Your writing style is descriptive and immersive, with a strong focus on character development and emotional depth. It effectively uses dialogue and internal monologue to reveal character dynamics and cultural settings. The use of honorifics and language shifts adds authenticity to the cultural backdrop of your story.
While I refrain from making direct comparisons to other works or authors, your style is reminiscent of narrative-driven fiction that prioritizes character psychology and intricate plot development. It’s clear that you have a talent for creating a vivid world that invites readers to deeply engage with the characters and their experiences.
Characters:
<<TKEM – variant – Kalkylblad.xlsx>>
the nameless one, known as Pyeha, aka the un-inked boss to the yakuza
Tae Jiwon
Shiori/Seri
Song Meilin
Jin Chiel
An Minji
Lee Jong-In (Daegun/Royal prince, the king’s granduncle, royal physician)
(Daegun/prince – a prince son of the Queen)
(Gun/prince – a prince not a son of the Queen)
Lee Lim (dead) – traitor Gun, killed his brother and sister in law, almost killed his nephew
Jo Yeong
Noh Ok-nam
Tae Jial
Lee Rim/Byeol, the new seja
Lee Hiro/Hirohito, Shiori’s oldest son (about a year younger than Byeol)
Secretaries Mo, Kwon and Baek (= royal private aides, Secretary Mo is also the King’s Voice/official court spokesperson, later Prime Minister)
Tae Kimoon – the Winter Tiger and Lord of Siberia
followed by his eldest son Tae Jimoon
Youngest son Tae Jihan is a petrochemical geologist, he was involved in developing the Prudhoe Bay oil fields in Alaska in the mid 2040s. Middle two Tae brothers are in the Northern Fleet, they have names beginning in Ji-
Zhin Minyeung – the Queen’s mother, ends up with an influencer career as the Asian Tiger Mom archetype of Lady Tae
Zhin Sunni- Minyeung’s niece, Jial & Jiwon’s cousin
Akishino – Shiori’s older brother
Kingdom of Korea – political and natural geography, and development
In the series there is very little about this, except that it’s the fourth nation in GDP in 2019 (in our world it was Japan). There are “mountains in the north” with rare metals that are the property of the royal line.
From the episode where they faced off with the Japanese navy, making it sound a bit like China-Taiwan, it gave the impression that this Korea was on par with China and Japan and instead probably the main East Asian industrial nation.
There is a speed/bullet train Busan – Seoul – Pyongyang.
I know there are minerals towards Siberia – question is was there a Russian – Korean war around 1900 in this timeline, and did Korea check the Japanese post-Meiji expansion? If so, it makes a lot of sense if Korea acquired the areas around Vladivostok and the Amur, including Sakhalin, sometime in the late 1800s. Alaska was sold to the US in 1867.
Vladivostok, in the Golden Horn Bay, admin center of Primorskij Krai. Founded in 1860, after the Russian (here the Koreans!) stole it from the Qing Chinese. “Europe in the Far East” The area belonged to Korea 37-668AD in our timeline, “Goryeo” which included Byeo=north Manchuria (“China north east of the wall”), the language grouped together with that of Goryeo=close cousin of old korean.
Comparing the map, this means the currently Chinese areas of Liaoning, Jilin and Heilongjiang, with the major cities of Harbin, Changchun, Shenyang, and the port of Dalian are Kingdom of Korea(!)
Directly to the east of this area is the Russian Primorsky krai, with Vladivostok and Khabarovsk if the border follows the Amur, and Sakhalin island. It makes sense to include Buryatia and the enormous electrical dam on the Zeja. (Minerals in the Russian Far East: Lead, zinc, aluminum, gold, tin, tungsten, diamonds (Sakhalin), beryllium, amethyst, topaz, amalchite, zirconium etc. Mirabilite. Coal on Sakhalin & Primorsky. Petrol on Sakhalin and offshore Kamchatka, Okhotsk.
Let us simply say that the Kingdom “acquired” everything east of the Lena from Russia in 1850 (1867 our timeline), same time as Alaska (before the petroleum was discovered). The area was already culturally infiltrated by the powerful neighbour to the south, and even the local Russians were leaning towards switching the Tsar for the Wang. It becomes a north-south situation for that half of Siberia, comparing Moscow to Busan, but the coast will be developed with fishing, mining, and lumber industries. Bauxite + geothermal means aluminium industries – Sakhalin becomes a major industrial area. Main towns in the Korean North and High North are Magadan, Khabarovsk, Vladivostok, Yuzhno-Sakhalinsk and Irkutsk
Instead of acquiring Korea & Manchuria as in our timeline, Japan expanded south-eastward as far as Hawaii, including Taiwan and the Philippines (it follows the island arc south from Okinawa) and eventually New Zeeland, leading to continuous conflict with Australia, which includes Papua New Guinea.)
Kingdom of Korea society is divided into three power blocks that the royal court balances on top of, and the vast majority of regular people: the yangban (the semi-hereditary meritocracy nobility, landowning, in control of courts, official administration and education. Requires exams. Also, in charge of the military/officer colleges.) the chaelbol – the intensely hereditary non-noble industrialist conglomerates – and the Yakuza (see below). You get the Polish situation where there is poor nobility on the way out, and insanely powerful commoners on the other. Most regular people either eke out humble lives or throw themselves at the chance of working either for a yangban clan or for a chaebol. Theoretically anyone can sit the exams – in modern day even women – but it practices it requires afterschool tutors and cram schools that are unaffordable for most people. Sports and entertainment stardom is the fastest rise for anyone without family/employer connections.
The infighting between yangban and chaebol is intense, with sharp battle lines, but there are fluid alliances on both sides, both because of monetary interests, but also because of intermarriages. Example is the yangban Tae and the chaebol Cho (airlines and rail) and the Zhin (oil and heavy industry around Sakhalin, lady Tae is born Zhin) – that together is known as the Northern Axis. All three families will profit, because they operate in different worlds. The Yin of Soonyang, and the Koo of Lotte are two others major chaelbol centres. A chaebol heir could definitely afford the schooling, but becoming yangban would mean giving up some of the chaebol powers, so the transition happens but it is not really common. Both parties jockey for positions and favour with the court.
The third part of the Kingdom is the active organised crime scene (I’m sticking with the term Yakuza here, for simplicity’s sake, but it covers the Korean mafia, and the Chinese Triads, too) which forms the third pillar of society, and for the-enemy-of-my-enemy reasons, tends to be personally loyal to the King. It’s the capo di capo-thinking of mafia in general, and the court have been feeding into and feeding off that belief. It gives the court a handy slush fund fighting force to quell frisky yangban and chaebol from revolting, and being the king’s men mean the yakuza does have a certain code of operation. They are not supposed to target commoner civilians and be polite to women and children. Also leave government buildings, schools, the military, and any religious institutions aside. But any incursion from the chekists and the Taiping is free real-estate. The Court plays off the various yakuza clans and use them to police each other. The Kingdom is a low-gun society – outside hunting (strongly controlled and licenced) only the military and the royal guards are allowed guns, and the guards are not shy about using them. The yakuza mainly stick to our-timeline Korean style of knives, bats and hand-to-hand fighting, plus swords. For regular people, it’s not always a happy society but this pressures everyone to play their designated roles to stay safe. Yakuza do the same drug, gambling, hostesses and protection that they do in our timeline, but the chaebols outcompete them in industrial and financial organised crime, such as shipping, so they have branched off into the matchmaking business – they are outstanding in the field of headhunting, whether for job positions or for relationships – one-night-dating rings and shamans & fortune telling. Same system of extensive tattoos denoting clans and standing, and personal loyalty and bravery as in our world, and the joint yakuza keep a record of the tattoos of everyone senior, if nothing else to identify bodies. They call Pyeha discretely munsin-eobsneun sajangnim – the boss without tattoos or the un-inked man. He meets with the top clans occasionally, dressing similarly, using their key phrases, and stroking their ego. Kdramas in our timeline tend to have all mafia speak Busan dialect, so him exaggerating his own dialect a bit, chopping up sentences and slurring the diphthongs makes a ton of sense.
East Asia: The transformation from the Kingdom of Joseon to the modern-day Kingdom of Korea
The period of 1840-1860 was a period of upheaval and societal change in East Asia, which affected all three main power centres in the region. While these changes were a part of a historical and gradual process, at the same time they moved from west to east. With the fall of the Qing dynasty to the Taiping revolt, with the death of the emperor and most of his court in 1842, China entered a period of volatility and civil war which saw the outer regions fall away, either into independence or being absorbed into surrounding nations. By the time the new clerically led Heavenly Republic was firmly established, the subsequential changes had transformed the political and social landscape across the region. While we will focus mainly on the transition from the Kingdom of Joseon to the Kingdom of Korea, some seconds on China, Mongolia, Japan and Tibet will be included in this study.
From Qing China to the Heavenly Republic: The revolt against the Manchu dynasty of Qing in 1839 led to a series of massacres and counter-massacres. The bloodshed was horrific, with modern scholars estimating numbers between 20-30 million casualties when comparing records from both sides. The religious-political nature of the Taiping led to ethnic cleansing, especially in northern China, and Manchuria. The local Manchu leadership and population began looking to Joseon for protection, for peace keeping and eventually for military aid. This process was largely one of diffusion at first, not government policy, but the Edict of Kindred in 1843, saw the first formal Korean claim to Manchuria. Given that the focus of the Taiping Qing civil war was centred further south around the yellow river, Joseon troops made fast gains and could establish control over the region before the new Republican rule was fully established. The new border mostly followed the ancient limes of the Great Wall, the peace was signed in 1846, and the integration of Manchuria into Joseon was finished by the end of the decade. Guangdong (Canton) province saw a lot of refugees moving into neighbouring countries, fleeing Taiping rule, same goes for large portions of non-Han Chinese ethnic groups. The religious fervour of the Taiping saw changes throughout their new nations, some temporary, some more long lasting. Our timeline China today has a bayonet fetish, especially for triangular bayonets which are breaking the Geneva convention – in this AU, the Taiping are known for their triangular bayonets, and the Dalai Lama has spoken out against them many times. There have been repeated border skirmishes and occasional border wars between the Taiping and Korean Manju, mostly in connection with periods of intensified repression, such as during the War against Drugs in the 1890s, the War against Birds in the 1950s and the Cultural Revolution in the 1970s. At this point, whenever there is a new campaign promoted in the Republic, the Korean border guards post requests for increased manpower and armaments.
To the north and northwest of Manchuria, the collapse of Chinese central rule led to the independence and reunification of inner and outer Mongolia, which further annexed the sparsely populated steppes and deserts of Gansu, Xinjiang and Qinghai. This development led to the modern-day Mongolia – a country less industrially developed than its neighbours to the east or west but with a culturally cohesive core around its shamanistic-Buddhist religion and its medieval history. Its economy is mainly based on extensive cattle and sheep farming, with meat exports being one of the prime sources of income. It is also known for horses, camels and the production of horse dairy and meat. Mongolia derives some development from settlements along the southern cross-continent railroads connecting the Persian regions of Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan and on to Persia itself to Korea to the east and diverging north into the Russian Empire, towards Irkutsk and Krasnoyarsk. Mongolia today is militarily and economically weak, and survives as an independent nation balancing between Persia, Russia, the Heavenly Republic, and Korea mainly because neither of the four has shown interest in pouring financial resources into the region. It is simply too poor. (In our timeline, Mongolia begged Stalin for annexation as a Soviet republic, and was turned down on grounds of its underdeveloped and dirt-poor state. Ouch!) The rare earth deposits in southern Mongolia, our timeline Inner Mongolian China, were discovered in the 1990s, and mining concessions were rapidly hoovered up by various Korean Chaebols who narrowly elbowed out Norilsk Nickel. The economic and social situation in southern Mongolia is comparable to Central American banana republics, with the Chaebols being the majority employer, bribing officials about permits and turning their back to environmental contamination and running their own heavily armed security forces. So far, the situation is under control but in time to come this pattern could lead to a destabilisation of the country. There will be a connection to the culturally related independent Kazakh Khanate that has seen a tengrist revival in the 1800s, and whose religious commitment to eco-friendly industrial practices may be of help. The political situation may change after the Northlands rebellion and the Russo-Korean war of 2046, which saw Irkutsk and Krasnoyarsk fall under Korean rule, and which brought in two powerful Russian Chaebols, but further analysis will be necessary. Mongolia has been filling the function of cheap and dirty internet business – Nigeria letters, Meet friendly ladies in your postcode and similar – but also been providing troll farms, ransomware, basic hackers and the like. Fields of sunflowers are planted over the harsh scars of strip mining, becoming a symbol of resistance and rebirth.
In a parallel development, the former Tibetan regions of China coalesced and was reforged as a separate nation, which realigned with Nepal and other smaller countries in the Himalayas, as well as establishing good diplomatic and societal connections with re-emerging neighbouring nation of Mongolia. In the post 1840-world, Tibet ended up with some of the farmland along the upper reaches of the Yellow River, which has marginal but sustainable agriculture, mainly wheat and vegetables. This unexpected development added to the country’s ability to sustain the refugee flows. Some of the refugees from the civil wars in China in the 1840s ended up in Tibet and helped build up the economy, as well as bringing in their culture and a lot of rescued artworks and books. The former refugees view themselves as Chinese, of various ethnicities, but have no love for the Heavenly republic, religious intolerance along with politics and bloodshed led to the diaspora. (Compare in our timeline the refugees from the Soviet Union after 1918, or people fleeing the violence in Colombia or Central America) In one of those quirks of history, Tibet has emerged as the neutral state par excellence, under the divine guidance of the Dalai Lama, and has been the site of more international conferences and peace negotiations than any other. Lhasa is the site of several world organisations such as the Lhasa convention on the conduct in war (our Geneve convention), the equivalent of the Red Cross, various UN commissions, the International Water Management Court, and the UNESCO world heritage organisation. (Comment: Tibet pretty much fills the social role of Switzerland in our timeline. It is much poorer but combines the neutrality of the Swiss with the religious standing of the Vatican) Lhasa has a busy international airport, and there is a luxurious orient-express style rail connections to the north and south. In fact, much of the economy of Tibet survives on international financing of these various bodies, which they see as a pleasant side effect to bringing world peace, and it has quite a few banks known for not asking stupid questions – including where you acquired all that gold and those billions. <fx: “Merano, Merano … Speaking as one of the patriarchs, I do not mind taking your lira or marks.”> Lhasa has some of the prime monasteries and universities in the world on Buddhist studies, as well as an international reputation for their historical archives and research, both of Asian history, but also in collecting and copying documents from various cultures. The LU Department of Archaeology has a long and adventurous history that has been popularised through a series of big screen movies, featuring an archaeologist with a whip and a wide-brim hat. Ahem. It has a Department of Meteorology that has a special interest in the monsoon weather patterns brought on by the Himalayas, their campus research building is known as the House of Storms. It is also home to the Department of the Study of International Relations – whose field of study can be summarised as Who Hates Whom? – and the Department of Taoist studies, which is the second-best research institute for the repressed religion, after the University of Harbin in Manchurian Korea. The combination of a great university and plenty of international bodies leads to translation being a strong industry in Tibet, and one field where foreigners are invited to work. The LU welcomes researchers from a wide range of countries, but mainly from East and Southeast Asia, and the Indian subcontinent. It is known for a relaxed but highly social student body, and a conservative but intense dating scene across cultures. Somewhere Tibetans picked up football and are enthusiastic promoters of the sport, along with having helped the Ottoman Greeks to reforge the Olympic Games and being home to the IOK (this was part of the Atatürk reformation of the Ottoman empire). Other sports, also played in Mongolia, Korean Manju, Argentina, the western countries of the Subcontinent, most of the stans, Portugal, Japan and Argentina are polo.
Tibet has historically see-sawed between independence and being dominated by Mongolia and China, but in all forms of government has had a strong influence by its religious leadership. In the period mainly focused on in my stories – 2015-2070 for now – Tibet is due some major political reformation, based on equality and modern developments, separating religious from secular leadership. The railroad towards the southeast is upgraded to bullet train level in the 2070s, under the aegis of Lee Daeyeung, warlord of Vietnam and his son Lee Minho/Ly Minh Hu, who is carving out a new country in the Golden Triangle, which he is forcefully dragging into the 21st century by the scruff of their opinion-growing necks. Notice that Lee Minho is the only son of the Black Tiger actually named after his new name: He is Lee Shining Tiger, son of Lee Black Tiger.
The double-track rail link is an engineering wonder of graceful curves, tunnels and bridges, and not only does it cut down travel time between Lhasa and Kunming by about half, but it is also paralleled by an upgraded road, including road tunnels, which facilitates local economic activities. The beauty of this 6–7-hour journey draws international tourists from Tibet into Yunnan, where the interesting mountains and lakes fill the function of Lake Garda in our timeline. More upper-middle-class visitors, some even buying houses. The rail link splits and follows both sides of the Amman mountains, the eastern, coastal route passing through Hanoi, Hue and Saigon, and the western route facilitating economic prosperity in the formerly Laotian parts of Vietnam into the contested areas that where divested from Cambodia, and the ports there.
From Joseon to Korea: With the fall of the Qing dynasty, and the gradual acquisition of Manchuria, Joseon transformed from a tributary and supporter of the Chinese empire to seeing itself as the defender of the mandate of heaven, the inheritor of the Neo-Confucian ideals, in the face of the religious extremism of the Taiping. This is symbolised by the change in royal address from Jeonja to Pyeha, a title which earlier was reserved for the King of Goryo (918-1232 (Mongol vassal 1232-1392)) or for the Emperor of China and renaming the nation the Kingdom of Korea. Goryo covered not only the territories held by Joseon but also large parts of Manchuria, and the new name Korea was felt best reflected the new expanded state. The capital moved to Busan in the southeast, a process that was begun in the early 1800s. However, times change, and zeitgeists change. Korea was reformed into a constitutional monarchy, somewhere between the Tang dynasty or Goryo models and our timeline’s modern European monarchies. It remained officially and staunchly Neo-Confucian, established the four sections of society, but established religious freedoms, primarily for Buddhists but also for the various Christian denominations, and opened higher studies and government examinations to all social backgrounds. In the beginning it viewed itself as a counter to the Taiping puritan fundamentalist oppression, as a better version of Imperial China if you will, but the popularity of the changes, and the influx of massive Manchu and Chinese groups, much less the later Russian groups, turned the societal changes self-reinforcing and escalating. Especially the Manchu view of women and the northern view of civil society played a major role. The rapid industrialisation in Korea and neighbouring Japan from early-mid 1800s increased the rate of change even further. Compared to both the Qing and the Joseon societies, modern Kingdom of Korea in the first half of the 21st century is more equal, more allowing of individual freedoms and within certain limits a democracy. Government is elected, but the prime minister is appointed by the King, and Ministers and Ambassadors approved by Court. The King holds several exceptions to the rights of the other citizens, but there are some corresponding demands, including religious offices. It is somewhat a parallel to the pre-WWII situation in Japan in our timeline, but even more so, and it extends into the yangban/nobility parts of society, while the powerful industrialist chaebols are technically commoners and exempt. An example is the court historians whose activities were relegated to official meetings, and such private meetings that would affect policy. Some of the meetings that Pyeha has with the Japanese and Byeol has with the Northlanders would make a historian tear their hair out and then go full scholarly snit at the culprits. I’ll change a couple of instances in order to include the corps of historians. For regular citizens in the 2020s, especially compared to our-timeline western societies, Korean society is corporatist, culturally conservative and overlayered with a surface of vibrant secular permissiveness. If you aren’t an outspoken republican, a non-yakuza criminal or repeatedly insult royalty, you will likely be able to live a peaceful and fulfilling life. There are some fringe sentiments, inspired by the neighbouring Heavenly Republic, that cause cases of stochastic terrorism, including bombings, kidnappings, and attempted murders (cf Bader-Meinhof in our timeline Germany in the 1970s). The more sensible activists and reformers are after social reforms of the welfare and human rights kind, (cf Roosevelt’s New Deal) and know better than to touch the third rail of royal dignity and Confucianism even with a ten-foot pole.
What changed Korean society irrevocably – the ratchets of history – was the Russian Far East revolt against the Tsar and the consequent Korean annexation of the entire region in 1850. During a social revolution and governmental reorganisation, Korea acquired a region larger than itself in surface area, less populated but with immense untapped riches. At the same time, the Russian Far East – renamed Korean High North – was ethnically mixed with a majority Russian or Russophile population. Different religion, different writing system, different language, different naming conventions, and a new simmering cold war with Imperial Russia. Even beginning to digest this new part of the Kingdom took 30 years and marked differences between the original peninsula and the High North remain even 200 years later. The visual is two amoebas trying to swallow each other, and the result is similar to the mDNA of mitochondria of a cell – the core DNA is different from the mDNA, caused by primordial soup swallowing of unrelated bacteria. Lengthy descriptions on the High North and its capital Magadan have been written elsewhere. In this context, it is enough to say that Korean society in the 2020s is an amalgamation of both halves. It is a culture as proud of its Joseon roots as it is of its Siberian wildness, <fx: “Both?” “Both!” “Both is good”> and cannot quite be seen as a full parallel to our-timeline South Korea in social organisation and culture.
Korean Manju (1840s – today): Manchus are a Tungusic people, related to the Evenic groups in the High North, with the southern groups generally agricultural and more influenced by the Sinic culture sphere. Three Chinese dynasties (both Jins, and the Qing) draw their heritage from the Manchu. Their language is lyrical and multisyllabic, related to Mongolian, Turkic and possibly Korean, it has its own alphabet which written vertically in a flowing script with loops and dots, faintly reminiscent to Arabic script. Liaoning, Heilongjiang, and Jilin are the main Manchu regions within the Kingdom, though populations have intermixed over the last 180 years, with significant groups having moved to the larger southern cities, such as Busan, Seoul, Daegu, and Amur (our Vladivostok). Compared to their Mongolian cousins, the Manchu tend toward wavy hair, tan easily outdoors, and sometimes tend towards being tall and well-built. Women wear three earrings on each side, men a single ear piercing (often left off in adulthood), several of our-timeline typically Chinese clothes including the qipao, the jacket and the Qing-style women’s headdresses are Manchu.
Historically, Manchu women have had greater freedom to dispose over their lives, including premarital pillowing, and married women being allowed to socialise with other men without suspicions. Archery, equestrian skills and falconry are typical Manchu, as well as Mongolian, pastimes such as falconry, though in modern times, few people of Manchu heritage are active in them.
During the fall of the Qing, many Manchu texts and artifacts were destroyed, but the protectorate, later integration, of Manchu into the Kingdom of Korea lead to the establishment of the University of Harbin in 1847, with whole departments dedicated to restoration of archives and translation of literature to and from Manchu. It has two departments for Confucian studies and Taoist studies, respectively, founded on the wealth of writings rescued from the Heavenly Republic. It has close ties both with Seol National University and with Lhasa university in Tibet, that also found itself with a large number of Chinese refugees of various ethnicity. Harbin also holds a yearly ice sculpture festival that draws visitors from far and near, and a renowned conservatory dedicated to Manchu and Mongolian instruments, primarily the khuuchir/sihu, the erhu and the baijiao gu (octagonal drum with tambourine bells), the qin/guqin and the liuyeqin (like a metal string mandolin). In connection to conservatory, there is a vibrant theatre and opera scene for Manchu and traditional Chinese performances. There are several publishers specialising in Manchu and Mongolian books and magazines, and Manchu is a required language in school in the three provinces, along with Korean. The Manchu dialect of Korean is less guttural than in the peninsula. It has the flow of Mongolian, almost the flow of the High North, but without their run-on sentences and distinct diphthongs. Most Manchu in the Kingdom blend in with the general population, and don’t draw attention to themselves. You may spot the ear piercings, hear a multisyllable family name, or spot an occasional qipao or a fur hat during Lunar New Year. Nala Simin of kdrama fame is Manchu, so is Dahuri Devi in the kpop group Pink Rose Love and Yei Hiowan, and Sange Niohuru are popular writers of crime and historical drama, respectively. The Manchu pin is a ring of an azure dragon on white. The Imperial Qing pin is an azure dragon curled around a red sun on a field of yellow. The ruling Qing house was Aisin-Gioro, usually transcribed into Chinese and Korean as Jin, both meaning gold. Another royal Manju family is Yehenala, in Chinese and Korean Ye, in our timeline the family of the last Empress Cixi.
Maritime Japan: In a case of tumbling dominos, the Taiping upheaval pushed the Koreans, which in turn pushed the Japanese. The Meiji restoration (in our timeline based on internal pressures and US gunboat diplomacy) happened in this AU due to pressures in the region. As China fell into civil war in the 1840s and saw the rise of an aggressive fundamentalist state and as Korea reformed as a more liberal powerhouse, but mostly focused on consolidating its gains in Manchuria and the Russian Far East, Japan had a severe reality check and wake-up call. The new government began copying Korean and Western European practices and rapidly industrialised. But where Japan’s expansion in our timeline went westward into mainland East Asia in the search for land and resources, that was in this AU thoroughly blocked. Instead, Japan looked to the east. With China distracted by its inner convulsions, Japan expanded over the Pacific one island group at a time. Taiwan and the Philippines were early conquests, and the Kingdom of Hawaii was made a vassal state in the 1880s, later fully incorporated. With the conquest of Kagami no Shima, supported by the local Māori population, in 1940 – it was a case of Greater Australia not honouring the Treaty of Spheres of Influence their mother country, the British Commonwealth, had signed on their behalf with Portugal, Korea and Japan in a timely manner if ever. Australia screamed, the formerly New Zealanders who did not wish to remain screamed, but the Commonwealth saw more upsides with the Treaty, so forced Australia to back down. Even 100 years later, any rugby game between the Wallabies and the All Blacks is a bloody and injury prone affair. Japan had mostly reached its goals. It was still short on oil but was beginning to build naval and air technologies to hold its far flung empire together, and it was in control of the strategical passages south of Greater Australia. Japan is an early adapter into non-petrol-based energy sources – out of necessity, despite having some oil field in the seabed off the Philippines and the Home Islands – including nuclear, geothermal and wind, the technologies that remain the backbone of its industrial success. A cultural difference with our timeline is that Japan’s expansion was slightly less oppressive and hegemonic, and it had the Korean example of successful integration rather than assimilation by force of arms on its doorstep. The mostly peaceful conquest of Hawaii set the tone for the Empire for a century, and Kagami no Shima cemented this self-image. In our timeline, given its 20th century history, Japanese culture can still be standoffish for anyone not looking ethnically Japanese. In this AU, they have adopted a more liberal attitude that if you are culturally and linguistically Japanese, you’re good to go. They have seamlessly incorporated cuisine and cultural details from around the Pacific region, including mutton, wool, beef, coconut, pineapple, bananas, hakas, rugby, lei, and hula. Lei designing is developing into a branch of ikebana. There are vibrant lei festivals in Tokyo, Kyoto and Osaka, where people exchange these as symbols of friendship, celebration, or love. The Yakuza took Pacific Islander tattoos and ran with them. There are festivals celebrating the Polynesian heritage, the mesmerizing hula, Tahitian drumming and Samoan fire knife dance having found their way into Home Island culture, celebrating life and unity. The ukulele becomes occasionally integrated into traditional music, but played slower than in our world, adding a stronger twang to compositions involving the koto. You will meet carrot haired, green eyed people in full kimono in any Japanese city, who will be politely affronted at being called British or Australian. Imperial Japan is home to internationally famed vulcanologists and have scientific exchanges with the Kaiserliche Wissenschaftinstitut von Vulcanologie in Reykjavik, Germany, and has – along with Korea and Germany been early adaptors in geothermal energy. Along with its traditional sports, including the martial arts and sumo, Japan plays rugby and football, with some winter sports including equivalents of biathlon and Nordic combine, figure skating and speed skating. Manila was the latest national rugby champions, narrowly beating the All-Blacks with their passing game. Rugby is known as Bushi no Kyoudou “Warrior Unity” and the top athletes affectionately dubbed gentlemen thugs, become national sports heroes, picking up samurai-inspired hakama uniforms off the actual field. Competitive yachting is another favourite sport – as the quality of sail races increased, with the annexation of Polynesia, Japanese teams do extremely well, especially in the famous Ring of Antarctica race, circumnavigating the southern continent – it’s pretty much their home turf. Here, the Koreans, the Germans and the Americans tend to do well, challenged by British, South African, and Greater Australian (Commonwealth) Chilean (Spain) and various Portuguese crews, too, Office wear is a mix between western suits and some parts of formal kimono wear, especially the haori outer jacket and a V-shaped shirt over slimmer trousers than the hakama. In another consequence, given that the 20th century evolved differently, in this timeline Japan and Korea are less historical archenemies. They squabble, occasionally go to mini war over an island or two, but overall, they get along much better than they do with any other of their regional neighbours, apart from possibly Indonesia, and in the storyline future the Lee-controlled realms of Vietnam, Tibet, Yue, Wei and Lee Minho’s endeavours in the Golden triangle. There is an overlap in entertainment tastes, such as movies, music and literature, and their respective cuisines fill some of the slots taken by generic Chinese restaurants in our timeline. It’s mulkvisti diplomacy: the one I don’t dislike as much as the others.
They do rub each other the wrong way occasionally – this AU modern Japan is more thoroughly, not just surface, liberal and a much more aggressive player on an international stage, while their respective courts simply function differently, like two prideful cats. Their respective navies, on the other hand, can be compared to the in our timeline relationship between the Danish and Canadian navy regarding Hans Island, and between them they treat the Pacific as their private wading pool. The Korean navy, with its powerbase in the north, including the Bering strait and the Arctic Ocean, prioritises heavy warships of the battleship type with a gaggle of variously armed cruisers and destroyers and support. Rockets, heavy artillery, chopper-launched torpedoes, and naval drones are preferred equipment. Their carriers are fully equipped for winter conditions and their air force prioritize punch over agility. And few can compete with their ice breakers and rescue operations. After all, these people consider Kamchatka their neighbourhood rendezvous hang-out point, so are very weather resilient. The Japanese navy – given the distances they are required to patrol – live on speed, operational agility and being able to stay at sea indefinitely. They also have a substantial submarine fleet and heavy-duty tankers, both in ships and airplanes. They pretty much invented air-to-air refuelling. They are much given to pot shots, harassing opponents, and driving them into traps, compared to the Korean heavy weight punching slugfest. These differences make them complimentary when at war, and from their respective HQ’s position, their politicians should squabble less and allow the professionals to cooperate.
Japan has a developed system of air links and speed ferries criss-crossing their empire, for cargo and passengers both. They also pioneered some of the first radio phones, then mobile and internet technologies for the same reason, bringing in and reverse engineering some foreign technology because the need was so great. The fact that Hyderabad, the tech savvy south Indian state, is loosely within the same wider alliance, has seen much technological synergy projects, both in internet tech, but also in industrial control technology.
The Situation in southeast Asia:
The Confucian empire of Vietnam under the Nguyen family. Here I know a lot, capital is Hue on the coast from 1802, the old, secondary capital is Hanoi, on the Red River. Vietnam means southern Yue and has a strong cultural overlap with the closest regions of the Heavenly Republic. (The border keeps shifting around). It prides itself on its resilience and cultural traditions. Just like Korea views itself as the inheritor of the mandate of heaven after the 1840s, in a similar way Vietnam strongly leans into its Confucian culture in opposition to the Taiping to retain its cultural independence. It is somewhat tolerant of its Buddhist and Hindu religious minorities. It has good diplomatic relations with Korea, and to a lesser degree with Japan – the enemy of my enemy who shares my religious culture may be quite friendly – but is not included within the International Gang of Four maritime alliance. It was never colonialised by the French. It retains its traditional empire. I am going to assume, given the stories of Lee Daeyeong the Black Tiger, that its economy is less industrialised. Vietnam is largely agricultural, and forestry based, with plenty of craft level industries in textile and light manufacturing. It has a blossoming tourist industry, mainly for snowbirding Koreans, Alaskans, Mongolians, and Tibetans. The Japanese mostly snowbird within their own empire, but Vietnam is the cheaper option and more exotic in the view of the home islands. Foreign tourists from the Commonwealth and Portugal frequent secluded resorts, and the Romanovs are reputed to have a daeja off Nah Trang. Given its conservative traditions, there is quite a lot of trafficking and turning a blind eye to the hostess industries. The electric equivalent of tuk-tuks is everywhere, along with bicycles of all forms and shapes. This AU Vietnam is halfway between Korea and Thailand/Japan on the queer-friendly scale: more of a they exist, they are allowed to exist, but we wish they’d stop. There is quite a potential for social reformation here, and by the mid-2050s, the wings of the chaos butterfly drop the foreign prince and reformer eventually known as the Black Tiger into their midst.
The last Nguyen emperor dies in 2059 in a dysentery epidemic that strikes the capital, and the court is particularly badly hit. Fate or something, ahem, has it that all male heirs succumb, and the empire is inherited by the emperor’s first cousin, Lý Minh Hyet (in Korean: Lee Minhyeuk) the son of his aunt Nguyen Hien Hanh and her husband Lý Ho Da, the warlord also known as Lee Daeyeong Daegun, the Black Tiger of Vietnam. Lý Minh Hyet’s half-brother Li Mingwang (in Vietnamese Lý Minh Vuong, in Korean Lee Minwonjang) inherits the new state of Ming Yue in southern China in 2066 – he is the son of Zhu Fang Hua the heiress of one of the surviving Ming lineages, they share a father. The third son by yet another mother is Ly Minh Ho, (in Korean Lee Minho), the Bright Tiger, who with the military backing of his father and development financing from his uncle Lee Doyon in Tibet creates a new nation, tentatively called Tigerland (translated from Lao), centred on the Golden triangle, encompassing northern Laos, Yunnan, northern Myanmar, and parts of Northeastern India. Lee Minho’s mother is of the Tay minority in Vietnam, their regions are in the north of Vietnam, stretching into Yunnan.
Aftermath of the Taiping collapse in 2066: Vietnam annexes Yunnan and moves the capital back to Hanoi. On the surface it’s because moving the capital closer to the middle of the country. Personally, I think Lee Daeyeong wants to get out of the heat, and get closer to the mountains, as he grew up in Korea’s cooler climate, but you know, that personal desire shouldn’t affect an entire nation. Ahem. There is a conference between Laos and Vietnam, which trades the southern parts of Laos for the newly annexed Yunnan province. The conference is a cover-up, since the Lee/Lý/Li family had already decided on this division, with the acceptance of their Lee relatives in Korea, Japan, and Qing Wei (northern China), which is why Yunnan was invaded in the first place. As you do. Another Lee family member, Lee Doyon, is based in Tibet and uses his influence with the diplomatic international community and organisations there, to smooth over any international hostile sentiment. From the other end of Eurasia, the independent nation of the Northlands (constitutional monarchy) – previously Russian Scandinavia – are among the first to support this trade; they are allied to the various Lee nations due to personal ties and the minor fact that Korea purposefully starting a war with Russia gave the northlanders the cover needed for their independence in 2047. The Northlanders have not forgotten and will diplomatically stand up in support for almost any of the Lee family antic. It is a Northlands-born judge on the International Court of Justice who finds and exploits the loophole that allows the Court to free Lý Minh Ho from the charges of human rights violations in Tigerland in 2078. The fact that the recently crowned Queen of Korea is the sister to the King of the Northlands has absolutely nothing to do with this, don’t you agree?
I need to investigate Vietnam-Cambodia, because the maps do not line up.
Thailand – stays independent into the end of the current time frame, so does Myanmar, despite losing a chunk of their northern territories. I am most definitely sure the Lees and their Japanese branch wants Singapura on a platter, though
The Situation in South Asia/the Subcontinent:
Hyderabad
Bangladesh etc
The Portuguese coast strip
British holdings
The Sikhistan
Central asia:
Kazakhstan – there is text in my phone. Tengrist revival
Uzbekistan/Sogdiana – there is text in my phone
the stans in general
Family matters:
The Tae family are assimilated Russian-Korean- Mongolian, what in this AU is called koryeo-saram. In our timeline, that term means Soviet Koreans – koreyo-saram means Korean person – here koryeo-saram is the mainly Russian/Korean – but could be any European + local Northeast Asian ethnicity – mix that makes up a large part of the cities in the High North, the defining trait is Russian-speaking with some Caucasian blood. Culturally the degree of ethnic identity varies between individuals and families – it has become more a flavour of the High North overall, a regional culture and dialect, compared to the peninsula, in its expression. The High North Korean dialect, called Sibeorineo, is softer overall, adds diphthongs for funsies<fx: When God handed out genders, Aziraphel said “No, thank you” and Crowley grabbed all of them>. All the diphthongs, all the time. It also uses particle li as a random politeness marker and tends to honorifics of –nidali and –nimli. It has some of the flowing sentence melody of Russian, like if you hear it faintly through a wall it’s almost hard to tell apart. (Cf the language imitator clip) It also has a habit of run-on sentences, with barely any breaks, strung together by i and nu if speaking Russian. The saying goes you can’t get a word in edgewise, the sentences just meander linked into each other forever and ever, which in turn means that friendly or excited koreyo-saram people tend to just talk over each other, in either language, they’re seen as a bit chatty once they decide they like you. Of course, it will take a bit for them to defrost enough to open to outsiders – there they stick to the basic gruff, resting bitchface Russian manners, the permafrost of social mores. Soju or vodka may be involved. It’s quite different from the exaggerated prosody, high-tone Seoul-Pyongyang dialect (cf Seri in Crash Landing on You) and the gruff and choppy Busan dialect. I’m sure the Manchurian areas have a fourth main dialect, but I haven’t researched that one yet.
The Tae family descend from the Genghisid-Russian Prince of Sibir, who jumped ship and switched loyalty around 1850, when the Alaska sale happened in this timeline (1867), and through a revolt/revolution took the entire Far East with them. As you do. Cf Jules Verne’s novel Michael Strogoff, Courier of the Tsar, and the Tatars there. Given the autocratic behaviour of the Tsars towards the local ethnicities, and the oppression even of the local Russians in both the Far East and in Alaska, it just took having a better alternative + a firebrand leader, and the political earthquake happened. The Kingdom offered extensive benefits and privileges to have the Sibirs switch from bending knee to Moscow to kowtowing to Busan. They bought them out from under, and there was some kind of personal bromance, kindred spirit spark. (Cf the samurai/Russian comic strip: different cultures, morally aligned.) Religious freedom, probably, and less oversight, but mainly a bad case of ISTP independence of the “I know a quick fix for that” kind. THAT BROMANCE WILL BE WRITTEN EVENTUALLY
They switched their family name to Tae after the Siberian Tai peninsula – the Taimyr – and dropped the Prince of Siberia heraldry with two sables erect on white, with a red recurving bow, and two crossed red arrows, for the curled (=pacing) white or silver tiger. They pronounce their name Tay in Russian and Tae/Tä in Korean. The Taes keep a few cultural traits like the painted flowers, the samovar, the wedding-ring shawls, the orthodoxy, the fluffy Siberian cats, the troikas etc, and prefer sarafan + jacket + kokoshka all with pearl embroidery & fancy fur to the Korean hanbok as female formal dress. They are technically yangban – Korean nobility – of the mainly military branch, but in practice somewhere between yangban and chaebol, and have their fingers in everything non-royal north of the Amur and east of the Lena. They are (nowadays = almost 200 years later) Korean speaking and Korean named, somewhat bilingual, and secular orthodox, taking great pride in their heritage and view themselves as Korean citizens/subjects and native Siberians – koreyo-saram – both. They have their vast white and gold compound, a daeja, in the frozen mountains outside Magadan – geothermal heating feeding greenhouses, indoor pools, and a pleasant alpine & conifer garden in summer. Their estate has extensive guest quarters – lavish treatments of long-staying guests is a feature of the north, due to the climate – for various social categories, including a rarely used royal guest quarter decorated in red & golden ginkgo theme. The Taes are local grandees and patrons, sponsoring culture, healthcare, education (schools, university of Magadan), luxurious bathhouses – the banja/onsen culture connection is strong, remember that Finland was a part of Russia before the split, and they’ve had political refugees from there – indoor sports & winter sports, chess competitions, ballet (think Bolshoi!)/theatre/a conservatory. There is an annual friendly dog sleighing competition between the Korean North and the American Alaska – the Iditarod but in two halves. Think Ryder cup in golf.
Magadan is known as the Jewel of Siberia and Bugjjog-eun Busan (Busan in the North). It is a multi-ethnic place, with a (north)East Asian majority, and a large Russian minority (38%). The line between Russian and koreyo-saram is pretty much a case of self-identification, no one bothers asking on a demographic survey or taking DNA samples. Religion is mainly split in four: Confucians, Buddhists, Orthodox, Shamanistic, with smaller Jewish, Muslim, and other Christian denominations. It is also a tolerant place, but strict respect of the honour of the king and the kingdom is ferociously enforced. (The Tae family somewhat resent the Kings’ suspicions, since they tend to be very loyal, but sticking to their own customs while leeching off extra profits. “God bless and keep the King … far away from us!” used pretty much to be their attitude. ) The local death sentence of choice is exposure – it cuts down on prison costs and less messy. Magadan is the administrative centre of the Northern Fleet, though there are forward naval bases for active stations, such as Anadyr, within the Gate of Siberia, and Pevek on the north coast. There is a clean and cheap metro- the electrichka – and an extensive multistorey system of underground malls, schools, cafes, entrances to all public buildings, entertainment centres either walkable or serviced by electric trams (cf London postal service). Kick-bikes and electric scooters – privately owned or rental – are also common, as distances can be far flung. More on this below.
The Tae family is currently (around 2018) working on upgrading the trainline along the coast to be able to handle bullet trains – in most other cases the distances require airplanes, but this is a rail and ship dominated AU, so the Tae family are intermarried with the Cho chaebol family who mostly run Korean Air, and are rail tycoons of the American west-type. Busan-Magadan is a 6hr direct flight – it’s a land of vast distances and regional self-sufficiency. They also have a lot of interaction with steelworks and petrochemicals as far south as Sakhalin. They are sponsoring a rail bridge mainland to Sakhalin, the strait is 10km at its narrowest (the longest bridge our timeline is in China, 165km, for highspeed trains.) The Sakhalin link is mainly for freight, though. There is not just wild fishing, but cold-water fish farms in the Sea of Okhotsk.
The entire High North (the top half of the Russian Far East) is essentially in practice self-governing, full of stiff-backed pride, reluctance to kowtow (straight backed, right hand over heart and icy look ahead is more their style) and ferocious loyalty to the Kingdom. Being part of Russia was the Utterly Bad Old Days – cf the our-timeline Baltic states. They more or less went full revolutionary against the Tsar in connection with the attempted sale. (There is a long bromance, personal connection story here that sparked the uprising, but I haven’t delved into that part yet.) Also, cf Jules Verne’s novel. That’s why the insignia of the Northern Fleet is the Red Star – the Southern Fleet is the White Star – and the flag of the High North is the soviet style hammer/sickle & star, in red and gold. After all, red & yellow are auspicious colours in the Far East. Both the taegeuki (the Kingdom flag, very similar to our-timeline South Korean flag) and the High North flag fly at Magadan, but the taegeuki always higher and more prominently.
Over the years, the High North has seen a slow trickle of Russian immigrants from the opposition to the Tsar, who is far more an autocrat than the Korean King, in various waves. The Russian revolution during the early 20th century failed miserably and saw a large influx of semi-socialist refugees. Similarly, the periodic purges in Scandinavia have led to refugees as far east as Siberia, though most of these refugees ended up in various European countries. For the sake of peace, the Court has delegated to the northern magnates to keep a tab of the immigrants – they are welcome as long as they assimilate in language, obey the laws and don’t cause political trouble. The Taes and their subordinate families have zero interest in poking the Russian bear for fun – they tend to view the immigrants as politically unreliable bumpkins. If Misha needs poking it will be on purpose, nation to nation, and not by some wannabe freebooter opposition. But this influx keeps their ethnic group and culture prominent in the Korean High North, so they are all for it. And given the choice between the cheka and the winter tigers, most immigrants from Russia breathe a deep sigh of relief and sign up for Korean classes! Many of them end up in industrial jobs, gradually disseminating down the pacific rim, and fully assimilated within 1-2 generations. There is also a small inflow from American Alaska, where religious and social pressures make Russian and native families (and other Slavic and even some Scandinavian families, since Russia conquered Finland – Sweden -Norway around 1815, but Denmark is German!) seek a better future in the more affluent Russian-speaking parts of the Kingdom of Korea. America is generally diplomatically aligned with Russia in this world, but it’s still very much a WASP-y America First society. Even a few Icelandic and Danish-Greenlander political refugees from Germany trickle in the same way. Which means that Magadan has a (Korean and Polish-Lithuanian-Rusyn) Catholic church and a (Norwegian-Swedish-Finnish German) Lutheran church, alongside the Orthodox ones, and a small but thriving Jewish community. It also has at least two (Sunni) mosques covering both the Russian immigrants from places like Dagestan, Azerbaijan, Tatarstan and Kazakhstan, but also random descendants of Malay and Uighur immigrant families from the neighbouring edges of the Kingdom, including the pro-Persian stan countries and mainline, lively Confucian and Buddhist communities dedicated to orderly charity and good works. Also, no one likes the cheka, then or now. Throughout the Kingdom, the Tsar’s agents are killed on sight by security forces or the yakuza. In Magadan, the locals will do ugly things to any chekist they locate on the vibe of “they existed, and I took that personally” to the point where even the peninsula yakuza think they are getting a bit too enthusiastic <fx: the wincing boss from The Office>. Being drowned in Busan harbour or “accidentally on purpose” run over by a shinkansen train outside Pyongyang would be a more pleasant end. It’s at least faster.
Magadan isn’t a small city by any mean, but its topside/underground nature, combined with the suburbs being more self-contained in a radial network means streets, shops are less crowded. It is big on online shopping and using apps/internet – less having to get out of the warmth and be forced to interact. It is also the regional main shopping centre, connected to the spiderweb of mining towns north and northwest, freight trains running back with ore to be shipped and processed along the industrial pacific rim. Which in turn means Magadan has an active freight and ferry port, and oil & gas pipelines running along the coast. It is switching to clean energy – geothermal, wave energy connector fields in the sea, to use the hydrocarbons for plastics and fertilizer. Magadan has the local equivalent of the Bolshoi and a folk-dance performance scene, along with a great punk/metal scene (the industrial/mining towns of the area leans into this), where Busan and the core peninsula is more into k-pop, jazz and what we think of as anime.
On the urban geography and social hierarchies of Magadan, Korea: Addresses are given with culvert name, street number by distance from intersection, one direction on each side of the street. (Comment: so Hotelnaya 10 is far from Hotelnaya 11, but close to Hotelnaya 12. Illogical, but not so far off from the illogic of Japanese and traditionally British address practices) The Russian names tend to end in -aya, dropping the ulitsa, the wider area at intersections ends in -oe for an implied miesto. (Comment: stantsiya = station. Uley/ulej = hive/kupa(m) in Russian is the Magadan term for the vertical square with many levels, landings, walkways, usually on top of a electrichka stantsiya, at an important city function or at a major intersection – since uley is masculine, these addresses end in -oy/ey – An uley can work as a local or suburb town centre: there may be a primary school, a police station, dentist/doctor’s clinic, grocery shop, 1-2 fast food/take-out places, hair dresser, key shop, a tailor/dry cleaner/laundromat ) around the electrichka stations (according to Google Translate gicha) There are definitely many (smaller) stantsiyas without uleys – the equivalent of a standard metro station – but few uleys without stantsiyas – you need the commute. Downtown there are more uleys, around the very centre even 2-3-4 interconnected with barely an ulitsa in between, some of them topped by onion domes in glass so that there is some daylight. Lee Hoyeol’s apartment is 5-6 stantsiyas away from the Naval Base, close to the uley fronting the three-storey entrance to the university campus, but still in central Magadan. The house Lee Hoyeol buys later is northwest of the centre, as far out as Sokol, so you’d need to take the electrichka or car on the surface, it’d take forever shifting from different gusnitsas, though theoretically you could. The uleys off the hockey stadium, the university hospital, the transition uley tied to the horse racing stadium, and the one by the Magadan orthodox cathedral are particularly opulent. The Naval Base has its own multiple-uley setup, but shallower since they must be over sea level. This is full security areas, with only personnel with clearance allowed beyond the public reception entrance, it contains shore offices, barracks, and related living quarters, training facilities, shooting range and so on. There is a split on whether you live on base or in town – it mostly depends on how settled or senior you are, but also about how new to the north you are. Visitors from the Southern Fleet are generally kept on base, same with all naval academy cadets. The Northern fleet command has found that this tends to cut down on hazing and people not making mortal mistakes in the city. It’s the Red Star stantsiya.
There is an uley overlaying the connecting intersection between the bullet train station and the electrichka stantsiya, and one under Sokol airport at the endpoint of that electrichka line. There are staircases – broad or narrow, everywhere, and most multistorey buildings have elevators, as do the uleys. An open space with ulitsas radiating off, but smaller than a miesto would be a chasha (= bowl). A chasha doesn’t really have services, like a miesto or an uley would. Maybe a post box, the wifi equivalent of a news stand. Electrical charging stations for bikes, usually some kind of public art, a bench, and in the nicer suburbs possibly even an indoor planted space under a skylight. (Definitions – a miesto tends to be single-layer but doesn’t have to be. The name refers to an open horizontal space, where an uley is more vertically aligned.) Quite a lot of the ulitsas have murals, which gives them their official or informal names, as do the gulmogs. A gulmog is an alley, for once a Korean word (takes Russian -ey/oy ending), that (usually) radiates off an ulitsa or a chasha but is a blind street. Most residential areas with apartments are arranged around gulmogs, in poorer areas only with windows facing the poorly lit gulmog, no other natural light. The same term has grown to imply stew, den, and generally has a rough backstreet feel. There can be small shops and tiny business there, again compared to cellar shops and backstreet ventures. Gulmogs can be two-storey with a New York fire exit-like staircase/loggia. A leaky gulmog has an entrance on the other end, but small, like a door or a narrow staircase – you could possibly run through, but you’d be hard-pressed to even bring a kick bike. Larger transports in the ulitsas – like delivery vans – are electrical, need severe certificates (due to lack of space, crowded streets etc), and tend to be very compact. The local derogative word for them is tarakan (cockroach) – they usually come out at night when streets are less empty, especially when there is a lot of them, with the corresponding cockroach rider for their drivers. Cf “He drives like a cockroach rider!” There are underground garages and loading bays for the various tarakan fleets, especially around the cargo port and the freight train station. That station also allows passenger trains heading north (the various mining towns) and northeast to Kamchatka, Anadyr and on to Pevek. The railroad isn’t good enough for bullet trains there, but there is a speed train line heading south along the Pacific Rim. Street cleaner vehicle and electrical garbage trucks are called zhuk (beetle) or zhuchok, for their round shape and slow speed. Local humour usually paints them in bright metallic colours and draws faces, adds antennas and so on. This is not official, it just happens, and authorities have given up resisting. Probably it’s the zhuk riders themselves that do it competitively, giggling. Fast deliveries or 1-2 person taxis – think the electrical scooter version of a tuktuk, usually based on the trike, with a ledge in the back for goods or passengers – are called baenangi (pidgin: Korean for backpack, Russian plural.) There is continuous controversy about people wanting to ride a baenang through too narrow streets or even gulmogs, not to mention taking them into a passenger car (there tends to be a cargo car attached to the longer, out-into-the-sticks electrichka lines, but not inside the city itself), and why single-person foldable trikes are ok but not a baenang. Given the vast network of sub-surface areas, the City Department of Electricians and Vent operators, along with the Fire Department, tend to be local heroes, and the crews maintaining the geothermal power plants occasionally get free drinks or chicken nuggets when flashing their pins and work vests. Everyone is perfectly aware what it takes to live this comfortably in arctic Siberia, and if you sub things up for everyone, they will make you personally suffer. The molani have been known to zip tie people and drop them off outdoor in winter, for the crime of starting fires or having (even unintentionally) blocked fire escapes, while the local police are having spiked tea and piroshki, cheerfully commenting on their technique. Two thumbs up!
All of this means that sub-urban traffic tends to be slow and mostly pedestrian + tram/metro, which in turn means that local centres are more built up. There are no equivalent to strip malls, or cruise-ship size malls. Heavy loads between areas, fast transport such as ambulances, tend to be surface based to cut across with little interference. Fire control: heavy duty sprinkler systems and air vents. There are basic fire stations at every larger stantsiya, fire hydrants everywhere, and the full force will move on the surface. The heroic snowplough crews have a local informal 3-day paid holiday verging on festival every spring once snow melts, the ploughs are chistitels – in our timeline Russian you have to specify “of snow”, in this AU Magadan they damn well know it’s intended for snow! People decorate their favourite chistitels, deck them out in ribbons and have sun-bathing competitions at the thaw festival. Magadan has tyre rules like the Swedish ones, but reversed, that summer tires are allowed certain months, but that the default tyre is studded. This in turn leads to a lot of road maintenance, but since most heavy freight is by ship or rail, the locals don’t much care about that. The roads are collateral damage, pretty much. All of this means you’d need the equivalent of a dungeon map or a local guide to get around Magadan on your own – luckily there is both a free app, and a yakuza-run network of guide stops (also by app) that’s the equivalent of uber. Just look for a red peony logo. Of course, these molani (pidgin: Korean for peony, with a Russian ending!) can fix you up with the darker underbelly of the city if you are so inclined, for a fee, guv. The underbelly, the badly lit, graffitied chashas and gulmogs has some seedy stuff, including drugs, gambling, hostess industry, but like in a lot of the kingdom it is seen as the price for societal cohesion. (We can discuss the morality of it, but this is how the Kingdom works) As long as the yakuza doesn’t involve innocents, and if they police their own, they’re mostly left alone. It leads to the situation where someone visibly carrying a load of gold bars but wearing the correct pins can walk across the greater Magadan area untouched. Consequently, the police are happy to let them deal with petty crime, curbing heavy bullying and – of course – chekisti. But when it comes to the cheka, it can unfortunately get a bit of a mob free-for-all situations. The bratva – the ethnic Russian, refugee, often with prison or gulag background – organisational sidecar of the yakuza – tends to be particularly ferocious in these cases. The bratva also contains a sub-set they call the slivoviki– the plum men, it’s a dad-joke level pun referencing siloviki and the maesil plum blossom: they’re the King’s Men – that are the free-range, personal loyalty, special ops equivalent of the royal guard. They usually don’t bother with pins – when they do it’s a crossed Kalashnikov & javelin, in this AU called a stugna – they have a white maesil tattoo over their heart, and even local yakuza lords treat the slivoviki with velvet gloves – for one thing, they tend to carry firearms, not be shy about using them, and also have access to some heavier military equipment, like javelins/stugnas. A simpler way to describe the difference would be that the molani are more Korean, mafia and indoors, the slivoviki are more Russian, commandos and outdoors, with the bratva somewhere in between.
When prince Lee Hoyeol buys the house for himself and Jin Lian, he also quietly buys everything connected to the closest chasha, meaning that the royal guards will go full out aracuan for security in the area, and view the place as a tiny Lee daeja. This will also allow Lee Hoyeol to expand their house if needed, since he owns the surrounding land, and connect it to existing houses and apartments off the same chasha. The guards will have surface level security, with drones and dogs 24/7, and access to a garage, so the area turns pretty much into the equivalent of a private arctic nature preserve, with some skylight onion domes and low houses peeking through. The slivoviki consider this rather silly southern pretty-boy wuss level of security, and holds an outer cordon, military level gear. After all, they call the Royal Guards derogatorily trainees, which is the term for k-pop wannabes. Slivoviki: “No guns? Very funny, ha, ha!” or “That’s not a knife. This is a knife.” Lee Hoyeol is, to put it mildly, a mix between grateful and exasperated at these guys, but he wouldn’t ever let them know. He’ll even send for a few crates of slivovich (yes, there are peninsula and Manchuria distilleries for the stuff, but he might even buy the original from Austrian Balkans) and leaves them out, with a personal thank-you note, signed and with a drawing of plums & plum blossom. He’ll even drink with them on rare occasions, or suffer through a semi-drunk banya session, including ice dipping. There used to be a muscle guys vs muscle guys case in Magadan up until 2017: the mostly Korean molani yakuza vs the Tae security vs the bratva/slivoviki yakuza. Some older surviving members still have tattoos that reflect this alignment. But not only did they get a Russian queen, from February 2018 they know the next king will be one of their own. (And in 2046: his queen, in turn, will be someone from the ruskiy mir but ferociously anti-cheka. Perfect!) So, the alliances shifted – the Tae security and the Slivoviki will lay down their lives for the Queen and her children specifically. The Molani and slivoviki/bratva yakuza will protect the royal house in general – cf the un-inked boss – the slivoviki are more lukewarm about the general wangja, but they do respect the King specifically and personally, whatever heritage. And the molani are on a knife out, leave none standing opinion about queen Jin Chiel, her children, and grandchildren. So, for Lee Hoyeol, he’ll have two out of three (which ain’t bad) organisations, beside the royal guards, jostling elbows to protect him. I’m beginning to think that Lee Ijin will eventually join the slivoviki – he’s yakuza on his mother’s side, a tiger and a royal maesil both on his father’s – he’s allowed to wear all three as pins, or indeed as tattoos. I also think Mr Nikitin of the Rusal chaebol, from 2043 finds a way into Korean society by heavily financing the slivoviki, but later discovers that they carry the white maesil, not the Rusal logo. The Rusal security troops are otherwise called the rusalkas of the Yenisey. Because of course they are.
The Royal Court in faraway Busan is keeping a keen eye on the Taes and Magadan so that they don’t become too frisky and independent, as they did to the tsar in 1850. The methods have varied between keeping the wife of the elder as a court lady in Busan, attempting to force Tae children to convert to Confucianism and attend schools in Korea proper and other pressures to assimilate, fake trials and punishments, marrying lower ranking princesses off to them and everything in between. Sort of similar to the Romanov methods in the west, but generally more benevolent. Vodka, soju, falling down drunk and extensive bromance singing has been involved occasionally. Pyeha‘s great grandfather told his sons (he heard this from his granduncle, Jon-In) that: “We’ve dealt with the winter tigers for 150 years. In those years, I have learnt that tigers will resist all attempts to chain and imprison them. Instead, the more you simply ignore their insolent manner and stiff pride, the more fiercely they will fight for you and the more loyal they will be.” (Cf Scandinavia and the World, the situation when Denmark turns his back on the Faroese. <fx: sheep rocket and confused baaing>. By 2014 the pendulum is swinging all the way, with the court suggesting a Tae asshi as the next queen.
Even our timeline modern South Korea is heavily into arranged and contractual marriages, and in this AU the Kingdom is avowedly Confucian and even more conservative. It’s anti-LGBT, too, not actively oppressive, just “This does not exist, and since it doesn’t exist there is no provision for it.” Neighbouring Japan, on the other hand, continues the Edo era tradition of permissiveness into the current era. So, the Korean situation is lightly reminiscent of India, with professional matchmakers consulting horoscopes. There is a similar view of locating applicants for jobs, especially sensitive ones in a clan, a chaebol or at court, and the same terminology is used, saju, for the process of locating a suitable candidate. The term covers the formal dating and interviews up until selection but is also generally used for the following get-to-know-each-other-with-a-possibility-to-back-out phase of the engagement, too, for everyone in the Kingdom. A saju is generally initiated by the parents (or by an employer), not by the individuals themselves, but can be. For most people it simply means contacting a matchmaker, a relationship tolkachi, to set up blind dates. The cheapest version is just having a matchmaker run a database check. For members of the yangban and chaebols classes a saju tends to be announced to the public. As in our-timeline Joseon, a Royal saju means there is a marriage ban for every single woman in the country (Fact! I doublechecked!) until they have assembled an official candidate list. Which is why the committee tends to work fast, because this is wildly unpopular! The candidates are then under a marriage ban until the list is either closed by a wedding, by announcement, or the saju is officially renounced – has happened in times of war or pandemics, or when an announcing party passes away prematurely. A normal saju has a list of candidates, an open saju means it was published as ongoing but is more or less open to everyone. This is less common – conservative parents are not normally open to each and every applicant – but they do exist. A hidden saju is a saju that normally would have been published but is being kept under wraps for reasons. Given how only upper crust sajus are ever published, if social media-verse discovers a hidden saju, there is naturally a lot of theorising because and extra attention paid.
In the initial story we are following, the choice was between Tae Jial (b 1990 (Horse Pisces)) and Tae Jiwon (b 1994(Dog Gemini)) – in 2015 when the list was getting assembled, they were 25 and 21 respectively. It was seen, after looking into their background, astrology, personality and the King interviewing them together “just having tea” during a pleasant & innocent trip to the south, that the older sister Jial was a better fit astrologically, and in beauty, poise, popularity, height, sociability. Also, Jiwon being on the younger side for a modern court, and she’s still at university. Selecting Jial for a 1%-marriage had been a Tae family conjecture for years, so they had raised the older daughter to be the perfect conservative Korean social butterfly: ballet and figure skating, gayageum (on “Für Elise”-level), elocution, “proper” riding, high fashion, art major (works at an art gallery in Magadan, then Seoul), showers her with praise for her looks, (tall & slender, ivory skin, bright reddish-brown wavy hair, the Tae green eyes), her outgoing personality and so on. She’s a bit on the tall and thin side, borderline-but-not-quite model looks. She is intelligent, but somewhat fragile. She suffers from performance anxiety, imposter syndrome and an on/off case of bulimia/stress vomiting. She craves attention and praise, especially from men. Preferably many men at once. She loves clubbing, the social scene, does the online socialite influencer gigs. Being courted by the King is on the one hand the pinnacle of achievement, and on the other hand a living anxiety attack for the rest of her life. She is also known for being vicious and entitled, and a bully when crossed, living by the “smash things, if I can’t have it/him, no one can!”. There’s a high school incident where she hacks off a competitor’s hair and writes on her face with a sharpie. Think Azula of ATLA, but without the fire bending.
Jiwon on the other hand is the runt of her family, the youngest and the most overlooked. Her brothers call her Kkoma-ya – the runt/half-pint – teasingly. She has the smarts and the savvy of the Taes, and the courage of her khan & boyar ancestors. She’s pale, dark auburn hair, with the renowned Tae cool green eyes, but shorter than her siblings, more athletic than elegant, more charming than beautiful, and has a resting light smile that can be seen as pleasant, or sarcastic. She’s practical, rational, not easily flustered and very adaptable. She knows who she is, who she isn’t and mostly what she wants – quietly self-assured. Jiwon attends Magadan’s university conservatory for classical music, with an interest in composition, her prime instrument is the Chinese guquin/guzheng. She was taught basic self-defence and to handle a gun (basic hunting, self-defence) and stays in shape – more gym than dancing personality. She learnt to ride a horse at 2-3 years old – they had a Mongolian head groom who stuffed her into a fur hat as big as herself and tossed her into the saddle of a suitable-size pony – but she prefers driving/sleigh. She does troika racing in winter, and harness racing in summer, and has a group of dappled grey Orlov trotter mares. Knows basic Mongolian composite bow archery, but never mastered the Parthian shot. Competes in archery at university, she is the kind that places top 5 and finds that enough. Got a happy appetite for all physical pleasures, a charming smile and laughs easily. She figured she would stay in the High North to finish university, perhaps build a reputation for composition guquin music in the classical style, maybe eventually marry a naval officer or some friend of one of her Zhin or Choi chaebol cousins, but she was in no hurry. Jiwon’s opinion on shopping in Busan sums up as: “Very pretty dress, unni, but when would I wear clothes like that? I’d freeze my legs off! It’s not like I live in the capital” <fx: eyeroll> “Lets shop for you instead, unni. I’ll get myself a pair of earrings and a book, while you pick something out.” She finds the capital too hot, too muggy in summer – it is freaking rain all the time – and overall too crowded and in-your-face when visiting, either with family on court/yangban events, or when being pressured to see her sister in Seoul or Busan.
When the royal saju list lands with a thud in late 2015 there are mixed reactions at the Tae daeja. The parents are tickled pink, Jial preening <fx: Cuzco’s Aha! Aha! Aha! success dance> and Jiwon feeling the floor falling out from under her. Everything she knows about Pyeha so far (he’s after all the definition of a public person!) including meeting in passing at various yangban events over the years, screams that this guy is just the type that appeals to her, in looks and personality. She’s not blind and she has appetites. But he’s 8 years older than her, lives across the country, and while her family is certainly good enough, she always thought the court would suddenly proclaim some socialite from the peninsula with no prior warning. Now her own name is in the running, and second on the list. But it takes her one slow blink to realise the danger. Jial tops the list, she is obviously supported by their parents, and her unni has a thoroughly bad reputation when it comes to ceding status or possessions. The likelihood of Jial voluntarily handing anyone, even her sister, the rights to be Queen of Korea is in the dictionary of mathematics under the heading Definitions of Probability: Limes zero. And she has been known to resort to violence and unfair play when provoked. Making Jiwon conveniently disappear without a trace, or having her injured or despoiled to the point on ineligibility wouldn’t lose her any sleep. No one notices Jiwon’s hesitation, so she amps up her regular smile and joins in with a
“How lovely! Congratulations, unni, it’s such a well-deserved honour!”
Their mother gives her a suspicious side-eye – that tone is just a little bit too bright and brittle – but her youngest is overall a trouble-free, low drama, well-adjusted kid, so she lets it slide. Along with the list there are two invitations to a couple of social events in Busan, beginning in the end of January, including tea at court and a private dinner, same for everyone on the list so that the court can begin evaluating and selecting a candidate. Jial questions the need for Jiwon to even attend, “Besides, you are busy with your studies, and you hate Busan.” Tigress eyeing tigress.
“I’m sure it’s just a formality, unni. The poor man will have to drink tea with everyone, whether he wants to or not, after all. I’ll just tell Pyeha upfront that you are the best choice and that I wish the both of you the best of luck.”
A slight bow. Their mother is catching a whiff of snarling tigers but cannot quite tell what is going on. On the surface there is no conflict whatsoever, but the subtext is deep and full of striped fur in the shadows. “Or we could offer to combine the tea meeting, let me doublecheck the dates.” She compares the invitations. They are identical, except for the dates, a day or two apart, and they treat both sisters equally and individually. Jial frowns at her.
“We can always claim it’s inconvenient for us to travel that far repeatedly separately, or I can finagle something with my studies. Then you will hear me actually say that, if you don’t trust that I have the courage to, and I’ll come up with an excuse to cancel the dinner. Sudden stomach flu or something.” This gets through even to her father.
“What is going on? Jiwonushka, are you actively resisting a royal command? This is most unlike you!” Now the ice is getting thin, because she will have to come up with a truth-sounding excuse instantly. “Father, mother, this saju greatly honours our family. Both asshis of our family are considered to be qualified as the next Queen and Mother of our Kingdom. Nothing like this has ever happened before, and I am cognisant of the honour accorded to us both. But it’s like horse racing, it’s better for us to focus on one candidate to win. If we Taes crowd the field, it could get so tangled that someone else will overtake from the outer lanes. We all know unni is better suited for becoming queen, so I will quietly bow out of the race and support her candidacy.” She sips tea, allowing the concept to sink in, thinking she is home free, ending with: “I’m not getting in your way, unni.” Zhin Minyeung asks
“Are you seeing a boyfriend we do not know about, Jiwonya? Is that why?”
Her daughter chokes on tea.
“NO! Absolutely not! I am not seeing anyone!” She doesn’t add “I’m trying not to get murdered here, goddammit.” She reins herself back in again, to her normal pleasant demeanour. “It would be different if I was the only asshi, if Jialya was already married. Then I would try my best to represent our family. But I cannot compete with you, unni. You far outclass me in looks and poise, and you thrive in high society. Please don’t insist on pushing this on me, Mother, we all know it’s true. I learned how to handle a frisky stallion, while Jialya learned how to please a king, so let me stick to my horses and we will all benefit.”
They somewhat reluctantly agree. In part because she is sensible, in part because they know they cannot force her to be on her best behaviour for the preliminary dating if she truly resists the match. It might be better to slip a quiet word to the saju committee after one or two meetings and suggest that they are getting indications that their younger daughter is hesitant about the responsibilities included, and that Pyeha might be better off focusing his attentions elsewhere, like on their older daughter. Nudge, nudge. They can’t really claim she said flatly no – that looks really impolite – and they cannot describe her too negatively, because that would reflect badly both on them as parents, and on the saju committee for shortlisting her. But saying that she is young and hesitant about the great responsibility of being queen, about leading the court, after all she was raised exclusively in the North, which is a simpler place, and she’s only just graduating. And so on and so forth.
With her parents’ help they both attend Jial’s teatime, to the court’s administrative surprise. Jiwon is being cool as a cucumber outwardly, belying her “lack of poise” and showing off her signature rationality and gumption. She is wearing minimal makeup and is modestly dressed in neutral colours (black, tan, cream) – coat, mid-length skirt and sweater, minimal jewellery – unplanned echoing Pyeha’s informal style of dress. (Noh sanggun notices but makes no comment.) The only splash of colour is three small pins: the winter tiger, and taegeuki plus the hammer & sickle. Jiwon is going for shy, boring, unrefined northern asshi, and instead manages to come off as classy, self-assured, and composed (it’s not just Noh sanggun who perks up at the sight of her) Jial is wearing a bright rose, tight pantsuit and a lowcut top, gold jewellery and a bit of makeup. Jiwon does everything to discrete perfection: she nudges her sister to pour the tea, then, when Pyeha is not touching his tea and Jial doesn’t react to her prompting elbow, she (without fuss) drinks from his cup, which is the proper courtly manners. Conversation is very stiff until Jiwon asks to be allowed to say something.
“Pyeha, I believe my unni is better suited to be queen, and I wish you both the most auspicious of luck”<deep and polite bow> Dead silence. She stands up, bows deeply again. “I am humbly thankful for tea, Your Majesty’s grace is immeasurable, I will ever remain his loyal subject, but elsewhere.” She grabs her coat and does the speed glide, half teleporting to the door, a final deep bow and she’s gone. Gone in 60seconds! Ut pu da! (Something both funny and sad) Jial comments
“She promised she would say something like that, I didn’t think she had the courage to. But I’m glad that she did. Now, where were we?” Gives him a million-watt smile.
Here’s the part where Jiwon ingests laxatives to get out of that dinner. That way she doesn’t have to lie about cancelling.
The royal saju drifting into the formal courtship stage is not going well. At all. On paper Tae Jial looked like the perfect candidate, everything matchy-matchy, both Court and her family are waving cheerleader pompoms. But in practice he’s too quiet, studious and earnest to enjoy spending time with someone so high-strung and high maintenance. He acknowledges her beauty and ease in higher circles, though. And she finds him, while handsome, athletic and kind, an utter bore in person. She wants the title and the visibility, not the man himself. Very little natural chemistry, though both are making a serious effort. While she was awarded the public title of Yaghonyeosshi (Madam Fiancée) from the day she was shortlisted, he keeps putting off giving her the Queen’s ring and the title Bisshi (Queen Elect, or Madam Queen (also the title used for Royal Consorts)) that would formalise her as the fiancée and get the court to plan the actual wedding, against nagging by the court to just get on with it. He can’t really explain why he keeps procrastinating; it just happens. There is several red-carpet type events where they stand stiffly next to each other or fake an intimate photo “Smile for the cameras” cf the scene in TKEM. They share few interests and have very little to talk of beside pleasantries and the weather. He takes her riding and yachting in semi-private: being an equestrian and former navy officer, horses and being at sea are things he enjoys. Not a hit. She drags him to movie and award premiers, glitzy restaurants, and shopping, where she knows there will be onlookers and press present. He brings her along on giving speeches and lectures (like commencement speech at SNU, and mathematics), offers to cook for her – it’s a personal hobby – and she wants more public attention in general, and avoids spending alone time or sharing little details of her private life, while making bank off her looks and her grace and her self-assurance. He tells her not to have men spending the night – this is a repeat occurrence, especially in combination with champagne, and possibly party drugs – and she calls him an old fashioned grump. She complains to outsiders behind his back, he stonewalls her. Gradually, any social interaction begins to peter out, longer intervals, with excuses on both sides. Pyeha is realising just what a toxic socialite he is going to be yoked to for the rest of his life but cannot see an acceptable way out of unhappiness. Jial is getting increasingly frustrated, anxious, and shrill at being left hanging in limbo. All her usual tactics for getting her way fall flat, and she’s never yet failed at getting men to do her wishes. All this is going on to the background of intense social media commentary, which adds to the pressure cooker. During this period, the Taes are more or less commuting the 6-hour flight Magadan – Busan, trying to run interference and push their daughter into shaping up and fit the royal mold. They do their utmost to show her off at upscale yangban events, and hobnobbing with chaebol women, the pearl necklace country club equivalents. They drag Jiwon by the scruff of her neck to escort her sister around Busan and Seoul, to be a third wheel, a minder and a general spoke in the wheel of Jial’s less acceptable behaviour. The plan backfires badly. Jial has never much respected her 4-years younger sister and will not heed her advice. This leads to occasional quarrels or yelling at Jiwon being captured on video, down to actually slapping her in public. Write in an example of a public quarrel. Jiwon on her hand, being simultaneously a loyal subject of the Kingdom and afraid of her unni, but also trying to please her parents with this task, is at her wits’ ends. She just wants to run back home to Magadan and scream into a pillow in frustration. This means she is attending several of the same events as Pyeha, including that mathematics lecture, and actually understands enough to have a polite conversation about it with him afterwards. Same with the yangban/chaebol receptions. She is in effect increasingly double-dating, and that was never their parents’ intention. Without intending to, Jiwon’s quiet strengths and discrete public manners contrast sharply against her sister, and lots of people take note. This is after all a very staid and conservative part of upper society, not the wilder, our-timeline-like parts of (younger) society. Until now Jiwon has stayed mainly in Magadan, and she’s in her last year at university. Hobnobbing in Busan, except events where the entire Tae family has mandatory attendance, has never been her thing, and her parents have excluded her in part because she hasn’t asked to be included, in part because they somewhat overlook her. High society mostly knew of her in theory, not in person. Now there are quiet whispers spreading that the younger Tae sister would top any saju list the second the marriage ban of the royal saju is lifted, and matrons with single sons are giving her quiet once-overs. Those whispers are heard far and wide, including in Inner and Outer Court, but not really on general social media, so Jial doesn’t much notice or care. Besides, what happens to Jiwon afterward is of no interest to her. <fx: Cuzco: “Don’t know. Don’t care”> Jiwon herself mainly feels out of place and like the kkoma-ya her brothers call her. She tags along on a riding outing in the bamboo forest, and handles her horse, a frisky roan stallion – she selected the horse herself, commenting that he looked like he needed the exercise – with the effortless ease of an experienced equestrian, while mostly staying quietly in the back with the mounted guard. But they end up alone along the riding path a few moments, waiting for the moderately-capably Jial (even on a staid horse) to catch up and they talk about the situation, in a roundabout way. He asks
“How is your cheek? I know she slapped you” Jiwon shakes her head slightly.
