Long ago there lived a Crown Prince named Yi Ho. He rode well, fenced superbly, knew all the laws and rites of Confucius, was excellently educated, and unfailingly courteous. The people loved him, and the king and ministers favored him. All expected that, when he ascended the throne, an era of peace and prosperity would come to Joseon.

  It was said that once the Crown Prince saw a maid fall into a pond and hurried to her aid himself, leaping into the water in his costly robes. He could have ordered eunuchs or guards to save her, but chose to act on his own.

  It was also said that the Crown Prince sometimes disguised himself and walked among his people, listening to their talk, tasting their food, and punishing injustice. Once he learned that a city magistrate was cheating the townsfolk and levying excessive taxes. The Crown Prince removed the magistrate and, in an unheard-of act, returned the surplus grain to the people.

  Another time, it was said, he helped two lovers who lived in different villages and could not meet. He provided money for matchmakers, a wedding chest Ham, arranged their marriage, and gifted them a small house with a wide yard and a stone fence.

  Also, the Crown Prince Yi Ho dreamed of reforms that would curb corruption and bring well-being to the people. He often met with scholars and discussed at length how to ease the burdens of his subjects.

  The prince himself was unmarried, though not for lack of willing brides. It was said that any woman would gladly marry him, but he patiently waited for permission to choose a wife from his mother, the queen.

  The queen, however, was not his birth mother. His true mother, the previous queen, had died in childbirth, and Yi Ho was adopted by the king’s third consort. A few years later she was raised to the rank of queen.

  That queen had a son of her own. For that reason, it was said, she alone in all of Joseon secretly hated the Crown Prince. Whatever he did, whatever means he tried to win her favor, all was in vain!

  Each morning, as befitted a filial son, Yi Ho came to his adoptive mother’s chambers to greet her. The queen would make him wait a long time, especially in wintertime or rainy weather.

  At court receptions, the queen was gracious to the king, his father, but rarely even glanced at the Crown Prince. She criticized his manners, his voice, even his handwriting, though his tutors consistently praised his achievements.

  Once Yi Ho heard that the queen missed music. He procured songbirds — in the depths of winter! — and sent her a cage. She ordered the door opened at once and the birds driven into the garden. They died, and the Crown Prince was distressed that he had failed to touch his mother’s heart.

  Another time, the prince learned that the queen favored sweets with osmanthus. He gave the order to the kitchens, the finest delicacies were prepared, and he brought them to the queen. However, she commanded that the sweets be thrown to the dogs, and again the Crown Prince grieved because he was unable to humor his mother.

  Another time, Yi Ho found a precious vase by the finest craftsman of Ming. People admired it and praised its elegance. Hoping the gift would please his mother, he presented it to the queen. She handed it to a maid and ordered it used as a chamber pot. The Crown Prince was inconsolable.

  But one day Yi Ho sent the queen a rare tea, harvested unblown before the first dew. The queen replied that such a rarity should be shared and summoned the Crown Prince to the Peony Gallery. The tables were laid for them, a maid brought water, and at last the queen smiled. She brewed the tea herself and poured it into the waiting cup.

  The Crown Prince rejoiced, believing her heart had softened, that she was ready to accept him as her son.

  But after that tea, the Crown Prince fell ill with fever and died three days later. People whispered that the queen had poisoned the tea, but an official investigation cleared her. Her own son became Crown Prince and later king.

  It was also said that thereafter ghosts started haunting the queen. She could not eat, could not sleep, heard voices everywhere. At last she moved to Changdeokgung Palace, leaving the court.

  To this day, in the Peony Gallery, one may hear lamentations, angry cries, the clash of weapons; sometimes someone is pushed from behind or has a hat knocked off. To sum it up, few servants now go there at night.

  ***

  Contrary to common belief, spirits did not appear only at night.

  Chief State Councilor Kim knew that they were always present among the living: listening, watching, sometimes trying to speak or touch. In the city there were more of them, in the palace — fewer.

  The councilor himself could not see spirits, but his aunt and his granddaughter told him that these half-transparent beings were real. With certain conditions met, even one without the gift could contact them. That was not the difficulty. The greater difficulty was persuading a dead soul to do something for the living.

  After all, what did the dead desire?

  They felt no cold, no fear, no greed. They could not be bribed with silver or tempted with power. Some sought vengeance for their demise, but were so consumed by their suffering that they could give nothing in return. And how could one avenge, for example, a man who slipped on a bridge fifty years ago?

