his knees than he was tackled by Woon.
Apparently Woon was a serious competitor. No face kisses, nothing seductive or
sweet, just—
“Aigoo, that—that—” Dong-soo swept his fingers into Woon’s hair and felt the
bump, the blood had dried into a thick scab as wide as two fingers. Even in his
ecstasy, as Woon sucked, Dong-soo felt a pang of remorse. Maybe all this
excitement wasn’t good for Woon’s injury. “That’s too crazy, Woon-ah. Slow
down.”
“Or what?” Woon’s fingers dug into Dong-soo’s upper thighs. “You’ll lose?” A
loud, slurping noise. For someone who didn’t speak much, Woon could move his
tongue all over like lightning.
Dong-soo had been sitting up; he threw his head back and eased himself into a
lying position.
“I can’t—I can’t!”  Dong-soo couldn’t. He was sweating so much he felt as if
he’d been caught in a thunderstorm. Peals of thunder in his ears. The world
shook; the very foundations of the world broke. Heaven fell to earth. Then….
A strange stillness. The fire crackled. No wind blew outside. It was still mid-
day; he and Woon were still in a cold cave far from camp, together in an
unknown world.
Why am I so scared right now?
Dong-soo was breathing hard; Woon was breathing hard. Dong-soo could see the
top of Woon’s head, firelight reflected in smooth black hair, and one of Woon’s
small hands lay curled against Dong-soo’s hipbone.
“You won,” Dong-soo whispered.
It was a relief that Woon crawled up to embrace him instead of moving away.
Dong-soo closed his eyes. Are you lonely still, Woon-ah? This means something,
doesn’t it? What is this?
Woon rested his face against Dong-soo’s neck. Hot breath, a strange
clinginess—Woon wasn’t like this, so dear, so willing to show affection.
“You won,” Dong-soo repeated in a softer whisper. “You won, Woon-ah. I love
you.”
He wasn’t sure he had spoken those last words aloud, but it didn’t matter. The
words faded into a dream about a wheat field, the wind blowing and the sun
shining bright. Jin-joo was there, that annoying girl, with her little quiver
of arrows. There was a row of children, all running and laughing, and Dong-soo
was as free as when he had first broken from the bamboo splints, able to wave
his arms and flip summersaults. Some game was going on; the person hiding was
the most precious person in the world. Dong-soo was running with the children
but looking for Woon. Where is Woon? No one seemed to know, but everyone said
Woon had been there moments ago. Where is Woon?
When Dong-soo woke up, Woon was asleep in his arms. Not blue-lipped, not
delirious with fever, but breathing peaceful, measured breaths.
“Woon-ah?”
“Wha--?” Woon had never been a sound sleeper.
“How long have we been asleep?”
Woon looked at the fire, lifted his head to look towards the opening of the
small cave. The light there was bright. “Not long at all. I don’t remember
dreaming.”
“Is your head okay? Was that bullshit what Sa-mo said about not falling asleep
when you hit your head?”
“Maybe.” Woon sighed, rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. “But I told
you I didn’t hit it hard. I’m fine.”
“Weren’t we supposed to cook whatever we caught before we head back?”
“We should head back. The clothes are dry.” Woon began to sit up, but Dong-soo
pressed him down.
“We have a perfect excuse. You fell. You hit your head. Everything got wet.
Your lips were blue. We have more time.”
“Dong-soo-yah.” All at once, Woon’s voice was its old self, no longer dreamy
and exhausted. “What happened should not have happened. We have to act like
nothing happened.”
“Okay.” Dong-soo leaned forward and kissed Woon on the neck. “It shouldn’t have
happened, but it did. I won’t tell anyone.”
“No one can find out.” Woon turned to face Dong-soo and embraced him. It felt,
to Dong-soo, like Woon’s body melting against his. “Don’t tell a soul,” Woon
said in his most authoritative voice. He was the most respected of all the
boys. ”No one can ever know,” Woon went on, a little desperate. “Not ever, in
all our lives.” A voice becoming as foolish as any other boy’s in the camp.
“Swear. A blood oath. Like with Gak’s books.”
“What do you mean?” Dong-soo’s lower body was pressed against Woon’s lower body
now. The inevitable was already familiar. There was plenty time. “Do we have to
cut our fingers with a knife and smear blood on our hands? That’s stupid.”
Dong-soo was a little worried about Woon. Didn’t he trust his best friend? “You
can’t be serious about—"
“You’re the stupid one.” Woon kissed Dong-soo on the mouth. It was a pleasant
kiss, not deep, not light, but full-lipped, moist, and just right. Dong-soo
thought that Woon must be the best kisser in the world, just like he was the
best swordsman. “This is stronger than a blood vow,” Woon said in a soft,
conspiratorial voice. “You swallowed. I swallowed.”
“What does that mean, then?” Dong-soo kissed Woon. “If we’re something more
than blood brothers, then what are we?” The kisses were more languid this time.
They kissed for a long time, as if the kisses were the answer to Dong-soo’s
question, but Dong-soo was unsatisfied. What did any of this mean? They knew
one another’s bodies better now. Dong-soo flipped Woon on top of him like
before, and the rubbing against one another was less frantic. Dong-soo enjoyed
the way Woon’s long hair brushed back and forth across his face with each
thrust; Dong-soo kneaded Woon’s buttocks, swept his large hands up and down
Woon’s back.
“This never happened,” Woon reminded Dong-soo in a breathless voice.
“This isn’t even happening now.” Dong-soo smiled. He didn’t believe Woon was
serious, but who knew? Woon was mysterious … and very serious. Even through the
haze of pleasure, Dong-soo thought, this really should not be happening, should
it? That childish thought of doing something naughty and getting away with it
only added to the excitement. Dong-soo was reminded of a time Sa-mo threw soju
on a fire and the flames leapt, throwing sparks.
When Woon came, it was in a soundless but profound way; his body stiffened and
then trembled as if stricken with a terrible sickness. Dong-soo was frightened
because he himself had never experienced anything like that, but right away,
Woon propped himself up on his elbows and looked fine. Content if not
altogether peaceful. “Dong-soo-yah.” Woon dropped his chin to his chest, heaved
a sigh, and smiled. “I won’t forget this, but--”
Before Woon could finish what Dong-soo knew was going to be a stupid remark,
Dong-soo grabbed Woon’s shoulders and pulled Woon in for a deep kiss.
Like you have to tell me you won’t forget this? You’re funny, Woon-ah.
To Dong-soo’s surprise, Woon’s mouth began to travel down Dong-soo’s throat,
laving the length of his clavicle, sucking on one nipple and sending
reverberations of insane pleasure all through Dong-soo’s already incensed body.
Woon then sucked so long on a place just above Dong-soo’s hip that Dong-soo was
sure a bruise would bloom there. The pleasure was maddening, and then Woon took
the tip of Dong-soo’s engorged organ into his mouth and ran circles around
there with his crazy tongue.
“Woon-ah. Woon-ah.”
Dong-soo didn’t last the count of three.  Woon was in his arms again. This was
the best part—the strangest, most wonderful part—an affectionate Yeo Woon. Am I
going to feel your arms around me like this again?
Dong-soo knew it wouldn’t happen again. It wouldn’t be like Woon said—this
never happened—but it would all be a lie. They would tell the whole story
except for this part, no problem.
Dong-soo kissed Woon on the forehead. “Okay, let’s go. The climb down the hill
is easy, and we’ll be back way before dinner.”
Woon was grabbing clothes before Dong-soo could speak again.
“When we say you got hurt,” Dong-soo added, “Mi-so is going to hover over you
like an auntie, feed you dried fruits, stay the night instead of going back to
the village—and—and—she’s going to watch you in your sleep to make sure you
don’t die.”
Woon groaned, already pulling over his second layer of winter waistcoat.
And so ended what for almost two years would be remembered like a dream. Dong-
soo felt a little bit of the magic melt, like snow in his hand, the moment he
walked out of the cave.
The trip home was odd, no bickering about anything, but the closer to the camp
the two walked, the easier it was for Dong-soo to believe that nothing indeed
had really happened. How could it have? Some boys were already there, bragging
about the roasted rabbit that would be cut into jerky or the woodpecker that
would be the evening’s meal. Dong-soo pulled out his un-plucked goose, and
everyone gasped when Dong-soo said, “Sorry, we didn’t have time to cook it
because Woon fell into the river and got hurt on the rocks. He has a nasty
bump. I had to pull him from the water, and he wasn’t breathing, so—”
More gasps. The boys rushed forward. Jang-mi’s hands covered her mouth.
As if on cue, Woon staggered forward, caught himself on the edge of a table,
and Dong-soo helped him to his feet.
“I’m fine,” Woon insisted. “I was fine for hours while the clothes dried. I
just—I just forgot to eat is all.”
“That’s not just weakness from hunger,” Sa-mo said. “Noona, get him to bed
right now. “He’s over-exerted himself in this cold. The body uses more energy
in the cold. Mi-so, get him some broth.” Then came a scolding voice, the one
Sa-mo never failed to use with his adopted son, even though everyone knew the
man doted on Dong-soo: “Dong-soo-yah, you should’ve fed him something, cooked
the goose while the clothes were drying.”
Dong-soo was right about Mi-so going a-flutter with concern. Jang-mi, also, was
beside herself. Dabbing her crying eyes with her apron, she brought meat to the
sleep barracks for Woon to eat. All the boys came, Sa-mo followed soon after,
and in the commotion, Dong-soo didn’t have room to sit by Woon’s side and be
the sole comforter anymore.
Woon drank all the broth, Sa-mo inspected the wound, and said Woon would be
fine, that he needed to rest. Sa-mo then told everyone to leave, including
Dong-soo, who felt not only forlorn but exiled, under nightfall. That night,
Woon slept like the dead, with Dong-soo and Cho-rip on either side of him as
usual, and in the morning, Woon was allowed to stay in for the rest of the day
while the boys went through their usual training. The day after, Woon joined in
the routine. It never happened.“I’ll do all the laps in half the time today.”
Woon slapped his best friend across the chest. “Watch. I got to rest yesterday,
and you are all tired.”
It never happened?  Dong-soo thought about nothing else every time he jacked
off—and that happened more and more often.  The way Woon had stiffened and
trembled. The way had he whispered “Dong-soo-yah.”
Yeah, right, it never happened.
Months later, when spring came, Dong-soo felt chilled, even on the hottest
days, and goose-pimples rose on his skin—looking for all the world like little
white flecks of snow.
 
 
   1. The Marks on Her Skin, The Marks on Us All
 
You are going over Arirang hill. My love, you are leaving me. Your feet will be
sore before you go ten li. Just as there are many stars in the clear sky, there
are also many dreams in our heart. There, over there, that mountain is Baekdu
Mountain, where, even in the middle of winter days, flowers bloom.  –“Arirang,”
Korean folk song, hundreds of years old, origins unknown.
 
After Dong-soo, Woon, and Cho-rip, were deemed fit enough to leave the
mountain-top and fulfill proper warrior duties, Sa-mo took the three boys to
live with him in his village home; he gave the three the room that Dong-soo and
Woon had once occupied as twelve-year-olds.  “My side,” Dong-soo said the first
night when Cho-rip tried to claim his usual spot to the right of Woon. Somehow
the positions were mixed up on the mat so that Woon wasn’t in the middle
anymore; from left to right, the order went Woon, Dong-soo, Cho-rip.  Woon
couldn’t sleep because everything felt out of the ordinary, and yet, after the
three had graduated from the warrior camp, nothing had been un-ordinary.
Cho-rip is being Cho-rip, Woon told himself. Dong-soo is being Dong-soo.
Dong-soo had been fidgety on the walk through the village, and his eyes had
been popping out of their sockets looking at all the girls. “How pretty!” He
had whispered the exclamation at every turn. “Pretty!” Cho-rip was annoyed and
said that Dong-soo needed at least another ten years to train his mind before
he could even consider such things as relations with girls.
Yet Cho-rip had bought a dirty picture book with all his spending money and
lied that it was a martial arts book. Woon had said little, observed
everything, his heart a stone.
“You are ready for your first assignment,” Sa-mo said the very next day. He
said he trusted them all to escort a young lady Buddhist apprentice in a
carriage going to a temple, but that they all should look to Yeo Woon as the
example of proper, adult behavior. Woon, Sa-mo stressed, knew how to be
diligent; Woon knew how to focus.
“It was just fifteen months ago that he fell into a frozen river,” Dong-soo
grumbled.
Woon was surprised that Dong-soo knew exactly how many months.
“Fifteen months for you young ones is like fifteen years for a person my age,”
Sa-mo said. “You learn; you grow; life changes so fast.” Sa-mo stroked his
beard and betrayed the smallest parental concern. “If there’s an attack on the
entourage, you’ll have time to see them coming from the hillsides. Don’t draw
your weapons right away. You’ll be fine.”
“Yes, Captain,” said the three graduates said in unison.
Fifteen months had not seemed that long for Woon. Right away after that snowy
day in Dong-soo’s arms, Woon had been able to pretend that nothing happened,
but Woon was a good pretender. He had, after all, been pretending since the day
he showed up at Dong-soo’s home. Why else would he have  told Dong-soo that
what happened didn’t happen? Woon very much wanted whatever happened to happen
again but…. Before the vow with Dong-soo, Woon had made another vow. Woon
belonged to the Sky Lord of Heuksa Chorong.  Woon did not belong to the family
on the mountain-top; he did not belong with Dong-soo. In the past fifteen
months, reoccurring thoughts of Dong-soo’s warm mouth had not diminished—if
anything, they were stronger, but the fear that the Sky Lord would call Woon
back soon had hardened Woon’s resolve to release any longing for Dong-soo. The
fear of the Sky Lord returning, as the months passed, had become such a weight
that Woon was used to it. The fear was a hard reality. A stone.
Dong-soo?  The boy was an open book. For many weeks, there had been no
mistaking the confusion in Dong-soo’s eyes. How he would glance at Woon, turn
away flushed, how he would be fine for days but while making jokes with the
other boys, a random comment might fluster him, make him look at Woon with
shining eyes and flaring nostrils. At these times, Woon’s pulse would race, but
he would muster his self-control. Nothing happened. One day, alone on rocky
path, far ahead of the others on a difficult uphill exercise, Woon had crawled
off-course to cry, quietly, behind a shrub. It had been overcast, his
eighteenth birthday, un-seasonably warm though. Woon lost the race to Dong-soo.
When he met Dong-soo at the top of the hill later, the clouds parted, and
bright sunlight poured over both boys. “You okay?” Dong-soo had asked right
away. Sweet concern in his face, that tenderness Woon remembered from the snowy
day.
“Yeah.” Woon had smiled, truly glad to be in the presence of his friend. “It’s
true you beat me in some exercises, but never once have you beat me in hand-to-
hand or in swordsmanship. I’m still the best, Dong-soo-yah.”
“You are,” Dong-soo had said.  And then, “But I’ll be better one day, Woon-ah!”
The love in Dong-soo’s eyes hadn’t changed; he was playing along with Woon’s
pretending nothing happened; Woon had felt glad that this was the way things
were.
The other boys had come rushing to the top after that, one after another.
“Dong-soo won?”  “Hurrah, Baek Dong-soo!”
So, when had the blatant longing and lust in Dong-soo’s eyes gone away? Fifteen
months like fifteen years? It had been sometime after that year twelve, after
the anniversary of what hadn’t happened. Surely Dong-soo had realized that Woon
was serious, that there would never be a stolen moment behind a tree, another
kiss, another mention of the time, even an exchange of looks that acknowledged
it.
Dong-soo stopped looking at Woon with lovesick expressions. Woon felt a loss,
but by this time, he believed that his days were numbered, that it was only a
matter of time before the Sky Lord sent a message. Woon was training a carrier
pigeon as a camp project and couldn’t stop thinking about the messenger birds
of Heuksa Chorong, about the magnificent falcon that belonged to the Sky Lord.
Any hope that lived in Woon’s hard heart fluttered like a bird at odd moments
and was still as soon as Woon told himself:  Dong-soo is forgetting what I
can’t stop remembering.
Woon prided himself on his memory. He could memorize anything in books. He
could remember the tiniest details about any face he had only seen once; as a
child, he had never been lost in the marketplace or the countryside. His secret
shame was that he had forgotten everything that happened one week when he was
twelve—it was the week his father died—and while that sort of trauma happened
to other people, it didn’t seem like something that happened to him. The Sky
Lord had said Woon ran a high fever that week, and Woon didn’t want to question
that.
Woon didn’t like forgetting anything; he wanted to experience life, good and
bad, to the hilt, and with all his senses intact.
“Follow Woon’s lead,” Sa-mo reminded the boys before they headed out on their
first assignment. “He’s the alert one.”
The mission seemed easy enough.  He and Dong-soo had met a boat from Qing at
the port and didn’t even see the nun before she entered her carriage; so many
other guards surrounded the traveling party. Three wagons on a typical merchant
passage. Twenty guards. It seemed that the worse threat might be from petty
thieves. Why had Sa-mo seemed so worried?
The Sky Lord would not be interested in a samini. Of course not.
Dong-soo kept peeking into the nun’s carriage with rude interest. Woon could
see from the corner of his eye that the samini kept glancing at him, Yeo Woon.
So, still, he captured the interest of women even though Dong-soo was taller,
more broad-shouldered and unquestionably handsome. Woon smiled a tiny smile.
Anything that would annoy Dong-soo made Woon smile.
“If she’s a nun, why is she wearing a hanbok?” Dong-soo asked.
“Aish, she’s an apprentice,” Cho-rip, who was at the reins, replied. Dong-soo
was daft and childish, even though he was marvelously gifted at picking up
information. What he didn’t care about he didn’t learn; he knew what he’d
studied in Sa-mo’s books but knew nothing about how ill-intentioned people
could really be; he came off as younger than he was.  That earnest, dumb face.
Maybe this was why women didn’t go for him.
Woon scanned the horizon.  Boulders, shrubs, then the unmistakable tops of a
few heads like small black rocks in the far distance.
Woon halted his horse. “Here we go.”
Dong-soo stopped too.
It was against Sa-mo’s advice, but Woon grabbed an arrow and fired a warning
shot in the direction of the onlookers.
Right away, an arrow came speeding by.
A bandit raid ensured. Dong-soo was unperturbed; he had been hoping for
something more challenging. “Assassins at the least.” Woon told him to guard
the carriage. Dong-soo was an excellent swordsman, but he lacked he will to
kill. He would use his sword better if he had someone to protect. Woon himself
would kill. He used his sword to cut men off their horses a few times, but
there were too many bandits. He told Cho-rip to follow him with the carriage;
this would split up the bandits. The most able would follow the fancy carriage
with the belief that it held the best goods; Woon could trust Dong-soo to deal
with the fodder. Woon would handle everyone else by himself.
He did. Leaving Cho-rip to keep driving the carriage down the path, Woon turned
his horse around and rode back into the pursuing group. He shot arrows, dodged
swords, and stabbed a few men. He didn’t know how many men he wounded or
killed, but it was the first time he had bloodied his sword. There were still
too many bandits. He had to return to the carriage. It was caught in the mud.
What happened next changed Woon in a way that would be like a gift for the rest
of his life.
Understanding that Cho-rip would be safe once the bandits discovered an empty
carriage, Woon carried the samini away on his own horse. Her small hands around
his waist bothered him at first; Woon didn’t like being touched because he
liked being touched too much.  He didn’t want to be reminded of Dong-soo. The
young woman was hanging on for her life. Was she afraid? Woon felt himself
overcome with a sudden desire to protect her.
It was a new feeling.
An arrow skimmed past, and Woon had no choice but to veer his body to the left;
the move caused him and the young woman to fall off the horse.
They both lay facing one another in the tall grass.
Dong-soo and I….
The young woman was no older than Woon himself, and something in Woon’s
expression at that moment must have affected her; she stared at him with a
strange tenderness.
She’s so pretty.
The pretty little nun swallowed hard.  Bandits were on their way.
She’s just a girl. I will save her.
Before helping her up, Woon noticed a strange marking on her neck.
 
It was a moment of peculiar intimacy he had not felt since that snowy day with
Dong-soo. Merely noticing the tattoo seemed like a violation of her privacy,
yet Woon’s curiosity was sparked. He almost forgot the bandits--then he heard
their neighing horses.
Not many. He could take them.
Right away, the leader, a woman, joked about the pair doing naughty things in
broad daylight. Woon wanted to kill them all.
“Stand behind me,” he told the tiny nun, and after he’d downed a few men,
intentionally trying not to kill them with simple martial arts moves, despite
the deadly intent in his own heart, the most fascinating thing happened. There
was the whoosh of a knife blade over his head. Woon was about drop and dodge
the worse of it, aware he could not escape injury, and then—
I’m safe. Someone saved me.
The samini had shot the weapon out of the bandit’s hand with an arrow. She
stood there, facing them all with her bow. Unbeknownst to Woon, she had carried
it under her robes from the carriage. He had assumed she was bringing something
precious, a holy scroll, a small idol. Imagine that—she knew how to shoot.
When the bandits left, she was still steely-eyed, holding the bow with
practiced posture. Afraid.
Woon had to lower her hand or she would have stood there all day. There was no
danger. He would protect her. That was his job, after all.
The samini had injured her ankle in the fall from the horse, so all there was
left to do was hide and await Dong-soo and Cho-rip. She never told Woon her
name, but she was a cultured, kind woman. She wasn’t a brat like Mi-so. Woon
hadn’t interacted so much with anyone since leaving the mountain-top. It
occurred to him that the Sky Lord wanted him to kill people, not protect them.
Woon had avoided this simple truth for years.
“Why do you have such a sad look in your eyes?” She asked him and promptly
apologized for her boldness.
Caught off-guard, Woon said a very stupid, Dong-soo-like thing. “No, it’s
nice.” He didn’t say much after that.
He began to worry after night fell; his friends had still not gone down the
path and Cho-rip had not yet released Xue, Woon’s carrier pigeon, to find him.
“It will be fine,” he assured the samini. “We’ll camp here, so you can rest,
and I’ll bring you to the temple by early morning.” Woon built a fire, was
lucky enough to shoot what he thought was a big woodpecker but turned out to be
a partridge, began to look for roots to cook for his vegetarian Buddhist
companion, and planned to stay on guard all night. His worry about his friends
was turning into outright fear when he heard a rustling noise. He drew his
sword, but it was Xue, who alighted on his arm.
“Are you okay?”
As if Dong-soo needed to ask.
Dong-soo was rude all evening; he flirted mercilessly with the poor nun and
stupidly offered her grilled partridge. He took off his shirt and covered her
with it. Woon was annoyed at this point, after being so relieved that his
friends were alive, and so when Dong-soo challenged him to a duel for the mere
purpose of showing off in front of a pretty girl, Woon didn’t refuse. Part of
him wanted to kick Dong-soo’s ass. Still, Woon didn’t want to make Dong-soo
look like too much of an idiot or hurt him, so he paralyzed him with
acupuncture needles and ended the match in seconds.
“1,378 to zero,” said Cho-rip.
The samini, obviously skilled herself in acupuncture, removed the needles,
scolded Woon for using them to harm and not to heal, asked Dong-soo if he was
all right, and Woon felt beaten. Dong-soo had won the match simply by arousing
the girl’s compassion.
That was one way the world worked, Woon understood now. Compassion itself could
be a champion.
It was a mystery, like the tattoo on the samini’s neck. No one else could see
it in the dark.
Why would a Buddhist nun apprentice have such a mark? What kind of life had she
led? What pain had she endured?
Later that night, Dong-soo had no trouble falling asleep on the ground, and
Cho-rip fell asleep near him. The samini, perhaps someone who had been on-guard
for years, a watchful person like Woon himself, chose to sit against a tree.
Woon wanted to stay awake to protect her.  He kept nodding off.  At one point,
early dawn, the young woman limped to return Dong-soo’s shirt to him. Of
course, a Buddhist would practice compassion—she didn’t like stupid Dong-soo,
did she? She had been looking at Yeo Woon all day the way people had always
looked at his pretty face. Dong-soo had been shivering. Earlier that evening,
the woman had also wrapped Woon’s only slightly bruised hand in a red swatch
from her hanbok. Woon stared at the ribbon on his hand, stared from the nun to
Dong-soo, remembered lying on the ground in Dong-soo’s arms, feeling protected,
looked to the young woman who was falling asleep. Light from the rising sun hit
that spot on her neck. That tattoo must have hurt her so much.
There was no reason not to fall asleep. The chances of being attacked again
were low. Woon felt so sleepy. He remembered how sleepy he felt that snowy day.
I have my own tattoo, one that Dong-soo imprinted on me. There is no pain
anymore, but it’s still on my body.
After delivering the young woman, who never revealed her name—something Woon
found peculiar—to the temple, the three boys bowed. “Seongbulhasyeo,” they said
in farewell to the head monk, as taught by Sa-mo, although no religion had been
taught at the warrior camp except the religion of war.
Dong-soo went on and on about how the samini would be his future wife, how she
was a fairy, the prettiest in the land, the daughter of heaven.
Cho-rip said she had been a hell-curse on them all and her looks did not
impress him.
Woon folded his arms.
Turning to Woon with a sparkle in his eye, Dong-soo cooed. “She’s prettier than
even you.”
Xue was inside Woon’s shirt now; that was the bird fluttering against his
chest, not Woon’s own heart.
Back home, Sa-mo scolded the boys for the disastrous outcome of the escort
mission.  Yes, the samini had arrived safely at her destination, but people had
died; the mission had attracted attention of the police; the boys would be
punished; they would have to kneel and hold up sacks of grain for hours. 
During that ordeal, Cho-rip told Woon about why he and Dong-soo had been late
to join Woon and the nun—Dong-soo had been following around some medicine man
with crazy martial arts skills and had wanted to challenge the guy to a duel.
“No one did anything wrong, but I get the feeling that if Dong-soo goes on with
this stupid streak, we’re all going to be punished quite a bit.”
“Ah, forget it,” Dong-soo dropped his flour sacks and smiled sweetly. “I’ll
make it all up to you. I’ll pay for drinks tonight.”
That night was the night Woon had been dreading for years.
The boys had been taught to drink by Sa-mo himself. Sa-mo had exposed the boys
to every poison known to mankind, including alcohol, but he disapproved of
indulgence in taverns. It was Dong-soo’s stupid idea to sneak out, but Sa-mo
was right about one thing—being young meant being restless. Even Woon, who had
been reluctant to go, went along.  After the first drink was poured, Woon
spotted the Earth Lord walking the streets and the stone in his chest flipped
over.
The Sky Lord is near.  Why did it really feel like heaven was going to fall to
earth if the man showed up? It’s not like Woon believed that the landscape
would catch fire and the ground would crack open as if meteors had fallen, but
Woon’s own life would be thrown into some catastrophe, wouldn’t it?
Woon didn’t drink much. Later, on the path home, someone bumped into Dong-soo
and naturally the fool made a fuss and took off after the person, but during
the commotion, Woon spotted the Sky Lord sitting atop a tall stone wall. “Go
after Dong-soo,” Woon told Cho-rip.
Woon knelt before his mentor.
Before he bowed, he noticed marks on the Sky Lord’s face. Had they always been
there? A cut on the bridge of his nose, the faintest pink trace of where a
knife had glanced by his left eye. Woon hadn’t seen the man close-up in years.
Woon had forgotten about the marks. We all have our scars. We’ve all been
marked in some ways—some of us more deeply than others. I don’t have a single
scar on my skin, but ….
Woon bowed his head. Before him was the man who had chosen to follow seven
years ago.
What had been Woon’s other choice?  A life of humiliation on the streets? The
man had given him a sword, food, clothing, initiated him into a secret assassin
guild. Then he had cut Woon loose from Heuksa Chorong, allowed him to join
Dong-soo’s family. Even as a child, Woon had wondered about the Sky Lord’s
plan. The man must’ve known that Woon would grow close to this family. Woon
even traded in his assassin’s sword to a metal-smith so he could get a smaller
weapon fashioned out of his murdered father’s spear. He had followed Sa-mo and
Dong-soo to a boy’s warrior camp. But so had the Sky Lord. Woon had watched him
murder people there. He had watched the Sky Lord torture Commander Dae-pyo to
death.  After Dong-soo attempted to kill the Sky Lord and failed, the notorious
swordsman turned around in rage—“How dare you leave a mark on my body?”-- and
Woon ran to Dong-soo. No, no, not him. Kill me instead. Kill me too. Woon had
stood in front of his friend Dong-soo, only a child like Woon, and,
understanding what the Sky Lord was capable of, Woon had spread his arms wide.
Woon had expected to die with Dong-soo that night.
But the Sky Lord was a peculiar man.
He had kicked Woon out of the way. He didn’t kill Dong-soo. Had it been
compassion that made him spare both boys then? Had it been something else?
There was something about the man that liked to watch life; Woon knew because
Woon was a watcher himself; but the Sky Lord … he had always seemed amused.
“He’s the one you will have to watch,” the Sky Lord had said of Dong-soo that
night. Because Dong-soo had actually cut the invincible Sky Lord with a crazy,
surprise move? Why? Dong-soo was a fool; he would never be as capable a
swordsman as Woon.  Was Woon going to be asked to seek out Dong-soo as a fellow
recruit? Would Woon be called upon to kill Dong-soo?
 No, you can’t have him.
“Let me pay you reverence,” Woon lied, head bowed. There is no way out. No,
there must be a way out.
“You should have told me you had left the warrior camp.”
“There was no time.”
“And yet you had time to drink?”
Woon felt fear. Maybe this was the end. Maybe Woon no longer served any purpose
for Heuksa Chorong.
“It was a joke, so don’t worry.”
The man went on to note that Woon’s killer instinct was tamed. He tossed a
small stone behind Woon’s head, and Woon felt chided but not threatened. The
man told Woon to keep watching “him,” and Woon did not have time to feel
confused before the next question came: “How are your studies going?” A casual,
paternal tone. Woon felt a twinge of what he had felt at age twelve, that maybe
the man did have Woon’s own interests at heart, but how could he? He was the
head of an assassin guild. Woon had spent years training to be a martial
artist, to become a member of an elite squad that would serve noble missions
defending people. Then, clever man that he was, the Sky Lord asked the perfect
question.
“What is the difference between a martial artist and an assassin?”
Woon felt his voice falter, but he answered as truthfully as he could. He knew
the difference between himself and Dong-soo. “It is the difference between
whether you want to kill or not.” Woon found himself searching his mentor’s
eyes for approval.
“Really?” The Sky Lord drew his black fan. It flapped open like a taunt, and he
smiled. “Doesn’t matter. Martial artist, assassin—your hands will still be
bloodied.”
Woon bowed his head again to apologize for his own failings as a pupil, and the
Sky Lord told him that there would be plenty time to ponder the question. When
Woon looked up again, the man was gone, and Woon, trembling inside, looked at
his right hand; it was steady, as it had always been, ready to kill as people
had always told him it was—already stained with blood?
This hand swept through Dong-soo’s hair.
Woon swept that hand through his own hair. His stone heart was gone; maybe it
was the one that his old mentor had thrown at him to mock him. Woon felt that
it didn’t matter if he himself was born under a black star and was a destined
killer or not; his heart felt love and pain again. He was twelve again, and he
wanted to defend himself, only himself, with a sword. He was seventeen, and he
wanted to be protected by Dong-soo. He was, in this season, nineteen, and he
wanted to protect. The pretty little nun—how could anyone not want to protect
her? Assassin? Could he become an assassin? Not if that meant leaving Dong-
soo’s side.
In subsequent days, Dong-soo was always getting into trouble, and all three
boys would pay for that trouble because they were supposed to watch him. Dong-
soo said he was dying to see the samini again,  so off he flew to the temple,
and what else could Woon and Cho-rip but follow and make sure that Dong-soo
didn’t do something stupid? Woon made Cho-rip wait, and startled Dong-soo at
the gate by touching his shoulder. Dong-soo almost leapt out of his skin.
“Really?”
Woon didn’t let go. His fingers rubbed Dong-soo’s shoulder. “Of course. I’m
your friend, right?”
It never happened. Woon looked Dong-soo in the eyes. Bright eyes, happy eyes.
When the young woman walked past, Woon shoved Dong-soo toward her. Dong-soo
would make a fool of himself surely. But he didn’t. The pair walked away
together. Woon sat down, dejected, and saw a cabbage butterfly. It was small
and white, like a snowflake going the wrong way, up to heaven instead of
falling to the ground.
After some time, Woon became worried and walked further onto the holy grounds
to check on Dong-soo. The clever girl had tricked Dong-soo into performing bows
before the golden Buddha statue, and Dong-soo had fallen asleep on the
sanctuary floor. Dumb-ass.
“Sir?” The samini recognized Woon.
“I came to fetch my friend. Please forgive him. He’s not very worldly.” Woon
looked around. “He seems to have fallen asleep before the Buddha, and it’s a
nice thing, wouldn’t you say? He needs the rest.” The poor girl was working at
chores. Her ankle seemed fully healed, but she seemed fragile, someone who
shouldn’t be at constant labor. “Is there something I can help you with until
he wakes up?”
“Thank you, but I am attending to my duties.”
Woon picked up a broom. “Where did you learn the bow and arrow? You landed a
perfect shot on that man.”
She seemed to not want to answer. “I was born to a high family. I studied many
things like archery and acupuncture.”
Woon found himself sweeping leaves from the path. He was surprised she didn’t
stop him, but he’d heard that refined ladies did not usually contradict men.
So, did that mean she saw him as a man, not a peasant boy?
“You learned acupuncture?” she asked. “As a martial artist?”
“Uh, no. It was not one of the subjects taught at the school. I … got books and
taught myself.” Woon looked for more leaves to sweep. “I am not proficient. I
only studied offensive methods because I am a warrior. I know very little about
healing.”
Woon was not accustomed to making conversation, and she seemed particularly
shy, although she kept raising her eyes to look at his face then lowering them
again. Woon wasn’t sure how to handle this power he had over her; his pretty
face had been an asset in getting him this or that woman’s attention, and he
was served before others at a food stall. His prettiness garnered useless
compliments, but he had more often been teased by boys, and as a child the
predatory looks from older people on the streets had been unmistakable. He
hadn’t grown as tall as the other boys; he was lithe, small-boned, and his
looks were not threatening; Woon had considered that maybe his looks might be
an asset in that an opponent would not anticipate someone like him could fight
…. but women staring at him? A nun staring at him?
Woon was uncomfortable, but he realized as he lifted trays for her and swept
away more paths that doing these holy chores only made her like him more. That
was fine; he liked her too. She fascinated him, in fact.
At last, Dong-soo emerged from the sanctuary, tripping over his own feet of
course, and falling down the steps.
“We’ll be on our way,” Woon said.
Outside the gate, Dong-soo accused him: “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for her
too?”
“Says the fellow who literally fell down the steps. You’re a dumb-ass. Why
would I like a samini? I said I came to help you. You’re the one who fell
asleep.”
“Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“I was helping her.” Woon needed to lie. His plan to make Dong-soo make a fool
of himself was shallow and stupid. “I was planning to say good things about
you, but then you—”
Dong-soo’s face lit up. “I know! I’ll get some paints and show off my artistic
ability! It’s sure to impress her! I’ll paint a mural on a wall of the temple.”
Woon considered for a moment. Of all the dumb-assery. Dong-soo was considering
consecration of a Buddhist temple.
“Baek Dong-soo.” Woon sighed. “You are so impressive. You draw better than
anyone I know. But it’s a sin to do something like that. She will think you’re
a fool, and you will never be allowed back on the grounds again.”
“Oh no!”
The walk back home was torture for Woon. Dong-soo kept talking about his future
wife, and Cho-rip kept making jokes about how like the nun, Dong-soo would
never be married. “Dong-soo-yah, if you keep getting into trouble, I’ll be
married before you. I’m not good-looking, but face it, one sentence out of your
mouth, and who would want you in the marriage bed for all life-long? Aish, you
are crazy. You talk about fairies. You want to paint temples!”
Dong-soo shoved Cho-rip with his shoulder so hard that Cho-rip almost fell off
the path. “What? Yousleep next to me in the bed, don’t you?”
Dong-soo turned to Woon. “And you--?”
Dong-soo froze.
Cho-rip, already off balance, stopped walking when Dong-soo stopped walking,
and this time Cho-rip really did fall. “Damn it, Dong-soo!”
Woon had stopped walking too. That look in Dong-soo’s eyes had been blatant.
He’d remembered.  The same way flashes of intimate moments could make Woon stop
in his tracks sometimes too. Dong-soo, that open book he was, was still staring
at Woon, unable to speak past what he’d already blurted out: “And you--?”Woon
had shared so much more than a bed with Dong-soo.
Woon and Dong-soo exchanged a conspiratorial look.
Woon held the stare. His mind echoed: And you, Dong-soo-yah? You—you—?
He finally lowered his eyes, aware that his eyelashes were fluttering like a
girl’s. He felt ashamed. This had finally happened too. A mutual
acknowledgement of that day. Woon’s heart was beating so hard he was sure
everyone could hear it.
Dong-soo’s voice brazen and loud. “Eh, I’ll get married. I am Baek Dong-soo. I
will be famous and desired by women everywhere!”
Cho-rip was brushing dust off his thighs. “More likely wanted by the police
everywhere.”
Woon dared to look up.
Dong-soo was still staring.  No fear. As if challenging Woon to yet another
duel. Who did Dong-soo think he was? He never won. A memory raced back. It
tightened in Woon’s throat. Dong-soo’s words that day before falling asleep.
Dong-soo never said things he didn’t mean.
“You won, Woon-ah. I love you.”
 