“It’s fine, thank you for asking, Pyeha. She is not as strong as she thinks.”
The stallions show off against each other, she handles hers with casual competence.
“Your conversation was recorded, so I am aware of what you both said. I have been meaning to ask you, Asshi. Why are you really stepping back from the saju? I respect that you do. But is it because of you, or of her … or of me?” Jiwon turns very pink, looks away, but finds it difficult to dodge a direct question. She may never again have the chance to say this, the truth she has not even spoken to her parents, and the man is actually listening to her, in this green quiet space.
“It’s because of her. When I first saw the saju list I knew I had to decline, and fast. Unni … she is of course much more glamorous than me in all ways, there’s no comparison, but it was not because of that.” A deep breath. “My sister is an entitled bully, who does what she wants, and no one else can touch what she considers hers. She’ll rather smash something than allow someone else to have it, and if she can’t do it herself, she’ll find someone else to do her bidding. There have been … incidents. Bad ones, that were covered up. Beatings to the point of disability, someone’s dog dismembered, one girl gang-assaulted and left in snow because unni wanted her boyfriend for a while. Minor things like that, that I know of. There could be more. You can have people dig around for confirmation if you don’t believe me. If I had tried to compete with her for the honour of being your queen, she would have had me killed, it is as simple as that. Much as I respect and admire you, Pyeha, and I do, being with you is not worth my life.”
There is a stunned silence, the quiet sounds of the forest around them. He had expected a lot of things, including being in love with someone else, or hidden health issues, or indeed the lack of confidence her parents had claimed was the reason, but not this. Jiwon keeps eye contact, trying to evaluate his reaction.
“You really are that afraid of her? From the very first, you were always so self-assured. It’s hard to envision you cowering in terror.” A pause, she smiles ruefully, a slight sad laugh.
“Oh, it is more smarts than terror. I just believe you have the power to curb her excesses, Pyeha, and I get to stay far, far away from her in Magadan.”
He nearly chokes. For all the conversations he ever envisioned having with this girl, this level of straight-speaking hard truth did not figure at all.
“Am I supposed to thank you for foisting your bully of a sister on me?”
She smirks slightly, oozing tigress charisma.
“A simple thank you would be nice; indeed, you were stuck with her the moment you published a saju list with her name on it, anyway. You fool. Congrats. Enjoy.”
“Are you really supposed to talk to your King this way, Asshi?”
There is a lightness to his tone, it’s a criticism but not sharp, even playful.
“My apologies, Pyeha,” she bows deeply in the saddle. “Your Majesty’s grace is immeasurable. I will humbly modify my tone.”
“And why do I think you are still being sarcastic?”
Despite the serious topic, he’s beginning to enjoy himself. Verbally sparring with her is like the snarky banter he does with Captain Jo, or his old Japanese frenemy Hiero Kuroda.
“I am ever Pyeha‘s loyal subject, I would never dare offer intentional offense.”
Another deep bow. He catches her tiny smile as her long hair partially hides her face. Yes, she is indeed teasing him, and it’s a sim kung moment.
“Well, we need to get through this outing unscathed, Asshi. Any suggestions?”
“They should be catching up soon. How does a slow walk together along the more scenic path sound? She should be able to handle that well enough, and I offer to make myself sparse and give this impatient lad the ride he much needs?”
She is looking all innocent, but there is a faint twinkle in the corner of her eyes at the double entendre. The fact that she can tease and joke about such topics, while staying within propriety, is sending shivers not just down the spine of one impatient lad in need of a ride.
“The right fork curves back to the racetrack. Do a few kilometres at least at a canter. He’s got good stamina, so you need to really work him.” Her mouth twitches slightly.
“Oh, I see. Then I’ll make sure to return him sweaty and happy to his stables afterwards.”
She sets off down the path at an easy lope.
“I’ll send one of the guards after you, for security!”
Whenever they encounter each other socially, she is unfailingly pleasant and will talk to him in a relaxed if polite manner, as if they are already in-laws, or at least friends. This includes leaning into her sibeureo dialect run-on sentences, as opposed to the permafrost-in-the-presence-of-strangers that the koreyo-saram culture calls for. They talk about things such as recipes, horses, music – she’s not exactly admitting to being a budding composer, but she definitely talks knowledgably about music – and even politics, with or without Jial present. Their tone is gradually growing layers of teasing, on top being interesting and satisfying. Somewhere along the line after the bamboo forest even Pyeha is catching onto the contrast, and somehow begins to include her more, unconsciously selecting activities that would appeal to Jiwon more than Jial, and himself finding them more rewarding. This is not consciously done from his side, it’s just that he ends up having a better time with both sisters than with Jial alone, and things he doesn’t enjoy, like glitzy galas, are more bearable then. <fx: the movie The American President: “I just enjoy spending time with her, AJ.”> They even end up going to a classical music concert together, Jial having backed out at the last minute, saying that it’s boring and that she has a hangover. Politely and properly leaving Jial’s empty seat between them, guards as chaperones in the box, and Jiwon smiling and glowing with enjoying the music. Watching her from the corner of his eye at the concert, the unbidden thought finally matures and knocks on his brain: “Am I marrying the wrong sister?” and it won’t go away.
It’s hard to deny that she suits him so much better, as a person, and her description of her sister is beginning to make sense to him. There is chemistry between them, organic self-organising chemistry, not involving standoffish noble gases. That thought makes his fights with and disapproval of Jial even sharper, because in a way it would be simpler socially to just stay the course. So they fight, and verbally stab and ghost each other. He goes through a lot of soul searching, and weighing of options at night, spinning the smooth Queen’s Ring between his fingers, finding sleep hard, and not just sleep. He does not publicly air his concerns – honour can be a curse – but unease is spreading through court during that summer. Captain Jo, his closest friend, is very much aware of his unhappiness – he gets more reports of Jial’s doings than he shares, and he fears for the future of his king and the court – but he feels it is not his place to tell Pyeha to break off the saju process. He’s aware of the candidates on the list, since he’s in charge of arranging protection, but has no real preference except “Not that Northern hussy!” When it comes to Jiwon, he’s firmly in the camp of: “Can’t see how the two of them are even related, like they run of different software” and comments “at least this one’s biddable,” which only goes to prove that Jo Yeung may be a champion at security but doesn’t understand winter tigresses. Tae Jiwon is many things. Smooth, discrete, practical, kind but biddable is not in her personality. Timeline here stretches to late summer of 2016, maybe late august. It rains. Full cliches of umbrellas everywhere.
Hard to say (yet) exactly what makes enough be enough, I’m thinking finding out she had an abortion while being pre-engaged to him – they’re not sleeping together – but Pyeha hits the point of tak zhit nelzya. He wants out, the only question is how. He doesn’t want to insult the Taes, he’s aware how troubled the relationship between the sisters are, and he feels a burning need to keep Jiwon safe while he unspools his relationship with Jial. But if he involves the royal guards for protection, it would be somewhat known, it would at the very least leak into court. He wants to solve this impossible problem no one the wiser. It becomes almost like a mathematical query for him to worry at. He arrives at a partway solution: he has a scheduled meeting with the yakuza clan leaders. As always, he dresses in black, makes sure the scar at his throat is visible and wears his navy officer sword. He speaks their lingo and fully embraces the role he plays for them – it’s not that different from being a king, just a different dialect and dress code. The various yakuzas are generally gruff, scarred and flamboyantly inked, in black suits or all-black, but in a weird way he connects better with them than the twofaced yangbans and chaebols. It’s very much a male centred world, in a male centred society, and with the most masculinely gruff form of Busan dialect, which is Pyeha’s dialect when not speaking standard or formal Korean as part of his job. (All mafiosi in our timeline k-dramas speak Busan dialect for this exact reason) They discuss various matters, drink beer and soju, with a wide spread of Korean snacks and small dishes. Eventually, he broaches the topic of the saju, describing the situation as the elder Tae sister being marketed as something she isn’t by her parents. Headshakes all around and commiseration about bad matchmakers, you should have used our people, they know their stuff.
“But her sister Jiwonsshi, she is my woman. Modesty and curves, that’s one hot package. She will wear the queen’s ring, be mother of my sons”
He wouldn’t ever talk about her this way in any other setting, especially not to Jiwon herself, but he knows what works with this audience. Toasts and lewd cheers all around.
“That noona is one knife happy bitch, though. She might go for the sangsaui yeoja for revenge. Few things as vicious as bad blood between sisters.” He drinks more soju. Lots of sage nods around the table. He slams the glass down. “I’d send the royals to guard her, but those guys can’t be trusted to keep their mouths zipped. I need you guys to guard her for me. Every single second until I can deal with that b*tch myself. Not a scratch on her. I don’t care how or what you do.”
Pyeha is playing the crowd here, he does trust the guards in general, but he’s acting as expected in the role. The clan leaders accede, and once out of there starts the unusual cross-clan cooperation of keeping their boss’ woman safe. Yakuza being yakuza, they find a certain grim fun in pulling one over such a powerful yangban lord as the Tae tiger himself, and it’s been years since their boss has asked anything of them. Pyeha has at this point little insight in how completely things will spiral out of his control. The first move is setting a 24/7 surveillance teams on each sister and set up a communication network. Jiwon’s group is trained in close combat and contains experienced bodyguards, Jial’s is more for tracking. This continues for about a week, and the yakuzas find themselves agreeing with their boss’ assessment. The hot noona is indeed a shrill, entitled bitch, and though she doesn’t actually stab anyone during the week, they witness some slaps and her throwing a glass at random people. And casual drug use combined with general sleaze (honour is a biggie for the yakuza). Jiwon’s team gives the thumbs up at someone who keeps to herself, does wholesome things … and those delectable curves, of course. (If she was yakuza, she’d be inked and in skimpier clothes, the rest is totally up their alley, cf the Sicilian mafia). Then one day Jiwon realises someone is tailing her. Being aware of the risk of terrorism, she does the basics in losing the tail but to no avail. Sitting in her hotel room in the evening, she is concerned but not panicky. Who can she ask for help in Busan? Her family is a no-no, besides they’re up north at the moment, and it simply doesn’t occur to her to ring the court. (That would have been the easiest solution, but no, she’s not at that point yet) And the police might not believe her – there is a bit of … stiffness between regular police and the upper crust yangban and chaebols who tend to have their private security forces. She would rather die than ring her sister. So, she slips out of her hotel room down to the reception desk and books another room, with some credible excuse of having a friend come visit, on the same tab. Goes loudly and obviously to her original room, then slips away to spend the night in the other room. Sneaks out early morning, not bringing any luggage except her knives and phone, and stays hidden until the shops open. She picks a simple non-brand store off the main street, residential area. Buys hoodie, baseball cap and a facemask, bag of toiletries, water, snacks. She hides in a Catholic church, even goes to confession, WRITE THIS SCENE and in a koinka, where her singing her own songs have an entertainment manager listening in with increasing excitement, but cannot track her. He got some of her singing recorded on his phone, not enough to copy, but enough to search. It leaks onto social media causing a semi-frenzy in certain quarters: Who is the mystery singer and what are those songs? In the meantime, her yakuzas are in a cold sweat for having misplaced her. Hell, the boss will be more than mad. They break into her original hotel room and realise she’s gone. Frantic searching goes on, expanding outwards from the hotel. Eventually the communication team catches onto her phone – she has settled for trying to ring her Zhin cousins – and can pinpoint her location. She doesn’t want to inform her uncle, but her similar age cousin Zhin Sunyi could be of help. Sunyi promises to pick her up by car on a square not too far off from the city centre. Heading there Jiwon gets spotted and chased. She punches one guy in the teeth, judo flips another and does a speed run into the milling mass of everyday citizens. Waves frantically at Sunyi who pulls up in a blue minicar and speeds off. Registration number is noted. Sunyi goes “Hi, cuz! What is going on?!” while exceeding the speed limit. “I have no freaking idea. Suddenly these black dressed guys were tailing me, and then chasing me when I made a run for it. They look like someone’s security forces, but I don’t know who I could have pissed off. Or yakuza, but I don’t have anything to do with them.” They slip into the Zhin compound drop off the car and alert the Zhin security that Asshi has her cousin for sleepover, and that she had some ruffians trailing her, could they please deal with it? The actual Zhin daeja is in rainy, cool, wooded Sakhalin, this is their Busan residence. The Zhin another koreyo-saram bunch, but leaning more Korean than their Tae cousins, and mostly speak standard Korean rather than full sibeorieun dialect. The girls have dinner, chat, borrow clothes – Jiwon has been two days in the same underwear, so shower = yes, please – and were settling down to a night of pyjamas, wine, k-drama, chats and general men and sisters are idiots-bonding. And that’s when the yakuza arrive at full force, around 100 fighters ready to storm the compound. There is action movie level street fighting going on with injuries on both sides. The cousins are watching from a second story window, aghast and confused. At some point, watching this, something snaps and resets Jiwon’s mind, and her Mongolian khatun/Russian-Siberian princess/queen-side kicks in. People are possibly dying for her, ppak cindal and it’s up to her to stop it if no one else does. She storms downstairs, in silly borrowed jammies and bunny slippers, against Sunyi’s protests, and wades into the fray. Screams:
“HOLD!” at the top of her lungs. Silence descends with a couple of sneaky after-the-call extra punches. “What the fuck is going on? Someone tell me before I start cracking heads myself and I won’t discriminate!” Security spokesman:
“Asshi <deep bow> these people tried to storm us. I think they’re yakuza, but we have no beef with them. We’re just defending the hold and the family.”
She turns a sweep of laser glare on the other side. Some silent jostling, then a reluctant spokesperson is pushed to the front.
“Sangsaui yeojanim, we were instructed to guard you. With no matter how or what we do. That’s why we’re assembled. Just let us do our job, and no one gets hurt.”
Jiwon has had a couple of ugly days, and her temper is fraying at the edges.
“I have been claimed by no man, much less by a yakuza boss, so you can stuff that Sangsaui yeojanimli address right back up your ass. If you have complaints, go talk to my father, he will stand you undressed outdoors in Siberian winter for even suggesting something like that. And why are you, idiots, the lot of you, fighting my uncle’s men? I’m perfectly safe here, not that’s any business of yours, or whomever ordered you to, and I’m in the care of my cousin. Now, stand down and go home!”
All of the above delivered in very singsong sibeorieu, notice how her dialect has –nimli instead of -nim when spoken broadly. On the one hand she is displaying idiot bravery, on the other hand, there is a mental slot that she doesn’t so much slide into, as drive a tank battalion into, planting her flag and establishing a bridgehead. She is very much assured and in command, and for the Zhin security, she’s displaying the leadership expected of a chaebol executive or a yangban lord. For the yakuza it’s like being ordered by a boss, which to them just confirms her position, and makes them decide not to follow her orders. After all, the sajang outranks the sajang‘s woman, so they are in no way going to stop bodyguarding her.
There’s a general standdown, and the yakuza fighters vanish around the nearest corner … to setup a safe perimeter and assemble an infiltration team. Medical attention is paid all around where needed. A certain amount of male backslapping and the promise of future soju. Jiwon breathes a sigh of relief and heads back to her cousin. They have a nice evening, deciding not to talk about what just happened. Partly because the political implications of a major yakuza-chaebol infighting are a sign something bad could be coming, but both are slightly in shock from seeing quiet and subversive Jiwon spontaneously ordering armed men around on her inborn authority alone. Jiwon is a bit dazed at finding this side within herself, she’s generally pragmatic, low key and avoiding unnecessary conflicts. On the one hand she sees herself as a tiger, the proud descendant of the great khan and Russian emperors, but she’s always been a very small Siberian tiger. An hour ago, she was on the verge of treating armed men as so much deer carcass.
EXPAND ON THE AFTERMATH – WHAT HAPPENS ON JIWON’S SIDE? IT’S VERY LIKELY THE YAKUZA WILL KIDNAP HER FOR PROTECTION, WHICH IN TURN EXPLAINS WHY SHE OVERREACTS LATER IN MAGADAN
THE ATTACK ON TAE JIAL WAS INTENDED FOR PYEHA.
Then disaster strikes. Jial and two others are killed in a car accident. Young men, alcohol, drugs and half pulled off dress is involved, major public scandal. But the actual results of the investigation are suppressed – there is hard evidence that someone had meddled with the car (brakes? Brake fluid?) and all evidence points to a more organised cell of republican dissenters, possibly even with foreign backing by the Taiping republic. If the king has no queen and his second cousin who was never trained for the responsibility is his only heir, this unstable situation benefits the republican course and the Chinese Taiping influence. And possibly parts of the guards. Or the Chekists. Everyone is in shock at the accident. The public and the Taes because of the accident, the court because of the security situation. There is even a slight “good riddance” from various social media corners. Pyeha suffers from a certain amount of guilt “I should have let her go, then she wouldn’t have died …. But if I had, they might have killed Jiwon instead!” but is mainly too busy at hunting down the culprits, beefing up security to be struck immobile and yelling at the Heavenly Republic through diplomatic channels. He’s weathering the scandal with public silence and modesty. Technically Jial wasn’t a formal fiancée and didn’t have the royal title – he had been procrastinating hard – but he still thinks he owes her and her family a formal gesture. He also reconvenes the royal saju committee and more or less tells them “I’ve had it with this. Tae Jiwon or no one. Arrange it after the funeral, once we have security in place. Move!” <fx: The Hunt for Red October, the tone of the orders when they evade the torpedo. “30 degrees down on the bow planes!”> He’s faced with gaping fish, but they recover quickly and admit that the younger sister has shown to have a much better reputation and would fit the court better, and that as long as the saju list is open, there is time. Security is of course a priority, but they are happy that Pyeha came to the mature decision to move on so quickly. Historians enter this into the records, with discrete approval. The unmentioned elephant tapdancing in a pink tutu in the room is, that while saddened at the accident, there is a certain relief that it looks like they’re not having to spend the next 50 years quashing public scandals. Captain Jo toasts to the future peace of the court in plenty of soju.
At Jial’s funeral in Magadan, October 2016 (snow, -5C = pleasant weather for Siberia)
I suspect someone, Secretary Mo most likely, will have given him a heads-up that the Royal Court is reactivating the list of bisshi candidates and that his remaining daughter will be getting a quiet once-over at the funeral. Jiwon’s father Tae Kimoon’s reaction to having the Court move on to, and settling on his younger daughter as the next jungjeon of Korea can be summarized as “the Soviet Machine” from the musical Chess: tone, body language, vodka, the works. He even looks like Matrosov the artist in the Moscow version of the musical.
“Be aware that her appearance and behaviour at your elder daughter’s funeral will affect her standing on the list.” Secretary Mo is lying, given what Pyeha already informed the committee of his decision, but she’s giving her King a way out just in case this bride turns sour too. Jiwon is totally mystified by the sudden attention, which includes admonitions about skin care, getting her nails done and when did her father ever have an opinion about the details of her dress?! He also orders her to be the central mourning singer, instead of her mother, to both their surprise. “Kneeling in front of every man in the room, including the royal entourage. Full display! Spotlight, action! Mwuahaha!” is pretty much his line of thinking. This makes Jiwon’s ability to grab Captain Jo in advance even more admirable, dodging all minders. Her father then grabs her by the shoulder and cringe-forcibly introduce her to Pyeha, when she doesn’t want the pointless public attention (being first singer makes her torn between wanting to avoid attention and doing well for her sister) of being stared at by royalty, while at least her father is acting embarrassingly weird. She wants to do her duty, have 3-4 shots of vodka, play a few pieces if it’s demanded of her, and then escape at first opportunity, which is her standard mode of operation when in public.the rites are a Korean-Russian compromise, with a lot of local shamanistic practices, such as drums and singing. It follows Korean practice with the bowing, the black-ribboned picture, the chief mourner and wearing black. There are two historians present at the funeral ceremony, they get almost as sloshed as anyone else, despite their official duties. On the way into the funeral Jiwon grabs Captain Jo and describes a crash course on how to avoid the lethal Russian force-toasting on the premise that the jeonha will indeed be mobbed later on.
“They’ll make him toast over and over, and won’t accept a no. That’s their way of showing loyalty and respect. Trust me on this and stop shaking your head. Short of shooting people, you are not stopping a mob of drunken Russians. Not at a yangban funeral, and not with Pyeha present. You’ll be lucky if you can keep them from kissing him repeatedly! On both cheeks and on the mouth! Of course, they will do that! Stop huffing at me, you fool Southerner! You may know the Court, but I know the North! Look, this is what you do.”
She shows how to pretend covering the glass with her fingers and passing on the glass.
“No, watch again! Hurry to teach Pyeha this and we’ll all escape a massacre, alcohol poisoning or both!” She slips away into the crowd, dodging a grab. Jo is affronted by her presumptuousness, but afterwards grudgingly acknowledges that she was correct – as she often is – but he strenuously resists apologizing to her.
The handwriting of their notes bear witness. The family ladies are in black sarafan & kokoshka instead of hanbok, with braided hair to the side and front, not a strict knot in the back. 1-2 mourner/singers, then the whole situation descends into full male singing and lots, I seriously mean ginormous amounts, of vodka. Jial’s black-ribboned portrait, below the High North red banner of the hammer & sickle & star. Pyeha bows to the black-ribboned funeral picture, everyone else kneels head to floor twice. Once they spot their jeonha, there is a general breakout of full-throated male choir of the Kingdom’s Hymn of the High North, and the Hymn of the Northern Fleet, straight backs, hand on heart, ending in joint bowing. Jiwon is already on her knees after the keening mourning psalm, along w Jihan oppa, so she’s up front, singing in that position, very visibly.
There is a general and chaotic outbreak of vodka, singing, drumming, and toasting. Everyone local speaks Sibeorineo, fully singsong and emotional vowels, the southerners have somewhere between standard dialect and Busan. Guard captain Jo Yeung nearly has a litter of kittens. Pyeha sneaks him and the other guards at least 3/4 of the vodka shots he’s offered, or it would have been a lethal dose of alcohol.
Everyone ends up more or less as drunk as a pack of very happy skunks. Toasts and cheek kissing and bearhugs all around. Improvised male choral singing and general bonding. There are two historians present at the funeral ceremony, they get almost as sloshed as anyone else, despite their official duties. The handwriting of their notes bears witness. It gets to the point of Pyeha singing Sail away, Sail away, Sail away with the Russians and adlibbing more verses – he has a warm light baritone – to general cheer. More vodka! More kissing! Perkele, and Jiwon being pushed into doing Stairway and a bardcore I need a hero a duet with her brother Jimon’s wife on her guqin, before being able to flee. Jihan oppa shouting after her:
“Make sure you lock your door tonight, Kkoma-ya! Going to be many rowdy men roving the corridors tonight!” She gives him the equivalent of the finger and makes a run for it.
In her room she tries to remove the braids and kokoshnik and gets tangled, everything dangling down the side of her face, when she hears soft steps that she hopes is her mother. It’s Pyeha, who has dropped off five blackout drunk guards in his room, where vomiting may be happening, and drunk male snoring. He is trying to get some air and sober up a bit. The daeja hallways are cool and mostly deserted: everyone is either gathered downstairs or running maintenance – more vodka & snacks brought in, blackout drunks carried out – there’s a general silence here in the upper floors, and the velvet draped high window alcoves overlook the low snowy mountains or the sea in the distance. It’s a good place to pace and contemplate when your quarters are pretty much a drunk tank at the moment. The place has a spacious, palatial air, of the Russian more than East Asian style, including the domes instead of the pointed roof edges, visible through windows, slightly brushed by snow on the gold. It’s a wonderland place of snow, starlight, and tinkling metal windchimes.
Then Jiwon rushes out her door in a semi-dressed state, all tangled, with a
“Matka? Could you help me with ….” in Russian. <fx: Silence. Tableau frozen in place> “My apologies, Pyeha” She kowtows. “I mistook you for my mother. The royal guest quarters are that way.” She points, getting increasingly embarrassed and talking into the silence. “I bid Pyeha a pleasant night.” She offers another deep bow and beginning to back away into her room.
“With what did you need your mother’s help, Asshi? Given your state of dress, do you need a maid?”
More silence and staring. Then Jiwon’s basic levelheadedness and honesty kicks in. After all, she is acquainted with the man even if they are in no way close enough for this situation.
“Pyeha, my kokoshka is tangled and stuck to my hair. The staff is busy keeping the funeral from getting out of hand. My choice is another pair of hands or cutting off the tangles with scissors. But it is of no concern. I’ll ask one of the maids in the morning. “
She’s straight-backed, li and hamnidali everywhere as per her Sibeorineo dialect, but slightly flushed, keeping eye contact, one hand on the door handle, ready to bolt. It’s obvious she is not trying to impose or to proposition him, if so, she would have swept the Oscar awards. From Pyeha’s viewpoint, Tae Jiwon has at every single interaction been modest, intelligent, unfazed but polite, sometimes funny, and tonight he has seen her musical and familial side, which is just icing on top. He is in no way assuming she’s out to trick him, which is correct, but to him this is the first time he is totally alone with the girl he has now decided to marry. Until now that decision has been a combination of rationality – she’s the quality version of her sister – but also of the hope of chemistry. This is a rare opportunity that mustn’t be missed – a certain amount of alcohol may influence his reasoning. he’s generally more standoffish but any kind of socially acceptable physical interaction with his fiancée is a bonus. Of course, at this point neither she nor her family are aware that she is, in his eyes, his future queen, but royalty can be entitled and clueless, even the nice guys. He doesn’t quite love her at this point, not the way he does later on. He likes her a great deal, he thinks she’ll be the perfect wife and queen to share the rest of his life with, but it’s a crush combined with a practical, friendly sensibility. On the other hand, he’s a late-bloomer red blooded man, who was raised with the duty to have a large family. The concept of having conjugal relations with his wife repeatedly and at length has been hammered into him from an early age.
“Cutting hair like yours would be a crime. Do not do that.”
He takes a deep breath of taking the plunge.
” May I help you, Asshi?”
Time stops, but for the faraway tinkling of windchimes.
She bows, kokoshka bouncing against her cheek.
“If Pyeha would, I would be humbly grateful. Please?”
Consent is a good thing. So they end up standing very close as he is unlooping and unpinning her headdress, to whispered comments like:
“Ouch” and “a bit more to the left, it’s still stuck” and “I’ll hold that hair pin, too” interspaced with “Thank you, Pyeha” and “My eternal gratitude, Pyeha, ouch!”
It is all intensely intimate in a non-6ual way, given the Confucian mores of this world, and not something ever to be allowed between proper young yangban/chaebol members of opposite genders. Which is why Jial’s proclivities were so shocking to the public. Warm fingers through hair, touching skin in passing, standing close enough to catch the natural scent of clean clothes and bodies, with just a hint of vodka. He takes his time untangling, mainly subconsciously delaying, while getting severely bonked by an akita, his mind a jumble of Lady Godiva scenes with auburn hair flowing over pale skin. I am going to assume that soft, quiet voices from women, including whispering, is seen as attractive in this culture, sort of like the Japanese have a thing for the back of the neck of women, or Victorians and those ankles in heels. Jiwon is just trying to avoid drawing attention to them, not being flirty, but for Pyeha this just fires up the situation even more. Certain parts of him are letting him know in no uncertain terms that he wants more of this, with his fiancée, and preferably soon. Of course, she is affected too – Jiwon found him physically attractive just drinking tea those years ago, EXPAND ON THEM MEETING SOCIALLY IN PASSING OVER THE YEARS but he was always forbidden fruit (Royalty? Her sister’s boyfriend/fiancé-to-be?) so she has been playing the wide-eyed “this man is just my kinsman”-game, on top of the “kowtow + I’m not worthy!” excuse for a year- so flushed cheeks, bated breath, when not getting her hair pulled, but her mind goes: “The man is just being polite. My father will kill me if I offer insult. Focus, goddam it! Let me get out of here, lock my door … and then I can dream, and more, no one the wiser.”
Finally kokoshka and hair are separated, she holds it in her hand. Tries to bow without bumping her face on his shoulder. She finds it embarrassing, he finds it cute.
“Don’t let anyone else touch your hair.” (She: Wtf is this? He: Inside voice, goddam it!)
“Ehhhh … are you including maids and hairdressers too?” The pause turns into embarrassed silence when there is no reply. “Pyeha, I am not in the habit of allowing strange men to touch my hair, or any other part of me, if that is what you mean. This will not change; you have my word.”
Another almost-nose-bump bow.
“Good” (She: Double dafuq is going on? He: Say something, you idiot, or else she’ll leave)
The Pratchett pause is broken by the approaching sound of staggering and offkey singing.
Pyeha‘s mind is slightly dulled and definitely preoccupied by bat-wielding akitas, but he does realise being found standing centimetres away from the asshi of the house, alone, at night, with her state of dress, while not revealing, being slightly improper even if this is not his fault, is not a good look for the dignity of the Court. Jiwon may be less than perfectly sober, and she suffers from her share of akitas, but her Roving-Packs-Of-Drunk-Russians-radar is working just tickety-boo. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Her back is towards the corridor, so she takes one step backwards, grabs the front of his jacket with both fists and with:
“My apologies, Pyeha, but there’s no time!” pivots them in two twirls of a pirouette into the window alcove across the hallway. He’s taller and heavier than her, but she’s athletic with some martial arts training, and, while surprised, he is not really resisting. She smacks him against the wall, with one hand pulling the velvet curtains out to mostly conceal them and covers his mouth with her right fingers. She breathes below even a whisper.
“Please, please be quiet, Pyeha. I’m not intending an affront, but we couldn’t be found like that.”
A wide-eyed exchange of looks, cognac brown eyes meeting jade green ones, a second of understanding, a slight nod. Jiwon is squeezed up against him, trying to stay inconspicuous and invisible. She’s not squirming or trying to make the most of the situation – he’s faced his share of women trying that exact gambit so he can tell the difference – just standing intimately close and breathing on his collar bone, with her fingers against his lips. God damn Confucius and God damn those akitas! But an opportunity is indeed an opportunity. So, he wraps both arms around her and pulls her even closer, whispering into her ear.
“I understand … Jiwonsshi.“
She blushes furiously at that address, even though it’s the semiformal –sshi ending and not the intimate –ya, especially since she is pressed against his severe case of akitas. She has four loud, extroverted brothers and she breeds horses. Confucius morals aside, she is certainly aware of how physical bodies work. Her mind is torn between fear of discovery, heavy blushing and trying to analyse how to react to the akitas. Damn, those are some exciting doggos!
The rowdy group staggers past. They sing in a mix of languages, swig from bottles, and are generally bad examples of male behaviour.
He takes the chance sniffing her hair, kissing the top of her head, while pulling her as close as he can. It’s the perfect excuse. Nothing major, it’s just a hug, but a very long and tight one. ADD THIS SECTION
“No, Pyeha” She pulls her wrist free.
“No?” Soft and tempting tone. Jiwon sighs, more a very put-upon indrawn breath.
“Since you are too drunk to remember this in the morning, Pyeha, I will speak to you as an honourable man, and not as my King. I am not afraid of you. You have had too much vodka tonight to be a threat to me. Whatever your body tells you that it wishes to do to me right now …” She blushes but keeps the eye contact. “… well, your body is wrong, because you are likely to fall asleep very soon. The vodka is also affecting your usual good sense. Passing out on my bed with me still in the room will have ugly political consequences, and the Court don’t want those, and my father doesn’t want those. Won’t matter how innocent things really end up, the rumours will still fly. No, please do not argue. I understand that yours is a lonely life, and that I am just the one who happened to be here in your frozen bubble of solitude when the vodka kicked in.” A deep sigh and lowered eyes.
“It is fine, I am not angry with you. I am doing this to protect you, even if you don’t see it right now.”
Taking pains not to touch her further, and to keep his balance, he leans in and kisses her forehead tenderly and slowly.
“You are a very wise woman, Asshi. You are right, it shouldn’t happen like this. You are too precious for dishonour.”
He steps back and opens the door.
“Remember to lock it, please, Pyeha. Try not to make a mess in my rooms that I’d have to explain away in the morning.” She bows deeply. “I wish you a restful night, with no dreams. Breakfast will be served in the blue dining room, same level as the reception hall.”
Then she is gone, purposeful strides, long hair swaying like a banner behind her, carrying the kokoshka, heading for the laundry room to sleep. While still struggling with victorious akitas herself “goddam, the man is hot!”, she is congratulating herself that she managed to deflect what could have been a total political disaster, she’s thinking she will give his guardsmen a gale force earful about being blackout drunk on the job, and planning her alibi creation – pick clean clothes from the laundry room, getting dressed in the locker rooms in the pool area – while in the back of her mind the questions are churning:
“Too precious for dishonour? Not happen like this. What is he on about? Is he saying what it sounds like he’s saying? Can’t be, it’s vodka talk. It must be.”
Pyeha‘s mind as he locks the door is quoting Phoebus: “What a woman!” and “I’m so freaking lucky!” as he slips into her bed, sniffing her scent on her pillow. The akitas are back, full force, as he slips into a dreamless sleep, wrapped into her layers of comforters.
In the morning, their conversation pops back into his mind while in the shower. He borrows her towels, skin care products and hairbrush. Hesitates over the toothbrush but goes for it. It’s not like they aren’t going to be sharing more in the near future, is his (bad) excuse). He suddenly realises she actually never said no to sleeping with him. She did say no about then and there – for very sensible reasons – if anything, she indicated he wouldn’t really want her when sober, but she did not say “I do not want you.” He cannot keep from a slight grin, bright eyes, when he saunters into the dining room with a cheerful “Good morning”… and is met by Jiwon sitting in the lady’s position to the first left of the seat of honour, staff setting the table, bringing teapots and various selected dishes. To him, there is a rightness to the scene, a home-as-it-should-be so he just sits down at the head of the table, smiles at Jiwon when she bows.
“You seems to be in a bright mood this morning, Pyeha” pause “I hope you have had a restful night”
She waves a maid close, makes a soft request in Russian – it’s too smooth and casual for him to catch what she said – and goes back to polite twinkling at him. She has tea and piroshki in front of her.
“Tea?” At his nod, she pours from the lovely pot off the samovar, with competence but without fuss. He’s not touching the tea. A maid busies up to the table with a pristine notepad and two pens, lays them between them, sweeps off when nodded a thanks. She takes a pen and writes:
* Looking cheerful, Pyeha. My room clear or I need to run interference. *
“Perhaps I can interest you in these various dishes?”
She waves up a bowl of hangover soup. He blinks but catches on immediately. Grabs the other pen, in blue ink.
* Room should be clear. Showered. <linebreak> Where did you hide? *
“Just porridge, please” She waves a footman close to serve him. “And the omelette rolls look interesting. What flavour are they?”
* Laundry room. Picked up a clean change, used the pool lockers*
“They are plain, salmon and bok choi, here’s the plate for selection.” * Something wrong? Just staring at your plate. Hangover much? *
* I don’t eat untested food, remember? Security. *
*This again. I guess that guy with the job is dead to the world, too, this morning. * Jiwon puts down her pen, rolls her eyes, then continues. *No winter tiger would harm you, it’s safe here, but if you insist*
She leans over the table and grabs his teacup, sips from the offside. Grabs his porridge bowl from in front of him, grabs a clean spoon and takes a spoonful from the middle, hands it back. All without comment. *Breakfast should be fine now*
He turns the teacup so he can drink from where her lips touched. A nodded bow.
His mind goes: Even if she thinks it is safe here, she technically risked her life for me, again, without hesitation. What a queen she will be!
* I do not understand why you are still in your father’s house*
* Today or in general? *
He eats a bit more before writing back.
*In general. Why are you staying? *
He is fishing for any interest in another man, or another reason for hesitation, trying to listen to the subtext. Everything about her says that she’s approachable if he goes about it the right way. She is very snoggable, but careful about committing. All proper, Confucian things. He believes he’s read her right, and that he’s home free, but is still double checking. He remembers how she told him she had been stand-offish due to fear of her sister. He got his hands burned badly during the course of the saju too. But the sister is gone, and it’s a whole new ballgame.
Jiwon takes a big, angry bite and writes, in sharp angular strokes * Because my name is still on that khuylo list of yours. Remember? * She mixes the alphabets.
“Omelette?” *But in honesty, your open list keeps me from having to dodge my father arranging another saju himself. So maybe thank you? *
* My apologies. The matter should be settled in not too long.* “
Please. Try one of each first, Asshi.”
He doesn’t understand the insult, past recognizing the intent. He knows some Russian, but by book learning, not all the casual and slang forms. This way of communication is also very intimate to him. It proves her discretion, adaptability, and willingness to show her private face, talking politely but almost like equals, even more so than they have done before. Like the tone he has with Captain Jo, but even more intimate.
*You have a lot of interesting books, different topics*
*Gives me something to do in winter, and when travelling*
*Historical linguistics, musical theory, and harness racing? Military tactics. Crocheting. And poetry in several languages. * Empties his teacup *You have a red composite bow and quiver on your wall, a painting of grey horses. Your dressing table smells of linen and green tea. You have hairbrushes but no combs. I borrowed one, though, and your toothbrush. Sorry. You like plump pillows and a firm mattress. Your closet is green, blue and a lot of black. And you have handwritten sheet music strewn everywhere. *
She turns several shades of pink. Pours more tea for herself, adds cream, sips. Unbidden refills his cup too. Sips his cup and hands it back, without being asked to.
* So Pyeha is a snoop, who would have known? Didn’t the Court do the background investigations properly? * Sips again *My mistake, I was assuming you actually paid attention to the briefings during the saju. *
*Touché. I was just curious about those things you hide from others, those little things that never make it into anything official. And I did listen to the briefings. *
She smiles slightly, eyes bright. sim kung, sim kung.
*No one here really cares about my interests as long as the Tae honour is upheld. I mainly fly under the radar, which is simpler for everyone. * Her smile turns slightly sad. *I have my music, my horses, my material needs covered. You learn not to ask for more*
*You have a lovely singing voice*
Speed answer, so fast that their hands touch over the note pad *So do you! * Akita paratroopers do a Go! Go! Go! landing on the breakfast table.
WRITE ABOUT JIHAN AND CAPTAIN JO, THEN THEM LEAVING
For Pyeha, the time in Magadan is like an in-person confirmation that his new bisshi selection was most correct indeed, and that Jiwon is still as effortlessly wholesome and nice as she has been all along, from when they were first having tea. Perfect wife and queen material! After the full two days, he’s ready to stuff her into a suitcase and bring her to Busan immediately, which he cannot for security reasons, and the palace isn’t yet in order to receive her properly, to his mind. To Pyeha, she’d not just be some visiting dignitary, she would be there to stay. Permanently. Besides, such informality as taking her along then and there would be an insult to her in the eyes of the world, and he’s not about to do that. Lord Tae is just getting a formal confirmation afterwards, through the proper channels – Pyeha probably calls him from the airplane the second they’re past take-off. Compare their conversation to the scene with the five men in funny hats from Disney’s Ferdinand. However – given the threat of yet another terrorist attack, he asks Tae Kimoon not to inform her as yet. That he plans to bring her to Busan even before the wedding, all proprieties observed, for security reasons, though he acknowledges that there is little risk of the hand of the Taiping stretching all the way to Magadan, he’s not about to misplace another winter tigress.
Pyeha and Tae Jiwon are not quite on the schedule yet. It would have been helpful if he or her parents had told her. I read this decision as a bit of immaturity or inexperienced. From when he lost his family when he was 8, he has been raised by a few elderly relatives, and by the senior court staff. His only friend close in age was Jo Yeung, later Captain Jo of the royal guards. So, for Lee Gon, Pyeha, most of his life he has lived in a bubble where the universe folded itself for his wishes, almost without effort. He’s used to being a child prodigy in mathematics, more than a little precocious and faced with the burdens of government from his early teens, and that people do his bidding. While having dated socially – as in attending dinners, social events and so on – he hasn’t really rubbed up against near equals who would step past the royal persona without hesitation. Especially not near equals who neither seem to try accosting him or twist themselves into pretzels of shy politeness. The Inner Court have been at him for years to actually get on with the process of getting married, it’s not just an issue of lineage, though that is of crucial importance too, but there is a religious requirement of a queen or similar for certain Confucian rites. (I have checked this through historical sources of our timeline Joseon). Once his grandaunt passed away, he was getting as close to a direct order as anyone would ever dare offer that this needs to be done. Now. Which was the original reason for the saju. I have him down as a man who do like women – as we will indeed find out – but is too busy while uptight and slightly awkward to do much about it, until now. In fact, I read him as someone who does better with a partner he knows well, some level of comfort and trust, to the point of homeyness. Some sort of connection – intellectual and/or emotional – is needed, rather than just looks or allure. Compare his reaction to having breakfast with Jiwon to spending social time with her sister Jial.
Jiwon being fetched by the secret service. The fight over the ring (late january)
Jiwon in Busan/the outer court (february to mid-March)
Equestrian things: riding and talking again. Driving a troika (after he fetches her horses from Magadan on day 100. She has three Orlov Trotter mares – the fast fancy Russian troika horses, all dappled greys (typical orlov colour – grey-to-white)). (April)
Maximus jumping fences (mid-May)
The terrorist attack – end of May
then the split pyeha in his quarters, bisshi in the rest of the palace.
(He begins speaking a King’s Order that Jiwon is to be addressed as pyeha everywhere, but she jumps in and covers his mouth, before he voices the actual Order. (Cuzco: “Ah, Ah, Ah, no touchy!”) Severe shock all around. She points out how this would affect the work of his loyal and hardworking staff (her speech in peppered with –nim and –mnida and high forms), preparing documentation and organising the upcoming wedding. How they would have to create double documentation for a timespan of merely a few months. She also stresses how such administrative chaos could reflect very badly on the Court in the eyes of the public. As a compromise she suggests:
“After all, this situation is only supposed to last for a few days, maybe a week, until my injuries are healed, and I return to my own quarters.” She smiles brightly and nods, satisfied that they have come to an excellent solution (she thinks). They stare at each other. There is an indrawn breath of silence from the staff present <Guts. She has’em. So, this is what having a Tae queen will be like!>.
“Tae Jiwon mimoui bisshi, is to be addressed as peyha or jungjeon-mama while present in the king’s quarters. Outside the king’s quarters, and in official correspondence, she will be addressed as bisshi, until the royal wedding. <pause> Effective immediately, the official quarters of the jungjeon will be merged into the quarters of the jeonha, where she will spend her nights. This is the King’s Order.” General kowtowing and “Yes, Pyeha” from everyone else. <fx: He: Problem solved. Walks off. Jiwon: “Whaaat?? Wtf just happened?!”>)
THE CASE OF INCREASING FLOOR PJ PARTS.
Jiwon gives him a dojang – a personal stamp with his name – that she has quietly ordered from Magadan or even carved herself – to replace the one that was ritually broken when he ascended to the throne. Imagine doing that to an 8-year-old who just had his whole family murdered in front of him and barely survived a sword cut to the throat, then they publicly and ritually destroyed his name? In return, he gives her, and her alone, the right to address him by his real name within their room, quietly and in whisper. It sounds like such a small offer in return, but this is condensed intimacy and a symbol of that they are not just on a formal their majesties relationship, they are in it together, a name never spoken elsewhere is spoken between them. For Pyeha she is the one and only, the only one who cared enough, who was daring enough, to return his name to him. He keeps the dojang in a locked drawer in his desk, in its reindeer skin pouch with tassels.
the two ways of saying I love you, means the real emotional marriage.
the aftermath of the attack (first week of June -> due mid-Feb 2018 )
“speeding into marriage”/ a “dowry”
a Buddhist-Russian wedding? (28 July 2017, a pro-Tiger Day, and Pyeha‘s birthday. 11 weeks). At dusk. The couple is colour coded. All about balance. Drinking together from a copper a/o a gourd.
What tiny traditions will they change that does not affect the major ceremonial parts of the wedding (given that the dowager queen was Catholic)?
1) He’s not allowed to see the dress or her in full get-up in advance. She wears a sarafan-style dress in dark red (instead of a red or red & blue hanbok) and a floral kokoshka-shaped tiara with pearl-loops (jewels instead of pearls) and a veil in the back. Her mother and sisters-in-law are wearing bright pink, peach and red hanbok, the royal ladies are in blues and green. Switches to an antique rose-burgundy hanbok and blue ribbons after the first introduction at court
2) Carried in palanquin is switched to a racing troika with full bells and red-blue-white streamers through the streets of Busan.
3) Bride-napping/swapping by her family before the wedding and the groom must recapture her, do tasks or ransom her. Joint silliness to show off how much he wants her. He shows up in the navy-and-gold coat, on Maximus, demanding that she be handed over. Symbolic crossing of swords at various doors, including with two of her brothers, and politely asking her mother to stand aside. Lady Tae getting caught on camera being a general tiger mom – the media commentators do a speed translation from Russian, and the clip is played to the public with a Korean voice over. Pyeha takes the reins of her troika and drives her back, because in her condition he refuses to carry her on horseback, even 3 kilometres. He has taken driving lessons from her Mongolian groomsman in advance. Cortege is led by motorcycles and rear-guarded by the mounted royal guards. A true spectacle for the locals who have never seen Orlov trotters, much less going full out (over 47km/h!) and that 3+2/4 bell-jingle combination before. It’s an instant smash hit, with viral video clips drawing millions of views, including internationally, and the jingle percussion finding its way into future winter-romance kpop/kdrama with the first snow trope. The guards have to ride all out not to be left behind. I’m not sure it’s safer to race that fast on a sulky, without helmets, compared to slow riding – a crash at that speed would be just as bad – but that’s what they decided on. The man is a menace when it comes to single-minded focus on his wife, because she is more than his queen.
Tacka Herren för han är god
Hans nåd varar evigt
Tacka Herren för han är god
Halleluja
Alleluja, sjung om Jesus
han är den som spiran bär
Halleluja, hans är makten,
hans allena segern är.
Hör hur sångerna från Sion brusar som en mäktig flod
Halleluja, konungarnas konung är du och förblir
Halleluja, född av kvinna är du och du blev som vi
Stor din härlighet i himlen speglad över hav och jord
After the wedding, she is addressed as Pyeha, and spoken of as jungjeon(-mama) depending on the need for clarity.
10 weeks: barely showing, risk of miscarriage dropping. Low impact exercise is recommended. Walking, swimming, tennis, tai chi
Tiredness until week 12
Nausea until week 16-20
Movements around week 15-20 (early September)
Wangseja Lee Rim “Byeol” Feb 2018= Earth Dog Aquarius (born feb 17)
(Earth Dog – the unassuming genius: modest, tolerant, sincere, sense of humour, fun but responsible)
….
One weekend on my own and we ended up w a war with Japan around New Year 2017-18, resulting in the 20 year handover of Tsushima to grant a better buffer for Busan, and a Japanese imperial princess hostage – Shiori/Seri. Her father more or less packed her off to Busan in a case of political theatre against the pro-war party in the Diet, the hostage case was sort of quietly inserted into appendix A38 at the last minute. Pyeha is mainly mystified. February 17, 2022. When he protests to the emperor, he gets brushed off with “Oh it’s in the peace treaty, and the plane should be landing in Busan in … about 45 minutes. Best of luck, sawi” and hangs up. So, they have a black leather jacket, goth looking Imperial princess walking into the old school Korean court, trailed by her translator and the Japanese ambassador. Noh sanggun has a litter of kittens at breach of court protocol. Ever the decent guy, Pyeha receives her formally, full robes and everything, in the presence of the Japanese ambassador. He tells Secretary Mo to check everything administrative, instructs lady Noh to put the princess in some guestroom or other, and treat her as a foreign royal/imperial dignitary. After which he runs off to the hospital for the birth of their first child. He breaks all Confucian tradition by insisting on being present even when he can’t handle the noise. Lady Tae is present too, just hands him gown, mask and hair cover, instructs him to stay out of the way but to lend his strength to her daughter his wife.
“I have had six children, and king or not, you do not argue with women in a delivery room.” #LadyTaeTheTigerMom. Pyeha never ever questions the resilience of the Tae women again, not that he had much doubt before then either. The baby boy ends up being named Lee Rim, but called Byeol (‘Star’) at home, in practice no one uses his given name. The news and public celebration, coming on the heels of the peace treaty, neatly covers any news about Shiori arriving in court. She gets stuffed into a fancy guestroom suit and ignored. There is much running in corridors, quiet voices her translator doesn’t catch anything either. She sends her out after a few hours, to find tea, snacks, anything, and to find out wtf is going on. Shiori may be modern hip, but she knows that the Busan court is pretty old school, possibly worse than Kyoto as far as she knows, and she is unsure what is going to happen. Not that she frightens easily, but the imperial command offered didn’t really give much guideline either. Removes most of her makeup, switches to a more neutral sweater, in a less provocative style. Busan in February is sweater weather. So, her first interaction with the inner court is two days later sitting down to tea with Pyeha, Jon-il Daegun, the Queen’s parents and surrounded by inner court officials like Captain Jo, Noh sanggun and Secretaries Mo and Kwon, with the new baby prince being shown off, and her being given weird looks especially by the Taes, but mostly a silent treatment. It’s extra complicated as she does not speak Korean much, past a few polite phrases, yet, and has a spoken translation whispered into her ear. After conversation runs out, and the crown prince is returned to his sleeping mother, some kind of presentation is necessary.
“As you may have noticed, we have a visitor to the court. This is Seri, Shiori hwangsil gonju, from the Imperial court of Japan. She was sent as a hostage to me personally as per the recent peace treaty between our countries. She has been officially received at Court in the presence of the King and the Japanese ambassador. However, yesterday was an unusual day here and her arrival mostly passed unnoticed. For which I apologize. She is to be treated as a royal lady of the Court of Korea for the time being, while her eventual position is being considered.” He speaks slowly, taking breaks between sentences to allow the translator to catch up. His tone of voice says that this is an official statement, not merely a social introduction. Shiori is digging around for something to say, because what is the follow up to that? The Queen’s father is giving her his patented green “one step out of line and you will be exposed in Siberian winter”, “disapproving Russian” glare, her mother looks tired but sympathetic and the king’s granduncle smiles at her kindly. When in doubt, go full formal Japanese. Shiori does the stay-in-deep-kowtow routine:
“I humbly thank the royal court for receiving me on such a momentous day. Heartfelt congratulations. I will endeavour to cause as upheaval as possible.”
She sits down, total silence before Noh sanggun, at Pyeha‘s slight nod, bustles her out of the room, and is handed dinner in her own room. Shiori has no idea how that statement is received by the members of the court, no one talks to her. As she is pacing in her guest apartments, Shiori’s reaction that evening is pretty much:
“So what do I do now? Father won’t let me go home, and there is no place for me here that I can see. These people are sticks in the mud, and the Queen stabbed Father and two of our officials during the peace negotiations. The Queen might unalive me if I just stay, but I can’t run away either, I don’t speak the language and I have no money, besides security looks beefy, and they confiscated my phone.” pause “I think I’m safe, for now. ” Pause again “So what are my options? Just stay in this room until I dry rot. One thing is certain, if I am stuck in Busan for the duration, I had better learn the language.” The electric plugs are different so she can’t even play her electrical base, ends up playing highly emo Japanese traditional flute music in the night, which is better than weeping.
Shiori and Jiwon gets along like a house on fire after a very stiff introduction, like two hostile cats. Jiwon knows some basic Japanese, Shiori knows some basic Korean. Admiring Byeol and being respectful of Jiwon’s position does their relationship a world of good. If Shiori had pushed or tried to pull rank, she would have been toast. They bond over music (potato/potayto), have similar modern tastes but different styles: Shiori is more metal-gothy hip, where Jiwon is more country-ethnic practical, they grew up under almighty fathers with pain in the sittee older brothers, and both have a genuine zest for life. They do language lessons, read, check on the horses – Jiwon missed riding during her pregnancy, she forces Shiori up on the dullest, shortest horse available.
“I’m more of a motorcycle person!” She takes her harness racing with full troika jingles, then the gym and the pool once she is allowed to, for health reasons. She finds her the right power cord, and they do makeovers and beauty care with the palace staff, and giggles. Jiwon picks up the habit of just dragging Shiori along during her day, sort of like a forceful tugboat managing an elegant tall ship. Shiori is classical Japanese looking, not too tall, but slender in proportion, elegant neck, long fingers. Long ink black hair. She’s about 2 years younger than Jiwon, but they are close enough in age for it not to matter. Jiwon begins making sure they meet up first after breakfast, and then at breakfast. “After all, there’s no point of you eating alone in your room, then waiting until I’m done.”
Breakfast becomes a habit along the lines of:” Morning, Serisshi! Here, you have some porridge, ignore Pyeha, he’s a grouch today. Did you finish chapter 12 and the verb exercises? Oh, and would you hold Byeol while I pour the tea?”
She’s really getting a full Mariana trench immersion crash course in Korean! Apparently, Jiwon is a morning person … I should have known. The language barrier, a significant obstacle at first, becomes gradually less daunting as Shiori commits to learning Korean. Jiwon’s support, both in language lessons and in integrating Shiori into daily activities, is crucial. It’s a testament to the power of personal connections in overcoming political and cultural divides.
As Shiori becomes more involved in the court’s life, adding elements of her culture like Japanese cuisine, she begins to carve out a place for herself. The return of her phone, albeit monitored, is a sign of growing trust. Pyeha’s polite indifference may be a strategy to maintain peace, but it also allows Shiori the space to establish her identity within the court without the pressure of constant scrutiny.
Shiori’s story reflects the complexities of diplomacy and the human aspect of political alliances. Her personal growth and the subtle shifts in her relationships with the court’s members illustrate the nuanced dance of acceptance and influence. It’s narrative rich with potential for further exploration, as Shiori’s presence could lead to significant cultural exchanges and a deeper understanding between the two nations. Her journey from a political pawn to a respected member of the court
Through all of this – it stretches for about 2-3 months – everyone is slowly adapting to Shiori’s presence in the inner court. Jiwon accepting her smooths out a lot of passive aggressiveness from the staff, and she talks Noh sanggun into being a little more understanding. The phone is returned, after having been checked for malware, and with appropriate trackers installed. Pyeha mostly ignores her, though being unfailingly polite, going for the out of sight, out of mind approach to the issue. Shiori adds some Japanese cuisine to the dinner routine. Eventually, Jiwon asks her what her dreams are – if this way of life is enough or if there is anything else she wants. After thinking, Shiori admits that she never considered being insta-booted out to be a political hostage in a foreign country. A political marriage within Japan, certainly, those things happen to princesses even in modern days. But this limbo is draining. She has no formal rank in a very ceremonious place, no budget, no freedom of movement, and while everyone is nice to her at the moment, she is afraid of making a misstep. She’s looking at 20 years of this, to be discarded by her family afterwards “there is no place for a foreign king’s former woman in the Imperial court” and is growing increasingly disheartened.
“I looked at the treaty, in both languages. He can’t even marry me off to someone, the way it is worded. So, while I do like you, unni, it’s going to be a very lonely and empty life for me.”
Jiwon considers rational options, that everyone can live with, ends with an “I’ll ask what the long-term intentions are.”
So she fields the conundrum in private, asking upfront
“What are we going to do with her?” which lands like a bombshell. Pyeha had been dodging the issue a bit, figuring that as long as the ladies got along and there was no complaint, well, don’t fix it if it ain’t broke. So, he pushes the question back to his wife
“What do you want to do?” Going against Jiwon’s wishes tends to backfire in his experience, and backfire badly.
“I want her to be happy, too. I just don’t know how to help.” He sits up straight, thinking out loud, NTJ-mode activated.
“Let’s list the options. The emperor won’t take her back, I tried that one the day she arrived. And we can’t really have her murdered.” pause “I know, stop punching me, I’m just covering all alternatives. She’s technically a hostage, so we cannot mistreat her in any way. But we cannot send her off either. You said both of you lawyered the text. So, we are not allowed to find her a nice husband to keep her occupied.” pause “I feel like I am missing something obvious here.” Speaking slowly, Jiwon is thinking out loud.
“You could marry her yourself. No, listen. It could just be a formality. That way she would have a place in the court, an allowance and be a part of the royal family. Since she can’t really go back, Serisshi is stuck here anyway. What do you think?” Very much aware he is speaking to his tiger lady, he hesitates, speaking very carefully, selecting his words.
“That is, as you say, an option. It would depend on you, though. There is no way I would bring a consort into court without your permission and approval. As you said, it could be just a formality.” pause “I suppose we could ask her.” hesitation, longer pause “Jiwonya, Serisshi is a nice person, but I haven’t really considered her in that way until now. What do we say if she wants more than a formality?” Intense silence of consideration descends, thinking faces all around. <fx: Turning Red, the bathroom scene at school>
“I suppose … we accept that? If you don’t find her too off-putting? I do know she gets all wistful every time she cuddles Byeol.” More silence.
“Then the rational thing to do is not to overthink this. We will discuss it with her over dinner, in private. Depending on what she says, we can find a solution.”
So they make sure to have dinner in the kitchen, having light fun cooking together. Jiwon begins “Serisshi, I promised I would look into your situation, and after talking this through with Pyeha, we can see three options on how your life here in Busan could be in the future.” Everyone stops eating. “The first option is things continuing mostly as they are now. You’d be assigned an allowance for your free disposal, and within the same constraints as now, you could do whatever you want. The second option is granting you a rank and standing within the court, and the only opening for that allowed in the treaty would be marrying Pyeha. I’m sorry, Serisshi. That’s the only legal option for that we could find, to make you a royal consort. It’d only be a formality, though, none of us would press you for anything else.” <a long pause> Shiori takes a deep breath.
“I see. Thank you for looking into this. Then what is the third option?” An embarrassed silence bringing fidgeting and growing blushes. “Would I like the third option?” More silence “If I take a guess, I’d say unni is currently liking her own third option.” Pyeha clears his throat.
“You are correctly identifying the third option, Serisshi, but that choice is completely up to you. The only thing I would say is that I would be honoured to do my best to make you happy.” Shiori slowly blinks, ordering jumbled thoughts into speech.
“May I have a hug, before I say anything?” He stands up and lets her lean against him, arms lightly around her back, just offering warmth and stability. “I don’t know how to say this well. My Korean still isn’t good enough for nuance. I … I don’t just want to be someone’s auntie, always on the outside looking in. I want a family, I always wanted children of my own.” He kisses the top of her head tenderly, giving her time to frame the acceptance all three can tell is already there. “I thought I would have a family of my own, eventually, with Father’s permission. I trusted it would simply happen somehow.” A small, sniffled laugh. “Then I lost that, with the war. The price I am paying for peace is cold, dry and lonely.” Another pause. “But you are offering to give me all of that, all the things I deeply want. How could I ever turn down an offer like that? I’m not saying I like you in a girly, romantic way, but I like and respect you well enough as a friend and maybe a lover, for this to work. And I love and trust Jiwonsshi as my older sister. “
“You like me as a woman likes a man, in a mature way, and that is better for daily harmony. I think I’m beginning to like how things will unfold.” He gives her a small, light kiss, undemanding, more of a confirmation. “I have three stipulations of my own for this to work for us three. Jiwona, I see that face you’re making. I haven’t discussed this with you, but you need not worry.” pause “First, my quarters, my bed, is for me and my queen alone. That is already under King’s Order, and not subject to change. We will sort out any practical details in the coming days and weeks.” He pauses, makes sure their eyes meet. “Do not push me on this, Serisshi. That is one of the few things that would make me truly angry with you. Secondly, which is a given, as a royal consort you will stay faithful and respect the dignity of the court. No dalliance, except at my express permission.”
Both Jiwon and Shiori roll their eyes at him, in a well, duh, Pyeha is a moron again reaction.
“Finally, while any child of ours will be a prince or princess of Korea, recognized by all, they will never be in line to inherit the throne. This is not because they would be less loved and treasured, but because of who their grandfather would be. If there ever is a conflict between princes, and one side can bring in a neighbouring country, the result could tear the Kingdom apart. I will never allow that to happen. My father was murdered by his half-brother in such a conflict, and I carry those scars on my own body. If you and they know their path in advance, and your father is aware too, there is less risk. Could you accept this?”
Shiori’s reaction is pretty much: WHERE DO I SIGN UP? His reservations are somewhere between common-sense and practical, and none seem intended to demean her. Also, she is noticing a case of akitas from just hugging and talking, so she figures she’s on a roll. The women hug too and laugh with relief. “See? I told you we would find a good solution!” They all finish dinner and engage in some exploratory light snogging, sitting on the kitchen counter for a few bases, to general thumbs up, before calling it a (chaste) night, having settled on consulting Noh sanggun on appropriate court protocol in the morning.
Shiori’s acceptance of the proposed marriage to Pyeha is a poignant moment of vulnerability and hope. Her desire for a family and a sense of belonging resonates deeply, transcending the political complexities that brought her to this juncture. Pyeha’s conditions, while firm, are rooted in the protection of the kingdom and the integrity of the royal lineage. His stipulations reflect a leader’s foresight and the weight of history upon his shoulders. Shiori’s willingness to embrace this new chapter, despite the initial lack of romantic affection, speaks to her maturity and understanding of the situation’s gravity. The arrangement promises her a place within the royal family and a future she yearns for, albeit with clear boundaries set by Pyeha to safeguard the realm’s stability.
The proper lady Noh’s consternation is a sight to behold. This has not happened in court for two generations – Pyeha’s grandfather being more of a ladies’ man, his father fell head over heels for his Catholic queen, who had all remaining consorts and concubines sent off – and the consorts’ wing has not really been renovated and kept available at a moment’s notice. There is also the question of a fast bare-basics royal wedding and updating all court protocol. She’s not against this method of a shortcut to expanding the royal family “Mwuahahaha!!” she would just have preferred a heads up. Granduncle Jon-In Daegun is somewhere between grandfatherly approval and a naughty chuckle, on the lines of “Late bloomer for taking after your grandfather?” Captain Jo sets up a fourth security detail for the royal consort. Secretaries Mo and Kwon run the communication side – it is jointly decided that while Shiori’s change in position will not be hidden, it is best to draw minimal attention to it. In the information age the appearance of a second wife, especially a war treaty bride, might be hard to control. The announcement is posted in the back pages of some royal bulletin, preparation for update for the court homepage is made, but not uploaded right away. Since Jiwon has already been taking Shiori in tow pretty much everywhere she goes outside court itself, with her general practical no-comments bustle, there is little change in outward activity. Extensive renovations to the queens’ quarter is decided on – the four consorts’ quarters, the large royal nursery, the women’s pool area and the gardens – everything is slightly fusty and tacky 1940-60s or older. Since the former Queen was Catholic and the only royal lady in the court once the older aunties died off or were retired to the countryside (there was a certain amount of conflict between the queen and the aunties after their king’s death, springing from their different attitude to the sanctity of marriage), only the queen’s quarters have been kept up to date. Until now, the inner royals have been a cute, young couple and a new baby, and a foreign dignitary in the guest rooms. Having an active consort, the queen pregnant again, and the prospect of a growing brood of princelings, emergency rebuilds are called for. (Question: will they return a couple of the surviving grandmother-age royal consorts of his grandfather from retirement? It might be a way to cover up Seri, and it might go a long way as a public apology to the ladies in question. Not sure they would accept, but it is a possibility. I will consider adding this later) The renovation of the consorts’ wing, while a practical necessity for the expanding royal family, also serves as a metaphor for the court’s adaptation to new circumstances. The potential return of the elder consorts could indeed serve multiple purposes, offering a gesture of reconciliation and providing a cover for Shiori’s presence. It’s a clever strategy that acknowledges the past while looking to the future, and ties into later developments of the home page and other social media actions.
These contracts gradually leak into the public – what’s going on, why are they rebuilding? Pools? Garden? – but the court maintains a low public profile, makes much of the queen expecting a second child again, so soon, how wonderful, and how having space for an expanding family is a good thing. Besides, even historical buildings will need occasional maintenance, might just as well do the entire wing in one go, so much more efficient. Secretary Mo is Ms Poker Face herself. Shiori ends up with a Secretary Baek, who is bilingual, and she retains her translator. The discreet handling of Shiori’s change in status reflects the court’s awareness of public perception and the importance of maintaining a dignified facade.
They organise a video call with the Court in Kyoto through diplomatic channels – Pyeha and Tenno have not spoken since they hung up on each other – but the Korean side is asking for a personal call with exquisite politeness and a certain amount of humility. Not at all their tone during the peace negotiation. Tenno is doing the very stately, full court kimono, imperial surroundings look, Pyeha is doing cream shirt, jacket and steel-rimmed glasses in his study – very different approaches. Tenno opens with thanking him politely for the call, congratulates him on the birth of his heir and inquires after the health of his knife-wielding demon wife. Jiwon and Shiori stifle a laugh, it’s been a running family gag of how a heavily pregnant Jiwon stabbed three Japanese officials, including the emperor, during peace negotiations, even if just through the clothes and no bloodshed.
“Her majesty the Queen is in excellent health, and I have confiscated her knives until the next negotiation.” Power move, showing no insult. “I am contacting your imperial majesty to inform you that I am taking your daughter, the imperial princess Shiori, Seri, as my royal consort as of tomorrow.” That is no problem in itself, because it was part of the political plan from the beginning, but he is somewhat concerned about what the Queen thinks of this, as he considers Jiwon a rabid Stabby McStabface. Video screen is flipped to show both royal ladies calmly seated in separate chairs, bowing slightly in greeting and smiling, Shiori wearing a hanbok, not a kimono, and waving brightly to her dad. Pyeha also informs him of the inheritance ban put into official law, “make of that what you will. Now if you excuse me, we have a wedding ceremony to conduct,” and pretty much hangs up on him. Again.
It’s not that these two are necessarily political enemies, it’s just that their personal preferences rub the other the wrong way, they are just too different in outlook and personal style. Pyeha refusing to speak Japanese does not help. From the Tenno‘s perspective, he has his own militaristic war party to deal with, and as long as he can set them on a weaker neighbour, things are good. But when they go for Australia/New Guinea or worse, Korea, it’s an expensive and losing situation with no upsides.
“Go mess with the Americans or the Indonesians instead!”
Now he ended up getting his snoot cooked diplomatically by the Koreans. Again. This time they cost him Tsushima. Which means he’s pre-grouchy just talking to Pyeha about the weather. Pyeha finds the Japanese leadership in general somewhere between a pushy pain in the butt, too unconservative in societal values, and too punctilious diplomatically – he’s polite but not about to give them a loose leash or room to manoeuvre – and their internal posturing means political side-effect on the neighbouring areas.
Shiori, or Seri in her Korean context, represents a breath of modernity within the traditionally Confucian court. Her presence introduces new cultural elements and perspectives, potentially serving as a catalyst for change and evolution within the royal family and the court’s customs. Tae Jiwon, with her noble Korean-Russian heritage, embodies a blend of efficiency, practicality, and traditional values. Her multifaceted background, enriched by her descent from both Genghis Khan and the Romanovs, adds depth to her character and provides a contrast to Shiori’s modern influence. The birth of Shiori’s children, and the absence of an heir from her brother, the Japanese crown prince, shifts the dynastic balance, subtly altering the diplomatic landscape. There is the potential for a thaw in relations between Korea and Japan, facilitated by the more adaptable nature of Shiori’s brother once he ascends to the throne.
2022: There is severe pressure on the political front, chaebols vs yangbans, to the point of almost political gridlock. The chaebol powers-that-be felt side-lined and underrepresented by the fact that the opposing faction has nabbed the position of jungjeon. A chaebol queen is seen as necessary political rebalancing. The tension between the chaebols and yangbans reaches a critical point, with the appointment of a sole jungjeon from the yangban faction causing significant discontent among the chaebols. The former queen, Pyeha’s mother, had demanded monogamy as part of her religious faith, and that had served as a royal excuse in Korean politics. But by selecting a yangban wife, and already breaking that religious excuse – Tae Jiwon is technically Korean Orthodox – and the yangban exception of Korean law looms large in everyone’s minds. If a noble line is at risk of dying out, multiple wives or consorts would be legal, under certain circumstances. Since Queen Seri is already installed at Court, the chaebol faction of the powerful industrialists, view this as the King favouring the nobility, while having no longer any valid excuses. Which means that his resistance to the concept must be political and intended as an insult.
Pyeha is severely resisting another marriage. His opinion on the matter, expressed privately to the Inner Court:
“I am married to the love of my life, the queen of my kingdom. I also ended up marrying a nice lady who blessedly fits into my family and who makes me smile. I am 36 years old, I run a kingdom, I research advanced mathematics and I have three children. I absolutely do not have the time, energy or interest in a high maintenance, emotionally clingy commoner chaebol woman, politics be damned! If you force me into this, at least select someone who won’t be a bother!”
As we grow to know Pyeha, this kind of private outburst is true to his ice and fire personality, though he stayed polite and patient when faced with the proposition in Council. Pyeha’s resistance to another marriage reflects his personal contentment and the practical limitations of his role as a ruler and family man. His candid dismissal of the idea underscores his commitment to his current family and his lack of interest in further complicating his life with political marriages.
The result is a shy, just-out-of-high school, front teeth and wide eyed, pink chaebol junior consort, Song Meilin is ethnic Chinese chaebol from Dalian. Think the kawaii-est of kawaii-est Korean-Japanese kpop or anime girls, think the dancing panda girl group in the movie Sing!. She is somewhere between extremely innocent and gay-leaning ace, her chaebol parents were growing seriously concerned about her, because such a personality has little place in Korean high society. The offer from the Court thrill them, and after Jiwon, and her mother, have had an upfront conversation about the situation, they agree that this might be the best solution for their odd bird, unusual daughter. The senior queens select her precisely because she’s not into sleeping with anyone at all. This is not because either of them fears competition, it’s more that they agree with their husband’s assessment on his situation. With their background as the daughter of the Winter Tiger and the emperor of Japan respectively, they do understand political expediency. If the three of them are forced to include another consort, at least let her be someone who causes minimal disruption to their lives. Meilin gets along well with her unnis and love their children. Her character is reminiscent of a youthful, animated Disney princess who sings to animals in the woods, and provides a stark contrast to the mature and established royal household
As far as Pyeha is concerned, she is way, way too young – it’s an 18-year age difference! – to the point of the thought of intimacy being off-putting to him. Too childish, too naive, too ignorant about her own bodily needs, and borderline too uneducated to have a sensible conversation with. That is slightly unfair of him, given his position both as a king and as an advanced mathematician. At least she’s very kind to everyone, she likes children and is not given to family drama. So, he mainly treats her like a younger family member, being polite and supportive in public, offers neutral hugs whenever appropriate – she likes hugs and cuddles – but refrains from doing anything to her in private, and generally ignores the situation.
“It’s like being married to a pink bunny!” The demilitarised zone situation eventually ends with the unnis giving her an adult make-over (new wardrobe but still feminine and pink, stuffed toys banned from her room after been given a tour of the unnis‘ two quarters for style comparison) marks a transition from childlike innocence to a more mature presence within the court, aligning her outward appearance with the dignity of her new role. They are trying to provide guidance to mature womanhood, making sure she reads her homework -which makes Meilin blush – in biology schoolbooks as well as having help finding out about herself; hair brushing, lathering up, drying off w terry towels, slow skin lotion and more, from some of the maids who lean that way. Full discretion offered. After all, caring for the royal ladies, in all ways, is part of their duties. I am going to assume that she isn’t really interested in men at all, but the Kingdom being such a conservative Confucian place, and she is raised in a restricted family, that she repressed any outright gay leanings into things that are cute and cuddly. Given that she seems to have a very low drive overall, she might be classified as ace spectrum. She doesn’t really connect the dots between the tingles of being touched and wanting more of that, and actual passion. I even question whether she will ever experience a full-scale arrival.
After 5 years, at 23, this is in 2027 -she finally matures enough – while keeping her pink personality – to want a baby of her own so much that she asks for that option. She loves babies, it’s her love for pink & cute again! However, when she approaches Tae Jiwon about it, she’s in tears because she is someone who would rather call in Mr Stork than pillow any man. Meilin navigating the conservative Confucian society while grappling with her own identity and desires, adds a layer of depth to the narrative. The portrayal of Meilin as possibly ace spectrum and her emotional conflict over the traditional expectations of motherhood bring a modern and nuanced perspective.
Tae Jiwon shifts into her queen persona and questions her about just how far she is willing to go, what would she accept and what not. Having had this in writing and signed with Meilin’s dojang, she dresses up in full hanbok, tiara, binyan, the whole rigamarole and with poker straight back requests an interview with the King. She startles even lady Noh, who was quietly getting used to this court being relaxed and with good relationships between the royals. It’s to the point where she demands that a historian is present when speaking one-on-one with her husband, usually her inclination is chasing them away with the nearest blunt object, something worth noting in the historical record in and of itself. Poor Pyeha throws on the royal robes and rushes to receive her formally. His mind is atwitter with what topic she feels so strongly about that she is pulling out all stops, along the lines of “What could I have done?” She actually kneels, goes full Joseon style humility, and presents Meilin’s case to their husband. Whatever he expected to hear, it was not this.
