Information

Yeon has a minion!

Auspicious the Aeon

Yeon
Legacy Name: Mugunghwa

The Glade Dragarth

Owner: SEOUL

Age: 9 years, 4 days

Born: April 20th, 2015

Adopted: 9 years, 4 days ago

Adopted: April 20th, 2015

Statistics

• Level: 1
   
• Strength: 10
   
• Defense: 10
   
• Speed: 10
   
• Health: 10
   
• HP: 10/10
   
• Intelligence: 0
   
• Books Read: 0
• Food Eaten: 0
• Job: Unemployed

It is a rare person that can pass the brutal gwageo exam to take their place among the honored officials of the government. My father has done so not once, but three times.

First he served as a Secretary to the Ministry of Justice, aiding those that shape the laws to keep our nation in harmony. He rose to Deputy Minister in the Ministry of Defense, allowing him to combine his love of peace with the brilliance of his strategic mind.

Now he works for the Office of Special Advisors, one of less than two dozen men entrusted to give advice to the king.

I have walked past the exam hall many times as I search the market for rice sacks or ink pots. I see the young men who wait by the Jade Pillars, their sun-kissed skin glistening with sweat. On rare occasion, I have seen a failed participant take the walk of shame. Their heads are always bowed as if they bear the weight of a great stone around their necks. There is no greater dishonor.

Today my brother Ijo takes his first exam. I have already lit candles to all the gods and the ancestors listed on our family spirit wall for good measure.

I once asked Father what the exams are like. He brushed back a strand of my silky black hair and offered me a sad smile. "It is a terror you will never face, my Mugunghwa. The law forbids women from passing beyond the Jade Pillars. Your great beauty will win you a husband of high rank, one capable of providing you with all the comforts that befit your station."

His words comforted me and still do for I am beautiful. No woman of our village has silks so fine or jeweled combs for their hair. Mother's tiny fingers work to braid my hair into rare and treasured forms such as Reposing Dragon and Crane Taking Flight. Not even the king's four daughters can boast hair so long that it brushes the backs of their heels.

Mother is always trying to force me to take an interest in her marriage schemes, using the same guilt-inspiring tone she turned on Ijo for weeks when she felt he was not studying hard enough.

Ijo is my older brother. He is brilliant and funny and he has never been cruel to me or punished me for being born a girl. Since I was old enough to walk, he has shared all the best places where we can both hide from Mother.

Ijo once saved me from dining with the Minister of Taxation's pimple-faced son. He taught me how to coax songbirds to eat from my hands. He helped me through the usual childhood illnesses by telling me stories of all the wonderful places in the world he would someday visit. From his descriptions, I could picture in my mind the great Egyptian pyramids and the stone ruins of Rome.

I will never stop owing my brother for all the love he has shown me.

Buying a basket of his favorite mushrooms is a small token toward that debt but I still keep an eye out for the little woven baskets as I work my way through Mother's market list. I return the friendly smiles of the goat man and the weaver. Their names are not worth remembering but Father says to treat even those of inferior rank with kindness, for how we treat others affects the balance of happiness and misery in our own lives.

I am trying to choose between two skeins of wool when I hear the beggar's cries. My eyes flick to him and away. His legs are bent at odd angles and there is dirt on his face. Father would scowl at me, but I will not throw my coin away when I can put it to better uses. Such as this lovely ivory and jade bracelet that will be a perfect accessory with my new emerald silk dress.

I like the way the young butcher's eyes linger on me as I pass his stall. Mother has taught me how to move my hips so men cannot help but notice me. The gesture is meant to attract the attention of the sons of noblemen but I don't see why I shouldn't draw the eyes of every man. Such a low-ranking man does not dare speak to me for fear of the whip, but he can look all he likes.

There is no one outside the exam hall when I pass. I pause to run a finger along the abstract shapes carved into the left pillar. There is a slashed oval beneath my finger that looks like the eye of a serpent. The Eye of the King. I shudder and move on.

