PABO Ch 4

Not being able to see the map attached to the final page was also a significant loss. Munjeong Palace, built across an expansive tract of land, was at once a village of hanok-style buildings and a vast treasure in its own right. There were forty-one buildings used as residences alone, while the halls reserved for the Emperor were even larger and more splendid. Numerous structures, each with its own purpose, blended seamlessly with nature. Inside the palace grounds lay a park with a lake, and there was even a café set up atop a pavilion. The wall encircling the entire palace stood five meters high, and excluding the open sections with designated access, its perimeter stretched 8,080 meters.

Even after constructing such a vast and beautiful Munjeong Palace and settling the Muhwa there, many still coveted this land. They looked ready to drive the Muhwa out at the slightest opportunity. However, once the seventh Emperor announced, immediately after his coronation, that he would reside here personally, all such complaints vanished overnight. No matter how unscrupulous the land-hungry riffraff might be, if the Emperor himself lived on his own land, there was no way to force him out.

If one wished to settle in properly as the forty-first Muhwa, one would need to learn the palace layout and familiarize oneself with the paths the Emperor frequented. Yet from the young man sitting before Director Yang, there was no hint of either interest or will to do so.

Swallowing a bitter mouthful of saliva, Director Yang spoke, “All right, then. Do you have any other requests?”

“Um, no.”

The answer came quickly and without hesitation.

At that, Director Yang sent an uneasy hand signal. A security officer helped the most mild-mannered and compliant man among the Muhwa she had ever seated before her to his feet.

“I’ll escort you to the car.”

Director Yang watched intently as the man who had been Han Sol, a great Korean man, departed for Munjeong Palace as Haryeon Sol, the Emperor’s forty-first Muhwa. His retreating figure, stepping left and right with difficulty like a penguin with an injured leg, was pitiful.

Munjeong Palace, whose very name meant “Moon Well,” was a battleground where young Muhwa gathered, croaking, wondering whether the Emperor would come today or tomorrow. They schemed, slandered, and fought among themselves so often that someone like Director Yang, bearing the title of court lady, was deemed necessary.

Moreover, the moment the seventh Emperor revealed his appearance, he was dubbed an unprecedentedly handsome Emperor by the media around the world.

Until last year, it had often been said that the love Muhwa felt for the Emperor was little different from Stockholm syndrome. Numerous psychologists, even overseas, had written papers on the subject. But today, after seeing the Emperor’s face and hearing his voice, no one could liken the Muhwa to hostages anymore. Even setting aside the peculiar condition of flowering sickness and the closed society of the palace, the Emperor appeared to be a man who deserved to be loved. In a single day, hundreds of people filed false reports claiming they, too, had developed flowering sickness.

Because the Emperor was an attractive young man, the coming bloodbath among the Muhwa only swelled in scale. In this narrow well of stagnant water, only those who received favor would soon float to the surface. Those who did not would inevitably be trampled underfoot and drowned.

With an impassive expression, Director Yang looked at the large van that had come to collect the Muhwa. The young security officer practically guided Haryeon Sol to the front of the car and carefully shut the rear door. Then, hurrying back to Director Yang’s side, he spoke.

“Director, will it really be all right to let him enter the palace like that?”

When it came to the Emperor’s people, even speaking carelessly about the Muhwas was grounds for reprimand.

“Wouldn’t it be better to register him with a welfare center and give him some funds to help him stand on his own….”

Concealing someone’s status as Muhwa and sneaking them outside the palace walls would have been an unthinkable crime. Still, Director Yang merely twitched her eyebrows and did not scold the guard. That naive belief—that a pitiful Muhwa would survive just fine if sent outside the palace—would shatter on its own soon enough. Besides, Haryeon Sol’s appearance was enough to draw anyone’s pity.

That was precisely Director Yang’s job. To calculate the likelihood that the Emperor himself would become that “anyone.”

“Let’s wait and see. We don’t know His Majesty’s tastes yet, either.”

That was why she gave him the name Haryeon Sol. In Munjeong Palace, a place full of limits and troubles, she hoped he would endure steadily through all four seasons, like a pine tree.

“He doesn’t have much, but he seems positive, kind in the way he speaks….”

To keep him from drawing the attention of malicious Muhwa and being harassed for no reason, she assigned him to a small building tucked away in the farthest corner. That was the full extent of the kindness Director Yang could offer.

“If he puts on a bit of weight, he might be decent-looking. Even now, his face is kind of cute, isn’t it?”

At her words, the security guard tilted his head. Scratching above his thick eyebrows, he frowned. He tried to recall the face of the pitiful Muhwa he had just seen, but it did not go well. He could not remember his features, nor even his height or shoulder width.