This court is generally accommodating as long you ask nicely, but the choices the queen presents are quite a bit past that.
“Or Pyeha can refuse the request of her royal highness consort Song Meilin. That is also an option.” She waits for an answer. Pyeha.exe has stopped operating. He tries asking for her opinion. For once, she will not give it.
“It is not for me to opinion on the limits to which His Majesty feels the dignity of the court may extend or be at risk.”
“You want me to say no.” Tae Jiwon is getting slightly annoyed.
“I want His Majesty to make up his mind how he personally feels about these options. Once Pyeha has decided, it is my task to facilitate and implement his decision in court.”
She bows and is not giving an inch. He sighs, pinches his nose. On the one hand, he doesn’t want to do any of this. On the other hand, his real wife is upset, and he has another wife weeping in secret and blaming him. Preferably the whole issue could just go away.
“This is not a field of medical science I am much acquainted with. I do understand that it can be a complex and lengthy procedure, treatments and so on. If I decide to accept, it is possible that the process is so taxing that the consort will never demand a renewed experience.” She glares.
“She can certainly be informed that a renewed procedure would be less beneficial for her health, with no specifics given.” Ah, that’s the woman he knows and loves. That comment was pure Tae-Jiwonese for If she suggests it again, I will smack her hard. She is unhappy with the idea, but she doesn’t feel she can say no, and in good conscience, neither can he if he’s being fair. They dragged the silly girl to court fully believing she had no interest in any of these things. And now she does.
“Then I accede to the request, that being the condition. I also expect your full support in this endeavour, Queen Tae Jiwon.” He bows formally to her, she returns it. They exchange a rueful look, that promises a lengthy conversation later that night, in the privacy of their rooms, without a historian present. He understands why she decided to ask formally like this; it would be a new thing in the annals of the Court of the Kingdom, and as such it should be properly recorded. It was still quite embarrassing. But half-lying to Meilin about never doing this again would be a way out.
Tae Jiwon’s response to Meilin’s request, shifting into her queen persona, underscores the gravity of the situation. The formal approach to Pyeha, complete with historical documentation and the presence of a historian, signifies the importance of the decision at hand. Pyeha’s reaction, caught between his personal reluctance and the weight of his royal duties, reflects the internal struggle of a leader who must balance the happiness of his consorts with the dignity of the court. The tension in the narrative is palpable as Tae Jiwon refuses to influence Pyeha’s decision, placing the burden of choice squarely on his shoulders. The dialogue between them captures the complexity of their relationship and the challenges of navigating court politics and personal ethics. The resolution of Meilin’s request is a testament to the evolving nature of the court, where personal desires are acknowledged within the framework of royal duty. Pyeha’s reluctant agreement, supported by Queen Tae Jiwon’s facilitation, reflects a compassionate approach to governance, even as it challenges traditional norms. The private discussions between Pyeha and Jiwon, away from the historians’ prying eyes, speak of the deeper layer of intimacy and partnership in their marriage, where they can candidly address the complexities of their situation.
Shiori gathers their joint broods and go travelling for a few crucial days to offer privacy. Neither of them wants the other – their personalities and tastes do not align at all, and he’s past the unstoppable akitas of a man’s early 20s. Much more a case of getting the job done, from his side, with the full help of medical science, thinking of this more of a medical procedure, and she’s grateful for this. The pregnancy is a strange journey for Meilin, the physical changes known but still unexpected. The older queens take care to protect her mental state, as they realise a few months into the pregnancy that Meilin have taken on a greater challenge than she might have been prepared to, especially expecting twins as that is not unusual at IVF. She has her lucky twins, by caesarean, and Meilin is informed that a repeat pregnancy is inadvisable. Ahem. Neither of the four of them care to relive this period again afterwards. Pyeha is very relieved not having to have anything to do with her in this field, though he dotes on babies Lee Chanyeul and Lee Miran. He’s happier spending time with his original duo and Meilin finds occasional “skincare” from the maids more to her taste.
The difference between Meilin and Shiori, both being royal consorts he never wanted in the first place, is that Shiori already knew her own preferences, and wanted s6, a husband and children of her own from the get-go, before even landing in Busan. It took them three months from her walking into court to have the first discussion, and then another month or two to rework the court in practice. I also assume that she would eventually have made some kind of move if Jiwon hadn’t been her normal rational self and put things on the table early. The contrast between Meilin’s continued innocence and Shiori’s self-awareness highlights the individual paths each consort has taken within the royal family, shaping their roles and relationships with the king.
The Yakuza (late2028) – Jin Chiel is widow, sister & daughter of a yakuza clan, she’s ethnically Korean, she has an 8-year-old daughter, An Minji. Pale, round-cheeked face, chunkier and curvy for her ethnicity, page cut straight hair, pug nose. Has a warm and motherly air, think the household fixer, glowing like a fire in winter, whistles to herself when happy. A few tasteful tattoos, of note is a flower on the back of one shoulder and a floral clan tramp stamp. A matching flower on one ankle and the inside of one thigh. One nose wing discretely pierced. In her early 30s. When the political pressure mounts again – this time involving the accepted third tier of Korean society – and the inner court is growing unwieldly, Pyeha is past resisting the inevitable. Neither Jiwon nor Seri has the natural talent for household management, and Meilin is better at the social and public side of things, like reading to children at school visits and supporting pet rescues. The un-inked man turns to the top-notch yakuza matchmakers TRACK DOWN THE JAPANESE TERM saying in essence:
“Find me someone who fits these parameters, and I’ll put her in charge of the actual court household management. She’ll belong to me in the eyes of the world, but as long as she’s loyal, she won’t have to put out. I’m not a cradle snatcher, so someone a bit more mature and capable. Maybe she had a fiancé sometime in her past, maybe she’s widowed. I don’t care as long as it’s not recent. If she already has children, I’ll provide for them and raise them alongside my own. No addictions. If she’s inked or pierced, it should not be too obvious when wearing a formal hanbok. Documented experience in management. Preferably some kind of further education. Good if she knows foreign languages. Great if she knows how to cook. Healthy, mentally stable, would fit at court. Simple things like that. As for looks, I don’t really care, that’s not why she’d be selected, and you’ve seen my other queens.” The matchmakers take one single look at Queen Jiwon and go: That’s the one he picked himself, the one he can’t get enough of. Koreyo-saram, athletic, very curvaceous, pale skin, smiles a lot.
“Sure, you claim you don’t have a type, and you believe it yourself.” <fx: snigger & eyeroll>. Chiel is yakuza, alright, but she has a background in hotel management and has a college level degree in the hospitality industry. When the matchmakers corner her, they tell her, she’s being offered to be liaison between the formal staff of the Court and the Court itself, and to attend various public functions as classy arm candy, that’s why she needs the title and authority of Royal Consort. Someone needs to keep an eye on the daily running of things, while still being socially intimate enough with Pyeha and the unnis, not to mention the accumulating children, and discerning enough about politics so that she can govern what is really needed, instead of the surface kept towards the outer staff. She’s not wealthy, she’s a discarded yakuza woman, she can’t really provide for her daughter, keep her safe or give her a better future. Minji’s already being bullied in school, not daring to mention her parents’ families, even if it had kept her safe, so taking a lot of hardcore damage. Korean bullying even in our timeline can be vicious. Chiel don’t really know what to do, while working a regular job, cooking, cleaning, parenting, and she’s from a family where violence is the way of life. Despite the challenges, her warmth and nurturing spirit shine through, offering a beacon of stability in her daughter’s life. Then the offer drops on her, an offer from the top of the top of even the yakuza hierarchy, that can’t really be refused. No one in the yakuza parts of Korean society would ever deny the Un-inked Man anything, without a solid good reason. For Chiel, it would mean a safer future for her daughter, doing things she has experience in and a degree in, and enough public status to be able to go about openly, not having to hide in the rough backstreets and seedier parts of town. It would be ignorantof her not to accept, whatever is included. She asks the matchmakers about the details of the deal and gets told:
“The boss said s6 is up to you, but we made sure you’re his type. Looks like he prefers a bit of meat on the bones.” They snigger. “And he asked for someone with experience, sounds like he’s fed up having to teach yangban girls from scratch.” From Chiel’s point, it’s like being told molestation included when applying for a job, but on the other hand, she’s getting desperate. So, she tells them:
“If he wants my body, I figure that comes with the title. You get called Royal Consort, you’d better be ready to take it all, whenever, however, and thank him afterwards. If you don’t accept that’s part of the package, you’d back out.” No one in the room is shy about the facts of life, and being upfront about the seedier side of life is part of the yakuza code. “He wants a yakuza woman who is a hospitality manager that can deal with the high society. He’s not asking for entertainment, because then you wouldn’t have tapped someone like me. Sounds like it’s just some extra on the side. Same as any contractual marriage. I can deal with that. All I want is for Minji to be safe.”
So, the matchmakers set up the interview and it goes somewhere between well and sideways. For Pyeha, he is talking to a potential fourth wife to help run the court and take some burdens off Jiwon and Seri, while keeping the Yakuza from getting too upsetti spagetti. At this point, he’s pretty much resigned to the accumulating consorts. He’s past the point of throwing a snit like he did last time; he just wants his private life to work with minimum fuss. If minimum fuss requires handing out the title Royal Consort left and right, fine, he’ll toss out the title like confetti. He abhors drama and infighting; he doesn’t want another playmate and there’s half a football team of legitimate heirs. He’s read the folders about Chiel, been given a summary by the matchmakers, he figures he should listen what her expectations and concerns are. He’s more concerned about her being a moll, and a bad fit with his family, than about whether she would be content at court. This is somewhat arrogant of him, but it’s his clear-eyed assessment of her social and economic background. For Chiel, there’s this hot-looking, immensely authoritive boss running an interview that she absolutely needs to pass. He has an intense presence in person – ask Jiwon about this! Hehe! – that is stronger than mere press pictures and video clips. The downside of the job suddenly looks less down if we put it that way. She tells him that she would have to find a school in Busan for her daughter, he tells her she should be included in the Court tutoring for security reasons. Also, that initially Minji would be offered to live in her mother’s quarters if that would help with the upheaval of the move and the big transition, but that mother and daughter could later decide to have her move into the royal nursery with her peers when she wanted a room of her own. Chiel imagines how studying in a small group under excellent teachers would be such a benefit to her daughter. He tells her, just to be clear, that while technically, this is a marriage, he has no demands or expectations of her person. Anything beyond would be her choice, but that he’d appreciate if she notified him if she changed her mind either way. She’s all:
“Eh, what? The way this was presented to me implied that such intimacies would be required. I wouldn’t have sat down for this meeting if I had considered those unacceptable.”
The negotiation between Chiel and Pyeha is a dance of expectations and realities, each with their own preconceptions and needs. Chiel, seeking security and a better life for Minji, is prepared to accept the full implications of the title Royal Consort. Yet, she finds herself in a surprising situation where the terms are more favourable than she anticipated. Pyeha, on the other hand, is focused on the practicalities of court management and maintaining harmony within his growing family. His offer to Chiel is one of respect and autonomy, a gesture that acknowledges her professionalism and the value she brings to the court beyond any personal relationship. So, they end up shaking hands and agreeing to some level of intimacy being part of the arrangement, once Minji moves to her own room, but he thinks Chiel wants and demands this, and that she is too intimidated to ask for more than a humble crumble minimum. She believes this is implied and requested of her and that he’s just covering his ass asking for consent. They’re a couple of months into this when they both realize they stumbled into this by pure misunderstanding. At that point, they’re in too deep, both enjoy their friends with benefits arrangement so allow it to continue for now. First time she more or less jumps him, the door barely closed – it’s been a long time for her, and, hey, the boss is hot so she might as well grab her share of the dessert when it’s on offer. He finds her discrete tattoos exciting, and she’s just rooster happy. Their relationship has always the flavour of the hurried forbidden, which turns out to be what works for them. She gets along with Jiwon and Shiori mainly because all three call a spade a spade, they are aware of their relative roles and try to work as a team. Jiwon is Her Majesty, Capital Q Queen of the Kingdom, Shiori is her best-buddy sidekick, Chiel is who you deal with if you ask to speak to the manager. I find it kind of funny that any Karen will be directed to resident Yakuza. It’s more of a work association than a best-friends-forever, but as time moves on that bond grows stronger with habit of daily life and family. As always, Meilin is slightly off to the side doing her own thing, she remains the youngest and the least politically adept of them. Never disliked, it’s just that you don’t hand the reins of international diplomacy to the resident smol pink-glazed cinnamon roll.
An Minji is initially terrified of everyone and everything at court, but quickly develops a puppy crush on Byeol and follows him around everywhere, to the point of learning to ride a pony in order not to be left behind. It takes a bit for her to warm up to Pyeha, who pretty much treats her like one of his children, because she hasn’t had a dad for 5 years, and violence, injury and death tends to trail the powerful men in her upbringing. Meilin is an instant hit with Minji, given her childlike demeanour, and the senior aunties are her new friends’ mothers.
At this point, the practically minded Chiel raises the question of an architectural makeover or reorganisation of the palace. The way things are going, they will run out of space in the nursery as the children grow older. Three out of four consort quarters are occupied, but the queen’s apartments have been left empty for a decade, since Pyeha moved everything that concerned Jiwon into his apartments and has flatly refused to let her move out since. So, there is space, but is it properly used for what they need?
“Are you saying that just because there is space for three more royal ladies, you want to open another saju? Goodness, woman, are you trying to wear me down completely?”
To general laugh, she reassures him that, no, that’s not the plan currently.
“Besides, I am not the one rehoming half the female population of Korea, like stray cats.” General laughter. She proposes a planned update of the seja apartments and the outer palace for the wangja and gongjudeul, not urgent, but to catch the overflow as the older children become teenagers.
“If that in turn leaves more space in the Upper Court, well, space and choice are good things, are they not?” Jiwon:
“Are you treating the royal nursery as the Pyongyang shinkansen station? Really?”
Pyongyang is where the east-west split on the northbound bullet trains from the peninsula happens. Chiel counters:
“If we jointly decide the watermelon patch stops here, I do not have to do so.” <fx: a grin and a tapping foot, stroking her own round belly. More general laughter> Seri:
“That’s rich coming from the queen who empties out the upper palace to bring in more ladies.” General snorting, Pyeha looking rueful and slightly harried, while somewhat proud – he does love his children, as kids, not just for dynastic reasons.
“Could we at least agree, that not parading me around like I’m Maximus at the Royal stud should be the first option? Please, ladies, I’m beginning to feel my years here.”
Jiwon ruffles his hair, hugs his shoulders.
“Pyeha, sweetest love of mine, if we find we need more help, we’ll of course discuss it first, it’s not like we would just have someone showing up for dinner with no warning.”
“Now you truly worry me, Jiwona. I think I’ll be in my study clearing my head with mathematics.”
The potential palace reorganization reflects the practical considerations of a living, breathing royal household that must adapt to its members’ changing needs. The humorous banter about the possibility of expanding the royal family further, with Chiel’s witty remarks and Pyeha’s self-deprecating humour, brings levity to the narrative. It’s clear that while the court may be steeped in tradition and formality, it’s also a place of warmth, laughter, and love.
2030? The passing of Captain Jo Yeung. (Otoh he’s useful to the storyline, and they have been best friends for 40 years. Otoh, I can see the envy and the mistake happening, especially given the Seri situation, how he could be tempted to overstep. However, I didn’t expect the ladies to go freaking feral, and I definitely did not expect Byeol to go for a gun (I should have) but Pyeha using a sword to execute a traitor himself, yes, that is canon and within his psychology. Jo:
“His Majesty’s grace is immeasurable.” and bows his head, closed eyes.)) An emergency historian arrives right behind Pyeha, and documents everything. Jiwon is suffering while expecting Daeyeung, doctors’ order is giving her a longer break for health reasons. The point here is exploring the more mature relationships and how the inner workings of the court function.
Writing this will take some phrasing, I’ve been putting it off, because it is dark stuff. But it is echoed in Jae Vera’s story, Hiro’s story and by Daeyeung so I have to get around to it eventually.
The trade deal with the EU (2031? – 8 months later). EU is negotiating a trade deal over the Korean rare earth wealth and it’s not going well, because the French and especially the Spanish do not respect East Asia properly, and their research into the Korean court is faulty at best. They are latching on to the Tenno’s methods during the Tsushima negotiations, because *drool* the white mare trope and runaway culturally insensitive orientalism. They have Pyeaha down as some oriental lecher, “just look at that court, so many different women, and children with all of them” <fx: scandalised pearl clutching> It’s a case of being unable to move from surface facts into motivation, or in other words understanding the context. That treaty was over ten years ago, and Pyeha is not about to let things like that slide again. They are trying to toss a European blonde princess at him, to swallow a deal that’s really unacceptable. The Koreans are stalling, revising, reconvening, moving locations, having faulty printers and generally being diplomatically obstructive, while not creating an actual casus bello for a trade war. “Delay is the deadliest form of denial, which is a river in Egypt.” Korea more or less belongs to one of the other great alliance systems – the Gang of Four, so if they can get a foot in the door here, they might unravel things on the Atlantic side of the world, because Spain and Portugal are not on the same team. Socio-politically, Korea generally get along with the EU countries, mainly the Germanies and the Dutch, because of having similar maritime and trade interests, although Korea is closer allied with Japan, the Commonwealth and Portugal, which causes friction with Spain and France. But neither side approves of Russia or the Americans and the Heavenly Republic. There are university exchanges of researchers, musicians and so on, especially with Indonesia, which is closer, and with the Greater Netherlands. Indonesia feels safer having Korea in the region, compared to being all alone against the Japanese, or getting incorporated into the British Greater Australia. So, the Dutch, and thus the Germans and by extension the Austrians, tend to side with Indonesia’s view. But power houses Spain and France tend to toss their cultural capital around like whales in a bathtub. They like making a big splash and everyone should accommodate them. During the negotiations, the Indonesians are visibly cringing and repeatedly going:
“Ehhh, what our representatives actually mean to say is … imnida …” The visuals of the pangolin explaining that the prisoners having escaped, again. The Koreans are not holding it against them specifically, they do get that the EU side has their own internal splits, but they are still not going to sign the deal as written. The Austrians are going by their tried-and-true Habsburg “Tu Felix Austria Nube!” model and side with the French and Spanish conceptual policy over this. There are several champagne-soaked events, with the EU diplomatic corps out in full force, with the Indonesians helping Pyeha et al dodge being cornered by their compatriots and force-introduced to some German beauty, while she- Rosemunde Wettin, Princess of Saxony – on her side is ducking out of sight at first chance and going dramatically “Headache. So much headache. All the headaches. The heat, the monsoon, the oriental spices, oh my, I am a poor wilting flower, I’m missing my cool forests and the beautiful Elbe River.” <fx: pale trembling hand against the forehead> None of the headaches are true, of course, except for her being pissed at the Commission and her parents for signing her up for this idiocy. After all, she has a degree in international relations, and believed she would have a career as an EU diplomat and negotiator, not this Sheisse! She’s all for signing a trade deal that does not involve herself, and if the Indonesians are actively promoting this, well, then she’s on their side. Her brother Bernhard stands to inherit Saxony, but recently married a nice man from the Czech parts of Austria, so there is pressure on her from home, too. Pyeha gives up and starts dragging a demonstratively pregnant Chiel along to run interference. If they want orientalism, he’ll damn well give them the whole nine yards of it, including having her wear brightly coloured hanbok and the full binyean jewellery to any event. Sometimes he brings Shiori, in a dramatic, multilayer kimono and full makeup, for variation, and when Chiel needs to put her feet up, and in certain situations even Crown Prince Byeol, again in colourful hanbok.
“This is seja, the queen’s eldest son. Oh, not this one, another one.” He even takes Meilin along in full pastel hanfu, as long as he promises she wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. She does her most youthful and kawaiest make-up and pretends to be adoring and adorable youthful arm candy, making the most of their age difference. Most of the Korean grandees catch on to what he’s doing, so the situation gets incredibly messy, but unfailingly polite. I’m only teasing Soviets with gentle bonhomie and you have better reasons to be anti them than me. The Spanish are about to explode at being countered. It’s not like they can accuse him of messing with them on purpose, which of course he is. Eventually they manage to toss Rosemunde at him at some embassy event; it does involve physically dragging her until she has to slip into the polite mask of being in public. The trap of which she half evades by gushing congratulations and admirations at Chiel. (The diplomats: Is she supposed to do that? Why is she doing that?) On sitting down with one lady on each side, they discover that she and Chiel share some Spanish, and she and Pyeha both speak Russian. Diplomats except the Indonesians: <fx: rubs hands.> “Now we’ll see how well this works” It is quickly obvious to the royal couple that Rosemunde of Saxony is not party to any of the hoopla, she has nothing for or against Korea per se, and none of this was her idea. Chiel has to leave – she laughed so hard she spilled her drink – and Pyeha apologizes to Rosemunde for the situation. He’s upfront about how he understands what the federation intends for her, but that they have misjudged a great many things, including the court of Korea and himself.
“It is indeed true that Korea has four queens, but in a certain sense I only have one wife. Everyone else ended up at Court due to politics or diplomacy. There are only so many specific Court positions to choose from. If any of them had been treated with a smidgen less honour than another one, the council would have been at each other’s throats, and at mine. If I remember western European history correctly, there used to be similar practices, but handled differently. I guess we are just more honest at naming things what they are.” She nods and notes:
“I guess we’ll end up with a trade war, then, in the end.” He shrugs.
“I prefer if it doesn’t go that far. But unless they modify their demands, the deal is unacceptable as it stands today. Not only am I against it myself, but the High North would also be up in arms which would destabilize the entire region. Either the Spanish are doing this on purpose, or they do not understand the consequences. I’d rather face a trade war than a four-way real war. That could bring in the Americans, the Russians and the Indians as well. It could spill over into Southeast Asia.”
“If it spreads to Indonesia …”
“Yes, I am very much aware of what that would mean. So, I am forced to stand up to their demands. Or possibly smash the world into a thousand pieces.” The watching diplomats do not speak Russian, but are gloating over a private, intense conversation.
“They think about trade and profits, and you think about world peace, Your majesty.” He smiles slightly.
“Someone has to. Today that someone is me.”
“You are not at all how they describe you in their backroom dealings, Your majesty.” His smile broadens into a slight chuckle. Diplomats: “Success, he’s smiling at her!
“I can well imagine. I’m better at mathematics than I am at general debauchery.”
“Is there any way I can help? Besides staying out of the way?” Chiel returns, still grinning, catching the last past of the conversation (being around the Taes have made her pick up some understanding of Russian, but she can definitely not speak it) They do a quick catch-up in Korean, then Chiel asks: “What is your guess would satisfy their side enough to lower the demands? At this point, it seems like more pride than rationality.” Rosemunde shushes her slightly.
“Careful when speaking Spanish!” She switches to Russian.
“My guess is that they need to save face. By now the saner heads realise all road forward are blocked. They need a major symbolic win so that they can stand down and sell it to the voters back home.”
“I am not really in the mood to give them anything whatsoever. But someone needs to be the adult here.” Madame Spanish Ambassadress stalks up and being smarmily pushy, extracts Rosemunde for a forceful exchange in Spanish, ending with a hard slap when Rosemunde argues back. (THIS NEEDS EXPANDING ON THE WHAT & WHY) Pyeha explodes out of the settee, Chiel 1-2 steps behind, and throws himself between them. Chiel pushes Rosemunde even further back, going into full fight stance, walrus mode.
“Madame Ambassador, we are not on Spanish soil at the moment. We are in Korea, and in this country, royalty is sacrosanct, even foreign royalty. The laws of the Kingdom are the same for everyone, even for foreign diplomats. Explain to me why I shouldn’t have you arrested on the spot for beating a princess?” There is dead silence. General splutters all around. Sage nods from the Koreans present. This is indeed what they law says, and how they expect Pyeha to act. They even approve of their yakuza queen going all overprotective for her fellow royal.
“Eight months ago, I executed my best friend with my own hands, with this very sword. He was breaking that very law and becoming a traitor to the crown.” There is a sudden abyss gulping underneath. Someone used to the west, to being in the majority and entitled, is suddenly being on thin ice in a culture she has so far looked down on just slightly. Pyeha is overreacting just a bit here, but he spent close to six months holding a weeping and fragile Jiwon who is only slowly returning to her normal self and doing harm to any woman in front of him pushed one big, sensitive button. Similar motivation for the generally non-violent Chiel. His colder side catches up with the flood of emotions and reins him in, stiff backed, strong stare, icy tone.
“Someone will please escort the Princess home now, someone from the German embassy. I expect her to have tea with Her Majesty Queen Tae Jiwon tomorrow at ten, so that the manims of the Court can confirm that she remains unharmed.” There is a slight mutter around the room, but no one is really brave enough to risk the barely contained volcanic fury.
“Your Royal Highness Queen Jin Chiel, we are returning to Court now.” She bows low to him in response, gives the room a once-over glare, a glare full of tattoos, knives and blood in the street, and waddles out after him, back straight and head high.
He nearly buckles under on the car ride back, the rush of adrenaline receding. The what-dafuq-did-I-just-do moment punches hard. For a second, he misses Captain Jo, but just for a second. Chiel is in full muttered low-key fury mode, and hugs him, switches to praising his guts and morals, and then back to swearing. The order goes out: “My study. Now” the remaining queens, the three personal aides, current Guard Captain do a speed-run, the minister of foreign affairs and the minister for trade were at the same event, nearly crapped their hanboks and are now cortege-ing to Court. Pyeha is back at ice cold. He apologizes for causing them extra work – the ministers exchange a furtive glance – informs the queens that they are in charge of the princess tomorrow and to retain her if there is even the slightest suggestion of abuse. He also informs the ministers of the conversation he had – that there was a suggestion of the other side needing to save face to back down, but that his actions may have exacerbated the situation. Also pump the princess for information regarding ideas of what would be a big enough bone for the EU to choke on.
FILL IN THE TEA VISIT ALREADY (We’re in the movie The King and I-territory, without the cultural superiority complex. I know more now, with Rosemunde’s brother, why she is considering this.
The day after the visit, they have settled on researching the possibility, and task teams speed off in various directions. Someone is discretely connecting with the Indonesians and the Dutch, who are having litters on litters of political keeshond conniptions. The Koreans are rattling the Japanese navy in their faces and promise to try hold them off, in exchange for reining in the Spanish. It’s a very big navy and a very loud rattle. Rosemunde is blowing feminine rose-scented cloud puffs in everyone’s faces: Mein Gott, the queens were so sweet and lovely, the baby prince – this is Lee Daeyeyng – was cute, tea and cake in the refined gardens, the conversation had been easy and witty, they had taken a tour of the palace, such art, such gorgeous architecture, such lovely fluffy cats, the little princesses so studious, that his majesty had stopped by 5 min, such handsome figure in naval uniform, and so on. She is not lying – every single word is true – but it adds the wrong flavour of what had really been discussed yesterday. The point is both to promote the new direction of negotiations, but also to conceal the new collusion. Misdirection is certainly a useful tactic. The negotiation team has assembled yet another counteroffer – much less of everything, but accepting two of the original demands – informing the EU about geological surveys that may have commercial applications, and everything relating to Saxony – and floating this, as if nothing has changed, and that this was what was discussed at last session. The Kingdom negotiators must have been professional poker players in some previous life. Pyeha grabs Lee Hiro, his and Shiori’s son, takes a military VTOL/heli to a Japanese naval vessel who has been ordered out from Fukuoka. VTOL/heli Busan -Fukuoka 1,5 hr – this takes about an hour.) This is a clandestine meeting outside-the-normal-diplomatic channels, because it is that sensitive and there cannot be leaks on either side. They’re met by their brother-in-law/uncle Akishino and have a long convo – with a historian present – on the fact that as far as the Koreans can tell, the Spanish within the EU are trying to blow East Asia to bits and then chomp up the best pieces.
“Watch your back in the Southeast Pacific, and we’ve heard some noises about giving Hawaii to the Americans if they join in causing a mess up our North and around the Gate. I suspect they are trying to isolate Kagami no Shima for the second wave – they’re after our oil … again, and they probably need that first before moving in for the kill.” The entire conversation is in Japanese, which is a sign to both of them of just how important this is to Pyeha. He heard the thing about Hawaii from Vera James, who is quietly listening to the US Navy HQ. While they are talking “Hiro Oji” is given a full stand-to-attention tour of the ship He’s expected to be a naval officer on either side of the strait on growing up, so this is par for the course. Akishino is more or less venting steam out of his ears <fx: Jimmy Jang’s “Eh? EH?!!>
“We’ve been playing the delaying game for six months on our end. They are getting exactly nowhere. But we need to put a hard stop to this nonsense soon.”
“So what are your plans? You Joseons are hot-headed fighters, but my Giri no ani wouldn’t take a dump without a plan.”
“I’m working on something to make them back down for now. I’m using your navy to scare the Indonesians.”
“Eh? We’re not doing anything to Indonesia. Not at the moment”
“You and I know that, but I’m holding you up as the scary monster to make them do my bidding against the rest of the EU. We may need to coordinate a bit here, but I’m trying to make them see it’s better from them to deal with the two of us than the grabby Spanish. I’m also trying to push the Germans into the Dutch camp – that should keep the Americans concerned about Greenland and the Gates of Ice and keep the European infighting going for a few years. That’d give us a breather to prepare for the next round.” Aki side-eyes him.
“Remind me never to play any game with the guy who invented the three-player 3D chess board. So, what do you want from our side? Besides keeping our cool and staying out of your business.”
“I think we need to prevent them from moving in from the east, including the Americans. Keep the sosus barrier tight and sink anything that moves into territorial waters. I’m having the Northern Fleet patrol both sides of the Gate of Siberia and from Kamchatka out. This is our backyard, and we don’t need another navy elbowing themselves in here. I’m more into getting the British Americas or Quebec to start something – that’d disrupt their allies and might get the Aussies off your back, as long as it cannot be traced to either of us.” Pyeha smiles, Aki smirks back. “I am indeed trying to prevent a war. If that means starting another war elsewhere, well, those things happen.”
“I’ll see what we can do in the south. We don’t want the smaller nations to go running to India or the Republic, so we might have to bribe them.”
“Find out what they want, then give it to them. I should be getting back. This was supposed to be an inspection of a naval vessel so I can’t be gone all day.”
“It was. Just not your own navy.”
“I can see how you’re Shiori’s brother. Equally snarky, the both of you.” They laugh.
Seja and his two next brothers, Hoyeul and Gyeol, handing over a (Siberian) kitten and Hoyeol does a calligraphy of her name, over tea. Pyeha, with Hiro in tow, is forced to stop by the German embassy to pick up his unruly brood.
Meeting with the German ambassador. The novel The Gatekeepers, featuring Marcus Ramius. The Naval Gates of the world
The family portrait in two versions. Visiting Saxony/Dresden. Friesian dressage. Violin. If you cohab Seri and Yangmi together in the queen’s apartments, well, they are technically both foreign royals, so you can claim they need the more up-rank accommodation, and then there’s more space for the existing consorts and the shared rooms.
The Naval Gates of the world -> create a map – and what nations and constellations control them. So this AU is a world where the navy is the most prominent military branch, not the air force. I did not know this!
| Gate | Major | Regional | Single control | Contested | Linked Gates (you need all for full control) | Controlled by | Controlled by |
| The Gate of Gibraltar | x | x | The Chain Gate of the Middle Sea | Spain | Portugal(Marocco) | ||
| The Gate of Sicily | X | x | The Chain Gate of the Middle Sea | The Soviet Union of Italy | France (North Africa) | ||
| The Gate of Suez | x | x | The Chain Gate of the Middle Sea | The Ottomans | |||
| The Gate of Hormuz | x | Persia | The Ottomans | ||||
| The Gate of Aden | x | x | The Chain Gate of the Middle Sea | Ethiopia (They hold Yemen) | |||
| The Gate of Singapore | x | x | 1 | Malaysia | |||
| The Gate of Magellan | x | x | Spain | ||||
| The Gate of Good Hope | x | x | x | The Commonwealth | <Contested by the Dutch re: SA> | ||
| The Gate of Bosporus | x | The Chain Gate of the Middle Sea | The Ottomans | ||||
| The Mirror Gate | X | x | Japan | (The Commonwealth) | |||
| The Gate of Panama | X | x | Spain | ||||
| The Gate of Oresund | x | x | The North Sea Gate | Germany | The Northlands (formerly: Russia) | ||
| The Gate of Siberia | X | X | (x) | Korea | Korea (formerly: United States) | ||
| The Gates of Ice | X | Germany | The Northlands (formerly: United States and Russia) | ||||
| The Gate of Kuriles | x | Korea | Japan | ||||
| The Aleutian Gate | x | X | (x) | Korea | Korea (formerly: United States) | ||
| The Gate of Tsushima | x | Korea | Japan | ||||
| The Gate of Scapa Flow | X | The North Sea Gate | Germany | The Commonwealth | |||
| The Channel Gate | X | The North Sea Gate | The Commonwealth | France |
There are more minor naval gates around the world – I haven’t exactly looked into the Caribbean or fully Southeast Asia/Australia yet – but the three rings created by the gates of Siberia, Aleutia and Kuriles respectively are very important to the Kingdom’s national security. The northeast and the northwest passage are controlled by Russia & Korea and by the United States respectively (but Germany/Russia hold the exit passage).
Naval warfare: Japan premiered the aircraft carriers, given the extreme distances of their Pacific holdings. There are air force carriers but only the strongest most dispersed navies have them. Lots of battleships, STS rockets and torpedoes and packs of fast destroyers. There are submarine hunters with helicopters/VTOL-planes on board.
After talking to Anders: Germany controls the south coast of the Baltic as far as Königsberg, along with Bornholm, which means that the southern Baltic is a place where Russians and Germans rub unhappy shoulders.
This is around 2037-39: I’m also realising now that Shiori’s brother popped up that Lee Hiro will likely eventually inherit the Chrysanthemum throne. Uncle Aki very likely can’t have kids or has a bunch of girls or he has sons that die for some reason. They have two more sisters who either have no kids or only girls, married into the princely houses mentioned below. It was fine to hand over Shiori to the Joseons when the line of inheritance was clear, but now things are beginning to grow tense, and I’m going to assume there are no obvious cadet branches going back 200 years or so. In our timeline, there were 3-4 princely houses that could be called upon to supply an heir, and the right for the Imperial family to adopt was abolished as late as by McArthur. Prince Junda of Baekje is the ancestor of the Yamato no Fuhito clan, Japan was called Yamato and ruled from there, current Nara province, in the 700s, which I’m going to turn into one of the princely houses supplying heirs for adoption in a pinch. But even those houses are running extremely low on male heirs here. So, there is a ready-made excuse going by “well, there is already some physical Korean bloodline, if we go back to the 500s Yamato period, but the grace of Amaterasu will purify the blood of an Emperor on ascendance anyway” yada, yada. Or even: “We’re bringing back our original bloodline, the Tenno is of the Imperial House of Yamato after all, and by the way …you do know that Prince Hiro has nine brothers. <fx: cough cough> Definitely sounds like someone we could use, just saying.” On reading up more on the Japanese social history, especially as relates to formal concubinage, and the 200-year long discussion of allowing daughters and granddaughters to form their own Imperial branches if marrying commoners, I am deciding thus for this AU: The Emperor of Japan has to be a man. 100%, no exceptions. He can be the son of a concubine, in our timeline this was formally abolished in 1924, historically the nobility threw their daughters at the emperor in order to get their own grandson to inherit, but the practice was gradually dying out by the Meji restoration in the mid-1800s. If we allow daughters to form their own branch if, and only if, they marry royalty, then there’s Akishino, his sister Shiori and the other two sisters that are married into the “allowed” Japanese princely houses. So, from the emperor’s perspective, he was looking at three sources of Japanese grandsons, to follow his own son, and Shiori could be worth a peace treaty. No biggie! Then the chaos butterflies of random events happen, even using gender-controlled insemination goes wrong, and by the 2030s things are getting dicey. There is more about this, more details under Hiro’s story. So, Hiro could easily be a legal heir by the above reasoning: his mother is the emperor’s daughter, and his father is certainly royal. He is young, reasonably looking, capable, very popular among the younger half of the population, and let’s just pointedly-ignore the fact that he’s half Korean. There is some heavy political infighting in the process, both along the lines of who gets the chrysanthemum and along the lines of pro/anti-Korean. The pro alliance group is using the symbolism of two fighters back-to-back, then some manga artist draws real life Byeol and Hiro in full historic dress from each country, top knot hairdos, sword in complementary position. Instant viral hit! There’s a runaway success wuxja-style first manga/manhwa, then eight-season television-series Sunrise, Sunset about a fictious equivalent pair of brothers being heirs to two different magic kingdoms. Lots of tropes of the same-but-different best buddies, male companionship. ‘Byeol’ as the cool, jade-eyed frost mage, who gets the girl (all the girls, all the time! <nudge, nudge>), and ‘Hiro’ as the shy but witty hands-on & martial arts heartthrob with one (badass) true love. Which in turn means Hiro and all his tiger half-brothers get mobbed the second they set foot on a street in Japan. <fx: Beatles mania, Japanese style, from the tweens to cougars and cheek-pinching grandmothers> The series sweeps all Southeast and South Asia, it is first banned, then bootlegged and beloved in the Heavenly Republic; the clerical leadership coughs something lame about the lessons of upright morals and brotherhood, while binge-watching, and even Persia is in a Sunrise, Sunset fever. It does more to promote the East Asian neighbours standing in the wider region than any governmental PR campaign. It is eventually run in Germany and the Netherlands, with the serialisation of The Gatekeepers being a smash hit in Japan and Korea both. Aired in Alaska in 2044, with an introductory program on the cultural significance.
The trade-off decided on: Korea keeps Tsushima after the 25 years are past. Hiro renounces his Kingdom citizenship (he will now be subject to the emperor, not the King), Shiori is welcome back with full honours, Hiro attends university/naval academy in Japan (Yokohama) and generally outwardly switches nationality, being under his uncle Aki’s guidance. Hiro’s younger sisters are suddenly valued members of the Imperial family. Shiori is spitting mad at her father in private:
” Eh? EH??!! Oh, NOW he’s all accepting? He wants my children all of a sudden, just to use them, after throwing me out?!” but not to the point of sabotaging her son’s life. Pyeha clears things with Hiro, doublechecks that this is something he really wants to do, assures him that changing citizenship will not affect their father-son relationship.
“But if you think that means I’d let you take back Tsushima you’re the prince of La La Land” <fx: cuffs him lovingly>
… WTF AM I SUDDENLY CREATING A WORKING ASEAN IN THIS AU??!!
Japan captured New Zeeland around 1940, Kagami no Shima, the Mirror Islands, making in the story-now Hiero Kuroda the Lord of the Isles, daimyo and a heavy man at the Imperial court. He’s in the pro-Korean camp in court, as in he has enough on his plate with the Mirror Isles and fighting off the British incursions from Greater Australia, he does in no way support Imperial silly ambitions against a powerful neighbour at the other end of the world from him. He already has a war on his hands, goddammit! Ornithologist loves penguins. Japanese – Māori hakas … it’s a thing. Apparently, Japan is the culture closest to Māori in our timeline! Shinto and Buddhist shrines all over the mirror isles. Lamb sashimi becomes wildly popular in mainland Japan. – Kagami is 4-hour time difference ahead. Many more stories here, including Kiyoka Kuroda, in the next generation, but since Lee Hiro is in the imperial succession, then his sisters are highly valued bargaining chips. I’m going to go out on a limb and suggest that Hiero Kuroda actually is a personal frenemy of Pyeha from their respective university and naval academy days. Rowing competitions are canon in TKEM! Think adult Harry – Malfoy but set in East Asia. These guys get along, see eye to eye, have fun together, but are most definitely competitors. Hiro is named after him! (I did not know this either!) I can’t find that either Buddhists, Shinto or Confucians have formal godparents, but this is the type of relationship.
SPORT: Not every single British-New Zeelander left, so there are culturally Japanese with carrot hair, freckles and green eyes around. In this AU, the Japanese have grown less ethnically uptight and prioritize cultural assimilation: you act Japanese enough, then you’re Japanese. Of course, some of the “exotic” traits of their far-flung Empire has creeped in over time: the lei, the hula, the haka, coconuts, pineapples, and most definitely rugby (“A thug sport played by gentlemen” sounds right up the Japanese alley, and thus the All Blacks are reborn. Japanese Samoa, Hawaii and Fiji are also home to strong rugby teams in their league, but Manila won the most recent championship with their great passing game.) Internationally it’s played by Japan, the Commonwealth countries, France and its various colonies, the Soviet Italy, some of the Indian countries, Mongolia and Korea – it looks like there is two hemisphere international leagues, in between world cups) All the Spanish countries, parts of the Commonwealth, the French, the Northlanders, the Germans, the Dutch/Surinam/Indonesians, the Brazilians/Portuguese, the Ottomans and the Americans are more into football, passionately so. Hockey is mostly played in America (Canada), Quebec, Germany (Iceland), the Swiss Soviet Union, the Northlands, Russia and Korea (High North + Alaska), with occasional teams from Peru.
This is probably 2039: I’m fairly certain An Minji will become a junior consort of Byeol’s court in the future, but not his senior queen. She’ll do anything for him, and loyalty & availability will beat hot chemistry in the long run. I also think this will happen fairly early, like at high school age, and that she will have been raised at court and in essence rarely leaves on her own, even for shopping. In a way, her mother marrying into Court was such a relief from their past lives on the outskirts of the yakuza, short of money, too much violence, and Korean school levels of physical bullying for An Minji. Living in the Palace, as a foster sister to the royal children is heaven to her, and it unconsciously flavours her puppy love feelings for seja Byeol, who is overall a bit on the wild and exuberant side, but kind and tolerant. From his perspective, having a girlfriend at court means less paparazzi, less writing in social and print media, overall just simpler for him, besides she loves him, doesn’t she? Pyeha will have an ear flaying choice lecture to deliver to Seja on the topic, and he will be screamed at by both mothers. Given that Minji’s extended family is yakuza, and that his own mother tends to go for her knives when really riled – it’s a family tradition – he’s really lucky that they love him. An Minji will likely inherit her mother Queen Jin Chiel’s position of the consort who manages the daily life at court, and learn the rules and regulations from Noh sanggun, before the elderly lady retires. In 2040, because she’s expecting their second during the war 2043, so they had their little period of ‘unification’ when she was 17(!) and he was 21 … and he’s at the Academy at this point. No wonder all involved parents are spitting mad, she’s technically underage, hasn’t finished high school and they were raised together. Given how Koreans in general feel about even second cousins marrying, this is a scandal with a touch of ickiness to them, and they don’t want the public to know. (I’m more concerned about the power differential between them and her youth – it’s not like either thought they were actual family – but it’s still a bit too close for comfort. Her younger half-siblings are his half-siblings and vice versa!)
I just realised this is happening fairly close to Hiro moving to Japan, so this is part of a chaotic period in their lives. Minji is mostly happy and content with a young family as is, but she’s just slightly resentful and bitter about the fact that exactly no one, including Byeol, thinks she has what it takes to be the actual next queen. If she’s actively thinking about it, she, too agrees with the sentiment, but she still finds it so unfair that the love of her life doesn’t believe she’s good enough.
Also add that Lee Daeyeung – 13-years younger than Byeol – is part of pushing An Minji at his Hyeong, this is probably the first conscious choice he makes in trying to sabotage his brother.
The next gen scenes in Yokoyama (2039-40?) EXPAND THESE I discovered that Kiyoka and Hiro go to the naval academy together and are great friends, whereas Byeol is one year ahead in the corresponding Busan academy. And Byeol hyeung is annoying to his little brother. Loving but annoying. This trio of young lions will be up to no good in years to come. The brothers already fought off guys from a neighbouring college when Byeol is visiting little bro in Yokohama. The other students went:
“Effing Joseons!” at the brothers, with Kiyoka joining in with:
“Hey, I don’t know who we’re fighting, but it looks like fun. Oh, you’re Hiro’s big brother? <fx: parries with his sword and punches someone>
“Nice to meet you! <fx: Byeol taekwondo kicks someone else>
They end up bonding over beers later, having driven off the opponents, the beginning a great friendship between the three of them.
Hiro has been lying on his acceptance form to the Naval Academy. Kiyoka and Byeol didn’t know – Kiyoka had no clue how connected his friend really is and saw himself as the ranking member of the duo/trio, given that his father is the Viceroy of Kagami no shima. Uncle and Father descend on Hiro like a bi-directional tsunami – Yokohama is a two-hour drive from Kyoto, and a two-hour VTOL-flight from Busan. Pyeha is banging poor Hiro against the wall, collar grip, feet nearly dangling, one smack for each generation of ancestor he has insulted, going full volume guttural shout:
“Uehara? PPAK CINDAL! HOW DARE YOU? And you claim to be from Nara prefecture? In Japan? ARE YOU UTTERLY INSANE?” Smacks him into the wall.
“But but but Uehara is the closest sounding family name to ume no hana – plum blossom – like our maesil. Nara is just across the strait. Close enough, dad …”
Another smack into the wall. Then Uncle Aki interferes.
“No, sawi. Stop beating the kid. We need him alive.”
“Thank you, Uncle!”
Akishino grabs Hiro and smacks him face first into the desk, for the similar insult to everyone on his Japanese side. The officers present jump in startlement. Nosebleed.
“I will make myself very clear.” Smack! “We will begin with Emperor Jimmu, whose honour you have insulted.” Smack! “Next is Emperor Suizei, whose honour you have insulted.” Smack! <fx: Disney’s Mushu: “Dishonour on you. Dishonour on your family. Dishonour on your cow”>
It takes him begging them both for forgiveness without making more excuses. They make him rewrite his application form with the correct information, and both of them pull quite a lot of rank to get Lee Hiro/Hirohito re-administered as a cadet to the Imperial Academy of Naval Science, under his proper name, with the correct dojang, wearing proper collar pins, and Pyeha muttering all along how: “I am sure I raised you better than this. I am sure your mother raised you better than this. I turn my back for one second. Then something like this happens. First his brother. Now this one.” and so on, in variation, on repeat, in low, growly, intimidating Busan-dialect Korean, arms crossed. There are quite a lot of humiliating menial tasks in Hiro’s near future, like scrubbing decks, on his knees, given that he has humiliated his classmates and his direct officers both. His nose heals straight, and he never pulls a stunt like this again. Instead, he pulls other stunts.
Pyeha throws Byeol on the flight back to Busan: “The two of them are bad enough together – I know exactly what Hiero Kuroda is like, and that son of his looks like his spitting image – add you to the mix and who knows what kind of international incident might happen?”
Hiro & Kiyoka later:
“Yeah, well, sorry, Kuroda. Should have told you.”
Arms crossed. “Yeah, you should have. I knew you’re half Korean. When we first met, you told me met that your mom married some Joseonjin, who kicked you out. Then you moved here to live with your uncle’s family. I even felt sorry for you!”
“That’s not a lie. It’s like that. Sort of.”
Hiro winces and feels the bridge of his nose, as a reminder not to tell fibs.
“OK, so the guy your mom married, he’s your actual father. He didn’t kick you out at all. You renounced your citizenship to move here by your own free will. Not only did he drop everything to storm here from Fuzan to give you the hiding of your life and to save your sorry self from getting booted out of the Naval Academy, he’s also the freaking King of Joseon? And you didn’t bother telling me? Are you for real? What kind of friend is that?”
small voice: “Yeah, I’m sorry, Kuroda.”
“Which, I may point this out, makes your big brother someone who shouldn’t be out street fighting other cadets in a different country. With swords.”
Hiro hunching in on himself. “Dad dragged Byeol back home with him. I figure he’s getting lectured, too. His mom will be even angrier than mine is right now.”
“Yeah, the knife happy kami of Korea … what a place to grow up!” Questioning glance at Hiro.
“It wasn’t that bad, I love my family, and they love me. It’s just that I knew all along growing up I had one foot on this side of the strait. When uncle and granddad asked me to move … I couldn’t really say no.”
Kiyoka looks even angrier, and more frustrated. “Your uncle. Your granddad. You say that so glibly. It’s like saying my dad is the headman of a couple of fishing villages on some godforsaken atoll in the middle of nowhere.” Hiro smirks.
“Isn’t he, though? In comparison?”
“You wonder why you always end up in trouble? Even I want to smack you when you sound like that.”
“Sorry”
“Stop saying you’re sorry, just stop being such an ass.” <fx: brotherly cuff on the shoulder>” Most people never even see the imperial family in real life. But you, you had the effing Crown Prince of Japan come yell at you and give you a bloody nose for lying on your application.”
“My nose still hurts, though.”
“Serves you right!”
(Kiyoka Kuroda is a whole, Malfoy-sounding, correct-language-use vibe of a guy in and of himself, where Hiro takes after his mother and uncle: the slender version of his dad’s built & straight nose, mom’s dark eyes and strong snark. Kiyo is going to be so fun to write! I’m convinced that he has some Māori blood, probably a (great?) grandmother on both sides, so a bit sturdier/taller, slightly darker skin, slightly broader face, but with those elegantly slanted Japanese eyes and a strong nose. He also goes for long silver hair, his only outward sign of vanity, having it dyed/bleached regularly) GAAH! I just realised Byeol and Minji probably had their first baby – Lee Ijin – which explains both why Pyeha is dragging his eldest son home by the scruff of his neck before he causes another scandal of some sort and why he is not in the mood to take any guff whatsoever from his second son.
International long-term relationships – the 5-way war of 2043: The Koreans would dearly love to boot the Americans from their two shared High North gates: the Gate of Siberia and the Aleutian Gate. It would put them in full control of the exit point of both northern latitudinal crossings into the Pacific, their home turf, and the Aleutian Gates would increase the security of the main Gate of Siberia. Long term the Koreans has designs to get Alyaska “back”, the Taes most definitely view Alaska as their bailiwick and as part of their Russian patrimony, and it shouldn’t have been sold to the Americans in the first place. In this timeline, the Americans haven’t fully explored the oil fields of Prudhoe Bay – I think one Tae brother is a geologist – Tae Jihan, so the Taes are chomping at the bit to exploit more regional oil. For Korea, the EU itself isn’t an issue as long as they mind their business. They view themselves as a regional power, with no global ambitions, even if they are part of a strong maritime global alliance, but within their region they are going to divide, conquer, deal, and take guff from no man. They need the Japanese hotheads to stand down – a neighbourly relationship would be in everyone’s best interests, even if the two countries may never be downright allies, or maybe simpler put: they may be allies in specific questions and cases but they will never coalesce. An East Asia Economic Cooperation Area is quite possible on the other hand. The Korean – Japanese relationship can pretty much be described by the Finnish word for darling: mulkvisti. It translates to the one I dislike less than the others.
The expansionist side of Spain, and to a lesser degree France, makes the Korean relationship with the EU complicated. The Indonesians and by extension the Dutch and the Surinamese are just fine, and if they can make a deal with the Germans, then the other main gate of the northern circumpolar route would be safe. This is beneficial for the Germans too – they are getting increasingly fed up with taking the brunt of European security against the Russian and American navy. There is certainly a mental space where there is a polar gate axis – remember Germany and Japan were cosy allies against the Americans in our timeline 1930-40 – and Korea won’t weep at length if the EU’s northern tier begins infighting against the southern tier. They would cheerfully pop popcorn and watch from afar. Down the line, some time when Byeol and Hiro are adult seja and kotaishi respectively – 2043? – there will be a Spanish led war against America and the Commonwealth, where Germany grabs territory in American Canada on the coast of Labrador to protect their Gate of Ice/the Greenland Strait, and the EU does some pussyfooting, backroom dealing with Korea about slamming the Gate of Siberia shut at the opportune time. Pyeha is pretty much replying:
”I’ll help you win this war using my power over the Gate of Siberia … but it will cost you Alaska. Your choice.”
Of course, the European powers severely underestimate how much control they have over the Kingdom, but that is another question. They overestimated their power in the trade negotiations in 2031, and they are repeating the mistake. This leads to something of a Molotov-Ribbentrop pact – the EU will let the Koreans know in advance when they kick plan to off the war, and the Koreans promise to keep the US navy occupied in the Pacific and if at all possible, to drown it in a bathtub. The price for that is the Aleutian Islands and the east side of the gate. The Spanish tell them:
”If you can take, you can keep it.”
“If we keep them busy in the Gate of Siberia, you guys will profit around the Atlantic, so we want all of Alaska, not just a coastal strip.” The deal is made on that basis.
Given that the British Commonwealth is involved in the three-way war in the Atlantic – mainly to join in to protect their North American territories – and are allied with Korea, Japan, and Portugal overall, Busan discretely informs London of the Spanish plans. From London’s perspective, it’s a good idea, and they regret that they hadn’t realised this was an option to involve their Pacific partners, so they never asked. This alliance is quite loose; they operate on their own, without any equivalent of Nato’s article 5, but may support each other if requested. The four participants have divided the globe into areas of interests, so tend not to interfere in the other pair’s hemisphere. The alliance is mainly focused on securing shipping lanes, economic and scientific cooperation, with military aid being lower on the agenda. In this situation, Lond appreciates the heads-up, know they and the EU will profit from it, but since they are not in cahoots with the Spanish themselves, they do not coordinate naval tactics. And they are thumbs-up about the possibility of an ally carving off pieces of the US, since the Commonwealth and the US are unhappy neighbours in the Deep South, so anything that make the US more anaemic is good in their book. Portugal is not informed, as they aren’t in on the snarl. They keep the peace in the South Atlantic and cheer from a distance.
There is a six-month, a three-months and then 1–2-day heads-up before the war starts in the Atlantic, without Korea. High command in Busan were making plans from the get-go of the deal, about a year in advance. After all, they have been handed an opportunity to do what they had been toying with already. Their polar submarine fleet drift north one at a time, and a battleship group “escorting a scientific expedition” north of the gate – west of Wrangel’s Island and bunkering at Pevek (the equivalent to Murmansk – it’s supplied by a road + rickety railroad from Anadyr, and mainly exist as a naval base) out of sight to both the Russians and the Americans. Build-up for landing on and taking the American parts of the Aleutian Island chain is filling ports at Anadyr (within the Gate) and Yelizovo (on Kamchatka). We’re in the 2040s, since 2018 there is electrified double railroad all the way along the pacific rim from Pyongyang to Magadan, with a rail and road bridge to Sakhalin. Since it is modern engineering, it is qualified for bullet trains, in the construction of gradients and curvature, so shinkansen type passenger trains and freight trains pass each other. The railway continues from Magadan to tiny Manily which has become a rail hub/cargo harbour, where the railroad splits to Yelizovo on the Kamchatka, and to Anadyr and from there to Pevek. There is of course satellite imagery, but that won’t much catch build-up of resources by rail. In a similar manner, there is busy ferry traffic of supplies sneaking along the Kuriles and then up Kamchatka. It can be spotted, but it’s still within the range of normal. While the actual gate is under surveillance from both sides, there is a regular back and forth of local trade – after all these are local, neutral countries, there is no iron curtain, and though there are customs checks and a coast guard, there is much local smuggling being tacitly ignored, along with local fishing. Thus, the Koreans gradually over six-eight months move commando and saboteur teams across the gate, with the task of taking control of all the Alaskan coastal batteries, or if impossible, at least disable them. These guys are a mix of their local Siberian ranger troops who know the terrain with a sprinkle of marine artillery expert who would then take over the actual guns. They are quiet, discrete, and staying away from the American locals, surveying the daily routine around the coastal artillery positions. I propose that there is even some pro-Kingdom sentiment among the various First Nations in the region, and the Siberian teams will have local support and cover-stories ready. If anything, those First Nation people speak and read English, so they will definitely be great liaisons. There is a similar but lesser build-up along the American half of the Aleutian Islands. Just some extra “guys staying with friends”, stocks brought in a few boxes at a time, mobile towers and power hubs infiltrated.
The Pacific powers doesn’t enter the war from the get-go – the Spanish Pacific fleet squares off with Americans in a series of running battles, but is sent east across the Gate of Panama, with just the Gate defence left, because the situation in the Atlantic is growing gnarly. Here the Panama Canal is narrower than in our timeline, so the Spanish navy goes for smaller, slimmer vessels that can portage, making them agile but not able to stand up against overpowered battleships or carrier groups. The ability to play both oceans at the same time comes with pros and cons. The Americans are left with the option of losing badly off Canada and at sea, or risk stripping their west coast of defence. They figure the Spanish navy being weak and it’d take them a while to portage back and run north. So, they decide to move the vast majority of their Pacific navy to relieve the situation in east and northern Canada. That way, they can shift their northernmost Atlantic groups south to strengthen their mid-Atlantic forces. Situation is bad, and if they wait too long everyone will be impeded by winter and they’ll be left with fait accompli. It’d be a month worth of transit but worth the risk. It’s a known fact that the Koreans and the Japanese don’t much like the Spanish, even if they get along with other parts of the EU, so they don’t really have any beef in a fight a hemisphere away. For nearly 150 years, as soon as they finished booting the Russians out, the Koreans have played über-nice around the Gate of Siberia, despite some back and forth over the Aleutians. The Japanese can be frisky as neighbours – after all these 150 years is the period where they expanded out over the Pacific, and testing the remaining powers in the region is part of the great game. There is next to no indication of unusual activities in the Pacific – a lot of the Korean navy is hanging around Magadan as usual, they are doing a big search-and-rescue joint exercises with the Japanese out in the Pacific, some are in harbour, they are babysitting a scientific expedition north of the gate (watching out for the Russians) and so on. The Japanese are having regular forces around the Home Islands, Hawaii and Kagami no Shima, the rest just coasting about. So, in a pressure cooker situation, Washington decides to project that the current situation will continue. Pyeha has become nearly deaf being yelled at by increasingly concerned European allies, but he has been biding his time. The promise was to keep the US Navy away from the Atlantic, and to destroy it, if possible, but he wants the Gate itself, and to do that the time has to be right, and preparations made. No point hitting the strait unless the opponent has stuck his rooster into the meatgrinder first. The Koreans have had a sleeper agent on the US Navy HQ at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, for 17 years – Veronica James of the secretarial staff with high security clearance, so she keeps the court fully updated of the decision and the timing of the move. (Her full story told below, after the annexation of Alaska.) The Japanese are the first to pick up the actual movement northward, information forwarded to Magadan and Busan. The target is moving into the trap. And of course, the little side deal between the two main East Asian powers has not been forwarded to the EU. It’s been kept neatly around the family dinner table, as you do. Japan does not declare war, they do the neutral self-defence thing, like Sweden to Nato during the Cold War, and forward all information, both from navy, “accidentally” forward shipping and fishing vessels. The fact that they are technically neutral with the US while somewhat allied with Korea also means that their diplomats and undercover assets can run errands within the lower 48 and can help in protecting and disguising the Korean embassy staff. After all, even in our timeline it is hard to tell the nationalities apart if they don’t wish to do so, and for the America First crowd japs and gooks are pretty much indistinguishable. (Cf how Swedish girls pass themselves off as Norwegian or German, and sensible Americans pretend to be Canadians)
Busan is simply out of the blue, Pearl-Harbour-style declaring a nice little side war and take full control of the eastern half of the Aleutian Island chain, like how the Russians nabbed eastern Poland in 1939-40 when the Poles were otherwise occupied. The US Ambassador to Busan is called into full ceremonial Court – robes, black samo hats, a pair of historians taking notes by hand, the works – and handed the written declaration of war with no prior warning – the timing is within an hour of needing to close the Gate. Normal relationships between Washington and Busan are neutral but chilly – no love lost, given that the Americans tend to side with the tsar and the Koreans with the Commonwealth – and punctiliously correct in the management of the gate. The casus belli given is the alliance with the Commonwealth and a mutual-defensive deal with the EU – both of them being currently at war with the United states, and the longstanding dispute over Alaska, that from the Korean perspective (if you really squint at it and interpret the term liberally) was illegally sold to the United States by Russia and has in fact been a part of the High North all along. Shock!
“Your Majesty, what does this even mean?”
“It means that the United States of America no longer has a navy in the Pacific. Please return to the embassy and consult with your government at leisure.”
This gambit is even nastier, because when unpleasantness began around the Gates of Ice and the Spanish pushing north through the Gulf of Mexico, inquiries and diplomatic niceties had been initiated by Washington towards Busan and Kyoto trying to ensure their neutrality in the mess. Kyoto went “Not our department” and Busan said in essence “Business as usual,” and both have been coasting along doing innocent, neutral-looking things while the North Atlantic and east-central North America descended into a three-way snarl. The call to close the Gate goes out before the Ambassador has even left the courtroom, and the Koreans are doing every full-on petty-but-infinitely-polite thing in the book to delay any American privy to the declaration of war to access communication technology. Every minute counts here. The clock is ticking.
Compared to our timeline with strong international community, our Geneva convention and so on, this AU has incredibly weak international institutions, the Lhasa Convention for the Conduct of War is fine with wars of aggression if there is a just cause. Over time that clause about just causes has proven to be a paper product. On top of that, the UN is more of a club for discussion, posturing and fancy dinners. The UNESCO and the UNHCR exists but has less influence. Security is sought in networks of alliances, that police each other. There are not two blocks of superpowers, but three almost same strength alliances, with an outer ring of somewhat allied or friendly powers. So far, this world has escaped any full wars, though minor conflicts are frequent. In the storyline we are following, we are witnessing the rising power of Korea, and ally Japan, surrounded by a constellation of increasingly powerful junior allies such as Vietnam, Tibet, Hyderabad, Tigerland, the faraway-but-allied Northlands and the weak-and-dependant Mongolia.
Now we are in early august 2043. In the actual theatre, Pyeha slams the Gate shut with the bulk of the American navy trapped in transit, a quarter past the gate, a third within the actual strait, and the rest spread out in a long tail on both sides of the Aleutian Gate. The royal rangers attack the Alaskan batteries simultaneously, destroying half and recommissioning the rest. The US Navy is caught in artillery and torpedo crossfire, with the air force joining in for funsies, mainly with air-to-surface rockets from plenty of helicopters who pop out of camouflage netting all at once along the Siberian side of the Gate, followed by the call of torpedo in the water, torpedo is active for round two. The Koreans pretty much annihilate them within the Gate, sinking everything that moves. That main kill zone is finished within an hour, news of the war has just barely reached Washington by then. Later reports from the few survivors claim that some commanders were getting increasingly nervous over the fact that there were no Korean warships around, like there usually are. Overall, there isn’t much traffic moving on the strait at all that day. Someone even radios a lighthouse station on the Siberian side, asking why the strait is clear. Gets told that it’s the king’s birthday, it’s a public holiday over here, wanna stop over for some vodka? It’s not, his birthday is July 28, and this is 1-2 weeks later, but they figure the Americans won’t doublecheck. The Gate is only 82 km wide at its narrowest so there is little space to evade. Given temperatures, even in summer, survivability is low if you end up in the water. Any ship that makes it through the gauntlet will run into the waiting battlegroup and the submarines that have been sitting quietly under the ice for a few months, popping in and out of the naval base at Pevek to bunker up. Getting back past the Aleutian Gate will be the next issue – this is a full Korean land grab, which meant they have landed commando groups on all inhabited islands, blocking radio and mobile/internet at gun point, with cheerful help from some of the locals. The bulk of their navy is running east along the Aleutians from Kamchatka at top speed, even started in advance, keeping an eye on the windows of satellite passes. This timeline has satellites but hasn’t reached the moon – not enough space race competition – so there are certainly satellites that could catch fleet movements on the Pacific, like the Northern Fleet heading east from Kamchatka and the Kuriles at high speeds but given that Russia and the United States are less powerful, that surveillance is far from 100%. The Northern Fleet starts its run following the patch of sky eye moving east, being careful to stay on its blind side, which means the actual hammer of the trap will be 6-12 hours out from the Aleutian Sea from the moment of declaration of war and the abattoir at the Gate. Smashing the Gate was very premeditated and well-timed – it has the precision planning of an INTJ mathematician written all over it. Any US ship south of Lawrence scatters for safety towards the Aleutian Islands for cover and runs straight into a barrage of rockets and marine drones from behind the islands. The land teams on the Aleutians don’t have heavy equipment (yet) – their task is to impede more than stop – but Byeol’s carrier group (Carrier HMS Bukdu) speed-running north up from Midway with torpedo helicopters as well as aircraft, to back up the land teams, filling the Aleutian sea with torpedoes and air-to-surface rockets, while the Red Star Northern Fleet is doing an Usain Bolt on its way from Kamchatka to the east, swinging the door shut. Any ship left north of the Aleutian Gate, in the Aleutian Sea, is in for a world of hurt unless they can break through to the southeast and run down the coast. The tail end of the US navy is trying to break through and high tail back to the security of coastal batteries at Anchorage, Sitka, and Vancouver-Seattle. The Korean navy was expecting this from the beginning and is in hot pursuit. The Koreans planted a few forward interceptor groups as well as their other two (from the White Star Southern Fleet) carrier groups conveniently “having conducted a peaceful naval exercise with their old friends the Japanese navy off Hawaii” – which of course was a cover for allowing them to be posted that close to the theatre of war in advance – and just slide into international waters in time for the welcome-back-committee, having been sent off with a “Happy hunting, you Joseon bastards!” The Americans must also deal with the Japanese, who are neutral in the conflict, but who as it happens, decided to enforce the security of their territorial waters. The Japanese navy, including submarines and a carrier group, are watching from edge of their own territorial waters as far northeast as possible off Hawaii and Midway. Any USN ship trying to break south or west to escape the Koreans hammering them up against the coastline, or that manages to give the hunters the slip, will sail straight into the teeth of the Imperial navy the second they pass a hundred meters into Japanese territorial waters – it’s 2-3 days at 30 knots from Nome, half that from the Aleutian Gate. Of course, the Korean navy is just as happy to chase any stragglers into Japanese waters off Midway as they are to push them into shallow coastal waters and deal with them themselves. There are popcorns in Kyoto, watching this unfold: “Way to go, Dad!!!” <fx: The movie Hunt for Red October: “Way to go, Dallas!”> Given the distances involved, the battle takes the better part of a week, but when it’s over the Gate is firmly in Korean hands, the Aleutian islands having been annexed with the taegeuki flying, Sitka, Nome and Anchorage have had their harbours and coastal defences shelled at point blank range and the sole survivors of the US Pacific navy are some coast guard tin cans off Northern California, or sailors rescued from the sea by enemy vessels, sorry little flotsam bobbing on the Pacific currents. Which makes the western US pretty much a doormat for the Spanish boots wishing to storm north, and the remains of the US Atlantic fleet severely outnumbered. The Battle of the Siberian Gate, or the Siberian Doublecross becomes a textbook example of a double-cross, both militarily and in diplomacy. “Mofo Gooks!” is screamed across the United States and the news media, to no avail. Washington is crying to high heavens at Busan and Kyoto – Pyeha pretty much laughs in their faces “Alaska, remember?” and Tenno (uncle Akishino) is going the diplomatic equivalent of “New phone, who dis? “and “I have no idea of what you are talking about, your naval vessels intruded on our waters, and we took measures” as they diplomatically high-five each other. Politically Korea and Japan inch closer, having jointly raw-dogged the US while it was busy in the three-way snarl in the Atlantic with the British and the EU. The British and the Portuguese send congratulatory telegrams and diplomatic gifts: alba rosebushes and Brazilian orchids, respectively; the diplomatic gifts are planted in the tea garden of the royal palace in Busan. Moscow is squealing like a pricked pig at their ally losing their partial influence of the Gate of Siberia, and getting their own snoots bloodied off Iceland by the German navy in one fell stroke. Spain and the rest of the EU are paying off the Koreans by supporting their annexation of the now formerly American Territory of Alaska. The Federated Bundesländer are somewhere between “Yay! We kicked American and Russian arse; the Gates of Ice are safe! Three cheers for us!” <fx: *clinking steins*> and that first icy inkling that the EU/Atlantic side have lost all and any influence in the East Asia – Pacific half of the globe, and they won’t be able to do anything about it. Berlin pushes Saxony, the homeland of German-born Queen Consort Yangmi of Korea, to sound her out on the background to what had happened. She answers frantic phone calls from Dresden with a serene:
“Oh, I am perfectly aware what is going on. Isn’t Mein Liebling such a marvellous strategist?”
The whole territory of Alaska, following our timeline state borders, is ceded to the Koreans at the peace talks – they more or less doggy-bag Alaska and head home before the signatory ink is dry – leaving the drawn-out three-way diplomatic snake-pit behind to a few observers, who enjoy watching verbal mudwrestling.
The Taes are sending drilling crews to Prudhoe Bay on the double, including Tae Yihan, the Queen’s older brother who is a petrochemical geologist, and are planning a pipeline. Anchorage, Sitka, and Nome are getting their harbours rebuilt. There is some stray fighting when the Koreans put boots on the ground to drive out any remaining US military. If they drop their weapons, pack up and leave, fine. If they resist, they’re up against the Kingdom’s Chukti and Yakutian ranger troops in full arctic gear in late summer, and of course a suddenly vengeful local First Nation population. They had it coming, they had it coming, they only had themselves to blame. Accidents do happen, and Karma is only a female dog if you are. Coastal batteries are rebuilt, and better security parameters added, to avoid a repeat event. Local First Nations are not too unhappy at how things turned out, to put it mildly, given that they know how their cross-the-gate cousins have been doing, and the US government does have a bad track record even in our timeline. The English-speaking Alaskans begin calling the western Pacific rim the Across, the term (in translation) is picked up in Russian and Korean to mean the other side of the north pacific from where you are – as in someone in Sakhalin saying “I got a new job on the Across” meaning somewhere in Alaska. Local American civilians are getting the choice of adapt to the new management or repatriation within two months. About half opt to stay – they have nowhere to return to, belong to minorities or are of Russian or Koreyo-saram heritage – the rest is shipped to Vancouver and unceremoniously dumped on the pier with their luggage.
“Unfair? Take it up with your government, they were the ones who signed the peace treaty.”
This is not being helpful for the refugees, but it is on (political) purpose. Anyone who stays in Alaska, is made to change their citizenship, but is getting very preferential treatment, indeed. The stick and carrot method. The High North region is pumping in resources, financial and material, any switch in official languages is being put off on purpose. It will happen, they just need a hearts and minds campaign first. There are shifts in local broadcasting station programming – like a mix-of-music, and news + weather + sports in Korean and Russian, Korean added as mandatory to the local school curriculum, healthcare becomes free-of-charge overnight, free or cheap language classes and Duolingo-like apps offered for adults. Cultural business-like eateries, koinkas, online game parlours, make-up places, manhwa and manga sold in bookstores, formal wear rentals, little things like that, are heavily subsidised and owners are pushed to relocate to various Alaskan towns. Magadan and other places in the Far North scramble to send over bilingual clergy. Alaska retains the right to vote for local and regional government (as opposed to for example around Magadan, where the mayor is the highest elected official, not all Korean regions are organised the same way), but they cannot vote for head of state – there will be no more Presidential elections. Note that Alaska was a US territory, not a state before the war – in our timeline, statehood happened in 1959 – so there has been some … sentiments about this even in the American Alaskans, along the lines of “They didn’t think we were important enough for representation in Congress, senators and representatives, but they expected us to guard the vitally important Gate … and when we got kicked in the nuts on their behalf … Washington whined and just handed us over?! <fx: The Genie in Aladdin, very affronted: And then you slam the door on me?> Other East Asian businesses with cultural flavour are also encouraged – there is a rise in restaurants offering various Asian cuisines, the Vietnamese food being a surprising big hit. The Court pays for a huge public geothermal bath/spa/waterpark facility in Anchorage, free of charge for local citizens and all children 13 and under. Very gradually even the local Americans are changing their minds, along the lines of:
“War sucks, and our side lost, and our neighbours the Smiths decided to move back to the lower 48, and lots of local boys died in that battle … but we’re getting better jobs, more money, cheap healthcare, and it’s not like they’re being like total oppressors. Ok, so Jimmy Anderson got in a fight and had his front teeth kicked in by some tattooed gook, but man, he’s a mouthy ass when drunk and had it coming. And they’re kinda polite to women and children, I’ll give’em that.”
Given that the Kingdom is resoundingly multi-ethnic at this point – just be able to speak some Korean and follow the law, and people wouldn’t much care what you wear, what holidays you celebrate or what you look like – the black community in Alaska, such as it is, is breathing a heavy sigh of relief – there were a certain degree of liberalisation, MLK and the Civil Right movement existed in the 1960s, but the situation is still worse than in our timeline for anyone non-white, it’s rather America First, or full MAGA without the drooling idiocy. Just being equal goes a long way. Just about all the Afro-American, Asian, various First Nations and Jewish communities decide to stay, they have had people moving to the Korean High North/Magadan for decades, so are ready to roll with the changes, and there is already a synagogue in Magadan. The white feminist and gay community splits – on the one hand the Kingdom certainly is not out to oppress gay people or really restrict the lives of women, the way they do in the US. On the other hand, it is not a socially liberal place like Japan, Thailand, or most of the EU, being strongly in the conservative quadrant, so it’s not an easy call to make. I do not blame them for being conflicted.
