The Uncle Who Never Was

"So? How'd it go?"

The moment Hayun returned, the prisoners pressed their faces against the bars all at once. The single burning question in this place was whether Hayun would be punished or not.

"Haaah…"

Instead of answering, Hayun collapsed against the wall in a heap.

The prisoners, curiosity piqued, crowded even closer.

"What? Didn't go well? Why all the sighing?"

"Well… the slave charge went through without a hitch."

"It went through? Then what—"

"Now they've come up with some other charge instead."

"Another charge? What on earth did you do this time?"

Hayun paused for a moment before speaking.

"Something about impersonating a noble family, apparently…"

"What? Family impersonation?"

The words had barely left Hayun's mouth before the entire cell erupted.

In an age when one's status was everything, falsely claiming a family name was a crime among crimes—a capital offense through and through.

With no way whatsoever to prove her own identity, Hayun was, for all practical purposes, no different from a common slave. And for a slave to impersonate a noble house? This would end with no mere caning.

At best, she would take a hundred lashes before being exiled to a remote island. At worst, she could lose her head in the public square without a soul raising an objection. It was that serious.

The prisoners asked anxiously, "Heh heh, how in the world did things come to this…?"

"They simply asked for my family origin, so I told them. That's all."

"Your family origin? Why? Where is it, then?"

Hounded by the questions, Hayun named her clan once more.

"…Jeonju Im."

"Jeonju Im?"

The cell erupted all over again.

Jeonju Im clan might not have been yangban aristocracy, but in these times they wielded influence nearly equal to it. How else could such a saying exist: "The royal treasury may run dry, but the granaries of the Jeonju Im never will."

The moment the prisoners learned Hayun bore such a famous name, their manner of speech turned deferential on the spot.

"You're really… er, really of the Jeonju Im clan, then?"

"Yes. I am. For certain."

"Hm. Well, if she gave her true family origin, it's not really impersonation…"

The prisoners' eyes shifted and wavered, doubt and bewilderment and confusion all tangled together.

A lady of Jeonju Im, selling gukbowl at a tavern?

In that state, no less?

Tch. I wouldn't believe it either.

Even if Hayun's claim was true, one hurdle still remained. If she were a close cousin of that person, the whole matter would be smoothed over as if nothing had happened—but if she were a distant relative, or merely someone who shared the surname, he would have no reason to lift a finger for her.

Hayun's fate hung entirely on just how close she was to that man.

The prisoners, knowing this full well, offered what comfort they could.

"It'll work out. Probably all of it will. So don't fret too much."

"Just the words alone are a comfort, thank you."

One way or another, though, the water was already spilled. All Hayun could do was wait, heart in her throat, for the day that was coming.

A few days later—

"Come out this way."

"…!"

At the jailer's words, Hayun felt her heart plunge. After days locked in a cell, she'd started to half-believe she really was a criminal.

Is today… the day they decide?

With trembling steps, she followed the jailer.

Unlike the pitch-dark interrogation room she had visited before, the place she was led to this time stood in bright, open daylight.

"Hup…!"

It was the gongcheong—the public court hall of the government office—and it was packed with constables and a mass of onlookers besides.

Who are all these people…?

Hayun lifted her head toward the seats of honor. There stood Choe Hyang-seo the chief clerk, the magistrate Kim Seo-gon, and one more—a middle-aged man in a splendid silk robe, his whole bearing radiating quiet authority.

The moment Hayun appeared, Choe Hyang-seo called out in a voice pitched high with excitement.

"This is her, Your Honor! This woman is a slave who impersonated the Jeonju Im clan!"

"Hm."

The magistrate studied Hayun for a moment, then turned his gaze toward the middle-aged man beside him. The man seemed to have little interest in the proceedings at all.

"What do you say? Does she seem the one?"

"Hard to say. I'll need a closer look."

"Is that so?"

Even the magistrate, it appeared, could not treat the man carelessly; his posture remained deference itself.

"Prisoner, raise your head."

At the magistrate's command, Hayun slowly lifted her face—and her eyes met those of the man in the silk robe.

A jolt!

The instant their gazes locked, only one thought flashed through her mind.

…I'm done for.

She had anticipated as much. But face to face with him, she was certain.

