“But then, why did you even bring up the story about Go stones?”
Daegyeongseung didn’t bother to look at Sahyeon anymore. She just replied curtly.
“Most people give up and come in by that point.”
So it had been bait. A classic slave-fishing tactic from the Department of Records.
“I don’t even know how to play such a leisurely game like Go.”
And yet, what was he doing now—placing stones skillfully on the board?
“Then what is it you’re doing right now?”
“Abacus.”
“Aba…”
So even while talking to Sahyeon, had she been doing mental calculations the entire time? She might not have even heard a word he said. Who on earth is this woman?
Sahyeon buried his face in his hands and rubbed it dry. If he didn’t calm himself down, he was going to flip the damn Go board over.
–Clack!
Especially that maddening sound—if it kept going, he was going to lose his mind.
“Well, I do sometimes play Omok.”
Daegyeongseung continued, toying with another stone in her hand. She glanced at Sahyeon’s displeased face and clicked her tongue.
“I’m no Go expert, but I’ve heard it’s a game where you build fences to drive out the opponent inside. The longer the opponent holds their ground, the bigger the fence you’ll need to build. And there are just so many possible moves. It’s not a game for the impatient.”
Sahyeon lowered his hands and started listening more closely. Something in Daegyeongseung’s words felt like she was trying to offer payment for all the annoying errands she’d made him run.
“But Omok is simple. Whoever lines up the stones first, wins.”
–Clack!
The Go stone—or rather, the abacus bead—landed neatly on the board.
“Even a beginner can pick it up easily…”
Daegyeongseung slowly lifted her head. Her brows still furrowed, she fixed her gaze on Sahyeon.
“If they’re lucky, they might even win.”
***
“Haha, surprised, weren’t you? My mother’s always like that. I’ve lived with her for thirty years and still can’t always keep up.”
Beom Heeryang had followed Sahyeon out of the Department of Records to console him.
Of course, Sahyeon had been furious when he realized that all that torment in the archives had just been a way for Daegyeongseung to test his suitability as a department worker.
Not to mention how poorly he’d been treated.
But their final conversation had sent chills down his arms—useful ones.
Daegyeongseung had hinted at a possibility for Sahyeon—someone who had come into the palace late and had neither a solid faction behind him nor a way to infiltrate one that was already well established.
Don’t try to insert yourself into an old game of Go, where the board is already full of houses built long ago.
Start a new game.
Not one that required maneuvering with an army of pieces, but one where—by using just a few stones—you could block your opponent’s path and carve your own way to victory.
Had anyone else said this, it would’ve sounded like dreamy nonsense.
But it was Daegyeongseung.
Born into a poor farming family without even a surname, her name Heegang (meaning “rice bran”) had been her parents’ way of telling her to accept a worthless, insignificant life.
But she had refused. She’d left home and joined a noble household as a servant. While the children of the family studied, she’d peek at their lessons and learn in secret.
When her talent was discovered, they tossed her books to do their homework—and she studied them through the night.
One day, while finishing homework by firelight, she singed the edge of a bamboo scroll by accident. The children, suddenly worried, claimed they’d never given her the book.
As punishment for “stealing and ruining” a rare book, she was beaten so severely that her head bled in the courtyard.
It was then that General Beom Yeo, visiting a friend nearby, happened to witness the scene and stepped in.
A famous tale.
Within three years under the General’s sponsorship, she was recommended by seven scholars and entered Jeonghan Palace.
She overcame the whispers about her low birth and eventually gained the trust of the notoriously particular king.
When she married the General’s son, people even pitied her, saying she was repaying a debt by marrying someone “not quite right.”
For someone who’d risen from the bottom and managed public opinion that skillfully, she had to be more than just intelligent.
Yes, she had the support of the Beom family—but she’d held a pivotal post in Jeonghan Palace without ever once being impeached. That level of finesse and discernment couldn’t be faked.
So no matter how insignificant a newcomer like Sahyeon might seem, if Daegyeongseung had said those words, she had meant them.
Whom was she supporting?
That remained unclear.
But one thing was certain: she wasn’t pleased with the current succession plans.
So then—who did she believe was the “minimum talent” needed to start her version of Omok?
Was her son, Beom Heeryang, one of them?
Sahyeon turned sharply and stared up at him. Beom Heeryang blinked, a bit startled—then gave a bashful grin.
“Well, it seems my mother was quite taken with you. She doesn’t usually go that far, you know.”
“Go that far… what do you mean?”
Beom Heeryang furrowed his brows and mimicked his mother’s intense stare.
When Daegyeongseung had done it, it had felt purely intimidating—but perhaps because of his naturally sharp features, Heeryang just looked mildly scary doing it.