The royals do occasional, carefully orchestrated and security-checked, public visits with full pomp and circumstance, while showing off their humble, human side. Queens Yangmi and Meilin do a lot of the heavy lifting on the charm side, and the naval hero princes – Crown Prince Byeol and Prince Hoyeol – get to show off their dress uniforms. The youngest wangja are adorable in pictures and social media. There are reruns of Sunrise, sunset and The Gatekeepers on the most popular TV-stations. Iditarod is made much of, along with ice hockey and figure skating. People put a white maesil sticker on their car window, locally called the maishy, along with the forget-me-not sticker; in our timeline the forget-me-not is the state flower of Alaska. Lots of work in the oil industry becomes available, including building a cross-Alaska pipeline. Alaska still retains some of its American, anti-monarchical sentiments, but those are gradually fading into being seen as a marginal, weirdo stance over the next few decades.
The Sitka event is a week-long cultural festival that celebrates the diversity and history of Alaska under the Korean rule. It is held every year in early August, around the anniversary of the Battle of the Siberian Gate. It began small and grew over the years. The logo features a raven and pine trees, there is a matching pin that outside visitors love to collect. The festival features various activities, such as:
A parade of flags, costumes, and floats representing the different ethnic, religious, and linguistic groups of Alaska, such as the Unangan, the Tlingit, the Haida, the Yupik, the Inupiat, the Aleut, the Russian, the Korean and others. There is dancing in the streets, the Poetry Soapbox for poetry slam – much loved by interpreters for the professional challenge – and a wide variety of street food from different ethnic groups and countries.
A reenactment of the Battle of the Siberian Gate, with actors, props, and special effects, held offshore, with the audience watching from floats. The reenactment shows how the Korean forces ambushed and defeated the US navy in the Gate of Siberia, and how the Korean rangers took over the coastal batteries and the lighthouses of Alaska. The reenactment also shows how the Korean forces treated the American prisoners of war and the local civilians with respect and compassion, and how they offered them citizenship, healthcare, education, and economic opportunities. It is considered cheesy fun for the family of all ages, and not taken very seriously. Compare our timeline US reenactments of the Revolutionary War against the British – patriotic but slightly silly.
A display of various activities on the sea, including Aleut kayaking, sailboat racing and team rowing. As the king of Korea used to be a rower for his university team and loves sailing, there tends to be a royal presence at the Sitka Event, but the members of the royal family try to avoid conspicuous attention, allowing the festival to develop organically.
A concert of music, dance, and poetry from various genres and traditions, such as the Unangan drumming, the Tlingit chanting, the Haida weaving, the Yupik storytelling, the Inupiat throat singing, , the Russian balalaika, the Korean arirang and gagaeum, the Mongolian morin khuur, the American jazz and gospel, the Jewish klezmer, and others. The concert stretches over three days, and impromptu fusion jam sessions are appreciated by musicians of all backgrounds. There is a yearly recording, and several cross-over musical groups have their origin in the cross-cultural meetings here. There is a different stage performance offered every year, displaying the cross-cultural unity of the Kingdom: it may be Chinese Opera from Korean Manchuria, with its large Chinese population, Classic ballet from the Korean-Russian High North, like the Magadan Ballet Company, and modern stage shows from Seoul and Pyongyang.
A fair of food, crafts, and games from various cultures and regions, such as the Unangan salmon, the Tlingit berries, the Haida cedar, the Yupik seal, the Inupiat whale, the Aleut fur, the Russian vodka, the Korean kimchi, the Chinese dim sum, the Mongolian buuz, the Tibetan momo, the American burger, the Jewish matzo, and others.
The Sitka Event is a popular and successful festival that attracts thousands of visitors and tourists from Alaska and beyond. Many visitors combine the festival with a longer vacation with orca watching, fishing in the rivers or hiking. It showcases the rich and diverse heritage and identity of Alaska under the Korean rule. It also promotes harmony and cooperation among the different communities and groups of Alaska. It is a symbol of the Korean faith in the unity of the region and the wider Kingdom of Korea.
A small shipyard outside Sitka has a pro-Korean owner. John Aquilino is of Hispanic-Filipino heritage – his family emigrated after the Japanese take-over – and was viewed as an odd-ball who thought things would be way better in Sitka if the Japanese or Koreans would walrus in, compared to American Alaska, but he only voiced that over a beer and barbecue. Never did anything about it, except studying some Korean in a language app occasionally. One day in the following spring of 2044 he finds a trim, middle-aged Korean-speaking man walking in, hands behind his back, browsing through his catalogue and after a pleasant conversation – dragged through several languages, he eventually ends up calling squared-jawed Sergey in from the actual shipyard to confirm that yes, this durak really intends to pay everything right now, some men have more money than sense – orders a wooden sailboat and pays all of it upfront. There’s another guy along, Asian looking, very chipper with a notebook and a brush pen who takes notes but doesn’t say anything. There is a sign on the door to the shipyard office, in respective language and alphabet “English spoken. Spanish spoken. Korean spoken haltingly,” the honesty of which he’s told was the main selling point. Someone is actually buying a nice wooden yacht for his two youngest boys’ birthdays, and Mr Aquilino goes full jaw-drop when a pleasant family with two boys around ten years old shows up later to try out the finished sailboat. There is full mirror-shaded and suited security with white maesil and the crossed swords on their collars, stomping all over his shipyard and the general area. The wife decides, in Mr Aquilino’s broken Korean and with a liquid chatty Russian confirmation with Sergey again, to name the little yacht The Maesil, with the name in both roman letters and hangul, and the flower underneath. She even pulls on plastic covering and covers her hair with a cap to help paint the hangul and do the outline of the flower, John Aquilino himself does the rest of the name painting. The dad is leaning against a wall smiling, looks to be enjoying the sunshine, chatting with his kids, and keeping them from getting their enthusiastic noses into everything around the shipyard. The boys seem to be having a great time chatting the ears off poor Sergey in Russian. Sounds like the older is Dale and the younger is Luigi or Louie. As they are painting, John is noticing how everyone, down to the kids, have pins on their collars, while in simple Sitka, that’s what officials and really uptight suit people wear. It has become more common after the war, along with the customs of the Kingdom. He himself doesn’t bother really. He replaced the US flag beside the door after the takeover and has the taegeuki on his breast pocket, but that’s it. He recognizes the shape, but he’s never before seen a maesil that isn’t white, and these are pure silver on gold. He recognizes the high north hammer and sickle pin, but not the other one she and the boys are wearing.
“Ma’am, I am not knowing how to ask, my Korean is not yet good. And I ask with bad honorifics.” She smiles, a dab of white paint on her cheek, but nods her permission. “What is the silver meaning of second pin on your collar, ma’am, I do respectfully.” Tae Jiwon:
“This one?” At his nod: “It is a tiger. A tigr. The winter tiger of the Tae family. I am from Magadan.” She speaks slow and in simple sentences, after over 20 years in Busan with non-Korean-speaking family members, she has learnt to tamper her hard-to-parse dialect. “A pin on the left – family.” She indicates “A pin on the right – allegiance. That you serve. Or like.”
Slowly putting the sentence together, he asks:
“Then if left is family. Why is ma’am’s maishy not on the other?” She grins cheekily at him; he has the sense that she swallowed a more demonstrative reaction.
“I wear the maesil on the left because I am family.” She pauses to let him catch up. “Because my husband wears a single maesil on the left.” another pause “I wear his pin and my tiger.” She points them out while speaking. “He wears only one.” A steady look into his eyes, a tiny smile. “Can you read the pins now?”
The ground just drops out from under his feet.
“Ma’am?” It occurs to him that he probably should bow, just in case. Does so, nearly drops the paint bucket. Pyeha wades in, berates Jiwon slightly:
“Madam wife, please do not mess with the ship builder.”
“I’m not messing, I’m just being helpful and teaching him about Korean practices, and he had never seen a tiger pin, and…”
“And, yes, you were messing with him.” John eyes his coat collar, a single silver and gold maesil on the left against dark wool. Why hadn’t he noticed when the same man had commissioned the boat earlier? He doesn’t quite follow their quick exchange, except for the general sense, the man chiding his wife for something, but he doesn’t sound angry.
“I apologize for my madam wife, John Aquilino-ssi. Sometimes her sense of humour gets the better of her.” From the corner of his eye, he catches a very demonstrative long-suffering wifely eyeroll. The statement has a lot of honorifics he doesn’t quite recognize, but he does get the apology. “Tae Jiwon, finish painting so the boys may try their birthday present.” a pause “Please finish the paint work, the both of you” and he goes back to watching, the boys, black hair and in neat clothes bouncing and babbling at him like ten-year-olds to do. As they’re finished and he wipes the paint off his hands, John discreetly googles the court homepage, in the recently added English translation. Under the tab titled Her Majesty the Queen he finds not just a portrait of the lady, formally dressed, wearing a gold tiara, but also a family picture, in more everyday clothes, with the pleasant couple buying a sailboat from him and helping painting the name, with a row of grinning kids, from two mid-twenties young men in uniform, to the two rascals Sergey had just pulled down from climbing the tack into a mast top, and a cute dark-reddish-haired moppet of a girl sitting on the couch between them. All the kids are wearing the same pins as the lady he just handed rubbing alcohol to remove paint stains – a silverly maesil surrounded by gold, and that little silver tiger – and on the left. He swallows. One of the facts that has been thoroughly rubbed and at length into everyone in Alaska since the war is how to take royalty seriously, and that any disrespect whatsoever carries severe punishment. The new Korean laws are pretty common sense to Americans in general, except in this one area. And he just dabbed paint on the Queen of Korea and nearly had two of the princes fall off a yardarm. Before he can find words to apologise, there is a general move to the docks, life jackets handed out, the King, because that must be the King, right, handling the sails in an expert manner, showing the boys the ropes, with their mother steering. The Maesil is tacking smoothly into better wind and catching speed, he faintly hears the children’s whoops of excitement. He rubs his eyes and feels like head-desking. OK, so what would be the likely punishment for this? He’s mentally counting possible years in the local penitentiary when one of their escorts walks up to him, steaming paper mug in hand. Now that he’s given a heads up on the pins, he can read them better – a golden hanja sign on the left, a maesil and crossed swords on the right. Serves the royals . . . with swords? Given his bearing and the pilot sunglasses, this is likely the secret service, royal guards, whatever. The man takes off his glasses, he’s vaguely Asian-American looking, but doesn’t really look like he’s about to toss John straight into the slammer.
“Thank you for your service, and your patience, Mr Aquilino” Spoken in American English. Drinks from the mug, it smells like tea. “By not making a big fuss, you gave their kids a lovely afternoon just being kids.” John eyes him carefully.
“Yeah. You know, I only just realised.” pause “Any insult was totally unintended.”
The guardsman shakes his head.
“Don’t worry. I was skittish about that law in that beginning too. But I realised it’s sort of like dealing with the President, eh? Always stay polite and you’re good. Eh, the big man’s a bit stiff, but pretty laid back unless he’s spitting mad. I’m told that’s rare, too. If you get too familiar, he goes “I really have to stop beheading people one of these days” you can tell he’s joking, so you can back off. And kids are kids, same everywhere.”
“How did you end up …” John gives a handwave indicating all of this in general. “… if you don’t mind me asking? You sound American, I mean, like the Midwest?”
“Uff, I’m Chinese American and you have no idea what that’s like. Had to run through hoops for my old security clearance, just because I have monolid eyes and a Cantonese last name. Had to get a permit to carry a gun for work. Needed my boss to vouch for me, in triplicate.” He snorts. “Those idiots. So, when a tenth of Alaska headed south, I got on the return flight north and never looked back.”
“Hey, try being Pinoy in the United States, eh? Either they get me for being Spanish, or they get me for being Japanese. Which I’m not. My family emigrated a century ago.” They both sigh.
“Oh, by the way. Before I forget.” The guardsman hands John a white enamel maesil pin, just in his hand, not in a box, more like someone had given up theirs. “She said to give you one. They’re a dime a dozen over in Busan, but not as easy to find here yet. Don’t look like that. Sounds like her way of saying sorry, is all. The queen is a handful, but easy to deal with.”
“That sounds like a contradiction.” A slight smile
“I just meant that she’s not petty, or out to make our lives difficult. She been through a lot, you wouldn’t believe some of the stories the guardsmen tell, and she’s still kind and informal.” pause “So when she jokes with people, we let her. Makes the boss happy to see her smile.”
John pins the maesil on his right breast pocket and tells himself not to lose it, because this one pin is special. Life in the Kingdom is certainly different to the United States. The family even buys ice cream for the kids from a local shop without letting on. And so, money trickles into the local communities, two ice creams, take-away tea for the royal guards and one yacht at a time.
The story of Jae Vera: She is born Vera Alexeevna Iakovleva in Vancouver, Columbia in the United States in 2004 to Russian/Koreyo-saram parents who moved there from Alaska. On her birth certificate she is registered as Veronica Alexandra James, her dad’s American name is Alex James. (James is the English form of the named Jacob, after all), and she is an American citizen. Her family, especially her dad and her, lean strongly into their Slavic looks, and are “white passing” in the everyone is equal, but some people are more equal than others society of this world’s United States. The family speaks Russian and Korean at home, juggling three alphabets, they “switched” from Orthodox to Episcopalian when moving from Alaska, before she was born. Her mother and older sister are killed by a group of rowdy sailors, who get away with a slap on the wrist. Vera has light brown hair, hazel eyes and the only traces of her East Asian heritage are very fair skin, round face, a rosebud mouth, and slightly tilted eyes. Medium height, medium size, medium everything. She is absolutely not beautiful, but rather ordinary plain Jane, if anything she has blend into the wallpaper looks in American society. The death of her mother marks a turning point – there is a before and after in her life. She and her father move to neighbouring Seattle, a smaller apartment, a different school where no one has an inkling of her background. Her father forces both of them to assimilate, to fit in, but he never remarries, and he is very bitter about American society and what they call justice. She inherits that bitterness; it feeds into her own anger. What keep her simmering is the low-key racism she faces in her new community, the kind that other people suffer but not her. She hears her friends call other kids every racial slur, they bully people not white enough, she watches her fellow Asians get called japs, chinks, gooks, wogs and so on. It makes her boil on the inside, but she is too afraid to every speak up, or to draw attention to herself. She never really joins in the bullying, sticking to the geeky girls in science class, handcrafts, and book club. Very much a loner, with a vibrant inner life. She barely dates in high school, because she finds most boys in her community too racist, and she doesn’t dare outing herself by crossing the social divide – it’s movies and ice cream, hays code level dates and that’s it. Her dad is saving the money from her mother’s life insurance to send her to college- they can afford a lower tier college, not the Ivy League, unless she ties herself to the military on a scholarship. This is a moral conundrum for her, at this point she is truly alienated from American society and wants to hurt them if she can. She discusses the college situation with her father, who comforts her and says approximately (in Russian)
“They do not recognise you for who you are, they never did. Deciding on a military career will make them believe you are on their side, and that gives you a choice in the future, what your soul tells you to do. Stay invisible and have faith.”
So, she applies to UCSF in San Francisco, for a scholarship college degree in naval administration. In the United States, women are welcome in the military, but there are restrictions in what positions they may hold. Administration would cover both secretarial positions, hr, accountancy, and logistics, but women with her background could conceivably also be radio and radar operators, interpreters, medical staff and similar. She passes all security checks with flying colours. The circumstances surrounding her mother’s and sister’s murders are framed as a traffic accident on all official documents, so no one has reason to suspect Vera’s motivation. She does well in her college studies, picks up the reputation for being neat, well-organised, low-key, and ferociously polite while being positively chipper. (Cf Minyeung Kang’s style from the manhwa Iseop’s romance) Plain straight hair worn up, boring glasses, two-piece suit, or the equivalent uniform, no or beige makeup, low heel shoes. She lives modestly in San Francisco and goes back to Seattle to see father frequently. On graduation she goes to work for the regional command in San Francisco, when her father is diagnosed with cancer, she finagles a transfer to Vancouver that both allows her to be closer to his hospital but is also a career upgrade. She is given more and more sensitive tasks and responsibilities at work over the years. She lives alone with a cat. She jogs and goes to the gym at the naval base. She goes to Mass weekly, probably does some light charity work, or sings in the church choir – if she does choir, she’s a non-descript alto. She knits and crochets, has a subscription to a monthly knitting magazine, and she reads – the front of her bookshelf has the most mainstream of novels, with anything even slightly questionable hidden in the back row. Next to no social media presence. There is really nothing that would make Veronica/Vera stand out or attract attention from anyone. She goes through every security check totally clean, if anything she’s seen as boring or the blandest of bland among her co-workers, although they respect her competency.
What makes Vera tick and handle all of the above is the fact that during her second year at college, in 2024, she wrote to the HQ of the Korean Navy offering to spy for them when she graduates. The cover envelope addressed in English to the Korean consulate in Vancouver, with an envelope in hangul on the inside. She does not give her name, but she describes herself as Koreyo-saram, raised in the US, and at college on a naval scholarship. She states she wishes to do this “not only because of my heritage and my true nationality, but I have personal reasons to wish harm on the navy of the United States.” Her letter trickles through the consulate, to the naval attaché at the embassy in Washington, to Naval HQ in Busan and eventually all the way to the Commander in Chief. The offer is given due consideration – both of whether this is a trick, and of the dangers if it’s real – but eventually they go for it. She has given instructions on how to reply to her safely – a neutral letter made to look like an advertisement to the naval student association at UCSF, where she – of course – is in charge of the mail and can screen everything. About 6 weeks later, there is promotional mail advertising new laptops arriving at the UCSF mail cubby … and within is another blank envelope with a handwritten letter in hangul. It contains everything she has dreamed about. It politely thanks her for the offer, lets her know that for now the most important thing is that she stays safe and does not draw attention to herself. She will be asked to subscribe to a magazine, the topic of which to be decided later, and that return envelopes will be provided the same way. What they will do is put the letter to her and envelope inside the magazine, then reseal the plastic cover bag. With different envelopes for her to mail back, especially since they are to different addresses within the United States, there won’t be a pattern that someone can pick up over the years. She is told never to write down her name or too much personal information in the correspondence, just in case it is intercepted, and that in these modern days online surveillance is so strong that using old school methods of communication is safer, if slow. To use gloves handling the return envelopes and any writing. That if the situation in the future will require faster communications, that will be worked out then and there. She is addressed as Asshi, the letter is not signed. She writes back almost immediately, elated, addressing her correspondent as Seongsaengnim “sir”(seongsaengnim also how you say professor, teacher and so on), being thankful for the opportunity, says she likes knitting etc so a magazine like that would work- “please tell me which to subscribe to”- and that for now contact through the college would work but that it is too risky long-term. She reports of things she observes in the city, especially concerning movements around the harbour, and it all checks out by independent verification. And thus begins 19 years of beautiful correspondence between two very different people who grow to enjoy each other’s company and begin to wait eagerly for the next letter. They never exchange photos or talk by voice, it is only handwritten letters, except for one pressed, white plum blossom included in the letter announcing Lee Wiji (the pregnancy that nearly killed Jiwon) but not giving the baby’s name. When she asks him after two years into their correspondence to say a few things about himself, he describes himself as a naval officer, from Busan, he’s 40, he has three sons and a daughter. He mentions that his wife is koreyo-saram like she is, so in a pinch it is fine if she wants to write in Russian, she says it’s ok, she needs to keep her Korean skills alive anyway. For her, his tone gradually becomes that of a close friend, older brother, or mentor: someone to bounce questions off, and who – strangely enough – understands the pressure of having a private life vs a different persona in public. For him, she is incredibly funny and charming, and rapidly becomes the one person he can talk to about the things he cannot even discuss with Jiwon, because her not knowing who he is allows him to open more, like how a confessional works. Vera is the only one to scream:
“PPAK CINDAL! YOU HAD ONE JOB TO DO!” <fx: Genie in Aladdin: “Tell. Her. The. Truth!”> at him when he’s falling apart worrying about Jiwon’s health. Jiwon herself would never say something like that to him because she sees herself as equally guilty in this, just like she blames herself slightly about the chaos around Captain Jo. If it’s not about herself, she will most definitely criticize him if needed. Gradually the letters become more personal: they talk about vulnerability and responsibility, about cats – both like and have cats – horses, and handcrafts. About the sorrow and hurt of never being allowed to acknowledge your own culture, about having to organise your life and career to fit the demands of others regardless of what you yourself wishes. He slips ups and mentions Seri, which leads to a long back and forth about cultural differences. He acknowledges that he has two wives: at that point there’s Meilin too, but why complicate things unnecessarily? Also, to Pyeha, Meilin doesn’t really count as such emotionally, another of those private/public divides. He explains that the laws of the two countries are different, rightly or wrongly intended to protect the family, that he does indeed have children with both and that as a responsible man he accepted the consequences and responsibilities in the situation and made the best of it. Years later, when he’s venting to her about Byeol and An Minji, she claps back something like:
“I recall someone writing me about having to take unplanned responsibility. I still have that letter somewhere, and I can quote your exact words back at you. So, pipe down and stop telling your son this is the first time in the universe something like this has happened!”
She’s there through it all, the pain of executing his best friend captain Jo, the near trade war, the general chaos of having a large family. Semper fi. Vera is very much aware of the intensity of his love for Jiwon, that “nothing and no one compares to her” but in a certain way their correspondence is love, too. Jiwon finds out eventually – not much gets past her – and once includes a gracious note saying approximately that she knows Vera exists and she’s fine with them talking. Jiwon doesn’t really do jealousy, she’s not someone who feels easily threatened by other women. From her point of view, Vera is no threat, being a nameless pen friend a world away, she helps him deal with his emotions, and Jiwon would have more issues with someone lionising his time at home. Vera is in two minds about this attitude – like “Who does this woman think she is? This is espionage, not adultery.” -but is also relieved that she will not lose her one friend over his wife getting in a snit. Technically, this is work for them both, though at the same time it isn’t. He’s there for her, supporting when her father is diagnosed with cancer and consequently passes away after three painful years. She takes the HQ job of extreme security clearance, and is made to move to the east coast, far away from every connection in her life so far, and he provides a listening ear – they do upgrade security in connection to this. She’s the invisible secretary: strict uniform, hair slicked back, low heels, the consummate professional. She’s a Warrant Officer Ship’s Clerk = the professional admin staff. The US uniform has a blue & yellow strip around the bottom wrist + crossed quills. Throat insignia: crossed quills brooch in gold. This is extra symbolic given the pen-pal-ship. She touches nothing at work, downloads nothing, everything is carried in her memory, and thus Busan has a loyal ear to the ground at US Navy HQ in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. The years roll by. Everyone gets a little bit silvery haired, a little more comfortable and settled. Cats come and go; letters keep getting exchanged.
Then the news of the EU preparing a war hit in late 2042. Vera gets a heads-up six months before-hand in the spring of 2043, way before even the US Navy HQ has a whiff that anything is in the works. She is provided with a wifi-only, severely encrypted chat platform, just in case something needs to be transmitted urgently, she’s told to pick up a package that will be left at a certain place at a certain date: It will be dropped off by white-passing embassy staff, but she’s not told that. She turns it on after work each day – that means morning in Busan (time difference is 14 hours) – if no chat, turns it off immediately. Never at home, only on someone else’s wifi, and generally different ones. Note: in this AU, the NSA is not as all-powerful as in ours. They could definitely listen in if they suspected something, but they won’t catch this. She uses it to type in any quicker reports, but they keep up the monthly letters. During this period, there are reports offered by Commander Admiral Walter Markham, in command of the Pacific Fleet (modern abbreviation is COMPACFLT). Grizzled, tight beard, pretty much Marko Ramius-looking. They share occasional coffee, lunch, very professional, because Veronica James is not someone who gives an inch about her privacy, and he knows better than trying to date subordinates. She works for HQ, she’s not a direct subordinate, but navy protocol can be strict. He does have a soft spot for her, though. It’s very obvious to Vera that he is concerned about the call to even consider transferring the Pacific Fleet to the Atlantic, as she has quietly been doing paperwork around internal meetings. At this point, she knows that Busan does indeed want the Pacific Fleet to head north, so she has a vested interest in alleviating any fears he has. He mentions that between the Japanese and the Koreans, the latter is his greater concern. Not because they’ve ever shown any particular sign of aggressiveness towards the US, as opposed to the Japanese, but because he has studied what they did to the Japanese when they swiped the island of Tsushima in 2018.
“I’ve even met their King at a reception. You can tell he’s intelligent, and he’s calm like a pond surface. Watchful eyes. Impressive guy. Some people here call him the top gook and snigger about him having five wives, as if that would make us better and him a lesser man.”
“I am not sure I understand, sir.”
“Captain James, the Japs, well, they will dance and weave. You know they don’t mind taking pot shots at you, testing your resolve. But if it is Korea that decides to turn on us, we would be in a very tight spot. Not because they’re necessarily more powerful than our navy, but because they won’t even twitch until they see a fatal opening. That’s what they did when Japan jumped them 25 years ago, soaked up the damage and counterpunched them hard out of nowhere. Then they picked off a strategically defensive island and left it at that.”
“It is not really my place to say, sir, but we are not at war with either of these countries.” She hesitates, decides to push. “This is not speaking as an officer, but my grandparents were from the Alaska territory. I’ve never heard the up-north Koreans being anything but polite and neighbourly.” Sips her coffee. “They’re pretty much Russians, anyway, and we get along with the Czar. But of course, politics and diplomacy can always change the situation on the ground.” Shrugs. He eyes her.
A very plain-looking and professional fellow officer, this is probably the first personal information she has offered, beyond preferring black coffee and mentioning a cat. And that she does not swear and never under any circumstance uses a racial slur. She holds that it’s a matter of principle because slurs indicate sloppy thinking.
“Do you still have family in the territory?” Shakes her head.
“Not at all, my family moved to Vancouver before I was born. I have never even been there, though I can tell from pictures that it is a beautiful place.”
“Sounds like a place for a vacation then?”
“I have worked 17 years for the navy, commander, 21 if we include college. I have yet to have had a real vacation. I took three days off in connection to my father’s funeral, but that is all.” He says he’s sorry for her loss and suggests that she should apply for at least a week.
“Even with a war upcoming, well, take this the right way, ma’am, but you are not irreplaceable. I’m sure HQ will still be standing if you go hiking or whale-watching or whatever for a week.” She thanks him and promises that she’ll consider this.
In the typed convo, she tells her Seongsaengnim about this, who thinks a vacation is a good idea, if possible, as an alternative to fake sick leave. She is recommended to prepare to book a vacation as far west as she can, and soon. He types:
“Once the call is made, they will try to find the leak. You need to be out of there by then. Fast. We cannot get you out of Portsmouth easily. I’m sorry. Go to Alaska if you can, stay on the coast. I’ll make sure you are provided proof of safe conduct before you leave.” a pause in conversation “Once you leave for Alaska, we cannot stay in touch. Leave nothing incriminating behind and destroy the commo. Leave your place as if you only planned to be gone for a short time. Pack light, it may come down to a dinghy or helicopter.” She types:
“Cash, no card. Everything touristy. I will prepare.”
Vera wrestles quite a lot of arms and pulls in years’ worth of favours to make HR give her a vacation while the nation is at war, and she books a flight to Anchorage, a simple hotel, and a sightseeing/hiking package. Very much on the record in everything. Sitka and Juneau are both more picturesque, but she suspects they may be too far east for her to get out from there. She buys some civilian clothes & boots that suits Alaskan summer hiking. She watches the presentation of the call to transit the fleet, knows that it’ll start immediately but that it will take some time to accomplish. She takes the risk of texting under her own wifi, for once, cross-legged on the floor. He tells her to head out as soon as possible, within the next few days if she can.
“You must be gone before they reach the Gate. This is absolute. You are in danger otherwise.”
She tells him that she has a flight ticket for the day after tomorrow, just needs to prepare the apartment as if a vacation and to pack. There is a pause, then he texts back to tell her to stop by a certain diner tomorrow evening. Someone will sit down in the same diner and exchange something, probably a newspaper with her. She hesitates, then humbly asks if she may, this once, speak to him.
“We are both going to war, in a way, half a world away. We’ve been friends, I think we’re friends, for a very long time, and people may die in war.” He hesitates a long time, she stares at the bright blue screen, her post marked as read but no reply. Finally, no post, but a voice call. Voice shaking, she replies with:
“Seongsaengnim?”
They talk briefly, lowered voices, in Korean. He thanks her for what her work has done for their country, and for being a friend all these years. Says that he’ll do his utmost to see her safe through this. She says:
“You’re navy, too, and war is coming, don’t you dare die, you hear me? I’ll never accept that.”
The reply is a soft laugh and a promise that he’ll do his best about that, too. And that since they are colleagues in a way, she can use Seonbae instead. They have been using semi-formal –sshi honorific in writing, but in the conversation, they switch to –ga, he does so first. Vera would never dare to initiate a shift to informal speech, both because of the situation, but also because her slight unease with the language – she hasn’t spoken Korean since her dad died, and their main language was Russian. Her spoken Korean is correct but slightly stiff and with an accent on top of her northern dialect, his is the choppy dialect from the capital, in that liqueur-like, trained speaker voice of his. They hang up and she turns off the commo, hands shaky, tears dripping down her cheeks. Now she’s on her own.
The next day she packs her bags, hands her cat – black, blue eyes, red collar, by name of Mr Gamcho. Gamcho = licorice, her only sign of non-American-ness – to her neighbours for her week of vacation and asks them to water her house plants. She gathers all the letters (about 6/year *19-> around a 100, means a hefty bunch), she can’t make herself part with them, despite the danger, and packs them in the binder that was included in the subscription of Alaskan knitting. Change of underclothes, hygiene products, hairbrush, a notebook. On her way to work, she takes a hammer to the commo, and drops the parts and the battery in different trash cans off base, wearing gloves. It’s her last day before the vacation. Everything is routine, she has her fears and excitement buttoned down hard. After work she goes to the diner – her excuse if asked is that she’s leaving tomorrow and does not want to have her kitchen messy – sits down in a booth. Has a chicken sandwich and a soda, still in uniform. A young man comes in, goes past her and up to the counter, looks around the place, catches her eye and goes to sit in the booth behind her, back-to-back. He looks to be early 20s or late teens – college age – dark hair, pale eyes, glasses, neat and proper in civilian clothes – trench coat, shirt, and slacks, and carrying a newspaper. She thinks he looks like he could be from anywhere. After he’s served his burger and the waitress moves off, he says in a low voice in Korean to ask him to let her borrow the newspaper, and to ask it in English. So, she does, he hands it over with a
“Of course, ma’am. You’re welcome.”
You can tell that he’s probably not a native speaker, but the accent is not pointing big neon signs to him. He whispers there is a letter of safe conduct in the newspaper, show it to any official or member of our armed forces. And that when he leaves, he’ll leave a coin on her table. That one, when shown to either Korean or Japanese navy, will guarantee her passage to Busan. This is the first time she’s heard the Japanese mentioned in this context, her mind starts going clickety-click with what she knows combining it with what Commander Markham said. Both Korea and Japan are in the four-way maritime alliance including the Commonwealth, which is involved in the Atlantic bust up. If both Korea and Japan prove to be in on this gambit, it will indeed be a very bad day for the Pacific Fleet. “Keep it hidden, keep it safe” She asks if he has a name, he hesitates and goes:
“Noona, my ID says I’m an American named Giles Lee.”
Of course, he’s Lee Gyeol Daegun, who was given the task of warning the Korean embassy and consulate directly to give weight to the warning and to carry the information in his head if stopped, he’s 19 at this point. “You’re very young for this line of work, will you be safe?”
“I have a duty to serve our Kingdom. That’s all. As for safe, I hope so. I’ll be on the last flight out, before they realise what has happened.”
He gets up, pretend-stumbles by her table, a bronze disc about two inches across tinkles against her plate. He pays his meal at the counter and walks out. As they pass face to face, she gets a better look. Reasonably white passing, probably koreyo-saram, green eyes, and oh so young. She puts her hand over the disc, pockets it, heads out a little later, bringing the newspaper with her. Later when she looks at the disc, one side has a stylised blossom in the middle, surrounded by hangul text. It reads: “The bearer is under his majesty’s protection and is granted passage to Court.”(pyehaui boho alae sojijaneun wangsilloui tonghaeng-i heogadoebnida) The obverse has a different kind of flower in the centre, surrounded by kanji that she cannot read. After squinting, she recognizes it as the Japanese stylised chrysanthemum. It’s pretty much an open ticket! The letter is even more stunning. It states that the bearer is in service of the Kingdom of Korea, under His Majesty’s protection, and that aid, shelter and protection shall be afforded them immediately, and it’s signed by the full royal seal. Extremely formal language, and in exquisite but forceful calligraphy. Even more stunning is an addition below, penned-in handwriting – on a document this formal?! – saying that they personally confirm the order, the dojang stamps of Lee Rim Wangseja and Lee Hoyeol Daegon, Crown Prince, and Grand Prince, respectively. It’s a terribly dangerous piece of paper for her to be in possession of. At the same time, it is so vague that it should cover all options she should run across. She rolls it up and stashes it into her backpack, with the other letters, the coin hidden among the cent coins. Hangs up her uniform for the last time. In the morning, she takes a taxi to the airport, just bringing her backpack and a carry-on. Flight to Chicago, to Vancouver and then to Anchorage. Overall travel time about 24 hours. She’s in a trembling terror passing through security, but she’s a non-descript, white, middle-age civilian woman with travel documents in good order. Both kinds of documents. She is even knitting socks on the flight. No one looks at her twice. She arrives in Alaska, looks around, shows up at the hotel, which is clean and modest. The air is great and crisp, it’s a different sea out there. In a real way, she mentally connects the different sea to the change coming. Another sea, another life, similar but so different. She’s there two days, keeping an eye on the news, in between taking walks, and buying a set of binoculars “for bird watching”. All mentions of the war comes from the Atlantic theatre. Then the news breaks with a bang: the United States are at war with Korea, and there has been a horrible naval battle at the Gate. The next few days more news trickle in, from Nome, Kodiak, the Aleutian Islands and so on. Even through the filter of smarmy news anchors, she can tell just how brutal the bashing has been. The tally of ships confirmed sunk or just fallen off the charts keeps rising. Estimated casualties too, in full media affront graphics.
The next day war comes to Anchorage: the defensive batteries along the inlet are bombed from the air and a Korean cruiser with escort ships shows up and blasts most of the harbour into smoking pieces of concrete. Her hotel is hit and collapses, she survives only because she has been out looking at the sea – Binoculars are useful for more than watching wildlife. There are several casualties, at the hotel and across town. Two days later she spots another naval vessel approaching, it’s a fast destroyer/light cruiser-type, and judging from its speed and course, it is intending to land more than fire off another dose of rockets. She heads closer to the harbour, along with plenty of other townspeople. She has her backpack. The mayor is there, leading the crowd. The ship – she reads the name as HMS Wave Skimmer in hangul, with a red star underneath – pulls up against the least damaged dock, it puts ashore a group of armed marines, and an officer walks off the ramp. He’s carrying a flagpole with the royal flag of the gold maesil on white on top, and the taegeuki underneath. The top of the flagpole has a stylised red star. He shouts something in Korean when there’s no reply he switches to Russian. More reactions to this, the mayor walks up, dragging along some local Russian speaker to translate, and waving a piece of sheet on a hockey stick. At this point, Vera is elbowing her way through the crowd to get to the front. The mayor is told that if the town surrenders – “what does it look like we’re doing, eh?!” – there will be no further hostilities, and that he needs to touch both flags when he swears this, to King and Kingdom. He does so, the officer bows slightly and begin to head back.
That moment is when Vera in desperation begins to sing the Hymn of the Northern Fleet, in her native Russian. “Do svidanya, bereg rodnoy, kak nam trudno predstavit shto eto ne son. Rodina, dom rodnoy, do svidania Rodina.” She’s not a great singer, but she can be loud if needed, and that song freezes the scene. She walks up, her Korean officer equivalent looks poleaxed, the marines have their rifles at the ready. She grabs both flags with one hand, and hands him the safe conduct. “Seongsaengnim, I respectfully request that you read this letter.” She’s speaking her accented Korean, not Russian. She can tell the surprise that silently goes from an annoyed What? to full Cindal!! when he catches a glance of what the letter actually says. She shows him the bronze disc on her palm, the hangul side up.
“I believe this should get me passage to Busan. ” Wild eyed staring, then his military training kicks in. He hands back her letter, rolls up the flagpole, and hustles her up the gangway. The marines file in.
“You are coming with us right now, ma’am!”
There are cameras rolling, clips being made of a poor American woman being kidnapped by the gooks off the pier. Those pictures and clips spread out from local TV-stations and on social media, feeding into the America first righteousness and outrage. Vera is light brown-dirty blonde enough that the trope of white, blonde women ravished by drooling others would apply. Pearls are clutched in many corners across the globe. The feverish assumptions of her fate grow increasingly raunchier over time in the stew pits of social media.
“Look how they are dragging that poor woman up the gangway!”
Vera is getting goggle-eyed stared at onboard the Wave Skimmer – every officer on board is finding an excuse to stop by and look at the rare bird that landed on their ship – but she is treated as if she’s of spun glass. Tea, politeness and being offered to sit down comfortably. There are emergency radio contacts with the rest of the fleet, requesting both a relay handover, and orders at how to proceed, while doing a speed-run out the inlet and past Kodiak Island. She gives her name as Jae Vera, sticks to speaking Korean, but clams up about everything else. She’s feeling slightly worse for wear, having spent the last two days more or less at a refugee status, barely eaten – they do feed her, first time she gets to eat with chopsticks since her father was hospitalised – definitely not showered, she’s hanging on to her backpack as if her life depends on it. After a while – she loses track of time – they toss her abord their helicopter and fly her out to another ship. The same pattern repeats: being stared at and silent polite treatment. More tea. Even more tea. Full pangolins whenever addressing her. She’s informed that she’s being sent to the battle group flagship, where they should be able to discern her case better. Judging from the sun, they’re heading southwest, she remembers the maps, probably paralleling the Aleutian Island chains. She’s onboard during battle stations being called, and rockets being fired at some target out of sight. “Get her the f*ck out of here!” “Sir, yes, sir.” and the helicopter routine repeats, this time at top speed to get her if not to safety, at least somewhere safer. Half-dosing even on the chopper, but seeing silhouettes of ships against the sea, looking like rolled out fabric from above, the Aleutians like a strand of pearls against the horizon. She wakes up to radio chatter, the chopper pilot communicating about their approach, call sign for the battle group and carrier Bukdu. Bukdu means the Big Dipper. Apparently, the Korean navy names their carriers after star constellations and galaxies. As you do – I just found out. The pilot says he will need fuel to get back, running pretty dry now. She watches Bukdu growing bigger, aircraft in the process of landing and taking off, judging from the chopper instrumentation the planes are heading north, she can see torpedoes under their wings as the chopper approaches and lands on the helipad. <fx: Jack Ryan: “I’m not an agent! I just write books for the CIA!”> At this point, Vera is near collapse, only dedication and her navy training keeping her on her feet. It’s been almost four days of next to no sleep, terror, elation, uncertainty, and she’s rapidly regressing down Maslow’s hierarchy in her need for the basics. She’s hurried off the helipad into the superstructure, the refuelling crew running up in the other direction. Fully disoriented, reeling, clutching the backpack to her chest, they lead her into the senior officers’ lounge – I googled how British carriers are organised – where she’s met by three senior looking officers and a prim lady in uniform wielding a notebook and a brush pen.. For all her briefings, she cannot read the exact rank off the uniforms of a foreign navy, but she can certainly tell that she’s in the presence of people who can have her tossed overboard if they so choose. They are two old school stern-faced ones typical of any navy, in dark uniforms with white caps – she has them tagged as CO and/or battlegroup admiral –and an a-bit-too-young-for-the-rank-in-her-experience officer with the same cap but in white uniform. (Imagery mostly canon from TKEM). Silence, except for the muted sounds outside of a working carrier at sea. Vera’s background on basic behaviour kicks in and she kowtows, knees trembling. Even folded double she grasps the safe conduct and the bronze disc from the outer pocket of her backpack, drops the backpack and stretches out her hands with the documentations.
“Please, sirs, these documents were entrusted to me. My name is Jae Vera.” Someone takes the safe conduct from her hand, a slight crackle of unfolding, she’s still head down. More silence, the sound of paper crackling, faint sound of movements – she imagines the document being shown.
“At ease.” The order is soft but firm. She unfolds, still shaking, tries to snap to attention, and manages halfway. The too-young-for-seniority officer:
“Asshi, who gave you these documents?” She’s struggling to speak. “If you do not know names, a description will suffice.”
“Sir, a young man who said his name was Giles Lee on his American papers, and he spoke Korean like a native.” A slow blink and careful studying of her face.
“And what did he look like? Describe him.” Again, a soft order. This is clearly someone used to being obeyed immediately, without a show of force.
“Sir. Young, too young even, dark hair, non-descript, glasses. I think southeast dialect, but I’m not sure, he ate a hamburger, if that helps.” There’s a flash of a dimple, half a smile, not something expected in a senior officer in this situation.
“Gentlemen, as far as I can tell, this is the lady we were told to be on the lookout for. Her description checks out, down to the hamburger. Continue operations and keep heading north-north-east. I’ll take it from here.” Of course, they have a general idea what she looks like, because Lee Gyeol probably reported back in detail. Curt bows and general seongsaengnims. As the senior brass files out, Vera’s knees give out and she lands unceremoniously on the deck. He pulls her up by one arm and helps her to a chair.
“At ease, asshi. You look like you had it rough lately. You’re safe now. And welcome to Korea.” She looks up bleary-eyed with exhaustion and at the end of mental cohesion.
“Excuse me, sir, if I may … where am I and who are you?” He crouches down to talk to her.
“You’re on the Bukdu under my command. We’re still way out of range of any American counterattack. You can rest a bit, clean up, before we send you on to Busan.”
“Understood, sir, and thank you humbly. But still … I’m so confused.” pause “You didn’t answer the other half of my question, sir” Another half-smile, this one a bit rueful.
“And here I thought my fame had preceded me.”
“Huh?” Vera is so dazed even normal politeness is beginning to slip.
“I co-signed that safe conduct of yours, along with my father and brother. I also believe it was my younger brother Lee Gyeol who handed it over to you. We just never knew your name.” The room is beginning to spin into a faint, darkening from the outside inwards. “We all owe you a great deal, Jae Vera.” The world fades to black.
She comes up from faint or sleep, tucked into a naval bunk, disoriented, hungry and still very confused. Her mind is trying to come to grips with everything. She’s semi-dressed, someone has at least taken off her boots and jacket. The cabin isn’t large, but it’s clean and stylish. She crawls out, tries to gauge her options. Her backpack is on a chair, a quick check suggests is hasn’t been obviously rummaged through. Peeks out the porthole, they’re still at sea underway, she catches the glimpse of airplanes still circulating the carrier for refuelling and rearmament. Takes a deep breath, opens the cabin door. She’s met by a guarding yeoman:
“Ma’am, the Commander asked to see you the moment you woke up.”
Vera argues that would she please be allowed to shower and change her clothes. She’s told there’s a change in the cabin, but please be quick. She does a speed shower – no shower has ever felt this great – and finds a pile of foreign, somewhat female uniform pieces. Not a perfect fit, and it’s not exactly USN regulation, but she manages, including getting wet hair ponytail into an off-regulation bun. She’s led back to the officer’s lounge, met by the same white clad young-but-senior officer (who apparently co-signed her safe conduct, so he’s important), pacing in long strides while on a very inappropriate shouting match with someone over the phone. She tiptoes in hearing a:
“Look. I understand you guys were pinging hard and had your torpedo hatches already opened. By accident. As if! Thanks for getting those destroyers taken care of. But there is the politics to think of. Your side can’t get involved.” Pause. “Yeah, I know, I know. You left no witnesses. Heavy stealth. Still, just this once, stop trying to help. We’re fine, just stay out of this one, okey?” This definitely does not sound like a conversation senior brass would have. On the other hand, she’s in no way a line officer so has no clue how the navy, much less a foreign navy, conducts its running business. “Just a sec, Hiro” He puts a hand over the speaker “Yeoman, bring breakfast for the lady. Make it double. Tea for me.” The yeoman bows out at speed. Vera watches the continued convo in amazement “What? No, nothing like that, are you insane? She is pure navy business.” Pause “I am not the one who cannot keep his torpedo hatches closed, just saying!” Pause “Look, if you’re getting lippy like that with me, I’ll reorganise your face next time I see you.” A look at Vera, and breakfast being run in so fast it must have been waiting in the corridor all along. “In fact, I have a favour to ask, Hiro. No, don’t even start. It’s about the bronze chip we agreed on.” Pause “Yeah. That one. That’s the lady I’m treating to breakfast. Look, could you whistle up someone to catch up with the Bukdu from Midway? Someone with a chopper or something. I don’t have a double seater on flightdeck, and our choppers are getting way out of reach of your airfield. Yeah. Drop her off at Dad’s, ok? She’s the real thing, she could describe Gyeol.” Pause “Of course I’m going to kick Yankee ass. What do you even think was the purpose of this whole exercise? You think I can’t?” His dialect is getting thicker with temper. “Ok, fine. But they’ll have to make real time to catch up with us. Prove their bragging about being speedy boys. Ok, see you. Say hi to your uncle, and all that. Yeah, I hate you too!” He hangs up and turns to Vera, who has been trying to be utterly inconspicuous. Whatever that was, it was nothing like the US Navy of her experience.
“Good morning, madam auntie. Help yourself to breakfast. I was just arranging your next leg of transfer to Busan.” Auntie? What had happened to asshi? That is a very informal tone to address her in. To Vera, advanced Korean honorifics is a mystery, concealed by an enigma, wrapped in third rails and not to be touched. If this weird senior whatever suddenly wants to address her as madam auntie, she’s not about to argue. (Comment: Byeol is switching from Asshi to “madam auntie”, which is how the wangja tend to address the joint queens informally. Notice how this comes after he has talked to Busan, so he must have had some kind of heads-up)
“We’re slightly busy this morning hunting down pieces of your former compatriots, but I did speak to Court.” A swallow
“To Court?”
“Yes, they will receive you as soon as you reach Busan. Don’t look so surprised. It’s what it says on your bronze chip. Passage to Court, right? You do read hangul, after all.” She nods.
“Yes, but I couldn’t read the obverse. I did recognise the chrysanthemum, though.”
“Make sure you load up on breakfast. I cannot guarantee how effective Hiro is in getting his people to find you transport to Honshu fast enough, and then on to the peninsula. Mealtimes can become scattered.” Vera feels more lost than ever, and it apparently shows.
“Hiro? Honshu? But that’s …Japan?” A corresponding nod, as he loads up her plate
“Yes. Hiro’s my wayward little brother. He’ll get one of their ships close enough for a chopper to catch up to get you back to Midway. They’ll fly you out.” Life that had begun to make sense, went back to full kaleidoscope for Vera.
“Whose ships?”
“The Japanese navy. The frenemy, if you want to put it that way.” He puts even more omelette on her plate “Knowing Hiro, he’ll make you stop over at Kyoto just to stay on top of things. Makes him feel important. Don’t tell him too much. In this scam, they’re pretty much on a needs-to-know basis and he resents it.” She puts down her chopsticks, takes a deep breath.
“Sir. Excuse me. I do not understand anything of this. Until a week ago I was a US navy officer, in no way privy to the interaction between our Kingdom and Japan.” There’s no coffee anywhere. How are they even surviving without coffee. She chugs the darkest tea available and pours herself more.
“We are at war with the United States. Japan is not, they are neutral in this conflict that may be termed a war.” A slight smirk “However, the powers that be tend to underestimate the close family ties between the Kingdom and the Empire.” A pinpoint of light as a reference. He said he signed the safe conduct with his brother, and he called this Hiro person his little brother and used him to order the Japanese navy about.
“If I may ask, I do respectfully … who is Hiro, except your brother, sir?” She makes a sustained effort to be as polite as possible and didn’t quite expect to be met by a small laugh. At this point, she’s beginning to understand that whomever she’s dealing with, Mr Old Navy Stoneface he is not.
“Lee Hiro is my little brother by another mother. He is also Crown Prince Hirohito of Japan, by virtue of his uncle being his Imperial Majesty the Emperor. So, whenever I want their navy to get off their butt, I’ve found yelling at Hiro to be the quickest way to short-circuit their system.” Pause, then sounding slightly less smiling “They ambushed three US destroyers in international waters. After we agreed they would sit this one out. I don’t exactly mind them helping, but Japan needs to keep its hands clean. At least he said there were no witnesses and no communications.” Vera finds her jaws chewing empty and stuffs her mouth with more omelette rolls. Delicious. She could get used to those rolls, if they provide her with coffee.
“And you are, sir?”
“Eh?”
“Sir, I passed out as you were speaking to me last night or whatever time of day that was, and I still don’t know who you are, except that the sailors address you as Commander, and you yelled at the Crown Prince of Japan just now.” Oh, the run on sentences of her High North Korean.
“Oh, right. Sorry about that. I’m Lee Rim, Commander of the Bukdu battlegroup. That’s one of the degrees of Admirals in the American Navy, I believe. I am also Crown Prince of Korea.” Pause “Please close your mouth before your breakfast falls out, madam auntie.” She closes her mouth. “Me and Lee Hoyeol co-signed Father’s order. Just so that there wouldn’t be any doubt whatsoever what the Court’s view of you was.” A tiny voice:
“Hoyeol? Another brother?” A rueful laugh:
“I had nine brothers at last count. Only Second brother Lee Hoyeol is an adult, he’s in the navy with me. Because Hiro counts as Japanese. Third brother Lee Gyeol, you’ve met him, should be back at law school.” Alice, through the looking glass and speeding deeper. She slowblinks and tries to catch up to her new reality. So. Whatever is going on, on the political front Korea and Japan are doing kitchen table politics in turning the US navy into so much scrap metal. Which is fine by her. And whatever the Korean way of organising their Kingdom, they have a lot of new names for her to keep track of. “That reminds me, you are going to need new pins.” She touches the bare cloth of her stand collar, different but similar from her US uniform. “I did bring my Ship’s Clerk pin, sir, it’s in my backpack”. “Good, put that one second on the right after the taegeuki. Use this one your left.” He taps the maesil on his collar, she definitely knows what a maesil looks like, but this is a fancy version she has never seen before. “I’ll arrange it, so you’ll get a proper pin for your left before you reach Busan. I would have given you mine, but it is the wrong form. Anyone on board can provide you with the taegeuki pin. Now go. I have a battle to fight. Go rest up until the Japanese catch up with us.” She’s escorted back to the same cabin, she stuffs her dingy clothes in the backpack, after digging out the pin of the crossed quills and pinning it to the right of her new stand collar. She looks in the mirror. She looks the same ordinary self as always, but different. Updo, no make-up, naval uniform. Still looking tired. No coffee for days! But a uniform, with a different cut, and instead of the eagle and anchor on the left, the cloth is bare, waiting for the symbol of her new place in life. She touches the taegeuki in place of the star striped banner: it’s real and this is not a dream. She’s really not in Kansas any longer. All too soon for the exhausted Vera, a Japanese two-seater fighter plane shows up and is allowed to touch down.
“I must have lit a flamethrower under Hiro’s butt if he sent a plane. I’ll never let him hear the end of how they were too slow to catch up otherwise.” They pour Vera into a flight suit and helmet and send her off with well-wishes. “Good luck, madam auntie. See you in Busan later” and a slight bow. She kowtows to him; they strap her in and they’re off. The pilot knows some Korean and tells her he’ll put her down on their carrier Taiho, and they’ll get her to a civilian airport from there.
“Didn’t think I’d be a cabbie when I woke up this morning. The things you do.”
The Taiho had been speeding north – it had been coasting around the edge of the territorial waters off Midway – following Bukdu‘s path to cut down on the transfer … and if they just happen to run across another American ship, well, on-purpose mistakes are known to happen. Oopsie! Naughty llama! The flight is choppy, and the naval pilot does his best to impress her with the need for speed. It’s not necessarily a pleasant flight, but in a weird way, she is adapting, focusing on the now, trying not to think too much of the fact that she’s been handed around the Pacific like a parcel, meeting strange people and being subjected to more action than she ever thought would happen to her. Her mind goes:
“I ate with chopsticks first time in years. I am speaking Korean. I had breakfast with the good damn Crown Prince who addressed me as madam auntie. I have my flag on my collar. I am going to Busan, to Court, by way of Japan. Life is weird. But in this moment, I am alive and that is enough.”
She’s dropped off on the Taiho flightdeck, to a full audience curious about what is going on, barely given a bathroom break before they transfer her to another plane, this pilot only speaks Japanese, so a very quiet flight, until they come in over an island – Midway atoll – and she’s dropped off at the airport. The fighter takes off again, and heads back out to sea, and she’s being met by a strictly black suited, bowing group of men. She shows them the Chrysanthemum side of her bronze disc and apologizes in Korean for being unable to speak Japanese. It’s around 30C, hot after Alaska and the sea crossing. She’s given a chance to get out of the flight suit and helmet, and to tidy up. More tea, with infinite politeness. Still no effing coffee. She checks herself in the bathroom mirror. Reasonably proper, reasonably military bearing. Fake it till you make it, Vera. She’s guided to a smallish airplane, maybe for 20 people, which is next to empty. Some of the people who met her are joining her on the flight. She’s mainly staying quiet, but on asking is told that it’s close to 7 hours to Kyoto, she’s offered even more tea on the flight and a bento box. Mostly she’s just zoning out, looking out at clouds and the sea underneath. On landing in Kyoto, she’s treated to the Men in Black, put in a cortege with motorcycles and handed over to the Imperial Court.
Vera is introduced to the Emperor and the Crown Prince in a minimalistic and modern conference room, they’re in modern clothing. More bowing. Vera hands over the disc again and apologizes once more for her inability to speak Japanese, and for her lack of experience in addressing royalty. She notices the left lapel of the Crown Prince’s – Hiro ‘s- suit jacket has both the imperial chrysanthemum, and a gold-on-gold maesil reminiscent the one she saw before.
“It is a rare thing to be asked to create a passage chip such as this.” The emperor turns over her disc in his hands. “It is even rarer to create one from two neighbouring nations at once. But it was done on your behalf, Jae Vera, very hurriedly, too, I may add, and the man who asked us to do so said” He pauses for effect “We owe the Gate to her.” Both men look at her, waiting for a reaction. When none is forthcoming, he sighs. “Whatever you have done to merit that description, I thank you for the service to your own nation, and as a consequence for the aid you have extended to ours.” They bow slightly to her, she bows again, even deeper.
“Your majesty, your highness, I have not heard that description of me before, I am but a small person serving King and Kingdom loyally and to the best of my ability.” Hiro looks her over
“American accent, that pin on the right is not part of Korean uniform code, and you were having breakfast with my hyeong halfway to the Aleutians. Even your name sounds slightly … off to my ears, Ms Jae Vera. We are being outright nagged by Busan to hand you over immediately. In your own words, would you care to summarize recent events?” If put it that way, she must appear slightly suspicious, even Vera admits to herself. At the same time, she remembers being told not to tell these people very much.
“I … I was ordered to leave my position and go to Alaska, your highness. Naturally I complied.”
“And what position was that?” The emperor interrupts
“A position that allowed her to give control of the Gate to her King.” He sighs. “I am of course very curious, we both are, and we wanted to meet you. But that you managed to hold such an … unspecified position indicates that you will not share more information with us. No, do not pester her any further. There is no hurry. Once this little excursion is done, I suggest you pour vodka into your mainland relatives, nephew, and question them while under the influence. They will likely be very full of themselves, and ready to share details.” Turning back to Vera “I understand that you have been travelling far and under less than pleasant conditions. Please stay here overnight. Enjoy a restful evening, walk in the gardens at leisure, and allow us to supply a change of clothes. I will personally inform the Court in Busan of your arrival tomorrow. If there is anything else that we can do for y..”
“COFFEE!” pause “My apologizes, that came out wrong.” Hiro’s eyes are dancing, there is a slight snorting sound of a repressed laughter.
“That comment alone marks you as an American. I’m just pointing that out. And I promise you, Jae Vera, that not only will I call ahead to Busan to make sure they have coffee beans at hand. I will also tell my hyeong how he unwittingly made our most treasured Jae Vera suffer by offering her tea.” Vera’s mind goes blank for a second, then it helpfully summarizes: “Brothers!” with an eyeroll. Now that she has met two, or even three of them, she can see the familiar pattern and the sibling similarities.
“If I may ask a question, your highness?” At his nod he continues “What does madam auntie mean? We spoke Korean at home, and I’ve read books, but I have never come across that expression before.” Hiro’s jaw drops, then he catches himself.
“Where did you hear that? It is certainly not common in general parlance.”
“The officer at the Bukdu, the one I believe may be your brother, your highness, addressed me as such. I was just curious.” Hiro dissolves in snorting giggles, his uncle gives him quite the disapproving look and leaves. Bows all around. Vera is lost. Again.
“Oh, now I begin to see why Busan has been nagging us for days.” There is a lot of suppressed devilry there, of the I know something you don’t kind. “Madam auntie is what the wangja … it is an informal but polite term used to address” <choked chortle> “the senior court ladies. I suppose he was trying to put you at ease, while being respectful.” He’s lying through his teeth, Vera is 100% certain of that, or at the very least he is withholding major components of the truth, but that is a question for another day. She can certainly imagine how the pair of brothers would spark off each other, fireworks style.
Vera is spending the rest of the day in Kyoto doing small things and being mainly left alone. All her clothes are sent to laundry – she protects her backpack ferociously – she borrows a yukata type dress (layers on layers). She’s given a pink sakura pin “just as a gift and as a memory, wear it for your pleasure.” The architecture and the gardens are gorgeous, food is pure works of art, her guest rooms have a spa section, and someone pops over to give her a manicure and hair treatment. She asks in full pangolin about the possibility of a different pair of shoes – she’s still in her Alaskan hiking boots as the only footwear, and August in Kyoto is 25-33C – apart from her feet boiling, they really do not go with pencil skirt and nylons. In the morning, there is a pair of low heel pumps, that would pass military code back in the US, added to a pile of the vaguely military wear she had been given on the Bukdu. She can tell that not only has it been laundered down to specs, but someone has also done minor alterations overnight for a better fit. Or else it is just a new uniform. The rest of her civilian clothes, including her cleaned and brushed boots, are assembled in a small carry-on. Our timeline Japanese women’s military dress uniform calls for white shirt, coat jacket and dark tie, the one from TKEM – this AUs Korean one – has a standing collar straight from the jacket, shirt not visible. Collar same colour as the jacket. I am going to assume that Kyoto has access to Korean uniforms; if nothing else it’s just a couple of hours across. Busan would happily send over something, anything the second they were informed Jae Vera were in Kyoto – the whole Court would probably be quietly bouncing with nervous excitement top to bottom. Pencil skirt and stand collar jacket in dark navy blue with a single row of brass buttons, nylons, a collarless white silk blouse. Some lady pops in to help, Vera protests “I do know how to dress myself, ma’am!” and is told that it’s just for hair and make-up and the final touches. That the Japanese Court wishes her to arrive in Korea looking her best. She snorts a bit “such as it is” but is ignored. She’s getting a softer, looser bun, not the hard pulled back military kind, a more feminine make-up in more pink, and with shaping – when she protests, she is told off with a
“I am the make-up expert here, ma’am. I am sure you are quite competent in other fields than improving your inborn looks.”
That doesn’t quite read as you’re so plain you should have been doing something about it, but it’s not that far off. Vera shuts up, allows the woman to pin both pins to her right collar- the taegeuki and her Ship’s Clerk quills.
“Well, that’s the best we can do as long as you insist on wearing a uniform. Their Highnesses decided to gift you a suitable kimono, too, for state visits.”
State visits? She is not quite sure how the concept of state visits would ever figure in her future, and where and why she would be wearing a kimono in Korea, but she thanks the lady humbly and files the information under “Things I do not need to deal with right this second.” She is sent off by Crown Prince Hiro, who does a double take on seeing her, manages to tame his laugh to a nice smile and wishes her a safe journey.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Jae Vera. Give my love to my mother when you meet her.” To her surprise, he unpins his on maesil – massive gold with loops – from his collar and carefully pins it on her left. “And congratulations in advance, madam auntie.” A slight smirk and she’s whisked away into a motorcade to the airport. There she is, to her surprise, met by the small equivalent of Airforce One, and more Men in Black, this time the Korean version. There is a slight standoffishness in handing her over to the Koreans, but it’s done and they’re off. At last, someone offers Vera coffee without her having to ask specifically. It’s a small blessing. It’s just over an hour flight, she sits straight-backed and nervous in her seat. In Busan there is a reverse of the scene in Kyoto, and she is looking at the city, wide-eyed, through tinted security windows. The capital is brightly lit, modern and bustling. Traffic is being cleared for them to speed through. The sea is a sparkling green-blue where it shows between high buildings. She can tell that her escorts are curious, but the drive is silent. They pull up in the underground driveway, she is climbing up a wide, official-looking flight of stairs, heels clicking, the by-now quite dingy messenger-style leather backpack still slung over her left shoulder. (It has her correspondence, she’s not about to part with it voluntarily). Serious looking staff bow to her and silently guide her deeper into the palace until she’s facing a pair over high and heavy doors, inlaid with a golden circle of the royal seal. A black-suited middle aged, chipper Korean lady with glasses reminds her in clipped but quiet tones to kowtow on reaching the end of the walkway, and to stay bowing until asked otherwise. Vera pegs her as an upper government official of some kind, it is Secretary Mo. The doors swing open inward, someone calls “Presenting to Their Royal Majesties and the Court, Ms Jae Vera.” And she walks down the middle of the throne room, towards the King and Queen seated at the end. There is silence, except for the click of her heels echoing up the high hanok-style ceiling. There are people kneeling on the sides, bowing to her, but the spacious room is far from full. Close to the low dais that holds the thrones, there is a row of women in colourful dresses – hanbok – facing the walkway, all silent and serious, bowing slightly as she passes. She spots a blonde head in between the various black and brown hairdos. The two historians kneeling at a low desk. The queen is in white-on-white patterned hanbok, with a golden tiara of leaves-and-flower-shapes that faintly reminds Vera of a kokoshnik – she looks mostly Korean but with light eyes and very fair skin, and she smiles slightly, as if she’s just waiting for something good that she knows will happen. The King, ah, now the King is in full ceremonial robes in burgundy and golden circles with the royal seal all over, but bareheaded. Not a crown or a samo in sight. Even seated he’s tall, with some silver wings in black hair, strong face for a Korean, with a straight nose and marked jaw. There is a slight smile or a twinkle around his brown eyes, though his face is calm, and if she didn’t know better, even some nervousness. Vera stops in front of them, a silent breath of pause, then she kowtows as correctly as she is able to, saying
“My humble thanks for receiving me, Your Majesties.”
“You are most welcome to Korea, to Busan and to our Court, Asshi. The personal bravery and loyalty you have shown King and Kingdom has been beyond compare. The recent victory at the Gate of Siberia and the safety of our navy rests fully on your work. Please rise.” She straightens up. The King and Queen bow to her, still seated. <fx: the Emperor in Mulan, except these people are in their 50s, not ancient> It is somewhere between a dream of a fairy tale and feeling weirdly … right. Probably because their majesties, for all the regalia and ceremoniousness, look like kind and happy people, and everyone she can see from the edges of sight are smiling now.
“Such a long and lonely service deserves a reward, and if it is within my power, I will grant you any reward you ask for.”
She has spent her entire adult life interpreting the intonation and body language of powerful people. Despite this being a different language, this situation slots neatly into her experience. There is a certain … expectation in His Majesty’s tone, as if he believes he knows what she will ask for, and his nervousness is clearer. The Queen gives him a side-eye that in a less exalted person would be of wifely exasperation, the ocular equivalent of kicking someone under the table, but she’s still smiling.
“Your Majesties. Members of the Court. I am a koryeo-saram commoner who grew up in the United States, my family while they were alive were Korean Alaskans. We gladly served our Kingdom with no hesitation. But… in doing so, I have lost everything.” The stress of the last two weeks is beginning to catch up with her, knees are shaking. “I have no food, no shelter and no papers to apply for work. My whole career is gone. The moment I step out of this hall, I will be alone, in a country, though it is mine, that I have never visited before.” She swallows “I humbly request some way to earn a modest living not to be a burden on anyone.” She bows slightly. Silence rings loudly. A cleared throat. “Preparations for an honourable living for you, Asshi, has been underway since the Wave Skimmer radioed in that they had you onboard. You need not fear. We will discuss the details later, outside the formality of a full Court.” A pause. She can certainly see the resemblance to the Crown Prince, both in looks and the turn of phrase. “Anything else?”
“If I may, most humbly, this may be impossible to achieve at all and even less likely with the war, but Pyeha, I had a cat …” She trails off as the Queen can’t hold in her giggles any longer, folding over trying to catch her breath. There is a titter and a rustle of silk among the court ladies.
“This Court certainly understands the importance of one’s cat. An attempt to reclaim your cat will be made. If this proves impossible, one of the cats of the royal household will be provided to you as recompense. This is the King’s Order.” Vera hears the capital letters, and by the reaction of those present, it is a real order. “Those are very modest rewards, Asshi, for a service that makes you a hero to our armed forces. Anything else?” Now he’s smiling at her, relaxed shoulders, the signs of nervousness gone, the Queen is getting herself back under control while sniffling. She has asked for a job or a pension, and her cat. What else could she possibly ask for that would have true meaning to herself, not something bland and empty as medal, but also that would be within the power of the King to grant. “Do not fear, do not be shy. Feel free to ask.” There is one thing, though, that strikes her, the thing that has quietly churned under the surface at the back of her mind since she left Portsmouth.
“Pyeha, for all my grown life I have served, and I have served by exchanging letters.” She touches the crossed quills at her throat. “Someone patiently replied to my letters, all those years, without fail. If I would be given the chance to meet and thank Seongsaengnim simply for being there when no one else was, then I would be happy and never ask for any other reward.” Silence falls again. Pyeha is in stunned, wide-eyed surprise, the Queen is back to fighting a laugh that looks quite like a smirk. This time it’s the Queen who speaks up first.
“Asshi, that is something that falls within my own authority to allow and arrange, I will grant your final wish, and may you treasure and take joy from it.” She has the slight sing-song tone of the High North, and the run-on sentences. To Vera’s mind, her dialect sounds like family, and with that tiara, well, she might even speak Russian.
“As the rewards have been granted to Ms Jae Vera, the assembled Court is dismissed.” There is a general rustle of people rising, bowing, and leaving. Vera turns, unsure if she should leave, where to go. The Queen, in a lowered voice:
“Please stay, Asshi. We still wish to talk with you, in a less officious setting, I want to hear about Byeol, and Queen Seri certainly wishes to talk to you about Hiro.” So, she just stands there, their majesties still seated, as the court officials except the historians file out. The doors boom shut. A general exhalation.
“Well, that’s over and done. I’ll leave her in your care, Jiwon. Have to get out of these robes, go talk to someone about a cat.” His shift in tone hits Vera like a ton of brick. This isn’t a King’s speech; this is a man addressing his wife. And the dialect shifted from formal to a much more casual dialect. As he briskly leaves, she’s surrounded by the queen and the various ladies that had also quietly stayed behind. There is silk and wide skirts everywhere.
“We’ll go sit down somewhere, I heard you are not so fond of tea, we had a word with the staff about that.” Pause “Within the Inner Court, you are free to address me as Tae Jiwon, or even Unni, if you prefer that.” Vera certainly knows better than to address the Queen of Korea as Elder Sister, even with her permission, so she just bows quietly, and is being guided out of the throne room by the bright coloured, unstoppable silk force.” A voice from behind
“Ha! I think I like this one. She asked for her cat!” A smiling lady in pink and green, is that sakura on her skirt, and twinkling black eyes. “Did you speak to Hiro? Did he look like he was eating properly? I am Seri, by the way, pleased to meet you.” Vera takes a stab at this being Prince Hiro’s mother and the emperor’s sister.
“I did, your highness, and his highness looked healthy and in good spirits.”
“That means he likely teased you and was up to no good as usual. Oh, don’t look so shocked, I raised him, I should know what he’s like.” A sweet voice from a porcelain-doll-faced lady in pale pink and dark hair full of ribbons and flower jewellery.
“I’m sure he’s well, Unni, you always worry about him. May I be excused now? I believe I cannot contribute much when it comes to warfare and espionage.” The blonde lady in white and green, who could have passed for an American lady in her early 40s – she’s not just white-passing but actually European – notes:
“I don’t believe we are going to discuss any details of espionage in the tea gardens. That’s for Pyeha‘s study. However, I suspect our new arrival is overwhelmed enough as it is, so the fewer of us around the better right now.” She has a marked, throaty accent that Vera cannot place, though she speaks Korean fluently. “I’ll follow Meilin’s cue. I’ll go check on the wangja that they are not taking the commotion as an excuse to skip their school assignments.” A round lady in blue and bright fuchsia nods.
“I’ll make myself sparse, too. It is a busy, busy day at court. A pleasure to have you here. I’m Jin Chiel, the queens who just left are Song Meilin and Yangmi, but I assume your head is buzzing and you won’t be able to tell people apart for a few days.” And she too is off, briskly striding down a corridor. Vera is led into a well-manicured garden and treated to coffee and cake under a colourful awning. She is told that it’s necessary because of the summer rains, you can’t even put your nose outdoors without an umbrella at hand, and what’s the name of your cat, oh, that’s charming, I guess he’s a black cat then, and so on and so forth. She’s feeling very much like the ugly duckling in her dark military-style clothes, sitting down with what she’s assuming to be the two senior queens. Seri. Tae Jiwon. They are treating her very informally and kindly, for some reason, but not saying very much about what is planned for her. Jiwon is happy to hear about her eldest doing well at sea, and goes into full sisterly power babble about the navy being a tradition on her side of the family – the red star fleet of the north vs the white star fleet of the south, where Pyeha served – how Alaska is supposed to be full of natural beauty, and what an effort by the First Nation locals, we really do need to thank and reward everyone properly, oh knitting, that’s lovely, it’s really too hot here in the south for knitwear except in February, and more of the same. She’s stalling for time, as well as trying to put Vera at ease. In a way, the shallow chitchat is lulling her target a little, the psychological effect of being love bombed after decades of solitary anxiety. Lee Jian is handed to her mother for a little cuddle – she’s about 18 months here, and utterly adorable with reddish-brown wavy hair and Pyeha‘s cognac colour eyes – pale skin and full autumn colouring. “She’s my little tiger eye cub, aren’t you, tirginushka?” As she had assumed from her looks and dialect, the Queen does indeed speak Russian. The baby has an embroidered silver & gold maesil and a curled-up tiger on her collar, similar to what the queen is sporting with pins on her left. Queen Seri is wearing the maesil in front of the Japanese chrysanthemum, as her son does, but in reverse order. Just before the sedatives of shock, coffee and cheerful company is beginning to wear off, Pyeha shows up again, trailed by a historian. He’s switched into high collar shirt and grey vest, with thin-rimmed silver glasses, sits down, Seri pours him tea, he thanks her. He’s handed Lee Jian who squeals and gives him baby kisses. With the ease of experience, he swings her onto his shoulders so he can have his tea in some kind of peace, even with his hair being half pulled out. Vera’s mind is going: This is supposed to be the King of Korea, the man that Commander Markham said the US sneered at as the top gook? He was all dignified in court, and now he’s balancing a toddler daughter on his head while drinking tea. This will … take some getting used to.
“Seri, your brother sent his best wishes, as always.” Seri rolls her eyes. “Did we get a description of the cat? It’ll be simpler if they know what to look for.” Three pairs of eyes turn to Vera, who nearly spills her coffee.
“Black. Sleek. Blue eyes. Doesn’t answer to Mr Gamcho. Will do anything for boiled ham. He’s wearing a red collar, and I left him with my downstairs neighbours.” A quick nod.
“I’ll forward it to their embassy in Washington. Their people can move around more easily than ours at the moment.”
“Thank you, Pyeha, for your kindness” She bows, he and the queens smile at her.
“No need for formality, though a thank you is always appreciated.” He detaches Lee Jian and Jiwon distracts their cub with a cake while calling up a harried-looking nanny. “They’re such a handful at that age. Very cute, but a handful.” A content sigh at the small things in life. Thus speaks the voice of fatherly experience. Jiwon fake-coughs an “Ahem” and gives her husband a strong side-eye. <fx: dinner table in Inside Out> “Ah, thank you, Jiwon, for reminding me.” Whatever she envisioned of royalty, judging from American books, movies and news, especially traditional exotic, oriental royalty such as the Korean version, she had not anticipated a simple family life, softly informal, almost cosy.
“Jae Vera, if you please, I would like to speak with you in my study.” <fx: the movie The American President when Miss Wade is first called into the Oval Office. “Me? Yes, sir.”> She naturally agrees and gulps down the last dredges of her coffee – At last coffee. Life might actually become bearable after all that tea – before following him from the garden, backpack in hand, very much aware of eyes from staff and the two queens.
His study is quiet and orderly, stocked with books and chalkboards full of mathematical notations, three storeys high like an old-fashioned library. There’s a small seating and a simple chair in front of the desk. It’s the Korean equivalent of the Oval Office, with equivalent heavy imagery such as the flags, a globe and so on. It’s airy, well-lit and tells her quite a lot about the man. For one thing, there is a sharp intelligence there, and one not hidden from the inner circle of family and advisors – even if media cameras may never see them, anyone who entered would be able to read the spine of the books and the hand-written calculations. It also speaks to her of personal modest tastes, of moderation and a quick wit. Brute intelligence and wit are similar but subtly different. Commander Markham’s words come back to her: “He’s calm like a pond surface. Watchful eyes. Impressive guy.” Pyeha sits down behind his desk, gestures her to sit down on the chair in front of it. A moment of silence, of “how to begin”.