  Thus spirits seemed to the councilor no more than curiosities, fodder for frightening tales and moral stories.

  Yet of late he found himself returning again and again to thoughts of one particular spirit.

  Councilor Kim started making discreet inquiries, even met in disguise with several gifted individuals, and finally resolved to attempt it. Being cautious, he conducted the first two trials on slaves. Only after confirming their safety and reversibility did he proceed.

  The shaman arrived at Gyeongbokgung early in the morning, mingling with a colorful crowd of performers and musicians. She was met by the councilor’s aide and led to a prepared pavilion in the South Wing, unused for two decades. The Peony Gallery lay nearby.

  When the woman arranged her tools and prepared the ritual, Chief State Councilor Kim joined her and strictly forbade the guards to admit anyone else in the pavilion.

  “I am not certain it will work,” the shaman repeated for another time, nervously glancing around. She had said the same every time before. “The air here is different. I sense tension and barriers.”

  This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

  “You must make it work,” Councilor Kim seated himself and smoothed his gray beard. “Begin.”

  The woman clicked her tongue three times in disapproval, but then took up her rattle and began leaping about the room, colorful skirts flashing, chanting and crying out unintelligibly. The councilor waited patiently. Previous times, spirits had not come at once, and when they did they were acting strangely for a while.

  But this time everything went differently. The shaman had barely completed a second room circling when her eyes rolled back and she fell to all fours, as though struck from behind.

  “Who has spoken my name?” she snarled. “Who dared?”

  “This humble servant greets the Crown Prince,” Councilor Kim replied, not yet bowing or assuming a respectful position. First he had to be certain it was truly a spirit, and not the pretending shaman. And, if it was a spirit — that it was the one he sought.

  The shaman straightened, folded her arms, and turned her white eyes toward him.

  “Speak.”

  “This humble servant grieves the untimely death of the Crown Prince.” For many spirits, their death was an unhealed wound, and the councilor decided to begin with the most hurtful point. “A hundred years have passed, and Joseon has not recovered from this loss yet.”

  “You remember me after a hundred years?” the shaman asked in a strange, low voice. “Why did you wish to talk to me?”

  “I came to beg for aid, O Crown Prince,” Councilor Kim finally bent his back. Maybe the spirit was indeed real. “I know no other who could help the country in this troubled time.”

  The shaman laughed slowly, unpleasantly, each sound separated by a pause. The rattle clinked dully.

  “I seek no personal gain,” the Councilor Kim assured him, adding a few words in Chinese as a test. “Nor do I seek to preserve my life at the expense of virtue.”

  “The resolute and virtuous man does not seek to preserve life at the expense of virtue; he is ready to sacrifice life to fulfill virtue,” the spirit's voice softened. His Chinese was flawless as his mastery of Confucius. Now the councilor Kim was sure he was not speaking to an unlearned shaman. “I was virtuous. But what became of my life?”

  “This humble servant cannot restore life to a virtuous prince,” Councilor Kim lamented and assumed a respectful posture. “But I can offer him several days in a living body.”

  “It is forbidden by the law of Heaven,” the painted face of the shaman frowned. “Why do you tempt me, living one?”

  “I would not have dared to propose this if I knew of another way to save the country from destruction,” the adviser exclaimed, skillfully feigning despair. “Allow me to present my petition to you, O virtuous Crown Prince Li Ho!”

  “Speak,” he said after a long silence, and Councilor Kim began his account.

  “The king who now rules Joseon is at death’s door,” he began. A foe might have accused him of treason for such words, but Councilor Kim knew he harbored no evil intent and was confident in himself. “There is no doubt that he will die within the coming year. He has two sons, an elder and a younger, and either could ascend the throne. But Joseon now pays tribute to the northern barbarians and depends on them. This is a great sorrow and a disgrace to us all. Even the crown prince is chosen not by the king, but by the Emperor of Great Qing!”

  “My heart bleeds at your words, though I already know this,” the spirit declared through the shaman. “I saw the barbarians enter the palace many years ago and remember the people’s groans.”

  “Then you must also know that this time the choice lies in the hands of a specially dispatched envoy, O Crown Prince,” Councilor Kim stroked his beard and sighed. “But he left the capital without granting the edict to anyone, and only the younger prince set out to accompany him on his return.”