   1. Trust Me
 
I do not see what use a man can be put to, whose word cannot be trusted. How
can a wagon be made to go if it has no yoke-bar, or a carriage if it has no
collar-bar?"  --Confucius, The Analects 2.22
 
Dong-soo had never stopped wanting to grab Woon by the shoulders and throw him
on the grass. Woon, so pretty and kiss-able. So were so many of the girls in
the village with their tiny waists. Dong-soo wanted to put his mouth
everywhere, on Woon’s rosy lips, on the pale fingertips of women who held
painted umbrellas in the street and hid their faces from the sun. Dong-soo
wanted to eat bowl after bowl of rice; there was never enough crispy meat on
his plate; the world shone like a glazed cake; Dong-soo wanted to run up and
down the streets with his mouth open, the wind blowing against him and his
lungs aching from life. After the escort mission had gone all crazy, Sa-mo had
scolded: “You boys must have an excess of energy.” Was that the reason for
feeling so much all the time—all this joy, all this longing and pain, then the
joy again?
The little nun though—oh, she was calm and lovely, like a lily floating on a
pond. Didn’t Woon himself think she would make a good wife for Dong-soo? Why
not a wife? What good was it to be a Buddhist and shut oneself off from the
gorgeous word? So much to snatch—Dong-soo could feel the possibilities coming
at him like arrows. Bring on danger—he would learn from danger! He had caught
an arrow in mid-air during the bandit raid and saved Cho-rip, hadn’t he? Oh,
there had been that fascinating old healer on the road who could knock over a
dozen guys with his identification tag! Dong-soo wanted to meet him again.
More than anything else, Dong-soo wanted to be the greatest warrior the world
had ever seen.
So much was happening so fast. There were constants, though. Sa-mo, home itself
in a man-- reassurance and love. Cho-rip, a brother--such a funny person, so
devoted. Woon—another brother but … how to describe it? Woon was more. Woon was
like part of Dong-soo. Was life really as treacherous as Sa-mo said it was?
There were great valleys and mountains to travel--literal ones, emotional ones.
Dong-soo was afraid of being afraid. The great Baek Dong-soo feared two things:
  the first was losing one of his precious people, and the second was
remembering what fear itself was like.
One evening, Dong-soo felt pure terror. Dong-soo had been returning home after
sneaking out to the temple yet again (what strange goings-on! What nobleman
visited the samini in the late hours? Not decent! Dong-soo would have to
investigate further!). Aish, people were awake; Dong-soo heard voices near the
house—Cho-rip and Woon. And coming up the path was a scary person. A swordsman,
an old guy but he was tall and muscular, dressed in black, prayer beads around
his neck, a peculiar swagger to the way he walked—as if he had been wounded
years ago but that had only made him more dangerous. Of course, Dong-soo stared
at him. Who dared confront Baek Dong-soo? No nobleman, no policeman, no palace
guard, no stranger frightened the great Baek Dong-soo!
The man walked right up to Dong-soo, his face close enough to Dong-soo’s to
kiss him—in fact, for a moment, Dong-soo thought he might! —then as a clear
insult, blew warm air on Dong-soo’s face. It was such an intimate and freaky
thing, Dong-soo shuddered. The man chuckled and walked away.
Fear filled Dong-soo’s body, and he couldn’t breathe—why? Dong-soo had never
thought of himself as someone good at reading peoples’ souls, but this man….
this man was a dark force.
“Dong-soo-yah!”  Cho-rip yelled and whisked Dong-soo away. Woon didn’t take the
same path as Cho-rip and Dong-soo—and Woon was gone. Dong-soo was un-easy; the
fear that had made him clutch his chest a moment earlier had abated, but where
the hell did Woon go?
Cho-rip distracted Dong-soo soon enough with talk that the great Sword Saint
was with Sa-mo now, that the medicine man with the amazing identification tag
techniques had been indeed Sword Saint.
“No kidding? Sword Saint wants to meet me?” Dong-soo was sure that word of the
great Baek Dong-soo had spread; surely this was why Sword Saint had come to the
village.
Cho-rip talked Dong-soo down from such delusions, and then who should show up
but Jin-joo? The annoying bandit girl at the raid been none other than the
annoying little girl from Dong-soo’s childhood. Dong-soo had remembered her
eventually—no mistaking her. He was bad at reading people, but he never forgot
a friend. Of course, upon joining Cho-rip and Dong-soo for drinks, the first
person Jin-joo asked about was Woon— “your handsome friend.” How annoying.
Girls loved Woon. Jin-joo didn’t know that Dong-soo recognized her. He told her
to forget about Woon, and Jin-joo, Dong-soo, and Cho-rip drank the night away.
Drinking made Dong-soo forget everything scary and sad. Life was bliss, surely
it was a blessing just to have been born and to have lived this long, but there
wasn’t enough to satisfy Dong-soo yet. Dong-soo sat up that night, not
remembering having walked home, and asked, “Where’s Woon?”
Cho-rip was face-down, so Dong-soo didn’t understand him well. “Not here yet.”
“What? He’s not the type to wander around!”
“Aish, I miss him.” Dong-soo lay back down. “I should go out and look for him.”
He closed his eyes. “But I’m too tired to get up to piss, Cho-rip-ah.”
Cho-rip snored.
“Maybe,” Dong-soo whispered. “If I pretend I’m not interested in girls then
they will all like me the way they like Woon. It’s the mysterious thing they go
for. Mysterious. Yes, yes, I can be mysterious.”
Sometime before Dong-soo lost himself to a deep sleep, it occurred to him that
there were so many real mysteries in the world that no one, not even scholars
and monks and kings let alone dumb-asses like himself, had any clue about. Did
Woon know more about stuff that Baek Dong-soo? Not really. Dong-soo knew about
all kinds of poisonous plants and ways to skin a rabbit. He was at the top of
his class in everything except swordsmanship—there, Woon was the star. So, what
was it about Woon that made it seem like he knew something no-one else did? If
Dong-soo was an expert at anything, he was an expert at Yeo Woon—but even so,
Woon was mysterious.
It’s because you don’t talk. It’s because you don’t blabber on like I do, and
you stand there with that pretty mouth perfectly still. People think that you
have some ideas going on in that head of yours when you’re probably just
wondering what’s for dinner like the rest of us. Eh, Woon-ah. Can’t fool me.
Dong-soo pulled the blanket over his shoulders even though it was a warm night.
Always standing there with that mouth shut. Making girls look at your mouth.
Because you have kissable lips, and you know that. You’re not so mysterious….
Where are you, anyway?
Cho-rip and Dong-soo slept most of the next day and missed Sword Saint
entirely. The famous swordsman had left at dawn to visit Yeo Cho-sang’s grave,
Sa-mo told them. Woon was back and didn’t look like himself. He looked worse
than a hang-over, even though he hadn’t been drinking. There were dark circles
under his eyes, his hair was un-washed, still full of the season’s humidity,
bangs puffed out like parts of a dandelion. He wore a lost expression.
“What the hell happened to you?” Cho-rip tossed off the remark and left to piss
in the bushes.
Something’s really wrong with Woon.
Dong-soo knew that he rushed to assumptions—hadn’t he thought that Sword Saint
was a simple herbalist, that this famous man had come to the village to visit a
mere warrior camp prodigy, hadn’t Dong-soo been absolutely wrong about Woon
liking the samini when Woon had actually tried to help Dong-soo see the pretty
girl again?
“Nothing,” Woon said. “I needed to walk around some. I’ve been restless
lately.”
That made sense. But it didn’t make sense.
Woon had left when the scary man had left the previous evening in the same
direction as the man. Did Woon know the man from somewhere? Did Woon fight him?
“Woon-ah, you—are you hurt anywhere?”
“What makes you say that?” An annoyed look. “I’m just a little tired.”
Woon went straight to the room. In no time, he was asleep. Dong-soo made
certain that Woon woke up in time for dinner, and Sa-mo scolded all three boys
for being wanderers. All promised to stay put and properly greet Sword Saint
upon his return.
They didn’t.
That evening, Dong-soo convinced his brothers to sneak out again. This was a
matter of great importance, Dong-soo argued. The samini was being threatened.
Another significant event occurred. Dong-soo caught the nobleman again in the
samini’s room; he could see shadows from a window where it looked like the man
was undressing the young lady. A fight ensued; the boys charged men who had
accompanied the nobleman in defense of the samini’s honor. Woon was
spectacular, but he did not hold for long against two talented swordsmen. Were
they trained at the palace?
The men’s swords were at Woon’s chest, and Dong-soo put his arm in front of
Woon.
“You would give up your arm for a friend?” one of the men asked, astonished.
Dong-soo was still shaken. He laughed. “No, it’s not like that.”
I would give up my life for Woon.
The man in the samini’s room turned out to be none other than the Crown Prince.
Dong-soo didn’t recognize him at first, but Woon did, bowing right away. Dong-
soo made quite the fool of himself, insisting that it was wrong for anyone to
be in a single woman’s room like that, admonishing Woon and Cho-rip for
remaining on their knees before the man, and then the memory flashed, too late,
of the Crown Prince visiting the warrior camp. Dong-soo begged for forgiveness
for his capital offense, but the Crown Prince laughed, recognizing each boy in
turn: “Baek Dong-soo, Yeo Woon, Yang Cho-rip. I am glad you have grown up so
healthy. You are the future of this nation.”
The three boys left without further explanation of what the prince was doing at
the temple, and the samini herself appeared, bowed farewell, not revealing her
name, her eyes full of secrets. She trusted the three boys. What else could
Dong-soo do but trust her back?
“She’s involved with the Crown Prince of all people,” Dong-soo said later over
drinks. “That’s sad.” He felt sad for himself because if the beautiful girl was
his Highness’ woman that meant she was off-limits to any other man, but most of
all, Dong-soo felt sorry for her—what sort of life did she lead that she had to
pretend to be an apprentice Buddhist nun?
“It’s all a little disgusting,” Cho-rip said. “Royals get any woman they
desire.”
Woon was distracted. He’d looked off since the previous evening. No longer
tired but definitely not himself.
Late night already. The three would miss Sword Saint again. “Aish, I’m so
stupid.” Dong-soo downed another glass. “I should’ve recognized the Crown
Prince right away. Woon did. Why didn’t I see--?” Dong soo realized he was
drunk. “Why didn’t I see what I should have seen?
“Keep drinking and you won’t be able to see your own hand,” Cho-rip said. “We
should go home. The captain is going to be mad anyway. If we can’t get up in
the morning, he’ll punish us worse than if we meet this Sword Saint late but
sober.”
Woon was pouring rice wine into his own bowl until the liquid spilled over onto
the table.
“Woon!” Cho-rip explained.
Woon stopped pouring. “Oh.”
“There’s something wrong with you.” Cho-rip turned to Dong-soo. “There’s
something wrong with you too, Dong-soo-yah. I’m the only sensible one in the
group. I may not be the best swordsman, but the both of you have problems.
Serious problems.” He rose from the table. “Let’s go.”
As Dong-soo got up, another memory flashed.  This one almost knocked him back
into his seat. The scary man in front of the house.  That man had been the one
who invaded the boy’s camp, the one who had killed Commander Dae-pyo in such a
horrible way, the one who had almost killed Dong-soo himself but spared him for
some odd reason and only speared his shoulder—aish, he still had the scar. How
could Dong-soo have not recognized--? Woon was there—he must’ve. And didn’t
Woon follow the man?
“You go ahead, Cho-rip-ah.” Dong-soo slapped Woon’s hand as Woon was about to
pour more wine into an already full bowl. “I have to stay behind and talk to
Woon about the perils of too much drinking.” Dong-soo was a terrible liar. “No,
that’s not it.” Dong-soo chuckled. “You see, I think he’s in love with the
little nun too. He needs to get over it… ha, ha, we’re lovesick boys.”
“Whatever.” Cho-rip turned and began to walk away. “The two of you are
strange.”
“Dong-soo-yah, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Woon mumbled,
unconcerned. He was already following Cho-rip.
Dong-soo followed him, felt dizzy. “I know you don’t like the samini. I mean,
whatever she is. She’s lying about being a samini—who would’ve thought that,
huh? I was just telling Cho-rip a lie to be alone with you.”
Woon slowed his pace. “Lie? You know how to lie, Dong-soo-yah?”
“Everyone knows how to lie.”
Woon smiled. Dong-soo was glad to see Woon smile. He skipped along Woon’s side,
leaned close, added, “I always lie to get what I want---little lies. Sa-mo
falls for them…. Well, sometimes he does.”
“Ah, but you’re a terrible liar.”
“Am not!” Dong-soo was indignant. He thought for a moment, and then he was a
little angry. “I’ve learned plenty things over time. You yourself are the one
who taught me how to lie.”
Woon cast a dark look at Dong-soo.
They both knew what Dong-soo was talking about.
Dong-soo didn’t care. He threw his arm around Woon’s shoulder. “You’re a good
liar, Woon-ah. A good liar and a good person. What are you in such a bad mood
about?”
Dong-soo was surprised that Woon didn’t shake off Dong-soo’s arm. “Lies?”
Woon’s voice was strange and whispery. “What do you know about lies?”
They were far from the tavern now, alone on a moonlit path.  Dong-soo leaned in
closer. “I know about lying with you.” His lips brushed Woon’s brow. “Lying
with you so close I felt your heart beating the same as my own.”
This time Woon did push Dong-soo away. “You’re drunk.”
“Sorry.” Dong-soo wasn’t sorry. He was drunk, but he was happy not to be faking
the whole it never happened business for a little while. “You looked like you
needed a little affection.”
“Not that kind of affection.”
“I don’t see why not.”
“What?” A sarcastic tone now. “I thought you were in love with the little
fairy? I thought you were in love with half the women in the village.”
“You have that wrong. They’re all in love with you.” Dong-soo kept walking and
scratched his head. “The little nun has something about her, though. Wouldn’t
you say? Don’t you think? Aren’t you interested in women at all?”
Woon didn’t answer.
“I forgot something.” Dong-soo kept scratching his head. The rice wine was
clouding his thoughts. “I was going to ask you something important.”
The pair walked in silence for a long while. Moonlight cast a glow on Woon’s
face. He really was beautiful. Sad tonight, especially lonely looking, but
Dong-soo saw what women saw. There was something about Woon that made him
appear vulnerable even though he was strong and capable. Yet he never came off
as a total goof… like….
“I’ll bet the nun liked you.” Dong-soo was suddenly curious. “What did you and
she talk about after you saved her from the bandits?”
“Nothing. She’s never even told us her name.” Woon’s voice became sharp. “You
have to get over her. She’s the prince’s woman.”
“Yeah, yeah. But she’s so pretty and kind. Are you sure you don’t like her?”
“She is kind,” Woon agreed.
The pair were closer to the house, passing a thicket of trees where the path
narrowed, and the moonlight disappeared.
“Oh, I remember! I was going to ask you about that scary man who raided the
camp when we were little! Who killed so many people? He was outside of the
house the other night. You saw him, didn’t you?”
Woon froze.
“What’s the matter?” Dong-soo stopped walking too. “Did you fight him? Why
aren’t you wounded? He—he’s—you aren’t wounded, are you?”
“I didn’t fight him. I didn’t follow him.”
“Then where did you go?”
What Woon said next was an obvious lie. As drunk as Dong-soo was, as distracted
as Woon had seemed for a couple days, the moment felt cold and sober. “I know
when there’s nothing to be done,” Woon said, “so I walked away to be alone.”
No, Woon had followed him. Woon was a curious person. Dong-soo was a curious
person too. What had that awful man been doing outside Sa-mo’s house? When
Sword Saint was there? A mystery.
It was a hot, humid night. A breeze blew in the darkness.
“Woon-ah,” Dong-soo said softly. “I can’t see your face, but I can feel your
fear.”
“You’re drunk,” Woon said, and he started to walk again. “You’re making nothing
out of nothing.”
“Aigoo, that would be you.” Dong-soo had to walk fast to keep up. “Nothing ever
happened. You’re a liar.”
Woon didn’t say anything else. Everyone was asleep when they reached the house.
The pair sneaked into their room and lay next to Cho-rip, who was snoring
lightly. Dong-soo didn’t know how he knew, but there was a mystery, a dark one,
that had lured Woon out into the night before and would again. Dong-soo threw
his arms around Woon. “Don’t worry about anything,” he whispered as low as he
could whisper.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Woon didn’t attempt to throw off
Dong-soo’s arm. “Go to sleep.”
 “I will make everything all right. I am the great Baek Dong-soo. Trust me.
Trust me.”
Sa-mo had taught all the boys that trust was a matter of life and death between
comrades; Dong-soo could not imagine the bond of trust among all the mountain
warrior boys ever being broken, let alone that whatever held him next to Woon
so closely might falter in the slightest. Still, it was strange: Dong-soo felt
that Woon was afraid. He felt it was necessary to repeat the words.
“Trust me,” he said again and drifted off to sleep against Woon’s shoulder.
 
   1.   Lie with Me
There is no evil that cannot be done by the liar, who has transgressed the one
law of truthfulness and who is indifferent to the world beyond. – Buddhism,
Dhammapada 176
 