“I thought she was staring like that because she didn’t like me…”
“Haha, it’s just that her eyesight is terrible. She has to squint like that to see anything. She spends all day in that dark place with nothing but books, so…”
…Wait. She looked at him like that just because she couldn’t see?
“If she’s not interested in something, she won’t even lift her head. If it’s not something she’s obsessed with, she won’t hold onto it. One time she forgot how to tie her hair and just stared blankly at the ribbon—I thought she was possessed or something…”
…It seemed he had a lot bottled up. Or maybe… was she really just someone who was extremely capable—but only in a narrow field?
Sahyeon’s trust in Daegyeongseung’s final advice was wavering, just a little.
Still—he chose to believe. He didn’t have any other option anyway.
***
Daegyeongseung must have her own plans drawn up.
On the ride back to Ungyeong Palace, Sahyeon mulled over their conversation again and again.
Assuming Beom Heeryang was one of the players, then his close friend Dan Ijae would likely be involved as well.
Which meant… 2nd Princess Danyun? Not many royal children had ever earned the king’s true favor…
Or maybe Dan Ye?
But in that case, Heeryang could end up getting tangled in something dangerous. Surely she wouldn’t use her son like that…
It had been fortunate, then, to run into Beom Heeryang before going to meet Dan Ye.
By now, rumors must be spreading through the palace: “Commander Beom Heeryang personally escorted Baek Sahyeon to Daegyeongseung.”
He should start with Lord Taejeonggong Dan Gyeong, who was probably the most on edge right now…
The sun had long since slipped behind the horizon, and the world had grown dusky. Sahyeon dismounted in front of Ungyeong Palace.
Even under the deep navy sky, the white horse shimmered faintly as it turned to him. Its black eyes caught the lamplight and flickered reddish.
He instinctively reached out and stroked its cheek.
“Well, I understand why you’re sweet to your master, but why are you so gentle with me?”
Was it because Dan Ijae had handed it over himself?
Or maybe it had simply grown well and forgotten the trauma of its early days?
He hoped it was the latter.
I wish I could forget.
I just wish I could forget everything and feel at peace.
After dropping the horse off at the stables, he entered Ungyeong Palace. The torches flickered violently in the blade-like wind that swept through the palace every night.
It must’ve been around dinnertime. As he followed the torch-lit path at a slow pace, his steps suddenly felt weighed down, as if heavy stones had been tied to his feet.
Frozen in the middle of the path, Sahyeon stood still and silently watched the palace officials hurrying about, preparing for the bitter winter night.
Maybe it was because the tension of dealing with difficult people all day had finally worn off. A deep fatigue washed over him, numbing even his mind.
Should I just call it a day and go home?
If I meet Taejeong-gong like this and accidentally slip up, it’ll only make things worse.
—Pyaaak!
A familiar cry from a bird of prey circled above his head. With dull eyes, Sahyeon glanced up at the sky.
As if checking whether the person below was truly Sahyeon, the white hawk circled several times before spreading its wings wide and landing.
—Pyaaak!
“Out hunting again, are you?”
—Pyaak, aaak!
“Sigh… I really have no idea what you’re trying to say today.”
—Pyaaaak!
“Shh, go wait at Gamcheondang. Yu Baek-hoo might come after you again.”
—Pyeak-pyeak, pya-pyeak!
The bird flapped its wings noisily and took off—right up to Sahyeon’s eye level.
“Pfft, what on earth are you—?”
Dust, feathers, and who-knows-what else flew into Sahyeon’s face, making it impossible to keep his eyes open.
—Pyaak, pyeak!
“Alright, alright! Damn it—what do you want?!”
—Pyaa!
The hawk finally turned its body, as if saying, Follow me.
Sahyeon sighed deeply, peeling a stuck feather off his lip. He pressed a hand to his forehead. A faint heat lingered on his skin.
He always got a mild fever on days like this—when mental exhaustion took over.
It wasn’t anything a good night’s sleep couldn’t cure, but every time it happened, Ogwang would start talking about a childhood friend who died of a fever, and spend the whole night switching out cold towels, trying to bring Sahyeon’s temperature down.
If memories of Ogwang are coming back like this… I guess I really do want to go home.
Not to the palace—to the inn. To where I belong.
—Pyaaak!
The white hawk’s sharp cry jolted him back to reality—as if yelling, Why aren’t you following me?!
“You sure chirp a lot. Maybe your name really should be Chirpy.”
—Pyeak!
“Alright, I get it. I’m coming. See? I’m moving, Chirpy.”
—Pya!
The hawk flew low, just barely above Sahyeon’s head, guiding the way like a watchful escort—as if worried he might stop again.
It was a path Sahyeon knew well.
The familiar way to Gamcheondang.