Drunk on the Scent of Peonies (1)
BANG! The thunderclap that shook the entire Law Palace made the dead cower and glance about nervously. They were already utterly crushed by the atmosphere of hell, far more terrifying than anything they had imagined, and when the judges — who until that moment had been processing their work with blank, mechanical indifference — flinched and began murmuring among themselves, the fear only swelled.
"What's put him in such a temper today?"
"Hard to say. The escaped convicts, most likely. I heard six of them slipped off to the mortal realm recently. He flew into such a rage he declared he'd hunt them down himself. They say he's laid traps along every passage leading to the mortal realm — if those fools have any sense, they won't still be loitering around there."
"Tsk. Fools, the lot of them. Even if they dodge the King's eyes for a little while, they can never fully slip free of the Master of Jungcheon's grasp in the end. I suppose they simply didn't know that a runaway who's caught has his punishment multiplied tenfold. Ignorance is boldness — a truth no age or nation has ever managed to refute."
One of the dead, ears pricked as she strained to follow the judges' conversation, sucked in a startled breath. Seon-ju had been utterly certain she was bound for rebirth — right up until the Scale of Judgment tipped sharply to the right and sent her down to Myeonggye instead. Grumbling inwardly at the injustice of it all, she had been quietly keeping an eye on the escape routes ever since. The constables patrolling every direction bore long, keen-edged weapons, and here and there fierce flames that seemed ready to melt flesh on contact rose from the ground — yet the moment she was out of this Law Palace, she felt certain, some way would open up.
Most of the dead had been so swallowed by dread before even passing through the Myeonggye Water Gate that they never managed to gather their wits, but Seon-ju was different. An insurance planner in life, her first impression upon arriving in Yeomna-guk was that hell was absurdly, stupidly vast. Buildings in a strange and ornate style stood crowded together in bewilderingly intricate arrangements, and it seemed impossible for any watching eye to reach every last corner.
If I just hide myself in one of those, no one will ever find me…. Yes — with this many souls around, one more or one less won't even be noticed. Besides, what could a small-time nobody like me have done that was so terrible? I only ever lived each day as hard as I could. In a dog-eat-dog world, if you're born with nothing in your hands and want to live comfortably, what choice is there but to climb up over other people? Did I ever beat anyone? Kill anyone? It was only ever a few words. All right — once or twice in a great while I may have invented things that never happened, but….
But…. if you're caught trying to escape, your punishment grows tenfold…. What do I do? I haven't really done anything all that wrong — wouldn't it be safer just to take my punishment with an easy mind? Chewing anxiously at her lips as the line before her dwindled, Seon-ju overheard the sentence handed down to one soul, recoiled in horror — and hardened her resolve to run.
"Gwen Sentieno. For four counts of fraud and two counts of false accusation, you are sentenced to sixty years. You will serve the full term in Tanhwa-ok. Be grateful for this merciful disposition, repent bitterly with those lips of yours for the sins they committed, and go."
Sixty years?! For a mere four counts of fraud and two of false accusation? As she tried to measure her own sins against that standard, Seon-ju's mind spun into frantic disarray. Wrongs she had dismissed as nothing — wrongs she had never even bothered to commit to memory — began surfacing one after another.
By that reckoning, just counting what comes to mind off the top of my head, I'm looking at a good two hundred years, minimum? She swallowed drily, then slipped quietly out of line, sought out the constable with the least menacing face among all the hard-bitten guards, and edged toward him with elaborate care.
"Excuse me… what exactly is Tanhwa-ok?"
"A hell where you swallow fire every day. Your lips, your tongue, your throat all burn away to ash, and the next day you're given fresh fire to swallow. It's once a day and no other labor besides, so of the hells, it's one of the easier ones to endure."
The constable's curt answer drained every drop of color from Seon-ju's face. Staggering back a step, she could not contain her shock. Impossible. No one can rot away for centuries like that. Her panicked eyes darted this way and that — and then she spotted it: two constables standing side by side, each looking off in a different direction. Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Now. If not now, there will be no chance. With no time to weigh anything, Seon-ju bolted for the gap — and the instant her eyes locked with the figure who stepped into her path, she froze solid as ice.
"And what, pray, might this be — a rat with scarcely a whisper of fear in her?"
A tall, strikingly handsome young man was peering down at her, head cocked at an insolent angle. Though he had not raised his voice, the moment his lips parted, the murmuring Law Palace fell silent as though doused with cold water.
Ah… so this is that King of theirs. The one who flew into a rage over the escaped convicts…. No one had told her, but Seon-ju knew instinctively that the man standing before her was the most powerful being in this entire domain.
"Chief Judge."
"Yes, Lord Yeomma."
With a single flick of his hand, Hayul summoned down the white-haired chief judge seated at the head of the hall, then regarded Seon-ju — caught red-handed before she had managed even a few steps — with unmitigated contempt. On any other day, he might have amused himself wagering with his attendants over whether a witless newly arrived soul could actually make it out of the Law Palace alive, smirking as he watched the whole affair unfold. Unfortunately, today Hayul's mood was foul beyond all measure.
"Deal with her as the regulations dictate."
"Yes, my lord."