Dong-soo’s words and not the Sky Lord’s were what Woon chose to carry himself
through despair in the days that followed. Woon believed he could not trust
either men, that Dong-soo was a benevolent liar while the Sky Lord was a
dangerous one. Dong-soo would continue to make nothing out of nothing for the
rest of his life, but who knew what the Sky Lord had planned? The former liked
to play for the joy he could bring other people; the latter played with
peoples’ souls the way a cat would play with a mouse before biting its head
off.
The Sky Lord had implied first that Sword Saint, then that the Crown Prince had
killed Woon’s father. Since Woon had lost all memories of the night his father
died, any lie would do. Woon had met Sword Saint and the Crown Prince; neither
had impressed him as a killer. In fact, neither man impressed him at all. Sword
Saint was so interested in Dong-soo, and why not? Everyone now knew the story
of Dong-soo’s family being murdered for political reasons, and how Sword Saint
had run off with baby Dong-soo, only to lose the baby, believing for almost two
decades that Dong-soo was dead. The famous swordsman seemed delighted with
Dong-soo and paid no mind to Woon. That one night— “I’ve been with your father
all day, Yeo Woon. I’ve heard him asking me to care for you.” Bullshit. Sword
Saint, by all Woon’s assessments, was not Woon’s father’s murderer, but that
was too much. The way the man suspected Woon from the beginning. Did he know
that Woon was a hidden assassin? Did he know that Woon was not someone to
trust?
Woon blinked at the morning light. He was lying awake in the boys’ room in Sa-
mo’s house.  Last night felt like a bad dream. 
I tried to kill myself last night. I put a blade to my throat.
Woon got up and washed his face. He’d returned late last night so he’d slept
well into the morning. It was surprising that no one had dragged him out of
bed. Sa-mo was lax here; at the boy’s camp, everyone up at dawn. Sa-mo allowed
his graduates to make their own choices; that in itself was a little scary.
Woon wasn’t sure how much freedom he himself actually had. There were forces
more powerful than his own sword in the world, but Woon knew his strengths. He
was smart, careful, good at hiding. He didn’t want to make the wrong choices.
Still, so many paths seemed dark and narrow; all of them led back to the Sky
Lord.
Last night Woon had gone to Heuksa Chorong with the belief that the Sky Lord
himself had murdered Yeo Cho Sang. He had bowed and asked the question
obliquely. “Please tell me who killed my father.”
“Are you implying it was me?”
“No, I meant no disrespect—”
“It was Woonie.”
Woon had choked, his heart in his throat. The memories had flooded back like a
tsunami overwhelming the shoreline. Woon had indeed gone to his father’s house
with the intent to kill. There was a memory of a blade, his father’s flesh to
the hilt of that blade, then the memory of his father’s bloody hands—Father.
Father’s hands, the warm blood mixing with cold rain against Woon’s face.
The Sky Lord, the Earth Lord, other recruits--everyone had said Woon had taken
ill, fainted that night, lost his memories—from high fever? That explanation
had never made sense.
“It was Woonie.”
I tried to kill myself last night. I put a blade to my throat.
The memories had come in flickers, but they had told one story: Woon was the
murderer of his own father. Kneeling before the Sky Lord, stricken with this
terrible new truth, Woon would have fallen on his own face, but he caught
himself. He wasn’t aware that he was weeping until he saw drops of what he
thought was rain on the ground. Shame and grief had overtaken him in a single
breath. He had pulled out his blade and put it to his throat.
The Sky Lord had been unperturbed. “What difference will that make?”
Woon had heard his own tears in his throat then. “It makes a difference
knowing.” It made all the difference. There had been a chance of escape before;
there had been a life with Dong-soo; hadn’t it been easy to lie once?
The Sky Lord drew his own sword, and Woon prepared, as he had when he was
twelve, to die.  But the Sky Lord’s blade pushed the blade at Woon’s throat
away. The man made Woon stand up. He made Woon feel small. He made a speech
during which Woon felt echoes of regret, doubt, a longing for another life, a
sense that that there was only submission to the great Sky Lord. He told Woon
that Woon was still a killer.
The Sky Lord didn’t admonish Woon’s teary eyes, but he acted possessive of
them. He had looked at Woon’s despair with fondness. “Don’t show this look to
anyone else until the day you die.” He had laughed, as if all recruits came
with death wishes, and such things pleased him.  Something, something about how
an assassin’s life is pain? It didn’t make sense, but Woon had nodded,
pretending to understand, in fear for his life, whereas only a moment before he
had forgotten how to fear for it.
Standing there and being told he had no choice in any matter, not even over the
matter of whether to live or die, Woon, through shock and grief, had surmised:
The Sky Lord is a dangerous man. He’s even more dangerous than I remember.
Bowing his head, he had apologized in a soft voice to the Sky Lord for trying
to kill himself. His heart, meanwhile, had apologized to someone else:  I’m
sorry, Dong-soo.  This would have driven a blade through your own heart.
The Sky Lord had poked Woon in the forehead and raised Woon’s head. The touch
felt like a violation; there was something calculated and familiar about it.
“You may lower your head,” the Sky Lord had said, as if repeating the words
from a poetry book. “But never lose your focus.” He talked that way. In
riddles. At that moment Woon had felt himself wanting to stay alive if only to
find out what the hell the man was about, but he was still afraid.
Morning streamed through slats in the window in Sa-mo’s house, and Woon told
himself: I tried to kill myself. I tried to kill myself.
There was no escaping the Sky Lord. Woon owed the Sky Lord his own life. There
was no escaping Dong-soo. Woon owed Dong-soo his very soul.
“Eat your breakfast or Dong-soo will finish it for you,” Cho-rip said.
Why would I try to kill myself? I’m stronger than that. Such a thing could not
have happened.
Breakfast tasted like sand. Woon could not stop remembering things about his
father, although most of the memories from that lost time were still gone.
Father had always said Woon was a born killer. The Sky Lord had said the same
thing. The sort of person who kills his own father? How many choices were left
for Woon now?
Dong-soo grabbed Woon’s bowl but instead of eating Woon’s rice, pushed the bowl
against Woon’s chin.
“You’ll be useless all day if you don’t eat,” Dong-soo said. “And you’re making
a bad habit of going out drinking alone at night. Eat this or I’ll make you eat
it.” Dong-soo slammed the bowl on the table. “And drinking ruins your looks by
the way.” A laugh. “So, stop it. You look like crap when you crawl in every
morning. The ladies will forget all about you and start noticing me.”
Dong-soo knew that Woon wasn’t out drinking, but he wasn’t asking where Woon
was going.
Neither was Sa-mo.
It occurred to Woon: they trust me.
Woon picked up a spoon and ate. “I wasn’t drinking. I was walking around is
all.”
“Whatever. It’s a bad habit.” Was Dong-soo going to stand there, arms folded,
until Woon finished eating?
Woon decided it was easier to finish eating than to argue with Dong-soo. He ate
all his breakfast in three more bites, dropped the spoon into the bowl, and
mused: “How many bad habits does it take to make a bad person?”
“You can never be a bad person, Woon.”
The way Dong-soo has spoken that affirmation so casually was a shock. Woon
himself didn’t believe that about anyone…. Except maybe Dong-soo. Dong-soo was
too daft, pure, and trusting to ever become a bad person.
Cho-rip burst into the room. “The captain wants to talk to us about our next
mission! What do you think it will be?  Do you think I’ll get to fight this
time?” Cho-rip caught his breath and glanced at Woon. “Aish, you look terrible.
Dong-soo-yah, why is that the captain never scolds Woon for going out at
night?”
“I don’t know.” Dong-soo shrugged. “Woon doesn’t pick fights or get arrested or
cause troubles like I do?"
There was no new mission; instead, a miraculous assignment occurred: the three
mountain camp boys were assigned to the palace to be royal guard trainees, of
all things. Dong-soo and Cho-rip were thrilled with the honor, but Woon was
less than impressed. Would he be safe in the palace from the Sky Lord? Wasn’t
the palace infested with spies from Heuksa Chorong? He vaguely recalled such a
thing.
Jang-mi fussed over the boys, packed them snacks and wept. Sa-mo was annoyed by
her tears. “They’re not going to die. They’re going to the palace,” he said.
Woon knew that people died in the palace; there were stories on the streets
about assassinations and poisonings. Sa-mo didn’t look as concerned as he had
before he escort mission; he was beaming with pride; did he really have that
much faith in his pupils’ skills?
“They’re just babies,” Jang-mi said, waving good-bye. “Not even twenty.” At
that, Mi-so had cried too.
“There will be girls at the palace.” Cho-rip elbowed Dong-soo. “No Buddhist
nuns there.”
Dong-soo promptly initiated a school fight with the other trainees no sooner
than the boys were given their uniforms. Dong-soo called the other guys’
techniques baby-ish, the others wanted a tussle, and so Cho-rip, Woon, and
Dong-soo whipped them handily.  Of course, the three new recruits were punished
and sent to a lowly position to be beacon watchers far from the palace proper.
Dong-soo and Cho-rip were crushed, but Woon said, “at least this will be a
break.”
A time away from spies and scheming court nobles, a place somewhere far in the
hills.
Then Sky Lord met with Woon before the boys left and told him that he would be
in contact with Woon via his messenger falcon. Woon, not knowing what task lay
ahead, swore allegiance and decided he would make choices when he had more
information. I still can make my own choices. He had left his own white carrier
pigeon at Sa-mo’s before traveling to the palace.  He still carried Dong-soo’s
promise with him, though: I will make everything okay.
The beacon station was perfect by Woon’s standards. Open skies, high grasses, a
mere tent to sleep in, not too different from the mountaintop warrior camp. The
keeper seemed a little crazy and had a habit of calling Woon “son of a gisaeng”
or “the pretty one” and holding forth about philosophical stuff, but that was
mildly entertaining. He told his new helpers that they would spend most of
their days collecting dung to light the fires. There were instructions about
this and that, and all three boys had notebooks to write down job details.
Dong-soo filled his book with drawings of the goofy-eyed keeper and random
weeds growing from the cracked, dry soil. Dong-soo was a good artist, more
observant than he gave himself credit for being. If Dong-soo ever grew up a
little, he might get his sword under control, learn the specifics of killing a
man.
“Pretty one,” the old man told Woon one day. “You work harder than the others.
but you never say anything. Are you hiding something?”
Woon was taken aback. “What—what do you mean?”
“Eh, nothing.” The old man dismissed Woon with a wave. “You’re not like other
youngsters your age. Too serious. Too refined looking. I thought you might be a
character with a past, like a tragic guy in a storybook …. but maybe you’re
just constipated.”
Woon began to believe the old beacon keeper might not be crazy.
Crazy Man did serve the boys special herbs for constipation for dinner that
night though. The old man had a several nests of plants in the tent—he was
learned in medicine? Woon recognized the herbs as a digestive stimulant and was
careful not to eat much; Dong-soo ate a lot of food as usual but was unaffected
by the plants; Cho-rip vomited in the morning and was sick all day.
Dong-soo and Woon set off in separate directions to collect fire-logs and dung,
the latter which was always scarce. Woon had collected several small logs by
mid-day and met Dong-soo, who was sitting on a boulder near a stream, lying
under the bright sun, two logs beside him, napping like a fool.
“Dong-soo-yah! The old man is going to fuss at you!”
Dong-soo sat up.
“Oh look. You have enough for the two of us.”
“This isn’t enough.” Woon placed his sack down. “You know what he said. If the
beacons aren’t kept lit, we’ll be executed.”
“Right, right, and seventeen beacon men were executed last year. Don’t tell me
that you of all people believed that bullshit?”
“No,” Woon said. “That was the old man trying to get us to do our job. But a
job is a job, Dong-soo-yah. You still have to do it right.”
“Eh.” Dong-soo lay down again. “This isn’t martial arts practice. I don’t want
to.”
Woon had been scanning the skies for a falcon every morning. He sat down next
to Dong-soo. Why not rest in the warm sunlight for a while? It was peaceful
here. The stream sang. The two were alone together.
“What were you dreaming about?” Woon asked.
“You don’t usually ask such things,” Dong-soo said. He laughed. “I was dreaming
about a pretty little Buddhist nun who looks like a fairy.”
“Liar.”
The moments passed. Clouds passed over the sky in large white shapes against
the soft blue. Woon felt a strange happiness, but he knew that he would leave
this place one day. He would leave this peacefulness. He would leave Dong-soo.
“We have enough logs,” Dong-soo muttered, half-asleep.
Woon had sometimes wondered about what “enough” meant. How many memories of
happiness would be enough to carry him through the worst times. What it might
mean to say “enough” to the Sky Lord--to say, “I can’t do that.” And to know
that saying that would mean to die then.
Was dignity even something Woon could hold onto at all? Who could live as an
assassin and claim to be a good man?  Was dignity something Woon could trade
for another person’s life? He had thought about these things. Woon was already
a terrible liar. What right did Woon have to even this one sunny day, and would
another like it ever come?
For almost two years, about a particular snowy day, he had thought: this is
enough.
Woon squinted at the sky.
Nothing ever happened…. No, everything changed that day.
Woon leaned over Dong-soo and kissed the corner of his mouth. “I want to
remember you in the sun. Not only in the cold but in the warmth like now.”
It could be enough. Just this time. Enough to hold me through whatever happens
the rest of my life.
Of course, Dong-soo kissed Woon back. Woon had expected that. Unlike that day
almost two years ago, the first kisses were lingering, gentle ones.  It was a
long time before Woon undid the sash at Dong-soo’s waist and took off the
shirt. Woon said nothing; Dong-soo whispered, “Woon-ah, Woon-ah” at moments.
All their clothes were on the grass, and the kissing went on and on. Dong-soo’s
body felt hot; Woon kissed all over; when his mouth reached the acupuncture
point ximen just above the wrist, he felt a strange surge. He wanted to ignore
it but couldn’t. The point was associated with grief and an excess of yin. As
if a hot spot beckoned—bite me, bite me.
Woon didn’t, but he sucked the skin there. Dong-soo grabbed Woon’s arm and
rolled him over. He was the one kissing Woon’s body now. He took Woon’s cock
into his mouth and slurped with greed and passion until Woon cried out, not
caring because they were so far from the camp. Dong-soo was next; Woon dug his
fingers into Dong-soo’s thighs, and Dong-soo finally said something: “No, no,
slow down—ow, no, a little softer! You’re going to make it fly off!” so Woon
toned down his enthusiasm. When all was over, Dong-soo had pulled on Woon’s
hair so hard, black strands fell out on the bright green grass.
The two panted against one another for a while, not speaking; then they kissed
again, and the next position must have occurred to them both at the same time.
Woon didn’t know how they got there, but as martial artists, he and Dong-soo
were trained to seek out new moves as necessary, so it felt natural for Woon to
be on top and Dong-soo to be lying beneath him, each sucking and fondling one
another. The reciprocal pleasure was heavenly; it felt like being one person.
How long they lay there, drenched in sunlight and ecstasy, Woon couldn’t know,
but Dong-soo’s thighs pressed on either side of Woon’s head and Dong-soo
finished first.
In the next moment, Woon was facing skyward. Whatever Dong-soo had done to make
Woon climax had brought about pure forgetfulness—now there was only blinding
sunlight, blood rushing in Woon’s veins and the noisy sound of Dong-soo’s
breathing. Had the pleasure been so sharp that it was unbearable? That Woon had
lost it? That he was left with only the luxurious aftermath?
“I didn’t know,” Dong-soo managed to huff, “that anything could feel so good.”
The two lay, exhausted in one another’s arms. It didn’t feel like enough to
Woon, in the sense that he knew he wanted more, another day, and that wasn’t
going to happen, but it was enough to reassure him somehow that he mattered in
the world.  Whatever this was between him and Dong-soo—this exquisite
intimacy—it was vivid proof that he, Yeo Woon, could bring another person joy.
“This is good,” Dong-soo said. “This is really good.”
“It happened because Cho-rip isn’t around,” Woon said. “It can’t happen if he’s
out with us in the fields.”
“Then we’ll just have to put something in his food,” Dong-soo said, “to give
him diarrhea every once in a while.”
Woon nodded off for a while, and Dong-soo shook him awake. “I fell asleep?”
Woon was surprised at himself.
“Even without a head injury.” Dong-soo laughed. “You’re like a baby, Woon-ah.”
“We need to make it back. We need to gather more logs before we do.”
Amazingly, Dong-soo agreed. It was as if he were so grateful for what Woon had
initiated that he was willing to do Woon’s bidding for the time being.
There had been sporadic rainstorms throughout the week. That evening the tent
shook from the rain. Woon had his first restful, dreamless night since arriving
and when he woke up, Cho-rip was hugging Dong-soo who was wide-awake, staring
at Woon.
Crazy Man was hovering over them.
“The skies are clear,” the beacon man said. “Off you go. You—” he pointed to
Dong-soo. “The restless one who must be lovesick or something. You stay with
me. I have a special task for you.”
“Lovesick?” Dong-soo sat up.
“Wandering around and clutching your heart in the night? Sssssh, aigoo.” The
old man rolled his eyes. “You are sensitive. I’m going to give you a task to
challenge your manhood.” Then the man pointed to Woon. “You, son of a gisaeng.
You’ve spurned all comforts of women and the world. You either already know the
pain of life or you will never learn. Bah with you. You may be too pretty to
learn anything of value. And you.” Here he turned to Cho-rip. “You might be
book-smart but go learn the ways of wolf-dung.”
Dong-soo muttered as the three beacon employees parted ways: “What a crazy
man.”
“I heard you!” said Crazy Man. “Sit down with me and eat lunch today. I’ll show
even a dunce like you how to pass the civil service exam. You do what I tell
you, though. Everything I tell you!”
Later that day, Dong-soo shot the Sky Lord’s messenger falcon and cooked it
like a chicken and then got himself bitten by a poisonous snake. The two events
followed so quickly upon one another that Woon’s head spun, but it was Dong-soo
who fainted. Just before falling onto the bed cot, Dong-soo asked Woon and Cho-
rip about the snake wound: “Please don’t tell the old man. Embarrassing, you
know?”
The point where Woon had felt the excess blood energy, ximen,on Dong-soo’s arm.
Could Woon have warned him? There was no way the dolt would listen. Could Woon
have known about the cave full of flower snakes where the old man had sent
Dong-soo to fetch kimchi from a pot? He had no idea anything like this could
happen.The wound is treatable. The wound is treatable.The pounding in Woon’s
head seemed not to be; the fear grew moment to moment. Woon raided the old
man’s cabinets for herbs and was caught by him.
Then Crazy Man insisted that Dong-soo’s arm needed to be cut off to save his
life. By this time, the boys had carried Dong-soo outside the tent to be
examined by their beacon station chief; Dong-soo was still unconscious,
sweating and running high fever. The old man took out a knife. “Turn your
heads,” he told the boys. Woon flashed on a memory of what the Crown Prince’s
guard had said: You would give up your arm for a friend? Cho-rip, his own body
thrown over Dong-soo’s body, was begging—something about what it is like for a
martial artist to lose his arm.
Stupid Cho-rip. He’d forgotten about Sword Saint, minus one arm but still the
greatest swordsman in Joseon. But what good is a dead swordsman?
Woon heard himself speak in an authoritative voice: “Give me the knife.”
Woon had never used his acupuncture skills for healing. He knew where to insert
needles to lessen pain and redirect qi, but he wasn’t sure what he was doing;
he wasn’t sure anything he was doing would work. He calculated that there was a
small chance that Dong-soo would die on the table, under his hands, but the
risk was worth taking. Woon took the knife and made a small incision, the way
Sa-mo had taught the warrior boys to do in the event of snakebite. He sucked at
the spot the way he had earlier that day. The blood was bitter, and Woon was
careful to spit it out quickly so he himself would not be poisoned.
Get more, get more. He sucked deeper and drew as much blood as he could until
the area was white. Then he applied the angelica and purple parsnip and tied a
bandage tight around Dong-soo’s wrist.
He’ll get better. He will. Or the crazy old man can still cut off his arm.
“Impressive,” the old man assessed and whistled through his teeth.
“That’s Woonie,” said Cho-rip. “He knows so many things. Did you see how he
kept his cool?”
Cool? Woon didn’t feel cool. There had been a message attached to the falcon.
Part of it had been torn away, but the one word left read “kill.” The others
didn’t suspect Woon was an assassin; no, of course they didn’t. They had wanted
to eat freshly cooked game with Woon. The Sky Lord’s precious falcon, cooked to
a crisp. Its message had been for Woon to kill the old man, hadn’t it? He
wasn’t a crazy old man; he was too smart. He was an exile of some sort, someone
that higher-ups wanted dead. Woon was also in the clear with Heuksa Chorong.
When the messenger bird didn’t return, it would be clear that Woon didn’t get
the command.
This time Woon was free.
Next time he might not be so lucky.
Next time, Dong-soo-yah, you may need to cut me off like a limb. Or someone may
need to do that for you if you yourself won’t let me go. For the sake of your
own life…. I won’t be able to be by your side anymore.
Dong-soo woke up mumbling about kisses and kimchi and chicken meat, and
everyone but Woon laughed. Dong-soo wanted to get up and walk about. Woon
guided him inside the tent and put him to bed with herbal tea; Woon was the
newly acknowledged medical master. “Rest, rest,” he told Dong-soo, and Dong-soo
pulled at Woon’s sleeve, attempted a kiss.
“What, Woon-ah?” He whispered. “They’re outside. It’s okay.”
“Hush.” Woon considered his own wicked-ness all night, was not assuaged when
Dong-soo hugged him in the darkness and muttered something about Woon having
saved his life so now they were even; Woon’s heart felt black and lonely; his
mouth still tasted poisoned blood; something was tainted about his relationship
to Dong-soo.
That feeling passed, though.  How could it not in this safe, isolated place?
The following day, Jang-mi and Mi-so and Jin-joo came to visit with food. The
landscape, already vivid with natural beauty, was made brighter by the women
visiting and seemed dull after they left. It was as if a tiny tsunami of
colorful clothes, high-pitched voices and honey-cake snacks had come, gone, and
left too soon. Woon, who didn’t even like sweets, was sorry Dong-soo had eaten
everything. Cho-rip reported that Mi-so had smiled talking about how amazing
Woon was; Dong-soo said that he had revealed to Jin-joo that he knew she was
his childhood friend.
“Had her so fooled. Who’s stupid, eh? Who never forgets a face? Me, Baek Dong-
soo.”
Dong-soo smiled when Cho-rip noted that Jin-joo had recognized Dong-soo all
along as well. 
Dong-soo seemed embarrassed too. “Eh, she’s not stupid either. She was a tough
kid.” A little grin. “She kissed me when she was twelve. Aish, can you believe?
Right in front of all the other kids.”
Woon tried to smile; he thought that maybe Dong-soo would act more hopeful that
what had happened by the stream would happen again, but there was so much talk
about women. Did Dong-soo really like to talk about women? Or was it that he
caught whatever topic was being tossed about like a ball? Woon never spoke up
much, and it seemed rude to him to talk about people the way Cho-rip and others
often did. Eh, Dong-soo likes to capture people’s attention. The stuff about
Jin-joo? Not boastful, really. He’s open like that—he lets people inside and he
pours himself out. Talks and talks. Maybe one day he’ll end up like the old
beacon keeper.
The old man made the boys wash his clothes, which were stinky and gross from
having not been washed in months, then gather the washed clothes from the line
when another storm, a real one this time, approached.  Dark clouds gathered,
and hard rain fell. There was no predicting the weather; there was no
predicting the days of a life. Woon gave up watching Dong-soo’s eyes for clues.
He fell asleep that night and didn’t dream anything. He woke up, as always, too
close to Dong-soo, and as always, wanted so much to touch him.
The storm had put the beacons out, washed away the dung and there weren’t
enough logs; Dong-soo stole some from a near-by temple, but then more rain
fell, and a horror occurred: the beacon station near the palace went out.
“This is what the old man was talking about!” Cho-rip was beside himself,
shuddering. “Joseon would’ve been invaded if the beacons didn’t stay lit, and
that’s why beacon-keepers kept getting executed! We’re going to die! Beheading,
right? Didn’t the old man say death by beheading?”
It was a more than a serious matter; the old man confirmed that execution was
imminent but that if a signal went up from the beacon station near the palace,
all would be well.
“We can make it there by sunset,” Dong-soo said, and he stood up to run.
“You stay here, Cho-rip-ah.” Woon ran after Dong-soo.
Woon chased after Dong-soo at top-speed through the mountains until the two
reached a high cliff.
“Woah!” Dong-soo slid his feet on the ground to stop himself before running
off.
Woon was seized with terror. He’d been through this before. The ground would
give way, except this time, the world would come to an end.
There was Dong-soo, leaning over a precipice. No…. no…...  
Woon yelled: “Baek Dong-soo!” Surely, the idiot wasn’t idiotic enough to jump
into the water?
Dong-soo turned around and smiled. As if to say I will make everything all
right. I am the great Baek Dong-soo. Trust me.
And everything was fine. By the time Woon had rushed to the cliffside in a
panic, Dong-soo was already bobbing out of the water. Grinning ear to ear,
Dong-soo called, “I’ll go first! You find another way.”
Woon took a moment to revel in Dong-soo’s audacity; the great Baek Dong-soo.
Then an idea struck. Steal a horse. You’ll make it to the capital in no time.
Running alongside the main path to the city, Woon was lucky enough to spot a
nobleman—none other than someone who appeared to be an inspector headed for the
beacons too. Woon jumped him, then jumped the horse. Woon’s heart sung; lives
were saved for certain; was he smiling? Yes, Woon felt himself smiling.
When Woon rode towards the main thoroughfare, he spotted Dong-soo. The poor man
was on his hands and knees, breathless, exhausted, in the street.
“Baek Dong-soo!”  Woon couldn’t stop smiling. And when Dong-soo jumped on the
horse, Dong-soo hands landed, ever so discreetly, on Woon’s ass. Woon turned
around and shot Dong-soo a look, but the moment was pure joy. Dong-soo leaned
forward, panted against Woon’s back—so was the fool overjoyed to have been
rescued? Just how long were his hands going to rest there?
“You stole a horse?”
Something seemed to nick Woon inside—like a thorn. And the black thorn in his
heart belonged to a larger, blacker self--the Woon kept hidden from the good
pure Dong-soo. So, was this how Dong-soo saw Yeo Woon? As a person incapable of
petty theft?
“Stealing is only a beating,” Woon shot back. His smile dimmed for a moment.
“Not lighting the beacons is a be-heading.”
“You stole a horse.” Dong-soo laughed. “You’re becoming more like me every
day.”
“I’m better than you!” Woon reached behind himself, gave Dong-soo an awkward
one-armed hug on horseback. Dong-soo slapped the horse’s butt, and off the two
went to the capital.
The palace beacon guard demanded identification. This was going to be a bigger
mess than either had anticipated on the thrilling ride to the station.
“We’re interns,” Woon explained. “We were in a hurry.”
Something was wrong; surely the guard understood the importance of keeping the
beacons lit. Woon negotiated a trade of the horse for a mere quiver of arrows.
The guard insisted, “Just let it be known that I never opened the gates for
you.”
Dong-soo and Woon agreed that they were being conspired against. Such were the
ways of the palace.  “Aish, what craziness.” Dong-soo wasn’t furious. His eyes
looked older, hardened with the seriousness of the situation. “Are we so
important to the Crown prince? We must bigger than we thought we were—huh,
Woon-ah? Isn’t that something? We need to beat these guys.” Woon thought about
but couldn’t mention that the old man at the beacon station was a person
someone wanted dead. The only priority was staying alive themselves. The palace
was a kill or be killed world. Dong-soo and Woon found a bridge from which to
shoot flaming arrows, and Dong-soo aimed so that the arrows would follow a
natural curve and fall directly onto the smoldering logs inside. He lit three
beacons this way.
Woon’s heart was smiling again. We’re saved, we’re—
It started to rain.
Thunder. Darkness. A light mist, then a gentle, fine downpour.
Only the fourth and final beacon was un-lit. Dong-soo kept trying until he had
used up all the arrows except one.
He gave the arrow to Woon.
Why me?
Dong-soo simply nodded. He simply trusted Woon.
Woon pulled back the bow and prayed, to no god in particular: please, please.
After the arrow was released, Dong-soo shouted at it in that foolish way of
his: “Fly! Burn it up!”
In spite of himself, Woon felt himself praying Dong-soo’s inane cries.
The beacon lit up.
Woon felt himself in Dong-soo’s arms. He felt his mouth being kissed but that
was over too soon; he was being held. Being in Dong-soo’s arms was salvation
itself. In this embrace, no other world with its threats of suffering and shame
could exist.  Woon had felt this joy one wintery day, then again under the
scorching sun, and now, in the pouring rain. Woon felt alive, alive, alive.
Three times, Woon had been saved.
Not fully letting go of one another, Dong-soo and Woon turned to watch the
beacons burn, and when they decided to walk back to their beacon post, they
were met by armed Royal guards and escorted to the palace.
Nightfall already. The palace, full of intrigues, its ornate rooms lit by
glowing lanterns. Were they in trouble?
Far from it. The commander of the guards told them that they had done their
duty and wanted to commend them. He scolded the inspector for losing a horse.
Dong-soo nudged Woon and winked, but Woon’s heart was growing blacker by the
moment. The assignment at the beacon post was over; Dong-soo and Cho-rip and
Yeo Woon would be returning to royal guard training promptly. The crazy old
man? A general in Ham-gyung province who had fallen out of favor with certain
politicians. The beacon interns were fed the best meals they’d ever eaten, and
even through they were tired, both said they wanted to head back to their old
post right away. Dong-soo wandered away a bit from the East Palace, whistling.
“Woon-ah, I’ll be back in a minute. I just want to take a little look.”
“You’ll see all this in better light when we’re working here.”
“I know—but look at this place.”
“You’re going to get into trouble.”
Woon folded his arms, allowed Dong-soo a few minutes and when he went to go
check up on him, he saw a sight he didn’t expect. Dong-soo was standing right
before the tattooed girl, the so-called samini. Dong-soo was about to touch her
cheek. There was a look in his eyes like fascination. No, it was more than
that.
Dong-soo’s hand—yes, it pulled away. Dong-soo-yah, even a dumb-ass like you
knows better than to touch his Highness’ woman.
Woon’s heart. This time it was as if a whole bramble of thorns had caught it. 
Woon stepped back. His foot made a crackling sound against a pebble that should
not have been there. A whole border of pebbles along the smooth path? Damn it,
I’m not even watching where I’m walking. Assassin? I’m an idiot. I really AM
becoming more and more like him. I’m going to be killed at this rate. Tomorrow,
most likely. Maybe tonight….
“Woon-ah?”
“He’s here too?” said the tattooed young woman. From the sound of her voice,
nothing significant had occurred. But why had Dong-soo been about to touch her
cheek?
“Woon-ah, look who is here!” Dong-soo pointed to the obvious third person in
the moonlight.
“I—I—” Woon looked away.
“I wasn’t supposed to be out,” the so-called samini said. “I’ll be taking my
leave. Blessings be with you.”
Dong-soo skipped to catch up with Woon. “Do you know what?” he was sputtering
in his excitement. “The necklace I wear? This one?” He held up the broach that
he had pieced together, the one years ago the Sky Lord’s sword had shattered
with a swift whip across Dong-soo’s neck. “This broach belongs to her! She’s
the little girl who lost it! Remember her? You and I chased a thief who stole
her purse, remember? She lost this, and I kept it. Remember?”
“Yes, yes.” Woon was unimpressed.
“Destiny, don’t you think?”
“And Jin-joo was one of the bandits who attacked us on our first escort trip,”
Woon said. “I guess that was destiny too.”
“Oh Jin-joo.” Dong-soo laughed. “Didn’t Cho-rip tell you? She thinks you’re
beautiful.”
“Are you stupid?” Woon was so frustrated by now that he thought he might cry.
He didn’t of course, but there was a pressure behind his eyes. He frowned in
hopes that the pain there would go away. “Jin-joo likes you.The whole time she
was at the beacon station with Jang-mi and the bratty one, she couldn’t take
her eyes off you.”
“What? The girls—it’s you. Mi-so was trying to give you the biggest serving, so
Jang-mi slapped her wrist. You were standing next to me. The girls are all
about you—"
“You dunce. You can’t read Jin-joo’s eyes? Jin-joo even said something to Cho-
rip about how she kissed you when you were kids. How you were supposed to marry
her?”
“What?” Dong-soo laughed then waved his hand. “Psssssh. Oh that. That was years
ago. She doesn’t like me like that anymore.”
Woon told himself that it was the excitement of the day that had him feeling so
distressed, so exhausted, so vulnerable to foolishness like jealousy, but no,
Woon wasn’t merely annoyed—the other world, the one that threatened everyone,
had deep roots here in the palace.
“You keep saying it’s me the women fall for, but I’m beginning to think it’s
you who will win them all in the end.” Woon attempted a smile. “The great Baek
Dong-soo.”
“Really?” The fool seemed genuinely curious. “Why?”
“Because you’re a good person.” Woon didn’t say more but kept walking.
It was true. Dong-soo was good, and Woon wasn’t.
What had Woon done? One lie, another one. At some point, the Sky Lord, the
Master of Lies, would call Woon and make Woon do … terrible things Woon didn’t
want to do.  Woon belonged to a darker world. He had to cut himself from Dong-
soo, or the brambles would drag Dong-soo into the blackness—or was it too late?
 
   1. Don’t Die; I am the One Who Must Kill You
 
By oneself is evil done; by oneself is one defiled. By oneself is evil left
undone; by oneself is one made pure. Purity and impurity depend on oneself; no
one can purify another. –the Buddha, the Dhammapada 165.
 
Dong-soo didn’t understand why his companions were less than enthusiastic about
serving at the palace again. Cho-rip complained that the uniforms were
uncomfortable. Dong-soo thought they were stylish. Woon complained about having
to wear his hair in a top-knot. He had always been fussy about his hair. He
said it would fall out being wrapped up like that constantly. As if. How
ridiculous. Woon has so much pretty hair.
 
Right there among the dozens of other guards, Dong-soo felt flushed. He
remembered the strands of hair that fell on the sunlit grass that morning,
Dong-soo’s finger’s unclenching, Woon’s head in his lap.
 
Woon was uneasy about more than dress codes for Royal guards.
 
“I don’t like the palace,” he said when Dong-soo asked him about what was
bothering him. “It’s a place full of politicians and … politicians—I don’t know
about them. We can’t handle them they way we can swordsmen, Dong-soo-yah. There
is so much going on here that we’ll never know about.”
 
Within the hour, Woon was proven right.  Commander Im, the head of the Royal
guard, the man Dong-soo knew had a special connection with Sa-mo and with the
Crown prince, called the new recruits, the special mountain boys, only Cho-rip,
Woon, and Dong-soo, away from the rest. “There’s deep trouble brewing in the
palace,” the commander said. Seated in his office was none other than the tiny
nun. She always looked tranquil, but this evening she looked worried.
 
“His Highness has ordered that she be escorted out of the palace. It is too
dangerous here for her tonight. Because of the extreme situation, I can not
leave. The three of you will have to figure out a way to get her out. The gates
are being watched, and no one is being allowed to leave or enter without
special permission.”
 
“But his Highness?” Dong-soo asked. “Can’t he give us special—”
 
“Has something happened to the Crown Prince?” Woon interrupted.
 
The commander didn’t answer. “Please do your duty and escort Miss Yoo Ji-sun
out of the palace.”
 
So that is why the nun looked worried. Ji-sun. So that’s her name. Ji-sun.
 
Dong-soo felt honored to be trusted with the task, but his mind was too clouded
with concern for the little woman—she was so helpless looking all time—to land
on a solution for getting out of the palace that didn’t involve something
terribly risky like scaling the walls.  Leave it to Woon to keep shooting down
all Dong-soo’s plans. Like arrows. He’s killing me here. Then Dong-soo was hit
with an idea. All dead people, no matter their rank, leave the palace the same
way.
 
Cho-rip was surprised there was more one corpse in the palace morgue.
 
“What did I say?” Woon looked as serious as Dong-soo had ever seen him. “The
palace is a scary place.”
 
Disguised as corpse-carriers with masks over their faces, Woon, Cho-rip, and
Miss Yoo Ji-sun carried a “dead” Dong-soo covered with literal blood from a
corpse on a wagon through special palace exit.
 
Dong-soo was instructed by the nun to clean himself thoroughly to avoid
infection, and once the party was far from the palace, the boys found a stream.
“Please, Young Miss,” Woon said to the nun, and Dong-soo was struck by the
polite tone. “You bathe first. I’ve taken care to bring the hanbok you wore
before we all changed into the corpse-keeper clothes.” Woon took out a small
rolled bag. “My civilian clothes and the men’s are in there too. The clothes
escaped any infection, I’m sure. Most likely the stink as well.”
 
Miss Yoo Ji-sun bowed. Woon handed her the hanbok and slippers—there were
private items too, carefully folded. Dong-soo felt a little awed that Woon had
taken time to think of this step. Dong-soo had been proud of himself for
discovering the way out, but Woon—where did Woon learn to be a gentleman?
 
“Please take your time,” Woon said as the little fairy walked away in the
darkness.
 
“Shouldn’t we stay closer to guard her?” Cho-rip asked.
 
Dong-soo slapped Cho-rip on the chest. “Pervert. There’s no one here. Stay your
ground and turn around.”
 
“Aish! You and Woon are the ones head over heels for that creepy little thing!
Not me. I just want to make sure she’s safe, but she’s trouble, I tell you.
Trouble.”
 
After all were clean, the party walked through the warm night air into the
morning, and, suddenly, men dropped out of the trees. Who would they be but
Gak, Yong, and Geol, three boys from the mountain warrior camp!
 
Dong-soo was over-joyed. “You made it down! I thought you would never make it
down!” Were they strong enough? Then some remark about the pretty lady changed
Dong-soo’s mood. What did these heathens know about proper behavior around
women?
 
The mountain boys shifted to joke-flirting with Woon. “Ah, you are more
handsome than ever.” “Your smile hasn’t changed.”
 
And Dong-soo was more annoyed. There was, in this case, nothing he could do, in
regard to the rules of society, to keep boys from picking on Woon’s prettiness.
Woon didn’t seem to mind the usual ribbing, though. Dong-soo had never minded
before; he found himself wanting to kick his old comrades in the shins, though.
 
Then the hills and valleys of the day began to dip and rise too quickly, even
though Dong-soo had known they would. First Sa-mo showed up. Dong-soo was so
happy to see him. Sa-mo walked straight to Dong-soo—ah, Dong-soo was still the
favorite child—and expressed dismay over having heard that Dong-soo had been
bitten by a snake.
 
“Could a mere flower-snake defeat the heaven-sent Baek Dong-soo?” Dong-soo
shrugged and hoped Cho-rip wouldn’t launch into the story of Woon’s amazing
medical rescue again.
 
“I was so worried at first.” Sa-mo’s face still expressed concern. “Jang-mi
reminded me that you had been exposed to hundreds of poisons at the camp and
were immune.”
 
“Actually.” Dong-soo scratched his head. He was uncomfortable with the
attention he was getting before the captain had even acknowledged Cho-rip or
Woon. “You---we---the books we studied may have missed some of the poisons out
there in the world. I was in pretty bad shape until….” Dong-soo laughed. “It
was Woon who used the acupuncture skills he had studied on his own and who—”
 
“Aigoo, you should’ve seen him!” Cho-rip started to tell the story. “He
inserted the needles like a master! He didn’t hesitate to cut the vein at Dong-
soo’s wrist! He sucked—”
 
A blade flew through the air, past Dong-soo, and Sa-mo caught it before it hit
Ji-sun.
 
The next blade flew, and no one moved, but Sa-mo did, and the blade stabbed Sa-
mo.
 
“Sa-mo!” “Captain!” Everyone dropped to their knees to the fallen man’s side.
Ji-sun too. No one thought to draw a weapon; Dong-soo thought, in his terror:
please, someone else, fight now—how can I fight if my Sa-mo has fallen? My Sa-
mo! My Sa-mo!
 
A peculiar man appeared. He carried a scimitar. He said, “Oh, so this is the
girl Lord Hong was looking for. I will have to take her with me.” He had only
one good hand. The arm which he waved in a mocking way had lost its hand above
the wrist; an iron stump was fitted there. So, was he a swordsman or not? That
stump—it could still kill a person just by….
 
“You bastard,” Sa-mo spat, trying to rise, and Cho-rip and Dong-soo pushed the
wounded man back down.
 
Gak, Yong, and Geol jumped him all together and proved incapable of handling
him. The man was indeed a master swordsman. The man didn’t kill Dong-soo’s
friends, merely said “you boys need to practice more.”
 
Dong-soo was on the verge of tears. He couldn’t move. Sa-mo was conscious,
breathing deeply under his hand. The smell of blood. Dong-soo looked to Woon. I
can’t read people, I can’t read people, but what is wrong with Woon? He’s never
been afraid in situations like this.
 
Woon was standing now.
 
“No one seems to be any good,” the peculiar man said. He licked the blade of
his weapon. “Nothing to taste. Only boys.”
 
Why does Woon look like that? Dong-soo knew Woon’s how Woon’s body spoke. Woon
didn’t want to fight. How strange was that?
 
“You.” The man stared at Woon. “You look like a doll.”
 
Still, Woon didn’t budge.
 
“Or you?” The man pointed at Cho-rip. “Or you?” He pointed at Dong-soo.
 
Dong-soo let go of Sa-mo. “I’ll take you on.”
 
“Back off,” Woon commanded. “He’s mine.”
 
Before Woon could draw his blade though, Sword Saint appeared, and it became
clear that the odd attacker and he had a history. The scimitar lowered. The man
asked Sword Saint what part of his body he would cut off this time, threw a
smoke bomb and disappeared.  Sword Saint rushed to his fallen blood-brother’s
side.
 
“Sa-mo-yah!”
 
“I won’t die from the wound,” Sa-mo said and closed his eyes.
 
“Sa-mo!” Dong-soo yelled.
 
“Captain!” Cho-rip in a soft voice.
 
“Sunsengnim!”Dong-soo realized that Woon had never used to address his captain.
Even in his fear, Dong-soo realized this.
 
Sword Saint told Dong-soo to carry Sa-mo and knew the closest place to get
help, which was, surprisingly, a bandit hide-out. All the bandits who had
attacked the wagon envoy were there; they were shocked to see the three escorts
and reluctant to let anyone pass. Sword Saint called an unfamiliar name, and
who should appear but a small man and Jin-joo.
 
The man was Jin-joo’s father, who Dong-soo recognized from his childhood. King
of Bandits, was he? Also someone knowledgeable in medicine and another blood-
brother of Sword-Saint’s, along with Woon’s late father, Yeo Cho-sang—really,
how had all these men come to know one another?  At the moment, Dong-soo felt
grateful that he had so many uncles.
 
“He’ll live,” Jin-joo’s father said of Sa-mo, as Sa-mo lay bleeding, “if he
makes it through the night.”
 
Other words were spoken. Something between Sword Saint and Cho-rip and Woon.
Sword Saint was trying to figure out what had happened at the palace. Woon was
right: the palace was a source of darkness. Sword Saint was here. The
others—wouldn’t they help? They could right whatever was wrong anywhere. The
adults would fix things.
 
Dong-soo wanted to believe that Sa-mo would be fine, but he wouldn’t wake up.
Then as minutes passed and Sa-mo still had not woken up, Dong-soo could not be
consoled.
The great Baek Dong-soo feared two things:  the first was losing one of his
precious people, and the second was remembering what fear itself was like.
The tears started, slowly at first. Not caring that all eyes were following
him, Dong-soo left the house and found himself on the porch. He was weeping
loudly now. There was a tree with a massive trunk growing right there. Its
presence startled Dong-soo or else he would’ve kept walking. He heard footsteps
behind him. Everyone was watching—Cho-rip, Woon, the fairy girl, Jin-joo. He
didn’t care. There was no shame, only fear.
Dong-soo screamed. He threw himself against the tree and wept.
Sa-mo, didn’t you promise to always protect me?
Dong-soo wept for Sa-mo; he wept for his own weakness. How could Woon, who had
come to Sa-mo’s home as a child and had grown to love Sa-mo as a son, be so
strong? Woon had been father-less and mother-less. Woon knew fear too and
didn’t fall apart like this. Woon knew how to protect people; he didn’t need to
be protected. And yet Dong-soo wanted to protect everyone, just as Sa-mo
protected people. He wanted to protect all his precious ones. Woon, who had
that sadness in his eyes. The little nun, who needed help so much now. The
Crown Prince, who the boy’s warrior camp had trained for years to serve.
I am indeed a fool.
Dong-soo wept until he ran out of tears, and all the others, as if to confirm
that Dong-soo was indeed a fool, walked away from the sight. Dong-soo looked
up. Woon was still there. Woon’s eyes met Dong-soo’s with sadness, and then
Woon too walked away.
An hour or so later, when Dong-soo was sitting, dejected, on a stump, Sword
Saint approached him and said, “What can a man with a limp body do in the
world?”
He challenged Dong-soo to spar. Dong-soo was glad for the opportunity. Each
time he was knocked down, he rose with his wooden sword. “Teach me to fight!
That way I can find the man who hurt Sa-mo and avenge—”
A whap across the legs. Dong-soo kept being hit and hit and thrown across the
hard ground.
“Even if you become the greatest swordsman in Joseon, you won’t be able to do
anything if you hold a grudge behind your sword.”
Dong-soo rose three more times, shouted each time, raised his wooden short each
time, and was hit in the stomach, hit on the back, defeated.
“Only your heart can move your sword.” Those were the words Sword Saint left
him. “Hold your sword with your heart.” He kept walking away.
Moments later, not far off, he could hear the air whooshing with the sound of
fighting. Woon had challenged Sword Saint, hadn’t he? Woon would fare better,
of course. Already, though, strangely enough, Dong-soo felt comforted. Weeping
against the tree, he had believed that others had seen his weakness exposed.
Now he believed that they would help him somehow. The great Baek Dong-soo. He
was not heaven’s gift to the world. The heavens had gifted Dong-soo with the
most precious people, ones who loved and supported him.
“He’ll recover soon.” Ji-sun’s voice. She sat down next to Dong-soo.
Dong-soo had met her as a child. He had been drawn to her then. Her broach had
saved his neck from the Sky Lord. And Woon had run before Dong-soo with arms
wide before the Sky Lord. That night, people had been destined to be Dong-soo’s
precious ones.
“We share a deep destiny,” Dong-soo said.
“I was born to be a Buddhist nun,” she said. “That was my destiny.”
So she hadn’t been pretending?
She explained how the Crown Prince had been protecting her; from her tone of
voice, it didn’t seem like she was his woman, more like she had grown up his
ward.
“Since his Highness is stuck at the palace, I will protect you now.” Dong-soo
rubbed his hands together awkwardly. “Not like… I mean, I will protect you like
a friend and a brother.”
“No,” she said. “I must not endanger others. This life is mine to bear alone.”
“Stop it.” Dong-soo was angry suddenly. “There is no such thing as destiny. If
there were such a thing, I would have lived and died a cripple.”
She looked at him and did not ask about the story.
“No such thing as destiny,” Dong-soo repeated.
“Do you really believe that?” It was clear that she didn’t. Who did? Everyone
believed that the stars held peoples’ fates, that the heavens granted this son
or that daughter to a parent, that Dong-soo’s friends had crossed his path
because of heaven’s will. Wasn’t Dong-soo thinking just that a moment ago?
Maybe it was so that heaven had given him his unusual strength, his precious
Sa-mo, his idiocy that people seemed kind enough to overlook….
“A man can make his own destiny.” Dong-soo stood up. “I, Baek Dong-soo, will
show you.”
When Dong-soo went to check on Sa-mo again, the determination he had shown
before Yoo Ji-sun was gone. Jin-joo’s father was cleaning Sa-mo’s wound. Sa-mo
was still unconscious. Feeling no shame, Dong-soo knelt beside his adoptive
father, took his hand and begged, “Sa-mo, don’t die. I don’t want to be left
alone.”
Sa-mo’s fingers moved in Dong-soo’s.
Jin-joo’s father took Sa-mo’s other hand and felt the pulse. There was no need
for that—Sa-mo opened his eyes and spoke. “Dong-soo-yah, what are you talking
about? Alone?”
“Sa-mo!” Dong-soo was crying again. “Sa-mo!”
“Shhh.” The man grinned. “Did you really think I was so weak as to die already?
Even if I died, I would haunt you until you grew out of all your
foolishness—and even after that.”
“Don’t talk too much,” warned Jin-joo’s father. “You might strain yourself.”
“Jin-gi, you give it a rest. I’m fine.”
“Hyung, Dong-soo here woke you up. I would wake up too if it were my own
daughter weeping over me, but—”
 “I’m fine, I tell you—”
Dong-soo was aware of someone at the door. He didn’t have to guess who it was.
It was his other self, after all. He had sensed Woon’s footsteps—was that his
scent? And here Woon thought he was a master at hiding.
Dong-soo turned around, confirmed what he had sensed.  A spray of black hair,
just the tips of Woon’s bangs—Woon standing outside the threshold, head bowed,
listening, not daring to come in.
“Woon-ah! C’mere. Our captain is awake!”
Woon entered, slowly, with hesitation.
Dong-soo had wanted to bring the issue up for a while with Sa-mo, and maybe now
wasn’t the best time, but here, now, feeling so close to his most precious
ones, Dong-soo couldn’t help himself. “Sa-mo, Woon has been out of sorts
lately. Tell him… tell him that you are here for him too, Sa-mo.”
“Dong-soo-yah,” Woon began. “I don’t think that--”
Sa-mo sat up. “Out of sorts? What? You mean his wandering about at night?” Sa-
mo reached out and the back of his hand slapped Dong-soo’s shoulder lightly.
Jin-joo’s father chuckled.
“It’s none of your business, Dong-soo-yah,” Sa-mo went on, “where a young man
goes at night as long as he attends to his duties by day. Woon-ah?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Is there something troubling you?”
“Captain, you should lie down.”
“Eh, forget it. I’m fine. All young men have troubles.” Sa-mo narrowed his eyes
at Woon. “You’re a good boy and never fail at your duties, but remember that
you have a family too, okay?” Sa-mo nodded for emphasis.
Dong-soo looked from Sa-mo to Woon. Woon looked embarrassed.
“You are family here,” Sa-mo went on. “The boys who just came down from the
mountain—uh, aren’t they are supposed to be staying with Jang-mi?” Sa-mo turned
to Jin-joo’s father. “That’s where they went, right?” A nod from Jin-joo’s
father, and Sa-mo went on. “Those boys, Dong-soo, all of you are my sons—you
got that, Woon? If there’s ever anything you need, you come to me.”
Woon lowered his head. “Yes, Captain.”
That night, Woon sneaked out again. Before he rose to leave, Dong-soo caught
his arm.
“It’s good now, isn’t it,” Dong-soo whispered, “that Sa-mo is safe. There isn’t
much to worry about.”
“I’ll be back,” Woon countered.
Dong-soo didn’t let go. “I heard you spar with Sword Saint. It didn’t go well
when he sparred with me.” A soft chuckle. “Did he compliment your sword
skills?”
Woon sighed. There was something about the sound—not frustration with Dong-
soo’s meandering way of talking. Genuine sadness.
“Uncle said….” Woon’s voice trailed off, and his arm went limp in Dong-soo’s
grasp. Woon was able to pull his arm away and stand up. “Uncle said I have a
strong will to kill.”
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it? If you can fight to kill, then you can fight to
protect.”
“I’m not sure,” Woon said. “I don’t understand so many things. How far does one
go to protect a person, when is it the right moment to kill, things … like
that.”
“Really? I thought you knew all that stuff.”
“No, I don’t.”
Woon left.
The next morning, Sword Saint was standing in front of the house and gazing in
the direction of the rising sun. Woon hadn’t returned. Sword Saint said that he
felt uneasy, that Cho-rip and Dong-soo should head to the palace. Dong-soo was
worried about who would care for Sa-mo, but Ji-sun said she would take very
good care of him. Behind her, Jin-joo pouted. Dong-soo noted that the silly
girl seemed to be acting very out of place in her own home. And why was she
looking at him like that? Oh, it was probably because she had seen him crying
like a fool. It was all too awkward, and Dong-soo was glad to hurry off
somewhere else.
Cho-rip and Dong-soo were on their way when, passing Jang-mi’s house, they
heard wailing. They rushed inside and came upon a frightening scene.
Gak, Yong, and Geol were lying unconscious on mats. Bloody bandages were strewn
about. Jang-mi was wiping the boys’ foreheads with a wet cloth, crying, “aigoo,
assassins came, assassins came.” In a corner of the room, Woon sat cross-
legged, head bowed.
The next person through the door was Commander Im. It wasn’t only his military
uniform that made everyone understand that a higher power had arrived; the man
was tall, prepossessing and eagle-eyed. He was the Crown Prince’s best man.
Dong-soo stepped back in awe---it’s going to be all right now, isn’t it?
The situation only became more confusing. As Commander Im assessed what people
said, he appeared suspicious of Woon. He noticed a wound on Woon’s shoulder.
Woon said it was nothing, but the commander demanded to look at it. Woon said
he got the wound while trying to pass through the palace gates the other night
with the Young Miss, but the commander told him not to lie, that the wound was
made by a three-edged throwing star. “Palace soldiers don’t throw stars. That
type is used by the mountain camp warriors.”
Jang-mi shook her washcloth at the commander. “Woon was here when I arrived. He
was giving the boys medical attention.”
The palace is a dark place, hadn’t Woon said that? Dong-soo did what any friend
would do; he lied to keep Woon out of trouble. “Commander, sir—it’s true Woon
didn’t get hurt at the palace. He engaged the assassins. He lured them away and
got hurt then.”
Commander Im did not look convinced. “We’ll know the story when these boys wake
up.”
Dong-soo exchanged looks with Cho-rip.  Trust between comrades is a matter of
life and death.
Gak was the first to open his eyes. “Woonie!” Gak’s expression was outrage at
Woon, and then he seemed to notice where he was and what was going on. “Is
everyone okay?”
“Everyone is going to be fine,” the commander said calmly. “Please tell us what
happened. Who attacked you?”
“He… he was wearing a mask, so I couldn’t see his face.” Gak was looking
intently at Woon who was looking down. Why did Woon look so sad? “Hey, if
Woonie had only come earlier--! We were expecting you!” Was that Gak pretending
to be angry? “This wouldn’t have happened if you had come on time!”
“Very well then.” The commander was satisfied. He instructed the boys to
recover, told Jang-mi to take good care of them, and ordered Cho-rip, Woon, and
Dong-soo to accompany him to the palace immediately.
As people were shuffling out of the room, Dong-soo overheard Gak say to Woon:
“I’ll hear your explanation later. Thank you for keeping us alive.”
Once at the palace, Dong-soo became distracted; there were always so many
things going on at the palace, the least of which were rules about duties still
new to him. No sooner than the boys finished dressing in their spectacular
uniforms than the apparent leader of the palace guards, the sallow-faced fellow
who had challenged Dong-soo on the first day of training, arrived and told Woon
that the Minister of Defense wanted to see him.
Weird. The other guards said that Sallow Face was the minister’s son.  Dong-soo
asked if Woon was in trouble; everyone said that an audience with the minister
was special and more likely Woon was being singled out for being a notable
recruit. Anyone in trouble with the minister, observed one guard, usually ended
up dead.
Dong-soo, envious at first over the first remarks, felt uneasy about the
second.
Cho-rip’s guard duty was near the East gate. Dong-soo and Woon were on a
balcony nearby.
 