“You may speak freely here, Jae Vera. I will take no afront. There are many questions, but the first one must be this: Why have you dragged that backpack with you since Anchorage. Why are you protecting it like a tigress does her cubs?” She had expected many things, but not this. She unbuckles the lid, takes out the bulging binder blazoned with Alaskan Knitting, puts it on her lap and extracts a fat pile of letters. Puts them on his desk.
“I couldn’t leave the letters behind, and I couldn’t bear destroying them. I know, I am an idiot, no need to tell me.” Silence. He stares at the pile. Gets up, takes down a binder from a high shelf (even he needs to stretch to reach), puts it on his desk next to the pile, and opens it to show her the matching letters.
“You’re not an idiot. I couldn’t throw your letters out either. But then again, no one is going to raid my study, so the danger does not compare.” She touches the top letter, in her handwriting. It’s the first letter she ever wrote to Korea, the one that circumnavigated half the Ministry of War before landing on Pyeha‘s desk. “I didn’t need courage to save them. You did.”
There is kindness and compassion in his voice. Something clicks in her mind. The turn of phrase, that brief conversation over the commo. Looking at her own pile, the latest letter on top, she can now hear a voice reading the words as if spoken, where it before the letter had just been words.
“Seaongsaengnim?“
Her voice is a choked whisper. He smiles slightly, almost getting a bit teary-eyed himself.
“I thought we had agreed I had earned a Seonbae after all these years, Veraya.”
At this point Vera cracks into tears, 20 years of undercover loneliness crashing down on her.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to cry” sniffles “It’s just shock” more tears “Oh my god, I outright swore at you!” she’s hugging herself, shaking, sniffling. “Oh no, your wife sent me a letter” sniffles “was that … Her majesty?” more weeping “I am so ashamed of myself!” She’s barely halfway into the collapse before he’s out of his chair and around the desk. Pulls her up, holds her in a calming hug, resting his chin on the top of her head.
“Shhh, weep as much as you want. I have thick skin. I can handle being cursed at. And yes, Jiwon penned you that note.” She’s almost into hiccups, trying to calm down, apologizes for getting snot on his shirt, he pats her back and says it’s fine. Eventually the storm subsides, he hands her tissue and sits her down again. After rain, the sun shines on a changed world. A fluffy striped cat with elegant white eye make-up deigns to descend from the upper reaches of the bookcases, nudges their legs and goes sit on the desk in a patch of sunlight. The cat slow blinks at Vera, who – ever the cat person – slow blinks back.
“See? Even my cat approves of you.” She wipes her eyes again. She’s rather plain to begin with, and ugly crying while wearing make-up doesn’t make the situation any better.
“Now you’re just teasing me.”
“A little, maybe” A slight smile, eyes bright with emotion.
“You said in court that there had been plans in the making. May I ask what is to become of me?” He looks at her over the rim of his glasses.
“Are you concerned?”
“Not really. Or maybe a little. This is all very new and unexpected to me.” He nods.
“We did look into what we could do for you. What would both allow you a new life here, while giving you the full honours you have earned. For now, it would be better if you left your American identity behind. Safer for you. It’s good to watch them fluster and flop around.” He checks a clipboard binder “Last word out of Anchorage is that a woman named … Veronica James” – he struggles with the American pronunciation, he does not speak English – “was declared dead in the misguided bombing of a hotel. It’s up to you, but I would advise you to let her be buried there.” She nods. This is reasonable and makes sense. “We’ll make sure that Jae Vera has all relevant identity documents for a life in Korea. Even if we need to hack and forge some. Or you can stay with your Russian name, if that is what you prefer.” She considers.
“It may be better to stick to the Korean form, though I am indeed Vera Alexandrovna, if asked” The last part is spoken in Russian. “Are you considering a position in our navy for me?”
“Is that what you want?” She shoots back:
“I don’t know what I want. I’m administratively dead anyway!”
He sighs, there is a bit of heavy dread there.
“Vera, there is a solution, a place for you that I think will suit you well. However, this may be somewhat unconventional for someone raised in American society.” Holds up a hand to slow down her protests “I am just saying that even though you are koryeo-saram, you were raised immersed in a very different culture. All I am asking here is that you think this through calmly. If you decide on exploding, do it afterwards, please.” Talking to Pyeha is like reading his letters, that combination of cleverness and soft humour. She nods and agrees to listen to whatever his clever unconventional plan contains. “What we are going to do is this. We have exchanged letter for the better part of two decades. I will write you a letter. We will switch places. You will read my letter, without saying anything, and you will write a reply. Take however long you wish to think and to write. After I read your reply, we can discuss the what and the how. Is this acceptable to you?”
So she sits in Pyeha‘s study, looking at the man in concentration writing her a letter, a sleeping cat draped over their accumulated correspondence. Thinking back on the things they had talked about over the years, she realises that it likely was Queen Seri that he described as him having to take responsibility for, ending up with a second wife, and that the Crown Prince she met on the Bukdu was probably the one who got an underage girl in trouble. Which made the brothers squabbling over open torpedo hatches so much more pointed. It also explains why his father had been so spitting mad at the situation. She finds that she spontaneously like these people, though she doesn’t really know them, though in a way she does. He finishes his letter, leaves it there and guides her to his formal seat behind the desk by the elbow. Oh, that familiar handwriting.
Dear Vera,
thank you for all you have done, and all you have been. Not for the kingdom, but for me personally. No man could ever ask for a braver and more devoted correspondent than you. However, now is the time where you are in need of my aid in building a new life. I ask you, in humility, to accept a position at Court, for life. That way you would be safe, honoured and you would never have to be alone again. (This tugs at her heartstrings, how he understands what she always dreamt of but can’t put into words) There are only a limited number of courtly positions, outside of staff, and you are not a servant. I am asking you to accept the position as Royal Consort and queen of Korea. I am aware how this may sound to an American upbringing but allow me to explain. In older times, consortship was a reward occasionally offered to widows of war heroes, extending the protection and honour of the Court to those in need, with no more interaction expected than politeness over dinner table. One of the gaggle of queens today has little interest in men, and I have no interest in her. It was a purely political match. So, Vera, would you please accept my hand in marriage? It may as real or only a mere formality as you yourself chose. All I can promise is that I would do my best to keep you happy and content. Bring Mr Gamcho, too, he has earned his reward for being your long-time companion in my stead. (signed) Lee Gon
She reads this missive, eyes the size of dinner plates. Begins to say something, stops herself. After all, she had promised silence and to reply by letter.
Dear Seonbae/Pyeha/Lee Gon,
I am stunned and at a loss of words (all evidence to contrary) by your last letter. That would indeed be a solution to the quandary, but it concerns me that you would offer to bind yourself to a woman whose name you first heard two weeks ago, and whom you met in person a mere hour or two ago. It smacks of recklessness, and you have never displayed that characteristic before. On the other hand, now that I have met your two eldest sons, I can certainly recognize that glib rashness and temperament. Seeing you with your cute little girl in the garden also tells me you are a wonderful father and husband, and it irks me that I hadn’t realised this already. However, I am somewhat concerned about the opinions of your ‘gaggle of queens’ as you called them. Is dragging some ugly duckling foreigner into your life acceptable to them, regardless of how long we have been friends, co-conspirers, and correspondents? If not, I will hide behind your broad back and let you face their ire first. But if they do agree – I can’t believe I am even writing this – I humbly accept your offer. In some ways, I have loved you since forever, despite never knowing your name or face. And I blush writing this, but I would like at least the option of having a real marriage as you call it, within the constraints of a cultural practice I am unfamiliar with. I am 39, not a doddering 79 after all. (I’m suddenly imagining your throne room stuffed with a horde of elderly, hard of hearing, incontinent ladies, and I thank you not for that image). I should also mention that I really liked your hug, so I guess that at least is a promising sign. (signed) Jae Vera
She hands him the finished letter, it’s obvious to her that there are nerves there. He reads it, smiles, shakes his head.
“So funny. It’s always a joy to read your letters. That’s one of the things I’ve always loved about you. I do think this is the best option, for both of us. I’d worry myself into an early grave if you were sent off wherever.” Their eyes meet, Vera still red eyed from the earlier weeping, and there is a sim kung moment of shared understanding, that while how this may be odd and unusual and complex, it is still not a bad solution for both of them. “As for the gaggle, I would never even think of offering you something like this without their agreement. In fact, Jiwon was on my side from the beginning in asking you to be my consort. Then Yangmi and Seri, the political analysts, saw the wider applications, and Chiel and Meilin didn’t really care either way, since it wasn’t their field of competence.” He shrugs. “In a certain way – again a difference compared to the United States – the queens traditionally serve as the King’s closest advisors, and in some cases even as bodyguards. If that makes sense.” Vera’s mind puts the historical nuggets of information together. Yes, it makes perfect sense to reward the sharpest female minds with court positions, especially in historical times where an alternative career was impossible for women. Those were also times where women frequently died in childbirth, so the practice ensured that the wangja wouldn’t all come from pretty ninnies, with powerful relatives. And few bodyguards would be closer than a queen in some situations.
“I remember everything we wrote, you know? I know you love Tae Jiwon like the air you breathe and the blood in your veins. Nothing I can or would do will change that, and I would never try. So, her being the elder sister is fine with me. I just wanted to be clear about that.” He thanks her and asks since she liked the hug would she want another one? Another long, just deep breathing hug, it’s restful and it feels right. Then Vera snort-laughs.
“What?”
“It just occurred to me … did you tell the Crown Prince about your plans for me?”
“I may have hinted, but I didn’t say anything outright. Why?”
“Because after he had talked to Court, to you, he switched from asshi to madam auntie, and I didn’t understand anything.” She can feel his chest bouncing with chuckling. “And then I met people in Kyoto, and Hiro? I asked him to explain, and he switched to madam auntie, too, after having explained that it’s an informal but polite way to address court ladies. Then he gave me his own pin.” Pyeha is wheezing with laughter at this point.
“I was wondering where you got your maesil from. We’ll have to send him the one I had prepared for you as a replacement. But I’m afraid you will have to get used to madam auntie. It’s not about to go away. I’m sorry.” The Historians will certainly want the completed correspondence.
Vera fills the role of quiet sanity and competence at court, as well as the resident expert on anything American. She also has the closest friend-connection with Pyeha, in some ways replacing the report he had with Captain Jo, while still getting on well with the gaggle. Being exposed to Tae Jiwon and her family allows her to connect with her own ancestry. She and Meilin are the same age, but a world apart in personality and outlook. Most of the kids from Byeol and Hoyeol down to Lee Jian like her, though the tweens in my parents are cringe stage are indeed embarrassed by their father remarrying and landing them yet another brother. Nothing is ever publicly admitted about her travel across the Pacific, but the Wave Skimmer and the Crest Hopper are given the permanent right to a white maesil painted under their red fleet star for services to the house of Lee, and whispers spread far and wide in both navies. Everybody knows but does not say that she gave them the Gate and the pleasure of a free hunting season on sitting ducks, and quite a lot of soju toasts are raised in her honour.
The Japanese embassy dispatches two quiet gentlemen, with ancestry from Kagami no shima, with a cat box, a pack of boiled ham and lockpicking equipment to New Hampshire. Mr Gamcho is bribed close with the ham – they find they do not need to break into Vera’s neighbours’ apartment after all – nabbed and brought back to Washington. After a veterinary check-up and more ham, he’s packed into the cat box and sent by courier on a train to the west coast. He’s stashed into a freight box marked kanzo with customs papers for a shipment of liquorice and loaded onto a Japanese freighter heading for Hawaii. They let him out once they’re past even the coast guard range, and Rikorisu-san is transferred to airplane, and not just inside the cargo hold, from Honolulu to Kyoto. Naturally, there is a stop-over in Kyoto, Hiro having had his pin back, pictures of the cat are taken, and he’s sent on to Busan. Vera is so happy she’s crying. It takes quite a while for Mr Gamcho and Bopul (Floof) to warm up to each other, but with the help of ham, shrimp, and a shared appreciation for napping in patches of sunlight the amount of hostile staring and even swatting drops.
Her presentation on the court’s homepage is a masterpiece of fibbage and selective information. It’s uploaded without fanfares, one day it’s just there, and she’s included in next year’s Lunar New Year family picture, so it takes the public quite a while to catch on. It does mention that she is koreyo-saram from a Korean-Alaskan family, that she has a university degree in administration – not specified from what university – and it sounds like she has lived in the Kingdom her whole life, with no details, but slyly hinting she’s from the pacific rim. Which she is, just the eastern rim, not the western. It states that her family is orthodox, which is true: they were, while alive, but she isn’t. She is a long-term correspondent and advisor of Their Majesties. (Technically correct – Jiwon did send her one letter) suggesting that she’s an old friend of the queen, not the other way around. Since a picture is worth a thousand words, extra effort is put in creating visual misdirection. The official homepage has over the years come to have a yearly family picture, with everyone present and in formal wear. For the Queens there is a single formal seated portrait, one formal picture with Pyeha and their respective children, and one relaxed one, a just-the-two-of-them, day-in-our-life picture, but still planned and scripted. Along with these, the court posts a few well-curated pictures of the queen’s everyday life. Yangmi’s has her visiting Germany, and doing things with parents and brother Bernhard, a school photo, hiking with her kids, and acting as a home-schooling teacher. Seri’s has modern music, her restringing her base, her in kimono. Meilin’s is full of kittens, puppies, and cutesy posing and so on. For Vera these pictures become important because they will help flesh out the cover story. Her portrait has her in a dark naval uniform-like suit, on her left she wears the gold maesil and a jewelled bunch of forget-me-nots – the state flower of Alaska – that Pyeha gave her. After this portrait, the forget-me-nots, in pale blue enamel, gradually spreads in Alaska as the local equivalent of the hammer & sickle across the strait – like a state flag on the right and a statement of “I am a native Alaskan, and I’m proud of it” if on the left. Of course, this spread is orchestrated and funded purposely but discretely. On her right, she’s wearing the taegeuki and her Ship’s Clerk crossed quills, but her portrait is cleverly angled so that the viewer can see that there’s a pin there, just not clearly. Given her vaguely military wear, it can be assumed that it refers to a military background. Which it does. Ahem. No glasses – in her former life she always wore thick-rimmed dark glasses – and hair down, styled loose and feminine. She’s even given a slight rinse to temporarily darken her hair into mid-brown, and eye make-up to lessen the prominence of double eyelids. In the first formal picture with Pyeha, they sit on the same strict couch that’s used for everyone’s portraits, one on each end, hands slightly stretched so that fingertips meet resting on the couch, looking at each other with a slight smile. She’s in bright blue and turquoise hanbok with bamboo, which means fidelity, and waves painted on her skirt. They are touting her koreyo-saram heritage in general, but on the homepage, they are trying to make her appear more Korean, almost the reverse from Jiwon. In the informal one, they’re in the same position, but both reading – a letter and a clip binder – in a slightly darkened room, each under a warm pool of light. He’s in shirt, vest and with the thin glasses, the lights picking up the slight silver in his hair, she’s in shirt & V-neck sweater, dark slacks, hair down, their outstretched legs in comfy slippers meeting on a pouf. On the couch with them, there’s Bopul, his floof of a Siberian cat flopped into sleep and Mr Gamcho next to her, imitating an Egyptian statuette, blue eyes challenging the onlooker. The imagery intending to indicate the similar but different nature of a pleasant mature couple who enjoys each other’s company. But it also slyly references them reading each other’s letters. There are two pictures with Vera and Jiwon, one is styled and filtered into appearing older, somewhere along the Amur coast, with a recognizable landmark, just hanging out, and a more recent appearing one with them knitting together, tea mugs on a table, in a room in the Taes’ house in Busan, staged into appearing like it could be Vera’s home. A photo of Vera visiting the museum dedicated to Admiral Yi Sunshin, one of her and Seri working on a huge jigsaw project with two of the younger kids, Pyeha leaning in to watch, hand on Lee Haneul’s shoulder. One year, they have baby Lee Sunshin sitting between them in their formal picture, and one of the two of them hiking, him with a laughing Lee Sunshin on his shoulders, and she with a backpack, in forested summer mountains outside Juneau, is quietly added.
Vera is not a part of the hearts and minds campaign to begin with, since she is administratively deceased in the US. If she’s recognised, however, not only would the entire gambit of the war be exposed, but she might also actively be in danger if she’s seen as a gook traitor. After four years, after she is spotted by Commander Markham at Byeol and Dan Karo’s wedding, she’s gradually visiting Alaska more but primarily the First Nations, building sites or wildlife preservation areas, staying away from population centres and too much media exposure that could seep into US media.
First half of 2044 Commander Markham and the investigative journalist: The story of the white woman being abducted by drooling Korean sailors off the dock in Anchorage catches a life of its own. There are accusations – the Korean reaction is somewhere between Nope, what are you even talking about and Sure thing/sarcasm – memes, deep fake reconstructions, documentaries, the works, all over American media. It doesn’t really spread that well in Alaska itself, some at first, and then it’s gradually ignored. Spring of 2044 journalist Flip Herriman decides to do a serious documentary, not only on the case, but focusing on the viral aftereffects. He’s got a deal with the equivalent of ABC/NBC, along the lines of send us the stuff, we’ll run it, you get paid. He’s the first person who actively tries to identify her by digging, not just theorising. He runs the very pixelated close-ups of Vera against images of locals. No match. Within the wider Anchorage region. Still nothing. So, his next idea is that she’s a tourist. While not every tourist might be registered, and you could theoretically drive there, arriving by cruise ship, airplane or coach/bus means you had to have shown ID – America First, remember? He compares the lists with hotel registries, then with list of casualties. And what strikes him as odd is that there are a few bodies missing or unidentified for the people registered as deceased, and they all stayed at the same bombed out hotel. Three women. So, Flip begins to dig, just to find them. With patience and luck over the next two months he finds two of the three women – one a trailer park type drifter where race, size, age fit the autopsy reports of one of the semi-charred bodies, one a woman on the run from an abusive husband, dental records match. But one of the women staying at the hotel – a Veronica James, from New Hampshire, has no matching body. She is just gone. OK, so they bulldozed the site to rebuild, and maybe she was never recovered. Still strange. Flip googles. There are quite a few adult women with that name, it’s not a common combination, but he gets over a hundred hits. Even filtering down to anyone adult, somewhat blonde, somewhat fair skinned still means around thirty women. He tries another route. A Veronica James arrived by flight from Vancouver, before checking into the hotel. Tracking backwards, he finds a record of a flight Chicago – Vancouver, then all the way back to Portsmouth, New Hampshire. And there the trail ends. Flip’s documentary is in danger, so he applies for a visa to Korea, books a trip to Anchorage, figuring he’ll try interviewing witnesses. The night before heading out, something niggling that had been simmering below the surface finally hatches. It asks him: “What’s in Portsmouth?” He gets up in the early am, unable to sleep, drags out his laptop. The Navy. HQ. BINGO! There is a Veronica James listed, Captain in the Administrative Corps. She’s listed as deceased, last summer, during the war, overlap with the hotel bombing. Her picture is very official and strict – uniform, hat, horn-rimmed glasses, bit of dishwater blonde hair showing. Firm stare, unsmiling mouth. Late thirties. No social media, few if any other pictures online, a few group pictures from her job, an obituary from an Episcopalian church, mentioning being missed by the choir, the charity group, and how she was a good listener who could always be depended on. Flip runs a hand through his hair. Huh? This does not at all sound like a woman who would be abducted for sleazy reasons. Her phone is disconnected – of course it is. He checks online street view for an address he digs up – a quiet, red brick middleclass apartment area. Nothing too prominent, nothing too run down. Still googling while on the flight, he finds a notice from UCSF, a navy scholarship. She seems to be from the west coast. Still doesn’t explain Alaska. What was she doing in Anchorage?
He arrives at the airport in Anchorage. Security is armed, and all signs are suddenly bilingual, even trilingual, but not much different from any other American airport. The stars and stripes are conspicuously missing, but bunting in the same colours remain, and the Korean flag is flying in its place. Checks in, the girl at the reception desk, Kiki by her name tag, is quietly suspicious and dodges his questions. Strange, it hasn’t been a year since the war, and the locals are wary of Americans, though they are talking to each other. But there isn’t really fear, though people avoid obviously armed military, just a sense of caution. First thing is getting hold of the mayor, he was in the original clip too. The mayor’s office is fairly basic for a town this size. It has the Korean flag, not the US, and what looks like an easy learning workbook in their alphabet on his desk. Coffee rings everywhere. The radio is doing some upbeat pop, partly in English, partly in something else. He’s somewhat short with Flip, this isn’t the first-time television people have been at him. But Flip figures he’ll ask from the other direction, not about a missing woman, but what life is like in the territory now, afterwards. And only gradually work his way back to that day on the pier. Life is fine, mostly, given everything. The town is getting financing to rebuild the port area. Unemployment is down. Early stages on building a water park. There haven’t been major conflicts been locals and occupiers – some drunk altercations, someone getting bit by a dog, everyday petty crime. When Flip presses, to the point of the mayor almost getting annoyed, there is a firm no on the question of similar assaults.
“Look. I know what you’re after. You just want to air something. But there really hasn’t been any worse than any other winter this year. Their troops are really disciplined, and mostly stay away from the locals. There are always some working girls who will run after fresh money, but no trouble. Assaults, disappearances. Nothing the police would be interested in.”
“So that case in August was an anomaly, then?”
The mayor is giving him a boy, if I had a nickel for every time that I had to retell this story look, but confirms that by what he knows, that’s the only case. “Did you know her?” Shake of his head
“As far as I know, she’s a tourist. No idea why she was at the harbour that day. She even pushed through the crowd to stand in front.” On looks he confirms her hiking clothes, backpack – like in the clip – guesses ponytail. “And she was singing. Loud.” This is total news to Flip. Never covered anywhere in the vlogosphere.
“You know what she was singing?” Mayor shakes his head.
“It rings a bell, reminded me of something, but no idea.” pause “Try asking Greg Petrov, over at Sparks Electrics next street over. He was the guy who helped me interpret.” A bit more digging nets him the information that Greg Petrov, formerly Peters, “the guy switched to his old Russian name after last summer, there’re these something-something Russians everywhere, Greg even talks about getting a job out west, on the across. Industrial. Anyway” and that he might know more. Greg Petrov, ex-Peters, is a trim guy in a clean hoodie with an Electricians are connected print, round wire-rim glasses, and hiking boots, not too keen on talking to Flip, since he’s at work but sighs and agrees. Yes, he had been on the pier that day, he’d been at work close by. He’d interpreted for the mayor, that Korean guy had spoken Russian like a native, hadn’t looked that hostile, just busy.
“It was like Anchorage was just a stop on a long list, like they had places to go. Just wanted us confirmed as not hostile before moving on.”
Flip feels like no journalist or media has bothered talking to this guy before. No, the officer hadn’t looked like scum. Tired but professional, could have been US Navy. Greg shrugs. Besides, it was the Northern Fleet and they’re good with Russians. How did you know that? Greg looks slightly annoyed.
“Dude, really?” He pulls up the original clip. “See that? That red star on the bow is their Northern Fleet, based in Magadan. That’s Korean Russia.”
“And the singing?” It is taking a chance.
“Singing? Oh, right. That woman.” He snorts “Media is full of idiots. She walked right up, like ten feet away from me, like she was waiting her turn.”
“Her turn? What do you me …? Can you tell me what you thought of her, what she was like?”
“Told you, like waiting. When the guy started to walk off, she started signing their navy song. Hymn. Whatever.”
“Huh?”
“I doubt she was American, because that navy thing is in Russian, and she was all fluent. No American accent.” Flips mind is flipping out. “She grabbed his flag, without being told how to, and switched languages. The guy looked like she had stuck his dick in an electric socket. I don’t speak Korean so no idea what she was saying.” Flip felt like shaking Greg by the collar and screaming.
“She spoke Korean?”
“Or something. Told you I don’t speak the lingo. But they understood her.”
“Then what happened?”
“She showed the guy something, I didn’t get a good look. But he shooed her onboard right away”
“No force? No threat?”
“Didn’t look or sound like that. Everyone ran straight back onboard, and they headed out, making waves like some old Roadrunner comic.” Greg flips through his phone again “It was this song; you can always look up the lyrics. Very catchy.”
Flip Herriman is sitting in a diner, staring ahead, a coffee mug cooling untouched in front of him. From what Greg Petrov said, there was no abduction. She left voluntarily. No, more than that, she actively asked to leave. The music in his headphones is rising and falling, patriotic strains in Russian, on a loop, the translated lyrics scrolling past on the bottom of his screen. Motherland, our shore, it’s hard to imagine it’s not a dream. Motherland, our home, farewell motherland. He looks at the picture of her naval obituary. Collected. Professional. Ordinary. Nothing in any record anywhere to indicate a Russian connection, much less Korean. But Petrov said the singing was unaccented. And whatever she had said or shown them had had enough force to make a Korean naval ship act like the roadrunner. The Northern Fleet. Fleet. Portsmouth. The connection was lining up perfectly, a connection unspotted by media so far, because no one else had bothered speaking to a plain electrician from Anchorage. She is just too perfect. Too inconspicuous. Veronica James must have been an agent. An agent for the American navy. That’s the only way she would have had time to study those languages. She had a naval scholarship in college, been serving ever since. An administrative position. That could cover a lot of secret training. Flip felt a quick rush of admiration for whomever had planned this, had trained this woman, and for his country. How to proceed? He had enough material to throw together a documentary flipping the narrative to the abducted woman being special agent Veronica James of the US Navy. An hour of that would certainly be noticed, and he would be able to milk the program for at least a year, maybe more. The lure of quick money is seesawing in his mind against not wishing to damage whatever secret operations is going on. He’s going to need more confirmations before making the call either way. Digging through records is his forte, so he sets out to confirm his conjecture. He finishes his visit to Korea, taking pictures and videos, interviewing more people, especially around the hotel, the remains of which is being demolished, a signpost in three languages claiming the site will host an adult learning facility. There is a white flower underneath the text, with no further explanations. He makes a lot of sketches and doodles. On the return flight, he watches the coast against the sea, picture perfect stillness. Flip digs through his various contacts, trying to find someone within the US navy who would be willing to give him a real interview. He gets bounced about quite a lot, before someone who knows someone gives him the info to contact now heroically discharged Commander Markham, who is still in medical rehabilitation from the war injuries, mainly burns that he suffered as his ship went down in the Aleutian Sea.
They meet up in San Francisco, at a decent but discrete restaurant with a good view of the bay. Quite a lot of careful watching from both sides.
“Mr Herriman, I rarely talk to people from the media like this. I have had no reason to during my career. It is a pleasant thing for you to buy me dinner, but you do realise there are still things I am not a leisure to discuss with you?”
“Commander, I respect that. I hope I will not ask you anything that you are not permitted to divulge. I am researching a documentary about the war, about the fate of one woman thought to be dead.” At Markham’s nod he continues “Commander, would you please tell me what you know about Veronica James?” Startled
“What? Veronica James?” But she …” A pause “Captain James is someone I used to be acquainted with in the service. She held an administrative position at HQ. Unless you find out from other sources, I am not at liberty to tell you what. She died at the shelling of Anchorage last August.” “Acquainted. Did you know her well?” A slight shake of his head.
“I don’t think anyone did. A very private person. We would have a coffee, sometimes lunch, once in a while when I was over on the East Coast. Splendid listener. Intellectual. Mature. She was someone who when you talked to her made you reassess and restructure your thinking.” A slow sigh “I miss her.”
“Did you date? If I may ask.”
“No, not in the sense you think. You don’t date subordinates. I never thought she wanted to move past friendship anyway. As I said, a very private person.” Flip spreads out his material on the table between them.
“What if I tell you that she never died? I have good reason to believe she survived that bombing. I found leads in Alaska, as I was writing about something else entirely.” This is of course something of a white lie – he was writing about the abduction, and only came to the surmise later on. So, he explains what he has uncovered so far, about the missing body, about tracking her flight route back to Portsmouth and finding out her background.
“So, you say no one found her body. The site is being rebuilt as we speak.” pause “You know more.” An observation, not a question.
“For the rest, I have no proof, only conjecture. But there is one documented case of an unidentified woman being abducted from Anchorage, during the war. The dates fit, and the video evidence doesn’t contradict her physical description.” Stunned silence “Commander Markham, is there any possibility, at all, that Veronica James was a special operation agent for our armed forces?” A silence even more stunned.
“Veronica an agent? What? What makes you think that?”
“Because I have a witness, on record. Someone who watched this so far unknown woman walk up to a Korean navy officer, speak in Russian and presumably Korean and leave with them. The witness speaks Russian, so I have a translation.”
“That is impossible. Veronica only went to Alaska because I told her to.” Absolute silence, except for the other diners. Flip’s mind is going at light speed.
“So, she was under your orders?”
“No, of course not. She was from Alaska originally, I just advised her to go on vacation there.”
“Into a warzone? Vacation?”
“Look, you journalists are all the same. It was just a suggestion. At the time, the war was only in the Atlantic, and she was just secretarial staff. Not someone who couldn’t be replaced.” annoyed snort “At the time, no one thought the gooks were going to jump us.” Flip leans forward over the table.
“But you suspected they would. No one listened. So, you sent an agent to Alaska.” Markham half stares, half glares at him.
“Are you certifiably insane? I did no such thing.”
“Did you oversee her language training?”
“Of course not.”
“Right. There are special tutors for those things. Gives you the ability to deny any question.” Markham leans back, shaking his head in an everyone around me is nuts gesture.
“Listen. I may have been concerned about the Koreans. I have spent a lot of time in the Pacific, and I know what they did to the Japanese over Tsushima. I also know they had the firepower to be a danger if they chose to use it. None of those facts are classified, and I am retired.” gestures to his crutch. “But I was a line officer, I had nothing to do with agents, infiltration, or anything of that sort.” The key word infiltration is used, and the ferrets of Flip’s brain go chasing madly down that rabbit hole instead.
“So, you found someone you knew, someone private and reliable, someone no one would suspect, someone from Alaska, that I have on record being able to speak Russian and presumably Korean, to send across enemy lines. My only question is” dramatic pause “What made Veronica James agree to let you gamble with her life like that?” Markham stands up, in contained fury.
“You are out of line. I feel bad enough having lost a friend for making an innocent suggestion. Captain James is dead, the war is lost, and we have all paid for that.” pause “Thank you for dinner, Mr Herriman. I do not believe we have any further to say to each other.” He storms out, as fast as prosthetics and a crutch will allow him. Flip Herriman feels totally vindicated. He has confirmation from the US Navy that Veronica James was indeed an American agent. Only question is how to slant the documentary. The resulting program ends up identifying the woman missing from the hotel as Veronica James, detailing her as a navy officer of good standing, who just happened to be in the wrong spot at the wrong time. He asks if it was a case of bad luck, or if it was something more, playing clips superposed by American flags faintly waving the breeze, and a faint image of her formal portrait. It’s all a masterpiece of conjecture bordering on conspiracy theory, which is further helped by the US navy stonewalling at any follow up questions.
Within a week of the airing, the mayor of Anchorage receives a visit from a pleasant royal guardsman, speaking Midwestern American, who politely suggests that it would be in everyone’s interest if the matter is closed now. The dignity of the royal navy, donchaknow? He drinks tea, compliments the changes the town is going through and leaves as quietly as he arrived. Any further questions to the mayor are met by:
“no further comments. I do not wish to embarrass the Royal Navy,” which adds further fuel to the conspiracy theorists’ fire. Gregoriy Vassilivich Petrov is offered a decent job and language classes in Okhotsk and vanishes into the Across, never to be heard of in Alaska again, thereby destroying any chance to investigate further. Over in Busan, Pyeha and Vera would have preferred if Veronica James had vanished without a trace, but this works too. At least it muddles the waters further.
(All the marked islands from Midway south are Japanese in this AU, and also the rest of Polynesia , like New Caledonia, Fiji, Samoa, Tonga, Cook Islands and Atotearoa), everything except New Guinea, Indonesia, and Malaysia is contested.
The Northlands and the war in Siberia – 2046-47. It’s a known fact that the Northlands, with its focal country of Sweden-Finland and capital Stockholm, is the most fractious, insolent, derisive and overall annoying-to-the-Tsar region of the Russian Empire. At the same time, it is highly valued for its strategic position, including half of the gate of Ice. But there is also oil (not so much developed, as there are other sources in Siberia), its farmlands and mines and the high-tech industry, innovative spirit, excellent research, and wide-ranging literature. There is still a Nobel prize in this universe too. The lingua franca is Russian, but the local population make a point in keeping their own languages, cultural traditions, the Lutheran church is in firm opposition and clings to its western roots, liturgy, and human rights interpretations. The sobriety movement and coffee instead of vodka or tea is an important resistance signifier, and so are the various people’s social movements, including cooperative ventures, lending libraries and social democracy. To summarize: the place is generally keeping its non-Russian-ness alive, and it does so with a middle finger to the face. Everyone fears the Cheka, of course they do, but at the same time they are being ridiculed and taken the piss out of. There is a regional parliament with little power, but that is the nucleus of the change to come. It has subordinate parliaments in the four constituent parts of the Northlands: Sweden, Finland, Norway and Sapmi. In general, the upper-upper are pro-Russian: upper nobility, such as it is, and the industrialist-oligarchs. We’ve seen the equivalent of homegrown social democracy, in grassroot organisation that stretches back a century, and there is a hunger for change in large parts of society. Humour-programs ridiculing the Russians are everywhere, and the wearing of pins become quiet signs of the Resistance, cf the King of Denmark during WWII. The Muscovites retaliate by stricter laws, despoiling and defacing national treasures, attempts at suppressing the languages and generally making themselves even more unpopular. Par for the gopnik course. We’ve had people like Dag Hammarskjöld and Olof Palme. Astrid Lindgren does a stint in Irkutsk for writing the Brothers Lionheart.The Northlanders tend to end up representing Russia in international affairs and boards – they are frequent visitors in Tibet, which may be a forum where they run across the Koreans – and are building a quiet reputation for themselves as being reasonably, factual and generally easy to deal with. Being Nordics, they also end up being great at infiltrating bureaucracies of all kinds and have made an artform and a national pastime out of malicious compliance. Vicious mockery is both a national hobby and a cultural duty. Most of this is unorganised, but the Resistance is growing, one petty atrocity at a time.
Karolina and Erik Vasa, their parents the powerless King & Queen of Sweden-Finland.
After the repeated oopsie with Minji, there is some serious soul-searching and conversations in the Korean Court. Given how Korean society works, and how the Court functions, they will need to bring in a wangsejabi, a Crown Princess, a lot sooner than anyone considered. Byeol is much loved by everyone, driven, competent, generous, great sense of humour, but he has a chaotic streak Given both his parents, the combination of intelligence with the Tae headstrongness, and the decisiveness and daring on both sides, he’s a bit of a loose cannon. He needs someone who not only can act the Queen but actually be the Queen and manage the advisory board and heir raising functions of Court. Those managerial skills are one aspect, she must also be self-assured enough and willing to take a fight, and win, to keep him in line. The general feeling is that they can’t wait until he’s in his early 30s as would be a regular way of handling this. Who knows what will happen by then? <fx: emoji chewing on nails> Byeol himself, on being presented with a verging on King’s Order official voice, reluctantly agrees, including with the personal criticism. That he’s going to need help, unless he matures very fast, and if they start looking early, they’ll find someone they can train, and that allows them to grow comfortable in their official roles before the whole edifice lands in their laps. As far as he’s concerned, this is a job recruitment more than a love match, he needs an equal partner for his future job. He already has the beginning of a family, though his parents and madam aunties do their best to squash any more of that. At this point he’s in his early-mid-twenties, then the war with the United States happens when he’s 25. Part of the issue is that available ladies in the region would to a huge % throw themselves at the Crown Prince of Korea, instead of trying to be an equal match. On top of this, much of the historical conservative culture in the region and neighbouring areas also complicates any selection. He’s going to need someone who can do to him what Vera did to his father in writing, or his mother’s stabbiness, and actually speak truth to power, then follow it up by not being physically intimidated. Byeol is over 190, massive without being bulky but with soft edges (Hoyeol and Gyeol (and Hiro) are the skinner brothers, though in different ways – Hoyeol (and Hiro to a lesser degree) tall and athletic, Gyeol slightly shorter and more scholarly, if sporty), muscularly athletic, military background and with a hot temper and a loud voice if needed. On top of that he’s educated, intelligent (INT more than WIS, in D&D-terms) and has the family strong, good looks. He is a nice guy in general, no question, but too imposing and dominant to be a dreamboat, too used to his position to the point of being entitled, and a lot of his surroundings either fold like deckchairs or go into hero worship. His two children love him to the end of the earth, and An Minji is in a trembling puppy love state. The character inspired by him in Sunrise, Sunset isn’t that far off, after all. Pyeha has a series of conversations with his eldest son about his personality, about control slipping, maturity and generally not getting himself into hot water. He tells Byeol he’s more ready than he himself was, but then he was an 8-year-old who lost his entire family overnight. He uses the imagery of a young, headstrong, dominant stallion, trained to the saddle but not yet in tune with the rider, which in this case is the Kingdom. If the situation isn’t addressed in time, if he doesn’t get a stronger bridle in gentle but firm hands, he could bolt and buck, and smash the Kingdom to pieces. They are both equestrians and horse breeders, so the parable makes sense to both of them, they love their country and each other, it’s a hard discussion to have but they make it through to the other side.
At first the YM are looking at the selection in the Kingdom, then in the neighbouring countries, but some parameters are always off. Above all, the candidates fail on the combination of acceptable rank and manners, while at the same time being forceful, dedicated, and able to stand up for themselves. Or they are too young, or too old. <fx: Pongo looking out the window in Disney’s 101 Dalmatians> There are any number of bitchy women pre-blind-dated – they don’t even know that they are being under scrutiny – that he’s made to meet during various events and parties, and thoroughly nix. Nope, no, double-nope, and absolutely not! <fx: Cuzco’s bride selection process> The YM have, after five-six years of national and international search which included sending multiple agents abroad, pinpointed Princess Karolina as the best option to rein in the loose cannon seja, in the combination of personality, ability – she’s 1-2 semesters from graduating as a MD – and inherited rank – after all, discounting Russian rule, she’s a Princess of a country as old as Korea itself. She doesn’t speak Korean, but she does speak Russian, because of course she does. Queen Yangmi uses her German-Danish contacts to confirm the analysis of the state of the Northland politics and the Princess in general. However, this is technically Russia, she’s also, through her grandmother, second cousin to the Romanov Tsar, they have a living grand duchess, grandmother’s sister, and neither country involved would even begin to accept a Korean saju. There is no way Russia would be in the mood to allow this approach by a generally hostile nation, especially one that sucker-punched their ally just recently. The YM’s presentation describes her as someone devoted to family, country and her people, someone intelligent, well-organised and with a backbone and high standards. Someone not likely under any circumstance to consider a contractual relationship, more so because contractual or arranged marriages are not common in the Northlands, so she might take a bit of convincing. Also, she’s not likely to keel over if he flashes his title at her, <fx: Shania Twain’s That don’t impress me much> even though she – given politics – has no real reason to be negative towards the Kingdom. In short, something of a challenge. To Pyeha and Tae Jiwon, the summary says high risk, high reward, especially since she’s an MD – they haven’t had a royal family physician since Lee Jon-il Daegon passed away – and a Romanov cousin, and as far as something arranged goes: under no circumstances could a modern Queen of Korea be reluctant or be forced into the position. Especially since this would be the third generation where the top royalty is in practice a duo. So, they figure bringing in the big gun himself (now that was an utter dad joke!) and see if Byeol can charm her into considering this. After all, they know perfectly well he can charm women into drooling after him, he’s handsome, genuinely attractive and they have the unplanned grandchildren to prove it. <fx: The American President: “Sydney, the man is the leader of the free world. He’s brilliant, funny, handsome. He’s an above-average dancer. Isn’t it possible our standards are just a tad high?”>
(Comment: Just so that no one thinks Byeol has mommy issues: Jiwon and Karo are both intense people, but Jiwon was always the quieter one, even within family, the work smarter, not harder type, who was pretty much the afterthought in her family. I’d have her pegged as an ENTJ of the less intense kind before she finds the role that suits her while Karo is the more obvious extrovert from the get-to. If they were dogs, then Jiwon is the Great Pyrenese to Karo’s Malinois – both might bite you hard, but they have different energies.)
In time for the autumn semester of 2046 Byeol goes undercover as Li Xin Xin, researcher from the Heavenly republic, in Stockholm, with thoroughly fake papers. Xin Xin means star in Chinese but is sounds decidedly ridiculous in Swedish. The plan is that his task is to actively sus out Karo, decide if she’s what the YM and the Saxons believe, if they would suit in real life and not just on paper, and find out what it would take to convince her. Also put an ear to the ground in regard to the will of defiance in the Northlands – it’s multipurpose espionage. Pyeha isn’t happy about sending raccoon energy Byeol on a mission like this – it’s dangerous, risky, and uncertain – and he puts Byeol on notice that this is his one last chance in fixing the issues they’ve been having himself. The next step will definitely involve the official voice, to the point of considering switching sejas. Byeol and Hoyeol are equally utterly horrified. A Historian is present for this conversation, and the threat goes straight into the royal annals. On the other hand, he promises his eldest son his full backing. As in full. Everything in the power of the house of Lee and the Kingdom of Korea, if Byeol clinches the deal and convinces her to agree. <fx: Voiceover: The Koreans are seriously underestimating Karo, the Vasas and the Swedes. This will backfire. Oh, will it ever>. Pyeha also gives Lee Hoyeol a heads-up that things could go really wrong, and he may end up seja if his hyeung dies. Now, Lee Hoyeol is firmly on board with anything that keeps himself off the throne, and that includes finding a better sister-in-law, and keeping his dumbass big brother alive, so he backs this wacky plan, after sitting his brother down and talking this through. The brothers are going to stay in close touch during this caper, for emotional support and practical advice.
Karolina (Karo, Lina Karolovna/Linushka to her Russian cousins) Vasa is born 2021, in the Uppland countryside outside Stockholm, to the grand duke and duchess Vasa, the powerless King and Queen of Sweden. She has an older brother, Erik, and grew up in the green countryside, something like Österbybruks manor, in a relaxed and happy family. Her father works as a theoretical physicist at the Royal College of Technology, her mother mainly runs their manor. They raise Gotland Russ for harness racing, north-swedes for agroforestry and Ardennes for general heavy farmwork, horses being somewhat more common on farms than in our timeline, the mining industry and smelt works are long gone. She goes to high school in Uppsala – Cathedral school – and studies for her MD at Karolinska Institute in Stockholm, planning to graduate in spring 2047. Her brother has a degree in agroforestry from Royal University of Agriculture and have plans to take over the manor. Beside selling horses, hay, dairy and greenhouse vegetables, the manor produces honey, eggs, fruit, and berries, and raises heritage breeds of general farm animals, including goats, pigs, Gotland-sheep, chicken and ducks. They have Norwegian forest cats and lapinkoira herding dogs. Their Lucia, Christmas and Midsummer celebrations are national events, religiously televised. The Vasas fund folk music, instruments such as Hardanger fiddle and nyckelharpa, and traditional dances, such as the Hälsinge hambo. The castle in Stockholm is divided between being a museum and being the reception area for the Imperial authorities and state visits. Drottningholm is the property of the Tsar family, the Vasas tend to be invited around Epiphany/Russian Christmas, unless they are required to formally attend in Moscow or St Petersburg. The family is small, and very much aware that if they so much as twitch, then something horrible will happen to them, defenestration being the least gruesome alternative. At the same time, they are a dedicated part of the cultural resistance, and take pride in being Northlanders. The Svea Livgarde royal guards still exist, in part as a special group within the Imperial armed forces, but largely undercover as a security force. They organise the very unofficial ranger training – mountain, field and coastal – beneath the nose of the occupiers, and the Finns do the hunting clubs, also known as sniper training.
Karo is tall (180), honey blonde cheek-length bob, azure blue eyed – classic Nordic looks, which outsiders often view as beautiful, and Nordics view as ordinary. She’s another equestrian, with a soft spot for her long maned Ardennes-horses, but currently lives in Stockholm for her studies. Enjoys her studies, generally fit without being bulky: tall, generally broad – she’s proportional, not skinny, not fat, just runs large sizes. Known for striding at a brisk clip. Plays football in summer, badminton year-round, occasional jogging, plays enough piano for social settings. She’s social with plenty of friends, and active in various student bodies, mainly of the non-partying kind. Smart, self-assured, fair, ready to argue her point and stand toe-to-toe with men – the slight unbidden chauvinism of women’s sports – with an interest in political debate. Non-party social-democrat political debate, of the justice, equality, human rights, and absolute instantaneous independence from Russia kind. She is the kind of person who is president and on the board in many clubs and associations, not because she necessarily strives to, but she’s enthusiastic and committed, and people will nominate her. Karo can be slightly, ahem, intimidating when her enthusiasm flares up or if she’s convinced that she’s right, and men around her vacillate between being attracted and staying very clear. Moths drawn to flame might get swatted, after all. Has dated a bit but is too focused on her studies and on her generally busy life to have decided that this is an area she needs to focus on. Karo is one walking friendzone, possibly because she wants to be impressed, she wants an equal partner who can stand up to her and vice versa, and so far, she hasn’t run across anyone up to spec. Her standards may indeed be a tad high, or else she scares the possible partners into running. The local press has paired her with any number of various celebrities to sell copy, but none of this has ever turned out to be true. She’s not one of those robust people who secretly wants to be treated like a babydoll made of spun sugar, she really does want a hands-on, partner-in-crime type of guy, cf Ellinore’s Sasha. Some people quietly envy her, and thus dislike her, but everyone agrees she is someone who is going places, including her Russian cousins, who are in two minds how they feel about those places politically, since she might just decide to virtually grab people by the scruff of their necks and take them with her. She makes people want to measure up to her standards without even trying to, especially second Cousin Misha, and it’s easy to somewhat resent that. Never a bully in the physical sense but might at times unintentionally trample right over someone’s tiny emotions or narcissistic ego, not because she is trying to hurt anyone, more because she doesn’t notice. Smile for the cameras isn’t her thing, but she’s not actively against doing publicity stunts if doing so benefits what she’s trying to achieve, including political theatre. When it comes to her medical studies, she has more the profile of ER or Intensive care than an avuncular doctor at some local clinic. On top of this she has PTSD, mostly triggered by car rides, because of her uncle and her older brother being murdered by the cheka in front of her when she was four years old. Gorily murdered, lots of screaming. The perpetrators were under orders not to physically damage her in any way – no touching, no bruising, no staining, but were free to scare her senseless. Which they did, including putting a gun into her mouth and pretending to shoot her, nearly suffocating her with a plastic bag and verbal abuse. Once they left her with the mangled bodies, she was whimpering curled into a foetal position and wouldn’t speak for days. She has had good therapy as a kid, and she’s mostly fine. But car rides, especially driven by non-family, in the backseat, and in big formal cars sometimes cause flashbacks and spark panic attacks. She’s ok driving herself, and it’s better if she gets to sit in front. She does not take a taxi if she can avoid it. This has been kept very much hidden – her family knows, and her closest guards know “Princess Karolina might have issues with long car rides”. Stress and driving at night make the risk more likely. She’s too earnest to be pretentious. Physically demonstrative: will hug friends, pat people, and smack morons up the head. Prefers beer to fancy cocktails. A tussler, a snowball thrower and someone who would push a friend off a dock, as long as she knew the water was safe. She’s not dressing like a tomboy or butch, more classically stylish – shirt & sweater, trousers, sleek boots – well-put-together, even if not latest fashion. Will look fine in rubber boots, mucking out a stable and will rock a lab coat. Wears the Vasa sheaf and the three crowns, pointedly, in public. She’s a little too intense to be happy-go-lucky, but she’s got a sense of humour, and can be funny in the right context. Enjoys things like hanging out with friends on a dock, with a guitar and beer, the unpretentiousness of it. Will sing Christmas carols but won’t touch karaoke with a ten-foot pole. Her brother is pretty similar to her, but less confrontational, he’s more the one set on keeping the country and the family running, the ESFJ. Karo would be an ENTJ/ENFJ, a Gryffindor or in the undying words of the movie The American President: “The woman has no fear. She would lobby the Carolinas for the American Lung Association.” She is courageous not because she lacks fear or because she is doing things that scare others, but because it is the right thing to do, even if doing so will hurt herself. In short, she’s a bit much for general consumption. An acquired taste. And we’re about to witness what happens when two dominant ENTJ and ENTP collide, including an uprising, a war in Siberia, political upheaval in the Kremlin, and a makeover of the Korean Court, because this will be an even stronger power couple than Pyeha x Tae Jiwon if they make it work. If is the operative word here.
Byeol’s documentation hinges on the Korean sleeper agent, Associate Professor Julia Konstantinovna Zaitseva at KI, who invited him as a postgraduate researcher to her team. She’s not totally happy about this, because it may blow her research and her cover both, but she’s not about to argue. He gets an apartment second hand for himself, Man-Bok the Yakuza, Min U-Won the Historian, and the two Slivoviki Andriushka and Alyosha, who are his bodyguards and general fixers. WHERE? (Karo uses the family’s 2-room apartment in the Old Town) Stockholm is a bit of a revelation to him – it’s so different from anywhere in the Kingdom, from Japan, despite being at least as liberal and Tibet, sort of different from Alaska, even from Germany. It’s relaxed, beautiful, life flows, you get around speaking Russian – though he can tell that’s not popular – food is weird but ok, there’s excellent beer, the sea, and islands, even in late September are beautiful. And there’s the stunning Karolina Karlovna who was representing the student committee – this was orchestrated by Professor Zaitseva who demanded this – at his reception and introduction as a foreign researcher. She was giving him pamphlets and asking about interests, like what clubs to apply to, advising on housing, getting around on the metro and other helpful things. He manages to ask in passing what activities and clubs she takes part in, and definitely signs up for the same things. She’s of course under the impression he’s from the extremely repressed and fundamentalist Heavenly Republic, so she helpfully includes the addresses to places like his embassy, the local Taiping congregation, the Republic expat club, a Chinese restaurant, where to buy a bicycle and so on. Tells him to be careful with money, not because he’d get robbed but because the availability of well-stocked shops and good food – she’s seen this happen to Republican expats before. To someone from Busan, and with unlimited credit, this advice is laughable, but at the same time, he respects what she’s trying to do for him. She’s immediately tagged as a good person in his eyes, someone who cares for those in need. He asks about a gym, she gives him a Huh? look – apparently that was an unexpected question but gives him directions to the free one the students are using and mentions there is a joint outdoor jogging group twice a week, that she is a part of.
“It’s a nice way of meeting people outside the lab, to get some air. Sometimes we have dinner and or two beers afterwards, though that somewhat defeats the purpose.”
He instantly signs up for that, gets her phone number so she can text him details on the next meet-up, directions etc. She tells him the students are on informal terms throughout the campus – she’s fine with Karolina Karlovna, but most people call her Karo. He instantly says he’s happy to be on informal terms with her, and with the other students, too, and that she may call him whatever comes to mind, he won’t take offence. His first impression of Karo, apart from her general cool friendliness and caring bustle, is noticing that she’s almost as tall as he is, with soft swishy hair, that stunning Northland colouration, and despite her height she looks sturdy, as if someone pushed her, she wouldn’t break or cry: to him, she’s simply the hottest person ever to carry a clipboard. He has never realised he had a type before, all his life he has been available to all and any (Comment: he’s exaggerating just slightly, he does have standards, like consent, un-attachedness and hygiene, but he turns down women on their personality, almost never on appearance) but now tall, big, strong is engraved on his hormonal switchboard. Karo for her part thought Mr Li Xin Xin looked slightly impatient with her presentation, as if he didn’t understand why any of it was relevant for him – Oh, well, he’d find out – but it was a good sign that he seemed interested in student activities, too many of the Taiping exchange students and researchers kept to their own compatriots and only rarely ventured out among general society. His Russian was excellent, almost as a native speaker, in fact borderline better than hers, again unusual. She reminds herself to give a compliment on this, next time they run across each other. Apparently, he had found housing on his own, or the Professor had helped him. She must have helped him shop too, because in her experience, his clothes were just a bit too, how to put it, well-fitting, you could tell the quality of the tailoring, even if they were modest enough for the Taiping, because the earlier researchers she had run across had all been scrimping, saving and wouldn’t recognize classic fashion if it hit them in the face with a hockey stick. Nice shoes that must have cost a month’s wages in Tianjing. Excellent dentistry showed when he smiled, and either he had been blessed by a fairy godmother with great genes or he followed the meticulous skincare routine as a top model. Or both. And he works out. As for looks, he ticks any number of the boxes she didn’t even knew she had, but for now she’s in admire from a distance mode, she has classes, a meeting with the library committee, and anyway he might show up for the jogging group. Over the next few days until Friday, they barely run across each other. She does her usual busy things, he pretends to do research, while – with the help of his four musketeers – trying to build a plan for how to get to know the elusive Karolina better. They meet with the jogging team in the parkland behind the university, she’s impressed that he manages to easily keep up with the pace, and notices that he has modern quality sportswear and shoes. Again, that’s unexpected. They end up running side by side, not talking, she has headphones, just silent company. Afterwards, most of the team head out for bistro and a beer, they get to talk lightly about this and that, like the area they had been running in, her playlist of music, she asks how come he’s into working out – actually blurts out why he’s so fit, then reels back the slightly too intimate question with a “What I meant was” – he says it’s a holdover from military service, would be a waste not to keep the habit. She adds military service to the puzzle, because while she knows that the Taiping does indeed enforce military service, just like Russia, it sounds quite entitled from what she knows of their society to be able to keep up with gym and jogging both. He asks her about sports, he’s not into football, but agrees it’s a great summer sport, but perks up when she mentions playing badminton for fun in the cold season. He offers to play if she ever finds herself out of a coplayer, not because he’s great at it, but it’s a good all-round complement to weight training. Of course, he’s going to practice MMA with his slivoviki and knife fighting with Man-Bok, but no need to mention that to her. This sets the pattern for the next month or so, they meet on and off for working out, have a few beers, chat – loudly and animated on a variety of random topics, though not very personal. It’s to the point where people notice, both because she is who she is, both as a student and in society in general – including being this charming and chatty, it’s more common for her to be forceful and chatty – but also because they make a photogenic couple, and they take up all available oxygen and space in any room. There are a couple of pictures, but it’s mainly covered along the line of the Princess of Sweden being social and active. Their interaction spreads from working out, to Byeol joining in her other activities, as long as they’re not wholly in one of the Nordic languages. Karo spots some of the bratvas, correctly identifies them as tame mafiosi, and questions Byeol on his preferences, offering clubs and introductions. After all, if he indeed is from the very repressed Heavenly Republic, breathes the freer air of Russian Stockholm and shares an apartment with 3-4 hunky men, it’s a possible conclusion to draw. He protests fiercely, that no, they are just splitting the rent, and he’s aware of his preferences, thank you very much. Karo here is both being helpful in a pushy way, slightly messing with him to get a reaction, but also, possibly subconsciously, checking his stance and reactions on the matter. For private reasons, just good to know. Ahem. At one point they’re at lunch at some campus eatery, next to each other, him with an arm easy but not touching on the back of her chair, a couple of other friends along, when her second Cousin Misha walks in and joins for lunch. He’s of course Mikhail Ivanovich Romanov, the tsar’s kid brother, and for Russian politics a bleeding-heart liberal and reformer, currently studying government science and economics in Stockholm. Here he’s trying to get a private word with Karo, she snaps at him that he gets no special treatment just because he’s family, and he can speak to her then and there. Byeol is watching carefully: not only is this about Karo, but he’s getting a direct view on the inner workings of the Romanov family. Misha tells them that Karo should be more careful, she’s drawing attention to herself, and so far, big brother Alexey has nixed suggestions to teach her a lesson. She scoffs and points out that he’s wearing his Georgie again, the red-and-white pin of St George that signifies the Princedom of Muscovy, (Comment: she’s sarcastic in choice of word, that’s not the correct name of the pin) instead of the Imperial one, and he only has the guts to do that here, that he doesn’t have the backbone to stand up to his brother, and that change means actually stepping up to face the consequences. He reminds her that he’s offered to marry her to protect her – Byeol jumps as if needled – and Karo tells Misha absolutely not, so just shut up. For one thing – she counts on her fingers – they are second cousins so yuck! Secondly, she’s not into him that way, at all, like no chemistry, so drop it. Third, in what universe did he think that would protect her from the cheka if the Kremlin wanted her silenced and gone? And fourth, she just might be interested in someone else, and that is none of his business, either. Misha appeals silently to the rest of the diners, who just shake their heads. They know Karo and recognize the dressing down he’s getting. They agree with her analysis that it just wouldn’t help protect her, so what’d be the point? Besides, for all his progressive views, he’s ultimately Russian and a potential backstabber in their eyes. Misha is someone who truly admires his cousin for her political courage and personal honesty. He’ll follow where she leads, though that’s not something he’d willingly admit. Byeol latches onto the statement might be interested in someone else, because he knows she hasn’t really been hanging out with anyone else in particular, so that is a major thing for someone as prone to friend-zoning people as Karo to admit. As expected, she’s blurting this out in temper, not in a confess-her-feelings way. He is going to keep his eye on the competition, but it’s very clear where Karo stands on this guy. But the threat against Karo, and that Moscow is getting antsy about the Northlands, is more concerning to him. The clock seems to be ticking down towards repression. Lee Hoyeol tries to calm him down, telling him to focus on his girl who sounds really good for him, when he rants at his brother later over the phone.
In late October, they find themselves alone on the jogging outing, not on purpose, everyone was just busy. He asks if she wants to go for a run like they normally would, or for once skip ahead and go grab a bite to eat. They end up eating mid-afternoon, beer, again an invigorating and generally loud debate for fun, juggling hypotheticals, and what ifs, deciding on a walk through the crisp autumn city, still talking, ending up on a blanket in a park, view over sparkling water, backs to a tree. It’s getting chillier so he talks her into sit-spooning, just friendly-like, warming her back.
“Let’s play a game” he suggests. “We take turns asking difficult questions, if you call pass or try to weasel out, you get bonked” She laughs, and says she’s sure she’ll win. He starts with “Your cousin Mikhail Ivanovich. He’s a Russian prince, and you’re a Russian princess. I know you turned him down, and it sounded like you’ve done so before. But isn’t that the kind of match both parents would want for you?” She nearly chokes, he goes “No weaselling out!”
“It’s like this. You’re not from here, so you might not know. While this is Russia, in another sense they are the occupiers, the enemy in the east for a thousand years. We were and we are different countries, and only their sabres and the cheka are keeping us still yoked together. I don’t see myself as Russian, few people here do. My Romanov grandmother didn’t really want to be here either. Misha is a nice guy as a cousin, well-meaning but inefficient” a snort “He’s not someone I’d ever sleep with or to lean on as a co-conspirer. Besides, my family only has symbolic power nowadays. They’re not about to force me into a match I don’t want for the glory of the kingdom.” <fx: a very sarcastic eye roll on glory of the kingdom> “As long as I’m happy they leave me be.” He makes the effort of not actually hugging her.
“So, you want a co-conspirer that you desire, and if your family approves, that’s just a plus? Not your Misha then.”
“It sounds silly when you put it like that. Childish.” Hesitates “You might turn me in for saying this, but I dream of the independent Northlands, of actually booting them out. What that would mean for me, where I’d end up, I don’t know, but that change must and will happen. I dream of doing that alongside someone I like and respect, but if it takes sacrifice … I’ll do that too.” There is a thin sliver of pain in her voice, of courage in facing overwhelming odds. “If I could achieve all of that by simply marrying a prince, trust me, I would, and smile doing so. But I’m more a firebrand and a medic than I’m a pretty princess in silk and jewels, and Misha isn’t the answer.”
There are a million things he’d like to tell her right now, but in the cooling late afternoon he keeps his silence, having begun to adapt to the local way of not voicing the unnecessary. She clears her throat, voice still slightly unsteady.
“I escaped the bonk. My turn. Who are you and where are you from?” He nearly jumps out of his skin, and she laughs at having caught him out. “Star. Li Xin Xin. You are definitely not from the Heavenly Republic.”
“What makes you think that? Out of curiosity.” “She snorts.
“For one thing, you’re a native speaker. The Taiping researchers who come here speak stilted, accented Russian. You can tell it’s learnt, and that it’s influenced by a very different language. With you … you’re not from Moscow or Pieteri, or the farming south, and your dialect is sing-song like ours but throatier. Combined with your looks …” She half turns around to catch his eye. “There are a limited number of places with that combination.”
“Anything else?”
“You aren’t dirt poor, you have modern clothes and gear, you know your way around a modern city. You work out and play the same sports as here. And you rolled your eyes at me that first day when I was giving the introduction.” pause “Another thing. Your collar. You’re wearing just a Chinese style sign on your left, but there’s a slightly worn mark for a second pin behind it, like you were using two pins on your coat just before moving here, and then shifted. I’ll bonk you hard if you cry pass.” Despite being found out, and despite not having won her over yet, Byeol still glows with pride in her skills of observation and awareness. What a woman, indeed.
“Hmm, where to start? I am fluent because my mother’s family is mostly Russian. My name actually is Star, in translation, no lie there. Impressive catch on the collar, I should have brought another coat.”
“A less well-tailored one, if you want to pass for Taiping.” He mimes being wounded; she laughs. “Well? You haven’t attended any Taiping devotions that I know of since you came here in September, are you still trying to make me swallow that?”
“My father is Confucian, my mother is Orthodox, I guess I lean both ways, but definitely not Taiping. It’s something about that hereditary Brother of Jesus vranyo that puts me off.” They both laugh.
“Vranyo, indeed. But don’t worry, Tianjiang and Moscow may be buddies but we Northlanders don’t much care for either. So, I’m not going to turn you over to the cheka.” He wraps his arms around her
“Knowing you, Karo, you’d keep from turning people over to the cheka out of pure spite. No, no, you’re not wrong, I agree with you on that one. And thank you.” She shifts into a rapid battery of questions: Where are you from? Busan. You’re not a scientist, what’s your degree? Masters in Naval Science What’s your job, when not a spy? Used to be a naval officer, currently working in our family business. And I’m not a spy. Age? 29 Family? Parents, lots of siblings (hesitation in choosing his words) “Bonk!” she swats at him for being too slow.
“Fine. Former girlfriend. It didn’t work out, but we’re still friends.” She’s good with that answer, the Northlands, in both timelines, are more relaxed than East Asia with premarital relationships and cohabitation.
“So. Why are you in Stockholm, pretending to be a Taiping researcher? And living with four other men, who from what I’ve seen of them, especially your tattooed bratvas, are definitely neither Heavenly nor Republicans.” He hesitates, she raises a hand to swat him.
“Headhunting.”
“Huh? What?”
“I’m here to recruit someone.” Her hair tickles his nose, it’s wonderfully soft and whistles up a kennel of akitas.
“You went from Korea to Stockholm, undercover, with an escort, to recruit someone? Really?”
“Yes, really.” She leans back into him, still looking out over the park.
“Would it bring confusion to Moscow?” He smirks, the smile loud in his voice
“Most definitely. A good description would be out-from-under”
“I’d drink to that. Confusion to the enemy.” She raises a virtual glass in a toast “Any success so far?” He leans his chin on her shoulder, she’s not protesting.
“Moving along nicely, but nothing decided, is my best guess. My turn.” pause “Would you like my help?”
“Help with what?”
“Independence.” long pause “Bonk, bonk, bonk. Cat got your tongue?”
“Are you trying to tempt me?”
“Is it working?” pause
“Maybe.” pause ” I don’t know what you could do for us, and I understand you’re leaving once your mission is over.” She turns in his arms, ending up sprawled on him, almost nose to nose. “But, yes, Star. I’d love your help. For now.” This close her eyes are pools of azure blue, where akitas go synchronized swimming. Sim kung, sim kung, sim kung. “My turn” So close he feels her warm breath on his face. It takes concentration to remember where they are, who they are “Would you like to kiss me?” His answer to that is Absolutely, in action, not in words, and to his surprise and delight she follows up by bringing him to her place in the Old Town, for a long evening, an even longer night and a morning squabble and tussle over coffee or tea, ending with a mug of each.
This situation continues for another month into late November. She’s busy with her studies and activities, squeezing in a something of a boyfriend into her packed schedule, if needing introduction, she goes “This is Star, my guy” and leaves it at that. In student circles, and for her Livgardet bodyguards, that’s good enough. By Northlander standards, they’d be in the hanging-out-pre-dating-pre-deciding-what-if-any-long-term-status-this-is phase of a relationship, something unspoken, possibly temporary, possibly permanent, who knows. Gossip columnists writes about how Karo might be off the market, but not really getting much info out of anyone. They aren’t doing public dating, more coalescing their everyday life without big fanfare. His entourage are at fingers-crossed, Lee Hoyeol is whooping, her closer friends are surprised. Karo is the type to make out and move on if she even bothers with the make out stage. For her to go public with “my guy” means this man must have impressed her, and she’s really not someone who bothers with relationships, and still, he’s elusive and keeps a bit to himself, not trying for any social limelight. The guy in question is in a quandary. On the one hand, Byeol has managed to turn his intended Crown Princess, his wangsenyeo, into his girlfriend that he more or less lives with. Sleeps with most nights, cooks together sometimes, they argue and debate ferociously over anything – the rice vs potato debate took a full day – squabble contentedly over the wider cultural and scientific aspects of things like toothpaste, washing machine routines, skin care and exactly who forgot the shopping bag of beer on the metro, he helps her study, they play badminton together. Major success! He could really get used to living with Karo, and casually imagines how transferring their life here to Court would work out. The flip side of the coin is that he still hasn’t worked out how to introduce the truth and his intentions to her, and for all their intellectual fun and intimacy, he feels she is still keeping parts of herself under lock and key. It is as if she’s happy to casually share parts of her life with him, parts that would be almost scandalous back home, while her deepest emotions, her commitment and anything relating to a resistance movement past what he already seen are hidden behind frosted security glass, not to be touched. For Northland mores, a month would be hasty to the point of insanity, and these two are at a three-month acquaintance. Imagining a busy Swedish student committing to anything permanent and official in three months: not going to happen. Karo and Byeol are on different schedules here – she does like him a lot, but figures he’ll move back eventually, so isn’t going commit to bringing in her family, her public standing or anything that would cause consequences. He’s under pressure from his father, from the risk of being exposed, from the risk of a crackdown, and would she just talk to him about all of that, please, so he can explain, and they can fix things?
The event that breaks the stasis should have been predicted from the beginning. On the same morning when Byeol rolls out of bed having decided that tonight is the night when he’ll sit Karo down and confess everything, including liking her – which is the least hoary part – four men from two different security teams begin comparing notes in the entrance to the building. Livgardet and his slivoviki have been running across each other for a while now, and in the wet dark November pre-dawn street of the Old Town, something cracks for them. Two on each side of the front door, quietly chatting in their language not-understood-by-the-other-side – the slivoviki have switched to their broken Korean for safety, no one is using Russian – and giving each other long, measuring looks. They’ve spent most of the night in the rain staring at each other. Eventually Captains Hermansson and Koivisto have had it since the other team is intruding on their home turf.
“Guys. I don’t know why you’re here, but our principal is having her boyfriend stay over. No one is getting past us anyway, so you can just go take a break or something.” Alyosha gives him a look, every line in his face stony and horizontal.
“We’re here because our principal is spending the night with his girlfriend. And we’re not leaving.” A long pause that adds up to things leading to a joint Huh! on both sides. After some stiff posturing and quite a lot of testosterone, they begin to compare notes. This includes Andryushka taking Koivisto into a portico, unbuttoning his shirt to show off his maesil tattoo on his chest. On their side, the Swedes now know the other team is some kind of Russian mafia, but on hire to the point of tattooing themselves, and their guy, their princess’ something boyfriend, most definitely is not from Imperial Russia, and only an idiot would still think he’s Taiping. But their Princess approves of the guy, so either she knows more, or she’s being tricked and might be in danger. The slivoviki for their part are not at all happy being caught – sure they know that the locals thoroughly agree with them on the Russian government, but they are armed, in the country on fake papers, and they know the other side aren’t some rent-a-cops, they’re military, even if they aren’t quite Imperial military. After a bit more back and forth, comparing their positions, they decide to simply abduct their respective principals once they emerge from the view that professionals know best, sit them down to coffee and decide on how to handle the situation from now on. When Karo and Byeol pop out, about to head to class and fake research session respectively, they are met by their security who grabs them by the arms.
“There needs to be a discussion. Now.” and pleasantly but firmly lead them to a local cafe, called Bliny the Elder. Hermansson orders tea, coffee and immense mounds of various pancakes and fried pork. No other words. A long silence.
“Your highness. The Guard would like to have more information.” and then nothing. Both of them jump at the phrase, but it’s quickly plain it is Karo being addressed.
“About what?”
“About these clowns.” The conversation is in Russian, for the sake on mutual understanding, in the local dialect that differs a lot from standard Russian. “They were on surveillance at your home all night. On questioning, they claim to work for him.” Points index. Karo side-eyes Byeol.
“I knew they shared an apartment. I didn’t know they thought standing at my door at night was a thing.” Hermansson is getting more paternally disapproving by the minute, Koivisto is doing the Brother Finland glare, and even Byeol is beginning to feel like a raw recruit faced with a Master Sargent, crossed with getting the silent glacial version of his father’s rage.
“I am sorry, Captain. I should have informed you.” Karo’s voice is for once very small.
“I suppose I should have informed Karo, or you, that I had security.” Byeol is sounding rather squashed. She gives him another side eye.
“I knew you had people with you on the mission, not that they would start tangling with my security detail. Or that you even needed bodyguards.”
“What mission? Your highness.” While talking, Byeol’s stacking her plate high with food and pours her coffee. With cream. They already had breakfast, but he’s going to make damned sure she eats well. (What do I know, it’s a Korean thing.)
“Ask him.” She shrugs “As far as I know, it’s research and they’re recruiting someone.” The slivoviki suddenly develop a bad case of cigarette cough and find the ceiling very interesting to look at. Tension is rising.
“What the fudge is going on?” Hermansson and Koivisto are seconds from deciding to simply drag Karo to safety.
“Star here is some kind of Korean military on an undercover mission, against our Infernal Enemy <fx: she’s translating Den Lede Fi to adskie vragi> neighbours.” The Swedes jump, Byeol nearly chokes.
“Shhh, at least keep your voice down!” Hermansson is near apoplexy, but a very icy one
“Knowing that, your highness thought it was a brilliant idea to repeatedly squeeze the man’s nuts dry?” She blushes slightly. Well, putting it that way, it does come across as somewhat risky behaviour. The squeezee in question turns beet red but doesn’t exactly deny the charge. The slivoviki duo are suppressing laughter.
“You. So far, we have not interfered. But we need the truth. Now. Or things will happen.” Koivisto chimes in:
“You would prefer the cheka. They talk more.” This is pointing with Hermansson’s whole hand. It’s not a threat. The tone indicates this is mere information. Very forceful and threatening information, but still. This was not how Byeol had envisioned pleading his romantic case to Karo.
“She’s only partly right. We are from Korea, true. Nothing in our instructions implies a threat to any citizen in the Northlands. It will embarrass Moscow, but no one is intended to be hurt. I am former military, navy, I was in the war. I hold a civilian job now.”
“And recruiting? Looking for informants and spies?” He shakes his head.
“No. I am tasked with convincing a certain individual to … accept a government position, ahem, in Busan. Voluntarily. No kidnappings.” Hands raised in innocence. Karo:
“And how were you supposed to do that if you’re spending most of your time, awake or asleep . . . around me . . . Oh.” Eyes the size of saucers.
“Just eat your pancakes, Aein.”(Aein means sweetheart) She waves an annoyed fork at him, trying to chew on the mouthful of breakfast he used to silence her.
“Look. She’s been keeping the details very vague. but I gave her my word to help you with the <fx: piano pianissimo> independence activity your side is planning. I have the authority to call up quite a lot of resources if needed. Including military assets. I hope you move soon. Word out of Moscow is that they’re beginning to catch on.”
“And the Korean plans for the princess?” The level of ice can only be measured in Kelvin. A very muffled Karo:
“I want to know what you mean by government position.” Eventually things will need to be stated.
“I’ll show you.” He unpins his Li-sign and puts it on the table, removes the Heavenly Republic pin. From his pocket, he extracts pins, he keeps them hidden as he leans over and unpins Karo’s Vasa sheaf.
“What? What are you doing?” He doesn’t answer, pushes her hands away, but pins it one his own collar, second left. Koivisto is half out of his chair, restrained by his icier colleague. It doesn’t look like she’s in danger, and they can … re-educate him once it’s all played out. “You took my pin, why’d you do that?!” Takes out one of the silver and gold maesils, pins it on her first left.
“Maybe one of you can lend her highness your sheaf for now” Puts the other one on his own first left. With the Northlanders still spluttering and staring, quickly puts the tiger, the taegeuki and the hammer & sickle in place, hands quick with routine. The slivoviki follow suit, with white maesil and kalashnikov & stugna to the right. Ah, this feels much better, like himself again. “Now we can discuss things more clearly.”
While the Northlands, and Russia in general, aren’t quite as meticulous about pins as East Asia, it’s still a very noticeable thing to pick a pin off someone else, against their protests. Doing it in this situation is even more noticeable. Putting a royal pin not his own on himself is gutsy. Putting a copy of his on first left on a princess is past gutsy into chaotic honey badger territory. His entire body language while doing this is calm, assured, as if he has every right in the world to do so.