The instant the short command left his lips, Hayul was gone like the wind, his crimson robes streaming behind him. Seon-ju, staring blankly after that retreating figure, felt the color slowly drain from her face into a deathly gray. As the regulations dictate…? Her reasonably clever mind grasped at once what his order meant.
— didn't know that a runaway who's caught has his punishment multiplied tenfold….
The strength left her limbs in a rush. Seon-ju collapsed where she stood, hollow-eyed — and then began to tremble like an aspen in the wind. Not a single soul offered her a hand of sympathy.
Hayul crossed the Law Palace in a black temper and swept into his private chamber, tearing off his robes and flinging them brutally to the floor. He had suppressed the heat rising to his own face and staged that shameless, impudent ambush for the sake of meeting Gaon at leisure, somewhere with no eyes upon them — and the insolent gaze of the green whelp the woman he had yearned for, waking and sleeping, had brought along in tow had raked mercilessly across nerves that were already raw.
It was a face he had never seen before, but even a blind man could have told that Ji-won's heart was turned toward Gaon. Males of any kind, man or beast, bared their teeth the moment their territory was trespassed upon — and Ji-won, just as Hayul himself once had, had marked him as an enemy the instant their eyes met.
Do you have any idea whose eyes have rested upon this woman? Nine hundred years and more I have endured and waited — and a whelp who has not lived even thirty deigns to…. Grinding his molars, Hayul drove his clenched fist into the wall, and a thunderclap boomed through all of Myeonggye, loud enough to deafen the entire realm a second time.
"My lord—"
"None may enter."
He answered his attendant's worried call in a voice cold as frost, then opened the floor of his chamber and flung himself down into the fathomless dark. Sweeping past hell after hell beyond all counting, falling and falling, it took a full two hours before Hayul at last touched the bottom.
The Abyss — Mujeogaeng. Not a mote of light, not even the smallest sound — a space of perfect nothingness. Set down within it, Hayul began to walk, step by steady step, through the crushing dark. When at last a faint glow appeared in the distance, the violent excitement that had stood every hair on end at last subsided, and calm returned to him.
Two white hanging scrolls floated gently in the heart of that absolute darkness, where no wall could be told apart from the floor. They were identical in size and shape, but their states were markedly different. Hayul gazed levelly at the one bound fast with sturdy cords, then reached for the other — and the loosely wrapped scroll slid silently open of its own accord. Painted within it, unbelievably, was Gaon's portrait.
Unfurling the scroll with care, Hayul gazed for a long while at Gaon's lovely face — no different from how it looked even now — and a rare, gentle smile touched his lips. Even after nearly a thousand years, the moment he first laid eyes on her face remained vivid and bright as yesterday.
Hayul had returned from his usual leisurely rounds of the Law Palace to find Chae-i perched atop his desk, swinging her legs, and clicked his tongue. To think the august Supreme Heavenly Emperor would carry on in such an unseemly fashion…. Her skirt hiked up without her even noticing. Honestly, she ought to be ashamed to let herself be seen. He was shaking his head when she tossed a scroll his way, and he caught it out of pure reflex.
"What's this?"
"The last candidate. A twenty-two-year-old girl, this time."
"Twenty-two? Isn't that far too young? What judgment could she possibly possess at that age? I expect nothing great from humans who cannot live out a mere century, but even so, one who would serve as Master of Jungcheon ought to be past forty at the very least—"
"Just look."
Nudged along by Chae-i, Hayul unrolled the scroll with a reluctant hand — and his mouth hardened into a rigid line. Then he glared up at her, eyes flashing.
"Well? How is she?"
"…What is with this sudden formality?"
"King Yeomma, Hayul."
The moment Chae-i's tone, playful from start to finish, turned solemn and stately, an oppressive gravity that could make even the King of Hell himself tense filled the air, stretched taut around them.
"I have no use for such titles. I merely select, whenever the time comes, the most impartial among those young and foolish children. I have shown you three candidates; this time, the choice is yours to make. Do you wish to raise that child as Master of Jungcheon?"
Not once had he ever regretted the choice he made that day. Brushing his fingertips softly over the knot of the tightly sealed scroll, Hayul murmured in a languid voice, like a man reciting an incantation.
"Yes. There is little time left now. Only two more. And then, this time at last, she will be mine."
Tossing his head back with grim resolve, Hayul sent the scroll floating up into the air once more, then walked slowly back the way he had come. In the Abyss, where every trace of the brief commotion had been erased, only the two abandoned scrolls remained, giving off a faint, quiet glow.
"Oh, and, Director? Since we're on the subject…. I was going over the exhibition proposal, and the placement of my paintings this time is a little… well, less than ideal."
Ji-won, thinking so it has finally come, put on his most sociable smile. So that's what this visit was for. I was wondering when you'd get around to it. From the moment the young painter — always brimming with a confidence that had no discernible source — had stepped into the gallery wearing the face of a man primed for battle, Ji-won had seen the purpose of this visit coming from a mile away.
If you came here to complain, say your piece quickly and be on your way — why on earth would you spend thirty minutes rambling about cars? Truthfully, Ji-won was in no state to be lavishing generosity on anyone, but he resolved to hear out a little of the thoughtless brat's grievances all the same. He was hardly the sort to fear the authorities, but practically speaking, it was difficult to slight, to his face, a silver-spooned young man whose father was a former minister of culture turned sitting member of the National Assembly.