Dong-soo was trying his hardest to scan every speck of the horizon for trouble
but still, he sensed Woon’s darkness. He was willing to wait for explanations
about the trouble with the assassins until nightfall; guard duty took priority.
Then, surprisingly, Woon began to talk.
“Why didn’t you ask me about my wound?”
Dong-soo didn’t take his eyes off the palace grounds. “Because I trust you.”
“Just in case, maybe….” Woon’s voice trailed off. “If it were the case that it
was me who hurt them, Dong-soo-yah, you might be regretful.”
“What are you talking about? Jang-mi said she saw you. You saved their lives. I
heard Gak thank you himself.”
“Dong-soo-yah.” There it was again. That sigh of infinite sadness. “I don’t
know if we’re cut out for this job here at the palace. Sa-mo… our captain may
have not been right. We’re… not ready.”
“Are you kidding?” Dong-soo turned to face Woon this time. “Between the both of
us, we’re perfect. You can think yourself out of any situation. Me…. Woon-ah, I
know what my strength is. My uncle Gwang-taek told me. I have a heart. I don’t
think, but I feel things. I just have to direct that heart to a single purpose
and--”
Woon grabbed Dong-soo by the arm, the way Dong-soo had taken Woon’s last night,
before Woon disappeared into the darkness.
“What about your own wound?”
“What?”
“Where the snake bit you.”
“What are you talking about?” Dong-soo smiled. “It’s fine. It healed fine.” For
some reason Dong-soo didn’t understand, he was worried people might be looking
at him and Woon. The way Woon was holding onto Dong-soo’s arm—it wasn’t like
other guards didn’t casually interact with one another during duty. It wasn’t
like friends didn’t touch one another this way. But the heat Dong-soo
felt—could other people see whatever bound him to Woon?  Was it a ring of
intense light—like a halo?
Dong-soo could only stare at Woon.
Woon dropped Dong-soo’s arm as if it were a poisonous snake. “Nothing.” He
folded his arms. “Nothing.”
Sure enough, there was an interruption. Commander Im wanted to see the new
recruits again. Within the rest of the day and into the next morning, the highs
and lows that Dong-soo had always anticipated would follow him through all the
years of his life became so severe that he thought he might die from the rush
of events. And at least twice, he was certain that he would die. Eventually, he
would not be sure that he had any reason to live.
Cho-rip, Woon, and Dong-soo were gathered in the commander’s office and told
about a royal order. The Crown Prince had been stripped of his title and his
life was in danger. For crimes against the royal family, Sado was to be
punished by being put into a rice box. No food and water. An execution.
“We’re going to rescue him,” the commander said, and Dong-soo’s heart, which
had fallen into despair, was glad again.
“The royal order is that one of you three should take his place in the box
while his Highness is secretly escorted out of the palace.”
The room became so dark and thick with mourning that even if anyone had spoken
during the long, ensuing silence, Dong-soo would not have been able to hear the
words.
“That person may not be able to come out alive again,” the commander added. As
if such a thing needed to be said. Dong-soo heard the implication that there
could be a rescue of the prince’s substitute, but he understood the command.
One of the three boys was going to die.
“I’ll do it,” Dong-soo said.
Everyone raised their heads and stared with somber looks.
“Yeo Woon,” Dong-soo said, “you are the smartest, so you have to help the
commander plan in the future. Cho-rip-ah, forgive me, but you are too easily
startled for a job like this.”
The commander told Dong-soo that he was proud of him, and so it was decided.
The commander then went on to say that the three boys were to stay on the
palace premises that night and that Sword Saint would be informed of the royal
order.
Walking into the sunlight to resume their posts, Dong-soo rubbed his hands
together and smiled. “I have lived a meaningful life. I am Baek Dong-soo! Here
I come!”
Cho-rip ran off.
Woon stayed. “Meaningful?” Dong-soo didn’t dare look into Woon’s eyes. He could
hear the emotion in Woon’s voice and didn’t want an argument, not now. Whenever
the execution was—tomorrow?—by that time, Dong-soo would compose himself,
steady his heart, find the right words to say to Cho-rip, know how to say good-
bye to Woon.
Woon walked away. Away from his post, Dong-soo noted, and hoped that Woon would
not be punished, that Commander Im would understand.
Cho-rip appeared later to argue with Dong-soo. “You can’t do this.” Dong-soo
said that a man should be allowed to die like a man. By nightfall, the three
were called to the commander again and told that by decree of the Defense
Minister the palace had been closed—no one could leave or enter.  Cho-rip was
ordered to get word to Sword Saint of his Highness’ demotion. After the
meeting, Dong-soo sat on the steps outside the office for a long time. Woon was
nowhere to be seen. Cho-rip, apparently resigned to what was going to happen,
came to Dong-soo and, smiling sadly, poured him a drink.  Dong-soo took it
without a word.
The next thing Dong-soo was conscious of was waking up in a palace bunker, and
the fog in his head was too familiar—he’d been poisoned enough by Sa-mo during
training at the boys’ warrior camp. Cho-rip had drugged him. There was a note
on the mattress.
This is my decision. Forgive me, Dong-soo, for not staying by your side.
At first, when the terror surged, it wasn’t suffocating. Dong-soo flung the
door open and Woon was standing there. Dong-soo ignored Woon, walked right past
him to find the commander, to fix everything, to save Cho-rip. Then Commander
Im was repeating what Cho-rip had written, something about a decision, and the
terror was not only pressing on Dong-soo’s body from the outside. Pressing from
within and urging his body to collapse was Dong-soo’s own heart. Sword Saint’s
words: What can a man with a limp body do in the world? Dong-soo felt himself
lunging at his own commander. But Commander Im was stronger, throwing Dong-soo
against a wall. Back and forth, the two men struggled. Dong-soo heard words
about how it was possible to still save Cho-rip. That if the Crown Prince made
it out safely, the order would be given.
“Is your head an accessory?” Commander Im was trying not to hurt Dong-soo
physically, but those words….
“Yes, my head is only an accessory,” Dong-soo cried. “I don’t know how to use
it. I only… my heart.”
The commander did not let go, even when Dong-soo pleaded, and Dong-soo fell to
the floor, sobbing.
“Get up,” ordered Commander Im. “What you have to do now is what was Cho-rip’s
assignment. Go find Kim Sunsengnim and inform him of what has happened to the
Crown Prince.”
A royal command.
Dong-soo got up. “Yes, I will go. Here I am, going.”
Dong-soo crossed the palace barricades easily, acquired a horse and new
purpose. At Sa-mo’s he discovered that Sword Saint was missing and that there
was a search going on for him. Ji-sun looked worried about his Highness, so
Dong-soo took her by the hand and insisted that she return with him to the
palace to see the Crown Prince before….
It was when assassins, dressed in civilian clothing, attacked, that Dong-soo
regretted his decision to bring along the little woman. Dong-soo knew he had
someone to protect; he could fight. Without even needing to draw his sword, he
downed two men and chased off the rest of the group. He was a skilled martial
artist after all. The day was widening with promise; Dong-soo could feel his
lungs expanding with a sense of accomplishment.
Then he realized he’d lost Ji-sun.
He found her in the company of who else but—Jin-joo?  The clever girl had
snatched Ji-sun in the marketplace and hidden her after the trouble was over,
then alerted Dong-soo.
“I don’t understand what is going on,” Jin-joo said, “but you should not take
her closer to the palace. That’s where most of the danger is.”
Dong-soo was breathing easier; his mind was working. “Yes, yes, you’re right.”
Assassins in the streets? “Something is very wrong,” he said. “Only a few
people knew of the plan and the alternate plan. There has to be a traitor
somewhere….” He flashed on the memory of a forlorn Woon on the balcony. “No,
no.” Dong-soo laughed out loud. How could he even laugh in such circumstances,
but the idea was so absurd. “There’s no way that Woon—”
Ji-sun looked at Dong-soo with intense eyes. No, how could a compassionate
person suspect Woon? Yes, Young Miss felt fear.  She wanted to see his
Highness. Jin-joo was looking at Dong-soo with quite another expression. Dong-
soo remembered what Woon had said about Dong-soo being clueless about Jin-joo’s
feelings.
What a good, clever girl she is. And she’ll do anything in the world for me. It
was a wicked thought. But Dong-soo needed Jin-joo to do something very
important right now.
“Jin-joo-yah? Please, I entrust our fair lady to you. You will take good care
of her, right? I have to go.”
“Fair lady?” Jin-joo looked at Ji-sun and scoffed openly. Jealousy didn’t suit
Jin-joo. But in some ways, Dong-soo noted, Jin-joo was very much like
himself—an open book.
“I want to go with you,” Ji-sun said to Dong-soo.
Jin-joo grabbed Ji-sun by the arm.  “Too dangerous,” Jin-joo and Dong-soo said
in unison.
Dong-soo started to run, and after he had been running uphill for a long time,
a sense of dread started to fall over him. The scheduled meeting place was deep
in the forest, the landmarks easy to find, and Dong-soo had trained for years
for such a mission. His heart told him something had gone wrong, though; he
knew this before he came on the bloody sight.
There, his Highness’ carriage. On the ground, bodies. Assassins’ bodies in
black clothes, masks over their faces. Other assassins lifting dead comrades to
carry off somewhere. Among all the fallen men was someone in a palace uniform.
“Instructor Bok!”
Dong-soo made quick work of the two masked men there. He kicked them both down.
He ran to the royal guard, and thank goodness he was alive.
Blood was seeping out the corners of his mouth though.
“Instructor Bok! Instructor Bok!”
“His Highness… danger.” More blood poured past the man’s lips; the smell of
blood was everywhere.
Dong-soo felt that he himself might die. “Where’s Woon? Why--?” Tears fell on
the dying man. “Why isn’t Woonie here?”
Bok was trying to say something. Dong-soo brought his face closer.
“Woon….”
Dong-soo’s heart—it had never felt such terror before.
“Woon….” The man rasped the last word. “Traitor.”
The man died in Dong-soo’s arms. What he had said about Woon could not be true.
If his Highness was in danger, then surely Woon was protecting him? Dong-soo
was running, not knowing where he was going; he had run up and down mountains
before as a mere child without losing his breath, but now he couldn’t breathe.
Terror was choking him again. The trees were darker; their limbs were spreading
out like black arms. Dong-soo couldn’t sense Woon anywhere. He ran, and he ran,
and everywhere, the trees were demons, and he knew that there would be worse
demons wherever he ended up. His heart told him that. He knew. He knew.
After a turn, there was a clearing. The sunlight fell over bright grass.
Kneeling, as if about to draw his sword but dead, in infinite servitude, was
Commander Im.
Yes, dead. The blood had dried on his face and on his clothes. Dong-soo shook
him and called his name, but the man was dead.
Wait. No. If his Highness’ best man was …. Where is his Highness? Dong-soo
looked up and saw Woon kneeling, his sword laid across his knees. Dong-soo
walked over.
Woon’s face was no less or no more lonely-looking, the same serious face Dong-
soo had watched intently for years. There were tear tracks on his face.
Dong-soo didn’t feel relieved that Woon was alive; he didn’t feel sorry that
Woon had been crying; what Dong-soo did feel was that sense of dread growing,
the certainty that…
Woon was kneeling before someone in a reverent way?
Dong-soo turned around.
“Your Highness!”
Dong-soo threw himself on the body, felt the arms and legs, even if touching
the Crown Prince was sacrilege; Dong-soo needed to confirm that His Highness
was dead. “How could this happen to you? Why did this happen?” This was the end
of everything; for years, Sa-mo had trained the boys on the mountain to protect
his Highness.
Failure. Utter failure.
Woon was standing up, not meeting Dong-soo’s eyes when Dong-soo asked, “Was it
you? Did you really do this? Did you kill his Highness and the commander?”
The evidence was there; Dong-soo’s heart was telling him that such a betrayal
was impossible, but who could refute such evidence? Dong-soo didn’t have much
of a mind; Commander Im had scolded him for being born with a head that was
merely an accessory, but even a tiny child could figure out what happened. Who
had Dong-soo found at the scene of the crime? What had Instructor Bok said?
Woon… traitor.
Dong-soo raged; he was not even aware of what words he was using to question
Woon, but it didn’t matter—Woon wasn’t answering. “Talk to me,” Dong-soo
pleaded. “Have you gone insane? Are you still the Woon I know? What is
happening?”
Woon’s voice was soft, like a scolded child’s. “This is fate.”
“What?”
“If I try to escape, there is no way out.”
 
Bullshit.
Time had stopped; the world had reached its end. Everything Dong-soo had felt
about Woon flipped over; love turned to hate. Dong-soo landed one punch and saw
blood at the corner of Woon’s mouth. He saw the four beacons lit in the rain.
He punched Woon again. He saw Woon as a child, that haughty look. He saw Woon
as a lover, those startled, dewy eyes. The third punch sent Woon flying off; he
landed on his back and looked dazed. Dong-soo didn’t care.
Woon was strong; he sat up. Dong-soo could hit a man with less force, and the
man would be half-dead.
“I don’t have excuses,” Woon went on. “Failures have no excuses.”
Failure? What the hell was Woon talking about? Who was he to talk about
failure? What did Woon know about failure? Woon had always been the champion at
everything. What was this fuck stupid talk about destiny? Woon was a crybaby.
He didn’t care about Dong-soo at all. Woon had made a choice—a choice to betray
years of training, to betray Sa-mo, his Highness…. Woon betrayed me.
“Yeo Woon, get up.” Dong-soo realized that his sword was pointed at Woon. Dong-
soo’s body was shaking; his mind was shaking; his heart was gone. “I am going
to kill you.”
Woon didn’t get up, so Dong-soo lunged. Dong-soo was, as he knew, incapable of
fighting when his heart was not moving his sword. Woon easily dodged. Dong-soo
kept spearing the ground; Woon, still woozy, kept rolling around. “Stop this or
I’ll have to draw my sword too.” Woon sounded angry now.
“Do it!” Dong-soo’s voice was angrier.
Dong-soo kept swinging. Woon got up. “I beg you, Dong-soo-yah.” Woon threw dirt
into Dong-soo’s eyes, and Dong-soo knew it was over. He had been blind from the
start. He stood still a moment, then yelled like crazy.
How peculiar it was, that as the last echoes of that yell faded into the
forest, the stillness resumed. The sun was still shining. His Highness was
still dead. The world knew of the failures that were Baek Dong-soo and Yeo
Woon, and the world didn’t care. Far off, a bird called. The world doesn’t
care. Dong-soo laughed a little. Failure.
No, no, he would fight. He hated Yeo Woon. Yes, this was the end, and yes,
Dong-soo was a failure at everything, but if he went down, this way, in his
last fight with Woon, against Woon who always won, then maybe he could call
himself a man.
He lunged at Woon again. He didn’t expect that Woon would kill him; he didn’t
expect to kill Woon. He didn’t know what he was doing; all he knew was that he
had to keep fighting, the way he and Woon had always been fighting, since they
were children. Fighting, fighting. Dong-soo always losing.
Woon drew his sword.
Dong-soo felt his own sword glance flesh. Wait, no. Woon’s sword should’ve
fallen on me too.
Dong-soo looked up. His vision was still blurry. Woon was still holding up his
sword. Behind him—no, it wasn’t…. it was Ji-sun. Dong-soo’s sword had cut
Woon’s side, ripped through Ji-sun’s pretty pink hanbok and into her body.
“Young Miss!”  Dong-soo couldn’t cry any harder. He kept crying and crying.
What had the poor little woman been trying to do? Dong-soo pulled his sword out
of her body. The helpless little lady had been holding onto Woon’s waist. She
fell over backwards. Woon’s sword clattered to the ground.
“Young Miss! Young Miss!” She closed her eyes.
Woon was just sitting there. “So, this is how it ends,” Woon said. “Young Miss
is very brave.”
I swore to protect her. Dong-soo felt his heart go black with rage again.
“Woon-ah, don’t die.  I am the one who must kill you.”
As Dong-soo was fleeing the scene, carrying Ji-sun on his back, some of the
horror abated. The woman was alive. Her good, pure, compassionate heart was
still beating. Dong-soo was a miserable failure, but he could still help her,
get her to a physician.
“Bring me back,” she said.
“What?” Dong-soo didn’t understand.
“I’m fine. I’m fine. I need to be with him.” Dong-soo understood right away
that she had only ever cared about the Crown Prince, that he was her most
precious person. In the same way that Dong-soo had cared the most for Yeo
Woon—but that was all over now. He felt a connection to this woman now that was
stronger than before. Maybe they could survive this calamity together?
“You need help,” Dong-soo tried to explain. “It was brave, but it was… Young
Miss, you should not have followed me here. And for you to try to stop me and
Woon from fighting the way you did? You must promise me that you will never put
yourself in a dangerous situation like that again.”
“I didn’t try to stop you from fighting. Bring me back.”
Dong-soo was still running. He didn’t understand the part about not trying to
stop the fight. Ji-sun was a Buddhist—she was compassion incarnate.
“Please, bring me back.”
Dong-soo stopped running.  “What do you mean you didn’t try to stop me and
Woon?”
“He killed his Highness. I saw the body. I need to be with his Highness.”
Dong-soo understood what Ji-sun had done before she spoke the words. She wasn’t
going to die, either. Her voice was strong.
“I wasn’t trying to keep Woon from hurting you. I knew—I know how fast you both
are, and I could tell neither of you … you weren’t trying to hurt one another
by that point, were you?”
She had been watching. She had seen Dong-soo’s frustration and exhaustion; she
had understood whatever it was that had made Woon do what he did, look so
resigned and idiotic—that fatalistic fool. Why was Woon such a grotesque
person? But Young Miss, you--
“I was trying to hold him still,” Ji-sun went on. “He wasn’t going to strike
you. He had not been fighting back at all. Maybe he was going to knock your
blade out of your hands so I….”
Dong-soo felt awe; behind that awe was a hint of another betrayal. Maybe Ji-sun
had never been the fragile flower he had thought she was.
“I wanted to hold him still, so that your sword would kill him. Please take me
back to his Highness.”
There was no refusing her now. And Dong-soo could not blame her either; she was
still sin-less as far as his heart was concerned. He turned around and ran back
to the clearing. What sort of person was Yeo Woon for having turned a perfect
young woman like this into someone who would want him dead? Woon deserved to
die.
But Dong-soo understood Ji-sun now; she was surely brave, as Woon had observed.
Back at the clearing, his Highness’ body was there, still leaning against the
trunk of a tree. It was at that point that Dong-soo noticed that the blade
inside the Crown Prince wasn’t Woon’s.  Woon, surprisingly, was still kneeling
next to his Highness, his sword across his knees like when Dong-soo first had
come across him.
I am stupid, Dong-soo thought. Why am I so stupid?
The world slanted to one side, threatened to throw everything and everyone
Dong-soo cared about into an abyss.
But the brave young samini nestled her body next to the murdered Crown Prince
and asked, “Why did you go alone? Please take me with you.” She took his hand.
Dong-soo wanted to go too. Take me with you, Woon, into whatever darkness I
could not follow. Your Highness, this is my fault. What did my accessory of a
head miss before that might have saved you? Cho-rip-ah? Where are you, Cho-rip-
ah? Young Miss, Young Miss, please don’t die. You look like you want to die. Of
all of us, you are the one who must live.
Dong-soo was stricken with the ridiculousness of the scene—what did the bright
sun, the wildflowers, and the free birds think of the strange, mourning people?
He was vaguely aware that history would record the death of the Crown Prince,
but here and now, everything seemed so insignificant. The tears that had
fallen, from his own eyes, from Woon’s, were already gone. Ji-sun—that brave
woman—she was not even crying at all. She looked at Dong-soo and said, “I’m
sorry,” and she closed her eyes.
She’s fainted, Dong-soo told himself. He didn’t believe she was dead. He could
sense her breathing.
“What do you have to be sorry about? I said I would protect you. I, Baek Dong-
soo will bear all your burdens for you.” Dong-soo spoke what he knew was a
foolish declaration to the unconscious maiden. He knew that, behind him, Woon
was listening. He wanted to be able to say the same thing to Woon, because he
knew now that Woon himself had not killed his Highness, no matter how guilty
Woon may have been in some scheme of betrayal. The palace is a dark
place.Woon’s fear for days, for months even. Why hadn’t Dong-soo followed him
into the night? Why hadn’t Dong-soo stopped him?
There was nothing to do but scream. So, Dong-soo screamed. He screamed again
and again.  To the heavens. No words, not even a prayer. He screamed because
his pain had no other release. Birds scattered.
And people came.
Dong-soo almost laughed when he saw the man in black with the prayer beads. The
man who had attacked the boy’s warrior camp. The man who had blown on his face
as if it were a dandelion. So, this is how the heavens answer me?
Woon was rising, unsteadily, clutching his side.
The man addressed Woon. “What happened? Why haven’t you taken care of the body
yet?”
“You,” said Dong-soo to the man in black. “You were the one who killed them.”
The man was staring at Dong-soo with an expression that was banal, as if he
were standing in a tavern about to order a drink, not before the body of a
murdered royal.
This was who Dong-soo needed to fight. He picked up his blade, took a stance,
charged with deliberation.
The man dodged the blow easily. “You really want to die?”
Of course he didn’t; Dong-soo knew that he would, though. He charged again, and
this time, the man disabled him, caught his sword and grabbed Dong-soo by the
throat. The man talked and talked. Through pain and fog, all Dong-soo could
think of was this fellow is full of shit.“You are annoying,” Dong-soo said.
“I know who you are,” the man said. “Baek Dong-soo.”
“And you,” Dong-soo said. “You are the man behind all this.”
“No,” he said. “I am not. Keep this in mind. This will all be called history.”
The grip around Dong-soo’s neck tightened. Was this the moment he was going to
die? He cast a look at Woon. There it was—the face Dong-soo loved. Helpless.
What had this man done to Woon?
“I, Baek Dong-soo, will end you,” Dong-soo told the man.
The man laughed, punched Dong-soo with a sword scabbard. Dong-soo fell to the
ground. Dong-soo saw black spots before his eyes. The man was laughing. “I
wonder how far destiny will take you boys.”
The man walked to Ji-sun and asked Woon if she was the woman, and although Woon
didn’t answer, the man lifted Ji-sun over his shoulder and began to walk away.
Dong-soo tried to get up to stop him, but the black spots were spinning now.
Tears were choking his throat that already ached from being choked by the man.
There was a blackness in Dong-soo’s lungs; he couldn’t breathe.
Woon was following the man.
No, no.
Then, when the man was a little further ahead of Woon, Woon turned with final
words. “You must live on, Baek Dong-soo. You must live so that you can take
revenge on me. You are the one who must kill me.” And Woon kept following the
man.
Dong-soo’s heart was following Woon but soon, even that heart had no strength
to go further.
Dong-soo’s fingers clutched the earth.
The next thing in Dong-soo’s memory was a pair of hands on either side of his
face. “Dong-soo-yah? Dong-soo-yah? What is wrong?” Jin-joo?
There were others around. Sword Saint, a mysterious woman. The mysterious woman
asked Sword Saint to kill her for her sins, and when he wouldn’t, she promised,
“I will return that child to you.” At first, Dong-soo thought she meant Woon,
but then he was sure she meant the kidnapped samini.
Then he didn’t care. Other people were taking care of what he, Baek Dong-soo,
had failed at doing. He couldn’t protect anyone. A bright leaf fell from the
tree he was leaning against, brushed past his face. He could not bear any more
shame. Even that was the realization of another failure, one the weight of a
leaf, but it was enough.
Sitting there, in the sun-dappled midday, not far from the murdered Crown
prince, Dong-soo left the world. The mind he had always been told was not there
decided to hide.
 
To be continued in part two.
While waiting for parts two and three, you may want to read the crazy comments
Lily and I have been making in the comments section of "Sanctuary" and more
recently in the comments section of "Whose Fault is it Yeo Woon Killed
Himself?" https://archiveofourown.org/works/
12743367?show_comments=true#comments I'm evolving on my position on this
aggravating drama I love; I hope to fix the script from the inside out with the
rest of what I write. Dong-soo-yah, get ready.
 
***** If You Lie With Me *****
Chapter Summary
     The novelization continues to deviate more from canon while telling
     the main drama story from another perspective. Woon returns to his
     life at Heuksa Chorong and faces Dong-soo and a new concept of
     Destiny at the wharf. After an unforeseen event, Dong-soo, Woon, and
     Cho-rip decide on paths that will determine how they will mature from
     boys into men. Sword Saint warns Woon against chasing the tail of a
     tiger. What will happen while the Minister of Defense and the Norons
     are in power? What will happen when the Sky Lord returns? Part three
     will answer those questions.
     This part contains an explicit sex scene between Dong-soo and Woon
     that is crucial (yes it is) to the plot; there are mentions of
     childhood abuse. Readers sensitive to abuse issues may not want to
     read.
If You Lie with Me
PART TWO
 
   1. Think About Dong-soo
My wish to see you is fulfilled only in dreams
whenever I visit you, you visit me.
So let us dream again some future night,
starting at the same time to meet on our way.
-- Hwang Chin-i, a gisaeng during Joseon era when love poetry was forbidden in
Confucian society
 
Woon had tried to keep thoughts of Dong-soo away while recovering from the
wound Dong-soo’s sword had left on his body. He dreamed about him. Memories of
the night Woon killed his own father had been returning, piece by piece. The
thunderstorm that night, Woon’s intent to kill, his father stealing the blade
from Woon’s hand—there was nothing after that. Woon did remember stabbing his
father though. He still felt responsible for the Crown Prince’s death. He still
felt responsible for Dong-soo’s suffering.
In that dark building of Death that was now home, Woon felt responsible for
Young Miss’s suffering too. He had asked Young Miss to kill him once. She
didn’t want to kill Woon anymore.
Another day he had heard her say what he himself had muttered outside Commander
Im’s office the day Dong-soo decided to die in the rice box: “I am no longer of
this world.”
He understood what Young Miss meant.  A feeling that was not actively seeking
to end one’s life but not caring if one lived or died. Of walking through days,
not fully awake, as if life had no purpose. Not feeling even sadness. Not even
sadness—because the heart that was capable of bleeding that sadness was gone.
Woon had always known himself to be capable of detachment, of hardening himself
to difficulties, but there had been that one moment before returning to Heuksa
Chorong, he had felt an invisible blade penetrate his chest and begin to dig a
hole there.
“I’ll do it,” Dong-soo had said. He had volunteered to take the Crown Prince’s
place and to die of slow suffocation in a rice box.
Logically, Woon knew that there was a possibility of rescue, but the look in
the commander’s eye, the solemnity in the commander’s voice—had not the warrior
camp boys all trained for this moment? To die for his Highness? Dong-soo’s next
words had been the ultimate cruelty; he had said that Woon’s mind was needed to
plan for the future, therefore Woon could not be the one to sacrifice himself.
The blade cutting deeper.
At that very moment, Woon was already a traitor. The Sky Lord had been in
contact with Woon through palace spies; there was no escape; if Woon made a
misstep, if he did not at least pretend to comply with commands, the lives of
Dong-soo, Cho-rip, everyone Woon cared for would be in danger.
There was no longer a way to rescue anyone. The first order to kill Gak, Yong,
and Geol had been easy enough to fix; Woon had stabbed all three in non-lethal
places then told the other assassins he would take care of the bodies; then he
had attended the boys’ wounds and stayed with them until Jang-mi showed up. 
Gak, who had recognized Woon that night, didn’t reveal Woon, but Commander
Im—that man was too wary. No one else had suspected Woon. No one else. Woon,
the traitor. The traitor, the one about to embark on a mission to assassinate
his Highness.
And logically, of course, how could the plan to kill the Crown Prince fail? 
Woon had passed along all information he knew about the escape route; he could
not have given fake plans without putting others at risk. He could not reveal
himself for the same reason. Woon accepted himself as an assassin now, but
couldn’t he still save the lives of at least his friends? He had clung to a
hope. Then Dong-soo, Dong-soo offering his own life right then and there….
“I have lived a meaningful life. I am Baek Dong-soo! Here I come!”
Woon had paced the palace grounds the rest of the night like a man not awake,
not even alive. I am not of this world.Even if there were some way that Woon
could sacrifice his own self, offer to take Dong-soo’s place, that action
itself would be a reveal; the Sky Lord would enact revenge.
There were tiny factors that could help Dong-soo, save everyone—serendipities,
mistakes on the part of Heuksa Chorong.  By dawn, Woon convinced himself that
good luck and a strong wind, like whatever had flown that arrow to light the
beacon that miraculous day might work out again. Nothing could save Woon from
blame at this point, though. He made up his mind to confess his sins to Dong-
soo. Dong-soo would alert the commander; Dong-soo might die with the knowledge
that Woon had betrayed them all, but in the end Woon would have come clean—what
else could he do? The act would be calling forth the tiger, but it would mean
dying like a man—dying with Dong-soo. And so, yes, this was what Woon had
decided was right.
Bright morning. He stood outside the room where Dong-soo had spent the night.
The door had swung open. Dong-soo, carrying a letter in his hand, had walked
right past Woon.
Walked right past him? Dong-soo charged Commander Im, and then the truth had
come out about Cho-rip taking Dong-soo’s place.
The humiliation of Cho-rip so easily making the sacrifice that Woon had taken
all night to consider broke Woon right away.  Cho-rip, that brave boy who had
once been the most timid in the camp. And oh, Dong-soo’s reaction! Dong-soo
wept. He beat the ground with his fists and wept. What words could Woon speak
now?
I am no longer of this world.
I can’t hurt him anymore.
Woon sleep-walked through his assignment. The plan was for him and one of his
Highness’ most trusted guards to accompany a booby-trapped carriage. At an
assigned spot, Heuksa Chorong met his Highness’ entourage. The Royal guard was
stabbed, and as he fell, his eyes met Woon’s.
So now you know. So now you hate me. Goodbye. I am someone capable of killing
his own father, so it’s only right that you hate me.
“Open it,” the assassin squad leader commanded. He had overseen missions since
Woon was a child, had trained Woon in all manner of blades, stars, and tiny
weapons of espionage.
A new recruit opened the doors of the carriage.
The daggers had flown out like sleek black demons, whooshing with the noise of
Death.  Four assassins were killed.
Woon had not budged. A dagger had skimmed right past him. Woon was neither
sorry nor glad to still be alive.
Also having stood directly in the line of fire but unharmed was the squad
leader. He side-eyed Woon. “You didn’t know?”
Woon didn’t answer. When would the truth come out? Woon was not good at telling
the truth.
“Then they must have already betrayed you.”
Woon was told to proceed with caution, that his betrayers might already be
tracking him, but Woon walked with deliberation, knowing there was only one
betrayer in this scenario and that he was not of this world, that this betrayer
was being pulled towards the Sky Lord, to yet another realm.
 