That man is no ordinary person.

"…"

The middle-aged man said nothing. He simply gazed at her, calm and unhurried.

How long is he going to stare?

Those eyes seemed to see straight through her to the bottom of her soul, and Hayun understood instinctively:

It was all over.

What happens to me now? Do I get flogged? Or branded?

A dozen thoughts raced through her head in the space of a few breaths. With her slave status all but confirmed, a punishment to match would surely follow. She wanted to scream and weep and deny it all—but this was no place where such logic held any weight.

Her fate rested entirely in the hands of that one man.

If he said she had stolen from his household, her wrist would be cut off. If he said she had defamed his family, her face would be branded.

Gulp.

Hayun waited for his verdict with a heart like a tightly wound drum.

Then, at last, the middle-aged man spoke. And at his words, Hayun and everyone else in the hall froze in disbelief.

"She is one of our family."

"…I beg your pardon?"

Choe Hyang-seo looked at him as though he couldn't possibly have heard right.

"You mean that sincerely?"

"That child is my… niece."

"Your niece, you say?"

Choe Hyang-seo's eyes flooded with confusion.

"But that can't be—"

"Are you suggesting I am lying right now?"

"N-no, of course not, I only meant—"

That short-haired woman—a niece of that man?

The situation was so unbelievable that a hush fell over the courtroom. Then, suddenly, the middle-aged man turned to Hayun and addressed her.

"So this is where you've been. And here I heard you'd left home."

"…Pardon?"

"I hear you've lost your memory…"

"Ah—yes. I did lose my memory, that's true…"

Hayun was every bit as flustered as Choe Hyang-seo.

Who on earth IS this man?

She was grateful he was helping her—but a man who went this far to help surely had his reasons. She couldn't begin to guess his intent.

Still, Hayun was no fool; she knew better than to let go of a rope thrown to a drowning woman.

This is my chance! Whatever happens, I grab it!

To survive, she'd have to invent lies even where there were none. And so Hayun hurriedly began playing along with the man's rhythm.

"Your mother has been worried sick, you know. Days without you coming home."

"My… mother?"

Needless to say, no such mother of Hayun's existed. More to the point, Hayun was currently playing the amnesiac—it would hardly make sense for her mother's face to suddenly surface now.

Well—what am I supposed to do here?

As she stood there blankly, the middle-aged man cleared his throat and shot her a pointed look.

"Ahem. You don't remember your sister Ok-hui, then?"

"…!"

A moment later, the meaning dawned on her—and Hayun launched into the performance of her lifetime, one she would never give again.

"Oh! My mother! I remember, I remember! My mother—Kim Ok-hui!"

"Ahem. Not Kim Ok-hui. Im Ok-hui."

"Right! Im Ok-hui! My mother Im Ok-hui!"

"Heh heh. So your memory's finally come back, has it?"

At her performance, the middle-aged man nodded along, looking thoroughly satisfied.

"Uncle! I remember you too! Your name is… I still can't quite recall, but I remember your face!"

"There, there. Of course you do. After all I did raising you."

Despite having never met before this day, the two fell into perfect step. So seamless was it that even Hayun, mid-performance, half-wondered if he really was her uncle.

"Still, to have even this much come back—that's a mercy."

"Uncle! Where is my mother now?"

"Why, home safe and sound, of course. Even now she prays every day for nothing but your safe return."

"Mother! Mother! I missed you—sob, sob!"

At Hayun's desperate wailing for her long-lost mother, several of the constables began dabbing at their eyes.

"Hnngh. It's moving. So moving."

"Aigoo, the poor thing. Whatever possessed fate to put a young woman through such a calamity…"

"What is happening here… The tears are blinding me. I can't watch any longer."

"Tch. I'll have to pay my respects to her mother on my way home today."

Choe Hyang-seo watched the whole scene with a look of mounting panic.

"Th-this is—this is not—!"

He had painstakingly brought the man here as a precaution, and the precaution itself had become his undoing. Never in his wildest imagining had he thought Hayun might truly be the man's niece.

No! It can't be! There's no way! That wench who sold gukbowl at a tavern—his niece? Impossible!