It was a strange thing indeed. He clearly remembered just moments ago helping the man into the back seat of the van and, about to exchange a glance, thinking “ah” and awkwardly snapping to attention—yet he had already forgotten his face. It felt as though a ghost had brushed past his sleeve and vanished.

Leaving the repeatedly tilting guard behind, Director Yang slipped Haryeon Sol’s paperwork into a navy-blue file. Even so, she did not know that Haryeon Sol, who could not see an inch ahead of him, would become the most conspicuous Muhwa in the palace. Nor that, with that cute face, he would thoroughly turn the Emperor’s insides upside down.

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Haryeon Sol’s entry into the palace was carried out with eerie quiet.

There were already so many Muhwa staying in Munjeong Palace that no one welcomed the news of one more arriving. Those who had long since secured their own detached quarters and warmed their seats there glared with open hostility. It was said the new Muhwa could not see because of flowering sickness, which alone seemed enough to provoke the Emperor’s sympathy. However, the wary Muhwa who gathered in small groups lost their steam the moment they saw Haryeon Sol’s state and turned away.

There was not a shred of elegance to be found in him, wearing a Haetae mascot T-shirt inside out. His habit of feeling along the stone wall with his palm as he moved was not threatening in the least. Many eyes peeked at him over the wall, but no one spoke to him. There was not even a perceived need to assess his character or exchange names.

Haryeon Sol was a man with a faint impression, an unremarkable manner, and a face that did not linger in memory.

Even his simple, straightforward name, “Sol,” was quickly forgotten. Those who had gone to check on him returned muttering, “Who was that again?”

His name did come up once at a tea gathering held in a pavilion, arranged under the Emperor’s grace. The Emperor himself was not present, only hungry Muhwa, but perhaps because of that, the atmosphere was lively and chatty. Seated around low tables, the Muhwa exchanged everything from superficial greetings to private thoughts. Yet when the question arose, “What kind of person is the new Muhwa?” everyone who had seen him tilted their heads.

“He’s just… ordinary.”

The most curious among them, a twenty-year-old Muhwa, answered. At her muttered assessment, spoken with her index finger resting beneath her chin, the man seated at the center of the lined tables leaned forward. The nearby Muhwa straightened as well. As the drooping leaves of a tall weeping willow swayed, patches of pale sunlight repeatedly mottled and cleared his cheek. Stretching his white neck toward the young Muhwa, he asked,
“That’s it?”

“Ah….”

Startled yet pleased by the sudden attention, the young Muhwa opened her mouth wide. But no matter how hard she searched her memory, there was nothing suitable to say.

“…”

Silence followed. The man quickly grew bored and rinsed his lips with tea. As if to speak in his stead, the nearby Muhwa pressed her with further questions.

“They say he can’t see. Is he tall? Slim? What exactly does he look like?”

“I don’t know.”

Frowning at the barrage of questions, the young Muhwa creased the space between her brows and let out a small groan.

“He just looks… ordinary, I think. There’s nothing distinctive. I can’t really remember.”

“What? You said you just saw him.”

“Yes. But still… I can’t remember.”

The Muhwas quickly lost interest. The topic moved away from Haryeon Sol just as swiftly, until no one was curious about him at all.

“If he got flowering sickness on the day of the coronation, then he wouldn’t have seen His Majesty’s face. That is a bit pitiful.”

That brief sympathy was the last he received. At someone’s light joke, the Muhwas laughed in unison. Among them, only the man holding his teacup let out a long breath through his nose, like a sigh.

Soon, the Muhwas each took out their phones from within their Jeogori and Durumagi. Sitting shoulder to shoulder, they busied themselves sharing photos of the Emperor from online articles and news channels.

Members of the Korean Imperial Household were always striking, but the seventh Emperor drew especially intense attention because his appearance was beautiful to an excessive degree. Even his name, Yirim Beom, was unforgettable to anyone who met his gaze. His eyes were truly tiger-like.

Had he not been Emperor, he looked as though he could have become an actor, with shoulders that already made one anticipate the spectacle of a first-pitch ceremony, and a height and build that surpassed even the bodyguards he kept at his side. It was hard to fathom how he had managed to hide his identity and live quietly for all twenty-seven years of his life.

There was no way that such a young and beautiful Emperor could come to favor a weak Muhwa with nothing remarkable about him except for his blindness. To the other Muhwa, Haryeon Sol was like a single tree tucked away in one corner of Munjeong Palace—no more than that in presence or significance.

TL’s Note:
Jeogori is the top of the hanbok that women/men usually wear, like the green one in this photo.

And Durumagi is also the top of the hanbok, but it’s longer than the jeogori. It is usually worn on top of a jeogori as an overcoat/outer robe.