 
The trees had been by-standers who didn’t care about the people who followed
one path, nor felt sympathy with those who stood in place because they had no
other choice.
Unlike most people, trees were rooted to one Destiny. Wasn’t Woon one of those
fated ones? But he followed a path, under the illusion that he could make
choices.
Trees, more trees, darkness and patches of light. Woon came upon the Sky Lord
fighting Commander Im. He had never seen the Sky Lord nor the commander fight
before, but he was not interested. He lowered his eyes and heard the rush of
footsteps as someone ran to him—the commander? A surprise. Why would he leave a
fight to confront someone as insignificant as Yeo Woon?
“So, this is your true self?”
Woon looked into his commander’s eyes. Again, Woon was about to condemn
himself, but there was a look in the face so near his---unlike the guard
before, Commander Im didn’t look surprised by Woon’s betrayal. Commander Im had
suspected. Commander Im had left a serious duel to deal with this hideous
betrayer. Commander Im was furious….
Woon felt his own soul return to his body; the pain returned with it, and tears
welled in his eyes.
Commander Im raised his sword to kill Woon.
Woon prepared to die, but the Sky Lord’s sword blocked the commander’s sword.
“Woon has been our hope since the beginning,” the Sky Lord said. “You would cut
down our future pillar of strength?”
Woon had not been able to watch. He stared at the ground. He had never heard
praise like that from the leader of Heuksa Chorong before. He heard a bird call
far away. He fought tears. He did not see, but he heard the sword slash
Commander Im.
Then the casual request from the Sky Lord to Woon: “Do you want to finish him
off, or shall I do it?” As if he were asking about a last serving of cake.
Woon knew the Sky Lord well enough now to know that the man had given him an
illusion of a choice. There was no other choice but to kill Commander Im. To
refuse would mean to be cut down on the spot. To refuse would mean to die like
a man, and Woon wanted to be a man. He wanted to be that—but he knew at that
moment that he had been walking through this day, past the trees who stood
without any choices, that he was waiting for the right opportunity to prove
himself. He knew exactly what he was waiting for now.
The right way to die.
What would it mean to die here? To die in defiance of the Sky Lord and his
double-talk, his well-timed flattery and tricks? Commander Im would be dead
anyway; Commander Im would die hating Woon anyway. The Sky Lord—did Woon want
his own body to fall before this man?
Woon wanted to see Dong-soo. Woon wanted to reveal his shame before Dong-soo.
What sort of death would have any meaning unless Woon finished what he had
intended to carry out that morning—tell Dong-soo everything, die with him if
you must, have your betrayal reflected in his eyes.
Woon had walked to the commander, whispered “forgive me” before drawing his
blade, stabbed to kill, felt a single tear spill out of his own right eye as
the sword ran its own destined path and came out the other side of the
commander’s body. Woon pulled his weapon out gently, stepped back, noticed that
the Sky Lord was standing, his back turned to the scene.
He’s not even proud of me.  Again, there was some duplicity about the Sky Lord
that Woon didn’t understand. Is there something about this that bothers
him? Again, doubt. Sympathy. Did the Sky Lord understand Woon’s suffering?  Did
he, in some way, care for Woon? Woon had believed so once—before Dong-soo said:
You won, Woon-ah. I love you.
And what had Woon won, exactly? He was going to hurt Dong-soo so much.
The Crown Prince was on the scene suddenly. His voice was grief-stricken. “Soo-
woong!”
The Sky Lord put his hand on Woon’s shoulder at that moment. “Soo-woong, a
great example of loyalty.”
And with the commander’s death, Woon’s soul detached itself from his body
again. Woon was unlike the trees, not rooted to this world, but still waiting.
Waiting for Dong-soo. Would a real choice yet present itself? He dared to hope,
somehow certain that he would see Dong-soo soon.
Time had passed the way trees grew in one place. In one direction, twisting
through suffering but always towards the sky. Time had passed in a slow,
terrible dream, only Woon was too outside of time to be afraid.
The ensuing battle between the Crown Prince and the Sky Lord impressed Woon
enough for him to be amazed by the Sky Lord’s skill. Not only his prowess with
the sword but the way he enjoyed toying with opponents, especially those who he
deemed intelligent and worthy. The Crown Prince’s death was on Woon’s hands of
course. Without Woon’s access to palace information, the assassination would
not have been possible.
In a sunny clearing in the forest, his Highness died, face to the open sky.
“Clean up,” the Sky Lord ordered Woon and left the scene.
Woon had knelt before his Highness.  Woon knew that the Sky Lord had made a
choice, that the Sky Lord had chosen to murder people, but Woon himself had
made another choice that he could not take back. He had chosen to relinquish
his heart. He had over-thought everything. He should’ve given up long ago,
given up on any hope, killed himself for the sake of protecting other people
before roping Dong-soo, everyone, into all this. Yes, the ridiculous delusion
that had made Woon plow through life and pretend that Heuksa Chorong was not
his true home. That the Sky Lord was his only master, that Woon himself had
chosen the life of an assassin.
No, this was not Destiny at all. Woon had made choices. Stupid, terrible ones.
Kneeling there, Woon could not thoroughly condemn himself.  The Sky Lord was a
worse murderer and the one who had ordered and designed the assassination of
his Highness. But by all rights, according his own judgement or that of any
Royal court, let alone the simple principles by which one defines loyalty to
friends, Woon was a traitor.
 I was not born a killer, like my poor drunk father said I was. I was born with
a heart and look what I’ve made of my life.
Kneeling before the Crown Prince, Woon could not stop thinking; it was all he
could do. The sun was shining on his face. He became aware that he was crying
again.
“I’m sorry,” he had heard himself say aloud to his Highness’ body. Blame fell
on Yeo Woon like a shadow from a tree branch.
Blame because Yeo Woon was weak. His heart was timid, and his will was weak. “I
cannot overcome him,” Woon confessed.
He was crying.
My heart is gone.
When Dong-soo had shown up, as Woon knew he would, the words wouldn’t come.
Woon didn’t know why he couldn’t, yet again, tell the truth, but maybe it was
because Dong-soo’s pain had been so tangible. Like a third person standing
between them. Like a tree rooted in the dumb ground. There was no getting
through that pain. No path past it.
Woon had expected to be yelled at.  “Are you insane? Are you still the Woon I
know?” Woon tried to explain, and he couldn’t manage anything but some stupid
line about fate, about how nothing could be done. It was, after all, some kind
of Destiny that Dong-soo had shown up at this moment. Woon knew that his words
were echoing his own father. Did he believe his own father that he was a
destined killer? Did he really? All his life he had tried not to believe that.
Standing before his most precious friend, he felt that maybe becoming a
heartless assassin was indeed his fate. What other punishment in life was there
for a child who murders his own father? Who hurt his most precious friend so
much?
If Destiny is Dong-soo, I deserve whatever he wants to do with me now.
Woon had expected to be punched; the blow threw him beyond this world into a
dream. Fighting not to lose consciousness, he saw a halo of sunlight over him,
remembered a day by the purest stream in the world. It had been a day Woon had
wanted to remember always. Being loved, being touched, being happy under
sunlight among green grass.
“Get up.”
Woon had expected to be despised and beaten; he had not sure if Dong-soo would
draw his blade today, but he had been prepared for that.
Time to die.
But then, somehow, it wasn’t time to die.
It struck Woon that Dong-soo was being an idiot. Dong-soo-yah, you’re being an
idiot. I haven’t even said a word, and you can’t tell that there’s no possible
way I could have killed the Crown Prince by myself? I’m holding my own sword.
They were fighting again, the way they had always fought.  Like children. Woon
had started yelling too. He forgot about wanting to be a man. There was no
being a man around Dong-soo because Dong-soo was a child.  Dong-soo needed to
be protected. How had it ever been possible that Woon once felt protected by--?
Bullshit.
Eyes smarting, jaw aching, head pounding, there had been no thought whatsoever
that either one of them was going to hurt the other, but Woon drew his blade
anyway. At that moment, he felt two tiny hands on his waist and he remembered
carrying away a helpless young woman on a horse, how much he hated to be
touched, and he thought, in that way he always understood the entirety of a
situation in a flash, that Ji-sun wanted Dong-soo’s sword to spear through Yeo
Woon and then through herself because she wanted to die.
He and Young Miss were very much alike. She wanted to die because the Crown
Prince was dead. Woon had wanted to die earlier because Dong-soo….
She didn’t die.
The moments that followed were horrifying, even to someone who had one foot in
another realm. Woon watched one event follow the next as if he were perched in
the unambiguous trees, but he was sitting on the ground, sorrier than ever,
alive with guilt, trying not to feel. Still, he felt his love rise and fall
like Dong-soo’s sword had against him—clumsily, without purpose.
There was no telling Dong-soo anything now, not with Young Miss lying wounded
next to his Highness’ body. Dong-soo was a worse wreck over her pain than he
had been over Cho-rip in the rice box. Yes, Cho-rip, still dying in the rice
box? Cho-rip-ah, I couldn’t say good-bye.
Woon wanted to be a man. He wanted his heart back. He wanted that heart in
place so Dong-soo’s blade could pierce him through it.
Dong-soo was weeping enough for everyone there, so Woon’s tears dried. Ji-sun,
that brave girl, never shed a single tear. She passed out, and Woon wished that
for himself, but then the Sky Lord returned.
By the time the Sky Lord was carrying Ji-sun away like a prize, Woon was no
longer of this world again; the travel between love and Death had been
dizzying. Woon was walking away from Dong-soo, forgetting the last bits of his
heart and any pain that was too much to bear. He waited until his mentor was
out of hearing distance and although he had not planned to say the words, maybe
he had always meant to say them, from the beginning of the day, because, like
hidden daggers, they flew out at the right opportunity: “You must live on, Baek
Dong-soo. You must live so that you can take revenge on me. You are the one who
must kill me.”
 
*
 
Woon then slept in the same room where he had stayed for mere months as a
twelve-year -old. The bed faced away from the window. The room was spacious,
one of many dark rooms in a luxurious, dark building. The sheets were smooth
silk from Qing. The black sokgot felt cold, and every morning when Woon woke
up, he remembered a little bit a more about the night his father died.
Last night he had dreamed about when the Sky Lord had given the order. The Sky
Lord had given the order after all. It was a requisite to becoming an assassin
of Heuksa Chorong. One must kill one’s most precious person. It made sense; an
assassin must have no attachment to the world, no heart.
It was still early dawn. Patches of dim light on gray sheets.
I’m not an assassin. I still have a heart after all. I have someone to live
for. I have an attachment to this world.
Woon’s sense of attachment to the world had returned suddenly; he wished his
memories about the night his father died would come back as easily. He
remembered that he had indeed been feverish; no one had been lying about his
being too sick to get out of bed. Days and nights in his room, people wandering
through. Had the Sky Lord even visited? A sick, weak twelve-year-old. Why did
anyone think Woon would make a good assassin? Is that why the Sky Lord had sent
him away to the boy’s warrior camp?
The Sky Lord these days was more peculiar than the man Woon had come to know as
a child. Not soon after arriving to stay at the dark hidden building of Death,
after Young Miss was treated for her wound, after Woon’s slash, a mere cut, was
looked at by an expert, the Sky Lord bought gifts of clothes and rare dried
fruits and candies. He told them both would have scars but the scars might fade
over time.
“That precious tattoo of the Northern Expedition was not harmed,” he had told
Young Miss.
Woon had learned all about the tattoo. How it got there he didn’t know, but it
was a map with specific routes and directions for invading Qing, the country
that financed Heuksa Chorong. Defense Minister Hong and the ruling party of the
Norons wanted it.
“You have your first badge of battle,” the Sky Lord had told Woon. “I’m not
surprised it was Baek Dong-soo who gave it to you. I told you to watch that
boy.”
The boys in the mountain-top camp had been told that their first cut by a sword
would hurt worse than any other; Woon didn’t remember it hurting at all, but at
the Sky Lord’s words about Dong-soo, the wound throbbed.Dong-soo.
It was then that Woon learned what happened with Dong-soo after the Crown
Prince was killed.
“They say he’s gone mad. He can’t talk. He walks the streets. That other boy
who was a palace trainee, Yang Cho-rip? He and some girl always accompany him,
so he doesn’t wander away.” The Sky Lord laughed.
Cho-rip? Jin-joo? Looking after Dong-soo? The fact that Cho-rip was alive was a
small consolation if Dong-soo’s mind was lost to the world.
The Sky Lord had laughed again. “I didn’t think he was that pitiful, but maybe
he’ll snap out of it. Sometimes the most tender men are the strongest because
of the depth of their feelings.”
At those words, the Sky Lord had given Woon a meaningful look and a smile.
Woon had felt ashamed. Tender?  His next thought was that Dong-soo couldn’t
have lost himself this far; this was simply not true.
“Believe me,” the Sky Lord had said, as if reading Woon’s thoughts, and the
idea that the man could read people so well frightened Woon. Woon was not
accustomed to being frightened. He had lived with a hesitant, vague worry for
his friends for years on the mountain-top, but now he felt his body come alive
with terror. Dong-soo.
But the person he came to want to live for, the reason Woon returned fully to
the world, was not Dong-soo; Woon’s heart came back moments later for Ji-sun.
She had been leaning quietly against an elegant chest of drawers in her ornate
bedroom the whole while. Another ghost like Woon, she had spoken very little
since her arrival.
“You,” the Sky Lord said to her. His voice was sharp. “You don’t belong to the
palace or to that fake, deluded prince of yours anymore. I am the one who runs
the state of Joseon. You answer to me from now on.”
If the man’s cruel words had been intended, as Woon suspected they were, to
wake the poor woman out of her stupor, they succeeded.
Her wan face flushed. Features seized with fury, she hissed her reply: “How
dare you speak of him that way!”
Woon felt her hand grab his short blade from his side. He could’ve stopped her
hand before she drew it out. He wanted to give her the satisfaction of wielding
it before the Sky Lord at the very least. He stopped her hand when she held the
blade, the assassin’s knife, before the leader of Heuksa Chorong. She didn’t
hiss when she spoke this time. She said, calmly, with a killer’s pure intent:
“I’m going to kill you, and then I’m going to kill him.”
“Let her go.”
Woon had obediently stepped back. Despite being certain that she was not going
to die that day, Woon was still afraid for Ji-sun. The Emperor wants her. No,
the Sky Lord won’t kill her.
Young Miss was brave. She stepped forward with deliberation and stabbed the Sky
Lord where she thought his heart was; she didn’t have the strength to sink the
blade; Woon knew from the sound of the flesh tearing that the wound was not
serious. The Sky Lord didn’t even flinch.
“What can you change by doing this?”
Woon had heard words like these before; the Sky Lord had spoken them as a plain
fact when Woon held his own blade to his throat. Woon believed in his own
powerless then, as he was sure Ji-sun believed in hers. Tears rolled down her
face.
Woon’s heart was throbbing; it had returned fully because it ached with
purpose.  He wanted to defend the Buddhist apprentice who believed she was lost
to a terrible fate. She knows now what it is like to stand before someone you
cannot overcome. If there were only some way I could make things right for
her….
“Give it up, woman.” the Sky Lord said. The blade was tossed to the floor. He
left the room.
The stunned young woman had staggered to her bed. While she sat there, Woon
noticed her tray of food, that it was untouched, that Young Miss had been weak
for days now—why hadn’t he noticed how weak she was before?
He scolded her, “Are you trying to die of starvation?”
She was someone he could die for; if the Sky Lord was someone before whom Woon
didn’t want to his body to fall, Young Miss was a person Woon admired.
Woon knelt in reverence before the woman who had once taught him that
compassion itself could be a champion.
He picked up his assassin’s knife and pointed it towards himself. Bowing his
head, he said, “Please kill me. If you think it will wash away all sins, I will
help you push the blade towards a fatal place with my own hands.”
She rose and began to walk away.
Think of something. Save her.
“If you starve yourself instead,” Woon had gone on, “you will surely join his
Highness as you intend, but….” Woon had swallowed. Woon was indeed angry, but
it would be difficult to make his voice cruel. In order to use the Sky Lord’s
tactic, he had to mimic the Sky Lord’s tone.  “Think about Dong-soo.”
Ji-sun looked at Woon in a new way. What did those dark, intelligent eyes see?
“You heard the story? Dong-soo has lost himself because he swore to protect
you, to protect his Highness, and if you kill yourself, what will it do to
him?”  I beg you, realize compassion for Dong-soo, not for me. “You will be
responsible for his own death—do you understand that?” 
Speaking those words aloud, Woon understood what he was doing. He was
identifying with Ji-sun. Her agony was about the Crown Prince and no one
else’s. There was also someone Woon wanted to follow. Not into Death but into a
deep place called Destiny, wherever those too exhausted by life lay down their
will and relinquished choices. No more choices. So, was that why Dong-soo had
gone mad?
I’m stronger than this. I’m…. Dong-soo-yah, I—Woon was confused. The assassin’s
knife visibly shook in his grasp.
“Stop this,” she said.
“Are you…” Woon could no longer disguise the concern in his voice. “Are you
going to stay alive?”
“I’ll eat,” she promised.
There had been nothing else to do after that. Woon had returned his weapon to
its scabbard. He had left the room, intent on living to protect Ji-sun because
Dong-soo could no longer keep his vow to be her protector. Woon himself would
wait for Dong-soo to return to his senses.
I will wait.
Remembering this, as light grew brighter in his room, Woon suffered.
Today was another day of suffering as a servant of Heuksa Chorong, but at least
Woon had a purpose. He lived to watch over Ji-sun. He lived with a vague
curiosity about what would happen next. Tonight there would be a special
ceremony, one to honor Yeo Woon of all people.
The man the Sky Lord and the Earth Lord called “Pig” had left Heuksa Chorong,
and Woon had been chosen to take his place as Human Lord. There would be
resentment among the older squad leaders; already there had been whispers
because the Sky Lord had bought Woon beautiful clothes, insisting that Woon
wear his hair in a style to match the Earth Lord’s, and the Sky Lord had even
told Woon to paint his eyes—no other man in the guild did that. When Woon asked
why the unusually elegant clothes and the eye-paint, the Sky Lord said that the
previous Human Lord had been unsightly, a pig, and that Woon was special. The
logic had been peculiar: Woon should display not only his martial arts skills
but his beauty to the others so that they would fear and respect him.
Showing off didn’t make sense to Woon. He sensed only envy in the building. The
Earth Lord herself ignored him; she was difficult to read. Her own clothes were
as beautiful as Woon’s, so maybe the leaders of the guild were supposed to look
fancy, in keeping with the elaborate interiors of the secret buildings. No,
that made no sense at all either. The Sky Lord himself wore strange coal-
colored make-up around his eyes on occasion but never dressed like a man of
leisure; he would never pass for anything but a scary thug on the streets. The
Buddhist prayer beads around his neck? Had he killed a man to wear them as a
prize? Certainly the man did not practice Buddhism.
Woon felt uncomfortable putting on his waistcoat with the polished metal
details; he didn’t like sweeping one broad lock of his long hair through an
engraved ornament--it felt like the thing might topple in battle--and the eye
make-up made him feel like a gisaeng.
The induction ceremony that night was perfunctory, brief, most people there
looked bored. The older assassins cast Woon suspicious looks. Woon didn’t trust
a single one of them. The Earth Lord’s chair on the podium in the main hall was
empty, like a rebuke. Woon had learned since arriving that the Earth Lord and
Sky Lord were lovers. Had there been a quarrel? The Sky Lord had seemed out of
sorts at the mention of her for some days now. Or was it that she disapproved,
like everyone else, of Woon’s appointment at such a young age?
The first assignment was to deliver Ji-sun to Qing. To the Emperor of course.
The instructions were precise. There was a paper copy of the Northern
Expedition, copied from Ji-sun’s back, to be brought to an envoy at the wharf.
Woon’s old squad leader would be with Woon. “Kill anyone who interferes,” the
Sky Lord said, and that was that.
Later, word spread that arriving soon would be a palace spy. The lady would
also would be travelling to Qing. This young woman was fluent in languages,
foreign medicines and cuisine, in a variety of fine arts and entertainment.
Woon understood the description of a gisaeng, although no one used that word.
He had heard of such women but had never seen one; he was mildly curious. No
other woman but the Earth Lord visited the hidden underworld of assassins, but
now that Woon considered it, there had to be contacts everywhere who were
women—naturally, women who drank with palace insiders and shared their beds
made excellent spies. No one had ever taught Woon such things. Woon wondered
why in the world he had been appointed a leader of Heuksa Chorong without being
taught crucial cultural facts, but then it occurred to him that the Sky Lord
assumed that he was intelligent enough to learn on his own.  
Again--doubt about the strange way the Sky Lord gave him such boundless
preferentiality.
Does he really see me as the future of Heuksa Chorong? Me?I grew up in a poor
village, spent most of my life on an isolated mountain-top with stupid kids.
I’m well-read, I can fight better than almost any man in Joseon, but I’m still
an ignorant kid.
Woon wondered if anyone believed that he was legitimately favored by such a
powerful man; the Sky Lord so often seemed as if he didn’t care whether Woon
lived or died. Or maybe that’s the way he felt about everyone? Praise one
moment, a death threat the next, and always a joke, always the poetic
ramblings. And every moment the man drew near, one smelled a strong sweet scent
because the man poured rice wine into his wide open mouth from a jug every day
and spilled it on his clothes.
One night the Sky Lord opened the door wide to Woon’s room without knocking
first. Woon was eating. He looked up, startled. He got up to bow, but before he
could do that, the Sky Lord pronounced that Woon looked like shit. “You haven’t
been sleeping. Those are ugly circles under your eyes.” A laugh. “No, don’t
bother kneeling. Eat, eat. If you get any thinner, you’ll look like a woman.
Can’t have that.” The Sky Lord took a swig from his jug and shut the door. In
the hallway, Woon could hear him repeat the words, laughing. “Can’t have that!”
Woon visited Young Miss in her quarters often before the assignment, not
without notice from everyone, but he didn’t care. He was shy and hesitant
around her. The night he asked her if she resented him, he felt himself smile
out of sheer embarrassment. Of course she resented him, but he was being
stupid, like Dong-soo, and had blurted out the question, in hopes that she
didn’t.
“I don’t resent anyone,” she had answered. “What would that change? I am not of
his world.”
Woon had been taken aback by the words. Didn’t she want to return? How could
she not be interested anymore in the lives of all those in the village or those
still at the palace who had cherished her as a person, not as the physical
embodiment of a military map?
“But for Dong-soo’s sake--?”
“I told you—I am not of this world.”
She didn’t have his own priorities, of course. It didn’t matter to her, really,
whether Dong-soo returned to his right mind or not.
 
Even if she claimed to be beyond people around her, she didn’t act rude or
detached. She still behaved like the proper noblewoman Woon had first met. She
was deferential to everyone in Heuksa Chorong, kind with Woon. She addressed
Woon as naeuri, a gentleman of high status. He continued to address her with
respect and felt awkward that she was so formal with him, the man she had once
wanted to kill. Again, he was awed by her resolve, fully aware that in so many
ways she resembled himself—and that is what worried him most. She was not
afraid to die, even if she had made a promise to live.
He believed that he lived to protect her, but then the Earth Lord returned and
summoned them both. The Earth Lord’s first words to Woon made his heart stop
and his chest feel cold. The beautiful woman, leader of Heuksa Chorong, stared
at Woon and spoke in a regal voice: “You know that once you are in Qing, you
can’t protect her life?”
“What?”
Young Miss understood. She said that for the map on her back too many people
had already lost their lives, and if she died, then it would all be over.
Woon begged her not to be like that; he asked the Earth Lord if there was any
way to save the life of the mere girl who would be delivered to the Emperor.
The Earth Lord’s face was as stern as ever. “There is no way to save her life.”
Woon wondered why she was volunteering this information to him and Ji-sun. He
didn’t panic; if he could not fight himself out a situation, he could think his
way out. He could still save Ji-sun. He knew he had to speak with the Sky Lord,
but he had never approached his master on his own before.
He didn’t have to; Woon was summoned.
It was the most peculiar meeting yet.
The Sky Lord introduced Woon to the gisaeng. She was Woon’s age and,
surprisingly, modest looking. The Sky Lord waved his fan at her— “say your
hellos.” She bowed, introduced herself as “Goo-hyang,” an obvious pseudonym.
The Sky Lord didn’t look her in the eye. He didn’t look at Woon. “Once matters
are settled, go with Goo-hyang and spend some time in the territory. She is
familiar with it. A month should be enough.”
Woon wondered if this was a suggestion that he was supposed to sleep with the
woman. Certain he had winced at the notion, he was glad both the young woman
and the Sky Lord were not looking at him. Before Woon could wonder too much
about what Goo-hyang’s life must be like, she was dismissed.
She sat down with a grace Woon had never witnessed, not even in Ji-sun’s
mannered movements. She took one fold of her skirt in her hand and floated into
a chair, remained there facing forward, her body postured in perfect obedience.
A palace statue? No--a finished disciple of Heuksa Chorong. Something Woon had
always been designed to become.
 