“Star! What did you just do? What is this?” Karo is trying to catch a good look of what ended up on her collar. He puts his hand over hers when she starts to take it off. For the Lifeguards, this act and what they can (mostly) read from the pinsmeans this situation just got booted way above their pay grade. Still very icy, but moving from Kelvin to Celsius, Hermansson:
“Do I assume correctly that you rate an your highness, too?” He certainly recognizes the flag, knows the shape of the maesil, he can’t read the exact rank, but he can definitely see that it is fancier than the bodyguards’, and he knows the left-right division. He also recognizes the hammer & sickle, something covered in history class at school. At Byeol’s nod:
“Has the King been informed?”
“Which one? And about what? Military aid or the princess?” Karo is semi-stabbing him with her fork and telling him in no uncertain terms that he needs to explain himself right this second, and she wants her sheaf back, and dafuq did he put on her collar.
“Karo. Breathe. You are wearing the same combination as I do, as should be. Or you will, once one of your guards lends you one.” Koivisto silently hands her his collar pin, the guards exchange a look. Hermansson in a very controlled voice:
“I will call ahead. Both of you, and those two bozos, will come with us.”
There are cars, heavy fortified black cars streaming north-north-east from Stockholm, in the suffocating grey rain of late November. The landscape is in dark neutrals, packed up and closed down waiting for winter, all silent except for the swishing roar of traffic on the motorway. The first black car is the lead, pure security. In the third car, the silence is gradually broken by professionals brushing up against professionals.
“Stugna,eh?” A shrug
“Fast way to stop a car.”
“Splattery, but works in a pinch, I guess.”
In the second car, Koivisto next to the driver in front, with Karo and Byeol in the back, one in each corner. He’s dividing his time between smiling at her, trying to cheer her up, while texting updates to family. He’s trying to get hold of Pyeha, to update, and to prepare to set up a video conference, depending on how talks with King Karl goes, and calculating the time difference, also trying to sound out his military contacts in case he needs to improvise a presentation. Karo is still somewhere in fury-fury land, and against being manhandled into a car by her guards, against being dragged off to her parents – she had class today, dammit! – and very much against her boyfriend acting like this, and what does he mean by government position? She’s quietly seething, because she can’t put all of this upset and frustration into one simple sentence, and that big Korean chaotic dumbass of hers is texting and acting like everything is just gucci.
“Hey! Star!” choked but low voice, trying not to start a quarrel in front of security. He looks up, begins with a smile then catches on to her mood. “Government position, what the fudge?” Tries to pat her hand.
“It’ll be fine, trust me.” Through gritted teeth:
“What will be fine?”
“You as wangsenyeo.“
“Which means?”
“Tsarevna. Of the Kingdom of Korea.” He sounds both matter of fact, and happily content. It takes her huge self-control and the seatbelt not to jump sideways to strangle him. Stress is rising.
“I. I was not. Asked.” Choked voice and breathing hard.
“Karo. Sorry for not telling you sooner. Just wanted to make sure that we were getting along. That you liked me.”
Karo is fighting the beginning of a panic attack. Counting her breaths, feeling her heart rate increasing, cold sweat. Nausea. Not getting any air, as that time in the past. Byeol has been waiting for her to reply, to snap something back in anger, or soften into something sassy, something, anything so that they can talk things through. Watching her rapidly tense up, go white in the face, careful breathing, hands in fists on her thighs rings sudden alarm bells.
“Karo-ya? Aein? What’s wrong?” Touches her hand, she’s trembling.
“It’s fine. I can deal with it.” Controlled breathing, eyes closed. It doesn’t look at all fine to him, or like she can deal with it.
“How can I help? Sweetie?” Karo manages to focus on his face, in the midst of her rising panic, he looks concerned, even worried.
“Just panic. It happens. Don’t like car rides.” Her eyes are liquid with tears, her shaking hand is icy. “Men speaking Russian makes it worse.” Little choking sounds “Because I still hear them.” Fighting for enough air “Not your fault. Ebanyi chekisti.”
Byeol has little context, but enough to know that his future wife is in a great deal of distress, that’s she’s being unnecessarily brave – again – and that she needs his help.
“Stop the car! Princess Karolina can’t breathe!” Koivisto turns to check, catches the situation, he’s aware that something like this could happen. The car pulls over at the next bus stop pocket, lead grey rain, guards getting the other cars to pull up too. Their car is barely still before Byeol is out rushing to the other side, trying to check on her. She’s really not looking good at all. She manages a:
“Hold me, please? And talk to me?” so he pulls her out, puts his own thick coat around her, wraps her in his arms standing, her head against his cheek, trying to create a cocoon of safety. Hermansson comes striding from the lead car, tells him in a low, matter of fact voice how she survived a cheka assassination event as a kid, lost family, had issues with car rides since.
“Panic attack. Thinks she’s being abducted.”
That information is like a knife to the gut, and the convulsing magma of wanting to feck someone up, close and personally, in revenge hits him hard. But that’s for later. So, he holds her, talks to her softly in Korean, telling her that she’s safe, everything is alright, that he’ll be there for her, how she is wonderful, admirable, and brave, how he’s never met anyone like her, he calls her all the sweet, precious endearments, tells her he loves her, then goes back and repeats most of this in Japanese. Doesn’t care that he’s getting wet and chilled in the rain. He’s on the second round of endearments in Korean when he feels her subtly beginning to relax.
“Better?”
He risks speaking Russian to her. Her breathing is still ragged but less choked. A small wordless sound of confirmation that yes, it’s better. She’s still trembling and leaning into his arms but more like she’s herself, that she wants him embrace, more than in desperation.
“Keep breathing. I’ll hold you as long as you want, Karo.” Byeol mouths to one of the guards “how far left to drive? “Gets an answer of 20-25 minutes, if roads are good. Rubs her back, whispers how proud he is of her, that she’s loved, safe: he’ll see to that and so on. It’s all nonsense to her, but it’s soft and soothing, she feels his chest move, and the worst of the storm of flashbacks fades.
“Oh, you’re all wet.”
“It doesn’t matter. Get inside, Aein. Just a little further and you’ll be home.” He helps her to the seat, straps her in still wearing his coat on top of her own jacket “I’ll hold you the rest of the way.” Taps on the car to move out, the smooth cortege machinery on the road almost instantly. He gets the middle seat, keeping contact, holding her hand. She’s pale and shaken but breathing better. He asks the guards in front for music, violin music she had told him she loved, a piece called something like her name. The pensive strains of nyckelharpa folk music fill the car on the last leg of the drive.
“Thank you. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what? For being a fighter and a survivor?” He kisses her hand enclosed in his own. “Sorry for being brave?” A long exhalation, a wet sniffle.
“I don’t talk about it. But sometimes riding in the back gives me flashbacks.” Another breath “I avoid taxis for the same reason.” Byeol just wants to unalive someone for doing whatever to his girl. Something of that tension must have communicated, maybe through grasping her hand harder.
“I wasn’t harmed. Truly. Not physically. Suffocated with plastic over my face. Gun in my mouth and pulled the trigger. Such things.” She starts shaking again, he strokes her, tells her she’s safe, while his mind is reeling with her definition of, I wasn’t harmed. Truly. “I only remember bits and pieces. And the screaming.”
“Shhh, think of small things, sweet things. Just a little further. They called ahead, so your mom should be waiting for you.” He talks about hot tea, and the countryside and pancakes, makes her talk about the family pets, then about her horses. All the while his mind is churning with desire to do bodily harm to whomever had hurt her.
They arrive at a sprawling place with many different outlying buildings, most in white-painted wood with straight-cornered pile roofs, not so much a palace as a working manor. Some animals – horses, cattle, sheep – are out grazing in white fenced pastures, dark woodlands all around. It’s like a small world unto its own.
Carries her up the steps. Meeting her parents. Fixing the scholarship in Magadan, final semester, to get her to safety, Uncle Tae Jimon. She needs to be out of the country before things kick off. They are going to ante-date everything and pretend that she’s going to Dresden for a scholarship, say Hi to Queen Yangmi and then shift to either another plane through Tibet, then train to Harbin and fly again from there. Going to be a rough but safe trip. Karo more or less dosing. Video-talking with Pyeha, agreement is made that the Koreans will help out with military distraction in the east in advance, and probably around the Julian Georgian Christmas period – otherwise a prime time for opposition squashing activities – first as unspecified sabotage and special ops, then a full-out campaign in connection with the Gregorian-Russian Christmas in early January. The Nordics are going to rise on 20th day of Christmas -January 14th – and this means the time frame for any military preparation is going to be tight. Queens Margareta and Tae Jiwon has a nice long video chat – Jiwon is staying up late for their time zone, Pyeaha stopping by in dressing gown asking her to go to bed, she waves him off with a “Later!” and the ladies compare notes on how to run a court, and finding quite a lot in common, despite their different style and prominence. The Stenbock family – Counts, in both timelines – has over time become based in Finland-Estonia, same as in our timeline, so Margareta speaks a distinct Fenno-Swedish, think more Runeberg and Mannerheim, rather than Moomin mom. It’s in this conversation Jiwon tells her about Byeol’s kids, and the Court’s headhunting process for the next queen – which in turn leads to the sharp comment over the dinner table: How she is having them share a room – no point getting a guest room in order since they are likely to be sneaking around at night to each other anyway. She also exhorts them sharply to always use protection each time, until everything with the coming uprising and war is settled. Her follow-up comment about well-seeded cucumber, vas deferens and kitchen scissors is delivered in cut-to-the bone Fenno-Swedish, with someone (probably Hermansson) having to translate to the slightly shamefaced Byeol, because everyone else in the family is laughing.
“Did I hear correctly? It sounded as if your highness has spoken to my mother?”
“I did. Redoubtable woman.” <fx: The Phantom Menace: “Now there’s two of them.”> “She told me quite a number of things. I do not dislike you, but we do not know you well yet, and I am looking out for my daughter’s well-being.” firmly pointing index finger. Karo:
“Mom!” Before snapping something back, he puts a lid on his reaction. Given everything, including the cultural differences, his future in-laws are being insanely generous and open to him. It is a minor thing to ask, even if it’s embarrassing to have it spoken of like this. And frankly, though conversation at Court – to his knowledge – were never quite this blunt in detail, navigating a big family takes the ability to occasionally cut through vranyo. Throughout the day and evening, there are conversations, more lifeguards showing up, Man-Bok the yakuza and Min U-won the historian arriving, having on their own initiative gathered up two carry-ons of clothes, by bus, and being picked up at the bus station. The entire manor is a hive of bustling activity. Karo and Byeol check her horses, they talk about sending crucial breeding stock out of the country, at least to Denmark and maybe further. He tells her to bring her horses to Busan once they move there. She’s a bit torn about his matter-of-factness about their future, but at the same time – she has already said yes, this is something that is going to happen, so she cuts the feels and moves on with the program – they talk about practical things more than emotions. He’s concerned about her feeling alone in Magadan, even if she will have his family there, promises he’ll try to spend as much time as possible with her there. But that he might either be stuck in the Arctic with the navy, or on the ground in Siberian winter with the army. She says she’ll be fine and sounds like she means it.
“As long as you don’t have to ride in a car,” strokes her shoulder, reminds himself to text his brother about this. Tells her they’ll have spring together, and every spring after this one. He quietly promises himself that he’ll try to learn some Swedish, this liquid, bubbling language that tinkles and teases, enough to hold a speech to her, just to prove to the world how serious he is about this. The step from Korean to Germanic languages is quite long, but less daunting from Russian to Swedish, and while there is a new alphabet, it’s conceptually similar, compared to moving between Latin script and hanja or hangul for the first time. They spend the weekend there, with her family. Going into town – she drives so that she can stay in control of her panic, pop music on the radio, and they keep an ongoing chat to distract her, about plans and futures and uprisings, tells him how she went to high school in this town – to get various rings: couple rings and the order for engagement rings. Since they’re mixing traditions, she takes him through the cathedral and then they start in on the difference in theology and the Reformation. These two will just not stop talking. It’s not Orthodox that he knows well if anything more reminiscent of the Catholic Myendong cathedral in Seoul. The Virgin Mary Chapel to the east has had all the Vasa sarcophagus and paintings removed by the occupiers, instead it is azure and white – a sneaky Swedish way to promote the Folkunga heraldry – with a tall statue and candle trees. The statue is faintly classical, with a medieval style crown, and painted with robes in sky blue, with – of course – yellow and white details, surrounded by Madonna lilies and white roses. Technically the colour is listed as gold in all official documentation, but it is the most yellow gold anyone has ever seen. wink wink. To the Russians:
“It’s not yellow, that would be an afront. Look, it’s gold, of course we need gold for the Theotokos.” The walls depict scenes from her life, the traditional motifs but in the airy western art style, probably made by Carl Larsson around 1900. They talk about traditions, she explains the concept of the bridal crown, he talks about the Korean bineyo hair pin that is a wedding gift from the groom. Again, without telling her, he decides to order a copy of the Virgin’s crown for her, and a matching hairpin with lilies and roses <fx: “Both? Both is good!> The rain is gone, it’s a chilly, pale light late November, smelling of snow on the wind. They talk about the link Ros – Ruotsi – Kievan Rus and that difference to last few centuries of Russian self-identification. He mentions how most Russians, mixed or not, in the High North descend from people who either fled or legally emigrated away from the Imperial Russia. They thoroughly agree that change is coming, and that it can’t come soon enough. Their interaction is close, relaxed, touching each other in passing, even stray kissing. It’s a melding of minds, scintillating driven and chaotic minds respectively, more than adoring emotions and baby talk. For NT people like these, discussing, debating and downright arguing is the mental equivalent of flirting and foreplay, the sine non qua of trust, respect, and attraction. He teaches her Korean swearing; she tries to make him pronounce shibboleths like the seven singing sailors, and the vowels U and Y … which leads to more kissing. They do some of the required shopping, especially since Karo will have to start preparing to pack, and will need things for Magadan, as well as a preventive stocking up at a pharmacy. Back at Österbybruk, they are met by a manor full of activities – Sunday is first of advent – including baking and cooking, a spreading out of heirloom strains of potted plants, such as geraniums, to the ladies of the local home village association, people talk on phone in intense tones, Byeol ends up in the kitchen and proves himself helpful – he canonically knows how to cook – while at the same time keeping in touch with his various contacts in Korea. Man-Bok is getting much pointed interest, and nearly curls up into a hamster ball – he may be a tattood yakuza, but not all yakuza are outright thugs. Min U-won is scribbling his way through notebook after notebook. AND HIS HISTORIAN SHOWS UP W M-B KVÄLLEN/SÅNG, NATTEN, ADVENT, STOCKHOLM
Over in Korea, Pyeha and the military leadership are making plans, Lee Hoyeol is informed given his status as the spare. The entire submarine fleet is sent through the Gate of Siberia on a speed run under the North Pole toward Spitzbergen, with direct orders to trail any vessel of the Russian navy, with orders to sink them without warning after January 14, if they don’t radio in the correct call sign after contact. Regarding the Siberian venture, they are going to do something rare tactically – especially considering doing this in the beginning of January off the coast on Yakutia – and send some carriers groups there. They are advised that this will likely lead to weather related casualties, but it is seen as sad necessity. The two carrier groups, with full battleship/cruiser escorts, will slip northwest past the gate in between satellite passes and rendezvous off Pevek. They’ll bring ice breakers and bunker ships with them, and the refilling of the bunk port in Pevek is put at top priority, for both diesel and kerosene. This relates to the Red Star, with the White Star spreading out to cover for them, so Lee Hoyeol is probably going to spend a couple of deep-frozen months protecting a carrier. A naval cargo helicopter in our timeline – a Silver Stallion -can fly around 2200km on a single refuelling and can refuel in air – which means 1000 km from the carrier. The largest carriers also have tanker planes – in this AU it’s only the Japanese that have those – which makes it even more likely that Pyeha will contact Aki and Hiro. I checked the distances: the northernmost Korean airfield with a steady kerosene supply is Pevek. There is a tiny dual-purpose airfield at the mouth of the Lena, at Tiksi, but they don’t have a pipeline. So, I figure they are going to have to send oil tankers to Tiksi, and base operations from there, the next base that must be captured is Chatanga – in Russian waters – on the east side of the Taimyr, opening a flight line west between the mountain ranges of the Siberian traps. Chatanga is a tiny town 50 km upriver on the Chatanga river that reaches the sea to the east of the Taimyr peninsula. Then upriver to Katyryk, next airfield is due west to Volochanka … and from there you can just about reach Norilsk. The plan is built on the daring move of forward staging a chain of carriers in the horrors of winter so the naval air force can airfield hop with heavy transport choppers until they control the network of airfields, which is when they can have the real air force move in with logistics and bunker planes. It will depend on the availability and size of runways in the chain of small towns, though. The northern carriers and escorts are squeezing in all winter-hardy naval choppers they have available in the northeast, the southern task force led by the army and air force grabs any chopper not cleared for carrier work, here they can borrow some from the Japanese, but they mostly have their own winter choppers in southern Kagami, only a few around Hokkaido and Honshu.
Once they have a chain of bunker ships past the Taimyr to Pevek, and at the same time controlling Krasnoyarsk, everything behind that line will fall into their hands.
On the land route, they can hit Irkutsk from their westernmost bases in Manchuria, both bombing and air drops. I am going to posit that when the war happens, there are some but not too many tears in Irkutsk, and a few insolent whistles along the lines of “There’s a rumour in St Petersburg. Have you heard? Comrade, what do you suppose? A fascinating mystery, the biggest con in history.” There is always a risk exiling your political opponents close to the border with a powerful neighbour.
Once they have secured the airfield at Irkutsk, Bratsk is 460 km off and within striking range, secure that airfield and Krasnoyarsk is 710 km off – they are simply planning to airfield hop their way into catching the power source. From Krasnoyarsk they can hit Novosibirsk and Tomsk, not to capture them but to defend the captured territories and hold the Russian air force off. North from Krasnoyarsk along the Yenisei, the route ends in Norilsk close to the mouth of the river with the small port of Dudinka, the small port of Igarka on the river. Vysokogorskiy Most in Abalakova is important due to the railway/road bridge and only 100 km by air from Krasnoyarsk. There is a long line of small riverside towns and villages – wherever there is an open airfield, the Korean air force will target it for takeover, either by airplane or by helicopter. The surmise is that the locals aren’t likely to be armed and defensive given the weather and the sudden takeover, similarly they might be fairly non-political and not really care who they bow to, as long as they are treated reasonably.
So: the navy is tasked with getting a supply lifeline first to Chatanga on the east side of the Taimyr, then to Dikson, a tiny port just off the mouth of the Yenisei and upriver to Dudinka, as well as setting up a chopper/airfield route Chatanga – Norilsk and hold it. The supply route by sea will be the hardest part – fighting your way around the Taimyr in January means facing both the enemy and General Winter- and distances are long. On the other hand, it’s ten days, after that the enemy navy may be engaged in civil war and thus either distracted or out of commission, and they face the same weather conditions. They are very much aware that a carrier flight deck is pretty much pilot murder in January in Yakutia, so they try their utmost to load up with heavy helicopters vs planes.
The army is tasked with taking, holding, and never letting go of the southern Siberian regions: Irkutsk, Bratsk, Krasnoyarsk and the intermediate areas – the Transbaikal – to the Korean Amur (our timeline Khabarovsk oblast) region. They will also add ranger manpower to the air force chopper hopping along the Yenisei, having gathered up plenty of their forces from Kamchatka, Yakutia, and Alaska with full winter gear. Outside of the south, the prognosis is that these areas should be able to be taken by small teams, not using mechanised forces, at least not at first. Let’s take the area, stun the Romanovs, and then fortify over summer. As always, prove to the locals that Busan is a better far away master than Moscow is. They are also tasked with taking, neutralising, and holding any coastal batteries around the mouth of the Yenisei – but the Yakutian and Nenets rangers are now in Russian Nenets -Yakutia and on their home turf. Once they take batteries, relevant experts from the artillery branch will be flown in to help man them. It’s more a question of security during that first crucial 1-2 weeks, after that the Russian navy will be less of a threat, due to their own private civil war.
The air force is tasked with helping the navy and the army, but their special task is taking and holding the airfield at Norilsk, and retain control of Dudinka, no matter what. They know that the other two branches will be chopper-hopping to take the field from the ground and set up a perimeter, and that the navy is struggling through arctic ice to provide enough fuel on-base if the existing storage is blown or sabotaged. Being just as trigger-happy as all air forces known to man, they figure themselves capable of booting the Russians out and stealing their stuff. After all, it’s just a 2–3-hour flight Krasnoyarsk – Norilsk. Also, it’s a balmy -10 C in daytime, so they’re ready to dogfight. Can’t wait!
Dudinka is an important port in our timeline: it is a seaport also accessible to river traffic on the Yenisei. It has a railway and a road to the plant of Norilsk Nickel in Norilsk, a chaebol specialising in nickel, copper, palladium, platinum, and other rare metals, partially owned by Mr Nikitin’s Rusal, with huge mines in the Talnakh mountains, part of the Siberian traps. Suddenly I realise that yup, Pyeha is going to use the excuse of Dan Karo and the Northlands to prematurely divest Moscow of even more mineral wealth, energy, and water resources. It was a lot earlier than his conjecture, but when opportunity knocked, he’s not about to turn it down, even if it meant drumming up a military winter campaign in six weeks. The air force and army are all for it, because it’ll give them the chance to show off – the inter-branch sibling envy at the navy getting to be big show-offs by capturing the Gate of Siberia three years earlier is alive and well.
Spending a week at Dresden with Queen Yangmi and her four children including Christmas, her brother Bernhard has recently ascended to the throne, their parents died in a skiing accident on holidays in the Czech Carpathians DECIDE ON WHAT HAPPENED TO THE ALPINE SKIING, GIVEN THE SWISS. Her brother is a no-doubts-whatsoever gay (Comment: I did not know that until this morning – I knew she spent time with her German family, but not why) cf Prince Harry in Red, White and Royal Blue, with an established and officially acknowledged partner – Bruno – which isn’t really a social issue in modern Germany, but means that the Principality of Saxony will eventually fall to his nephew Lee Yohan, or Johann Prinz von Saxe-Lee, who at this point is 11, about to turn 12 in early spring. This is part of the reason why Yangmi is spending a lot of time going back and forth between Busan and Dresden, why Lee Yohan and his brothers are getting tutored in German, and why they are discussing sending Yohan to boarding school in Germany at age 15-16, under the custody of his uncle Bernhard. If they decide to formalise this, Lee Yohan and maybe his brothers Lee Seungjo (Georg) and Lee Haneul (Heinzl) too, will be removed from the right to inherit the Kingdom of Korea, in parallel to Lee Hiro’s case. Johann strongly resemble his older sister Sascha/Lee Sasya, who is 14 this Christmas: dark wavy hair, dark grey eyes that look brown at a distance, very fair skin, double eyelids and looks to grow fairly tall and muscular, a short, more compact version of his daegun half-brothers. Likes horses like the rest of his family, hiking – both in Korea and in the Carpathians – and windsurfing and sailing dinghy racing. Very much a practical, hands-on person, more than an intellectual, but not dense. Speaks Korean, decent Russian, accented German.
On January 14, 2047, the message goes out in the traditional King’s speech that ends the Christmas season:
“To all citizens in our country I say in Swedish Budkavel går. Rid inatt, and to all citizens in our country I say in Finnish Tarjousrulla menee Aja tänä iltana, and to all citizens in our country I say in Norwegian Budrullen går, ri i kveld, and to all our citizens in our country I say in Estonian Pakkumiste roll läheb, soida täna ohtul” and so on, in all the various languages of the Northlands, as well as Russian for Novgorod Volost and any Russian speaker who wishes to stand with their Northlander brethren.
“And to our cousins the Poles, I say to you: Warszawo, Walcz!”
On January 15, the Royalty watchers in Korean social media wake up to an unexpected windfall of information with the court homepage being suddenly updated: a new fiancée/wangsenyeo for seja. And there was much rejoicing in the land, along with quiet gnashing of teeth disappointment from certain wannabe bathmat quarters. The new Crown Princess-to-be – so beautiful, so accomplished, so family-friendly. While in Dresden, Yangmi talks Byeol and Karo into getting a formal engagement photo, to be released on the homepage when the uprising happens. They also give her a couple of spontaneous pictures from their autumn together, a picture someone took of them playing badminton, laughing together in the snow – that picture was taken at Österbybruk – and a picture of both of them with her absolute unit of an Ardennes stallion – a lot of effort and styling products went into Melvin’s mane and forelock. The info on the homepage fibs that they met while seja was furthering his education with a postgrad semester in Stockholm, gives the link to the Vasa family homepage – which is a marvel of charming traditions, candle light and family values – and which briefly mentioning that their daughter recently got engaged, uploading their formal picture from Dresden on January 14, giving Byeol’s name as Rim Lee, Tsarevich of Korea, as well as the playing-in-snow picture. It has pictures of Queen Margareta and Byeol cooking together, in aprons, candlelight, him making silly faces at stretchy toffee, laughing, which is copied to his own Korean court homepage with the text “Cooking with future mother-in-law Queen Margareta Stenbock/Aibegseu Boseog,” and adding the recipe for knäck/beoteoseujachi with calligraphy surrounded by all-charming curlicues. Karolina is presented as a future MD, studying her final semester at the University of Magadan during the spring. She’s termed both a Swedish princess from the Northlands, but also a Romanov cousin, and a friend of Mikhail Ivanovich Romanov … sneakily enough, a not-perfect photo of the lunch together was bribed out of one of their friends’ phone: Misha on the left, hands up, talking animatedly, Karo across from him, leaning in, arguing back, and Byeol leaning back next to her, right arm relaxed but possessively over the back of her chair. It’s friendly and lively in campus lifestyle, but heavily and professionally redacted afterwards. It’s also a PR fist in the solar plexus to the Romanovs, exposing their ignorance about who Byeol actually was, while showing off Misha as a clueless reformer … congrats on that one. I’m guessing the possibly retired Secretary/Prime Minister Mo is sniggering.
Not only do they get the pictures of the young couple together, a close up single portrait, and the link to the Vasa page – frantic google searches on the Vasas, Sweden, Sockholm, KI, and the Northlands in general are going through the roof in the Kingdom – but some single pictures of Karo, including a child picture with flowing blonde hair and white lace-embroidered dress, with her brother, both bareback riding palomino ponies in the timotei-shampoo-style green meadows, a Lucia-procession with friends in connection to school, her graduation picture with the white velvet cap and chest hung with red roses, and a med school picture in scrubs, pony tail and a face mask. The selections will help profile her as genuine, innocent, traditional, and studious – lots of innocent white – and it seems to be working. The social pundits discuss the past woes of the search for a suitable Princess, it’s common knowledge how seja is on the headstrong side, and how all names discussed to be in the race have eventually failed. <fx: *bnööp* and red-crossed off the list> Journalists and influencers flock to Magadan to conduct interviews and create content. The Taes run interference and physical security, and any interviews are carefully orchestrated with questions in advance. She’s a goggle-eyed wonder in her med class, not because she’s a bad student, and classes & practice are bilingual anyway, but because they are rubbing shoulders with real royalty, and she’s wearing her new pins – for real – on a necklace, along with her couple ring, I mean, the couple ring our seja gave her, just look, isn’t it so romantic? Here she’s in class next to us, looking and sounding like just anybody. So gracious, so kind, and clever. And so very tall, must be almost as tall as seja himself, and did you see them doing sports together, so cute. When you ask her, she says she is studying Korean in her spare time – she has spare time in med school? – and she’s spotted with Grandma Tae herself in town, looking all humble, deferential to her elder, and interested in the surroundings. Technically the saju is opened and then immediately closed, the excuse for the hidden saju being the strained diplomatic relationship with Russia, and since it affected no woman in the Kingdom, no marriage ban was necessary. Karo herself is wading through the attention head spinning and trying to stay focused. She’s having to adapt to a lot of things instantly, being thrown off the deep end, when she arrives just after western Christmas. Byeol is escorting her to Magadan, stays a day, but ends up going first to Busan and then on to Harbin for the staging of the war to be kicked off within the week. It’s fortunate that Grandma takes one look at her and goes “Good! I’m keeping this one!” so acts as an intermediate and a buffer. The Taes are informed of her issue with cars, so care is taken each day they are driving her from and to their daeja. She had the chance to briefly meet Lee Hoyeol her future brother-in-law – she finds him very nice and relaxing, in the same general mould as his brother, but no spark, just very kinsman-cousin relationship. He’s quickly gone on a naval posting relating to the upcoming war, though – “I hear the Taimyr peninsula is lovely in January.” sarcasm. The slivoviki are also gone for now, they are all assembled off Harbin for the first special ops take-down of Krasnoyarsk during the Russian Christmas/Epiphany.
CONTINUE HERE
June 2047: Flip Herriman goes on with his career as investigative journalist and documentary film maker, but switches to do more sports reporting. For Commander Walther Markham life moves on. He has a pension and tries to find a new place in life. He has lost one leg and the other below the knee, bad burns over parts of his body. If the Koreans hadn’t picked him off the sinking wreck of his ship, given emergency aid and kept him at the sick bay at one of their carriers, he’d be dead. They also returned him stateside after the war, with no exchanges, no further demands. Markham feels quite a lot of professional respect and gratitude for the treatment of himself and his fellow medical prisoners-of-war. He ends up doing consultancy for the State Department, occasional pundit work for the news, especially once the Northlander uprising strikes in January 2047, three years later. After all, he’s one of the most senior not-active-duty naval warfare experts, and one who did survive the trashing in the Bering Strait. He has quite a lot to say about the Taimyr air-and-sea campaign that took Norilsk, and the joint Korean Japanese submarine campaign. What he doesn’t mention is that he would prefer never to be a similar target again, it’s the stuff of nightmares that keep him awake at 3 am. Surprisingly, once the United States unhappily recognizes the Northlands diplomatically in late April 2047, he is appointed the new second secretary and military attaché and stationed in Stockholm. Somewhat against his protests about suitability – he’s not a career diplomat “I just advice the State Department on military events!” speaks none of the languages and he’s an expert on the Pacific, not the Atlantic. But at the same time, it’s a cushy job for a retiree, there are interpreters and Stockholm is a decent enough city to live in. His first month on the job is mainly coming to grips with the diplomatic minutiae of setting up an embassy in a new country, especially one that is both multilingual and in the throes of independence mania. It also involves building a report with the new Baltic and Atlantic navy. Cultural and social events barely register for him, that’s the job of the new first secretary-cultural attaché who is looking increasingly harried. (Comment: in this AU, first and second secretary are the diplomatic rank after ambassador, but definition + attaché defines the field they work in. Beneath those are other attachés, with less rank) She cracks and comes down with a crippling migraine, and madam ambassador is accidentally on purpose out of the country, because the US decided to be snide about any royal entanglement after the formal coronation of King Karl XVII in late May, when the next major diplomatic event happens. Markham ends up being the senior US diplomat to attend the Royal Wedding in mid-June. He protested this too, to no avail. He was handed an extended written briefing on who’s who, including in writing with pictures to tell guests apart, that he can check on a pad. The First Secretary is moaning both about her head and about missing one of the most intriguing social events of the century. So, there he is, limping into the bright and airy gothic cathedral, in full dress whites, interpreter by his elbow. Oh well, another formal function to sit through. He’s going to do his best to represent, make notes, build more connections and generally feeling about as useful as a lifeboat on the tower of submarine. An attendant is guiding him towards the left side of the isle. Interesting that they consider the United States part of the bride’s side. A young blond man is guiding an elderly lady in Russian gowns and their pointy tiara, his interpreter whispers that it’s the representatives of the bride’s Romanov cousins. Again interesting – these people were at war two month ago, a war that is going into the history books as being short, nasty, and very vicious. Prince Mikhail spent a week in hiding, and the rest of the war under armed house arrest. But here’s the same guy, smiling, chatting, guiding the elderly lady to her pew. Either everyone is quick to forgive their former countrymen – and nothing Markham has seen so far of the Northlanders suggests this to be the case – or there is something else, probably political, afoot. The bride’s father strolls by, technically the figurehead of the new state, technically the powerless King of Sweden, in a dark suit and a chain of office around his shoulders. The man looks more like a dry, ivory tower academic than royalty to Markham, not like the British they had mostly booted out in the late 1770s. But all considered, he must have been smart and sly to make such a cataclysmic overthrow happen. More various guests, then a lull, and then the groom’s side arrive. His father tall and dark, military bearing, in midnight blue coat with gold embroidery, followed by a swish of colourful silks, a group of ladies and children in various ages. Ah, yes. The infamous court of Korea. Markham sighs. He notes the queen, a compact middle-aged lady in a gold tiara, stepping across the aisle to exchange a greeting with the Romanovs – again he makes a note in his online chat with the First Secretary – she made him promise to post anything, anything at all that he found noteworthy. Royal families greeting each other, soft exchanges that can’t be heard from so far away, some Russian cheek kissing. A final lady in blue Korean dress is bringing up the rear. His heart nearly stops. He knows that profile. Light brown hair. She looks around, checking the surroundings. Can’t be. But still.
“Veronica James!” A shout.
And she turns to the sound of her name. Face startled, no glasses like she used to have, with East Asian hairdo and clothes, she looks very little like the navy officer he used to know, but undeniably herself. He can tell she recognizes him, an open-mouthed look of panic on her face, turning back, half running up the aisle through the throng of guests. She’s dragging a toddler along by one hand, a small boy in Korean finery in the same shades of blue as her embroidered skirt. Markham watches her approach the king, an intense conversation with gestures, he straightens up and looks back through the cathedral, spots Markham, turns back to Veronica, says something. She bows her head and assemble along with the rest of the ladies. The rest of the wedding passes in half a blur for Commander Second Secretary Markham. The bridal party files in, three groomsmen, two in uniform and one in kimono, according to the reception notes they are two of the groom’s many brothers and a close friend from Japan. The bridesmaids are all stereotypical Northlanders, tall and blonde, in matching rose pink dresses, relatives of the bride. There are musicians playing sentimental strains of folk music on local instruments, two preschool age boys carrying rings and some letter opener, no, a bineyo according to the material, some kind of ritual hair pin gift, and a group of young girls in pink and white tossing rose petals everywhere as they walk down the aisle. The air in the cathedral is full of sunlight and the faint smell of roses. His interpreter does her job, they stand and sit and stand again. The couple of the day is appropriately handsome and beautiful, respectively, the princess bride wearing a silver crown, that the reception notes dedicate half an uninteresting page about. It’s supposedly romantic. Who cares? There is plenty of singing, there are aural blasts from the huge pipe organs, there are various blessings, and he’s fairly certain you are not supposed to lift the bride, spin her in circles in your arms while kissing her in a way that would make movie censors consider upgrading the PG rating. The congregation’s reaction to this is more like laughter than affront, all bridesmaids and two out of the groomsmen applauding. Afterwards, everyone is beginning to file out. He waits for his turn to leave when the Korean lady he is positive is Veronica James pauses by his pew. In a low voice, in profile not facing him:
“Commander Markham. I have the King’s permission to answer any question you may have. But later, during the reception.”
He hears the capital K in the word. And she’s gone from the cathedral, swallowed by the throng of people. He texts to ask the first secretary if she knows if anyone from the Korean court speaks English. He doesn’t know himself why he isn’t telling her whom he thinks he just met.
“Probably the latest queen, hard to tell them apart. She’s from somewhere their Pacific coast. Russian I think, but if I remember correctly her family came from Alaska. I’ll send you a link to their homepage.” So, Markham spends the next hour in the embassy car reading up on Korean royalty. Queen Jae Vera. How she’s a longtime friend of the Queen, with old pictures to prove it. Korean-Alaskan. She has a cute kid, with black hair and Asian eyes. But the pictures are of Veronica James, with loose, slightly darker hair, no glasses, subtly different but the same. She had recognized him, addressed him by name. It must be all fake, something is fake, because those pictures of Veronica and the Queen, Yvonne something, seems to have been taken when he knew for a fact that she had been working in Portsmouth. He remembers their conversation about her never having had a vacation. She has a black cat called Mr Liquorice in one picture. And she’s married to the guy who orchestrated the annihilation of the US Pacific Fleet and the takeover of Alaska, and then he went on to dissect Russia and walk off with Scrooge McDuck-levels of mineral wealth. Markham can’t stop looking at the formal picture of Veronica and her husband, he scoffs slightly with American sentiment by selecting that term, the dark eyes and calm face, the slight, almost secretive smile. Veronica smiling, too. She never was a looker, but here she is looking relaxed and almost happy, the adage of smiles increasing beauty proven true. He doesn’t quite get how she can be happy with a situation like that, being wife number six to some elderly despot, but admits that the guy must have advantages. He’s richer than Croesus, with a rare mind for military strategy, looking young for his age, calm and – judging by the size of the family – popular with the ladies. Could make a lesser man envious, Walter muses, but of course he’s not American.
The reception is held at the Royal Palace in Stockholm, recently converted into use for state dinners, diplomatic meetings and similar, and quite a lot of it has become a museum. Walther finds the statement that the King rented it for his daughter’s wedding slightly funny. Since when does royalty rent their own palace? The Northlanders certainly do things differently. Everyone agrees it’s the perfect party. Everything that should be elegant is elegant. The menu combines the local cuisine with Korean details. The younger children are allowed to participate, but with their own table and staff, which keeps the reception from becoming too stuffy. There are speeches, which apparently is a local tradition, all of them witty, translated and blessedly brief. The bride’s father talks about not losing a beloved daughter, but gaining a son and a country, and mentions wrapping and that his wife has finally sheathed the kitchen shears – he holds them up for general view. The groom nearly chokes, there’s general laughter. The groom’s father talks about spending six years looking for a daughter in law, and how they ended up going to war to finally convince the jewel he picked.
“Other women ask for jewellery, flowers, couple rings. This one accepted the offer to help her win independence.” Shrugs with fake innocence “It’s probably the highest bride price in history, but what can you do as a father?” General cheers all around. The bride’s grandaunt Natalya Romanova talks briefly in a reedy voice about the need for a young couple to always choose each other, not bending to pressure or rushing into things in order to conform to society. There are less cheers about this, but some respectful applause for an elder, even if she is a Romanov. The groom’s brother Lee Hoyeol holds a speech mainly to his brother, along the lines of thanking him for getting him, Hoyeol, out of the line of succession “and please hurry up about that, the both of you” but how spending two months with only sweaty sailors for company, freezing his bum solid in Arctic winter off the coast of the Taimyr wasn’t really how he had expected this to happen. He is giving the speech in place of Hiro, who had written up something that wouldn’t have been at all suitable for the occasion, and who is sulking slightly at having his vibrant wit underappreciated by family. <fx. It was on the lines of Lady and the Tramp, in the dog pound> This speech leaks, because of course it does, and is greeted with much hilarity on social media. Finally, the groom is giving a speech to his new wife and crown princess, and he stuns everyone not just by giving the most romantic, poetic speech ever, but he delivers it in correct if accented Swedish, that he practiced for just this occasion. Karo melts into a tiny puddle. The Lees pat each other on the back, we did well with this one. The Vasas: high five, yup we landed a good one. Guests go d’aww. The historians present go d’aww. Social media goes d’aww.
Walter Markham sits at a table, turning a glass of beer in his hands. Around him the reception has turned into an all-out-party, loud and happy. There’s music and dancing, at first proper and then more relaxed and peppier. Laughter. Drinks. The younger children and the utterly elderly have been offered an early night. Bridesmaids are chasing down the groomsmen with various success. The blond groomsman in kimono is conducting language lessons in Japanese to a couple of interested teens. A voice from behind:
“I see you still enjoy a cold beer.” She pulls up a chair and sits down next to him. Veronica James. All blue silks, a strict hairdo full of jewellery, a level gaze. “I put Sunshin to bed, he fell asleep under a table.” pause “So. How have you been the last few years?”
He tells her about surviving the abattoir of the Aleutian Sea, about losing most of his legs. About having retired.
“I am sorry to hear that. It was a cold and bloody day in the Gate.” He snaps at her:
“How would you know; you were supposed to be dead.” Something shifts in her eyes, not exactly unfriendly but a bit of anger under a serene surface.
“The funny thing about being dead is that the end of all things, you turn over a yet unwritten leaf in the great book of life.” It sounds like it’s some saying translated into English. Or else she had always been this philosophical.
“What happened? Everyone thought you died in that bombing.” She shakes her head slightly.
“I was out birdwatching. Or rather, I was watching the inlet for activity. The news couldn’t keep up with what was going on, and I figured it was safer away from the town itself.” Markham remembers what the journalist, Herriman, had said.
“I didn’t know you spoke Russian. It’s nowhere in your records.” Another flicker of something in her eyes.
“I do, because my family was partly Russian, and I spoke it with my father. I just never mentioned it at work. We had American names after all, so no one noticed.”
“There is a video of you talking a gook officer into letting you onboard, did you know that?”
“Of course, I knew. Also, I suggest you stop using slurs in my presence, Walter Markham.”
A hint of steel in her voice, why hadn’t he never noticed that before? He apologizes, she nods acceptance.
“But why? There’s a witness saying you got onboard voluntarily, that you talked to him.” A small, satisfied smile.
“I know that too. We’re not totally unaware of what happens in the United States, after all.” a pause “As for why? Well, why do you think I did that?”
“You don’t strike me as someone who would offer herself to a crew of foreign sailors for benefits. You weren’t in any real danger in Anchorage after the surrender, except maybe from grizzlies, so you could have stayed.”
“Not really. I was under orders, and I am not in the habit of disregarding a direct command.” Had Herriman been correct? It had sounded loopy at the time, but here was Veronica herself confirming the idea.
“May I ask whose orders? Are you allowed to tell me?” She looks out at the partygoers, somewhere between a small smile and looking slightly pensive. Turns back to him:
“I have permission to tell you, but are you sure you want to know?”
“If you can, then please.” She folds her hands over themselves, as if composing herself for an ordeal.
“The order came from the commander in chief, Walter. Make of that what you will.”
“But why send you to the Koreans? I’m not trying to be rude but you’re not exactly Mata Hari, Veronica.” She folds over coughing, looks up, eyes bright.
“I’m sorry, choked on something. Do go on. I’m not Mata Hari, you were saying.”
Markham gets further tangled in trying to explain himself to the teary-eyed woman, in foreign finery, that she’s not beautiful and accomplished enough for espionage. She’s too plain, too old, too damn ordinary to be alluring. Gradually he catches on that she’s not crying because of pain or hurt, she’s crying because she is fighting a laugh, while nodding and agreeing with him that she’s indeed plain and incompetent.
“I probably shouldn’t have said that.”
“All considered, probably not. Given who my husband is, given that my son is the youngest prince of Korea, I’m sorry, but it’s quite funny.” she snorts, the brightest smile he has ever seen on her. “I am too old and ugly to be an American spy, was that it? It was unfair to send someone like me on an undercover assignment?”
Markham downs his beer, wishes for something stronger. She reads his furtive looks, waves over a server to fill him up. Flavoured vodka, cranberry, ice, with quite a kick.
“I volunteered; you know? I didn’t exactly plan to end up where I am, but I did volunteer to serve my country. To be of use.” She wipes her eyes with tissue. “I rather think I have been, too. The royal navy certainly agrees.”
Everything stops, the party around them an unfocused blur and a buzz.
“What? What did you just say?”
“Hmm?” She has herself back under control, just the shadow of a smile left, straight backed, and restrained. “I said that the navy agrees that I have been of use.”
“You said the royal navy.”
“I did? How could I make a mistake like that?” Walter Markham is willing to bet what’s left of his legs that she had made no mistake. If anything, that sounds like sarcasm. “Now that you’ve fortified yourself a bit more, maybe I should answer your question of why? Why I was sent to Alaska. Why I was on that pier. And why I stayed dead.” A pause “You asked me why I speak Russian; I told you that is part of my heritage. I remember telling you the last time we met in Portsmouth that my family is from Alaska, originally. What you didn’t question, what no one ever bothered asking is what the other part of me is.” She hands him another glass of the same cranberry vodka. “Here. You look like you need this.” She watches him chug half the glass. “I’m Koreyo-saram, Walter. Which means Russian Korean. English is my third language, though I was born in Vancouver.”
“You’re Korean? I thought you were white. You look white. So that’s why they selected you to infiltrate…”
“No, I told you I volunteered.”
“Because you speak Korean.”
“No.” a tight smile and steely eyes “I volunteered because I speak English and was on a navy scholarship at UCSF. You have it the wrong way around.” She sips her drink, keeping eye contact. “I served the navy for 20 years. My navy. My country.” Taps the golden flower on her left lapel. “He ordered me out of Portsmouth before he slammed the Gate shut on you people.”
Veronica James. No. Queen Jae Vera of Korea. So plain, so professional, so generally nice. He ordered me out of Portsmouth before he slammed the Gate shut on you people. And The order came from the commander in chief, Walter. The second vodka vanishes.
“Who are you? Really?” A slight sigh.
“My real name is Vera, not Veronica. Today, I am a junior queen and royal advisor. I am a mother, which I never thought I would be. Lee Sunshin is the little sunshine of my heart. I’m retired from the navy. Both navies.” The floor dropped out from under his chair. There it was.
“You’re the traitor.”
“Of course I’m not. That would require me to have been loyal to the United States in the first place.”
He bunches a fist. Wants to smash something. The fire and ice of the battle for the Gate floods his vision. God, he could strangle this woman and wipe that little smile off her face. Freaking gooks, the lot of them. A strong grip around his wrist, of an arm he never realised he had raised. Markham turns and comes to face a young man in dark uniform, tall, Asian features, serious looking. Wait, one of the groomsmen? The crown prince’s brother, the one who gave the speech? He addresses him in some unintelligible language, when there are no reaction switches to another, is that Russian? Markham’s knowledge of Russian extends to greetings, asking directions and ordering fast food, not wriggling out of diplomatic entanglements while under the influence. More gabbing, this time addressing Veronica. A couple of teens, with the same family look, run off in various directions at his apparent command.
“Prince Lee Hoyeol asks me to translate for you, that striking me would be something he and his brothers would take umbrage with.” pause “He’s being very polite and restrained about it. For now.” another pause “He was in the Alaskan war, too, and is just back from Norilsk. Commanded a battlesh … Let me check.” a quick exchange “Cruiser group, last winter.” Hands are slowly lowered.
“Are you saying we have things in common?” He hates himself for the bitterness in his voice, hates the balance in hers.
“See it as building report with a neighbouring country, maybe?”
There are several people hurrying up to them, both the prince and Veronica look around, bow slightly, then the young man is off to somewhere, trailed by all three bridesmaids who are excitedly nattering amongst themself in the local singsong. In his stead both fathers of the bridal couple, some kind of administrator with pen and notebook, – who even does that in this day and age? – and his own interpreter.
“Sir, their majesties would like to know what is going on. They said if it interferes with discussing physics over drinks at their children’s wedding, it had better be important.” pause “Also the King of Korea is concerned about the welfare of his wife, sir.” pause. Veronica says something wordy in Russian – he recognizes his name and Vorota Sibiri – and gestures with her hands. Both men stare at him, one dark, one blond, both in wedding finery, not quite hostile, more measuring.
“Sir, his majesty wishes to express his condolences for the injuries you sustained in service to your nation during the past war. He points out that the world is currently at peace.” pause, catching up on the interpretation. “That any personal anger you may harbour towards her royal highness the Queen should not interfere with the diplomatic relations between our great nations. But that if you touch her in violence, he will call the ambassador in Busan, tell him to … in essence to return to Washington, it was not quite a diplomatic phrase used.” The notary is scribbling furiously. Interpreter, sotto voce: “Sir, he’s muttering something about the harbour and making the ambassador swim back. The queen is trying to calm him down. Assuring him nothing happened.” pause “He has quite a reputation in diplomatic circles, it may have been overlooked in your briefing materials, sir, but a reputation for being, ahem, forceful when it comes to abuse of women. Executed someone himself, with his sword, and so on.” Veronica is getting up, patting her husband’s shoulder, leaning up to talk to him quietly. Interpreter:
“Sir, the king of the Northlands is letting you know that they did not expect Americans to take after Muscovite high-handedness.” a cough “That is a very significant statement that you should forward to Foggy Bottom. Sir. Calling Imperial Russia Muscovy. Means they are denying various Russian claims and prerogatives.” Walter Markham wants another vodka. He wishes he had never called out to Veronica in the cathedral. Or that when she asked, I have permission to tell you, but are you sure you want to know? That he had answered No, it doesn’t matter.
Walter Markham, Second Secretary to the United States Embassy to the newly constituted nation of the Northlands, apologizes gruffly but at length to his former acquaintance Queen Jae Vera for his too forceful reaction to having found her alive. He assures both heads of states that no insult was intended between the three nations, and that he is monumentally sorry for disturbing the wedding reception. Whew!
CONTINUE HERE
We ended up with a brand-new Crown Princess of Korea, the Northlands were liberated including Kola, Saint Petersburg, past Ladoga, and Onega, down to Polotsk and Vitebsk, the Baltics (!) and Svalbard, and reconstituted as a constitutional federal monarchy, with a figurehead royal family, and a social-democratic majority in parliament for now. Some of the new constitution is lifted from that of Spain, Germany, and the Netherlands. Sapmi gains regional autonomy and includes Kola. The lingua franca remains Russian, but transliterated into Latin alphabet, after a commission decides on the new orthography regarding the various sibilants vs the Nordic languages’ need for more vowels. All the vowels, all the time. It ends up looking orthographically more Czech than Polish, using diacritic signs for the sibilants, and gradually over the next 50-100 years evolves into its own semi-language, with different loanwords and phrases, like the development of Belarussian, while linguistically remaining an East Slavic language. With the full inclusion of Novgorod Volost, with Pieteri/Piter as regional capital, in due time it becomes the standard official language of that region and exists in a re-cyrillicised form. The Russian-Scandinavian pidgin is first called Northland Russian, but its future name is Novgorodian.
The uprising in Poland, Belorus and Ukraine has varied success – I HAVEN’T ON THE DECIDED YET. Korea grabs another chunk of Siberia but then stops at the Yenisei. This is because Russia would resist with too much force if they thought they would lose the oil fields, they’d have better logistics, and it makes sense to leave an enemy with a way out rather than corner them and make them fight for survival. Besides, they are down to two ports: Archangelsk and some to-be-decided place on the mouth of the Ob. Neither are year-round free of ice, and they have lost control of the gate of Ice to the Northlanders, and the access to the Siberian gate was lost in 2043. So, with both Alaska and Yakutian Siberia to develop and win over, it doesn’t make sense to continue just yet. Besides, the West-Siberian oil and gas fields are slowly running out, which in combination with the new shipping situation will make Russia fold in on itself, inflation rising, economic future looking bleak, without Korea having to do much of anything to them for the next 20 years or so. <fx: Chip blowing on the tumbling step ladder with Pluto on top, in the Disney Christmas special> The Northeast Passage will be full of Korean and Northlander navies. The new land gains include Severnaya Zemlya (the islands off the Taimyr peninsula) and the patch of mostly empty islands north of Novaya Zemlya and east of Spitzbergen. The Polar Research Institute in Magadan just got a huge new home turf to explore on top of Alaska, the Yakuts are happy to be reunited. Securing Irkutsk means securing the main sweet water source in eastern Siberia, and capturing the hydro-powerplant at Krasnoyarsk means they secured the Rusal Chaebol (aluminium and electricity), run by Mr Evgeniy Viktorovich Nikitin. (The equivalent of our Mr Deripashka is left in Russia, in control over gas & oil.) Also, the Norilsk Nickel Chaebol, run by Mr Vladimir Olegovich Potanin, who actually used to be a deputy prime minister under the Tsar in the late 2030s, that sits atop of huge mineral wealth in the Talnakh mountains on the Taimyr peninsula. Nikitin and Potanin roll with the punches of having their powerbase shift countries “the border keeps shifting around” and is on the lookout to push their way into the new social stratum. The Taes and their chaebol cousin power cluster do not really approve of the turncoats within their general homebase but grit their teeth for the good of industrial wealth. Quite a lot of their assets, especially the mining concessions off Norilsk is brought back under royal control. Pickled fish in a multitude of flavours become a fashionable side dish, and how-to presentations on how to serve it become viral on social media. Surströmming tasting becomes the Me Big Dumb Male party game throughout Siberia, especially since it involves vodka, with outliers for general dumbassness down the Pacific. It definitely sounds like something the Korean and Japanese navy would engage in out of pure masculine one-upmanship. A wailed “How can they do this to fish?!” is heard from various far-flung islands.
The international political fallout is somewhere between flabbergasted and “We have created a monster!”. An uprising in the Northlands, and in Eastern Europe, against the Tsar was of course always on the books as a distinct possibility – those things seemed to run in cycles – but all pundits were convinced that any attempt would be immediately crushed, and their society purged. That the rebels would not only have a new country mapped out in advance, down to constitution and quite a lot of the political and governmental scaffolding, was mind-blowing. And how they had made an undercover treaty with both Korea and Japan, with the silent complicity of Saxony within the Germanies, left everyone blindsided. Diplomatic consensus had been that it was only four years since the war with the United States and the capture of Alaska. There was no way Korea could project power into a land war in Asia so soon, if ever. And they jumped the Russians in Siberia in winter. Why? How could do that? It’s like General Winter was caught napping. That Japan would send naval forces to back up the Northlander and Korean operations north of the Gate of Ice, as well as supplies and part of their air force to boost Korean operations in southern Siberia sent shockwaves throughout the Pacific Rim nations, above all Australia and Malaysia, but also the Spanish federated countries in South America. If Japan backed Korea – would Korea back Japan in their various Pacific endeavours? Countless hours are spent on news media trying to make sense of the alliance that is emerging, the tectonic shifts of who is getting along with whom. The emerging consensus is that Korea backed the Northlanders, as a move against Russia, using it to secure assets while not over-committing, and that Japan joined in as some kind of hidden alliance treaty with their neighbour – two countries that so far had been at war, remaining grudgingly neutral, but over the last 25 years having played Good cop, bad cop internationally and never tripped each other up diplomatically – because it is hard to see a direct material benefit for Japan. The more extreme opinions, especially from US commentators, suggest that Japan was the hidden hand behind the Siberian Double-cross, but sensible political operators view this as mere conjecture.
The creation of a hostile Northlands state on their western border, combined with the loss of all Atlantic ports, the second largest city in the Empire, and on top of losing the last culturally relevant areas of Siberia – looking at you, Irkutsk – and their aluminium and rare metal industries, sends seismic waves through Russian society. The victim cardigan self-pity in some quarters is a mile wide and a mile deep, decorated with roses and long fringes. At the same time, the opposition and the reform movement striving for a more equitable society and a limit to the direct power of the tsar smells a power vacuum waiting to happen. I somewhat pity Alexey Ivanovich Romanov who, while being an entitled traditionalist, didn’t quite deserve this bashing. On the other hand, his rule had been characterised by allowing the Old Guard to just continue with his father’s policies, with not much thought except Don’t fix what isn’t broken, never noticing that some things were indeed broken beyond repair. His brother Mikhail Ivanovich has taken pains to identifying himself with the Principality of Moscow -St George – instead of the Russian Empire and making quite a lot of figurehead hay out of that alignment. The relationship between the brothers is growing icier, especially with Misha connecting with the changes happening in the formerly Russian Novgorod Volost and making reform proposals based on them. Holding a speech in Novgorodian dialect in Moscow – a few years later – nearly has him thrown in jail.
Another side-effect of this shift is the spreading concept that there are many ways to be Russian. Up until now, the dominant trope has been the heavy-handedness, the imagery of the tsardom and the ruskiye mir. The Korean-Siberian version has pretty much been ignored internationally. But with a more western, constitutional version in the northwest and a Sino-sphere version in the east, the ruskiye mir suddenly appears less of a monolith. It proves that there are many ways of being Russian, and linguists are intrigued by the High North dialect, while not as distinct as its Northland counterpart and less likely to become its own language any time soon, it does help revive respectful linguistic research into Ukrainian and Belorussian. This realisation becomes the steppingstone for cultural and oppositional movements within Eastern and Southern Europe, affecting the larger conglomerate realms of Russia, Austria & the Germanies, and the Ottomans. Including possibly the EU falling apart into two halves. This is something for the 2060s forward, and not within the main timeframe of the story as it stands.
Autumn 2047: There is a ten-year anniversary program on Sunrise, Sunset, with television celebrities interviewing Byeol and Hiro, the blueprint characters for the series. At this point Byeol is recently married to Dan Karo and Hiro is the one swimming in a sea of hot embraces, to quote Elfquest. The brothers joke and act relaxed towards the interviewers, given the combination of being crown princes of their respective nations and the duo the beloved series is built on, the viewership is huge and the fandom intense. The half-brothers admit to having been somewhat wild when younger, with:
“multiple trips to our father’s study to be told to straighten up and act properly.” Hiro adds:
“the worst threat was “if you don’t shape up, I will allow your respective mothers to set you straight” which no one sane wanted, certainly not us.” Byeol:
“Remember when father handed us over to my grandmother to shovel snow for a month, and Lee Hoyeol got caught up in the same prank? He was crying to the world how he was innocent four weeks running. I think he was like nine or something.” Hiro:
“I just remember the both of you stuffing snow into the back of my collar and just chortling. You sat on me, and Hoyeol was bringing the snow!” Byeol:
“What did you expect? Snow is snow, and a collar is a collar.”
The audience giggles. They describe growing up in Busan as “in a big family like ours, you never need to feel lonely, there’s always something going on.” and how in most families in both Korea and Japan it’s a father-mother constellation, even with the infamous yangban exception for consorts or concubines in the Kingdom. “Hiro:
“None of us ever asked our father about it when we were growing up. It was something that just happened. More aunties. More siblings.” Byeol:
“Pyeha and I have talked about this over the last eight or so years. The politics, the difference between private and public life. What may be required and how to deal with it.” Hiro turns to look at him. “Those things that I really didn’t think about as a kid, the political layers of court.” Hiro:
“That’s rich coming from you! You were the one who handpicked our cutest brothers to drag them along to beg madam auntie Yangmi to marry father. You even gave her a kitten with a big silk bow, one that you three had stolen from the clutch at home!”
The television screens flick to the episode that repeats this sequence, though the actors are adult. Byeol smirking:
“It was Lee Gyeol who grabbed the kitten, not me. But, hey, the plan did work. Father was just angry that all three of us had run away from home and dodged security.” Runs a hand through his hair. “Though I didn’t expect her to become our schoolteacher. She would nag us about homework almost daily until we fled to the naval academy.” Hiro:
“If you had done your homework, she wouldn’t have nagged you.” Byeol:
“If you had done your homework, she wouldn’t have turned you over to madam auntie Seri to be reprimanded.”
The audience giggles again. The brothers’ interaction is charming, close, warm, and a rare insight into royalty, providing royalty watchers with material for months of end of social media content. When asked, they admit that contrary to the series and how things may have been a decade ago, as of now Byeol ‘the seductive Frost Mage’ is happily married with a family, whereas Hiro the shy martial arts whiz is still on the market. Byeol:
“I already had kids. Those things happen. Thought my life was planned out. Then I accidentally met the love of my life.” He spreads his hands wide: “I’m all innocent.” twinkles at the cameras “She’s the one who decided I was her man, seduced me and, at first, refused to make an honest man out of me.” fake affront. “It took some effort convincing her about that. I fought a war to win her. I learned some of her language.” Oh, and ah from the audience, so romantic. Cameras focusing in on his ring, then on his collar. It is indeed unusual to add your wife’s pin before your mother’s. Hidden intense whispers on how the fandom absolutely must have a stand-alone episode on this, even if it must be animated because the actors have aged, and who do we petition?” Hiro laughs, and confirms that as far as he knows, that is what happened.
“I wasn’t there, but I’ve heard several sources. Including” counting on fingers “our mutual brother Lee Hoyeol, her brother Eric Vasa and her Russian cousin Misha. And yourself, whining at length to me in Direct Message.”
Byeol tries to swat him, Hiro ducks. The screens flick to a collage of Byeol and Dan Karo, including the pictures from the homepages, clips from their wedding and clips from their current life. Close-up of her to-drown-in beautiful azure eyes.
“For the record, I do not whine, and if I do, I do not whine to him.” Hiro rolls his eyes at him.
“Uh-huh, are we discussing the same brother who complained for years about having to beat women off with a club … and I don’t mean that in any, ahem, suggestive way.” The audience titters, this is exactly how their beloved Sunrise, sunset pair of brothers was expected to act. “Women you weren’t into. Women twice your age. Women way too young. Women you described as distilled bitchiness.”
“Yeah, fine, so maybe I did whine.”
Hiro is on a roll, playing to both the interviewers and the cameras, having the time of his life taking the p*ss out of his big brother. The audience is eating this up.
“Women playing toxic games. The one the guards had to drag out of the building screaming. Women who were only after your title. The time you had to climb out a window to escape. The one you described as having the personality of a bathmat. Damp, flat, pink, invites men to step all over her …” “Enough!”
“And then you meet Dan Karo. You can’t really tell from the pictures, but she’s taller than I am, she’s way smarter than my lump of a brother, and she has standards. She’s beautiful beyond belief, though that’s the least part of …” Byeol finally manages to silence him.
“Yes, wangsenyeo is a divine wonder of the world. And she’s mine. Go find your own and stop drooling after my wife!” Hiro pretends hurt innocence, as if he hasn’t been messing at all.
“Oh, no worry. I will. No rush.” pause, then in a softer tone: “You two are just perfect together. I’m so glad you’re finally happy, hyeung.” Moment of brotherly connection. Audience sighs in a d’aww. Byeol mouths to Hiro:
“You’re so dead! Why do you do this to me in public?!” Mouths back:
“Because you will get back at me at first opportunity.”
Smiles and waves to cameras and audience as if there has been no exchange. Social media, in the meantime, is having a great time, making viral clips of Hiro describing Byeol’s whining about being a most eligible bachelor, romantic ones of Byeol describing Karo, and the petition for a stand-alone episode is collecting signatures exponentially. Discussions on who exactly Byeol thought was a bathmat, several pundits notice that that’s exactly the opposite of the Crown Princess, who after 10 months being known to Korean society has firmly established herself as a younger, spicier version in the mould of Queen Tae Jiwon or the renowned Grandma Tae, Zhin Minyeung, and looks to be going to rule a future court with sass, capability, and intelligence. Some sniggers about the Lee men liking big, beefy women are quickly squashed, after all the current queens are in all forms and shapes, neither of the older princes have appeared really picky so far, and – after all, for a woman who is 180cm tall, she cannot be built like a reed, or she would break or topple if she was wearing tiny shoes. The future queen is half or a whole head taller than the median woman even without heels, and vlogs are made on the question of relative height in a romantic couple, ending with the consensus that for an exuberant mountain of a man such as seja, it’s more suited and more picturesque with a matching partner, than a wife the size of a tween daughter. There are re-posts of the clips from the last royal wedding, with the troika racing, and playlists of songs with that exact jingle rhythm.
Spring 2048 – after he has a sister-in-law: Lee Hoyeol is a highly modest man, trying to hide his double heritage (maesil + curled up tiger) from the general public. It’s fine at work, not only because they already know, but the navy has strict routines and he tends to wear rank insignia + siler/gold maesil on his left, signalling to his co-workers that while he acknowledges his heritage, he puts his work first. Lee Hoyeol is tall, athletic – think pentathlon or triathlon, more that the field & track types – strongly resembling his father and older brother in looks, just a bit slimmer, but runs on a different software. He’s the quietest of the older brothers, he was the ten-year-old middle kid who brought art material and made a calligraphy drawing for Rosemunde when he, Byeol and Gyeol tried to convince her to marry their father. Gyeol was the one with the Siberian kitten in basket. He’s away at sea weeks or a month at a time, returning to a chilled out, dark, empty apartment – very modern and minimalist, lots of glass windows overlooking the harbour and the sea – in Magadan, and he hates that. He can’t have a cat; he can’t even keep houseplants alive there. While at Court, he and Chanyeoul – Meilin’s son – were the ones seeking solitude the most: Hoyeol to do art or to study, six-years-younger Chanyeoul to hang out in the gardens or fill windowsills with pots for growing things. He tagged along on his hyeungs antics, and got – mostly – away with it, but never the instigator. Still enjoys doing art, mainly calligraphy but also water colour and ink in the Chinese Japanese style. He had the reputation among the staff for being genuinely nice and helpful: not just polite and quiet but actively willing to lend a hand and mean it. Very much the favourite, not for being a cute baby or a handsome kid, but for being caring and a sweetheart. They usually knew where to find him when he was hiding, and frequently would wordlessly help him vanish somewhere with good lighting and brush pencils. However, there is a difference between being overwhelmed by a family of 25 + staff and being totally alone. Between sea tours, he does art, works out, watches tv – this one is into series and k-j-cdramas: more mafia and action than romance but still – (Comment: I did not know this, why do these things just happen?) – and has a few of the local metal/punk bands of his playlist, cf Matt Copley’s Bruno Does Punk cover of We Don’t Talk About Bruno, or No Resolve’s cover of Surface Pressure (Goes Rock). Likes the local band Radio Tapok, which sings in Russian. (He’s certainly someone who would identify with Luisa and Bruno) Or Peyton Parrish’ Rock Disney Covers. He would probably like Korn, Disturbed and Sabaton, too, in our timeline. Knows how to cook well enough to manage, but when alone on shore leave tends to eat too much take-out or noodles – the boredom of cooking for just one.
Lee Hoyeol believes in personal charity, not the kind where you throw money at something, or do the Meilin-style of conspicuously visiting children in hospital or puppies at pet rescues, but the personal good deeds. He’s the type to hold doors, help someone with a stroller get on a bus or hand out a spare umbrella. Will immediately give up his seat on the subway. Compliment people on what they do, or their choices, not on things they cannot affect, like looks. Patient but distant around kids and pets not his own, as in: if spotted, he will allow teens to titter at him, or pet a dog if asked. He just prefers not to be spotted, and just do these things in passing. Those tiny nudges that make the world a better place. <fx: Ri Jeong-hyeok in Seoul I kdrama Crashlanding on Yyou> But always unasked for, and preferably anonymous – he’s deeply uncomfortable about being identified and thanked – because he feels that people will interpret this as a PR stunt on his side. If forced to do charity as a PR thing, he’d likely work at a soup kitchen, or help build things, cf Jimmy Carter. It sounds like he’s shy, he’s not. He’ll do the public thing, play his role when so required, and if both his father and brother would suddenly pass, he would shoulder the heavy burden, and he’d make a superb king. He seriously does not want to, but he would, without complaining. Which is why he was a ranking member of Team Get-Byeol-A-Proper-Crown-Princess-ASAP for years and has been a pompom-wielding, cheerleading advocate of Dan Karo. He supported her during the Siberian war when she studied in Magadan and was best man at their wedding. He doesn’t dislike An Minji as a person, she’s one year younger than he is, and they grew up together. But when compared to his mother the Queen, he thinks An Minji would be a disaster as her replacement. Good enough to be a junior consort, not good enough to run the court, the royal family and be the general backbone of everything. The brothers even loosely discussed the option of dumping Minji on Hoyeol; he totally flatly refused and wouldn’t give an inch. Utterly non-negotiable. “I love and respect you, hyeung, but this I will not do. It is unfair to An Minji, to your children, to your future, unknown Crown Princess, and most certainly to me. Besides, you got yourself into the situation. Be responsible and solve it, without expecting your little brother to fish you out of the muck you’ve landed yourself in. So, forget we even talked this over.” Hoyeol prefers to be around people that he knows. Quality over quantity. Like several of his siblings, he’s skittish about media, photographers and generally being used by other people.
This is a guy who takes public transport to work – I guess his security team quietly hates this, but they don’t really have a choice, and at least the guy is good about staying inconspicuous and low-pinned. <fx: Michael J Fox in The American President: “What? No getting off. Sir. No getting out of the car! Is he allowed to do that?”> Generally he’ll wear the navy pins + the taegeuki when out and about. To be spotted wearing both the white gold maesil & the tiger: that exact combination – in freaking Magadan – is like putting a neon sign on himself, blasting out that he’s one of their tigress’ cubs. He only uses that combination at official functions and when seeing his Tae relatives. Or when he is forced to pull rank. It’s common knowledge that one of the daeguns is on the loose in Magadan, and Lee-Hoyeol-spotting is a bit of a local for-funsies sport. There is even a social media site devoted to this, reposted as a column in the local online newspaper. His security team is ready and willing to wrestle him and replace that combo pins if he tries to wear the wrong ones on the subway, and they always have several scarves at hand, to wrap around and cover any disaster. At least he tends to wear uniforms a lot – which works in such a main navy port – or coat, sweater, slacks. Wears black a lot when not in uniform. Gym clothes. Windbreaker with hood, or if needed full winter gear. He’s not really a suit person or into the latest fashions. He will often wear sunglasses in public, even in the cool transit tunnels of sub-urban Magadan, mainly for privacy. Uses glasses frequently otherwise – thin silvery metal rims – and claims he’s not vain enough to get optic surgery. He needs them for reading. For the royal guards, a long-term posting in Magadan is a case of professional anxiety and paranoia, and not for the faint of heart. It sounds like they dislike Lee Hoyeol. They don’t. He’s just as much trouble and a big a challenge as his big brother, but in a different way. To survive Magadan as a team leader of the royal guards means thinking three steps ahead of an INFJ – good luck with that one. And of course, the local Russian slivoviki yakuza are doing outer perimeter heavy security without being asked. Stugna goes boom.
In 2048, he’s 27, and is growing to realise that he’s facing decades on decades of a career that will at best land him a life of solitude and being the occasional uncle when visiting down south. In a way, it was watching Byeol’s and Karo’s budding relationship and later marriage that was the spark. He was there for Byeol during the autumn when they met, and he always got on well with Dan Karo. The romance of those two firebrands, made him realise how that was something he always was too busy to get into, that outside of family, he tends to spend most of his time with the predominantly male military, so the options for finding someone by ordinary means has been limited. If he wasn’t who he is, he would have handled this himself, but being third in line after his nephew – he crowed with joy at dropping down the order of inheritance – he runs the matter past his parents. Not asking their permission, more giving them a heads-up, and asking their opinion. They’re very thankful he came to them first – given the somewhat maverick nature of his brother, who has finally, FINALLY, hopefully settled down, at least this son of theirs is quiet, sensible, and thinking ahead. He wants to open a saju secretly, a hidden saju, he wants it handled by the yakuza matchmaker experts and – the crucial point – he insists it must be anonymous in the early stages.
“I am and, for all I know, will remain just another navy officer, who also happens to be a grand prince. I have a quiet, pleasant life, far from the capital, and I like it that way. All I want is for someone to share it with me. If we go public with a saju, it will be a feeding frenzy with me as the piece of meat in the shark tank.” His parents nod, in understanding and a little bit of wincing remembrance.
“It was different for Byeol. He’s much more of a public person than I am, and for him you had to find someone … with the capacity to one day stand by his side and fulfil her half of the duties to the kingdom. And who could rein him in just a little.” He sighs a small laugh. “Please, I’m not looking for someone we would have to go to war over. I just want someone to live with, and hopefully have a family of my own.”
It is a modest dream, and his tone is heart-breaking. Sitting in a stuffed chair in Pyeha‘s study, elbows on knees, thinking hands at his chin. Both parents support him in words, Jiwon hugs him. Pyeha:
“Thank you for trusting us with this, Lee Hoyeol. I think your idea about not giving out your name initially is a good way to go. Hopefully you would find out who to trust that way. And the yakuza excel at this.” Jiwon snorts
“Look at Dan Karo. Excellent find of theirs. Just a bit of a … complicated process to make her move here.” An exchange of rueful looks. Rearranging the international political order and starting a war in order to recruit the next queen isn’t something you want to do every 3-4 years.
“I have to point this out, though. Lee Hoyeol, you need someone who you can bring here with you. An Minji is a lovely girl, but…”
“Understood, and I agree.” The reply is terse, but honest. Everyone is aware of the past, and no one wants a repeat performance.
The set of top matchmakers that sifted out Dan Karo is now faced with a different task. Lee Hoyeol provides them with all personal stats they ask for: address, occupation, education, biostats, finances, family, hobbies, couple of pictures, embarrassing incidents, personal successes (they need stories like these to round out the presentation) and so on. On paper this should be easy-peasy-lemon-squeasy. On asked for type he describes how he’s a fairly sizeable man – he’s 188 cm and not built like an asparagus – and it bothers him in icky ways to be tied to a too petite and youthful-looking girl, especially if she calls him oppa. He physically shudders during the interview. Apart from that, anything goes, really. They note: “Same tastes as his father and brother. Check” He describes how a yangban background would be preferable, since it would match his own, and that the demands of that sort of lifestyle shouldn’t come as too much a shock. That he’s too plain fare for the chaebol heiresses. They roll their eyes, along the lines of you trying to teach granny to suck eggs? His work schedule combined with the need for a false name is what complicates things. They need to find someone willing to live alone a month at a time while he’s at sea, in the High North. While they can certainly claim he has family there that would act as a safety net if something happened, they will be unable to name the Taes or use them as reference. And not a single word about his family in Busan. One of the ajummas lean forward:
“You should consider someone with a career of her own. Someone busy. Or a researcher. Someone who would see you as a bit of a silver lining in her life, who would be most happy for you to return, but whose very existence doesn’t hinge on you. In your line of work, you won’t be able to keep a clingy girl happy.” On the one hand, that is a rough thing to be told. On the other hand, these women must have seen hundreds, thousands of happy and unhappy relationships. He bows his head.