If the exams are finished, Ijo will be at home, waiting to tell me his placement. I know my brother will not fail. I spot the mushroom vendor pushing her cart near the west wall of the market and stop to make a quick purchase before turning my steps for home.

I expect Mother to be at the door, waiting to scold me for taking too long. I pause outside the kitchen door. Voices I do not recognize are addressing Father and they do not sound happy.

The three men are not from the Ministry of Rites, administrators of the gwageo exam. They are officials of the Office of Censors.

They have only one purpose and that is to root out corruption.

My heart begins to race as the basket falls from my arms. The strangers barely glance at me as one claps Father's wrists in chains.

"You deny you were at the Palace last night, yet it was your token found on the body. The Deputy-Minister of Works is willing to swear he saw you outside the royal baths. Your ownson fled the exam hall when his scores indicate he would have earned a placement in the highest levels. Perhaps our great and glorious king could have forgiven you, had this been the murder of some mere servant or low-ranking scribe but you have cut short the life of the king's own nephew, a boy as dear to our prince as a blood brother."

The Censor unfurls a silk sash spattered with blood, holding it out for Father to examine. "This was found clenched in the boy's fist. It is your family symbol, is it not?"

Father rises slowly, as if the motion causes him great pain. "I will come with you. We will sort this out. All I ask is that you leave my family out of this, for my many years of faithful service to the king. If my son chose the wrong path, I know it is for good reason. He would never..."

The Censor strikes Father's cheek hard enough to draw blood. "I do not make deals with traitors! Tear this place apart. Take any servants you find to the slave market." His dispassionate eyes travel over Mother and I. "I should have your women enslaved as well, but I'm feeling merciful. Put them in the street. Make it clear that all good and pure women are to turn them out of doors."

"No!"

One of the Censors wraps an arm around me when I would try to help Father break free. He looks on me with such hopeless sadness that I am frozen in place.

"Little Flower, do not make matters worse. Take care of your mother until I return."

His words are knives cutting me apart from the inside as he is led away. The only comfort I can take is that he will return. My father has never lied to me.

Part II

Our room in the multi-dwelling building nestled in the center of Sheep Gut Lane is barely large enough for Mother and I. The rooms are separated by patched blankets that come unfastened on days when the wind is strong. At all hours we can hear the screams of infants and the moans of dying elders with no family left to see to their needs. It is a place that stinks of urine and stale sweat and when it rains, streams of water pour down into rusty buckets that must be emptied often.

It is the only place we can find lodging, now that there is a black mark on our family name.

I stir the rice gently simmering in the blackened pot. There are always families of low rank willing to exchange a little food for laundry or a bit of sewing, no matter where you come from.

Mother has not been the same since Father went away. She barely touches her food and instead of singing pretty songs, she stares at her hands and cries. I’m no longer sure if she can understand what I say when I speak to her.

The rice has no flavor but I choke down my portion to set a good example. Mother woke again last night with the cough. It rattles in her chest with a horrible, wet sound. I gave up the black silk purse that was in my pocket at the time of Father’s arrest in trade for a cup of healing tea, hoping it would help mother to feel better. It didn’t work.

I coax her into eating two spoons of rice before she bats the spoon away. Soggy white grains spatter the floor.

I am angry, but not at Mother. I want to hunt down the men that reduced this proud and beautiful woman to a waif. I want to hurt them as badly as they have hurt my family, but I am only a girl. I put an arm around Mother’s shoulders and help her to the bed. I sing to her gently until she falls asleep.

Months have passed and Father has not come to seek us. At first, I ignored the other street children. What could such filthy urchins have that I could ever want?

The answer, I came to learn, is survival experience.

By watching them, I learned the best places to scrounge for food and I learned to shape leather wraps for my hands so I suffer no damage when I am forced to fight for my bread. Though I still refuse to cut my hair, I have learned to wear it in greasy knobs that are almost impossible to grip.