“Follow me.” The Sky Lord led Woon around the main hall, where the red candles
were always burning, where the tall columns stood like deities, where those
responsible for a hundred years of murders seemed to keep watch. The grief in
the room had a specific grandeur.
It was a long time before Woon noticed that the Sky Lord had been perpetuating
the silence for dramatic effect; he was like that. Manipulative. He was setting
a stage—for what, Woon wasn’t certain.
“Can you feel it?” The Sky Lord asked the question with pride in his voice.
This terrible place is his home.
“Everything fades in the aura of the headquarters here,” the man went on. “I am
the one who put the swords there.” As he gestured to a row of swords on the
altar, he put his arm around Woon. The Sky Lord did that frequently—in front of
members, in private meetings, the way one would touch a good friend or a
beloved child, but there was nothing affectionate about the contact.  A little
fond, maybe. Possessive, certainly.
Woon felt the Sky Lord’s fingers dig into his shoulder and crawl up his neck.
Woon had never liked being touched, but the Sky Lord’s touches felt like
warnings. Too often a large hand would grab Woon’s shoulder or his arm; his
fingers would grasp the the back of Woon’s head and bring it closer to make a
joke or quote a line of poetry with that sweet wine breath. Woon already had
been told directly that he had no control over his own life. Were not the Sky
Lord’s touches communications that Woon did not even have control over his own
body?
With his free hand, the Sky Lord gestured around the room. “I let my flesh and
blood flow here.” He was talking about the institution of Heuksa Chorong, but
Woon felt as though the man was claiming Woon for himself. Like an heir?
No, not that. Not like that.
There was nothing paternal about the Sky Lord. Woon remembered enough about his
own father to know the difference.  The two men were alike in enough ways: Yeo
Cho-sang had beaten Woon, murdered Woon’s own mother and confessed to the
crime, and yet, like the Sky Lord himself, had never failed to provide Woon
with food and shelter. The Sky Lord had never beaten Woon, but the threat of
death had always stroked Woon on the shoulder like the master swordsman’s hand
at odd moments.  The Sky Lord had never said, “I will kill you if you don’t
obey me,” but no one disobeyed the Sky Lord and lived. Yeo Cho-sang had
confessed to one murder; the Sky Lord to dozens, and who knows how many more he
had ordered? These two men—it hurt Woon so much to remember anything about one
that the pain felt like it was killing him, but there had been, in Woon’s
childhood, a tragic, conflicted look in Yeo Cho-sang’s eyes. Woon still could
not remember how that father had looked on the night of his death, but so many
other times, the man could not disguise his genuine concern for his son. “Woon-
ah, eat. You look like something that slithered out from under a rock.” “Woon-
ah, I told you not to stay out. You’ll be kidnapped by someone who will beat
you more than I do.” “Woon-ah, touch even a wooden sword again, and I will beat
you until you are a cripple.” Yeo Cho-sang had been a weak man—Woon understood
that now. A weak, pitiful drunk.
The Sky Lord was strong. He was beyond anyone Woon knew in intellect and
swordsmanship.
Yeo Cho-sang had been afraid of Destiny and of his own child becoming a killer;
the Sky Lord believed in Destiny and relished the idea that Woon was so
talented at killing.
The Sky Lord was a little crazy though, not as crazy as Woon’s father. He drank
too much too, but he never stumbled like Woon’s father.
Woon hadn’t remembered it until returning to this dark place, but the Sky Lord
drank so much that he even carried a jug of wine with him on his horse. That
rice-wine smell, even now, was over-powering. Yet, the man never looked
intoxicated.
Whenever he drank, though, he touched Woon more. Maybe the drinking was an
excuse to do that.
Woon hated being touched.
He had always hated it. He had only ever….
Woon fought thoughts away of Dong-soo. Here, how could one even dare to bring a
memory of peace and happiness?
The Sky Lord kept talking; that poetry of his would go on forever; Woon
recalled that during the battle with the Crown Prince, his Highness had
screamed “SHUT UP!” and lunged at the man. The Sky Lord, still holding onto
Woon’s neck, stepped up a platform, and Woon felt that the natural moment had
arrived when he would be released, but it didn’t happen; Woon turned to move
away, and the Sky Lord’s fingers clenched harder. Woon lost his balance on the
stairs, caught himself, felt embarrassed because, if not the best swordsman, he
was the quickest martial artist in the building, maybe faster on his feet than
even the Sky Lord himself. No one, no one was more sure-footed and limber than
Yeo Woon.
A faint chuckle. The Sky Lord let Woon go and approached the pyramid of swords.
“That last spot.’” With measured emphasis, the Sky Lord pointed to the empty
holder on the altar. “That is my last unrealized dream.”
“Sword Saint,” Woon said. He knew little of the history between the two great
swordsmen but enough to know that the two great swordsmen had once been best
friends; one had joined the Royal guard at the palace, and the other had joined
an ancient assassin guild. Sword Saint had once been involved somehow with the
Earth Lord, the Sky Lord’s woman. The men of Heuksa Chorong gossiped like
village old maids. Sword Saint was the Sky Lord’s greatest rival for another
purpose, naturally: Sword Saint, even with only one arm, was the greatest
swordsman in Joseon.
The Sky Lord opened his fan with a flourish and said that he would realize his
dream. He began to brag about himself, like a vain god in a story, one who
spoke the truth but could not help bragging. He said that anyone who crossed
him would fall dead before him, that he was the one true essence that moved the
Joseon nation. “I am a historical figure.”
Woon stepped away, as far as he could step back without appearing to insult his
master.
“You too,” the Sky Lord said to Woon, who was looking at the swords on the
altar and avoiding his master’s eyes. “You too can become like me. However….” A
deep sigh. “Will you choose to do it?”
Another illusion of a choice.
“If you choose correctly, all this is yours. But…”
Woon was on his knees right away. “This humble disciple will follow you
forever, but I have one request. Please spare Miss Ji-sun’s life.”
“I see.”
Woon dared to look up.
“I see that you have feelings for her, but that is one request I cannot grant
you.”
Woon stood up to protest. “But--!”
“Forget it!” The Sky Lord’s warning was now explicit. He walked to the altar
and with his shut fan, hit the empty space for Sword Saint’s blade. “If you do
not deliver the woman to the Emperor, this spot won’t be Gwang-taek’s but
Woonie’s. The woman you care for will die right away.”
Woon turned away.
No escape.
The following day became like the assignment to kill the Crown Prince. Woon
walked through a forest that led him down one path, as if Yeo Cho-sang, that
poor man, had been right all along—there is no escaping a fortune-teller’s
prediction, no escape from Destiny. Is it true? Is it true that I, Yeo Woon, am
a born killer? I am not going to be the one who cuts her down, but will I not
myself be responsible for Ji-sun’s death?
He didn’t eat. He checked to make sure Ji-sun had done so. He felt a little
feverish. He was sweating too much.  He was working too hard to push away
memories of his father. Yeo Cho-sang always put food on the table. Some nights
only rice. Only rice. But Father always cooked rice.
Again, he hoped that something, anything would crack through the darkness. This
time he could not be so detached from his duty. He felt obligated to make
certain Ji-sun was as comfortable as possible. When the foreign envoy at the
wharf wanted her to strip to verify the tattoo and Ji-sun protested, Woon drew
his blade. “Don’t,” she said and dropped her jacket to the floor. Before she
could loosen her hanbok tie, Woon cut a small rip in her clothes with his blade
in a move so fast no one knew what had happened. There was the tattoo visible
on flesh. Woon insisted that the man would not be able to distinguish a fake
tattoo from a real one.
“You may pass. The boat is ready,” said the envoy. The look in his eye said he
already feared Woon’s blade.
Woon put her jacket over Ji-sun’s shoulders. There was nothing more he could
do.
“Thank you, naeuri,” said the young woman who was going to Qing to die.
Woon’s old squad leader, fat in his aging years, slow-moving, and eyeing
everything around him as if waiting for someone, was one of the party of four.
Woon, Goo-hyang on his left and Ji-sun on his right, looked over his shoulder
at the man and wondered if something was wrong; the aging assassin had been
following too far behind for too long. There was no need. Other assassins had
been assigned to accompany the four as far as the wharf in the event of a
disruption. None was anticipated. No one knew of the boat’s departure. If the
Sky Lord had any reason to believe word had leaked of the assignment, he
would’ve been at the wharf himself to meet Sword Saint. For who else could stop
Yeo Woon’s blade?
No one is coming, Woon told himself.
But people did.
Woon’s first instincts had proven right; the old slow man had been expecting
someone. The two women were at the water’s edge, about to board, Woon was
standing further away, at a point from where an enemy might attack. The fat
squad leader, who was just behind Ji-sun whipped out his sword and held it
across Ji-sun’s throat.
Woon bolted, sword in hand.
“Put it down.”
Woon had no choice. He threw his blade to the ground. But maybe this disruption
was an opportunity.
“Sir, hand over the book of war,” commanded the man to the Qing envoy.
What was going on?
The envoy didn’t look as alarmed as he should have been in this situation. He
cleared his throat. The book was passed over.
Woon waited. An opportunity would present itself.
A possible opportunity flew past him—a dagger thrown out of nowhere that
stabbed his old squad leader in his fat shoulder, not mortally wounding him but
knocking him to his knees. “You—you--! You were supposed to help!” He pointed
to Woon. “Him! What happened to killing him?”
Dae-ung. The one the Sky Lord called a pig. The unrefined warrior with a metal
stump for a hand. The man who had cut Woon’s true mentor, Sa-mo, with a
scimitar when everyone still believed and trusted in Woon. Dae-ung, the former
Human Lord.
Dae-ung, his scimitar held over his back, walked to Woon, cast him a look of
disdain, and whispered: “Enjoying my job?” He then walked ahead towards the
fallen man. “And you, old tired fellow, you’ve done your job here.”
The veteran assassin—how many years of combat had he seen? --could not believe
he had been betrayed. “How could you?”
“Eh, you know I’ve always been like this.” Without another word, Dae-ung killed
the man.
The blood spattered Goo-hang’s skirts. Dae-ung picked up the book of war,
sauntered to the Qing envoy. “Didn’t I tell you it would happen as I planned? I
plan well. I’m an excellent planner.”
Woon didn’t understand completely, but from what he remembered Dae-ung,
whatever the man lacked in swordsmanship and social skills, he made up for in a
talent for survival. Somehow the man persisted in aligning himself with whoever
necessary to stay alive. So, the squad leader, envious of Woon, had wanted the
new Human Lord dead? The Sky Lord, by all accounts, had stabbed Dae-ung and
thrown him off the property, but somehow the crazy beast, perhaps more of a
warthog than a pig, had survived to walk to the edge of this bridge.
“I’ll be sure to tell the Emperor of your accomplishments,” the Qing envoy said
to Dae-ung.  “And there’s nothing else to but board the ship! Let’s go!”
With that, the opportunity died. The destined path widened again. One pebble in
the road kicked away by another? Woon began to walk forward, following the two
women.
One moment later and the boat would have set sail, but Dong-soo arrived.
“Stop!”
The darkness splintered at the sound. There was no mistaking the voice.
Everyone turned around. Woon’s first thought was he’s not lost, he’s in his
right mind, he’s come to save us. Woon’s second thought was he’s back to not
being in his right mind—he may die here.
But as the assassins on the lower deck charged up towards the man who was
single-handedly running towards them, Woon knew—yes, yes, if Dae-ung had not
shown up, the boat would have set sail. Dong-soo would not have caught us. This
is the opportunity. Sword Saint is coming. Between Dong-soo and I, we will buy
more time. We will—
Dong-soo had the serendipity of gravity working for him as he pitched himself
from the upper level deck to the lower one and scattered members of Heuksa
Chorong this way and that. It was a ridiculous sight. The darkness shattered
right then. The sky broke open.  Dae-ung let out a snorfle that sounded not
unlike a real pig’s.
Dong-soo stood still for a moment. He looked heroic. The wind was blowing his
curls around his face, and sweat drenched his shirt—he had rushed here before
anyone. “Don’t go,” he shouted at Ji-sun. He didn’t even look at Woon.
“I am someone who is already dead,” she said, her voice trembling. “I have to
go.”
“Did not I, Baek Dong-soo say I would protect you?”
“Please don’t. This is my fate.”
“Stop that. Stop using destiny as an excuse!”
Woon took a step back; the words themselves seemed destined.
Dong-soo and the assassins engaged one another again. The men were no match for
an enraged Dong-soo. Dong-soo cut one in the belly and threw the man at Woon.
It was then that Dong-soo and Woon looked at one another.  They could not speak
to one another, but the moment lasted long enough that people stepped back,
certain that the two were about to draw swords against one another. Dong soo’s
eyes were locked with Woon’s. Their eyes said what their mouths didn’t dare.
Their hearts spoke to one another, feelings overlapping: You hurt me. I hurt
you. You hate me. I love you. I should die by your hand. I should kill you,
but, how can I? There are too many people here. There are too many memories. I
remember everything about you. I never want to forget any of it. I want to hit
you again. I need to hold you again. I’m so happy you’re alive. I’m so happy
you’re alive.
“Naeuri,” Young Miss said to Dong-soo. “Is it true that one’s fate can be
changed?”
“Trust me,” Dong-soo replied. “All it takes is one step. Trust me.”
Woon felt a surge of jealousy. First, because Ji-sun was using the term of
absolute respect that she had previously reserved for him, and second because
hadn’t Dong-soo said trust me to Woon first? Trust me?
Woon himself still trusted Dong-soo. He watched Dong-soo take Ji-sun’s hand and
run away.
Dong-soo slashed a few other assassins, but the Qing envoy called out to his
own men: “Why is everyone standing around? Stop that man at once?”
“Your Excellency?” Woon’s address was deferential, but his tone was defiant. He
knew the envoy feared him. “I’ll take care of this.”
Dae-ung whistled. “Oooh, yes. This is going to be something to watch. I hear
he’s an amazing fighter. Why waste his energy on a baby though? But I guess, a
kid like Yeo Woon wants to show off for the Emperor too. Why not? More stories
to tell, am I right?”
“It’s a relief you are still alive,” Dong-soo said.
Woon smiled. “Yes.”
“Woon-ah, today you die by my hand.”
“Run,” Dong-soo said to Ji-sun. She looked from Dong-soo to Woon back to Dong-
soo again. She turned around and ran.
Good. Woon was satisfied. We will buy her time.
The pair drew blades. They were playing. Woon knew Dong-soo’s style of fighting
better than anyone. It was raw, aggressive, deadly. Woon was quick—he dodged
every strike. He spun one way and threw his blade across in the opposite
direction to distract his opponent. A trial match like so many on the mountain-
top.  If Woon wanted to hurt Dong-soo, Dong-soo would be dead. If Dong-soo
wanted to kill Woon, Woon would have been forced to kill Dong-soo already. Did
anyone watching understand that? Or were they enjoying a show? Dong-soo managed
to corner Woon at one point. Woon pushed him off and their blades slid against
one another, the edge of Dong-soo’s cutting across Woon’s cheek.
Woon put his hand to his face. He hadn’t expected this. He gave Dong-soo a
look. What?
Dong-soo closed his eyes. That fool, genuinely penitent.
Ah, so Dong-soo had given Woon’s body yet another mark.
Who did Dong-soo think he was? Coming here, risking his own life, full of this
protecting people bullshit, daring again to trust in Yeo Woon of all people
when he, Yeo Woon, had been the traitor, the one who—
Forget the pretense. Woon felt an age-old feeling rise: Dong-soo is an idiot.
What an idiot Dong-soo is. Woon stopped Dong-soo’s next offensive. Hairs were
sticking to Woon’s forehead now and that annoying hair ornament hadn’t fallen
but it felt clumsy. Why am I sweating so much? I shouldn’t be sweating so much.
This is nothing.Woon was sick of fighting Dong-soo.
“You really think I won’t kill you? I am an assassin. Just like I killed the
commander and the Crown Prince, I can kill you too.”
“Just try.” Dong-soo said.
A few more aggressive rallies. Dong-soo seemed stronger. How was that possible
for a man recovered from madness? Woon defeated him easily though, as he knew
he would---didn’t he always?—and held his short blade over Dong-soo’s face. One
thrust forward, and the blade would hit the artery in throat that was certain
death.
“Do it,” Dong-soo said.
Woon could not bring down his blade. Of course he couldn’t kill Dong-soo. What
were people thinking now? Woon felt blood rolling down his cheek. This
humiliation was proof before the whole world that Dong-soo was his precious
person.
“You can’t, right? You can’t.” Dong-soo’s face was too close, looking directly
into Woon’s eyes. “You’re not an assassin. Yes, I know. I know I’m weaker than
you. But unlike you….” Woon felt his eyes cloud. “Unlike you, I don’t bow to
some rotten destiny.”
How did he know that? Stupid Dong-soo. There had to have been talk, something
among the uncles about Yeo Woon’s father and the black star curse. Or was this
something Dong-soo had figured out with his own ignorant genius?
Woon’s knees went weak, and in that moment Dong-soo threw him off. Woon was
about to lunge forward again, but a voice shouted “Enough!”
The moment Woon had been waiting for.
Sword Saint was walking down the dock, accompanied by Sa-mo.
The situation was terrifying to the Qing envoy and to Dae-ung, but everyone
there was frozen in fear.
A swordsman of mythological status had arrived.
Sword Saint, amazingly enough, didn’t look at the envoy, at his beloved Dong-
soo, at the scattered dead, or even at the despicable Dae-ung, but stared
directly at Woon, as if trying to look through him. Woon felt ashamed. He was
always disappointing people, no matter what he did. To be the one Sword Saint
frowned upon first as he stepped past dead assassins towards the Qing
envoy—what sort of dubious honor was that? Sa-mo, meanwhile, was scolding Dong-
soo. “Brat! What were you thinking of? Coming here by yourself?”
But Sword Saint soon drew his sword at Dae-ung, who was literally trembling.
“Honorable Sword Saint—please—“ The Pig’s eyes changed in a flash. “Oh my, look
over there!”
On a walk-way over the shimmering water, not far off, two Heuksa Chorong men
had captured Ji-sun.
“You were a little late, Sword Saint.” Dae-ung held up the book of war and was
about to speak again, but a flaming arrow shot the book out of his hands. Woon
looked up. A familiar quiver on a pretty woman’s back, her braid tied with a
red ribbon—Jin-joo, the bandit’s daughter! The second flaming arrow demolished
the treasured document.
At the same time, Cho-rip appeared. With only a wooden stick, he made easy work
of the two assassins holding Ji-sun hostage. The black-clothed bodies plunged
into the water. Cho-rip put his arm around the fair maiden. Woon bristled at
the gesture—it was a disrespectful touch, but yes, Cho-rip, how brave, and yes,
Ji-sun was safe. Everything would be all right now.
Dae-ung screamed. The Qing envoy, not aware at all who Sword Saint was, shouted
at his men, commanded that everyone be killed.
“No,” said Dong-soo. “There’s no need for any more killing.”
The words were so peculiar that everyone turned to stare at the tall boy
standing among the bodies of slain assassins. Sword Saint was the first to
return his blade inside his walking stick.
“I know how to rid Ji-sun of her fate,” continued Dong-soo.
Who could believe such a thing?
No one moved. If Sword Saint wasn’t speaking or moving, then his party wasn’t
going to move. The Qing envoy gave no further orders, and his men stood rooted
to their spots, spears drawn but fear in their eyes. Goo-hyang looked curious,
her head cocked to one side, as Dong-soo called to Cho-rip to bring Ji-sun and
to bring, also, a ball torch.
Ji-sun stood in front of Woon, facing Dong-soo.
Dong-soo addressed her directly. “Tell me. Do you really want to challenge
fate?”
She nodded.
“This is going to hurt. It is going to hurt more than anything you have ever
felt in your whole life.”
She nodded again.
“Then turn around.”
She did. Over her shoulder, Dong-soo’s eyes met Woon’s. “There is nothing one
can’t do once you set your mind to it. Nothing is impossible. There is no
Destiny that can not be overcome. I, Baek Dong-soo, will show you.” He turned
around to look at everyone; his eyes were not the look of a braggart, but they
held the sorrow of a champion of compassion. “The map will cease to exist.”
People gasped.
The torch was flaming in Dong-soo’s hand. Woon had known what Dong-soo might
do, but would he really--? How could he hurt Young Miss? What sort of bravery
lived in this man? What kind of woman was Ji-sun? How much pain were they both
willing to bear?
Sa-mo couldn’t help himself. “You brat! Dong-soo!” he shouted.
“I will show all of you!” Dong-soo looked like a hero, even though his bottom
lip had begun to tremble. “Ji-sun-ah, please drop your covering. I will burn a
mark on your body.”
Woon couldn’t see it, because Ji-sun was facing him, but he knew that the cut
his own blade had made, no deeper that than through the silk against Ji-sun’s
skin, was there. Dong-soo was about to scorch Ji-sun’s flesh.
“It won’t be much,” Dong-soo promised, “but enough so that the map will be
illegible. Prepare yourself.”
The flames did not leap high. There was a woody campfire smell, and black smoke
rose around Young Miss. People looked away, one by one. Woon could not tear his
own eyes away from the scene. He didn’t cry; he wanted to. Her brave face,
Dong-soo’s suffering. Woon for a moment, caught a thought, and then it
evaporated: Father thought he was beating me for my own good. He was afraid if
I learned to fight, I would learn to kill. He hurt me … for my own good?
Woon was in fear that the hanbok might burn off and expose more of Young Miss’s
body, but Dong-soo pulled the torch away, and she fainted into his arms.
I could not have done such a thing. Even if such an act had occurred to me to
save her, I could not have gone through with it.
Defeated, in terror, as if they had witnessed the act of a god, the Qing envoy
and his men scattered and fled for the boat. Some of them stumbled. In a
moment, they were gone. In another moment they were a black speck on a
sparkling sea.
Dong-soo threw Ji-sun over his back. Everyone followed him.
Woon looked to Goo-hyang. “Please. You are knowledgeable in medicines, yes? You
have to help her.”
The woman nodded and followed Woon after Dong-soo.
No one questioned Woon when he said that the young woman had the skills to help
Ji-sun. The port authority of the wharf station gave Ji-sun his room, and Goo-
hyang set up there, instructing everyone in what herbs to gather, calling for
dry towels not wet ones, and finding cooking grease in the cabinet to apply
right away. She even ordered the stall-keeper to feed the horses for the day
because she planned to be there for hours. No one questioned Woon’s presence
either; in fact, no one spoke to him, not even Dong-soo. Everyone was that
worried about the unconscious young woman. Sa-mo was busy scolding his adopted
son: “You should’ve run off with her! We could’ve found a way for a
professional to remove the tattoo! Hyungnim was there; we could have easily
fought off everyone!” And Sword Saint countered that avoiding more deaths was
the best course of action, that frightening the Qing entourage was a spectacle
of genius, that the speech about Destiny made an impression on everyone there.
Sa-mo had not quit ranting. “Still, my Dong-soo! Reckless! Something could’ve
gone wrong! One idiot is all it would’ve taken! One man to run forward and
decide to stab him!”
Everyone ignored Woon.
For hours.
Then word came that Ji-sun had woken up; the Bandit’s Daughter opened the door
and, looking with suspicion at Woon, told him that the young woman’s life was
not in danger. Woon had been leaning against a post since midday, and his back
ached. His head ached. It was nightfall. The Sky Lord would be furious.
Dong-soo was inside the room with Ji-sun. He wasn’t going to speak to Woon
after all. Why would he? After such a betrayal, what else was there to say?
Their blades had crossed; Dong-soo had cut Woon, but Woon had won the actual
swordfight as always; the greater victory, however, belonged to Dong-soo. He
had protected Ji-sun, and Woon had failed to protect her.
Woon had to face the consequences of that failure along with the Sky Lord’s
punishment.
Still, Woon was glad Ji-sun was going to be all right; he was glad Dong-soo was
restored to his right mind and that his mind was stronger than ever, that he
had impressed everyone, including the greatest master of all, Sword Saint.
Leaving would allow Ji-sun to remain in Sword Saint’s protection. Staying here
would only bring the Sky Lord and trouble. Goo-hyang could arrive after Woon,
even tomorrow or the following day. She could tell her own story; given her
role in Heuksa Chorong, she probably came and went under whatever unforeseen
circumstances befell spies. Woon was the Human Lord but still a disciple. He
needed to report back.
He began to walk away from the wharf post. His legs felt unsteady. These
bridges are poorly built. I’m fine.The air was humid; a rainstorm was
approaching. Rain reminded him of the night his father died. The night his
father died made him feel weak. I’m a weak person, really. A martial artist but
like porridge inside. Hold yourself together. You’re riding back to face him.
Woon didn’t expect to be killed by the Sky Lord.
My hands—my head—everything feels like I’m being stirred in a pot about to be
cooked. I’m feverish—why am I so--?
To get to the stables, there was no getting around Sword Saint and Sa-mo, who
were standing nearby.
Sa-mo grabbed Woon by the shoulders and shook him. “Just where are you going
now? You can’t go back.”
Woon didn’t say anything.
“Why did you become an assassin?” Sa-mo shook Woon harder. Woon felt his skull
shake, his teeth rattle. “Didn’t I teach you better? Why did you do such a
thing? Stupid child! Rotten child! You—” Sa-mo was going to unleash his full
rage on Woon at any moment. Woon looked forward to that; anything was better
than being ignored. His head hurt so much. His heart hurt so much.
“Stop it!” Sword Saint barked at his friend.
“But Hyungnim, Woon betrayed us!” Sa-mo let go of Woon right away, though.
Sword Saint looked at Woon with those wise clear eyes of his. “When did you
start on the path of an assassin?”
Does he suspect? Is he like Commander Im? Does he already know?
A distant thunderclap. Other memories Woon had been fighting all day rushed him
at the sound. Father hitting Woon over and over. Woon’s hatred of his own
father. The Sky Lord asking, “Do you want to come with me?” Woon’s choice to
follow a horse, not knowing where that horse would lead him, but then there was
another choice. “Who is your most precious person?” And Woon, twelve years old,
chose to kill his own father.
“Woon-ah, I asked you a question. Answer me.”
Woon, as always, could not speak his truth.
How could he? Yeo Cho-sang was beloved by these men; he was their blood
brother. How could Woon tell them that the man was the village drunk who killed
his wife, who beat his son, who in the end had been murdered by the sad failure
of a person who stood before them?
“Fine,” said Sword Saint. “Go.”
Woon bowed his head in respect.
“Hyungnim!” Sa-mo looked to the heavens. “Aigoo, you know very well what sort
of a place that is. How can you tell him to go there? He may not be able to
return from such a dangerous place! You can’t—”
“Sa-mo-yah, weren’t you listening to Baek Dong-soo? A man makes his own
Destiny.”
So Woon left and found his horse. He mounted it, and as he rode it slowly in
front of the small wharf port where Sa-mo and Sword Saint still stood, looking
over the fence at him. The small government building flying its state flags was
high on a hill, safe from high tides, and the men too, were above Woon in all
ways. Woon felt like he was still a child. There was so much to learn, but he
would decide his own Destiny. He could do it.
A light rain was falling.
Woon was about to knee his horse into a gallop, but someone pulled on his
reins.
“Woon-ah, you can’t go back.”
Woon smiled. “You wouldn’t understand, Dong-soo-yah.”
“Maybe you should give me the chance to understand.” Dong-soo was holding
tightly onto the reins with both hands now, looking up at Woon, but Woon turned
his face away.
Not now, please. The Sky Lord is getting angrier by the moment. Do you want
blood-shed, Dong-soo-yah? I will only have more blood on my hands.
“I don’t know what happened to you, but Cho-rip said to trust you, that you had
to have been forced against your will to betray us. And when Ji-sun saw the
woman who was attending her, she asked after you. She said you were kind to
her. I know you, Woon-ah.”
“You don’t. I made choices.”
“I saw you choose to give Ji-sun time to escape. You didn’t kill me. You’re not
an assassin, Woon-ah. Why are you going back there?”
“Our uncle told me to,” Woon said.
“Don’t!” Dong-soo looked like he was about to jump on the horse, so Woon broke
away, not riding away too fast so he wouldn’t toss Dong-soo to the ground.
“I’ll wait for you!” Dong-soo called after him. “Whether you like it or not,
I’ll wait!”
The rain was falling hard now and so were Woon’s memories. Dong-soo as a child
declaring himself king of the village. The nights Woon would wake up and Dong-
soo would be staring at him, always wanting to fight. The nights Woon would
wake up and Dong-soo would be staring at him, not wanting to fight, a more
tender expression in his eyes. “Let’s go outside,” he would say nonetheless,
and the two would fight anyway. Crossing blades, wooden swords in those early
days. It was fun. It was not fun. Dong-soo wanted so much to beat Woon. Dong-
soo wanted to be the Great Baek Dong-soo more than he wanted anything else.
Stupid Dong-soo. Ride away from him. Then there had been that wooden sword
Father had beat Woon with, and the wooden sword the Heuksa Chorong squad leader
had given Woon. This is how you kill a man, Yeo Woon.
Rain fell harder. Woon felt chilled. I should not be this chilled. I’m coming
down with a real fever. Why didn’t I realize this before? All day I was tired
and sweating too much. The fever was high. The rain was hard. On the day Woon’s
arrow had miraculously lit that fourth beacon, the rain had been soft, a mere
mist in the high mountains. It had been raining hard the night Woon had walked
alongside the Sky Lord’s horse, intent on killing his own father. Woon had
caught a bad fever that night too—so long ago.
More rain. A boom of thunder. Blinding lightning. The horse was never spooked
by lightning—it was one of Heuksa Chorong’s finest mares.
Did Woon imagine it, or did the horse slip in the mud? Why would Woon fall
against the dark wet mane? He was a martial artist. He fell against it and held
on. A memory of trying to grasp air, but there was nothing to keep him from
falling. The icy water had burned.  I’m so cold. I can’t stop shivering.
Woon fell off the horse.
He dreamed about Dong-soo. Dong-soo saved him from the icy water and blew warm
air into his lungs. “It never happened,” Woon said, and the snow turned to
water falling into his mouth. His clothes were drenched. Dreams, dreams. Dong-
soo holding him, saying that everything would be all right. The thunder-claps.
A horse whinnying. No, Dong-soo was not here. Woon was still face-down in mud,
still shivering from a high fever. He was only dreaming, wasn’t he?
Dreaming that his body was being thrown on a horse by the Sky Lord. The sweet
smell of wine on the saddle. One by one people wandering into the room.  “No
one else is sick—it’s the trauma from watching his father die.” “I thought he
was stronger than that—what a disappointment.”
Was he really sick in a bed or was he still lying in the mud? Dong-soo wafted
through like a mirage, always smiling, not real. A taste of lemony water, so
vivid. The rain was outside, pounding against the walls. Then it was on his
face again, mixed with his father’s blood. His father’s bloody hands on Woon’s
face. “I must be the first person you kill and the last.”
“Please take care of him.” Was that Ji-sun’s voice? “I’m fine. If I catch his
illness, I won’t die. I’ve been through worse.”
Then Dong-soo’s voice, clear as a ray of sunlight breaking through the
confusion: “We need to move him.  I’ll carry him back home once the rain
stops.”
So, Woon wasn’t dreaming?
He was dreaming. People surrounded him who should not be there. The walls were
red, melting like the candles of Heuksa Chorong. Trees cast shadows over him
again. Cold winds blew.
Sword Saint and Earth Lord, the gossiped-about lovers, spoke in hushed tones.
“There’s nothing that can be done, Gwang-taek,” said the Earth Lord in that
voice that was as majestic as she herself was. “Woon has to return. He is the
only one who can keep Heuksa Chorong from falling into chaos.”
“I’ll devise a plan,” Sword Saint said.
It was only a dream about being protected; Woon could no longer be protected;
hadn’t Sword Saint sent him away? Woon was dreaming, still lying, a pitiful
mess in the mud and grass, a sick failure who had fallen off his horse. Any
comfort he felt was some hallucination about a blanket—the reality was he was
dying in a thunderstorm, wasn’t he?  Tomorrow his body would be found. Not a
meaningful death, the sacrifice he’d offered before Ji-sun, but the death he
deserved.
The Sky Lord was there, looking like he had when Woon was twelve, so no, it had
to be a dream. No matter how strong the rice wine scent on the blanket, no
matter how ominous that touch on Woon’s face, his shoulders, the deep poke of a
finger at his throat. “I could kill you right now. I should. Everyone says
you’re worthless to us now, but I’m never wrong. I’m never wrong. You are mine
forever, indebted to me forever.”
A dream, not real—a dream. The Sky Lord’s hair wasn’t streaked with gray. He
was younger. No, not a memory—it couldn’t be—because the touch was too
threatening. The Sky Lord’s hands were pressing Woon’s abdomen; then the hands
were at Woon’s thighs; Woon covered the man’s hands with his own. “Stop! You
can’t touch me there!” Woon was sitting up in bed now.
He looked around. Sword Saint, Sa-mo--their eyes were expression-less. Goo-
hyang looked horrified.
I’m dreaming. Of course, he was dreaming. Because a bright spot through the
tall trees where his Highness had died shone in the sky, and Commander Im rose
from the dead to caution Woon: “Reveal yourself, and everyone dies. Look what
you did to me. Look what happened to his Highness. Stay quiet.”
The dream about the icy river returned, and Woon shivered, and yet Dong-soo was
not there to keep him warm. “Dong-soo? Please come back. I’m so sorry.” He
wasn’t sure he was speaking. Wasn’t he supposed to stay quiet? His head hurt so
much from Dong-soo hitting him. Dong-soo had hit him so hard. Dong-soo had
broken Woon’s head, hadn’t he?
Thank you, Dong-soo-yah. I’ve lost myself, haven’t I? This is justice.
Flashes of cold to hot, day to night, hope to despair. Did someone say that
Jang-mi was sick?  Was that Goo-hyang saying that Jang-mi should suck on a
cloth soaked with sugar and ginger for the cough? Woon tasted ginger in his own
mouth.
Then Woon’s head didn’t hurt anymore. He opened his eyes. Goo-hyang was staring
at him. “My lord, are you awake?”
I’ve been ill. How long?
“Rest. I’ll be back. You’ve had a bad fever. You’ll need to eat real food soon.
Just rest.”
Woon closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he realized he was in his old
room, the one he had shared with Dong-soo and Cho-rip. No one else was there
but Dong-soo, at the foot of the mattress, weeping.
Dong-soo?  Not a dream. Dong-soo’s face was buried in his hands; he was crying
that way Dong-soo did, without shame, hiccoughing like a child.
Was someone hurt? Ji-sun? Had someone died?
Why was Dong-soo crying?
 
   1. Eye of a Storm, Tail of a Tiger
 
Why abandon yourself in an instant's rage?
Why fall for an impetuous spark of fire?
Life is but a fleeting journey of illusion,
so let us not drench it in tears of regret (of regret).

Ninano, ninano.

Oh, it feels good! Oh, it feels good! Butterflies
flutter in search of their beloved flowers.
Will a good liar live in happiness?
Will utmost sincerity bring you abundance?

His deceiving ways brought me tears only this once.
But I shall never let him fool me again.

Taepyeongga, Song of Peace, by Jung Sain, Joseon era
 
“Dong-soo-yah?”
Dong-soo lifted his head. Woon sounded weak but back to his senses. “You’re
okay?” Dong-soo wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “Did that pretty lady of yours
tell you how sick you were?”
“She said I had a fever. Not that I almost died or anything like that.”
Dong-soo smiled. He felt embarrassed because Woon had caught him crying. It was
only Woon, but still. “Yeah, you were sick but not that sick.”
“Why were you crying?
“I—” Dong-soo sniffed and swallowed. He was sure snot still glistened on his
face. You know how I am. Once I start, I can’t stop.”
“Is anyone hurt?” Woon sat up, apparently strong enough to do that now and not
falter. His face looked too serious. “Is Young Miss—did anything happen to
her?”
“She—besides the burn? It’s going to be fine.” Dong-soo didn’t know how to
satisfy Woon without a flurry of words. “Everyone is fine. Ji-sun is up and
about. Everyone is fine. Well, Jang-mi caught your illness, but she didn’t run
a bad fever. She’s the only one sick. She fussed over you and wanted to rub
some ointment on your chest even though—” Dong-soo knew he was sputtering into
his too-many-words territory. “Your pretty lady—Miss Goo-what is her name?
Jang-mi doesn’t like her, and your pretty lady told her to get out, but Sa-mo
was in the room and said Jang-mi kissed your face, and that’s why she got
sick.”
“What?”
Dong-soo laughed at the memory of Sa-mo ranting about Jang-mi had done.
“Jang-mi is quarantined now and only coughing a little, complaining because she
can’t leave her room. Don’t worry. Mi-so is looking after her. If Mi-so gets
sick—ah well, you never liked Mi-so, did you?”
Woon wasn’t amused.
Dong-soo patted the mattress even though he want to pat Woon’s shoulder
instead. “Don’t worry, please.” It was awkward to be talking to Woon after all
this time, but Dong-soo wanted him to feel at ease. “Your pretty lady gave
everyone herbs to ward off illness. Ah. Jang-mi doesn’t trust her, calls her a
palace spy, a prostitute.” Dong-soo covered his mouth. “I’m sorry. Please don’t
be angry. You know Jang-mi. She’s territorial. In a way, she raised us all
since we were children.”
“I was sick for days?” Woon’s sharp eyes were scanning the room for clues. “How
many days?”
Dong-soo counted on his fingers. “One, two, three, four… yes, today makes the
fifth day since I found you lying in the mud. You had ridden away, saying you
were going back to that assassin place, and I grabbed my horse too and was
going to catch up with you—”
Woon lay back down. “I didn’t get far, did I? Was there trouble?”
“What?” Maybe Woon was still not all back. “Do you mean at the wharf?” Dong-soo
spoke more gently. “Do you remember what happened? The boat didn’t take Ji-sun
to Qing because—”
“Yes, yes.” Woon sighed. “I remember all that. I’m talking about when I was
delirious. Did the Sky Lord –the man—” Woon’s voice became nervous, and Dong-
soo himself felt nervous. “You know, the creepy man who attacked the boy’s
camp? He’s the leader of Heuksa Chorong.”
“Yes?”
“Did he come here?”
“No.” Dong-soo was solemn now.
You talked about him, Woon-ah. I never saw for years how scared you were of
him. All I knew was that you were lonely. For years, I never—why didn’t I
follow you when you left to go somewhere alone? I am stupid, Woon-ah. I was a
bad friend. You could have died so many times because I was stupid. You made it
this far because you are stronger than I am.
“Woon-ah, don’t worry. That man went on a long journey.”
“What? He’s dead? Did Sword Saint--?”
“No, no, no. I’ll tell you more when you get a little better. You’re better
now, I guess, but it’s only natural that you’re confused. I’m not going to
help—you know how I go on and on. It’s not going to help if you don’t eat.
You’re weak.”

Woon didn’t protest. He seemed stunned by the fact that Creepy Guy hadn’t come
by.
As Dong-soo looked around for something to feed Woon, he still couldn’t stop
talking. He mentioned that the house was pretty much empty of food and entirely
empty of people. The pretty lady had gone to the market in search of fresh
oysters for a stew, and Cho-rip was in the woods with Jin-joo in search of
specific herbs. Sa-mo and Sword Saint were protecting people—just because, not
that there was any trouble, please don’t worry. “It’s just—you never know.
These times! Jin-joo’s father and some of the bandits may still be around Jang-
mi, but hmm? I think she shoo-ed them away?” When Woon asked after Ji-sun,
Dong-soo said that oh, he’d forgotten but she was at the market too— “She’s a
restless person.” Dong-soo remembered that Ji-sun was going to pay for
everything, that she had a purse full of silver and foreign coins. “You had
foreign money in your clothes too. Goo—sorry, can’t remember her name—was
always sending people out to buy stuff. Wait! I think we have lotus roots?”
Dong-soo lifted a napkin. “Here they are!”
Dong-soo thought that the expensive dessert wasn’t fit for a recovering
person’s stomach, but he put some on a plate anyway. “These were a gift from
Goo-whatever to make nice with Jang-mi. What else, what else? If I cook rice,
I’ll burn it like I always do.” He found two eggs that the pretty lady had been
mixing raw into medicine concoctions. It had been scary to watch Woon that day
he refused spoonfuls of soup and had tossed in bed, rasping, not breathing well
from the congestion in his chest. The lady had pushed his lips open and blown
the egg medicine through a straw into Woon’s mouth, bit by tiny bit.
Woon swallowed the contents of the cup Dong-soo offered him. The mountain-camp
boys drank raw eggs all the time. Woon stared at the glazed root so long that
Dong-soo decided Woon knew it was bad for a sick person. So, Dong-soo ate it.
“I’m glad you’re back to your senses, Dong-soo-yah.”
“Woon-ah?” Dong-soo was alarmed. “You’re the one who’s come back to your—” Then
he realized Woon had made a joke. Dong-soo laughed, at himself more than the
joke. “I’ll tell you the story about how I came back later. Jin-joo was the one
who restored my mind.”
“Jin-joo?”
“Stupid girl. Can you believe she’s the one who brought me back from being an
idiot?”
“You’re still an idiot. Jin-joo is a clever girl, whatever she did. She’s in
love with you for some reason I can’t fathom.” Woon was drinking water from the
second cup Dong-soo had brought. His face was thinner, but his eyes were
bright, his complexion pinker. The pretty lady had even combed his hair.
“Your pretty lady—” Dong-soo wasn’t sure if now was the time to broach the
subject, but he was dying to know. “She left your side only this morning. She’s
very devoted to you.”
“I met her—I guess it was last week, but it feels like hours ago.” Woon
shrugged. “No, she’s not my woman.
“Ah, I didn’t think so.” Dong-soo was surprised he was so relieved, and then he
was not surprised. He was fully aware how he felt about Woon. He also knew that
there was nothing that could be done about those feelings, not in this world,
not ever. “The ladies have always liked you,” Dong-soo said. “She really likes
you.”
Woon looked under his blanket. “Whose clothes are these? They’re huge. And
where are my baji and beoseon?”
“Eh, don’t worry about your fancy clothes. Jang-mi washed them before she got
sick. You’re wearing Sa-mo’s shirt, and the reason you’re not wearing any pants
is because the pretty woman—I mean—what is her name?”
“Goo-hyang.”
“Goo-hyang carried out your piss every day in a bowl. She wouldn’t let me or
Sa-mo touch you. After she treated Ji-sun, there wasn’t much to do but change
the bandages twice a day and apply the same ointment. Jin-joo was put in charge
of that, and you were--Goo-hyang was worried about you. She said it was
important to keep your fever down or you would—” Dong-soo decided to leave out
the part about the possibility Woon could’ve died. “She was like a real
doctor.” 
Woon groaned, obviously in embarrassment over the piss bowl. Dong-soo
remembered how Woon was around women. He avoided them, didn’t he? He avoided
everyone but mostly avoided women for some reason. Except Ji-sun. He seemed to
like Ji-sun a lot.
“I don’t care about the fancy clothes. You can throw them out.”
“Lie down, Woon-ah.” Dong-soo felt worried. Woon believed he was home to stay?
“There’s plenty time to talk later. Sword Saint and Sa-mo will have things to
tell you, but Goo-hyang said it was important for you to rest. She seems to
know exactly what you need.”
Amazingly, Woon lay down.
“Jang-mi really kissed me?”
“Don’t worry—it wasn’t on the mouth.” Dong-soo laughed. “Maybe it was. Sa-mo
was furious. Ranting about how it was her own stupid fault that she got sick,
but I think he would have yelled about it if she kissed you on the mouth. Hmm?
I think she just kissed your… uh, cheeks and forehead or something.”
Woon began to speak in a sleepy, soft voice. “I was sick once, when I was a
child.” He hesitated, as if he didn’t want to say more. “Before I came to live
with you, I was sick in a strange house, and I don’t remember who took care of
me then. I ran a high fever then too. People said it because I was temporarily
crazy—because my father had just died. But—” Woon smiled. Then, curiously, he
laughed. It was a strained, awkward laugh. “What do people know, right? I’m not
like you. I don’t go mad. I get sick because I get sick.” Woon adjusted himself
in bed, smoothed the sheets with his palms. “People are superstitious.”
Thunder. Then rain slanting with a gentle sound against the house.
“Ah, they got caught in the rain,” Woon said. “This season is so bad for it. I
suppose they won’t be back soon.”
“Goo-hyang will ride back in the rain for you.”
“Our uncles won’t allow it. They will find shelter for the ladies.”