“I respect your experience, ladies.” So, they get started sifting through their lists
For her part, Jin Lian is a computer engineer working in the graphic design parts of the gaming industry, in Suwon. Her Manchu name is Aisin-gioro. Lian, her family has for administrative purposes assumed the translated Jim, meaning gold, which confirms to both Chinese and Korean naming-traditions. Her family is administrative yangban, and fairly ranking at that – the Aisin-Gioro are the actual Qin dynasty family name. Yehenala are the family of Qing Empress Cixi. Her father is a senior judge in coastal Korea (our North Korea – CITY TO BE DECIDED) and most of the family is in the judicial branch somehow. They are bilingual Korean-Manchu, mainly leaning into their Korean side, but keeping some of the Manchu traditions – she has three earrings on each side – and are for all intents and purposes vaguely inoffensive. It’s just that Lian wanted other things – art, science, more modern social interactions, not having to dress up all the time – so took another route. They don’t actively clash; her parents are just vaguely concerned as conservative parents tend to be. Think full-on paternalistic but well-meaning Confucians. Lian has a busy work schedule but tends to make time to do some free or charity work on the side, like setting up a website for a corner laundry shop or designing wedding or birthday stationary for a friend of a friend and their kids. Lian has plenty of mainly online friend since university – she went to a non-SNU university in Seoul – and at work; she has a busy work life with sharp deadlines. Her direct field is backgrounds, and interactivity, and she’s good at it. The kind who will work around the clock, legs folded, at a laptop in her actual lap on the couch, in bed, on the floor, then eat noodles or fast food because she lost track of time. Hangs out with friends in close chatgroups, cf kakao, discord whatever the names in this timeline, will play online games with them, when she has the time. She wishes she had more time for gaming. Goes into work physically maybe once or twice a week. Wavy black hair in a high ponytail, glasses, casual dress – sweat pants and t-shirt with snarky quotes at home, leggings + mini-skirt + oversized sweater at work, might wear a tighter top when going out with friends. Grunge or artsy fashion. She is definitely into earrings. She’s not exactly grungy and ignoring personal grooming – that’s a horrible trope for women in engineering; she knows how to look after herself or dress up! – it’s more a case of cannot-be-bothered-when-busy-with-a-project. She has wilting houseplants, and her fridge is full of food that she bought with ambition, and then forgot about until too late, think the situation with avocado and lettuce. Wears the qizhuang (choeongsam/qipao) for special family occasions, instead of hanbok, the male family members wear some version of the equivalent jacket (GOOGLE THE NAME) and have one earring each in the Manchu style. She’s fairly tall at 175cm, goes to the gym a few times a week – more of keep fit, stay fit attitude than to sculpt herself. On the one hand, she’s not a model and she doesn’t really bother with high fashion, unless under severe pressure, but she washes up well in her on personal style when she cares to do so. Lian has had a string of dissatisfying serial friendzone relationships, mainly with guys connected to work. After all, she’s a nice-looking gamer girl in the same class or office, cheerful around friends and with a sense of humour, and the Manchu are traditionally fine with girls having premarital relations. But somehow it always falls through, longest boyfriend was maybe five-six months. It’s mostly a case of the guys in question, once they date, want someone a little bit more cutesy admiration and service-mindedness than someone their equal, ambitious, and not about to fold like a deckchair just because they’re male. Lian wants respect for her work, and she will dump any guy who believes a girlfriend exists to boost their ego. Add the fact that, while she has bad eating habits, she does work out quite a lot, which combined with her height makes her just slightly physically intimidating, to the point of being seen as hungry and demanding in historically conservative country. If you try a flirty pillow fight with Lian, she will not hold back and chirp little pretend-squeals – she will whack you full force, leap over the couch to get you, and crow with success when she wins, and she usually does. None of this really makes sense to Lian herself, she’s just at the point where the guys in her social circle are not very interesting any longer, and the suit-wearing legal scholars of her parents’ acquaintances are way too stiff and disapproving for her taste. So, after a night out with friends, some of her girlfriends talk her into filling out the forms for a yakuza matchmaking site. They tell her
“Look at it like a LinkedIn™ profile. Nothing may come of this, and it’s free, see, and the worst that happens is that you’re ignored. Lian snaps back:
” the worst that’d happen is that they come up with a list of bad dates.”
“Yeah, fine, but they only offer you a long list of potential dates if you contract them and pay the fee. If you just sign up, they’ll only call you if they think you’re matchy-matchy with one of their clients. Like, it’s just free dinner.” <fx: friends shrug> “I don’t see the downside, do you?”
Lian’s profile is subtly different from that of her female co-workers. On the surface they are much the same social set, but her family background, her small charities and her work-out routines stand out. She’s financially stable, got a degree and good references at work – she does not give the vibes of looking for a partner to full-fill her material or emotional needs. It also says she can do long-distance work. She has shyly added to her profile that – in the best of worlds – she’s looking for someone she doesn’t have to make herself less for or that she would be forced to support, someone who isn’t intimidated by fitness and who can put up with her wacky work schedule. Oh, she’s not going to stop working, and emotional stability would be great!
The yakuza ajummas are cautiously exited at her profile, but it chimes well enough that they will interview her – she has passed the first gate. After all, this isn’t just a budget friendly saju where they run profile matchings on a computer, this is the deluxe bespoke version. Lian feels this to be a bit sus – an interview for a potential date, how pretentious can you be?! – but sure, she sits down with the ladies and answer their questions to the best of her ability. They nod, dig more, ask for hard verification on some details. A pause, they exchange nods.
“You see, asshi, the reason we are here, is because your basic profile is a good match for one of our clients. At this initial stage, out of discretion for all involved parties, we will withhold some information, but it has all been verified. We can also confirm that we have worked successfully with his family before.” <fx: satisfied nods, not quite high fiving each other>
“Ok, so you are saying they have a history of being bad at dating?” Eyeroll
“Not at all, this client and his older brother have been some of the best profiles we have on record.”
“They’re picky and demanding? Why couldn’t someone as great as you describe find a girlfriend on his own?” The temptation is to snap back – silly girl! – but they have seen this type of balking before. A sigh.
“Jin Lian, the client for whom we are conducting this saju is 27, healthy, financially stable, university degree and from an upper yangban background. He has a senior position at work, owns his own apartment and has few bad habits that we can identify. Good-looking, even handsome” <fx: slight cackle> “quiet and pleasant. But” she holds up a finger, stopping Lian’s protests “he lives in the High North, and is unable to move to somewhere more populated for reasons related to work. He also has a work schedule requiring him to be away from home weeks, occasionally months at a time.” pause “As I’m sure you understand, this combination limits his chances of meeting someone suitable on his own. Which is why he contracted us to assemble a list of dates for girlfriend with the option of future marriage. ” Apparently, Lian’s stunned reaction looks funny, because the ajummas laugh at her.
“This guy really is the real deal, girl, he truly is, but he won’t suit just anyone. But we think, especially with your work situation, this could potentially be a very good match for both of you. The package offered is one cafe date, one dinner date. Flight to/from Magadan from anywhere in the Kingdom, premium hotel for three days with an option to extend if so desired by both parties.”
She says she’ll think it over, leaves, calls them back to accept before she is barely out on the street. Then goes into full “What have I done mode?” for a few hours. But, while doing repetitive cardio at the gym – rowing – to get it all out of her system, her mind tells her:
“OK, so tickets to Magadan. Lots of offshore drilling off Magadan. Mining towns close by. Shipping. Oh, and the military. All of those are fields with weird schedules. If he’s that settled at 27, he’s probably good at what he does, and focused on work. Probably not a mama’s boy, since he’s moved out.” She winces in the memory of bad dates. “Mature and sane enough to know when to hire experts. Handsome? Eh, well, I’ll get pictures when I get the folder later, and besides I guess they would always oversell their client. Worst case, I’m getting a paid weekend vacation in Siberia, if the guy turns out to be a creeper, I can get some work done on the flight, and at the hotel, so its’ not a total loss.”
Predictably the summary folder has dropped to her online once she is back. Some back and forth about finding a suitable date, it ends up a Thursday-Sunday two weeks later. Lian is curled up on the couch, ‘ipad’ on her lap, typing in the security code for the more detailed profile. Nervous but excited, or vice versa. Name Ri Muhyeok, naval officer – one of the career options she had suspected – master’s degree from Royal Academy of Naval Sciences, Busan. From Busan, has family in Magadan. Hmm, that’s probably why he was fine with moving there, hobbies include art and working out. And rock concerts? Huh? Pictures confirm the description of general good looks – dark hair, marked nose, bright light eyes, well-groomed, good posture, kind smile. One formal half picture from the half-right, serious, in uniform, with the taegeuki and the red hammer & sickle on the right collar, and some navy insignia on the left, hard to tell. One in training gear, outdoors, laughing at someone off camera, sunshine, and the sparkle of water, she squints, is that team rowing? Nice shoulders, too. And a picture of concentration, tossing up a kite, smiling, hair ruffled in the wind, she can tell from the shoulders that he’s probably in hanbok, so she’s assuming it’s Lunar New Year, and if it’s outdoors probably not in Magadan in February. A family event? Since she works in graphics, she’s almost certain that the last two pictures were cropped, that other people were cut out to enhance the focus. No obvious filters or enhancements. Overall (she swallows) from the information provided, it looks like Commander Ri is indeed all that, and he’s fairly handsome, and looks, well … kind? Like someone who likes doing things with friends and family? A bit of butterfly sim kung, before she squashes it. Let’s concentrate on meeting project deadlines early so she can take time off. She does tell her mom that she may be going on a contract date – no more details – and she’ll let them know how it goes, but please don’t pester her. Her friends are told she’s going on a weekend trip, just a spontaneous thing (she’s lying), and she’s going to be working a lot so might be hard to reach. (Probably a lie) She doesn’t like lying to them, but with her string of failed relationships, and lots of 1-2-3 dates-into-friendzone she doesn’t want them involved in advance. Also, most of her friends are not of a background where sajus this formal even exist. Lian realises this guy is willing to pay for ticket and hotel, for potentially several other dates travelling to Magadan for the dating opportunity, so it’s already a fairly hefty financial commitment on his part. (Comment: a saju works on the principle that the one who calls it pays. If the parents of a girl open a saju, they will pay for or reimburse dinner and other date expenses, for example, apart for any matchmaking fee.) Just knowing that puts a bit of pressure on her to measure up, and it’s not the best feeling, to be honest, making her feel very small and scruffy. A pressure to make a good effort. Her friends would be overly concerned and demand explanations she’s not yet willing or able to give.
For his part, Lee Hoyeol is trying to stay busy to keep from developing a case of terminal nerves. The ajummas sent him a summary of the first candidate they talked into coming to Magadan to date him. Jin Lian, 25, computer engineer and game developer, university degree, lives in Suwon, judicial upper yangban background but self-supporting. Hobbies that match his. Known to the yakuza for discrete, hands-on charity work – his heart skipped a beat at that gem of information – they also added that she noted on her first application that she would appreciate dating someone who isn’t intimidated by fitness. Whatever she meant by that, it doesn’t sound like she’s a frail and petite little flower. Her pictures are nice but not studio pictures, bit of an artsy or quirky style of dress, ponytail, hip glasses, the Manchu triple earrings, neither plump nor skinny, the nice looking half of ordinary. In one picture, when he zooms in, she’s wearing her pins on a gold string necklace – the Ye glyph to the left, then the divider, the taegeuki and a white enamel maesil on the right – she’s holding a lantern by a lake, judging by the background it’s King’s Day in late July, the V-neck of her white shirt displaying the necklace. All very proper and nice for that kind of event. All in all, she does look the kind of appetising that has akitas beginning to arm themselves with bats in the background, hence the nerves. “Ok, so computer engineer. Game developer. Arts Department. Fashion forward. Lives in Silicon City Suwon, with all the young in-crowd people. She’s probably way hipper and hotter than I am” and he ends up feeling very dull and staid. <fx: repeat facepalms>
It’s a long flight from Incheon, and she has been involuntarily checking his pictures on and off, she ends up in Magadan on a Thursday afternoon in March, it’s -9C (-16C at night) and the sun is already setting. The airport in Sokol, up against low mountains and the sea and the city lights to the south, is brightly lit against the snow, and you can transit indoors without having to brave the cold. Lian knew she would have to get to the hotel on her own – she has directions and an in-a-pinch yakuza molani chat bot – she takes it to mean it’s a test to see how she handles the winter, since he probably believes she is a hothouse flower from the south. “It’s not like Seoul doesn’t have winters. Maybe not like this, but we do!” She gets one of the few cabs and gets herself to the hotel, overlooking the sea. The lack of traffic in a city this big surprise her. Magadan is close to 1.5 million and the roads into and streets in the city are fairly empty, on a weekday afternoon. On asking, the driver shrugs that it’s always like this. Strange. There is a faint snowfall, which would be romantic in dramas, and here seems to be taken very matter of fact. Heavy lorries, and a snowplough. On checking in, the receptionist tells her he’ll confirm her arrival and that direction for the date tomorrow will be updated. Lian nods, while thinking sour thoughts about how it seems like half the city knows of her private life. (In reality, the receptionist has been instructed by the yakuza to keep an eye out, it’s not a question of a media drive). A very comfortable hotel room, warm, lots of plump bedcovers, heated floors, bathtub with all amenities that cry out for her taking a long hot soak. Takes a nap, finds the hotel gym, and the banya (sauna), both are fairly busy but strangely quiet except for the muazak in the gym. This is a premium hotel, with full-service everything which is standard in the High North, so she books a hair-and-make-up appointment for the morning, just to be sure, to calm her nerves, grabs dinner at the hotel restaurant – surprising but tasty Russian cuisine – and as instructed puts it to her room. The menu is bilingual, another surprise to her, though the wait staff gives her a once-over and sticks to speaking Korean. Back in her room, trying to work, her mind points out that this place is sort of fancy and wonders if it’s selected to try to impress her, or if that’s the standard she’d expected to uphold? Scary thought. In the morning, she goes for breakfast downstairs, has her appointment – after an argument with the hairdresser, she ends up with hair back and down, pinned away from her ears to display the descending length triple earrings, that ends in metal tassels which chime slightly when she turns her head – and jams her glasses back on, hiding some of the effect. She’s in a fluffy cream sweater with a huge loose turtleneck, her pin necklace, and a calf-length mocha brown velvet pencil skirt, with matching cashmere stockings and boots. Wraps herself in a well-insulated long coat, pulls up the hood with a rich fox fur rim – she had invested in the coat in an arctic speciality shop in Seoul, that caters not only to skiers but also to travel to the High North. After all this is after the war against Russia, so there is not just Alaska but even more of Siberia – and walks to the cafe, it’s just three blocks. It’s a clear, sunny morning just before 10am, pale blue skies, the snowfall has stopped. The doorbell jingles, Lian walks in . . . and her glasses instantly fogs over. Total embarrassment, pulls back her hood, takes the glasses off, looking around into an out-of-focus cafe while trying to keep her cool. Mind going: “Why do things like this always happen to me? So nerdy!” Nerdy isn’t exactly how Lee Hoyeol would describe her at that moment. Delectable comes a lot closer, followed by stylish. Instantly out of his chair, walks up to her.
“Ms Jin Lian?” She nods nod, pale skin, and rosy cheeks from the cold. “A pleasure to meet you, I’m Lee . . . Ri Muhyeok.” A bit of stammered how-do-you-dos, they sit down, he lends her a wipe for his glasses – as someone who wears glasses in a cold climate, he comes prepared (for many things) – orders tea, which arrives in high glasses with metal holders in the Russian style, and their own table samovar. For some reason, a moment that could have been stiff and embarrassing becomes something to smile about.
“I am sorry, I should have figured on the temperature gradient. I will be more prepared next time.” pause, still rosy. “Thank you for helping me.”
They talk about tea and the difference in tea sets, of using raspberry jelly or honey in tea, versus plain – he has a soft spot for raspberry but is fine with either, she has never tried the combination – about the flight, the weather, he explains that large parts of the city are underground.
“Things weren’t initially intended that way, but it has been gradually growing the last 60 or so years” which means the surface tends to be devoted to heavy traffic only, including freight trains, shipping and lorries. She asks about what made him move here from Busan, he tells her that he was halfway through the academy when the war over the Gate happened. “They pulled the class out and gave us experience right away. “Then he got a commission with the Northern Fleet on graduating, got promoted and ended up staying. That he has family on his mother’s side in the region, so it was easier for him to adapt than for someone from the peninsula who had never been this far north. “Also, I’m part koreyo-saram, you can probably tell,” a slight smile “so I do speak Russian, which is useful up here.”
“That does explain your beautiful eyes, I didn’t dare ask, you know.”
He thanks her for the compliment, with a slight blush. After having agonised over what image he wished to project, he went with shore-leave dress uniform – after all, this was supposed to be a public first date, in a public place, safe for both of them if the date went sour – with the same pins as in the formal photo. He’s wearing neither the maesil nor the tiger. They talk about her job, what made her decide on that career.
“I always liked digital art and preferred games where the artwork was part of the experience, so it felt a natural field to strive for. Luckily I have a mind for programming and mathematics <fx: he perks up again> so it’s a line of work that suits me.” She describes how her judiciary family is less than thrilled about an engineer daughter, but how they mostly leave her be. “I go home for the holidays, dress up, eat the food, get nagged at, wave goodbye and head back.” He laughs slightly and says he can recognize that. Not that his family really nags him about anything, except about taking the yearly compulsory family pictures.
“I’m the quiet middle son who tends to get lost in the scuffle, and that suits me just fine.” but that he’s from a large family, and when everyone is gathered it gets a bit too loud and crowded for his tastes. Lian says she has two brothers and a sister, Hoyeol counters that he has seventeen brothers and sisters. He almost kicks himself at such a give-away comment, when Lian mishears this as:
“You’re seven brothers and sisters? That’s a large family, your poor mother! And here I thought the four of us were a lot.”
Since this is somewhat technically correct – they are indeed seven full siblings at this point, Lee Jian is six by now – he decides not to correct her misassumption. The date flows splendidly on a get-to-know-you level. There are no embarrassing silences, topics flow naturally, they both smile and feel charmed. Mid-morning tea flows into sandwiches for lunch flows into more tea. He clears his throat.
“Lian, this may be a bit forward, but we arranged to have dinner tomorrow evening. Just in case either of us needed more space, you know. But I guess . . . Given how today has been . . . Would you consider moving dinner to tonight and plan for something else tomorrow?” He runs a hand through his hair “I mean, I would love spending more time with you, and you’re only here a few days, so it feels a waste to run down the clock until I get to see you again tomorrow, and though the city looks empty there is really a lot to do, and would you consider this?” His dialect suddenly shifts from the far south to the far north, making him all cute and fluffy, like a teddy bear with military bearing. Lian turns pink, a bright and hot pink.
“I would like that. I would like that very much.” <fx: his akitas: bonk. Double bonk>
Lee Hoyeol promises to rebook their table and they agree that he’ll pick her up at the hotel. He says she doesn’t need to wrap up against the fury of the arctic, because they will take the indoor route. “Indoor?”
He explains that the hotel basement levels connect to the sub-urban system of streets, and it’s a 7–800-meter walk.
“It’s enough with a regular coat. It can be chilly, but it never freezes down there.” pause “It’s warmer than Busan in February, just saying.” They split ways, both tempted to touch, a hug, but neither daring to take the first step at this (yet). Once back in her room, Lian goes full scream into her pillow, in a “Squeeeeee!!!” The guy is hot, he’s friendly, he’s easy to talk to, and he wants to see her again already?! And he got so adorably flustered, trying to ask her out. Long hot bath, with lots of unprompted heated thoughts, trying to work a bit but finding it very hard to concentrate, eventually gives up. Switches to a petrol blue V-neck wrap silk dress, again on the modest side – she mutters to herself that maybe she should have packed something more flattering (Comment: it is very sleekly flattering, she’s exaggerating here. But she picked it when she didn’t know if she wanted to blow cold or hot, so it is a lot more modest than she wants to project right this second. Ahem!) Goes for the most displaying sub-layer choice that she packed, skin coloured but with lace and lift. Boots, nylons, and her Seoul coat with a long floral multicolour scarf. Redoes her make-up, with a touch more coloured lip gloss. Checks herself in the mirror.
“Well, this is as good as it gets, I guess. Just hope it’s good enough.”
Hoyeol rushes home in such a hurry that he allows his guards to drive him for once, has one long, hot, and ultimately satisfying shower, and does a speed tidying around his already clean apartment. You know, just in case. As you do. If the opportunity would arise. His security contingent is quietly sniggering but maintaining poker faces behind mirror glasses. Hair dryer, skin care. Ok, so civilian. What do I own that’s civilian and doesn’t make me look like a stiff suit? He ends up with a raw silk stand-collar shirt, matching sweater, and suit jacket, all tailormade to him, so a perfect fit. He’s sticking to shale black and cool greens, some fashion designer put his wardrobe together for him, this is not his field. Almost forgets to rebook the restaurant. He agonises over the pins, but eventually sticks to what he has been using earlier. He’d rather leave the maesil off than use the wrong one, and wearing the tiger in public while on a date is going to attract attention. This is still just a date, Lee Hoyeol, get a grip of yourself. It’s a second date, on the same day, and all we have done so far is shake hands and drink tea. Do not get ahead of yourself, be patient. Deep breaths. You’re a tiger, remember, tigers are very patient. Other body parts chime in: Tigers are very patient until they pounce on their prey! <fx: His akitas: triple bonk!>
They meet up in the lobby, discretely sizing each other up and liking what they see – at the cafe they were sitting down quickly – both in style and configuration. He shows her that the basement/culvert floor of the elevator isn’t just for maintenance. Instead, there is another hotel entrance there, even if it doesn’t have a reception desk. To get above the lobby level you’d need a door pass, though. And exiting … there’s a whole new world for Lian. There is a busy street, mainly pedestrian, but with electrical kick-bikes and trikes navigating the middle, a small open train or tram slowly trundling along a metal strip in the middle of the street –
“that’s the gusenitsa” (caterpillar – guseonija?) “it’s free to ride if you have the Magadan lanyard or a tiger pin <ahem>” he coughs discretely and changes the subject “there are lines for it running everywhere, but we’re not going that far. It’s a nice stroll.” The street is in a tunnel, and on both sides, there are shops, businesses, clinics, and bright signs in both alphabets. Lots of neon letters. Advertisements. Tiled murals and artsy graffiti. People are walking past in coats or windbreakers, some military personnel – it’s chilly but not cold. There are no-smoking and no-littering signs, and the air is, while slightly musty with lots of people in an enclosed space, is fresh enough. It’s a Friday rush-hour – people heading home, people passing with shopping bags. Someone walking past with a ferret peeking out of their pulled-up hoodie. A group of middle schoolers in school uniform and matching backpacks skip past, chattering. She spots occasional maintenance staff in neon vests and chunky hat (Comment: textile version of the fur shapka) cleaning ventilation grids, waste baskets or dragging misplaced kick-bikes out of the way. The guards – that Jin Lian is unaware of -are half in normal coat + mirror shades, pins: enamel maesil + crossed swords on dark coats, half in civilian gear and staying close, while in a cold sweat. They walk along the street, first side by side, but when it gets busier toward an intersection, she grabs his hand when they are nearly pushed to the side by the crowds. In some sections of the tunnels, the store fronts are two storeys high, some with the same shop or business, some with a staircase to a walkway to access the second floor. People selling flowers and trinkets, in squares painted on the street. A gym. An Internet Café. Tattoo parlours. Clothes shops. People talking quietly in different languages, on their phones or to each other, most is in the local Korean dialect, some in Russian, but other languages, too, snippets of sentences passing her, some understood, some not. The smell of different food from restaurants and street food vendors, strains of music from koinkas and bars. Some classical strains of violin, Lian spots an upstairs sign offering music classes. Signage at the intersection points – in two languages – towards the Concert Hall, City Hall, University and the RSUH (Royal Siberian University Hospital). The place is bright, organically busy, and very much alive, bubbling with an energy different from Busan or Seoul – both more energetic and at the same time quieter.
“Welcome to the real Magadan. The Jewel of Siberia” He squeezes her hand slightly. “Some areas downtown are quite a lot more glamourous than Hotelnaya, that’s this street. It’s not all this chaotic.” She assures him that it’s all intriguing and that she’s never seen a place like this ever. They begin to talk about the sights, she asks in curiosity; in reply he points things out, again conversation flowing easily. They pass the miesto, Lian looking both ways drawing in the sights. The place just goes on and on along the crossing street, in the distance a brightly lit place.
“Oh, that’s the Concert Hall in that direction. Their uley has crystal chandeliers everywhere as decorations”
“Uley?”
“Hmm, means beehive in Russian. Beoljib.” <Comment: beoljib is probably transliterated as polchiy or polchip (m) in Russian.> “Maybe hub is a better word, like a town square or a focal point.”
They continue up a wide and curving staircase, people hurrying past, going up and down, and ending up one storey higher, on a street where the many storefronts have more of a hanok style.
“This is Myskaya street, it’s named for the Peninsula. For obvious reasons. There are a lot of exploitive tourist traps around here, but also some of the best tailors and a few really good restaurants.”
The street is lit by many lanterns, hanging from buildings, making it resemble a cool evening in a historical town, angled storefronts making the street look narrow and winding. In this area people are less hurried, Lian even spots a few people wearing the weekday version of hanbok, and the languages she picks up tend to be less mixed. The milieu, the little shops, the lighting, it’s all very romantic, like picture perfect romantic k-drama. It’s only missing the trope of the light snowfall. They’re still holding hands, despite being away from the crowds, unconsciously falling into matching strides. Eventually they arrive at a restaurant, he discretely checks their reservation – he booked it in his real name – and they are escorted upstairs, through a classical Korean looking restaurant. The room offered has the typical leg-space-under-the-table, plush seating in royal blue and gold, and a hanok ceiling, but the most stunning part is the twinkling lights in the black night as the windows all face towards the ports, both the naval and the cargo ones. There are pinpoints of light twinkling in the air under the high ceiling, too, as if lightning bugs or floating stars. It’s the most amazing place Lian has ever seen, like concept art for a game, and it’s real. Her reaction is obvious, despite only saying “what a beautiful room, and that view,” and trying to stay cool and un-geeky. Lee Hoyeol is pretty much patting himself on the head for the selection success – she’s not babbling with praise, but he heard the indrawn breath by his side and saw Lian’s wide shining eyes and gaping mouth. There are an endless number of little side dishes served, she’s lost track of how many, they’re having bulgogi (table grill), he’s – as is traditionally expected – doing the grilling and giving her most of the meat. A variety of meats, too – not just the beef and pork common in Seoul, but also reindeer, mutton, and horse. He says he’d like her to try different things, to find out what she likes. She does a double take, then smiles. He nearly kicks himself, until he catches that smile. Grilled reindeer isn’t a big hit, but she loves the mutton and the horse meat. There’s beer and soju, for an unpretentious atmosphere, but not limitless amounts. They keep talking about silly things and about serious things. The harbour and the navy, their respective workout routines, they end up deciding to go to the gym together in the morning and discuss where and what. How he has an elder brother who is supposed to take over the family business after their father.
“I really do not mind. If something disastrous happened to him and my nephew, I would step up, of course I would. But I’m praying continuously that it won’t. I love my brother, and life here suits me much better, in general.”
He shakes his head and looks out to sea, face reflecting vaguely in the glass panes. She touches his hand on the table, he snaps out of it, gives her a smile, apologizes for getting all serious. Lian says that’s fine, she thinks this explains so many things. The saju, how Ri Muhyeuk is leaving the playing field free for his brother by building a career elsewhere, and how he’s using his heritage to fit into this place. That’s very genuine and it speaks to her. She talks about loving her friend group, while at the same time feeling like she’s not sharing all of herself with them.
“I’m so close to them, but at the same time we don’t have the same background. They’re commoners or lower chaebol, and that’s perfectly fine – we’re colleagues and great friends. I just can’t get across the pressures I’m born with, the requirements. I didn’t even dare tell them why I was going here, I just said it was a weekend vacation.”
He nods, not angry, just understanding more than she thinks just how these pressures apply.
“The most my friends know about a saju is asking someone to computer generate a list of blind dates, or things they see in dramas!”
“Did you feel pressured in coming here?”
“NO!” a snapped response, reeled back “I mean, yes? Not because anyone at all was pushing me, no one even know they were contacting me. But a bit, because whatever I have been doing on my own, it always fell apart. I must be doing something wrong or being wrong. Or I just don’t know.” It’s her turn to pensively watch the harbour lights. “So, when experts like the YM tells you they found a match for you, and it looks this wonderful, of course you feel pressure.”
He thinks that she doesn’t seem to realise she paid him a compliment, that she thinks his shopped profile is so wonderful by itself that she couldn’t help herself but come to Magadan to see him.
“If you are doing something wrong, or being wrong, I just don’t see it. Please. Let me know when you think you’re doing things wrong, so I can tell you that you’re not.”
It’s said in a mild, teasing tone, but Lian pretty much melts into blushing pink. Meanwhile, Lee Hoyeol is kicking himself again, this time for being too smarmy, before catching her blush.
“Sounds like you just haven’t met anyone who appreciated you for yourself.”
He sips a beer, she eyes him.
“Is that a problem?”
“Eh?”
“That I’ve dated, that I’ve tried to look for a boyfriend on my own. With all that means.” He hands her more food, leaning chin on one hand.
“Jin Lian, if that fact that you have pillow experience was an issue for me, I would have made them specify that.” Lian turns deep red and won’t meet his eyes right away “If anything … Look, we’re both adults here. It’s a part of life. It would have been weirder if you hadn’t.”
On the one hand, it’s really a topic you avoid with semi-strangers. At the same time, given the purpose and time constraints of her trip to Magadan, they are both aware that there are a lot of questions and topics that should be touched upon, that should be put on a tabletop and mutually inspected. He considers telling her about his madam auntie Meilin, but that way lies the thick minefield of his family and upbringing, so he squashes that idea, and tries it a roundabout way.
“I’ve seen what happens when couples have different … maybe not experience, but levels of interest. If we put it like that. That’s a really bad idea.” He tries to catch her eyes, even he is slightly flushed and embarrassed at this point. Any akitas left are whimpering, tail between their legs. “I’m not that great with words. I don’t want to ruin a great evening, so would you please listen?” She nods, still finding staring at the tabletop easier. He runs a hand through his hair. This is harder than he expected. “I put in the saju that I’m looking for a girlfriend, for a long-term relationship.” A crooked smile, with soft eyes “Even a permanent one, if all works out.” pause “If it was just about a good time, well, I could find someone up for that without having the yakuza scour the Kingdom for me. So that’s where I stand, and you were curious enough about me, and that possibility, to travel all the way here. That’s why we’re having dinner together tonight, and why we’re going to the gym tomorrow morning. On a third date.” Lian is peeking up at him, a slight sim kung at feeling he’s reaching through to her. “But something long term does include, well, intimacy and good times. I’m not a man who needs the ego boost of being the only one with experience. If anything, that’s…” a slight grimace “Ugh, how to put it?”
“A waste of a good time, maybe?” Her smile is back, and his relief is a mile deep.
“Maybe. More that if you don’t know anything about what you want and don’t want, then sign up to something intended to be permanent … and only then decide how these parts of a relationship are unpleasant, a chore or just something to be avoided. Then everyone’s unhappy. So, no. I would rather you’ve taken a few serious boyfriends for a spin, and just found them lacking, than have you sit here all doe eyed and trembling.” Somewhere in the shared experience and embarrassment they find a mutual snort at the image, and their report is instantly back.
“Aren’t you being pretty smug, thinking no one will compare?” The tone is teasing and slightly flirty, and just a bit self-assured.
“Oh, I’m sure they will compare.” A pause for effect, a wicked grin “Compare badly.” Jin Lian laughs so hard she nearly chokes, earrings jingling slightly. It’s not a nasty, derogatory laugh, it is a happy gut chuckle.
“I read about your work schedule, Ri Muhyeok, don’t think I didn’t.” Chortling “Are you really, truly claiming you’d be able to keep someone well-pillowed enough to last her a few weeks?” The akitas are back, armed to the teeth with bonking bats. He grins, a happy teasing grin.
“Oh, no, of course not. That’d be superhuman.” Takes her hand on the table, softly stroking it with his thumb “Worth trying for, though.” The touch is light, insignificant, and not insistent, but at the same time, it comes armed with a uno reverse card. It would barely draw notice in public, yet it sends rampaging akitas everywhere. “Enough to leave some thirst for more.” Still stroking “Enough to wait impatiently?”
Lian’s mind tries to get a word in while wading through her own akitas, noticing that on the one hand he’s not doing or saying anything inappropriate. But the implications, the content under the surface, oh my. He releases her hand, she wishes he hadn’t, notices a slight pink cast over even his fair skin. So, she’s not the only one affected. He clears his throat; suggests they head out.
“You had better get enough sleep if you are going to be able to keep up tomorrow morning.” She teases him back, accepts his help to get out of the seating. “Oh, I didn’t tell you earlier. That dress looks lovely. It is a very pretty colour for you, Jin Lian.”
“Thank you, I picked it because it’s easy to pack, sleek and doesn’t wrinkle easily.” She could slap herself for being a nerd again. Why can’t she just accept a nice compliment. “It’s a wrap-around model, just tie the belt and it’s done. Ta-daa.” And why is she babbling.
“A word of advice.” He’s walking very close to her as they’re going to pick up their coats “Challenging a navy man to make a dress unravel if he can undo a single knot is very gutsy.”
He holds up the coat for her to slide on, then slides the door open for her. “I’m beginning to believe you are doing this to me on purpose”
The cool air in the ulitsa can’t quite drive the rose from her cheeks. The conversation on the walk back to her hotel again flows and meanders, holding hands feels natural. She asks about where he lives, in this maze of a city. He tells her just off the campus uley, since it’s close to the naval base and has good communications, that residential buildings mostly rise above ground for better light and views but that some people prefer the convenience of just staying below.
“Like little arctic moles?”
“It is pretty dark here in winter, anyway, so you could be right.” The streets and the miesto are much quieter now, later in the evening. He makes sure she gets back to her hotel, after asking, kisses her good night. It’s a very polite kiss, given their talk earlier, and not full face-eating, though her response is enthusiastic. Similarly, not touching her, except for holding her hand. Lian looks vaguely disappointed, even when she – mostly – agrees that taking things one step at a time is for the best.
“You know what is going to keep me awake tonight?” His tone is very soft, breath warm against her ear. “How you looked disappointed just now. At one kiss and no more.”
“I didn’t mean to …”
“I understand, Jin Lian. I’m tempted, too. But it’s my saju, and I want things done the right way.” He takes one very reluctant step away from her. “So, I’ll see you in the morning. Pleasant dreams, Ms Jin Lian.” And he’s gone, straight backed and fast stride. She goes to bed weak-kneed, her mind a jumble of thoughts and feelings.
The gym. The internet cafe, where they look at games she has worked on, and she shows him her easter eggs. Looking at the ships in harbour. Deciding on cooking dinner together at his place. They go shopping, he cooks stroganoff for her. Art – the tiny porcupine that he draws for her, she says she’ll put into a game. They spend the next day (Sunday) looking at places that theoretically would be a nice place to live, walking about the city, they talk about everyday life, they even touch on children – her view is que sera, sera (like don’t question fate), and he actively wants at least some. He mentions that he’ll only have two demands. The first is that she would dress up for family occasions – he doesn’t care what she wears the rest of the time – in return he promises to try to make any such occasions as brief and painless as possible. And second, that she will not leave her computer hardware in their shared bed. Fairly reasonable things to ask. Her return demand is that she really cares about her work and trying to make her give up that part of herself, making her lose her art, will not turn out well. They look at possible real estate, she’s falling in love with the house he picks (the one with the top floor with windows all around, in the nature park), though she tries not to show it. He browbeats the very arrogant real estate agent by flashing his pins at him while Lian is busy cooing, and then has the guards explain some facts of life to the real estate agent. Overall, Lian is growing charmed with the man, the life he suggests they could have together, and her mind is gradually and unconsciously taking moving to Magadan as a fact. She finds her thought patterns changing and sees a lot of green flags.
They have a second round of dates in Suwon three weeks or so later. They have been texting for the duration and chatting except when he’s been at work, and even then, he sneaks in a few posts, just to stay in touch. They quickly fall into a relaxed camaraderie, talking about their days, being supportive, talking about practical things in passing. Both of them are gradually taking the other for granted, not in a negative way more in this person is part of my life way, despite this moving quite fast. Her friends having done the googling and discovered that there is no Ri Muhyeuk anywhere in the navy, and the only man with that name is a 72-year-old rice farmer outside Daegu. They are up in arms about her being tricked and used. Lian is much less concerned, both because some jobs come with heavy security, and despite him being listed as upper yangban on the presentation, throughout her visit to Magadan he refused to wear any sort of personal identifier on the left. She contacts the YM and tells them she’s aware that he’s using a false name, but that she doesn’t want to call this off. Not at all. Instead, she asks for more information, some indication that the YM can alleviate any worries. She’s reminded that they knowingly restricted some information for security reasons, including his name, but that they didn’t know he was going to leave all pins off.
“We figured he could just have made a Ri, that would have caused less concern for you.” They tell her he’s a younger son – “I know, he told me.” “He did, did he?” – but that she would probably recognize his father’s name. That Ri Muhyeuk asked for privacy so there would be no pressure either way. The family has a history of sajus gone wrong, one included a death and a kidnapping, of two different girls – Lian is goggling, why hadn’t they told her this? – and one that ended well, but the army had to show up to end the bloodshed – Lian turns white. The army?! – so your young man, you should be grateful he’s being very careful this time. He’s not just protecting himself; he’s protecting you, too, in a very real way. Until you know the rest, you can just walk away, and nothing will happen. Anyway, he’ll likely tell you himself, once he thinks you have chosen him for sure. The ajummas snigger at her. They tell her in confidence that what they hear from his side sounds very positive indeed and that he said he’d just have to keep courting her until she either told him to stop or that she made her mind up to keep him. A bit of older, knowledgeable lady chortle, nudge, nudge. The man likes you, after all. So, it’s up to you how long you want to leave him guessing, or how curious you are to know the rest. Or if you chicken out. She asks if she’s in danger. The ajummas hesitate, Lian is feeling queasy. As long as it’s between the two of you and no one else is involved there should be no danger. Once you’re an official couple, his family certainly control the resources to keep you safe. What is dangerous is if in the meantime other interested parties find out and interfere. This sounds more like yakuza or chaebol infighting to Lian, and she tells them so. They shake their heads;
“No, he’s yangban. No doubts about that.” Pause “The yakuza doesn’t hold a monopoly when it comes to resorting to violence, unfortunately.” This conversation both bothers Lian – what had happened those other times? – and in a strange way cements her choice. If she wants this guy, she had better let him know upfront, not just let this drag on and on. He’s been very clear about what kind of relationship he wants, and he’s been trying to keep them, her mostly, from rushing headlong into anything. Because it sounds like this is not a situation where you can casually date, where there are real enemies around, and that means she won’t be able to change her mind later. So, what does she want, she asks herself. And lands in the fact that she does like this man who is not Ri Muhyeuk and likes him enough to take the risk. That whenever she imagines turning him down and going back to her regular life, well, images of that simply won’t form any longer. She tells herself that she’s probably nuts, but she just can’t let him go. So, she makes plans.
She picks him up at the airport in her dinky little car, he still insists on getting a hotel room instead of staying with her. She quietly checks his collar. Still no pins on the left, except for the navy globe. Their connection is still there, like he’s already a part of her life, and always was. He ends up staying overnight, but still puts off taking things all the way. Frustrating for sure. She has a mid-morning meeting the next day, lets him free to explore and picks him up afterwards, he’s made his way to a park. There are people trying to talk to him when she arrives. Unbeknownst to her, these are people who think they recognize him as wangja and try to ask him about it. He dodges them and hurries off with her, much relieved. Lian asks him to come to the mall with her, he’s still a bit skittish about people but agrees. She takes him to a jewellery shop and suggests they buy couple rings. Says she’s aware this may be premature, and that there are several topics they haven’t had the time to discuss yet. Still, she feels like she wants to make it clear and visible that he’s her boyfriend, and as far as she is concerned, he can close the saju. Lee Hoyeol has his mind blown. Asks her ”Are you sure?” She looks him steady in the eyes and tells him she’s perfectly aware that he’s been lying to her. She just doesn’t know what he’s hiding – she taps his collar, where the pins should be – but she is still ready to get the rings for them. That she realises that given everything, she will not be able to change her mind, but she doesn’t plan on doing so. So, they get rings together, puts them on each other. He wears his on his right ring finger, she wears it on her left index. Narrowest gold with a few twinkling diamonds. He asks if they can take a picture of just their two hands, so they have proof to their respective families and friends. Also, that she is right, he does have things to tell her, but the middle of a mall is not the place for that conversation. They buy take-out and head back to her apartment, which is chaotic but clean, full of her interests, and not very spacious compared to his – two small rooms and a galley kitchen. They sit on her couch eating lunch. Lian keeps eyeing her ring. This may be the best or worst decision of her life. He puts his food away and tells her this was why he has been holding off earlier, that he wanted her to know before committing fully. That temptation had been strong, it had been really difficult to do – they share a knowing smile – but that doing otherwise would have been unfair and dishonourable. So, she asks him what his family name is. He tells her Ri. So, the same. He smiles slightly and shakes his head. Written differently, same pronunciation. He draws the Lee with his finger on the couch. She wags a finger at him for being tricksy. And your full name? Lee Hoyeol tells her, expecting a reveal. She goes:
” Eh? What’s the big fuss about with a name like that? Lots of people named Lee in the country.” He’s not sure what he expected but probably not this. He takes out the tiger pin from his pocket and puts it on in second position. Tells her that’s from his mother’s side. Oh, the people in Magadan, you mentioned them. She takes a closer look.
“Wait, that’s a tiger. That’s the tiger. Why are you wearing the winter tiger of the Tae?” He sighs. “Don’t tell me there’s more.”
“I’m afraid so.” Somewhere at the back of her mind, a small memory is rattling around trying to get her attention, that she had heard of a saju gone sour involving the Tae sisters, but it was a long time ago, and the details are fuzzy. He takes out his maesil, pins it into place, white gold on red gold. Doesn’t say anything, waiting for her reaction. Wait, what? She touches it, he sits still, letting her sift through the new information.
“If your name is Lee something, and you wear a maesil on the left, that means you are part of the wangja.” He nods.
“I am. In fact, I told you who I am, at the dinner at the harbour. I just left the names out, everything else is true.”
“You have a big brother … who is expected to take over after … Oh my God.”
“Yes, well, oh my god covers the situation pretty well.” Lian is making little whimpering noises. “Should I be kowtowing?”
“Please don’t, Jin Lian. I really mean it.” Another sigh. “The reality is that everything in that saju, all I told you, is true. As far as I know, I’m just a navy officer in the High North, and that’s how it’s likely to remain. You’ve seen how I live, what my life is like. I just also happen to be a grand prince, and the Winter Tiger is my oldest uncle. But those things aren’t important in the everyday.” Strokes her arm “What’s more important is that I really like being with you.”
“You. Have a weird set of priorities” They are beginning to get cosy on the couch when his phone keeps beeping with incoming messages. They ignore the beeping. Then a call, a very special and pointed ring signal. (It’s probably the punk cover of We Don’t Talk About Bruno?) Lee Hoyeol sighs, tells her he will have to take this one call.
“Why aren’t you picking up? I sent you several messages just now.”
“Sorry, you know I work; I can’t always grab the phone right away.” A garbled reply ending “not at sea at the moment.” He mouths to her:
“It’s my dad.” She puts a pillow over her face/mouth, peeking over the top. “Yes, I’m in Suwon.” pause “Yes, the picture is real.” pause “No, no one else saw it. What? Now?” Pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s a bit sudden to… No, we were going to have dinner anyway. No, please. Don’t use the official voice.” pause “Can’t make it in an hour. I’d need to get back to the hotel to change, and… Yes. Yes, fine. I’ll tell her.” Puts the phone down, groans, head in his hands. “Jin Lian, it seems you and I have a dinner appointment. In Busan. Tonight. I’m so sorry.”
“What? But how are we…?”
“He’s sending a car within two hours” Over her stunned whispered
“Car?” He continues how he expects the guards to walk in on them any minute, since he had said he had to change. They know where she lives? Phone beeps, he throws an eye on it.
“Hyeung. I’m to make sure you come, or else fire and brimstone something.” Lian pats him.
“It’s always like this, is it?”
“You begin to see why I prefer the High North?”
She hugs him, (about 15 min pass) there’s an insistent knock on the door. On opening, three guardsmen walk in, two instantly begin to do a security check, one hands Lee Hoyeol a full suit, in plastic as if from dry cleaners. Shirt, shoes, shaving kit, the works. Very efficient and matter of fact.
“You have one hour 40, your highness. Preferably less.” Jin Lian is wide-eyed by the intrusion and chaos.
“Uhhh, I probably should wear something else, too.”
(She’s still in work clothes since the morning) Hoyeol asks if she is comfortable with him finding something in her wardrobe while she showers. Not really, given that she knows she doesn’t have that many clothes suitable for dinner with the royal family, and they don’t know each other that well, but fine.
“Please find something, anything halfway appropriate, Lee Hoyeol. Have mercy on me.”
While she’s locked into the bathroom he rustles through her closet. Somewhere in the depth are her qipaus for family events, he settles on something in black with golden dragons, collar, and details in red. They switch places, shower to bedroom. The place is getting crowded into cramped and not very private with people coming and going. She wonders what her neighbours think about the commotion, there are official looking black cars in the street outside. Her friends are texting her, asking if she got around to ask that fake Ri Muhyeok the truth, is she ok and so on. She texts back that she’s fine, everything is settled, she’ll tell them later. Hesitates, adds that they’re going out to dinner so she won’t be able to chat with them tonight, but that she will do so later. So, he thought the black qipau was good enough, lucky that it still fits. They end up trying to get dressed in her small bedroom, finding the intimacy of a rushed change of clothes both funny and in a way endearing in the us against the world way. He’s buttoning up his shirt, a standard suit in shale grey, putting maesil cufflinks in place while giving her a onceover and a wicked grin as she is trying to pour the dress over her head.
“You know, if we weren’t in such a hurry,” she quips back:
“If my living room wasn’t wall to wall security guys with microphones.” They laugh quietly.
“If you have stronger pins than your hanja Jin, use them” and he slips out into the living room, arguing with people. Lian takes a breath, she knows what she has quietly set aside in her jewellery box, the ones she won’t wear outside to avoid attention, barely with her family though they all own the same ones. She pulls open the drawer, in a very well, I’ll show the lot of them mood, like a gambler unfolding a high hand against a rash call. Unwraps a silk napkin. Clips into place on the right the taegeuki and the common white maesil, on her left… fingers hesitate, watching herself in the mirror … she pins her vertical, flowing Aisin-Gioro glyph in Manju script first, then the azure dragon curled around a red ball, on a rim of yellow. It’s the pin of the Qing flag, and as a member of the Aisin-Gioro Manju family, she’s entitled to wear it. (Our timeline Empress Cixi was born Yehanala) The regular Manju-post-Qing dragon, symbol of Manchuria, is just the azure one on white, this is the Imperial China version. There are many family lines named Jin in the sino-sphere, but Jin meaning gold is a direct translation of Aisin-Gioro, and several Qing descendants chose to translate their Manju name to Mandarin or Korean in the chaos of post-1840. Quickly wraps herself in a loose red silk scarf matching the dress, checks her earrings, dabs on a basic makeup, pins her hair away from her ears with combs, but skips even attempting the full Manju updo with flowers and decorations. It would take too long, and, frankly, she’s just of Manju heritage, not trying to star in some re-enactment drama.
“OK, I’m done.”
Blushes slightly at so many people watching her at once. Coats, hustled into waiting black cars that speed off, she’s concerned about how to lock her door, someone radios back to keep the place secured.
“It will be under control, ma’am.” She inches closer to Lee Hoyeol, he takes her hand. Sighs slightly. The co-driver turns on the car music. Unexpectedly, it’s a punk and rock mix. The cortege speeds out on the highway, police motorcycles in front, for the three-hour drive. They do not abide by the speed limit. During the drive he keeps getting cheerful texts from different family members, and a two-hour-later very stressed out one from his mother saying his father has been pacing in his study for the last hour and won’t talk to anyone, and would they please hurry. Lian asks to and given go-ahead to send the hand picture to her mom. Predictably she calls back and is in full TELL ME mode. Lian is much aware of Lee Hoyeol, driver and guard listening in and is trying to tamper her down. Yes, she’s been part of a saju.
“I already told you this.” Yes, it’s finished and she’s happy about the decision. The guy is pretty much wonderful. No, she’s not going to tell her everything right this second, but it’ll be fine, it really will, and they’re going to see his family over dinner. Her mom gets in a bit of a snit at not being informed, at the Jin family being the lower priority, doesn’t he know who they are, and has quite a lot to say about unmannerly Russians – She doesn’t actually know about him being koreyo-saram, but she does know about Magadan, so she’s inferring – who don’t understand, or care, about what’s required in good society, and how did he think dragging her daughter to the wilds of Magadan would be even slightly acceptable, and so on at length. The guardsmen go for mute invisibility, rolling their eyes behind the mirror sunglasses. Lee Hoyeol gestures, she hands him her phone, and he has a brief but polite conversation with her mother. He doesn’t give his name but ends by telling her he will ask his own mother to be in touch with her. Soon. Hangs up. Tells Lian that given her mother’s view of koreyo-saram people, this will likely produce quite a lot of fireworks. Smiles wickedly. Her mind goes: his family, the actual royal family of the country, just went full chaos, including making them drive to Busan shutting down the main peninsula motorway artery in the process, and during their month-long acquaintance, Lee Hoyeol has been friendly, rational, and well-kept. But now she just got a hint that he has the same chaos nature as the rest of them, just being in better control of it. For her, it’s a good sign, because chaos in small doses is spicy.
They arrive in Busan. She’s been there before, but she’s never bothered with any of the sightseeing. Just did her meetings, wolfed down food, some shopping, wow, the sea looks nice, and then headed back, usually by train. Getting the full cortege drive-by sightseeing is a new experience. They are herded into the royal palace, met by a very upset Tae Jiwon, who is so frazzled she barely acknowledges her new daughter-in-law-to-be. She’s more that she trusts Lee Hoyeol’s judgement, Lian doesn’t ring any warning bells at first sight, and she has bigger fish to fry. Like getting her husband out of his irrational snit, because when he’s in a snit or fury is when dangerous things happen. She makes them drop their coats enroute, staff is hovering, and ushers them into Pyeha’s study.
“Dear.” Pause. Switching to Russian: “Eb tvoyu mat! MILIY!”
The shout makes Lian jump. Such a pleasant and modest-seeming woman – she does realise this is Lee Hoyeol’s mother, they greeted each other warmly, and the Queen of Korea – but she did not expect that volume and the sharpness of tone. The room is L-shaped (Comment: N-shaped in hangul) and they are barely inside the door, Tae Jiwon in front of the youngsters. In front is a seating group with a low table, the place is wall-to-wall and several stories of books and slate boards, most of them with chalk writings that looks like mathematics. There is a formal desk in the back with all the accruements of royal power – she recognises it from television – and the room continues off to the right. A man walks out, a quick pace, very tall, broad shouldered in a dark coat with gold embroidered leaves over the shoulders, well recognized from media and portraits everywhere. But Lian catches on to the fact that she has never seem images of the King this upset; he usually appears regal, kind and caring in all official postings. This is someone on the verge of an outburst, and she fervently prays she’s not going to be the target of royal displeasure.
“Ah. You’re here. Finally.”
Lian recognize the voice too from media, but never realised that he had a dialect. Maybe he is moderating his speech in official performances.
“The drive takes as long as it does, there is no cause for you to be unreasonable at Lee Hoyeol, and you are scaring off the young lady.” The queen sounds rather huffy, and she too has a dialect, a different one. She sounds a lot like Lee Hoyeol. In fact, she sounds more like a very annoyed wife and mother, not at all like someone in formal hanbok, binyeo, all curtsying during ceremonies, which is Lian’s previous only view of the lady. The king pinches the bridge of his nose, shakes his head, exhales. You can tell he’s actively trying to switch persona. In a few seconds, he turns to his son.
“Lee Hoyeol, I’m happy to see you. Please be seated. All of you.”
There is a bit of embarrassed silence. Lian is pretending she’s invisible. Finally Lee Hoyeol speaks up. “My humble thanks for arranging the ride, Pyeha. It would have been difficult to arrive in time otherwise.” A huff.
“Pyeha? We’re in private. What happened to Father?”
“If Pyeha orders me here using the King’s Voice, I will respond accordingly.”
Jin Lian is trying to turn herself invisible, the Queen on the other hand looks like she’s about to burst out laughing while angry.
“Enough, stop it, both of you.” Pause, accompanied with all-around glares. “Apologies are in order.” It’s a simple declarative sentence. It is also more than a direct order, it’s a fact that something will happen. It has weight. “You are both adults, so act like it, you are embarrassing the family in front of our new daughter, and I expected this kind of behaviour from Byeol and Hiro; you know better than this, Lee Hoyeol, and if Pyeha doesn’t apologize to our son right now, we will have lengthy words later tonight.” Silence lands with an embarrassed thud. Pyeha clears his throat.
“I’m sorry, Lee Hoyeol. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. Got carried away.” Pause “It should not be used for something this shallow.” Pause. “Getting engaged is not shallow. Of course not. But there was no rush.”
Her Majesty the Queen nods. If she had been a woman of lesser rank, she might have been tapping her foot with impatience. Lian doesn’t dare trying to peek under the table to check.
“I understand, Father. I overreacted too.”
Apparently, the choice of address counts as an apology because they both look more relaxed. It’s also very clear that the Queen is indeed the mother of the country. Pause, a sideways glance at Lian. “Was looking forward to spending time with my fiancée, is all.” Now all three royals are looking at her, and Lian is more or less eep-ing. “Father, Mother, I would like to introduce Jin Lian to you. She accepted my suit today, and I’ve closed off the saju with the YM. The simplest way to describe her is that I’m happier when she’s around, and she apparently thought I was wonderful, before knowing my name.” Lian turns rosy pink and bows deep, while seated. The bow is waved off by her future father-in-law with a small smile.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Jin Lian; our son has been giving us glowing reports of the progress of the saju, so we were naturally very excited to meet you in person.”
It’s dead obvious the Queen is from Magadan, with a sentence like that. She would not look out of place in one of the ulitsas, with brown hair and pale eyes, and the maesil and the tiger, same as Lee Hoyeol, on her left collar. There is some small talk, simple tea is served by staff that is too professional to stare at them. Lee Hoyeol talks about moving within Magadan, for security and for Lian’s benefit. He talks about her game designs, she adds shyly that now that she’s seen some of his work it would be interesting to design something based on that, maybe something educational for children. Like a helpful way to learn how to read and write. No one comments on her quipao or her earrings; the Kingdom is by now so racially blended, though majority East Asian-something – not quite mixed, but the population is from all over – that past noting her Manju heritage it’s no big issue.
Dinner is very awkward for Jin Lian. The gaggle are friendly, the teen children chatty and teasing. She’s more than a little intimidated by seja and wangsejabi – they are the more formal royalty known from media, and Dan Karo’s Korean is still a bit stilted, though Byeol is cheerfully congratulating, smacking his brother on the shoulder and being large and exuberant in general. There is a polite but sotto voce chatter around the table, food is excellent, the topics are varied and generally interesting. She’s not sure what she expected of dinner with the actual royal family, but this friendly bunch was not in the running. Lee Jian climbs up her chair to look at her earrings – she demands to have similar ones, her father calmly comments that she’ll have six earrings once she turns Manju, as if that’s age related, and staff deposits her back in her seat. Queen Yangmi shows interest in game design for learning – apparently this queen functions as the resident pedagogue – Queen Seri gives her compliments on her clothes, especially combined with the scarf and the hair, turning a regular dress into something more avantgarde. Lian blushes and is barely eating. Lee Hoyeol is nudging her, trying to show support. Eventually, 17-year-old Lee Daeyeong asks about her pins. There is silence and interest all around. Lian isn’t really comfortable with this question, and deeply regret having dared to use her real pins. There is something about this kid that not quite scares her but makes her wary. He has the same jade eyes as Lee Hoyeol, the same overall look, though he needs to grow a bit more into his adult height, but for a teen he’s intimidating. You can tell that he’s asking this on purpose, but you cannot tell why.
“What?” That voice is a bit too smooth, a bit too innocent. “She’s wearing a scarf, a nice one, too, so I’m just curious.”
Curious, my foot. Lee Hoyeol is about to strangle his kid brother. Out of all his brothers by any mother, Lee Daeyeong bothers him in ways he cannot explain. Very private, studious, ambitious, well, that would describe himself at that age, too. But he just can’t get a handle on what’s going on inside the mind behind those unreadable jade eyes, and it concerns him. He can tell Lian is getting frazzled by the question, as if anyone would order her execution for having made a fashion statement.
“My apologies,” she begins to unwrap her scarf, against polite protests from his aunties, “I should have thought about this beforehand.” There is interest around the table, chopsticks being lowered. Then a joint indrawn breath. And silence. Lee Hoyeol is sitting to her right, so he only sees the common maesil and the taegeuki on her right. But he realises that something is the matter, because of how red she is and the look in his parents’ faces.
“Interesting.” This is from Byeol, always bold. “Are you able to write the script too?” Write? What’s the matter? What is she wearing?
“I can read and write Manju script, seja, though I rarely have a reason to.” Did she put Jin in Manju characters? His father leaning forward, elbows on the table, chin on his folded hands.
“An interesting development, indeed. I assume your other family members are in possession of the same pins.” She bows assent. Diagonally from the table, Lee Daeyeong is squinting at Lian, like he is weighing her, reevaluating her. To Lee Hoyeol she is priceless, and his brother is a pita. His mother is beaming, he can spot a dimple in her cheek. What’s going on? Byeol whispers in Dan Karo’s ear, she catches on with an indrawn breath and fires off her radiant smile.
“Jin Lian?” She turns towards him, he spots a Manju character and the Manju azure dragon, no, wait. That’s not the regular azure dragon. That’s the Qing dynasty dragon, not the plain one that symbolises Manju.
“I … I thought the YM told you. Or not. Like everyone knows that’s what it means.” She sounds terrified, he takes her hand. A small huff from along the table, but not unfriendly. Madam auntie Jin Chiel:
“Not all Jin families are the same, Jin Lian. “She bows slightly, merely a tip of her head. “I am Jin Chiel. My family is Korean, not Manju.” Pause “I don’t read Manju, I’m sorry, but I’m fairly certain your name is Aisin-Gioro Lian, in your own language. Gold is after all gold, whatever the translation.”
Judging from his dad’s expression, he wants to high five someone, as if he’s thinking that Lee Hoyeol is indeed a great son of the house of Lee, in that he found someone more than suitable for the horrible just-in-case situation that no one wants.
Jiwon gets to chew on the uppity mother. Interaction with his siblings. More about Lian and Hoyeol happily moving back to Magadan, Lian interacting with her friends to their great surprise, a bit of their lives.
(Comment: Now, I’m certain the YM know about the Jin/Aisin-Gioro-Qing connection and just didn’t tell him. I am also certain her name came up when they were sifting candidates for Byeol’s saju. Why didn’t they think that match was suitable, given that she’s a direct descendant of the Qing? I suspect Lian’s profile ended up in the too-soft-to-curb-him pile, combined with her being five years younger. A little too soft, a little too artsy, a little too independent-and-contrary while being very social – she just doesn’t have the mindset of a leader, neither in business nor in government, nor in private. Not dominant enough, when push comes to shove. And at the time, when they started looking, he was 22-23, she was 17-18, just not mature enough to stand up to a force of nature like him. They probably rechecked her profile before sending him to Europe, but then she was 22 and still not steady-minded enough. She and Hoyeol are much better matched with their patience, soft natures, and sense of social works, while Byeol with his Karo is a firestorm of activity and interests and she will definitely put the kibosh on any nonsense of his. In the same way, Karo matched with Hoyeol would have led to unhappiness in the long run – she’s too extroverted and combative – though they are good friends)
This happens in 2051: I had thought that maybe Lee Ayame would be a good match, but then Lee Sasya storms in from the left and does a Lilo adopting Stitch spit take: “Yup, this one is mine.” Also, cf what happened with the Greek – Danish royalty a few generations ago. She’s Yangmi’s daughter, haipu in Japanese terms, and she’s been crushing hard and hunting Kiyoka Kuroda since she was a tween. Or we can define it as: He was given fair warning and a head start. Poor guy. Then the Japanese role-playing/cosplay dating rooms popped into my mind, given that Japanese culture in this AU is a bit more (way more, no, even more WAY) socially liberal than the Kingdom of Korea, this is a scene for young people to date (semi-)strangers with interests in the same fandoms, historical eras and so on. It can be totally safe and proper, but there is always the option to step past the proper into getting to know each other more in depth, if I put it that way. Moisten the churro, as the Spanish put it. It’s a place where people can experiment with their preferences, wild flirting is encouraged, as well as testing boundaries. By the late 2040s it is an established, cherished traditional venue of dating and fun, “how I met your mother”. Can it be silly fun? Absolutely. Can it be somewhat dangerous? Yes, that’s part of the fun. Can it lead to a lot of licentiousness? Hubba, hubba. There’s drinking & eating, karaoke, role-playing, boardgames and other activities themed to the style of dating room. There are strictly enforced age limits for various zones – the very safe cosplay, soft drinks & boardgame zones are from maybe 14-15, and staff will check your ID at every zone change. Drugs are a major no-no. No one is required to interact or role play, there is staff/security around, to keep things from getting out of hand without consent (like pulling actual swords or forcing people to drink).
Sasya has always been regarded as his friend’s annoying baby sister – there is a 13-year age difference, which is on the extreme side of OK by our timeline South Korean mores (4-5 is more the preferred interval) – so he has indulged her wanting to practice her Japanese, answered questions, and generally been thinking of himself as a nice guy big-brotherly. What he overlooked is the combination of Korean-German strategic, rational passion and drive: she has her father’s sense of tactics and interest in the opposite gender, and her mother’s we break for nobody, get things done no matter how overall attitude. She has dark wavy hair cut in a bob, dark grey eyes (looks brown at a distance), porcelain skin, double eyelids, and a bit of the muscle – her dad is on the tall-broad athletic scale and her mom has a general European big-boned-by-comparison-to-many-East-Asians built. Over the years, whenever she hears Kiyoka is supposed to visit Japan proper, she finds an excuse to go see her oppa in Kyoto. After all, she’s the one who isn’t Shiori’s kids with an interest in Japanese culture. “Uncle Aki” puts up with her, treats her pretty much as her unnis/his real nieces, and lets her do her own thing, but always with security tagging along. She does all the sightseeing, goes skiing in Nagano and Sapporo, watches the sakura bloom, learns tea ceremonies, visits Hawaii and Fiji, probably getting ready to study in the islands too. From the point of view of Busan, they have their hands full with their expanding brood, and if her brother and step-uncle want to look after her, that’s fine, one less to worry about daily. So, for a double princess, her supervision is quite patchy. This is a superbly bad idea.
So. We’re in 2051: she’s just graduated – she’s just turned 19 – planning to study abroad in the fall. She’s feeling like a full adult, and with her haipu looks can pass for older. (As opposed to her sister Lee Miran, Meilin’s daughter, who is the perfect porcelain baby doll, and who will probably look like she’s at college when she retires). At that point Kiyo is resigning from his navy commission to take up more administrative work on his father’s fief. Lots of things relating to sheep and fishing, trade in food stocks, cattle feed, a busy, busy guy. Goes to Osaka for a trade fair – lamb sashimi. It’s a thing. Competing with the pretty Alaskan salmon – and meets up with Hiro and their shared group of pals from their naval academy days. Cosplay rooms offer a bit of anonymity, a way to escape the grit and grind of the weekday, after a bit back and forth they decide to go for a well-reputed historical, samurai era place, the equivalent of a permanent ren faire. But someone is listening in on what her big brother is planning, so she figures she’ll tag along unsupervised. At this point, all she’s planning is sitting quietly nearby and listen to the conversation. Besides she’s into costume drama too, of course. Hiro does the full get-up from Sunrise, Sunset, and gets cheers and applauds at the establishment The Green Dragon – he’s not really recognized, it’s just praise for the cosplay. The friend group just go for historical kimono and the double katana, anyone with longer hair gets the high ponytail. They’re just out to have a good time, to hang out, have some beers, flirt a little, the equivalent of a pub night with extended possibilities. Sasya involves her sisters in dressing up, we’re talking full cultural camouflage here. Layers on layers of fancy kimonos, a not-as-extreme version of the make-up with smokier eyes, shorter hair clipped into an updo with jewellery. She can pass for a modern Japanese girl in historical cosplay, but her mixed race is mostly covered by the by-now far-flung spread of the Empire and the various ethnicities. After all, some British people did stay in Kagame no Shima, so there are freckled carrot-top Japanese around at this point, over a 100 years later. She’s fine with her ren faire light cosplay level, grabs her fake ID, making her another 3 years older and heads out. Her security thinks she should be fine – after all, she’s just recently of age so they know she cannot access any zone that would cause an issue with either of the three courts involved. At worst, she might be holding hands with a boy or a girl and having a few beers too many. <fx: security guys shrugging: “What could go wrong?” Voiceover: “A lot of things”> The Green Dragon turns out to be busy, gay in both senses of the word and full of fun activities, including theatre skits and an orchestra downstairs. The guys book an upstairs room in the grown-up zone, start in on a lot of sake, watching old movies, and having geisha-cosplaying girls dropping in and out, getting free drinks, sitting on laps and kissing, then drifting away to general laughter. Sasya is using her fake ID to drift upstairs, smiling, and laughing, but mainly avoiding interaction. <fx: U2: “But I still haven’t found what I’m looking for”> She’s visited The Green Dragon before, but the 19+3 ID finally allows her access to the entire place, so she’s doing research in the upper floors and the backrooms. There is quite a lot going on, judging from sounds, if you pull a door open too quickly you might get an eyeful – if that is good or bad depends. She makes sure to keep staff within the corner of her eye for safety, while browsing and blushing slightly. Recognizing voices, she listens at a door. That definitely sounds like Hiro oppa, and it sounds like they’re just drinking, chatting, nothing too much that would get her into trouble. After all, if he identifies her as his little sister, he’ll know she shouldn’t be there. She hears someone calling for music, supported by the rest, so she takes a deep breath, steels herself and pulls the door open. Seven slightly bleary-eyed men stare at her, including Kiyoka Kuroda and her brother the crown prince. She bows humbly and in a low sweet voice: “I heard you gentlemen asking for music. I play the koto, and would be happy to entertain the room, if an instrument would be provided.” General cheers, someone gets up to have the staff find a koto – this after all adds to the historical atmosphere, they’re after. They drag her down on seating cushions at the far end of the low table, hand her sake, and wait for the koto to be set up. There is some general flirting, which is decidedly awkward for her. She goes the route of role playing the refined maiden sent as a hostage to an opponent’s castle, being coy and teasing while still being maidenly, ignorantly chaste – a standard trope in costume drama streaming and novels. That allows her to smile, tease and play music, while not necessarily being expected to do anything else. General smiles around the room, now this is more like it, especially if more cuddly girls would stop by. So, Sasya ends up playing all the classics – she’s a competent koto player, even if not at professional level – even singing some (she’s taking requests!), making sure to keep her face lowered, focusing on the playing, just sneaking looks under lashes, which can easily be interpreted as flirting. Hiro is a bit mystified – the music girl sort of reminds her of someone, especially her voice – she does after all have the family look – but he cannot place her, and when he approaches her to investigate, she bends her head away and puts her hand up with: “My apologies, sir-sama, but I do not wish for such contact with you.” Whistles and general gaiety that she unknowingly turned down the Crown Prince, along the lines of someone quipping: “Ha! You don’t know what you’re missing!” She fires back
“Sounds like you know intimately what I would be missing, sir! I suggest you keep your pillow friend to yourself.” More laughter, Hiro turning bright pink. Everyone having great fun, this music girl is a sweet-looking tease, and lots of sake is available. She does spare a thought for her security team who misplaced her and now is staking out the ladies’ restrooms on the entrance floor. The party gets gradually more licentious and handsy with more people joining in to listen and snuggle in to sit at the table. After a while another koto player offers to take over to give her a break, so she takes the excuse to sneak in to sit next to Kiyoka. There is some slightly awkward convo along the lines of “
Hi there”,
“Hi yourself”. She’s stiff with the opportunity <fx: “I’m finally sitting at the grown-ups’ table!”>, he’s just not the sort to handsy a girl unless he knows there’s already a green light. As the party progresses, she crawls into his lap with the excuse to make more space for seating, leaning her head on his shoulder and so on. Fairly innocently, but with the situation, some mutual manhandling certainly happens. And eventually quite a lot of increasingly passionate kissing – that helps keeping her face covered. As far as he’s concerned, she wouldn’t even be able to be there unless she’s 21 or more – there are after all ID checks – she’s not even teasingly protesting and after all, this is after all semi-public so if she wasn’t into what they’re doing, she could call for staff to come and extract her from the situation. Some of the other party goers are turning this into full revelry, with clothes slipping and quite a lot of bases being covered in different combinations. Sasya is torn – while snogging is indeed a ton of fun, she’s not going to commit to more than this, and definitely not to a semi-exposure situation in the presence of her brother <fx: cringe wince>. She did grow up in a household where casually but circumspectly mentioning taking turns with the resident husband depending on mood and day was seen as perfectly natural, at the same time this was in a culture that is intensely conservative and discrete on the surface. She whispers,
“I’ll have to go, this party is getting out of hand.” She begins to stand up, he whispers back
“Want to go somewhere more private?” A moment of hesitation, trying to catch his eye, trying to gauge if he actually recognizes her – she’s in two minds about this: if he does, he’d certainly stop. If he doesn’t, well, she’ll have fun, but he’ll think she’s just anybody. Pyeha‘s blood runs strong and red in her, so she accepts, taking the bull by the horns (or something). They slip away, breathless and half laughing and giddy with daring. This isn’t something either of them would do in the normal run of things. He gives his name as Kiyo, she goes
“You can call me Ashi, like the reed” … it’s debatable if that is even a lie. Ashi does mean reed in Japanese, and it’s a flowing, willowy name suitable for a koto-playing girl in a party room, but of course he’s allowed to call her Asshi, with the Korean spelling. They have a good time, passion mixed with tender interludes. Later she slips away, straightening her clothes, not finding all hair clasps, having several hickeys, then tracks down her increasingly desperate security team
“You guys were guarding the wrong restroom!” and claims her state of messiness is due to having had a slight case of food poisoning – after all it’s hard to maintain a serene elegance while your head is down a toilet bowl. She returns to her uncle’s place, next morning having an incredibly awkward breakfast with her half-brother, who she last saw putting his face somewhere you usually don’t in front of witnesses, to general cheers.
“Good morning, Hiro oppa. You look a bit pale. Were you out partying last night, I thought I heard someone mention.” She went for scarf around her neck to avoid questions. He snaps at her
“and I heard you got food poisoning stuffing your dumb self with snacks and soda.” Good, her lie seems to be making the rounds.
“Yeah, I was going to play boardgames or something. The evening didn’t end the way I expected.” A quiet, secretive smile. Even if he didn’t recognize her, she has proof positive that Kiyoka Kuroda does view her as an adult now. To the extent that Hiro even connects the dots – for him, his little sister was out in the safe zone at The Green Dragon, ate something bad, and had to call it an early night. She doesn’t get hold of Kiyoka again in connection to the trade fair, so she packs up and heads home to Busan, waving bye to her Japanese family.
For him, this was a magical, daring, unusual interlude, like a dream but real. He wonders who the girl was, if he can see her again, if she’d like his regular, hardworking, boring self. He does realise this isn’t something that she’s in the habit of doing, he recognized the newbie, but this makes him even more somewhere between concerned “is she ok?” and slightly surprised-proud “why did she pick me?” He’s facing some boys-will-be-boys ribbing from his friends – Mr Straight-laced himself getting it on with that pretty girl! – but the teasing isn’t that bad, more a two-thumbs-up and shoulder-slapping.
“At least she’s not one of your sheep!”
Time comes and go, and something else doesn’t come. Which leads a very shamefaced Lee Sasya getting an appointment at the Royal Clinic, who at this point has an entire specialist department in obstetrics and related women’s health, and it’s even more embarrassing since she is required to admit this to her sister-in-law the Crown Princess, who is one of the resident MDs. Which in the next step leads to an even more shamefaced interview with her father. She’s half-German, she’s likely to be upfront, even when she’s embarrassed. Predictably, he goes full Disappointed Asian at her, but refrains from acts of parental violence. Her mother goes the route of What. Were. You. Thinking? You. Know. How. To. Avoid. Such. Mistakes. And Tae Jiwon wants the truth, the whole truth, and the guilty party strung up by his neck, or by something. Sasya stonewalls, gritted teeth in the face of pressure. Pyeha wants to send the navy after whomever hurt his baby girl, Chiel helpfully suggests her yakuza cousins, there is a *snick snick* of sharpening knives surrounding Jiwon. Everyone quietly decides to try to keep Byeol and Hiro out of this, but An Minji invertedly leaks the news and lets the cat out of the bag – the cat in question turns out to be a fully grown, growling Siberian tiger, who agrees with his father that the navy is indeed called for. Of course, he immediately calls his little brother Hiro, and roars at him for not watching out for their sister and having had her return home from Japan in a condition. It takes the rational, observant mind of Jae Vera to begin building a timeline, a window of time when things could have happened. Then the interrogations kick off. Hiro collects her schedule from the security teams in the Imperial Palace. Sasya says exactly nothing incriminating. She admits to certain things having happened – it’s not a case of immaculate conception. She states firmly that she was not coerced, that she was fully consenting. And then zip. It takes her understanding but frustrated mother to get her to admit that she knows who she was with, that she’s just not telling them. That doesn’t help the overall mood at Court – the staff tiptoes around, and the Council members are going full pangolin.