Sama taught me that trick. Her brother Sajo taught me to fight.

We were rivals at first. Sajo nearly broke my fingers with his staff when I snatched up a discarded bag of oranges, only to discover he had already made a claim with his eyes. Sama found my ignorance amusing and made me one of her projects, teaching me the unspoken rules of the street. I told Sama about my former life and Sama recited some of her poetry. I once told her she deserves a place among the ladies of the Empress and I meant it.

I think it was that comment that made Sajo warm to me, though he took a little too much delight in correcting me throughout my training. He had served in the army for a time and knew all sorts of useful fighting tactics. He gave me many bruises but he also gave me an awareness of my body I had never known.

He taught me to harden the skin on my hands so they would not crack and bleed when I struck something hard. He taught me complicated kicks that could stun a larger opponent and kill one that was smaller. He even taught me to carve my own walking staff, a tool useful for fending off dogs and members of rival street groups.

They are waiting for me outside the pot shop where a contribution of meat will get you a bowl of the stew of the day. Hunting must have been good because they are both finishing off their helpings. Sajo scrapes up the last piece of water cress from the bottom of the bowl. He swipes his tongue around his lips as he hands back the bowl and spoon, reminding me of a cat.

“Have you made your decision, Mugugnhwa?”

I can feel tears prickling the corners of my eyes. The song I sung to Mother was one passed down by our ancestors. It is a song of farewell sung by soldiers, sailors, and those about to embark on a long and dangerous journey.

If any part of Mother’s mind remained untainted by grief, the song would have made her instantly suspicious of my intentions.

I bow my head. “It is time for us to leave.”

Part III

Sajo has not lost all his contacts from his days in the Royal Army. The friend he speaks to is eager to gossip about the attempt on Ijo’s life and the rumors of where my brother is now. He is well into his third cup of mulled wine with no sign of resting his drinking hand.

I try not to let it show on my face how much his news disturbs me. We must travel north, to the province of Pyeongan, where only peasants and enemies of the king reside.

Sama presents me with a colorful scarf for my hair. Though it is frayed and patched, there is still a beauty in the pattern of colors. We walk close together with our heads bowed as we make for the gates that will take us beyond the boundaries of the town that is our home.

Sajo walks confidently in front of us, carrying his staff in the fashion of a shepherd boy. The soldiers at the gate barely glance at us. To them, we are three of many farm children on our way home from the market.

I soon lose count of our days on the road. My world is narrowed to my dry throat and aching feet. Sajo insists we avoid all villages and sleep beneath the protective shelter of the trees. He is a skilled hunter, but one grows tired of the taste of meat.

Only Sama is able to really appreciate the beauty around us as we cross the long miles of the countryside. She delights in the little things, like the blue-winged butterfly that lands for just a moment among the cherry blossoms. She recites a haiku right on the spot.

Wings of deep azure
Rest on blushing pink petals
Serene is my heart

One night our sleep is broken by the shrill whine of fireworks. The three of us sit together and watch the glorious bursts of color. Sama and I smile but Sajo wears a frown.

”Such displays are saved for people and events of great importance. It is no secret the king has plans to go to war. The last thing we want is to be on the road when imperial forces are mobilized but it will take us at least three days to reach the mountain passes and there is no other reliable trail that will take us where we need to go.”

Sama traces the line of Sajo’s arm with a bamboo reed, making him jump. She and I share a laugh at his reaction. “You worry too much, brother. Our disguises have served us well and we are making good time. Besides, what mighty soldier would waste his time on three dirty peasants?”

We are passing a stretch of rice paddies when the column of imperial soldiers rides past, showering us with thick red dust. Sama is right. They do not even seem aware that we stand on the side of the road and wait for them to pass. We are sure they will leave us far behind when their commander calls a halt.

He doubles back, blocking our path with the body of his horse. The three of us stare at the ground.