  “Then the appointment will go to the younger prince,” the spirit’s voice remained even, almost cool. He himself had once been killed to make way for a younger brother. “Why does this concern you, living one?”

  “I could appeal to justice and the established order of things,” Councilor Kim shook his head. “The elder before the younger, the man before the woman. But the noble man seeks harmony, not uniformity.”

  “And what is it that displeases you about the younger prince, living one?” the spirit asked again.

  “He is Joseon by blood, but not by spirit,” Councilor Kim tugged irritably at his beard and nearly tore it out. He had to lower his hands to his knees. “He has spent his entire life among the barbarians. They raised him and taught him obedience and loyalty to them, not to the country! He is not a prince, but a Manchu dog!”

  “Then why should the elder prince be better?” The shaman clasped her hands behind her back, lifted her chin, and Councilor Kim could almost see before him the bearing of the ancient crown prince. “You wish him to be chosen?”

  “Yi Yun honors his father, loves the people, and cares for the subjects,” Councilor Kim said firmly. “When I look at him, I think that this must be how the virtuous Prince Li Ho was in life. But…”

  “What is his flaw?” mockery entered the spirit’s voice.

  “He is too modest,” the councilor snorted. “He does not wish to cross his younger brother’s path and refuses to see how the latter exploits his kindness and favor. A blind fool! I have tried to admonish him, but Yi Yun is too stubborn in what he considers virtue, and therefore does not see what his obstinacy may bring upon the country!”

  “The ruler is the Pole Star to the people,” the spirit again quoted Confucius. “If a foreigner becomes ruler, the state will fall apart. The young will cease to honor the old, and flaws will be called virtues.”

  “What a relief to meet one who understands!” This time Councilor Kim spoke quite sincerely. “I beg for help because my own strength is not enough to change matters for the better.”

  “I sympathize with you, living one, but I died many years ago. At most, I can drop a leaf into a pond or snuff out a candle,” the spirit sighed. “It is grievous to watch how a great dynasty will end.”

  “I know of one way, though I do not know whether you will agree,” Councilor Kim chewed his lip. For the spirit to become his true ally, he had to desire it himself.

  “What way?” the spirit asked with interest. The possessed shaman stepped toward him.

  “If a person is plunged into sleep and a certain ritual is performed, a spirit may take possession of his body,” Councilor Kim lowered his voice involuntarily. Such words could have cost him his head. “If the elder prince were to receive the title of heir, he could become the Pole Star for the people. He only needs a small push, help in revealing himself…”

  “The servants will notice the deception.” The fact that the spirit did not refuse at once was a good sign.

  “The noble man understands what is right; the petty man understands what is profitable,” Councilor Kim switched to Chinese again. “His eunuch dreams of becoming Chief Eunuch. For that, the elder prince must become heir and in time ascend the throne. Eunuch Mo is ready to perform the ritual and support the spirit within the prince’s body for as long as necessary.”

  “What will happen when he awakens?” The shaman began pacing the room anxiously. “Will he know what occurred? If he is deemed mad…”

  “The servants on whom I tested this ritual remembered everything that happened to them,” the councilor found himself liking this spirit more and more. Even a hundred years later, the crown prince had lost neither sharpness of mind nor care for the country. “They said it was as though they were beneath deep water or bound: they saw everything, but could not intervene.”

  “Then he will be unable to refuse the consequences and will be forced to accept the title,” the spirit nodded. “But what of the younger prince? If he is a tame dog of the barbarians, they will surely wish to grant the title to him.”

  “I will prepare several… situations to present him as incapable,” Councilor Kim smiled. “The elder prince is known for his martial skill. If he protects the envoy during an attack, the envoy will surely be grateful. That should not be difficult, should it?”

  “I was once considered an unsurpassed swordsman,” the shaman bared her uneven yellow teeth. “What else must he know? Any habits?”

  “I have gathered all observations, names, and essential facts in this scroll,” Councilor Kim produced the document prepared in advance from his sleeve. “Does this mean that the Crown Prince is ready to help his modest descendant obtain the title?”

  The shaman sighed heavily and paced the room once more.

  “To see what is right and not do it is to lack courage,” she said, then turned to the councilor, fixing him again with her rolled-back white eyes. “I will help you, living one. The elder prince will receive the title, and we shall save Joseon.”

  Chief State Councilor Kim bowed low before the painted woman in her bright garments.