“You’re right.” Dong-soo crawled onto the mattress next to his long-lost
friend, his Woon who had returned to him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for so many
things, Woon-ah. I will talk to you later. I will even explain what I’m sorry
for, but for now, please rest.”

Woon looked at him with the same open expression of love Dong-soo had seen at
the wharf. Dong-soo’s eyes and Woon’s eyes spoke the same words to one another.
 I’ve missed you. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what will happen next,
but thank you for being here. Thank you for being alive.
“I’m the one who should be begging for your forgiveness,” Woon whispered.
Dong-soo put his arm around Woon.
“Dong-soo-yah! Are you serious? I can’t now—you’re—” Woon didn’t push Dong-soo
away though. “Someone might still come by. You know how your friends are.”
“What? You think I want to—no! You’re half-dead from sickness, and we’re just
lying in bed together like we’ve done since… forever. Aigoo, GO TO SLEEP.”
Woon looked chided.
“Go to sleep,” Dong-soo repeated. “Who are you? A sex monster?”
And so they lay next to one another, not sleeping.
Dong-soo couldn’t help it. He had to talk.

“Why is that the only times I can get you to be open with me is when you’re not
right in the head?” Dong-soo’s voice was whispery. He honestly did want Woon to
fall asleep. “I was never sure what was in your heart for so long because I’m
stupid and because… Aish, that one time after you were frozen and now this time
after you were burning up with fever.” Dong-soo was smiling at the memories.
“And why do you have to fall down before I can get you in my arms?”

“You’re forgetting the time I came to you” Woon exhaled the words so gently
Dong-soo could barely hear. “When we were beacon interns. That day by the
river. It was sunny and nice, and I was in my right mind. You were the one
taking a nap. I told you I wanted to remember you in the sun. You forgot?”
“I didn’t forget,” Dong-soo defended himself. “I was making fun right now is
all.”
“Ah, okay then.” Woon relaxed in Dong-soo’s arms. “You are truly back to your
old self, but you’ve grown up a little too.”
“Me?”
Rain was whooshing softly around the windows--not a thunderstorm but a steady
downpour.
“That speech on the wharf about destiny made people listen as if you were some
state minister issuing a royal decree. I mean, you were impressive. And you
fight better—I don’t understand why.” Woon sighed and closed his eyes. “You are
still impulsive—not beyond doing crazy things like setting women on fire, but a
little more….” Woon didn’t finish his sentence.
Dong-soo waited for him to finish, but within moments, Woon was asleep.
 
*
 
Since Woon had been sick, stories about the past had come forward like parts of
a shipwreck washing ashore. Dong-soo, as stupid as he knew he was, loved
puzzles and had no problem figuring out what people were talking about
eventually. But the relationships between his uncles, particularly Sword Saint
and Jin-joo’s father, how everyone had come to know one another, if Creepy Guy
and Scary Woman still had it going on—all these things were still murky. Palace
politics were unfathomable, as Woon had always suggested. And Woon--even though
Dong-soo knew more now about his past—Woon was still a puzzle.
That Goo-hyang worked for both the palace and the assassin guild was plain
enough the night Dong-soo carried a delirious Woon to the wharf office, and the
official there recognized her. Goo-hyang had bowed; the man had complimented
her on her dancing at some palace event and then, gushing like a schoolboy, had
praised her ability to treat sick people. “It’s nothing. Women learn these
things,” Goo-hyang had smiled prettily then dismissed everyone from the room to
tend to Woon.  Before leaving, Dong-soo cast a last glance at where Woon lay on
a make-shift bed of blankets on the floor, not far from the bed where Ji-sun,
still drowsy from pain medicine, was recovering. Woon looked like
Death—shivering, sweating, opening his mouth as if he wanted to speak—but at
that point, Woon couldn’t even mumble; he would mumble incoherently for days
later, though.
“Trust me,” the pretty lady had said later to Dong-soo’s uncles outside.
“Heuksa Chorong knew about this incident before the police. The assassins were
supposed to return immediately after the boat left. Someone should’ve come
looking for me and the Human Lord by now, unless they presume we’re dead.” She
had frowned, holding the bag of Woon’s muddy clothes. “We have to get out of
here. They’re coming.”
“Why are you acting like you’re on our side?” Sa-mo had asked.
She didn’t look like a high court lady at that moment, not one of those women
who lowers her eyes to men and feigns sweetness. She looked Sa-mo in the eye.
She seemed weary, as if she had been fighting for years. “I’ve never been on
anyone’s side,” she said. “I’m trying to stay alive.” She paused and gestured
with her chin towards the building with the injured. “I’m trying to keep the
Human Lord alive too. If his fever gets any higher, he’ll die or become a
vegetable.”
Dong-soo had panicked at that moment and had wanted everyone to escape to the
mountains. Sword Saint was the one who said calmly that home was the only place
to go, that there was nowhere to hide, and if the time had come for his blade
to cross the Sky Lord’s again, this time would be the last.
“Aish, those two.” Dong-soo stroked Woon’s hair as Woon slept. “They were
friends once—I know that much. What I don’t know is why they still haven’t
killed one another after all these years. Everyone says that they’re sword
enemies now. Could you imagine us ending up like that? Could you imagine?”
When Goo-hyang returned from the market, she peeked through the door: Dong-soo
was wide awake with his arm still around Woon. Seeing her, Dong-soo rose from
the mat, put a finger before his lips, whispered: “Shhhhhh, he was awake for a
while. He’s good, though--really good.”
Woon stirred, and Dong-soo returned to his own place next to his friend.
“Shhhhhh, you too. Sleep, Woon-ah.”
Goo-hyang left the room. From the kitchen, Dong-soo could smell medicines
boiling, hear his uncles talking with the lady physician. Usually, Dong-soo
would’ve paid attention; he was learning that the most useful information came
from listening to people talk. Maybe this was how the palace worked; maybe this
was why his own talking so much was a liability; listening and keeping quiet
was a strength one didn’t learn in books or in a warrior camp. But for the
moment, Dong-soo wanted only to touch Woon’s hair, reflect, be grateful his
friend was okay.
So, today Woon had come out of a fire just as Dong-soo had? How long before
this sickness had Woon lived in darkness though? Dong-soo knew more now. He
knew because that strange woman who had begged Sword Saint to kill her the day
of the Crown Prince’s death had come to Sword Saint again and blabbed. On the
day his Highness had died, she had acted like a guilty person, her voice teary-
sounding, but the day she  showed up at Sa-mo’s, she looked hard-eyed and
scary, all assassin-like.  Jang-mi was sick already, and Sa-mo had been ranting
on the porch about how the auntie’s filthy ways were going to kill her one day,
and then he saw Scary Lady the same time Dong-soo did and yelled: “Hyungnim!
Hyungnim! Trouble! Get out here right away! Your woman is here!”
Among many revelatory things, Scary Lady had said that Woon had been recruited
by the assassin guild at twelve years old.
Twelve.
“You’re not surprised, Hyungnim?” Sa-mo had waved his hands and rolled his eyes
to the heavens. “And yet you sent him back? To that horrible place?”
“It made sense,” Sword Saint had said. “Why else would Woon have turned against
his friends so quickly? He had to have been a plant from a very early age. I
didn’t know, I confess, that he had been so young. Chun-soo must have picked
him out shortly before he came to live with you, told him to sit by Cho-sang’s
grave.”
“That’s disgusting.” Sa-mo had flailed his arms, begun pacing around the room.
“A man murders a boy’s father and steals the child away? What sort of monster--
? Is it plain to you now that Woon has been a prisoner of Heuksa Chorong all
this time?”
“That’s not the case at all,” the beautiful woman with the sword had said. “The
boy came to us of his own accord. You both know what kind of man his father
was. A drunkard who lived in poverty, who embarrassed himself with fortune-
telling? Maybe Woon wanted to escape that life. Woon was treated like a prince
by us.”
Sa-mo had thrown something at this point—Dong-soo couldn’t remember what, but
people in the room had jumped at the noise, and pieces of ceramic had flown
everywhere; a sliver was caught in Sa-mo’s own beard as he yelled: “Gwang-taek,
is she fucking kidding? When are you going to ask her to leave?”
“Enough!” Sword Saint had snapped the word, and everyone had been quiet for a
long time.
Scary Lady stayed all day. She stayed for tea. She went for a walk with Jin-
joo. Ah, that had been most peculiar—why Jin-joo of all people? A bizarre fact
about that relationship would emerge later. For that moment, the big news had
been that the leader of the assassin guild, this Chun guy, was gone. Scary Lady
said he had left, supposedly for at least a year, off on a mission to fight the
strongest swordsmen in many lands, to prove himself or something like that and
would return to fight Sword Saint.
Cho-rip had brought more tea and had been dismissed. Jin-joo had brought a tray
of desserts and had been dismissed.  Scary Lady had not asked to see Woon, and
she didn’t care about Ji-sun who was hiding in the shadows with Goo-hyang,
tending to Woon’s needs, ready to take action should Scary Lady try anything
too scary.
For some peculiar reason, Dong-soo had been allowed to sit near his uncles for
a late night meager dinner of banchan and soju. The adults had been at a table.
Dong-soo, at a corner of the room.
He was grateful that he had been allowed to listen; the last time he had been
left out of a conversation, he had overheard about the Qing mission and had
sped to rescue Ji-sun before anyone could even blink. Sa-mo was still mad about
that.
Saved her, though—didn’t I?
There was still disagreement between Sword Saint and Sa-mo about whether Dong-
soo was mature enough to be trusted not to run off and do something foolish.
The wharf incident had somehow turned out well, but everything could’ve ended
disastrously with the slightest tip of bad luck.
Even then, with Scary Lady, the uncles spoke of Dong-soo’s potential. Dong-soo
was the offspring of Baek Sa-goeng, after all, and for some reason, Woon was
important to Scary Lady and her assassin guild. Sa-mo was of the inclination:
“Dong-soo and Woon need more training. Dong-soo is impulsive. I swear—that boy
needs to be on a leash. Woon is a wounded, wounded child. He needs to be
protected.”
Sword Saint didn’t disagree that Dong-soo was impulsive or that both boys
needed training. “They need to learn so many things by themselves. Sa-mo-yah,
can’t you understand that? Remember Dong-soo’s bamboo splints? If he had
continued to wear them all his life, he would have never been able to run
without them. We can’t protect these young ones forever. They themselves have
others they want to protect.”
Long before the talk with the uncles, the gorgeous woman with the sword had
told Dong-soo as much too. She had visited Sword Saint another night not long
after Dong-soo had come to his senses and had ended up telling Dong-soo: “You
have no right to a heart if you can’t protect who that heart loves.”
What a weird thing to say, and Dong-soo didn’t understand this part of the
puzzle yet. What a weird woman.
There had been yet another time that Scary Lady had come to see Sword
Saint—before Ji-sun had been rescued and just after Dong-soo had snapped out of
his mindless state. 
Scary Lady and Sword Saint. Lovers. Uncle and this woman had been lovers—that
much had been plain from the earliest conversations and from Sa-mo’s railing
that it was time his blood-brother forgot the assassin he loved.
She sure visited him enough. He still hadn’t forgotten her, not after years and
years. The two were drawn to one another even though they seemed so different.
Dong-soo had been in a restless, crazy state and had confronted the woman and
reminded her of her promise to return “that child.” He said he would accept Ji-
sun’s body if she were dead.
The frustrating woman had not revealed anything and had spoken such nonsense
that Dong-soo pulled out his sword. The woman had defeated Dong-soo easily, and
her blade at Dong-soo’s throat, she had chided him, “Did you think you could
beat me because I’m a woman?”
The truth was, Dong-soo thought he could beat anyone. Anything was possible.
Blah blah, so what if the opponent was Lord Whatever of an assassin guild?
(Dong-soo hadn’t known at the time that Scary Lady was near Sword Saint’s level
of skill). What about her being a woman? Dong-soo didn’t have the peculiar
squirminess around women that Woon did—nor this urge of Woon’s to protect
specifically women. Dong-soo wondered if Woon’s mother had been a very weak,
needy sort of woman. Dong-soo didn’t remember either of his parents. Woon’s
family was a mystery—Woon had never wanted to talk about his dead parents, so
Dong-soo had respected that.
No, Dong-soo didn’t look down on women or believe that they existed to be
protected. Dong-soo wanted to protect everyone who needed to be
protected—because wasn’t that simply the right thing to do?
“Get stronger,” the woman leader of the assassin guild had told him as she
sheathed her sword. “You have no right to a heart if you can’t protect who that
heart loves.”
And Dong-soo loved everyone.
Well, not everyone in that way.
There was the way Jin-joo clearly felt about Dong-soo. Stupid, stupid girl. For
a while, Dong-soo hadn’t known what to do about Jin-joo’s feelings, so he had
pretended that they weren’t there. But then the girl had devised a plot to
rescue Dong-soo from the pathetic state that made him wander around hunch-
backed, unable to speak, requiring supervision like a baby:  Jin-joo locked
Dong-soo and herself in an abandoned cabin and set the place on fire.
Yes. Dong-soo had set Ji-sun’s back on fire, but this was quite a different
matter.
Years ago, the accidental fire, started by some neighborhood child knocking
over a lamp had trapped Jin-joo behind roaring flames, and Dong-soo had saved
her. That’s probably why the girl was still in love with him to this day. That
was the same night Sa-mo had rushed in to try to save both children, so Dong-
soo didn’t exactly have romantic memories of the occasion.
In any event, Jin-joo trusted that Dong-soo would save her again, but before he
could break out of his idiocy, lift her in his arms and break down the locked
door, both he and Jin-joo had breathed in enough smoke to be sick, and the
place was well on its way to being burned to the ground.
Stupid girl. She’s almost as stupid as I am.
Sword Saint had insisted that Dong-soo thank Jin-joo for restoring a lost mind,
so Dong-soo did. He had even given Jin-joo a friendly hug, but the girl held on
too long. “You can let go now.” She had startled as if bitten by a snake, and
Dong-soo had laughed.
Not much since Ji-sun was treated for the burn on her back and Woon was
stricken with deadly fever had been laugh-worthy.
Woon’s illness itself had been scary enough, but then Woon had kept mumbling
about blood, his father, and more terrifyingly, “don’t touch me there.” The
sexual stuff was pretty evident to anyone listening—and Woon’s moaning “what
are you doing?” and “I can’t do this” had made Dong-soo’s heart stop. Was Woon
giving away what had happened on the snowy day? The uncles had looked
concerned, but neither said anything. Fortunately, Cho-rip and the women who
infrequently visited the room—aish, Ji-sun would’ve been upset---missed Woon’s
scariest, most fretful ramblings. Then one night Woon sat up straight, hands
between his thighs and screamed, “Stop! You can’t--!” The rest had been
garbled, lost in a half-sob.
There had been no mistaking the fear in Woon’s eyes.
He’s not going on about me. Dong-soo had felt a little sick at first, and then
he had felt guilty for not understanding sooner.
Sa-mo said that he’d found Woon by his father’s fresh grave, that the boy had
not been alone since that time. Nonetheless, both uncles suspected a stranger
in the village because Yeo Cho-sang, as much as a drunk as he was, was not
capable of such a thing. Goo-hyang, over-hearing the men speak, had walked by
and, wringing a wet cloth in her hands over the ground, had made the statement
like observing that the sky is blue: “The Sky Lord is capable of such things.”
“What do you mean?” Sword Saint had asked.
“How would you know?” Sa-mo had grabbed the pretty lady’s shoulder.
“I should know is all.” Goo-hyang had grabbed a fresh towel and started back to
Woon’s room. Dong-soo tried to follow her, but Sword Saint stopped him. It was
at that moment that Dong-soo remembered a wish he had made on the day of his
Highness death: Dong-soo had wished to follow Woon into whatever blackness Woon
was walking towards. That blackness began to surround Dong-soo at that moment.
Smoke billowing from an unknown source, the suffocating blanket of darkness
that was there even if you couldn’t see the fire. Dong-soo recalled the terror
he had felt the day the Sky Lord had blown on his face.
 I can’t talk about this with Woon. He won’t talk.
Over dinner with Scary Lady, Sword Saint asked his woman to leave Heuksa
Chorong, that her life could be a life of joy if only she allowed herself to be
protected by him, and she had insisted that there was no way she could do that
and still protect someone else she wanted to protect.
Creepy Guy? Dong-soo had been confused, had munched on his sliver of jerky. She
wants to protect Creepy Guy?
“And when Woon is better, he must return,” she had said.
Woah, Scary Lady is crazy. Dong-soo had been certain his uncles wouldn’t stand
for this.
“Are you insane?” Sa-mo had been indignant. “Hyungnim, are you going to tell
her, or am I? That what that man has done to a child is unforgivable. Who takes
a twelve-year-old—”
“Was the Crown Prince any different?” The Earth Lord had asked. “The palace
also recruited orphan children from villages all over and sent them to
yourwarrior camp to be trained to kill.” The look she flashed Sa-mo had been
murderous. “Don’t speak to me about how your people are different from ours.
You go on missions without knowing why, only that have been ordered by the
palace, and you kill, the same as Heuksa Chorong kills. You’ve groomed boys to
be like you—tell me this isn’t true.”
“Hyungnim!” Sa-mo had turned to his blood brother. “Tell her how we’re
different!”
“Sa-mo-yah! What you’re talking about—we don’t have any evidence of anything.
Only the speculations of people who listened to a feverish boy’s dreams. Didn’t
you once say that Yeo Cho-sang’s fortune-telling was people reading their own
worst fears in the entrails of chickens?” Sword Saint had turned to his Scary
Lady lover. “Ga-ok-ah, you aren’t like this. Didn’t you once say that you were
sick of swimming in rivers of blood?”
“Yes,” she said. She downed a cup of soju. “I am still sick of it. But I have
no choice. Chun is gone for at least a year. The men won’t accept a woman as
their leader. Qing will investigate the loss of the map. The Norons at the
palace are still a threat. The Minister of Defense is not someone you alone can
handle. Woon needs to return and serve as the new Sky Lord for the time being.”
Sa-mo had put his face in his hands. “Aigoo, this is madness. If you only saw
the boy. He’s a mess. You can’t be serious.”
“What are you talking about?” Scary Lady kept drinking. Dong-soo marveled at
her posture. She looked like the sort of person who could drink every man in
Joseon under the table. “Yeo Woon is the best assassin I’ve ever seen in all my
years. He has more intelligence and more importantly, less arrogance than
Chun.”
Sword Saint had sighed at that moment. “The designated heir of the
headquarters, is he? If Jin-joo had been allowed to grow up as your daughter,
she would have become an assassin like you—am I right?”
Dong-soo, sitting in a corner, had almost fallen to the floor. Jin-joo was
Scary Lady’s daughter? Sa-mo knew? Then how in the world---did that mean that
the King of the Bandits--? Wow.
“Let me see Yeo Woon,” Scary Lady had said. “If he dies, he dies. I’ll deal
with the consequences. Until then, there’s no other choice but him to return.”
 Scary Lady had been escorted to Woon’s room, and Dong-soo had been surprised
to find the space was more crowded than the main square on carnival
day—EVERYONE was there. There were so many people, one couldn’t see Woon on the
mattress. Ji-sun and Goo-hyang were folding towels in a corner—they didn’t even
look up, but everyone else—oh wow, Gak, Yong, and Geol were carrying their
swords! Cho-rip and Jin-joo stood closest to the door.
“Don’t—” Cho-rip had begun, his voice shaking. “You can’t take him away.”
“Step aside.”
Scary Lady’s voice didn’t work, so she pushed Cho-rip aside. Gak reached for
his sword, so Sword Saint, as Dong-soo had been waiting for him to do, told
everyone to let the woman pass, that she only wanted to look at Woon.
Scary Lady had knelt beside the pitiful body.  Dong-soo had worked his way
closer towards the scene, uncertain himself that the woman with the sword
wasn’t going to do anything bad to Woon---no matter what Sword Saint seemed to
think. But the woman just looked at Woon’s flushed, feverish face and spoke to
someone else she knew was in the room: “Goo-hyang, will he live?”
“I think so,” Goo-hyang had replied. “He’s young and strong, but the fever is
very bad. Another day of it this high, and he could--”
“Cure him,” Scary Lady had commanded.
“I will,” Goo-hyang had replied.
Sword Saint and Sa-mo then ordered everyone out of the room except for the
girls who were attending the sick person. Jin-joo had protested that she, like
Ji-sun and Goo-hyang, had been trying to cool down Woon’s fever too.
“Get out of this room,” Scary Lady had said to Jin-joo, and Jin-joo, head
lowered, left like a scolded daughter.
Dong-soo was sent out of the room too, but he lingered at the door. As everyone
was leaving the house, Gak mouthed the words to Dong-soo “do you want to die?”
but Dong-soo didn’t care. The uncles and Scary Lady had allowed Dong-soo to
listen until this point, and whatever had to do with Woon was Dong-soo’s
business.
“Even when he gets better, it will be a week ….” Dong-soo had not been able to
make out Woon’s physician-lady’s voice, neither Ji-sun’s. Damn refined women
who spoke so softly. They knew about Woon’s condition but didn’t tell the whole
truth to anyone but adults.
Scary Lady, who wielded a sword, spoke like someone who did—with force:
“There’s nothing that can be done, Gwang-taek. Woon has to return. He is the
only one who can keep Heuksa Chorong from falling into chaos.”
“Ga-ok-ah, don’t you see? This is the perfect time for change. There will
always be snakes in the forests and rats in the cities.  Rats are driven out
but only for so long, and snakes shed their skins, and one danger is always
being traded for another danger. Qing has always backed Heuksa Chorong and will
appoint a new leader if you, Chun and Woon are gone.”
“Who said Chun won’t return?”
“To kill me, you mean?”
“Yes.” Scary Lady’s voice had grown even sharper and louder then. “Tell me
right now—describe the Defense Minister in a word.”
“A rat,” Sword Saint had said. “He is nothing but a mere rat, sniffing
everywhere.”
“A rat who carries dozens of diseases,” the woman countered. “A rat who can
kill anyone of the people who care for. And can you describe the new leader of
Heuksa Chorong who would be appointed by the Emperor? No, you can’t. You have
no picture in your mind now. No one knows if that leader would be a wooden
puppet or a live dragon. How can you protect anyone if you don’t have some
control over the politics of this country?”
“She’s insane, I tell you.” Sa-mo’s voice. “That place never protected anyone.
Does Woon even have a choice in this matter? Was he ever given a choice?”
“You realize,” Sword Saint had said to the woman, “that you’re assuming that
Woon is up to the task? You believe this young man can assume a mantle of death
and give orders to kill?”
“Yes.” The ensuing silence had been more than a little scary—because it seemed
no one wanted to contradict the point.
“He can combat the Defense Minister, if that’s what you want,” Scary Lady had
concluded. “I want to protect my daughter. You want to protect Dong-soo and
Woon and all these people who call you family. The only way to for both of us
to get our way is for my way to prevail.”
“Hyungnim!” Sa-mo, angry again.
“It’s Woon’s choice,” Sword Saint had said.
“Convince him.” Scary Lady had been unrelenting. “Do you want to protect him?
Convince everyone. This time is only the eye of the storm. I’ve been through
changes in the guild before; I know the best way to survive.”
“I’ll devise a plan,” Sword Saint said.
 
*
 
Woon seemed to do nothing but eat after coming back from the worst of his
illness. Dong-soo had known since he was a child that there was one thing that
women liked almost as much as flattery or flowers and that was watching men
eat—a curious phenomenon, but Dong-soo had learned to take advantage of it. At
village food stalls, Woon’s pretty, forlorn looks may have garnered him first
helpings, but once Dong-soo started stuffing his face and making yummy noises,
all eyes were on him. Jang-mi was fond of saying that Dong-soo needed meat to
live, and she loved to pile chicken, burnt to a crisp just the way Dong-soo
liked it, on his plate. Dong-soo loved attention; Woon hid from it. Maybe Woon
had never grown very big (but he was quick as lightning) because he’d never
eaten much; Dong-soo loved to eat and had grown up big and muscled. Some people
stared at Dong-soo eating because he ate rudely with his mouth open, but women
loved to feed him—that was fun. Only one man could eat more than Dong-soo and
that was Sa-mo; Jang-mi was in love with Sa-mo, and the whole village knew it.
Sa-mo was getting fatter by the day because Jang-mi loved him.
One afternoon Ji-sun brought market pie, Mi-so had made a stew, Jin-joo had
hand-rolled a dozen rice balls, and all had arrived at the same time to feed
Woon. Sitting up in Sa-mo’s giant shirt, Woon looked thinner than he was, and
when he nodded thank you to each girl, they tittered and drew closer to him,
watching with delight as he ate their offerings.
“I don’t get it,” Dong-soo said to Goo-hyang. He’d watched Goo-hyang blow
medicine through Woon’s mouth with a straw, after all, and Goo-hyang didn’t
seem to be weird like the others about watching him eat. “Does his chewing
stuff excite them? Or is it—is it something else?”
“It’s something else,” Goo-hyang observed coolly. “He’s a mother-less child,
and they’re girls who haven’t had babes of their own yet. I think they want to
take care of him. That’s all.”
Dong-soo wanted to take care of Woon too, but he was afraid Woon was going to
choke himself on Jin-joo’s rice-cakes. It was a good thing Jang-mi wasn’t well
yet, or every chicken in the village would be dead, and the woman would be
hand-feeding Woon their over-cooked bodies, piece by piece.
When the day’s feeding frenzy was over, Goo-hyang shoo-ed everyone out. Woon
slept like the dead after he ate. Goo-hyang had realized soon enough how vital
Dong-soo was to Woon’s recovery, so Dong-soo came and went as he pleased in the
room. She carried out the tray with empty bowls, bowed, and left for the
evening. She was sleeping nearby with Ji-sun now. Ji-sun, in fact, to repay
Goo-hyang for her untiring vigilance over Woon, was now pampering the Heuksa
Chorong double agent with head-massages and market treats.
“Don’t keep track of favors,” Ji-sun had said when Goo-hyang insisted she would
remember Ji-sun’s kindnesses.
Dong-soo overheard so many strange things in the house these days, and
certainly all the relationships coming and going were strange, but Ji-sun—there
was a puzzle of a girl. In mourning over his Highness, she had been capable of
wanting Woon to die and of trying to hold him steady so that Dong-soo, who she
knew didn’t want to kill Woon, could stab him. Later, Ji-sun had been willing
to defend this same betrayer and assassin Yeo Woon with her own life if
necessary. And what was this bond with Goo-hyang? Goo-hyang along with Woon
were going to deliver Ji-sun to her death in Qing, right?
Love and Death, Death and Love. All so complicated. What did a wise and fair-
minded person like his uncle Kim Gwang-taek see in that woman who was the lover
of that wicked, wicked man who was behind so much carnage and murder? Ga-ok-ah,
he called her. In his softest voice. As if he were speaking to an angel in a
vision. She was beautiful and smart—wait, Woon was beautiful and smart. Ji-sun
was beautiful and smart. But they weren’t wicked. Wait, Woon was an assassin,
but he wasn’t…. no, no, no, it didn’t make sense. It was as if Uncle was always
trying to see the good in everyone, and that in itself made Uncle blind. Was
love like that?
Dong-soo had heard Sa-mo say that love was a distraction, but other people,
women mostly, the ones who read romance books—was it Mi-so who had said that
love was supposed to make the way clear and true? Something about how love puts
everyone on the same level and makes the world right?
“Eh, Woon-ah.” Dong-soo lay next Woon on the mat and rubbed Woon’s head. “My
head hurts.”
“Then why are you rubbing my head instead of yours?”
“An experiment.” Dong-soo laughed.
Woon closed his eyes. “If I go to sleep, do you dream about Mi-so’s fish stew?”
“Since when in your life have you eaten so much?” Dong-soo couldn’t help but
stroke Woon’s cheek with his thumb.  He told himself he was searching for stray
food crumbs, testing the density of the flesh there because it was good if Woon
was gaining weight back—but no, Dong-soo just wanted to touch Woon there. Woon
didn’t mind.  Dong-soo’s forefinger tapped Woon’s nose. “Hey, if all these
people are bothering you, just tell me. I know you hate to be crowded.”
“It’s not bad.” Woon didn’t open his eyes. “I was sure everyone was going to
hate me forever.  I don’t mind them around right now. As long—” Woon hesitated.
“As long as they weren’t all around when I was out of it. That … would’ve been
embarrassing. They weren’t around, right?”
“No, no, no. Goo-hyang didn’t let people near because she didn’t want anyone to
catch your sickness.” Dong-soo was telling the truth for the most part.
Everyone had caught a glimpse of Woon at his worst, though. No one had
forgotten the boy who had been reared in this home; no one could see Woon as
anything but a reluctant assassin, someone who had been either coerced into the
role or who had, for some reason, gone temporarily insane. “So,” Dong-soo
continued. “You still don’t remember anything about when you were delirious?
Not a thing?”
“Not a thing.” Woon nestled his head against Dong-soo’s shoulder. “It was the
same way when I was this sick the last time. When I was twelve. When my father
died…. I had a fever for a week, people said. I lost all my memories.” Woon was
drifting away already, almost asleep. “Thing is, I was starting to get back
some of those memories again. They were coming back again.  I had some pictures
before I fell off my horse.” Woon sighed. “I lost them. I don’t know….”
The peaceful moment was interrupted with Cho-rip rushed through the door and
threw himself on the mat next to Woon. “Woonie! You’re so much better!” Cho-
rip’s arm clasped his startled friend. “What’s the matter with you, though,
that you don’t leave left-overs for anyone else? You eat all the rice-balls?
Jin-joo doesn’t even make good rice-balls!”
“Eh, Cho-rip-ah?” Dong-soo was curious about something. “I saw you talking with
my uncles a while ago.”
“Yeah, they are all about plans for the future. For all three.” Cho-rip pointed
to his friends, as if “three” needed clarification. “For Gak, Yong, and Geol
too.”
“What sort of plans?” Woon was fully awake.
“Goo-hyang said I can sleep here again,” Cho-rip said. His change of subject
was too obvious. “She said you’re not contagious. I’m glad. I was missing
everyone, and the old men are boring. Did you know that Jang-mi has a terrible
crush on Sa-mo? Do you think he is perfectly clueless about it?”
“What were the uncles’ plans?” Woon was insistent.
“Uh….” Cho-rip began to pull off his clothes. “Training, more martial arts,
that sort of thing. You know what I told them? I don’t think I’m cut out to be
a warrior. I did a lot of thinking while I was in that rice box.”
“Cho-rip-ah?” Dong-soo was surprised. “What are you saying? You’re as good with
the sword as anyone here.”
“Are you kidding? I’m nowhere near the level that you and Woon are. And I may
have graduated before others but… you know the truth, Dong-soo-yah, I lack
something on the battlefield. There’s a certain bravery the other men have that
I don’t.”
“Your willingness to take Dong-soo’s place for the execution,” Woon offered,
“was the bravest thing I’ve ever witnessed.”
“Oh that.” Cho-rip sighed. “I would do something like that for a friend. Still,
it was a passive sort of act. Raising a weapon just in time is an art at which
I’m not truly. I deliberate too much. It’s one thing to hit a strawman with
accuracy like I did on the mountaintop, but—I’m scared of blood.” Dong-soo and
Woon looked at one another. “It’s true,” Cho-rip continued. “How can a man who
is scared of blood be a true warrior—even if he is willing to die to protect
people?”
“You can’t leave us,” Dong-soo said.
“I’ve decided to take the civil service exam,” Cho-rip said. He smiled. “Don’t
worry. I’ll still be your friend. I’ll still visit.”
“Civil service exam?” Woon looked wary. “In what capacity? What do you want to
do?”
“I’ve always been good at academics and investigation. I want to serve in
library research. When I joined the warrior camp, I liked to invent things—I
was building weapons and designing physical objects. I had no intention of
doing any real fighting. But now…. “ Cho-rip had never looked more serious. “I
want to research possibilities, build ideas, and design plans. My dream to
serve in the palace.”
“The palace?” Woon didn’t disguise his distress.
Dong-soo was concerned about Woon’s concern.
“Yes, the palace,” Cho-rip said. “The Prince Heir still needs our protection.
Sword Saint brought that up today. The son of the Crown Prince—well, the Crown
Prince who was stripped of his title—will still serve this country’s needs the
best. He is still the best opposition to the Norons and all those who will bend
to the will of Qing.”
“I see,” said Woon.
“A library isn’t as dangerous as—” Cho-rip began and stopped himself.
“Eh,” Dong-soo joked. “Any one of us could fall off a cliff tomorrow or be
bitten by a mad dog, right? That’s just how the world is. But Cho-rip is always
going to be fine. He’s the great Yang Cho-rip!”
The three slept together that night, and in the morning, Dong-soo felt like it
was old times again. Why couldn’t it be like it was before? Except Cho-rip was
going away. The uncles wanted to send Woon away too; the horror of that had not
completely settled. Woon was going to do as they asked, wasn’t he? Shouldn’t
Dong-soo have grabbed him when he was still too weak to walk, thrown him over a
horse and sped to the mountains? Couldn’t he and Woon have lived together in
another land, far from the grasp of Scary Lady, maybe studying with the Shaolin
as Sword Saint had done for so many years? The possibilities were only now
occurring to Dong-soo as sunlight as he washed his face.
Woon was fully dressed, wearing part of the fancy Earth Lord outfit and an old
shirt of his that Mi-so had found while looking extra bedding and sheets. Woon
raised a cup of medicine from Goo-hyang. “I don’t need this anymore. I’m fine.”
Cho-rip stuck his head through the door and said that the uncles were ready to
meet with Dong-soo and Woon, that they wanted to see them for breakfast on the
porch. “They asked me to stay away,” Cho-rip said, looking peeved. “I guess you
guys will fill me in later?”
“Yeah, sure,” Dong-soo said. “Unless we’re being sent on a secret mission or
something.”
“Oh.” Cho-rip look appeased. “That makes sense. Okay.”
Sword Saint didn’t reveal much about Scary Lady’s visit except to say that she
was insistent on Woon’s return and she had listed reasons why Heuksa Chorong
would fall apart without him. Woon listened quietly, his expression dutiful and
betraying no emotion, while Sword Saint said that Woon had always been the
intended heir of the assassin guild. “If you joined them when you were twelve,”
Sword Saint said, “you made a child’s choice that you can change. Cho-rip
joined the warrior camp with one intent and has now chosen another path for
himself. No one is bound to a single destiny.”
Dong-soo nodded fervently.
“What I want to know….” Sword Saint sipped his tea with his one good hand.
“What your old captain Sa-mo and I need to know is where your allegiances
currently lie. At the wharf, before Dong-soo found you in a fever in the rain,
you were riding back to your life as an assassin.”
“But he had returned first—“ began Sa-mo. “He stayed for hours to see if the
young lady was going to be all right, and he---”
Sword Saint held up his hand. “Wait. I want to hear from Woon.”
“Where my allegiances lie?” Woon pushed away his plate of food. “I didn’t think
that anyone here would accept me after I betrayed everyone.” His voice was so
humble  that Dong-soo felt his heart lurch; how could Dong-soo ever have
believed that Woon meant real harm against any single person he had lived among
in the warrior camp or here in this village? The real Woon was a gentle person,
not a killer. A supremely talented swordsman and martial artist, someone whose
sword never hesitated—unlike Dong-soo’s own—but did Woon belong in that House
of Blood with Creepy Guy and Scary Lady? No, hell no.
“I’m grateful for all the affection people have shown me here, but I think that
the Earth Lord is right,” Woon said. “There are things I still need to do
within Heuksa Chorong. I have a duty there.”
“What?” Dong-soo and Sa-mo exclaimed the word in unison.
“You mean you are willing to take orders to kill? From the Emperor? From the
Defense Minister?” Sa-mo was flailing again. “Are you the child I raised?
Didn’t your uncle ask you where did your allegiances lie?”
“I didn’t answer that question,” said Woon calmly. “I said I have a duty within
the role I chose in Heuksa Chorong. I’m sure that the Earth Lord---” Here, Woon
looked Sword Saint directly in the eye. “She understands what I’m talking
about.”
“If you didn’t answer my question, then….” Sword Saint was answering Woon’s
intense gaze with one of his own. “I’ll ask you again. Where do your
allegiances lie, Yeo Woon?”
“With Baek Dong-soo,” Woon said simply. “With Yang Cho-rip.  With Miss Ji-sun.
With Gak, Yong, and Geol. With my uncles. With all those who have shown me
kindnesses I never deserved and treated me like a human being, not like a
weapon to be used in service of someone else’s vanity od self-interest.”
There was dead silence.
“I don’t understand.” Sa-mo’s anxiety made his voice a near-whimper. “Why do
you want to go back?”
“Like I said, I have some things to do.”
“Are you going to explain what those things are?” Sword Saint asked.
Dong-soo thought he knew. “Are you going to try to protect the Prince Heir from
the inside? Act like a double-agent or something? A palace spy like Goo-hyang?”
“No.”
Dong-soo felt crazy for a moment—one of those red-hot feelings surged in his
chest that made him think he might punch Woon in the face. Then Dong-soo looked
at Sword Saint. The man seemed to be satisfied with Woon, proud even.
Dong-soo calmed down. Eh, I don’t know if the old man is right about everything
either. He loves Scary Lady. He doesn’t believe that his old friend Creepy Guy
did something bad to Woon as a kid. I think I will have to find some things out
for myself. For one, ask Woon myself what’s up. For another….I don’t know. Cho-
rip says he’s good at investigating. I can get better at that. I can get better
at everything. I can learn to listen. I can learn to think before jumping
ahead. I am the great Baek Dong—"
“Ga-ok said she’d return soon for you and Goo-hyang,” Sword Saint told Woon. “I
said I was going to get your answer first. I wasn’t going to give you up
without your own say in the matter. If you had chosen not to return, you were
going to come with me to the mountain-top with Dong-soo.”
“Mountain-top?” Dong-soo didn’t know anything about a mountain-top.
“Of course, you also have a choice,” Sword Saint said to Dong-soo. “Do you wish
to train with me?”
“Brat,” said Sa-mo. “You’re the son of Baek Sa-goeng. Your uncle gave up his
arm to save your life. You have trained all your own life for only one thing,
so get on your knees and show your respect.”
“Yes!” Dong-soo got up from the table so fast, the cups and dishes rattled.
“Yes, Sa-mo! I mean, of course, Captain!” He was on the dirt floor and rubbing
his thighs. This was important stuff. Being the disciple of the greatest
swordsman in all Joseon, maybe the entire world?
“Please train me,” Dong-soo said to Sword Saint. “I want to learn.”
 