“Where is Ijo Seomoon?”

I do not mean to flinch at his name. To hear it spoken in such a harsh voice sends thorns ripping through my heart.

My reaction does not go unnoticed. Sajo acts before the commander can call his men over to take us captive. Sajo’s feet catch the sides of the man’s neck as he uses the horse’s back to launch himself in the air. The commander dies as he hits the ground, his neck broken.

Sama and I are no less deadly as the soldiers come at us. Every kill makes me feel a little sicker but I know these men cannot be allowed to live. I would dismantle the king’s entire army before I would give them even the rumor of my brother’s location. I saw the poster in the sole village Sajo allowed us to enter when the rains were too strong for sleeping outdoors. The price on Ijo’s head is a five-year income for the average family. The charge is treason.

After the incident with the soldiers, Sajo increases our pace. When Sama mutters curses at him, he drops dark hints about what will be done to us if we are captured. Neither of us has any complaints to offer after that.

The mountains come in sight a full day before we reach the lowest pass. To either side of the entry are stone pillars carved with many ancient symbols. There is one near my eye level, an oval with a slash through its center that looks like the eye of a snake. I shudder, remembering how I once stood outside the exam hall and ran my finger over this same mark.

I thought entering the mountains would make me feel safe but now I am afraid. The Eye of the King sees all.

Sajo’s skill with a knife allows him to carve little wooden animals that almost look alive. He trades a few of these for thick woolen cloaks for the three of us. I am very glad for this gift our first night in the mountains. We huddle together beneath a ledge of stone as the wind howls all around us.

Walking the mountain trails is exhausting. The ledges are often so narrow we must walk one at a time and ice is often invisible on the dark stone. Sajo captures Sama’s hand when she would have flown into the blue expanse. I help haul her to safer ground, my knees trembling.

It takes us nearly two weeks to locate the village we seek. It contains only a few shabby shacks, their tin roofs coated in a thick layer of snow. We are welcomed by a woman in a wolf-skin cloak. She beckons us into a small lodge from which thin plumes of smoke are rising.

The man sitting at the rear table throws back his hood as we advance. He sees the curves of my face in the light of a cheap tallow candle.

Ijo strides forward to embrace me, walking with a slight limp.

He brings us back to his table and orders food for us all. He takes nothing for himself as he begins to speak.

”I did not wish to leave you, Mugunghwa. As I fled, all I could think about was my failure as a man. It is a man’s duty to keep his family safe, yet I was leaving you and Mother to the mercy of men I knew to be corrupt. It was nearly impossible to sneak out of the exam hall before the Censors came but Father always said the gods support a just cause. Father is dead, despite his innocence of the crimes put to his name. The king’s men would do the same to me for what I know.”

He gives my hand a squeeze as a choked sob escapes me. Father dead? Impossible! He promised he would return to us!

”The Censors framed Father for the murder of Chio because they could not let the truth be known. It was Prince Peng, the king’s only son, who committed the blackest act. Peng is a bad man and he will be a worse ruler. I must offer my support to those who would not see power pass into the hands of a madman.”

He looks down at his hands, turning the side of his face to the light. I see the white line running from the corner of his eye all the way down below the collar of his shirt. I trace the scar with a fingertip. He does not try to pull away.

”I have crossed the whole of Joseon to be with you, Brother. My friends and I have taken lives and risked our own. We will cure the land of corruption, working together. Do not try to tell me this is no place for a woman.”

He is seeing the muscles I have built and the scars on the staff I carry. He closes his eyes and bows to me from his seat. “The flower with thorns repels enemies that seek to crush its delicate petals. I am honored to have you by my side. You and your friends. Now tell me of your adventures.”

The telling takes us well into the night. For the first time in many moons, I do not fear what the future holds, for I will let no one shape my destiny. I may have been born a girl, but so too am I a warrior.
My name is Mugunghwa I will fight to survive.

Story by Pureflower

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