A lie. It had to be a lie. Belatedly, Choe Hyang-seo grasped that truth—but alas, this was no place where such logic carried any weight. Everything now rested on the will of that one man.

A conspiracy! This is a conspiracy, it must be—!

But the middle-aged man's will was firmly set. He urged the officials to hurry and release Hayun.

"Well then, now that her identity is confirmed, I trust you'll release the child at once."

"Er… th-that is…"

Pressed by the man, Choe Hyang-seo hesitated—whereupon the magistrate beside him let out one pointed cough after another, visibly displeased.

"Ahem! Ahem!"

Only days before, Choe Hyang-seo had bragged loudly that this was his chance to curry favor with the Jeonju Im clan. The magistrate had built up no small expectation on the strength of that boasting—and the result had been the exact opposite. Choe Hyang-seo had, in effect, publicly humiliated him. In his heart of hearts, the magistrate wanted to take a cane to Choe Hyang-seo first and Hayun second.

"Th-this isn't how it was supposed to…"

As Choe Hyang-seo stood slack-jawed before his completely unraveled scheme, the middle-aged man urged him again.

"Sir Clerk. Do you intend to keep my niece bound like this indefinitely?"

"N-no, of course not. Heaven forbid."

"Aigoo! Tch!"

Unable to watch a moment longer, the magistrate finally issued the order himself.

"What are you all standing around for? Uncuff her, and be quick about it."

"Yes, Your Honor!"

With the man's help, the false charge stripped away at last, Hayun let out a long breath of relief.

"Whew. I'm alive."

She offered him her thanks.

"You saved my life. Thank you."

"It's been a hard road for you."

Up close, she could feel something from him that defied description. Refined yet wise. And bold beyond measure. It was the bearing of a true great man—something Hayun had never once encountered before.

"Here. Put this on."

"…!"

Draping his own robe over Hayun's gaunt, prison-worn frame, the man then turned to the magistrate.

"If the misunderstanding is cleared up, may we take our leave?"

"Of course—absolutely. I'm ashamed to have troubled a busy man over such a matter. My sincerest apologies."

"Trouble, nonsense. She's my own flesh and blood—of course I'd come running at full sprint."

"Please travel safely, sir."

As he saw Hayun free, the magistrate shot Choe Hyang-seo a glowering look. Thanks to the man's disgrace, the magistrate himself had been humiliated before the whole hall—there was no letting that pass.

"Clerk Choe. When this is over, stay behind. We'll speak privately."

"Aigoo. I'm finished. Finished…"

His legs giving out beneath him, Choe Hyang-seo crumpled to the floor. Hayun, meanwhile, now a free woman, strode proudly out the front gate of the government office.

Only once they were well clear of the office did Hayun deliver her thanks in earnest.

"Thank you for helping me. You saved my life."

At her words, the middle-aged man crinkled one eye and said:

"Family thanking family? We look after each other. Isn't that how it ought to be?"

"Er… yes. Of course. Absolutely."

Watching him carry the performance even now, Hayun couldn't hide her bewilderment. Then, abruptly, he tossed out a remark with real teeth to it.

"But next time you tell a lie, do it properly. The thirty-second-generation descendant of our household hasn't even been born yet."

"…!"

It was like being struck full force with a hammer. So he had known all along that every word out of her mouth was a fabrication.

And yet he helped me anyway?

Why? What had he seen in her? Her curiosity burned. Unable to hold back, Hayun asked.

"You knew I was lying. So why did you help me?"

At the question, the man looked at her steadily. She'd felt it before, but there was something in his gaze—something like the insight to see straight through things.

"Because I have an interest in you as raw timber, of course."

"?"

When Hayun could only wear a look of complete incomprehension, the man's lips curved into a meaningful smile.

"Life Tavern, was it? The place you renovated from the ground up?"

"How could you possibly—?"

He had already finished investigating her, it seemed—he knew everything there was to know.

"The rumors have spread all the way to Uiju. Do you imagine I wouldn't hear?"

With that, the man walked on ahead.

"Come—let me taste this famous gukbowl of yours. Just how extraordinary must this tavern be, for the stories to have traveled so far?"

Who is this man? How does he know everything?

Hayun stared after him for a moment, slack-jawed—then, realizing he was already far ahead, hurried to catch up.