 
Sword Saint laughed, and it didn’t strike Dong-soo as odd that his uncle would
do that. Adults were always laughing at him. “You will learn,” Sword Saint
said. His voice was fond, as Sa-mo’s always was. It occurred to Dong-soo that
he was an orphan like Woon. but that surrounding Dong-soo had always, always,
been people who put up with his weaknesses, who looked past his disabilities,
who loved and encouraged him. Woon? What mentors had he had as a child? A
drunk, probably unstable, dad and then Creepy Guy and Scary Lady.  It didn’t
make sense why Woon didn’t want to stay and live with those who had honestly
cared for him.  At Sa-mo’s home, so many people besides Dong-soo himself had
come to love Woon—why did the stupid-stupid insist on returning with Scary Lady
to that dark place? What sort of hold did that place have on him?
“Woon-ah,” said Sword Saint, turning his attention to the quiet one still
sitting at the table. “I know you intend to learn too. I know that you’re good
at training on your own, but remember one thing.”
“Yes?”
“If you need to fight a tiger, then you must face it head-on.”
Woon looked startled.
“One doesn’t chase a tiger,” Sword Saint continued. “If you catch it by the
tail, it will be more enraged than if you face it directly. Aim your sword for
the throat and pass its fangs.”
Dong-soo wondered if Woon had any idea what Sword Saint was talking about.
“Catch a tiger by the tail, and it will play with you.” Sword Saint laughed
again. “Tell me—do you want to be toyed with by a tiger’s paw?”
Woon bowed his head. “No, honorable Sword Saint. I won’t be toyed with. I will
remember your words.”
Sa-mo wiped his mouth with a dishcloth. “Aigoo, honorable Sword Saint, is it?
The eye of the storm, the tail of a tiger. The way Sword Saint and his woman
talk.” The man looked more like a worried auntie than a seasoned captain. “I
just want our boys to live as long as you and I have, Hyungnim.”
 
   1. Alignments
Even if my heart cries, I can’t go forward with my clumsy self. When the scent
of a lovely flower lingers, and the birds’ song is silenced, is this all a
vanishing dream?
Like your two teary eyes, like withering dreams, the wind is blowing, the winds
blow together. Even when the lovely flowers wilt and become stars, my heart is
still at your side.
“The Moon is Crying; The Moon is Smiling” by Beige from the Chuno OST
 MV_by_BeautifulYume
 
Cho-rip said he didn’t like prolonged good-byes, so he was heading out as soon
as possible.  Woon broke his rule about reaching out to touch someone before
being touched first; he grabbed Cho-rip by the arm. “Cho-rip-ah? Already? How
will you survive until the exam?” Woon offered to sell his mare for money for
Cho-rip’s travelling expenses, but Cho-rip said that His Majesty had rewarded
him and Dong-soo for their efforts in protecting the Crown Prince.
“He did?” Dong-soo was surprised. “I have money?”
“It came from the palace when you were all out of it, so the captain put it
away.  To save for marriage or something. I’ll use mine now to study for the
civil service exam, and besides, I have distant family I can stay with.”
“Family!” Dong-soo exclaimed. “You never told us that.”
“There are so many things you don’t know, Dong-soo.” Cho-rip looked like a
first-year scholar already. “There are so many things so many people don’t
know. This is why people need someone to research for them like me. I’ll be
leaving tomorrow. I’m sure we’ll all see you again. And Woon—”
The look on Dong-soo’s face saddened Woon. Dong-soo looked so concerned that
Woon was going to take up the life of an assassin again. Woon wanted to assuage
him somehow, but what could be said? Dong-soo didn’t need to know everything.
Cho-rip made his case as if arguing before a court. “Woon-ah, if the fact that
you’re a state criminal is what is holding you to Heuksa Chorong, you do
understand that Sword Saint carries a badge from His Majesty. The badge gives
whoever shows it freedom from the police. Jin-joo’s father and Sa-mo—they’re
state criminals too, and they’ve lived under the protection of Sword Saint all
this time. You can too. If you want to return—”
“I know all that.” Woon crossed his arms and smiled. “Everyone knows all that.
Our captain bragged about the badge at the warrior camp, remember? And …” He
smiled at Dong-soo this time.  “I never said I wouldn’t return.”
“Yes.”  Cho-rip nodded. “I just want you to be sure. And I want our Woonie to
be careful.”
“I will be.”
That night was the last night all three friends slept together in the same
room. Dong-soo kept saying that he knew that things could not stay the same way
forever, but he wished that growing up wasn’t such a hassle. “It’s not that the
great Baek Dong-soo is afraid of anything—it’s just that…” Dong-soo had pouted
at the ceiling. “I’m going to miss you guys.”
Both Woon and Cho-rip had tackled Dong-soo at the same time and pummeled him
with clothes and blankets.
Cho-rip left without much ceremony the following morning, on foot, before the
hovering women could add more weight to his baggage. Mi-so had already rolled
rice-cakes, but Jang-mi would have given him sacks and sacks of food. He hugged
the best friends and then his captain. He bowed before Sword Saint. Without a
word, he walked away, sword by his side.
Dong-soo was crying noiselessly. Woon felt an arm around his shoulder and then
heard Dong-soo announcing to his uncles: “I’m taking Woon fishing today. I
don’t know when Scary—the leader of Heuksa Chorong will arrive. If she comes
today, Woon and I will be back before nightfall.”
“Of course,” Sword Saint said.
Dong-soo grabbed some supplies, and off the two went. Dong-soo said he knew the
perfect little bay, not far by foot, where he and Sa-mo had always fished, a
very pretty spot. The days had been sunny, so they would set up a little
covered tent. That excuse didn’t fool Woon. Dong-soo wanted absolute privacy
from any passer-by.
On the walk down the familiar road and up and over the un-travelled hills,
Dong-soo didn’t say much. Woon waited for the questions, but they didn’t come.
What had happened to the flood of words?
Soon enough, Woon could smell the life that gathered near water. The musky
earth was full of salamanders, and the trees were full of dung-lined bird-
nests. When he heard water splashing gently over rocks and became aware of the
bright air that surrounded streams, he sensed that Dong-soo’s veins seemed to
flow more freely and that his friend’s heart seemed to open up.
“Here’s the spot,” Dong-soo announced with a satisfied smile.
“Looks good,” Woon agreed.
The little tent was built quickly; sheets were thrown over the top and three
sides, and the open side faced the stream. Dong-soo started the fire, although
Woon said they might not even catch any fish and might have to eat cold rice-
balls. “I always catch fish,” Dong-soo said, and it was true—Dong-soo had been
the best at scoring game in the warrior camp. The two sat at the edge of the
stream and cast their poles.
“You’re sure you’re up to going back?” Dong-soo asked finally. “I don’t mean to
insult you. I mean, I know you’re smart and a good fighter but….”
Woon didn’t look at Dong-soo.
“When you were sick, you….” Dong-soo grabbed his fishing pole with both hands
as if trying to steady his thoughts. “You didn’t sound like you wanted to go
back there. I know you were unhappy there. The Crazy Lady told us they got you
so young, so you know you weren’t really responsible for stuff you did that
young, especially bad stuff, especially if they threatened you. You know that
don’t you?”
Yes, I am to blame. Dong-soo didn’t know about Woon killing his own father.
What sort of twelve-year-old accepts that assignment?
“I stayed there of my own accord,” Woon said, staring at the clear water. “I
made some bad choices” Woon didn’t want to get into this again. “I already said
I have some unfinished business there.”
Dong-soo laughed. “Whatever. I know you’re not going to tell me what.”
Woon continued to watch the sparkling water as if it could wash him clean. But
he knew it couldn’t. The best he could do was try to protect some of the people
who he cared about, make certain that certain dark forces were less … dark.
“You said you don’t remember anything that happened when you had the bad
fever?”
What exactly was Dong-soo trying to do? What did Dong-soo hear? Woon was a
little nervous now.
“I told you,” Woon said. “I don’t remember a thing.”
It was a lie. Woon remembered a few things. Whatever pieces of the night his
father had died that had returned to him before he’d fallen off the horse were
still there. An image of the uncles standing with blank faces and Goo-hyang
looking horrified seemed vivid as real life. Dong-soo hadn’t been there at that
moment, had he? No one had said anything; maybe Woon hadn’t spoken
intelligibly. Sleep-talkers often don’t. No one except fortune-tellers like
Woon’s own father took dreams seriously.
“I don’t remember Jang-mi kissing me.” Woon attempted a laugh.
Dong-soo didn’t laugh. “Oh look!” The string at his pole twisted. “I got one!”
It was a large fish. Another one followed. Dong-soo always did seem to have the
damn luck of a chosen god. The man who didn’t believe in destiny was always
being saved from Death in the nick of time or, like now, catching fish after
fish, while Woon, his pole right next to Dong-soo’s, was ignored.
“I put larger pieces of meat on my hook,” Woon complained.
“Never mind.” Dong-soo was already cutting the fish. “You catch all the women.”
“I don’t want any of the women,” Woon said, and that was the truth. “Do you?”
“Hmm.” Dong didn’t answer and began the process of tossing fish fillets on the
frying pan. “You don’t want to cook, Woon-ah? I burn things, but I like things
a little burned.”
Woon shook his head.
“Okay.” Dong-soo put a lightly braised piece of fish on a plate. “This is for
you.”
“I’m not that hungry.”
“What happened to your eating everything in sight? You must be back to your old
self. You haven’t eaten breakfast yet. You have to eat, or you’ll get sick
again. Eat, eat.”
Woon did. “You sound like Jang-mi, but Dong-soo-yah….you didn’t answer my
question about women.” He leaned back on the bankside, genuinely curious. “What
happened to your interest in every other woman on the street? Aren’t about the
age when you should be thinking about marriage? Sa-mo even has money—"
“I don’t need a wife,” Dong-soo said. One side of his mouth lifted in a smile.
“I was thinking of marrying Ji-sun, though. She’s the best girl of them all,
after all, but I think she likes you.”
Woon smiled broadly. “Ji-sun is amazing, but…” He sat up and began to eat with
relish. For some reason, the idea of Dong-soo having a good, normal life made
Woon happy. “Jin-joo is the woman who adores you. She even restored your mind
to you—at the risk of her own life. Don’t you know what a sacrifice that was,
Dong-soo-yah? She would do anything for you.”
“Ah, that’s it for the fish.” Dong-soo had inhaled his portion and gulped from
a bowl of clear tea. The grease from the oil left a shiny puddle in the cup.
“I’m full.”
“Since when?”
“I’m lying.” Dong-soo laughed. “I just don’t want to fall asleep from eating
too much. I want to sit here and talk with you all day.”
“Yeah?”
Woon was certain that’s not what Dong-soo wanted to do. Unless Dong-soo
actually thought he could pull more information out of Woon. Woon wouldn’t
talk. Never. Not about what he remembered during the bizarre, altered state
that had been that fever.  The fever had brought back memories of the fever
when he was twelve. He didn’t remember why everyone in the assassin guild had
been so disappointed in him, but they had been. Hadn’t Woon accomplished his
mission and killed his most precious person? What had Woon done that what
wrong? Probably tried to help someone, his father mostly likely, the way he had
healed Gak, Yong, and Geol. Woon wasn’t a natural assassin—he knew that now. He
was a bad person, but he wasn’t a born killer.
“Woon-ah,” began Dong-soo with an unusually serious face. “I’m going to ask you
something, and you better answer truthfully, or I’m going to punch you in the
face until you tell me the truth. I swear on my father’s grave and on my
mother’s grave, I’ll beat you into another fever if you don’t tell me the
truth.”
Woon frowned. “I’ll beat you down first.” What? Another fight? Well, that made
sense. It seemed only fitting to say goodbye to Dong-soo with a fist-fight.
“It’s not about any of your secrets about Heuksa Chorong. I don’t need to know
what you’re going to do there. It’s not about what you remember when you were
all delirious, although I don’t think you forgot everything—it’s fine, you
don’t have to tell me about stuff. You had bad dreams, and I know that much. My
question….”
Woon felt suddenly vulnerable, un-armed. He didn’t want to punch Dong-soo back
anymore.
“My question is about you and me,” Dong-soo said.
That, Woon could answer.
Dong-soo seemed hearted by whatever expression Woon must have shown him because
he continued with ease: “Woon-ah, did you ever feel like I made you do whatever
we did that day it snowed? Did you ever feel like that was the only way you
could get me to like you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I mean…” Dong-soo looked away, beyond the stream, towards the opposite bank.
“I know it just happened the first time. And we were pretty young, but it still
felt like something important, but after that….”
“I already knew you were my best friend,” Woon said.
“I know,” Dong-soo said, “but I know you never liked being touched.” Dong-soo
swallowed. “Why did you let me touch you? Did you think--?”
“It was because….” Woon didn’t know how to put it in words. “It was because….”
Dong-soo turned to look at Woon.
“You made me feel good.” Woon heard his own voice tremble. “I felt safe when I
was with you. I wanted… I wanted very much… I wanted very much….” Woon could
talk anymore because his eyes were welling with tears. It wasn’t supposed to be
like this. Dong-soo was the one who was all heart; Woon was the one who was all
mind.
Dong-soo put down his cup of tea, leaned over and kissed Woon on the lips. The
kiss had long been expected. It tasted like grease and sweet fish seasoned with
too much ginger root and some kind of flower. Once a kiss began with Dong-soo,
it was hard to pull away.
It didn’t seem like any time had passed since the last time.
Right there, by the gently flowing stream, without even offering that they
enter the small tent, Dong-soo lay Woon down and didn’t even strip Woon of all
his clothes. He palmed Woon’s body like a man who was hungry to touch a
specific body, and Woon’s body responded like it had been starved for touch by
specific hands. For a long time, Dong-soo kissed Woon’s right cheek. It took a
while for Woon to notice that Dong-soo was kissing the scar his blade had made
on Woon that day on the wharf.  Woon realized: Dong-soo left scars on both me
and Ji-sun that day. He didn’t mean to leave a scar on me. If he’s this sorry
about this scar, how sorry must he be about Ji-sun’s? I hope he marries her. I
really hope he does.
Then Woon realized that his shirt was being pulled up; his belly was exposed to
fresh air, Dong-soo thumbed Woon’s hipbones and pulled down the pants and
loosened the godarisokgot just so far. Just far enough so that Dong-soo could
begin pleasuring Woon right away.
It was bright, easy pleasure. No urgency. Placid like the stream.
Woon had time to remember, and the memory was dark, but its darkness only made
Dong-soo’s lips seem all the more caring and wonderful. The Sky Lord had
mouthed Woon in a similar way on a night when Woon was twelve. That was all.
That was enough. There had been the peculiar sense of not knowing what was
going on but then understanding exactly what had happened. Echoes of village
children saying, “Your deadbeat dad is going to sell you into prostitution.”
The shame of having felt a rush of pleasure, nausea but also a sweet and sharp,
overwhelming pleasure. The shame of knowing it was wrong and perverted. The
shame of not having pleased the Sky Lord for some reason because the man said
afterwards, in that bed that now smelled like sweat and rice wine, that Woon
was too “small,” and “not ready,” but that he would be one day—because the Sky
Lord was never wrong about anything, never wrong.The distinct threat in that
voice that Woon understood, even then in the burning fever, and never fully
could face again. What he would not, could not, remember until the next fever.
That echo of that threat he felt whenever someone touched him.
Except when Dong-soo touched him. Like this.
Woon felt that distant cloud of an impossible hope draw closer and closer, felt
himself on the verge of release. His mouth opened. He was losing thought, but
he could still wonder. He hadn’t imagined it at all: Dong-soo had said it,
right? He had said, Woon-ah, you won. I love you. Dong-soo had said that.
And Woon had felt safe. For the first time in his life? Safe.
Woon stiffened, shivered and relaxed without a sound. He felt tired already. He
panted softly. He had let go so gently, like the water pouring over the low
falls. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want Dong-soo to feel insulted
because it all had happened too quietly, too soon. But there was still the
whole day for more ….
He sat up and kissed Dong-soo soundly. That curly hair was ridiculous; it felt
like home.  “I thought you built the tent, so we could go in there,” Woon said.
“The trees are shadow enough from the sun.”
“I know something,” Dong-soo said in a playful tone. “I know something I saw in
Cho-rip’s naughty books.”
So, Dong-soo had been learning from books? Woon had wondered for maybe a full
minute once if Dong-soo had visited a prostitute in the days Woon had been
gone, just as Dong-soo had suspected that maybe Woon and Goo-hyang…. but of
course not. Both Woon and Dong-soo shared one trait at least—they considered
live women too precious to trespass. But Dong-soo would study up about love-
making first in books, wouldn’t he? That was his way. Dong-soo would get
married one day; he would be ready to be a skilled lover. He wanted to be the
best at everything; he was the great Baek Dong-soo! Woon didn’t care one way or
the other about being the best; he had specific goals and they were to be
completed one at a time. At the moment, he wanted Dong-soo to be happy.
“Bring the sesame oil,” Dong-soo said.
Woon was clueless.
Cho-rip had bought lots of books with His Majesty’s money. Maybe some of them
were cooking books.
Woon made a face. “That sounds all kinds of wrong.” He picked up the flask of
oil. “Sa-mo never found Cho-rip’s dirty books?”
“Cho-rip bought a lot of civil service study books too—ah, Sa-mo is easier to
fool than we thought when we were kids,” Dong-soo said. “You yourself got past
him for years. He never guessed that you were with that assassin guild. You
think he would know.”
“You didn’t know either.”
“I was a kid, and he was a grown-up. Sometimes when I think about it now….”
Dong-soo looked a little upset. “He should have protected you more and found
out about this Sky Lord based on what all the uncles already knew, but….” A
wave of the hand. “Anyway, I’m not mad at Sa-mo or anything. I know now that I
can’t rely on my uncles for everything. There are some things I need to do on
my own … or find out for myself.”
This new, older-sounding Dong-soo was attractive. Woon remembered the man who
had stood on the wharf with his curls blowing in the wind, with his shirt
plastered to his broad chest with sweat. The man who had given that speech
about Destiny and stopped time right then in a voice so commanding the Qing’s
guardsmen had stepped back and Sword Saint himself had listened with awe.
Woon wanted to touch that man in every way possible.
Dong-soo took off his own clothes first, then Woon’s. It was like being in the
fever again, only without the pain and confusion. Dong-soo was kissing Woon all
over; Woon was holding onto Dong-soo’s upper arms and returning the kisses. The
clothes were being kicked around.
“This is going be messy,” Dong-soo whispered, “but we can wash in the stream
later. I mean much later after we’ve done lots of stuff. There was every
position in the world in one of Cho-rip’s books.”
“You’re crazy, Dong-soo-yah.”
“Yes.” A laugh. “But do you trust me?”
“Yeah.”
“I know a way.” Dong-soo kissed Woon’s neck and breathed in, readying himself
for his next words. “I know a way I can be inside you the way a man can be
inside a woman. It’s not difficult. I saw it in many pictures. It’s not
disgusting. It won’t hurt if we use the grease we used to cook the fish.”
Right way, in that way Woon understood a person’s intent and saw all variables
in the past and future all at once, Woon knew what Dong-soo meant.
“You really want to try that?” Woon asked.
“I want to, Woon-ah,” Dong-soo’s voice was pleading. “I want to….so much.”
Woon didn’t care. It didn’t seem like a big deal, not any more intimate than
what he and Dong-soo had already done. “Sure,” Woon said. “I want to try it
too.”
“Really?”
Woon was reminded of the contest in the cave. This sort of thing was fun with
Dong-soo; it felt natural, not perverted. Actually, it did feel a little
perverted, but that didn’t matter. Dong-soo was a pure person, as sweet as a
puppy, and Woon took Dong-soo’s hand and kissed the fingertips. “Whatever,”
Woon mumbled. The words were a little garbled because of the fingers in Woon’s
mouth, but Woon liked the taste of Dong-soo, every part of him. The sesame oil
was rich on those fingers. Sesame oil of all things. Maybe it would be like
gliding like a fish in a pan, all too quick and easy. Nothing. But if it made
Dong-soo happy….
It wasn’t difficult at all, as it turned out. Dong-soo seemed concerned about
it, as if initiating an ordeal. He lifted Woon’s legs as if they would shatter
if dropped, like glass vases or something: Dong-soo positioned them around his
chest and said, in a voice that made Woon want to laugh, “It shouldn’t hurt. I
mean, people push stuff out with no problem all the time, and I know I’m big,
but I don’t see why someone as big as me can’t go in.” Woon had felt Dong-soo’s
greased fingers tenderly exploring at the same time—one, then two. Woon
couldn’t help it: he laughed.
“What? What’s the matter?”
“I feel like you’re about to stuff me like some goose.” Woon heard himself
giggling like a child. “I mean—the oil smells just like what Jang-mi uses when
she cooks.”
“Stop. You’re ruining the mood.” But Dong-soo was laughing too.
Dong-soo quit laughing when he entered, though. For Woon, there was no
sensation beyond that of mild pressure. Dong-soo, though, looked enraptured,
and that itself was exciting. “Woon-ah.” Even before Dong-soo started to pump,
Woon felt his own breath catch. Watching Dong-soo’s face was thrilling. “Woon-
ah, we’re fucking. We can do it.”
Woon held his own cock and augmented his excitement that way. Being with Dong-
soo alone anytime, anywhere was its own brilliant world, none that anyone else
needed to accept or understand, even if Woon understood that it was plain to
many of their close friends that Dong-soo and he shared a special bond. If they
only knew.Woon smiled as he threw his head back. The sizzling delight—it felt
like a parody of a consummation bed, except it didn’t. It felt like an actual
joining of two bodies, something two passionate lovers would do on the day
before one of them was going to embark on a long and dangerous journey. Were
there not poems written about these things? A man going to war, the beloved
giving herself in marriage right before? Only in this case, two men…. Why not?
“Woon-ah, Woon-ah”
The man was so euphoric that Woon was a bit afraid the great Baek Dong-soo
might cry. But he didn’t. He came hard, digging his nails into Woon’s thighs,
gritting his teeth, and a slow grown, so unlike the yelling sound Woon was
accustomed to hearing from Dong-soo whenever the fool was angry or upset,
escaped through those clenched teeth from somewhere deep in Dong-soo’s throat.
Why did he hold back?
On noticing that Woon hadn’t finished, Dong-soo dropped Woon’s legs, the same
which he had treated so gingerly before, and set about sucking Woon greedily.
The pleasure this time set Woon thrashing and bucking against Dong-soo’s face.
The curls on top of Dong-soo’s head were wet with sweat. Woon clutched them and
cried out. Birds flapped their wings outside, flying away. Woon shook, spilling
again. Strange—that had never happened before. But with Dong-soo, who knew what
would happen?
Grease had messed up some of the clothes strewn about, but no matter. Dong-soo
and Woon took time to catch their breath, and Woon didn’t even get his turn
because Dong-soo loved fucking Woon too much. The next position was better.
Dong-soo took Woon from behind, a pose Woon had always associated with
homosexuality—maybe he had seen it somewhere in a book or children had spoken
about it in a disparaging way. But it felt vaguely good.  More grease, more
depth, Dong-soo’s large hands stroking good places, and somewhere deep inside,
a spot that tingled, that made Woon feel like he wanted to piss but also like
he wanted to seize with pleasure. He couldn’t quite release from just being
rammed there by Dong-soo’s cock, but it was a curious sensation. He panted for
a long time. The blood pounding in his ears and the twitching sensation in his
hole and the relentless beating from Dong-soo’s cock became too maddening,
though, and so Woon finished himself with his own hand, mouth open, no sound,
the pleasure too intense and too deep inside his body to have a release in the
outside world. It’s was like the pleasure bathed his soul and that was that.
Dong-soo held onto Woon’s hips for a long while afterwards. He was hissing this
time, and again, he groaned when he released.
When Woon got his own turn at last, he greased his own hands thoroughly, not
liking the smell nor the sensation of the oil, but, once inside, the tightness
was so unlike masturbating that he gasped right away.  And it was Dong-soo who
was enclosing taking Woon inside this way; the pleasure shot through Woon’s
whole body as if a lightning bolt had struck him.
There were more positions, a lot more sucking, and maybe it was still morning
when Woon felt he had been through a long fight. His knees and palms were
bruised from kneeling on the ground, there was a cut on his thigh, and his
insides felt weak. His ass felt bruised too, despite the oil, and his stomach
didn’t feel too good either—he hadn’t had much breakfast, and he was a little
worried he might vomit. Luckily, at this point, Dong-soo looked drowsy.
Woon kissed his neck, and both Woon and Dong-soo fell asleep for who knows how
long.
When they woke up, Woon observed that their clothes were a mess of grease and
semen and stinky.
“What else is a clear stream for?” Dong-soo said.
They washed their clothes in the water, laid them in the sunlight, and went for
a swim. The water wasn’t deep. Woon felt like a kid again, on the mountain with
the boys, bathing after a long day of hiking. He had never been the one to
instigate the splashing, but he splashed Dong-soo.
Delighted, Dong-soo swam towards Woon. “I’m starved,” he said. He caught Woon
in slippery arms, and Woon slid underwater. Dong-soo lifted him up again.
“Are you going to catch more fish, Dong-soo-yah?”
“Nah, you forgot we have rice balls.”
“They’re wet,” Woon said. “We washed all the clothes.”
“No, I saved them,” Dong-soo said. “I put them right over there on the grass.”
Dong-soo indeed had. Woon was surprised he hadn’t noticed. The pair ate on the
bank. Dong-soo said that he had brought a knife in his sack. There was the
sack, perfectly dry, and who knows what else it held.
“Are there more blankets in there?”
“Shuriken for you—I don’t know. Just in case. A smoke bomb. Some first aid
supplies. The great Baek Dong-soo comes prepared.”
“I’ll snag a bird or a squirrel later.”
The frying pan was still next to the fire which had long been stamped out.
Woon kissed Dong-soo on the neck. “You planned all this.”
“Are you still hungry?”
“Not for food.”
The water was a little cold. “Let’s go in the tent. I want to lie next to you.”
Woon didn’t understand why he said such things aloud. They sounded unlike
him—vulnerable, sweet. But he wanted Dong-soo to say such things back. And
Dong-soo did.
Dong-soo put his arm around Woon as they walked to the flimsy little tent. “I
wish I could protect you, Woon-ah. I wish I could hold onto you forever, but I
know I can’t.”
After the two crawled into the shelter, Dong-soo continued, “I know I said I
was going to tell you the reasons why I was sorry—”
“Stop,” Woon said. “You don’t have to say anything.”
Dong-soo seemed to understand. After this morning, there was really nothing
else left to say.
The place still reeked of sesame oil, and Woon still hated the fact that
everything smelled like some auntie’s kitchen. The jug was still pretty full.
“You have enough oil to fry a whole boar,” Woon observed.
“You want a boar?” Dong-soo laughed. “I’ll kill a tiger for you if you want me
to.”
“Right. You brought enough rice cakes for us to be here for more than a week.”
Woon lay next to Dong-soo. The hard ground felt better than the silk sheeted
bed he had slept in since he was first brought to Heuksa Chorong. The favored
one, Yeo Woon. Here, he was truly favored. Here, he was safe. Here… Say it
again, Dong-soo-yah. Please say it. I don’t want to leave without hearing you
say it again. I’m a fool. I know that you’re showing me how much you care about
me, but do you really… do you really…?
Outside the tent, the birds had settled again; they were accustomed to the
occasional commotion of fishermen in the area. A sparrow chirped. A gull made
its long crying sound. Woon was reminded of when Dong-soo had killed the Sky
Lord’s messenger falcon. Peculiar things like that happened.  Dong-soo showed
up just in time. At the wharf in time to save Ji-sun. He had followed Woon in
the rain to discover Woon lying face-down in the mud with a burning fever and
had saved Woon’s life---for what? The second time? Dong-soo, Dong-soo.  If it
weren’t for you, Dong-soo….
Every time Woon lay in Dong-soo’s arms, he thought it would be the last time.
“We’re going to stay here past night-fall, aren’t we?” Woon said. “We’ll head
back home in the morning, right?”
“I don’t see why not. If Scary Lady shows up tonight, she can just wait.”
“It’ll be cold. We didn’t bring blankets.”
Dong-soo laughed. “No colder than that day in the snow.” He hugged Woon closer.
“I’ll keep you warm. You’re not even tired, are you? We can do more?”
Woon didn’t want to confess that he was sore. He could wait a little while; he
didn’t know when he would be in Dong-soo’s arms again, but this time he had the
feeling he would be with him another time.
“I’m going to do what I want,” Woon volunteered. “One of the things I want to
do is disassemble Heuksa Chorong piece by piece so that whatever building of
Death the Sky Lord is so proud of is smaller whenever he returns.” He didn’t
know why he had said that. Maybe he didn’t want to leave with Dong-soo alone
with fears of the worst.
“Really?” Dong-soo physically startled. His grasp tightened around Woon. “Is
that all you want to do?”
Woon was silent. He wasn’t going to tell Dong-soo anything that might frighten
him.
“I worry. I worry about that Creepy man.  When that man returns, he’s going to
meet my teacher and ….”
“And what?”
“That man is such a force.” Dong-soo looked beyond worried; he looked a little
desperate. “That man wants to kill Sword Saint. I don’t care what good friends
those two were in the past. I know… I know from experience….” Here, Dong-soo
looked ashamed. “I know how badly things can go, even between friends.”
“You don’t think that Sword Saint will kill the Sky Lord? He’s the better
swordsman. The Sky Lord himself told me as much.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know.” A cloud passed over the top sheet and darkened
the shelter. Woon couldn’t make out the expression on Dong-soo’s face well.
“I’m afraid something will go wrong,” Dong-soo said. “I’m afraid you’ll get
into trouble you can’t handle, but even more than that—I’m afraid I won’t live
up to my master’s expectations and get into worse trouble. Hell, you know how
much trouble I got into at the camp and later every time I sneaked out of Sa-
mo’s house.  I’m lucky, but sometimes…. And then there’s always the fear that
I’m going to lose you again.”
“Dong-soo,” Woon said in his most calm voice. “Whatever happens. Listen to me.
If the worst happens. Even if I die or if you die or if we both die together….”
“Aish, why are you being so morbid?”
“I said, listen to me, Dong-soo-yah.”
Dong-soo listened.
“Whatever happens,” Woon continued, “even if we can’t be together in this
life….” Woon felt the tears welling in his eyes again and was glad for the
stray cloud passing over the shelter. “In our next life and even after that, I
will always be by your side. Like now.”
Dong-soo didn’t say anything. Woon hoped that Dong-soo might repeat the words
he had said that snowy day. I love you, Woon-ah. But Dong-soo lay his head next
to Woon’s, and that was enough.
The bank on the other side of the stream looked close enough, steeper,  more
jagged with rocks, and the woods were darker. Woon wasn’t afraid of going
forward. He would always be with Dong-soo.
To be continued in part three. Part three will deviate much more from the canon
script than previous installments and will include some manipulated photos as
well as iconic scenes from the original drama. All screen-caps are in the story
are from the drama.
 
 
 
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