“Dear, please be quiet. If you yell at her she won’t tell us anything.” <fx: very loud and angry sulking, cf Crash Landing on You> “Lee Sasya, we are only trying to help you. I am not even going to ask you for names.” Sasya starts and stares at Jiwon. “Since you admitted to at least knowing the man’s name, I will ask you if he was generally healthy. Quiet! I am the Queen of this Court. I am the Mother of Korea. Do not interfere. That goes for Pyeha and Seja, too” <fx: deep breath> “I am asking this for the sake of your child, Pyeha‘s grandchild. Do you have any suspicions of bad health?”
Sensible question, Sasya feels she is able to answer this one.
“Not to my knowledge. No addictions, either.”
“Very well. Anything else surprising we might find out after delivery? No, Pyeha, I am speaking now. I am asking for good or bad traits. If we need to take special care of you now.”
Sasya stops being a goldfish. Madam Auntie Jiwon is generally a lovely person, but her niceness covers quite a lot of forcefulness. And straightforward lack of embarrassment.
“Eeeehhh, I don’t think that would be a problem. At all.” Jiwon nods.
“So we have settled that part. Now we come to the question of social suitability. From your refusal to tell us anything except that you are aware of who the man is, I assume something is amiss. Tell me. Be explicit.” <fx: Jiwon went full tiger, never go full tiger. It’s like being faced with a strobe light.> “I cannot help you unless you tell me, Lee Sasya.”
She crumbles in tears but stays quiet. “Is he married?” Shakes her head. “Is he socially unthinkable?” Another shake of the head. “Hmmm. Healthy, single, from an acceptable background, able to father children. You admitted to consenting. So, something else is the issue, isn’t it?” At this point Sasya is ugly weeping in her mother’s arms: being chewed on by the tiger lady can scare the socks off anyone. “Jae Vera’s calendar says it happened when you were in Japan last time. What? Is he violent? Someone insanely biased against Koreans? A Republican anarchist? Religious fanatic? Financially irresponsible? What?”
Sasya cracks under pressure.
“Because. Because… Because he didn’t sleep with me.”
General confusion and lots of “What?” and “Eh?” sounds.
“I lied, ok? I lied about my name. He probably has no clue…” More helpless weeping. <fx: Various family members patting virtual baseball bats> Big brother Byeol:
“If he doesn’t know, we will let him know.” <fx: Low growl, lashing tiger tail> “It’s an easy fix.”
His tone implies that broken bones may be included in the easy fix.
“Hiro knows.” Detonating silence, followed by Pyeha‘s:
“WHAT?” She just weeps and sniffles. “Your brother knows what, exactly?” Sasya is just crying, “Because I used a fake ID” and shaking her head.
“Yangmi, please make her rest, crying this hard isn’t good for her health. I have a phone call to make.” So, the call to Kyoto is made, from his study, it’s Pyeha, Byeol, Jiwon, Seri, with Chiel and Vera quietly by the door. After a few preliminaries, Hiro is told
“Lee Sasya claims you knows who slept with her. That is about the only definite information we have been able to extract from her. And that she used a fake ID, whatever that means.” Hiro:
“What? How would I possibly know something like …” Voice drifts off. “Oh no. Oh my god, she didn’t!” <fx: lengthy, guttural swearing in several languages>
“TELL ME!”
So, Hiro explains about places like The Green Dragon, about the age zones protected by ID.
“She was just going to be gaming with the little kids, it’s perfectly safe, and she had full security with her anyway. But they lost her somehow and she said she had gotten food poisoning or something, that she had been stuck in the ladies’ restroom a few hours.” Deep, very put-upon, parental sigh. “And you bought that excuse?” Hiro splutters. “Just you wait until you have children on your own. You’ll learn to spot obvious lies like that.” Byeol is almost oscillating with barely contained frustration.
“Father, ask Hiro what he was doing at the time. There’s something that doesn’t add up here.” Another explanation that he’d been there with some friends, same security team that was supposed to babysit his little sister downstairs while they spent a grown-up evening drinking and related things upstairs. That the upper floors were age restricted for everyone’s safety. Pyeha is close to head-desking.
“She had a fake ID, which I assume didn’t give her correct age either. Which meant you allowed your barely of age sister, a princess of two courts, to run loose In A Place Like That WITHOUT SECURITY?!” The typhon of that virtual roar is felt all the way in Kyoto. <fx: Hades: “And you are wearing his MERCHANDISE?”> “Now we get to the point that Sasya said you actually know. Not even Jiwon could make her crack, which means I intend to wring every last bit of information out of you instead, Lee Hiro. To begin with, I want the names of your friends so we can interview them to find out what they may have seen.” Hiro blushes a bit.
“Eehhh, that party was getting a bit … wild … ” winces “but, yes, I’ll make sure you have the information.” Hiro is getting strong flashbacks from last time he was the centre of his father’s fury, and his nose is very grateful this isn’t a conversation in person. The fact that Pyeha addresses him as Lee Hiro, in Korean, instead of his Japanese name and titles is a warning sign in and off itself.
SUMMARY TO EXPAND AND ADD: Pyeha calls everyone up to Busan asap, including all the way from Auckland. <fx: Red October: “Including one way out of Pearl!”> After adding puzzle pieces together, he and Byeol frogmarches Kiyoka Kuroda to his study, finding out that the young man in question is about as confused as everyone else, and talking about a koto-playing girl called Ashi. Which in turn makes his wrath descend on Lee Sasya, and he actively advises against any quick marriage, saying his daughter apparently is too immature for this, he want all paperwork signed and responsibility accepted by the Kurodas, but there will have to be a lengthy (years!) courtship period before he’s willing to consider sending his silly twit of a daughter off to Kagami no shima, if at all. Kiyoka is dazed by the entire situation – one rapid mental backhand after the other – but is trying to look out for Sasya and taking responsibility for his own actions. He’s the one who offers to inform his parents, despite most definitely being a legal adult. Byeol switches to being mostly mad at his sister, while still of the opinion that
“My man, you should have known better!”
These two are close to best friends, Kiyoka was a groomsman at his wedding. Hiro is getting a bit of a rough mental wake-up call, including getting glacial anger from his Uncle Akishino for making all of Japan lose face, and due consequences are coming down the pike for him. Hiero Kuroda and mrs Kuroda come running from Auckland, a bit back and forth about how the situation happened, and then they mainly agree with Pyeha. Yes, it would be a great status-improving match for them, and if it had been one of the elder sisters, Hiro’s full sisters or even Lee Miran, things would have been a lot less iffy. Lee Sasya they barely know, even if their son is acquainted with her beforehand, and she’s the sister and daughter of family friends. They agree with Pyeha and the gaggle that it’s best to give the young couple a few years – they have nothing to lose – and everyone involved agrees to attempt squashing the scandal by silence. A formal engagement photo and a terse comment is quietly added to the official homepage, but there is no real publicity. No comment is made of why there is a formal engagement with no indication of a wedding, and few to no comments on how the courtship went along, except pointing out that he’s a close friend of her older brothers, and that their respective fathers knew each other through sports competitions at university. The royalty watchers in both countries raise a few eyebrows, especially given the age difference and the no-previous-rumours suddenness, but consensus is that dynastically speaking it’s a great match for the future. Pyeha and Kuroda senior get sloshed on soju, commiserating over the wild oat tendencies of their oldest sons, and doing decades worth of social catching up. Mrs Kuroda hangs out with – again over soju – and connect to the gaggle & Dan Karo, getting a full display of cute grandchildren, for future comparison. Lee Sasya is a sober witness – no drinks for her – and this embarrassment is part of her punishment.
I had thought Mr Cultural Conservative Himself would force them to tie the knot before sunset, but instead he went with his I’m A Great Dad persona. Maybe it’s because he’s canonically a great husband (popular brand of the year kind of guy) who knows what would and would not work in a long-term relationship. I had no clue!
The stuff that happens to Hiro – fairly close after the mess with Lee Sasya (after graduation + a few months + Uncle Aki preparing just after New Year 2052) Uncle Aki has had it with his nephew Hiro’s irresponsible ways. He’s hardworking and does play his part, except for that one crucial field that is already a serious concern for the imperial family. Akishino is of the opinion that he’s waited long enough, that not only has his brother-in-law understood what was required of himself, oh did he ever! But how can Hiro not understand the situation, with his father and older brother being positive examples, even his brother Lee Hoyeol is taking responsibility for the family lineage, and he’s not that close to inheriting. Especially since Hiro moved to Japan explicitly to minimise the risks of the imperial line dying out. I can almost feel Aki’s rising frustration as I type, and I see Jimmie Wang’s Japanese “Eh? Eh?” of the Disappointed Asians routine. New Year 2052: Hiro ends up with Mariko Sayimoro, his third cousin from one of the Japanese princely houses – that male line was broken – but she descends from an imperial princess a bit back. It went princess, daughter, son, Mariko. She’s three years younger, quiet, textile designer specialising in designing kimono patterns, bit of a shy introvert, a person of quiet strength and pride. Slender, regular Japanese looks, mid-length black hair. She’s from Akita, the Kubota castle never burned down in 1880, but her family lives in a regular house. Her family is related to the Satake clan who built the place in 1604. Hiro and Mariko have been semi-engaged since forever but nothing outside their Japanese families was ever made official, not even to their Korean cousins. Mariko doesn’t really like Hiro, because whenever they meet socially, he’s been making fairly harsh fun of her. He thinks he’s teasing and fun, she thinks he’s being rude and bullying. To a point she accepts this treatment – she figures he doesn’t want her either, or that this is his response. She just wishes he could be upfront about it instead of being rude to her: if he wants someone else as his future Empress, please tell people so she can move on with her life. Mariko has been very clear to her parents that she doesn’t want this match, mainly because the man is a disrespectful twit, but also because she has other things she wants in life. Being trapped at a regulated, conservative Court is not one of them. The more this drags on the more she wants out. It might have turned out fine if Hiro had courted her a bit from the beginning, saying something like: “yeah, I know they expect us to end up together, but hey, how about dating a bit and see if this would work out? If it turns out we’re a bad fit, we can try to get out of it, ok?”
Since he didn’t, and he is obviously dating and sleeping with other women without clearing this up with her, her father or his uncle, everyone is assuming this is a question of extended wild oats for his part, and that the man has issues with commitment.
She has had guys she was interested in, but she is very quiet, almost shy, even for being Japanese, and her family are doing their utmost to shoo away any other potential suitors. There is a difference between quiet and doormat. (The difference between someone like Tae Jiwon who was doing her own thing more or less on purpose behind her family’s back, while acting quiet and fitting in, and Mariko who actually is quiet, fairly obedient and passive) and Mariko skews towards the doormat with an inner moral core. So, in the situation with being informally engaged to or expected to become engaged to Hiro, she is trying to wait it out, while being clear that this is not what she wants.
Hiro, for his part, never thought much about Mariko at all. It was more:
“Yeah, here’s the distant cousin Uncle Aki is pushing at me, ha ha, like that would ever happen.”
He’s not actively – as he sees it – rude to her, he just never triggered that his uncle had already irrevocably settled on this match. When they end up at the same social events, he pushes her off to deal with his sisters – Lee Ayame ends up with Enrique, second prince of Portugal and moves abroad, and Lee Chiro marries David, from the royal house of Hawaii, both are marine biologists and enjoy things like surfing. Hiro is being just a tad sexist here, not on purpose, mainly being a clueless dumbass, not considering how his actions affect other people. Mariko is acquainted with Lee Sasya, the pro-Japanese sister, but there’s an age and a personality difference. She has met most of Hiro’s Korean family socially but don’t know them well, to them she’s just one of the Japanese extended wangja once removed. On the Sunrise, Sunset interview, Mariko is watching it live, and just think that ffs could he be more of a shallow skirt chaser, and he’s nasty to his older brother, the way he is to her. He almost invited available women to chase him. Fine, but make it clear to the powers that be that he doesn’t want her, then. It’s not jealousy – that would require her wanting to be with Hiro – it’s more annoyance and frustration. Overall, he knows he should get on with the reason he moved to Japan, but he keeps putting it off, one month at a time, on repeat. After all, no one is telling him not to, outright – and he’s used to his father losing his rare-but-ferocious temper at him, so little polite, passive-aggressive nudges do not work on him. Then the chaos with Lee Sasya and his friend Kiyoka Kuroda happens in early 2052, and quite a lot of blame is placed on Hiro for being irresponsible. After all, Kiyoka is a generally sensible man, and Sasya was acting young and stupid. Akishino doesn’t really ask Pyeha for permission, or specify what is on his mind, he just lets them know that he’s going to make sure that Hiro wises up, and if he runs back crying to Busan, just post him back to Kyoto on the first return flight and don’t listen to him. Given the current mood of Pyeha and the gaggle during the post-Sasya drama, they pretty much answer: “Go ahead, be my guest.”
So Aki has the both of them dragged into a special suite he has prepared, with no windows and no handle from the inside. He outright tells them that he requires grandnephews as heirs from them, and that his patience is up. Her father is present at this speech. Both Hiro and Mariko react with horror, afront, anger and jointly protest that this is modern times.
“Yes, this is modern times, but this is also the court of Japan. The reason you moved here, Hirohito, was to pass on the male line of the Imperial family. We have waited long enough for you to get down to business. If you had wanted someone else than Mariko, we could have discussed that then, earlier” pause “but that time is long past. Now you have the choice of doing this voluntarily with her, in a natural way, or it will be handled medically.”
“What?!” At Akishino’s command, he has guards come in, restrain Hiro, while they wrestle a fighting, crying Mariko to the floor, and have a medic inject her arm.
“She will be injected daily with ovarian stimulants, to make the process easier. No, do not bother protesting. I’m past being patient with you. If you refuse to do this naturally, we will resort to medical insemination. You will be required to produce the necessary specimen. If you refuse to cooperate, you will be sedated and harvested. If your fiancée resists conceiving and gestating your heir, she will be confined and restrained for the required time frame. My apologies to Mariko-kyou for this treatment, which could have been avoided. Should have been avoided.”
Mariko is weeping hopelessly on the floor and begging her father to save her. Her father looks away, embarrassed and uncomfortable, but does nothing to interfere, in essence abandoning her.
“Neither of you will have access to outside communication for the time being, I’m sure you understand why. But you two will be stuck here until there is confirmation of an heir.”
Hiro uses the R word at his uncle, he’s almost in tears at this point.
“You are correct. That is the proper terminology. You have had ten years to avoid this outcome, nephew. I suggest you dwell on your choices.”
He pauses on his way to leave. Hiro is struggling, swearing, still restrained, trying to hit him. “Additionally, I suggest you apologize to Mariko-kyou. If she blames you for what will be done to her, well, she wouldn’t be wrong.” They leave. (Comment: Yes, this is gaslighting. It’s ugly. It’s unfair. It’s monstrously cruel. It’s part of this AU’s way of doing things.)
Mariko picks herself off the floor and goes to sit cowering in a corner, quietly weeping. From her perspective, she’s innocent of any wrongdoing, she’s the victim of several crimes and everyone who should be rescuing her is in on it. On top of that, she’s imprisoned with someone who has been nasty to her and has just shown violent tendencies. She’s devastated and she’s afraid. Hiro’s civilised world has just collapsed, the world where he could get away with anything being the prince of two powerful realms, and where civilised laws applied. Now he’s facing the ugly underbelly, the price to pay for all that privilege. A lot of his mind goes on about how this is so unfair, but his smarter side reminds him that Byeol told him that he and Pyeha had talked about these things, though since it was at a live interview, he had mentioned no details. So, his brother, his wild and fun big brother, for all his rambunctious ways, had their father discuss the requirements of kingship with him. Their father, even when he had been postponing getting married, was the sole male survivor of his own direct family after the terrorist attacks, except for his elderly granduncle, and being a dutiful man, had taken that responsibility seriously. In weird ways, even given the Korean legal provisions, but he made it work. But Hiro’s uncle never had these conversations with him, it was implied but never outright spoken of. Hiro feels like someone, possibly himself, dropped the ball somewhere in the Strait of Tsushima, in mid transit between nations. So, what to do now?
Hiro, despite his privileged upbringing and the cavalier attitude that often accompanied it, is not devoid of empathy.While he’s really spitting mad at his uncle, and partially at his dad, horrified at Mariko’s father, and admittedly angry at himself, he feels bad for Mariko herself. They’re extended family so have known each other vaguely socially since they were teens, even if they haven’t interacted much. She never sought him out, never ran around after him like a lot of the other girls in their set. She was polite, and then faded away as soon as she could. He remembers teasing her, and she never once snapped back, or even cried- if she had cried, he would have stopped. He goes to sit close, but not so close that he thinks she’ll feel trapped. Asks if she’s ok. Pauses.
“I know you’re not ok with any of this, I’m not ok with it either. I was asking about being thrown to the floor and injected against your will.” Quiet sniffles, not really looking at him, steadying breaths. Eventually:
“I am not directly injured. I am angry and upset, I’m hurting, my soul is in pain. But I’m not injured.”
“Can we talk? I’ll sit over here; I’m not touching you. But I think we need to see if we can get out of this. Somehow.”
He moves away to the group of seating, she follows, curls up in a stuffed chair. She looks pale and blotchy and desperate, hair ragged, shivering with shock. Hiro isn’t in much better shape.
“Ummm, I knew there was vague talk about the two of us, but I never thought they would do something like this.” She pretends to study the arm of her sweater. “I have been trying to talk my way out of being connected to you for years.”
“Eh?” surprise.
“No one listened, or just went ‘Yes, dear’ and ignored me. It’s not personal. I know that women like you and you like them. I just figured you don’t much like me specifically since you kept saying rude things to me. Like you’d would prefer someone else.” This is of course news to Hiro.
“I don’t dislike you, Mari-kun, you know that. It’s just … I wasn’t ready to take a step like this, with anyone. Not a commitment that I was prepared to …”
“Good for you.” Her tone is icy under the sniffles. “So, his majesty forced your hand and dragged me into this mess.” A shaky breath, she waves off his stammered apologies. “Is there a way out of here? Have you checked?”
Hiro gets up to check, and confirms that there are no windows, and the only door has no doorhandle. She sighs.
“I assume his majesty planned this, then. Or else this suite has a darker purpose if it already existed.” Both of them can imagine quite a lot of dark and ugly things a locked-from-the-outside bedroom suit could have been used for. Mariko swallows.
“I am going to assume they will be using force if I resist. Unless you think I’m wrong?” Hiro shakes his head, no, he agrees with her assumption. “You’re capable of fighting back, but I doubt they would send someone in here, even with a food cart, unless they have security standing by.”
“Even then, they won’t do permanent damage, but tasering, tear gas, chloroform … all of these are options.”
“They won’t do permanent damage to you, Hirohito-denka, but I’m expendable.”
The honorific for your highness is just slightly sarcastic but gets the point across. He tries to protest; she silences him with a raised hand.
“Please don’t bother. I am replaceable. You are not. If I’m not worth their investment, I’ll vanish and someone more compliant will appear.” pause “I wish I was wrong. But if they went this far, then adding murder to the rest of the crimes … well, I am guessing little sleep would be lost over it. And it may be a way to pressure my father to pressure me.”
Mariko is very pale; her voice is shaky and quiet. Hiro’s stomach is churning with emotional pain, at hearing her reason this out.
“Then what do we do, Mari-kun?” They look at each other, somewhere between pale panic and desperation.
“What do you want to do? I don’t have many options either way, but you may still have leverage.”
“I don’t think so. Last time my uncle was even close to this mood, he broke my nose in front of witnesses.” Winces slightly. “Runs in the family. Grandfather was so furious at the war party in the Diet for bombing Busan, that he sent my mother over there, no warning, no luggage, just straight dropped her off at father’s doorstep. Didn’t care a whistle for what happened to her. Just for political retaliation.” He sighs. “Luckily for her, father and imo-nim Tae Jiwon are good people. But it’s a freaking callous thing to do to your daughter.”
She listens very intently, she’s weirdly easy to talk to.
“I’m not supposed to know the details, I worked it out from between the things people didn’t quite say. But if you think my uncle would treat me with more care than that, think again.” A silence. That stretches.
“Are you saying we should surrender?”
“I don’t want to. I really do not. I hate the idea of being made to commit a crime like that, to hurt you, just to save my own bacon. But” pause. Hiro swallows, loudly. “At the same time, that’s the only way I can see to keep you safe, Mari-kun.” His hands curl into hard fists, jaw clenching. “Because I can blame myself for not talking to my uncle in time, for just letting time slide. But you are blameless in all of this. The Imperial family is perpetrating crimes that I can’t see how ever to atone for. And I can’t make them stop.” He puts his face in his hands, breathes out through his steepled fingers. “Then. You are saying to go along with their demands.”
Her quiet words stab at him, like an icy knife in the guts.
“I can’t see another way to survive. I’m so very sorry, Mari-chan.” He bows low to her. Her back is straight, head high, looking straight into nothing.
“Honour and dignity in facing adversity. I accept that abuse may happen to my physical body, as I cannot prevent it. But they will never touch my soul, and they will never break my spirit.” She slants a look over at Hiro. “Whether I count you as part of them or not” He jumps, begins a protest. “Will depend on what unfolds.”
His protests die when spotting the tears trickling down her cheeks. Hiro kicks himself. Yes, he will be emotionally, spiritually harmed by all of this, he’ll carry the shame and dishonour to his dying day. But Mariko has no one looking out for her, with her family siding with his uncle, where he could go haring off to the peninsula the instant that he gets through that locked door and escape all responsibilities. She will have the physical risks and consequences to deal with, on top of the same shame he will feel. Accepting her crying without protests or excuses is the very least he should do, also allow her some dignity.
“I would hug you if it helps, but that’s your call. Also, even if we have agreed to consent to this madness, today isn’t a good day for that.” pause, letting her catch up with what he’s saying. “We’re both upset and angry, rightly so. We’re acquainted, but we don’t know each other that well. How about” he’s trying to build report with her, trying to make her trust him a little, trying to make her smile “we explore what’s in the suite? Pester room service for snacks, binge-watch something silly. No one’s doing anything to anyone today or tonight, and we can deal with tomorrow … tomorrow?”
She nods a teary yes. Some exploration proves a bathroom stocked at hotel level with lush towels and hygiene products. The closet has bathrobes and slippers but no clothes. Hiro pointedly hides the tube of lube helpfully set out on the bedside table in a drawer. No need to rub that implication in. She finds pen and paper somewhere, taking notes from his running commentary:
“Can’t find a razor. Or a hairbrush. Weirdos. You can shampoo and dry your hair but not comb or brush it.” More rustling “Need changes of underwear. Pyjamas. Change of clothes.” sound of drawers, hangers being moved. “I know they want us to do the dirty, but I’m not seeing people wrapped in a towel!”
“Better a towel than no towel.”
He nearly snaps back at her, then takes a breath. This might be the first sign of banter, however mild, so let’s not squash it.
“I can live with sweatpants and t-shirt, but at least something to wear, eh?” Mariko dutifully makes a note on the list.
“I’m adding a fruit basket. Did you find anything to drink?” Hiro has discovered the mini fridge. “Water, fruit juices. Coconut water. Iced tea. No alcohol, no cola. Oh, and milk.” She sighs.
“Whoever came up with the plan for this was going by the book.” He pops up over the fridge door, questioning look. “I just meant that alcohol and caffeine are things to be avoided if, when … in the condition the want me to be in. Ahem.” She blushes slightly, looks away, then back. “But we’re adults. I can add beer or sake or whatever to the list for you and promise on my knees I won’t touch it.” He stands up, walks over to her.
“You will not beg them on your knees, Mari-chan. Not for this, not for anything. If begging is necessary, I’ll do it.” Strokes her cheek with one finger. “For better or worse, we’re in this mess together. That means you’re under my protection. Such as it is. This at least I can do for you.”
Once their list is done, Hiro bangs on the door and shouts to whomever is keeping attendance. Someone dressed as palace staff opens warily. Hiro hands her the list and asks for a room service menu. When met by confusion, he imitates his father cold regal manner and queries if they are required to starve in addition to being confined. Closes the door in her face. It takes a while, but the items on the list begin to be delivered a few pieces at a time. Clothes and missing hygiene items. A few books, a game console with some games on it. A jigsaw. The fruit basket, huge and overflowing. A pile of fluffy blankets. Hope rises when a case of beer arrives and sinks again when they prove to be non-alcoholic. She mouths:
“Told you so.” After quite a while, they end up with a pile of various sushi, light beer, sweat clothes and playing the two-player version of the new game Zelda: The Light Fantastic.
“Ha! Got him!” A small laugh. “I still can’t understand … Watch out! Bokoblin! Your left! … what they expect us to do with that many candles.”
Mariko peeks out of her nest of fleece blankets, game control firmly in her hands.
“It’s supposed to be romantic.”
“Romantic, my foot! They don’t want romance, they want reproduction.”
A slight snigger from the blankets.
“Hey, at least they didn’t drown us in rose petals. That would have been messy for real.”
Hiro deftly balances on a rope bridge in-game and double jumps to a ledge.
“If they had tried that, I’d have made them clean it up, claiming you had developed bad hay fever to the stuff.”
“Lying to the staff, are we?”
“Why not? We’re the victims here, remember?” pause “Can you reach the food from over there?”
“If I had known you had an appetite like this, I would have doubled the order.”
She slides her plate closer, within reach.
“Comes with getting plenty of exercise. I’ll let you have a bigger share when you need more food. You don’t have that excuse yet, so more sushi for me … ouch!” She tosses a cushion at him.
“You are such an ass.” He bows to her, seated.
“Thank you, my gracious lady, it has taken years to build up such expertise in utmost asshattery.”
He gets a second cushion to the face.
“Just concentrate on the game, will you? We’re nearly through to the boss.”
Much later the same evening, Mariko curled up and asleep behind defensive cushions, again under layers after layers of blankets, Hiro is lying on his back, hands under his neck, staring blankly at the ceiling. What a horrible day. A day that changes everything. Hiro isn’t usually the introspective sort, so he’s hesitant at poking at, sorting through his emotions. The main feeling is betrayal, with a big helping of fury. Shame; bone searing, deep shame. For being tricked into having no way out. For intending to do something unforgivable. For failing to take consequences to others into account. Arriving unbidden is the imagined cutscene of what his father would say if he found out. Or his mother. Or worse, his madam auntie Tae Jiwon. He swallows imagining what Byeol hyeung would say, his hyeung who at twelve had actively tried to shoot to kill a man for the same crime. He remembers talking with Byeol about this as kids, his love and respect for his big brother bottomless at how fearless and honourable he had been, even if their dad had ultimately saved the day in a spray of blood. Another snippet of unwanted imagery; Mariko pressed into the floor, crying, begging, being injected against her will, against his will, against common decency. Even more shame. He turns over on his stomach, chin on his crossed arms, his train of thought switching into another route. This is a mess of a snarl of emotions, that barely bears poking at. This is about being a man, a responsible adult. Someone who others depend on, a leader, a protector. Someone who lifts others up, instead of tearing them down. Who takes responsibility, who makes difficult choices and stands by them. A step along mental paths he has mostly avoided. Someone who does not use others. At least not without good reason. Never for fun. A vision of the party at the Green Dragon slips by, where he had been so distracted and clueless that he hadn’t recognized his own sister. His brain unhelpfully adds imagery of what exactly he had been doing in front of his sister, too, which probably had made her want to run off, when Kuroda had jumped at the opportunity to go with her, and Hiro groans. That was not his proudest moment. His brain suggests that trying to kiss and feel up Jin Lian in a less than brotherly way had also been one of the less than clever things he done. He could still feel Hoyeol’s fist crushing his throat, eyes dark with murderous intent. His brother hadn’t spoken to him for two years since, except for a few required greetings, and simply left any family event where both of them attended. None of that had been Jin Lian’s fault, none, and he had not accosted his sister-in-law because he really wanted to pillow her, but mainly because he wanted to mess with Hoyeol. For fun. And consequently, he had lost touch with another brother he loved. Gyeol had pretty much the same way; on hearing about this fight, it was like a windowpane of frosted security glass had descended between them. This brother is scholarly, all trim elegance and glasses, pretty much a Korean copy of his uncle Tae Yihan, no one could fault his morals and decency. Hiro can hear the judgment, overlaying Gyeol’s voice with his own; You use people, Hiro. You use them for your own entertainment, you use them up with no thought to the consequences. So far you have gotten away with it, because you are charming, and because you are protected by two royal houses. So far, the law hasn’t touched you. So, you believe it never will. But the day may dawn when you cannot run from taking responsibility for your actions, when no one will step in to protect you. When you will have driven those closest to you away. He had laughed at the pretentiousness of his younger brother, now it felt like prophecy. One day your casual using people will catch up with you, hyeung. I just hope you will learn from it. Gyeol the constitutional scholar, the academic, always wise beyond his years, who wouldn’t speak to him either. Ayame, Chiyo, his full sisters, had kept their distance since their teens, because – he had realised this as an adult, tried to mend fences, but the trust was gone – he had been mercilessly verbally bullying both of them, about everything, all day, every day. He was the older brother, why had he done that to his younger sisters, who, he had to admit, were nice people overall. For no good reason he could think of right now. Another groan. Both of them precious Imperial nieces, who had found partners far away from Honshu – one halfway across the world in Portugal and the other one in Hawaii. Sasya had joked that it was because they couldn’t put up with him, he had laughed at the time, now he wonders how much of that had been a joke, and how much had been his baby sister trying to tell him the truth. Then – his stomach clenches in shame and regret – he hears Mariko saying how she had assumed he wanted someone else because he had been consistently rude to her. He has never noticed any of it, he had just been his regular clueless, fun self. She had just been some random distant cousin – he knew there had been discussions for a marriage during holidays and major events – but the elders always enjoyed regulating people’s love life. Hiro shudders in shame when his brain chimes in, in upbeat tones: “At least you remember her name, at least that’s something.” He hadn’t noticed or even cared when those discussions had turned more serious, he has a faint memory of nodding, of going along with “yes, sure, of course” on the topic, his mind on other things. Consequently, now he is wide awake next to someone who with quiet dignity will allow herself to be abused by his family, by himself, in order to protect her own life. Someone who doesn’t much like and respect him. Someone who expects him to maltreat her, or at the very least be rude and nasty to her. You use people, Hiro. You use them for your own entertainment, you use them up with no thought to the consequences. A boyish voice in his mind whines that people have such thin skin, that they can’t see the fun in things. He hears Byeol’s annoyed: You’re so dead! Why do you do this to me in public?! after shaming his older brother on live television. A much younger Kuroda back at the beginning of their friendship, going: OK, so the guy your mom married, he’s your actual father. And he didn’t kick you out at all. You renounced your citizenship to move here by your own free will. Not only did he drop everything to storm here from Fuzan to give you the hiding of your life and save your sorry self from getting booted out of the Naval Academy, he is the freaking King of Joseon too? And you didn’t bother telling me? Are you for real? What kind of friend is that? … You wonder why you always end up in trouble? Even I want to smack you when you sound like that … Stop saying you’re sorry, just stop being such an ass. Mariko, sounding small and defeated, echoing: You’re such an ass, when he had taken most of her dinner, him saying she didn’t need it anyway. A tiny thought informing him that eating her dinner does indeed count as maltreatment. She had shown resilience and dignity throughout, had been a great and fun gaming partner. “And then I ate her dinner. Fudge!” He groans, rolls over on his back again, eyes the ridgeline of pillows she stacked along the middle of the bed. Not that it would make any real difference for what they were being required to do, it is just a silent proclamation of how she feels about him. Was that two or three extra blankets on top of the covers? She must have been really chilled. Hiro is halfway out of bed before he realises his own intention. On bare feet he pads over to the couches, gathers up the rest of the blankets, carries them back to bed and quietly spreads them on top of Mariko. Reminds himself not to make any comment in the morning. You want her to trust you, you utter asshat. You want her not to shrink from you when you are … His mind shudders and blanks momentarily. So, you are being nice to her, so you’ll feel better about mistreating her, is that it? So, you can blame her when you won’t be able to please her. Because you won’t. His old self snaps back It’s just common sense. Charming her makes this easier for both of us. The self he is slowly growing into counters with You are planning on breeding her like a mare and then ignore her, going about your own merry way. The come-back So? His budding adult self: Do you really think Mariko doesn’t know that’s what you’re planning? She’s known all along. Even more damning: She’s afraid of you. Because you will have power over her. One word from you and they’ll discard her. It feels like choking, like parts of his chest are arguing, are stabbing each other. She’s afraid because you were fighting that guard. Because you used the King’s Voice on that staffer. What’s to stop you doing those things to her? Hiro is protesting to himself that of course he won’t but feels like he’s not telling the truth even to himself. She’s locked in here with you. What’s to stop you from punishing her if she speaks up? It’s all her fault after all. She wanted out and didn’t do enough about it. Imagine her flesh wobbling deliciously if you smack her hard enough. Darker, insidious voices: She brought this on herself. You don’t have to feel guilty. Just use her to give your uncle what he demands. Then you’re free. Even darker: Imagine scaring her. Not roleplaying and fake squealing, scaring her for real. Using her like you have the right to. An icy chuckle. Use the opportunity to take her. Imagine how good that would feel. M-m-m-m. Wouldn’t you want to find out? Hiro gags, hangs his head over the edge of the beds, heaves and hurks, stopping short of throwing up. Cold sweat and shivers. A repeat of the thought Do you really think Mariko doesn’t know that’s what you’re planning? She’s known all along. He wants to throw himself off a high building in utter shame of what he has been thinking, of what his inner demons have been whispering to him. Something cracks within him, it’s painful like a new birth, like a bud opening into a flower inside his mind, like a maesil, no, a rain of them fluttering in the wind, little white stars twinkling against an oily, viscous darkness. Tears he didn’t realise he’s been crying slide down his cheeks. He has never been so alone in his life. He has never been so true to himself. He’s terrified, and he has found his core. Breath ragged, sweaty, he’s trying to keep his breathing quiet not to wake her up, he’s cried so long that his nose is clogged too. Wipes his nose with the back of his hand. Such a strange feeling. Everything is clean, pure, as obvious as mathematics. Like a measuring stick which each choice can be tested against. He doesn’t know what else, but he knows in his bones that he cannot knowingly hurt Mariko. So, he lies on his side, facing that ridgeline of fear and pillows, putting one hand on them, not feeling he has the right to stretch any further but accepting this as good enough. Finally, he drifts off to sleep into a dream of soft spring, white maesils drifting on a still lake, the smell of new rain like a blessing.
the physical barriers Mariko has erected—a ridgeline of pillows, layers of blankets—are symbolic of the emotional walls he must now work to dismantle. The blankets he spreads over Mariko become a metaphor for his protective instincts, a silent vow to shield her from harm. His decision not to comment in the morning is a small but significant step towards building trust and respect.
Morning dawns over the palace, the noise of a busy city rising against soundproofed walls. Mariko wakes up after a night of uneasy dreams, but warm and cosy. Had she really used all the blankets last night? Hiro is still asleep, making slight snoring sounds, looking relaxed and at ease. Makes sense that he’s less bothered by all of this, her thoughts are just slightly envious. She’s aware, how could she not be, that they grew up in different environments, that she’s from an ordinary family, even if it belonged to the outer circles of the Imperial family, so far out that regular people would barely have viewed them as related. He, on the other hand, grew up with an insane number of siblings, by any number of different mothers, these requirements of royalty branded into him from birth, and by example. Japan isn’t the only place the Lees have been sending surplus princes to, at least that place in the Germanies, too, and at least two princesses. She sniffs in slight derision. Homegrown royalty, a Korean export industry par excellence! She decides on sneaking into the bathroom, finding clothes, trying to be safe and decent by the time anyone else intrudes or wakes up. By the time there is a knock on the door concerning breakfast, Mariko has been reading for an hour, no make-up, hair in a band at the nape of her neck. She is finding it hard to concentrate, but at least reading distracts her nervous thoughts of what’s to come. The sounds and smells of breakfast wake up Hiro, a second of panic looking for her, ah, she’s fine, sitting over there. He wishes he could look as collected, feeling rather sheepish at joining her. There’s plenty of nutritious breakfast for them. Mariko’s good morning greeting is curt but not outright hostile.
“I told them I drank some of the milk. It seemed like it impressed them.”
“Did you?”
“No. I poured it down the drain.” She sips her tea. She has selected rice and miso soup for herself, some pickles.
“Good job, Mari-chan. My sister-in-law says Confusion to the enemy, it applies here too.” She looks like she wants to comment, then looks away, applies herself to her meal. “Hope you slept well. I was awake most of the night. Couldn’t fall asleep.” That nets him a measuring look, but again silence. He tries again: “What are we doing today? Any ideas?” She waves her book at him, still nothing out of her except for the good morning and the comment about milk. “Good idea. That or see if there’s anything streaming. I’ll talk to them to see if they would allow a message to cancel meetings and leave a standard out of the office message. Do you need something like that too, to your colleagues?” She puts down her book, pushes breakfast away.
“Please stop. Please.” She sounds shaky. “This is like waiting at the dentist’s clinic. And I don’t like dental appointments. At all. You’re being chipper. And I’m … nervous.”
“Ah. Understood.” She’s very pale, face calm, but now that she told him he can spot signs of unease. He runs a hand through his bedhead hair. How to proceed? Joke about being a morning person? Claim it’s all bravado? For once in your life, Lee Hiro, try to focus on someone other than yourself. “Mariko, what would make things better? How do you want me to act?” She could have been a statue, except for the fact that she’s shaking slightly. Straight back, hands in her lap.
“Can we get this over with? Please?” The quiet words flop down on the low table between them.
“You mean …?”
“What else could I mean?” Her snapback is teary and nervous and fiery all mixed together. Do you really think Mariko doesn’t know that’s what you’re planning? “They should be gone for a while now.” This is bravery and decisiveness, Hiro’s heart, but more his soul, is breaking watching her. A slow exhalation.
“No, they’ll be back to clear out breakfast soon. I’ll deal with them; we’ll ask for privacy. They will obviously grant that.” Pause, gaging her reaction “Use the headphones, loud music or something, so you can ignore them completely.” Another pause, wanting to comfort her but not quite knowing how to. “And, just so you know, Mari-chan, I’m babbling because I’m nervous, too.”
Lee Hiro is true to his word and deals with the staff for both of them. Tells them they’ll be fine with the existing snacks until dinner, and may they have some privacy? He winks cheekily, gestures towards Mariko, who is deep in her headphones, back turned on the world. He’s feeling neither cheeky nor particularly charismatic at the moment, any akitas are far from his mind, but he’s doing his best to play the role they world has come to expect of him. Because that is what she needs of him right now, it’s the right thing to do. The door closes, the lock snicks shut. He leans his forehead on it for a moment. Breathes. Right, Hiro. You can do this. He walks over to where she is sitting, feeling like a condemned man, squats down in front of her, hands on her knees.
“Hey?” Trying to catch her eye. She turns off the music, pulls off the headphones. “They’re gone now.” He watches her swallow, then a quiet:
“Good.” He wishes he had half her courage, thinking about how to make things less awkward when she leans forward and kisses him lightly. Puts her hands on his cheeks and kisses him again. In the mix of surprise and trying to adapt to her very cautious advance Hiro loses his balance and ends up sprawling on his butt. Mariko half-giggles, he joins in, in the very silliness of it all.
“Sorry for being a goof.”
“Never mind.” She sounds a little less stiff, so he takes her by the hand to go sit on the bed instead. Kisses her in return.
“You know what, Mari-chan, you are allowed to breathe.” Another kiss. “You can’t hold your breath for an hour.”
“Hour? I thought we’d be done in, oh, ten minutes or so.”
Hiro can’t help laughing, but it’s a soft, understanding laugh.
“You’d suffocate at ten minutes, too, sweetie. I’m just saying.” pause “This time will be really awkward, for both of us. Tense. Embarrassing.”
“Do you always talk this much?” He puts her hands under his open yukata, around his torso.
“Oh yes, I’m mouthy.” pause “And loud.” whispers in her ear “Unless you distract me.”
Her slight start at that is a ray of hope, because together with her indrawn breath, it suggests that there just may be akitas to be coaxed out of hiding. They move to gradually peeling off layers, exploring, cuddling, exploring some more. Awkward, goofy, embarrassing but slowly coming into acceptance. Afterwards, her head on his shoulder, covers pulled up;
“I’m sorry, Mari-chan”
“Sorry for what?” He turns on his side so their eyes meet.
“For this not being good enough for you.” Surprise, and then a snort.
“That’s not biologically necessary. I mean, it’d be nice, but it’s not required.” She squawks as he squeezes her, and then in protest as he gooses her sides.
“Of course, it’s required, silly. First, it’s good for you. Second, it helps you relax. Third, it will help … ouch!” She elbows him in the short-ribs, a tussle that ends in a full-body hug. Nose to nose:
“Damn, you are mouthy.”
“Don’t forget loud.”
“I was going to say impossible.
” Kisses her. “Guilty as charged.” More kissing, squirming.
“What, again?” pause
“Mhm. I thought we agreed” purposeful squirming “to get this over with.”
Morning shifts into day. They take turns in the bathroom, raid the stash of snacks and drinks, and go back to gaming. Mariko is still a bit rosy, blaming it on the hot shower, in sweatpants, the skimpy pyjama top and an open yukata matching his. She is intent on getting through the tricky dungeon and picking up the required items. She looks focused and concentrated, a bit of fighting face and is unaware that she moves her head to match how she moves the game control two-handedly. She’s simply adorable. Hiro is doing his share of the gaming teamwork, keeping the conversation alive, more of a monologue filling what could have been an awkward silence. Under the light chatter about navigating the game’s challenges, and snacks and room temperatures, his sense of shame and his newfound sense of responsibility are comparing notes from the session this morning. He’s hesitantly telling himself at least he hadn’t made things worse. That he had managed at all, he hadn’t been too sure in advance that the pressure wouldn’t deflate his akitas like leaky balloons. This isn’t something he’s proud of. It is more a cold apprehension of what would have happened to Mariko if he hadn’t been able to perform, if they had thought he was lying, refusing to cooperate. Sleeping with her was the least bad choice, but he still feels tarnished. Not by her, he’s not blaming her in any real sense. If anything, she’s in a worse position than he is. His responsibility nudges him about making friends with her, making a difficult situation better. At the very minimum you should help her enjoy the process. Tolerate spending time with you at all. You must accept that you are stuck with her for the rest of your natural life. Accept the responsibility for Mari-chan being stuck with you for the rest of her life. Which she didn’t want. Only because you were being an ass to her for years. Hiro allows her to pick up some valuable game loot, hanging back on purpose. It’s such a small thing to do, and her happy squeal hurts.
They are left alone most of the day until there’s a pangolin knock on the door, with a query whether it is appropriate to enter. Mariko pauses the game, mutters something about it never being appropriate given those people. Hiro gets off the couch to run tatemae interference again. This time they are faced with housekeeping wanting to do daily cleaning, and the medics who are not only there to give Mariko another shot and take her temperature, but to deliver the cringiest lecture on reproductive health and procedures either of them have ever been made to suffer through. It is delivered in a polite, even reverential manner, but goes into excruciating scientific details. Motility. Temperature effects on oligosp …The lecture is intended to be helpful, informing them that the lady’s cycle has been calculated from information provided by her family – Hiro sneaks a look at Mariko who is making half-squawking noises into a cushion, she looks to be dying of embarrassment – and while their chart of her body basal temperature is somewhat incomplete as of now, rest assured that controlled monitoring of her ovulation, not merely a calculated estimate, will soon be available. Helpful, my effing foot. Hiro really wants to throw all these people out the door, screaming “And stay out!” after them. The comment that his majesty selected the start of their joint confinement based on this information really moves the situation into things he didn’t wish to know, or ever have his uncle know. His composure is not exactly helped by the titter from the housekeeping staff changing bed sheets. Any remaining akitas are applying for fast-track emigration visas, having handed in their bonking bats. His can feel a blush boiling his ears. A very immature part of himself is wondering if his various brothers have had to sit through something like this, and if not, why not, because it is unfair that he is the one who must suffer alone. A more sensible part of himself counters that Byeol had ended up with a how-not-to lecture instead, Hoyeol seemed to have been as self-sufficient as ever, and Gyeol had just waited for him and his fiancée to graduate before letting nature take its course. The other brothers are mostly too young to need this knowledge yet, past basic self-preservation. Hiro wishes he would have someone to turn to once they allow him to contact the outside world again. There are just so many bridges he has burnt over the years without noticing, so many senseis he never thought he would need.
Mariko is utterly embarrassed by all this, she wishes to implode where she’s sitting on the couch, still clutching that cushion. Housekeeping files out, having done the cleaning, restocked fridge and snacks and informs them that dinner will arrive in two hours. Someone snickers, and Hiro comes to the rescue, coolly polite and relaxed with a:
“Good, that’ll let us finish the Drowned Land Dungeon first.”
He makes them go away, without further comment. She could kiss him for saying that, and in such a light tone. Not that she would, that would give him the wrong idea. Mariko isn’t totally unhappy about their morning the way Hiro envisions her repeated disappointment. From her perspective, she was treated with due respect, she wasn’t forced or roughed up and the minimal requirements were met. She had told him it’d be nice, but it’s not required – in a pinch she can deal with things herself – she doesn’t see it as Hiro’s task. She is embarrassed by the lecture and the wide range of people walking in on them, she didn’t resist today’s injection. Her body feels slightly weird, but whether that is part of her normal cycle, due to the hormone shot, or pillowing for the first time in years is anyone’s guess. However, she’s thankful for a reprieve, and dinner before facing what’s next.
“Mari-kun, I want to plan the evening?” And there went her reprieve. “Given what they said” pause, with extra blushing “there is no need to get … to be … to work on their project tonight. That recovery overnight was beneficial. Ahem.” She knows exactly what parts of the lecture he is referring to. “So, do you want to keep exploring the game after dinner? Or we could watch a movie?” pause “Or maybe just do quiet things on our own, and an early night?” She sneaks a glace. Hiro looks pink and embarrassed, but she respects the fact that he’s using his mouthiness to open a sensitive topic. She herself certainly wouldn’t have had the courage to.
“Thank you, Hiro-sama, for dealing with those people.” pause “I myself am little too shy to find the right words to say. “Pause. “I thank you for being considerate this morning.” She bows formally. Sneaking a look, she can’t quite interpret his face. At the very least he doesn’t look like he’s about to snap something at her. He sits up, runs a hand through his hair, this looks to be a nervous habit.
“Don’t thank me for that. Being considerate is such a low bar. I still feel bad about you not, well, not enjoying yourself. Of course, I understand why, circumstances, the pressure … I just wish I could have done more for you.” She huffs.
“My pleasure is not your responsibility. You did what you had to, to help us out of here. That has to be enough.” She bows again. If anything, he looks more upset. It’s beginning to concern her. After all, she’s been on the outskirts of Hiro’s life for years, and she knows just how high-strung he can be. Next time, she’s telling herself, she’ll make sure to pretend more. That would be such a small price to pay for safety. Sneaks another look, he’s still staring at her, looking even more upset.
“Mariko-san. You are right, of course. It is not my responsibility. My task is to help us out of here.” Pause “Still. Would you please accept that, from my standpoint, sleeping with someone who marginally appreciates what we’re doing is better than with someone who detests the process and wants to be thousands of miles away?” A moment of silence, hesitant eye contact from both parts. “It’s … all of this is horrible for both of us. I don’t think I could do it, at all, if you weren’t at least willing to try.” He looks slightly nauseous. Mariko has had no idea this situation had affected this glib, vibrant, exuberant man so much. It’s a stretch but she finds it in her to offer;
“You know, if we’re not hounded to… Hiro, would you cuddle with me tonight? Not for excitable pleasure, just for comfort and getting to know each other better?” She swallows. “I not sure … I don’t know if …” awkward blushing “I can’t …” Deep breath, then rushed, words jumbled together: “If I’m too awkward and stiff nothing happens. I’m sorry!” She hides her face in her hands. He leans across the table, takes her hands in his, pulls them away from her face, searches for eye contact.
“I would be honoured to cuddle you, now or tonight, Mari-chan. Nothing else, just snuggle.” Pause “Fall asleep in my arms, put socks on your feet. I’ll keep you warm. Extra blankets.” He rubs her hands softly. “We’ll play more Zelda, have dinner. You go have a hot soak; I know you’re cold. A movie, something relaxing. You decide what.” Pause. “Sounds fine to you?” She looks pale to him, despite her blushing. It’s like her blush is more visible because her pallor. “Mari-chan?” A small huff, a tiny bit of life and twinkle in her face.
“Does this count as a date?” She surprises him enough to break into a wide smile and a choked laugh.
“Oh, absolutely. A very fine date, too.”
It’d be like no other date in his experience, but a good one, all considered.
“One condition.”
“Anything.”
“We watch whatever movie makes you cringe the most. I think I’m beginning to enjoy watching you squirm.”
They end up having a quiet evening. More gaming, soba noodles and lamb. A long hot soak for Mariko while dinner is cleared out. Hiro takes pride in doing these small things for them, for her. It is a task he can cling to, something he knows he can accomplish. They end up watching Sunrise, Sunset, from the beginning, and he is visibly cringing throughout.
“I had no idea this series bothered you this much.” Another hand through his hair.
“Yeah, well. On the one hand, it is great entertainment, it’s a classic everyone loves. But they wrote it from what the public thought of us, no one ever asked or interviewed either of us.” Pause “It’s not really wrong, it’s just not the whole truth.” She is snuggled up next to him on the couch, under her own blanket, but still very close.
“What is the truth then?” A sigh.
“Byeol wasn’t really that much of a skirt chaser. It’s more that everyone and their dog have been staring at him since we were kids. He couldn’t even hold hands in public without there being a media frenzy, much less going on a date. And Byeol being Byeol, it both bothered him, and he found it funny to play along, to feed social media what they wanted.” He sneaks a look at her, she’s listening more to him than to the movie. “Then the stupid git … ugh, it was before I moved here…” He cringes visibly. “… thought it was a bright idea to have a fling with our stepsister. We’re not related at all or anything, we’re not family like that, she just grew up at court, but it’s still very awkward. I do get his reasoning, though. An Minji was worshipping the ground he stood on for years, and that way he’d get out of having cameras up his whatever. I’ve done some dumb things in my life, but that one really takes the cake.” He shakes his head. “So, he ends up with two kids, a girlfriend that’s not suitable for someone in his position to marry, and a reputation as an irredeemable womanizer.” Sigh “And freaking Sunrise, Sunset to rub it in.”
“Sounds like you love your brother.”
“I do, though we don’t show it in mushy ways. Not something we say to each other.” They watch a bit more in companionable silence. “Argh! I would never say something that callow. What were the screen writers thinking?” Hiro glares at the screen, wrinkles his nose. “Why do people always think I’m into haikus and emo things?” “Because you talk a lot? Because you have the looks for it?” Hiro mimes being wounded. “I look like an emo poet, do I? The kind haunting castle battlements in the moonlight? The kind to spend an hour admiring a teacup? Writing little fluttering notes with elegant brush strokes under the flowering sakuras?” He doesn’t need to roll his eyes, his voice does it for him. Mariko’s mind tosses images at her: Hiro being his careless chattering self at family gatherings. Hiro being snarky as he stole her dinner. Hiro screaming in fury at the emperor for putting them through this. Hiro yelling Ikisou into her face this morning. Hiro looking embarrassed enough to self-combust during the afternoon lecture.
“You could probably pull off the wandering swordsman for hire part. Emo poet in the moonlight, not so much.” He does a sarcastic seated half-bow.
“I am thankful we agree on this, my lady.” A snort “My handwriting is atrocious, in either language. If you want emo calligraphy and art, go talk to Lee Hoyeol.”
“You’re saying your Sunrise character is all made up, are you?”
“Not entirely, but most of it. The brotherly parts are true, like the bickering, and I do like the colour blue. I’m decent at fencing, but by no means a master. And the king in the story isn’t that far off from dad when he gets angry, which thankfully isn’t that often.”
“You know, I listened to the rerun special live.” He groans. “It sounded like you made him angry quite often.”
“You won’t believe me if I say I was totally innocent, would you?”
“Were you?”
“Of course not. But father was always reasonable. Maybe not understanding, but you could reason with him. He usually looked more disappointed than angry when we caused a mess, like he expected better.” He snuggles up closer to her. “A much better parental figure than Uncle Aki.”
“Maybe because your father has had more experience being a parent than most men?” She sounds slightly teasing and he likes that a lot.
“Probably. I’m not sure how to put this, haven’t thought of it in these terms. It’s as if dad actually wanted the lot of us in the first place, or at the very least put up with us with good humour. He allowed us to be children and not just princes. Here, I’m not so sure they even like little kids that much. Both courts needed heirs desperately, they just handled it differently.”
“Are you saying you would prefer five more women clustered on the couches here right now?”
Hiro chokes, then laughs so hard he snorts.
“Goodness, I suddenly envisioned being glared at by all my aunties! Talk about performance anxiety! No, Mari-chan, I’m happy that you’re here with me. I mean, I’m not happy that we’re here together. I meant …” He tangles his explanations until she hushes him with a tiny smile.
“I understand. It’s enough.”
The rest of their date turns out soft and pleasant. Four cringeworthy episodes of Sunrise, Sunset, with snacks and chat. They move to the point of sharing the bathroom for toothbrushes, skincare, and their respective prescribed vitamins, which is a beginning. No more ridgeline of pillows. She fits nicely on his shoulder, but with icy feet. They are sticking to pyjamas and, for Mariko, socks, it’s enough of a step for them both for now, same with snuggling and mild handsiness. It may sound weird, given their morning session, but to be comfortable and trusting isn’t quite the same as doing the dirty with determination and grutness, especially not given the level of awkwardness and embarrassment. They both sleep better, and wake up spooning, having naturally moved around and ended up like that overnight. It’s surprising but not offensive. The morning akita timber delivery leads to an improvised, semi-dressed session, which in turn leads to the rest of the bedwear getting flung every which way, and the breakfast staff walking in unannounced to an unconcealed, writhing tangle, mid growls of “Iku! IKU!” The second Hiro realises they are no longer in private, he rushes up and throws the lot of them out the door. He’s so angry he doesn’t even stop to pick up any piece of clothing whatsoever while Mariko hides under the covers and pretends she never existed in the first place. This eyeful causes a bit of an embarrassment for the staff, but it allows them to report that the young couple was being obedient, and that prince Hiro certainly appears to be capable of performing his duties with enthusiasm. Ahem. A fine figure of a man, too. Ahem again.
“I sorry, Mari-chan. They’re gone now.” She peeks out from under the duvet.
“Are you planning on apologizing like this every morning?” Her tone is somewhere between abashed and rueful, if very quiet, but she doesn’t sound angry or close to weeping. Hiro gets back in under the covers, she squawks at bit with surprise, especially when he pulls her close again.
“You want another round, some cuddles or breakfast?”
“Pffff, you are absolutely impossible.” He kisses her.
“And mouthy, don’t forget that one.” She gives him an eyeroll look of impatience, where did all women he knows pick up that gesture? “I was just thinking we scared them off, so we have time to … ooof!” Another pillow to the face.
“You want to … to … when there are people listening outside the door? Really?”
“The place must be soundproof, otherwise they would have heard us…”
“Enough! I vote breakfast.” She tries to roll out of bed on her side, still a bit rattled. “Besides, there is no us in ‘no one heard us.’ You are the loud one, remember?”
“I know. I’m working on that one.”
“Being quieter?”
“Nope” pause “Making you louder.” He ducks from another flying pillow enroute for his face. “Breakfast it is then.” He heads for the door while she is riffling around on the floor for her yukata to cover up.
“Ehhh, Hiro-kun?”
“Yes?”
“Are you going to open the door like that?”
“Yes, why?”
“Clothes? It’s a thing?” He looks back. She’s blushing again, pink against the indigo blue cotton, clutching the robe closed with her hands.
“Well, I figured I would make them leave more quickly if they thought there were interrupting us. Besides, I don’t mind you getting an eyeful. Least I can do to be of service.” He pirouettes for her perusal and bows sassily to the audience. Thankfully, he’s out of range of flying missiles, so she’s not even trying this time. You must admire her excellent aim and forceful throwing arm.
“I see. I’ll be in the bathroom while you sort this out.” She stalks off.
Breakfast and coolers with bento boxes for lunch arrives at the fastest pace Hiro has ever experienced royal service, with prickly politeness. At least they have picked up on not disturbing them during the day, what with the coolers. All eyes are politely adverted from the fact that he is casually walking around in his birthday suit, still slightly flushed and sweaty. He feels he has made his statement clear that just walking in unannounced will carry consequences. They agree on a fixed time when it’s appropriate to return, and what’s to be expected at that point: dinner, cleaning, more medical attention. They also promise to pick up dishes after breakfast only when he knocks, and not walk in willy-nilly. Hiro congratulates himself slightly. This didn’t turn out all that bad. A morning double-session with Mari-chan more enthused about proceedings, getting to tease her, and renegotiating daily life with their jailers. Tasks accomplished. He walks into the bathroom, startling a Mariko with toothbrush in her mouth, unbrushed hair and pink cheeks.
“What are you doing here? Like that?” She sounds flustered and gargled with mouth full.
“Morning shower. You might want to grab one, too, unless you’re sharing mine.”
It’s fun watching her eyes grow enormous, and then shrink into annoyed slits. He makes his voice as innocent and helpful as he can, suggesting it may be better if she waits until after breakfast and why, and that maybe she should go lie down with a cushion under… He nearly giggles as he slips into the shower. That look of steam coming out of her ears had been priceless. There is after all some fire under that meek and quiet surface. Lathers up, hums to himself, considers. She gets fired up when she concentrates on gaming, so you will just have to figure out how to transfer that energy to other things, Hiro, my man. His mind is awash with possibilities of how to make all this more bearable, while plotting how to talk their way to freedom. After all, he knows he has a silver tongue and charisma condensating out of his pores. It is what has saved his bacon so many times in the past.
Breakfast is again somewhat stiffly polite, because Mariko is annoyed with him. Of course, he is aware he’s not half as innocent as he pretends, and that upsetting her, like stroking a cat the wrong way, is not ultimately a good thing, he might get clawed. But playing with fire is so hard to resist. He makes sure she eats well, not just some soup and pickles, but refrains from feeding her. That would be borderline acceptable in Korea but never in Japan. Mariko is his somehow girlfriend that he didn’t quite expect to happen, but she will likely be the mother of his child and, given every pressure involved, she will end up as his formal wife and probably empress. He tries to imagine his father using chopsticks to feed madam auntie Tae Jiwon in a social setting and fails miserably. No. No feeding Mari-chan as if she’s an incompetent child, but make sure that she eats well, and enough. During their day together – they share playlists of music, they read, he pushes her to eat more beside the offered bento for lunch, then back to gaming – at the back of his mind Hiro is juggling to comparison between courts. How would his father act? If Mari-chan will be holding a similar position to Queen Tae Jiwon, maybe thinking about how they interact would be a better guide than the smiling, happy but rather casual way his parents always treated each other? So, what did they do? Hiro ponders while smacking enemies in-game. For one thing, he is utterly certain his father has never once in his life embarrassed his queen in front of others. He never gainsays her authority and if they ever had disagreed on something, they had settled the matter in private, so much that it had never reached any of the wangja. He is sure his aunt may have corrected or contradicted his father occasionally – she does have quite a temper if riled, he winces internally – but if so, it had been so smooth he himself had barely noticed. Hiro tells himself that this level of dignity is important. No matter how tempted he will be to tease Mari-chan, he cannot do it in front of witnesses. If he treats her with derision, other people will read that as permission to mistreat her. He watches Mariko navigate a tricky course and solve a challenging puzzle to get the access to a whole new region, he whoops with delight and cheers her on. She gives him a suspicious look but continues their exploration into the Sands of Time desert. Hiro continues to think back. It is about things he never knew because they happened before he was born or because he was too young to notice but he knows enough to know that the king and queen dated quite a while before marriage – a disastrous process involving a foreign terrorist attack and a yakuza kidnapping – which meant they had known and chosen each other. It hadn’t been because his father had been clueless about what was happening around him and had ended up in a locked-door confinement with his future wife. He cannot picture Queen Tae Jiwon being subservient to anyone – equal not subservient – except for playacting to confirm to Confucian mores and rituals. He winces, then brushes it off when Mariko tosses him a querying look, so he plies her with more snacks. She really doesn’t eat enough. Being under the aegis of Grandma Tae for a month has given him quite a feel for how a benevolent but powerful queen should act. Like mother, like daughter. He reminds himself to stay on good terms with his baby sister Lee Jian, who even at six years old has the thousand-yard stare of her mother and maternal grandmother. A side thought notes that he wouldn’t exactly mind a daughter on par with Lee Jian. Which in itself brings on a whole other direction of unbidden thoughts. The entire purpose of this abusive confinement is producing an heir. But an heir is a baby, a person, in its own right. He himself is proof of that. As a kid he had silently resented being written out of the Korean line of inheritance, because he should have been ahead of Lee Hoyeol, who never wanted the throne anyway. As an adult, he understands the reasoning behind the decision, especially so soon after that surprise war, but it still grates, as if he hadn’t been good enough. Much loved, that had never been in doubt, but not good enough. Then the trade-off. His grandfather and uncle frankly buying him, like a yearling colt, to be the heir to the throne of Japan, for the cost of an island. His father being seriously concerned but laughing it off, cuffing him on the shoulder, joking about Tsushima. Hiro remembers the concerned look, which spoke of Just let me know and I’ll pull you out of there. Even now, he has no doubts, none, that his father would have gone to war with an allied nation just to protect his son’s a**. Would he himself have the same guts, the same backbone? Hiro’s thoughts spiral further. He images himself stroking Mari-chan’s belly, huge and swollen. He imagines himself cuddling a tiny bundle against his shoulder. Would he be just as strong and principled? Would he be able to be the defender a man should be? He is almost close to tears in his own self-doubts, when he catches Mari-chan giving him weird looks again. He blames it on sniffles due to the ventilation, offers her more fruit and a glib debate on whether to explore the defunct cruiser or to redo the drowned forest first. During that afternoon, Hiro lands in the decision that he needs to have a serious talk with his uncle about their practical future, but that the second he gets his hands on a phone, he needs to talk to his father. And that throughout, he needs to protect Mari-chan and the baby they are forced to create. Because it would be their child, not just an heir.
In preparation for the afternoon’s intrusion, Hiro writes a note, not letting Mariko read it. It humbly asks his uncle to allow her some air the coming few days, supervised, within the palace grounds. He points out that they are cooperating with his demands and offers to stay behind as surety – he considers using the word hostage but settles on the milder term. He also asks what the plans are for the future once this first step has been accomplished. It is written with all the formal phrasings, and he signs it with his full name and title.
The rest of the day and evening is pretty much a repeat of the past two. Hiro manages to convince their overseers to provide a schedule, with due politeness, to avoid any repeat of the morning. He sneaks them the folded note. Mariko asks for more and warmer clothes, and maybe fresh flowers, because the indoor air is growing stale even with ventilation running full force. They also spend time later that night on getting Mari-chan to relax more, not just being pressured into cooperating. Which is quite akita inducing but he sticks to his word for the longest time, until she actively asks him to, afterwards teasing her about having set a baseline for the ratio. For once, he escapes being clobbered since she’s too tired at this point.
In the morning, they are indeed offered a change of schedule; a walk in the gardens for Mariko and a meeting with the emperor for Hiro and having lunch outside the by now boring and stuffy apartment. There are a lot of thoughts churning as he walks into his uncle’s official study, but this needs to be faced. His uncle looks serious and slightly sad – when did he begin to look so worn? – and Hiro catches the same mood. Bows deeply.
“I am not here to argue or whine, and I’ll keep my opinions about what has happened to myself. I just want to know why now? What has changed? What is your majesty planning for our future.”
The silence stretches and stretches. Hiro is actively fighting his default habit of talking to fill a void. Eventually, a tired sigh.
“You ask what has changed. When you moved here, we still had hopes for Masako and me. Frail hope, but still possible. But the last eight years have been a chain of disappointments that nipped off one solution after another. Father’s death. Masako’s difficult miscarriage.” A long pause, this is clearly something he doesn’t wish to discuss. “We have been through each and every treatment known to science. But the frozen reserves saved after my emergency surgery in my early teens are gone now, and there won’t be any more. I prefer not to use the actual words, but we will not have any biological children, Hirohito. It will not happen.” Pause. “I do think you could have acted earlier. Married, raised a family, not putting it off for so long. But that is a waste of time to discuss at this point. Regrets will change nothing.” Another long pause. Hiro is allowing his uncle space to talk.
“I have been diagnosed with stomach cancer. The prognosis is fairly good, from what is known so far, but there are no guarantees. Worst case, I could be dead within a year.” He swallows. “For the sake of the country, and for fifteen centuries of family history, I would prefer to leave behind things in good order.” Hiro is gobsmacked. He doesn’t know what he expected to learn but not this. He begins all the I’m sorry, and how are you feeling: all the other jumbled things you say to a cancer patient. He ends with a What can I do to help? Gets a long steady look in return. Oh, right.
“I see.” pause “I wish you had told me this first, it would have made understanding the situation easier.” He figures his uncle had pretty much panicked but stops himself from saying so. “We both owe quite a lot to Mariko-kyou, for how she has been treated, and how well she is putting up with things.” He sighs. “I guess we will have to organise a wedding, too. Not how I expected these things to turn out, but it is the responsible decision. No shade can fall on her.” He sits up straighter. Now is the time for negotiations. “Given that we are complying, following all instructions, would you consider allowing us some time out of there? Or moving to my apartments? I’m going to get all antsy if we’re cooped up like laboratory mice in a too small cage. The gym, walks, real clothes, things like that. And maybe some contact with the outside world? I would give you my word not to mention circumstances, but you made us drop off all contact without warning. Our colleagues and friends will be asking inconvenient questions.” He figured asking for more than he suspects his uncle is willing to concede is at least making a statement. Uncle Aki looks somewhere between growly and uncomfortable.
“Hmm. I agree with you that planning a wedding is due once her pregnancy is confirmed. Until then there is no need.” He forestalls Hiro’s protests. “Same thing goes for moving back into your own suite. It may be reconsidered within a few weeks.” Oh, well. He did ask. At least, it looks like it won’t be months on end at least, the very thought of that makes him twitch. “But spending time outdoors, exercising and similar are beneficial things and those I will allow.” He gives Hiro, who is dressed in mismatched sweatpants, t-shirt and a yukata jauntily tied, a slightly disapproving look. “Same goes for regular clothes. You may stop by your suite to bring whatever clothing you wish, and I will have her family do the same for her. Also. It is a good observation that some explanation needs to be offered. The office of public communication will deal with this on your behalf.”
They end up having tea. They also agree that Hiro should be given more government papers to be more informed and prepared if the worst comes to the worst. Hiro is still not in the mood to forgive his uncle, though he understands more how things came to be warped out of sync. He also has a plan. When in his own quarters, under the pretence of looking for suitable clothes to pack, he locates and swipes his phone and charger. He drags on, delays, he really does not wish to return to being confined. He’s allowed to have lunch with Mari-chan, somewhere where there’s daylight, and fresh air, while still having people around constantly. He scoffs. Do they really think he’s about to make a run for it? She looks to be in a much better mood, having been outdoors and gotten a chance to stretch her legs. She also perks up on being told they would be allowed outings regularly, and better clothes.
“It’s a pitiful thing to be happy for so little,” is her observation. “I guess this is how prisoners feel, to have some dignity restored.” Pause “But I am grateful. Thank you, Hiro-kun.”
“Is there anything else you want to ask returned? Anything that makes this trial easier?”
She asks for her art material, it’s digital but can be used offline, so that she can keep designing. Gym clothes if they have the chance to work out. She’s more of a Taichi, Yoga person than aerobics or gym, but anything is better than being cooped up.
Back in their now clean and aired-out apartment, he plugs in the charger the second the door locks behind the staff. Shows her the phone once it turns on.
“We’ll have to be careful; he doesn’t want any of what he’s doing to us to leak. But at least we can see what is happening in the outside world and get in touch with those closest to us.”
She looks ruefully at the phone.
“So, calling my parents and screaming at them is out, then?”
“I didn’t think you ever screamed at anyone, Mari-chan. You are more the type to smack someone up the head with a cushion. Silent but deadly. Like flatulence.” He ducks. Smart man. “I am going to ring my parents, though. Not to scream at them, but to keep them informed. If I fall off the edge of the earth with no explanation, I can well imagine Father sending the entire Southern Fleet to conduct a door-to-door search throughout Kyoto.”
“He would? You said he was reasonable.”
“You don’t really know my father. He’s all cool and regal and formal, until the second he isn’t. Always nice and polite, and then he explodes like Pinatubo. If he thought either of us kids were in danger, or part of the gaggle …”
“The gaggle?”
“… my mom and the madam aunties. I don’t know what he wouldn’t do. Byeol, my older brother, watched him execute a friend with his sword for … insulting Queen Tae Jiwon. He did give the Red Navy to task of extracting Queen Jae Vera from Alaska mid-war, and he went to war with Russia to win my brother his crown princess. Dad really doesn’t have rational boundaries when he loses his temper, so I will have to be careful what I tell him today.”
Mariko watches some streaming show with headphones to give him privacy for his call, even if he intends to speak Korean. He waits until after the dinner rush is gone and they have the evening to themselves.
Hiro is somewhere between impatient and terrified about talking to his father. It may be one of those conversations that changes the course of lives and even nations. But at the same time, he would give a lot to have this convo in person. He texts him that he would like to talk to him, in private. Pyeha rings back almost immediately.
“Lee Hiro, I’m happy to hear from you. We were concerned. Your uncle said something about setting you straight. Then you vanished. You, ok?” That familiar voice, the choppy Busan tone. Hiro almost cries hearing this.
“Dad.” Just the choice of honorific, in Korean, is a wealth of information in itself. “I’m fine, it’s been a weird couple of days. Didn’t have a phone until now.” A deep breath. “No matter what I tell you, promise me one thing, Dad? Please do not attack Japan. Don’t do anything to Uncle Aki. I’m on top of things, I can handle this.” A long silence, an indrawn breath.
“I do not like where this is going. But I promise.” Pause “Is there a reason you are not making this a video call?” Hiro hurriedly switches on the camera. Oh, that familiar face, thinner, hair silvery now, than when he was a kid, but with kind eyes and a concerned look. He’s aware that he must look a mess, he probably should have changed clothes, too late for that now.
“See? I’m fine.” Runs a hand through his hair. “Uncle just sort of reminded me that I have had a fiancée for a while. That I had kind of overlooked.”
“You overlooked having a fiancée? How?”
“You know how he is, never upfront about anything, super Japanese at times. I must have said yeah, right, of course, or something along the way.” His father looks … well, Hiro recognizes the look of resigned frustration and slight disappointment.
“So, you unwittingly agreed to getting a girlfriend. Congratulations, I suppose.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, again very familiar. “That doesn’t explain why you haven’t had a phone.”
“Well, I’ve been spending the last few days with her. Alone.”
“Without a phone.”
“Yes.” Another long pause.
“Either she is truly captivating, or something else is going on.”
“You promised, I am reminding you.”
“Am I going to be angry with you or with my brother-in-law?”
Hiro is feeling very young, reliving many similar conversations.
“I … I understand his reasoning. I think he’s wrong and overreacting, but I understand. He might tell you why later, it’s not for me to say.” Hiro swallows. “But he has had me and Mari-chan locked up and I couldn’t get my hands on a phone…”
“WHAT?!” That reaction is quite familiar too, along with pacing back and forth, the background in the video is moving. “PPAK CINDAL!”
“YOU PROMISED!” For the first time in his life, Hiro yells back in the same volume. They stare at each other through the phone.
“Goodness.” Pause. “I’m proud of you, Lee Hiro, for standing up for something you believe in.”
His son nearly cries at the praise. This is exactly what he needed to hear but could not ask for.
“I’ll be fine, Dad, I promise. But he threatened Mari-chan if I didn’t cooperate, and none of this mess is her fault.” Another nose pinching.
“Just tell me, son. I can handle it.” So, Hiro explains in polite terms what he’s going through, including reminding his father not to send the navy on a punitive expedition across the Strait of Tsushima. “Hmmm. Is she there with you now? May I speak with her?” Hiro nudges Mariko, gestures to the phone. Goes: “My father wants to talk to you,” in Japanese. She looks terrified but agrees. His father apologizes at length about Hiro’s lack of manners. He’s being his normal charming and polite self, not the tsunami fury of a few minutes ago. He tells her that this was not how he thought he would have another daughter-in-law but given the chaotic nature of this son of his, something unusual was to be expected. That while he approves of grandchildren in general – smile and a twinkle – that should be between a young couple and not for the older generation to interfere with. Watching his father’s charisma put Mari-chan at ease, Hiro is suddenly beginning to see how his father, with that fire and ice personality, had always deftly navigated the complications of a large family. Same way, he realises where some of his own charm comes from, just that he rarely has been using it this way. Maybe this, too, is part of being a responsible adult.
“Lee Hiro, your mother will be very upset with you if we do not receive an invitation to your wedding.”
“I’ll tell you as soon as I know more, I promise. It’s up to Uncle for now.” He watches the fury rise to the surface to be pushed back down again, keeping a pleasant demeanour in front of Mari-chan. This too is something he will have to learn to do well.
“And Father” He’s back to formality, this is hard to ask. “You cannot tell Mother yet. If she finds out too soon, she will go after Uncle with a steak knife. Maybe not lie, but at least reassure her.”
Pyeha shakes his head.
“I am very much aware of that. In fact, she might bring a sister or two along. Shiori will of course be angry with me for not telling her, but that is nothing new. I’ll make it up to her.”
They end the call on good terms, Hiro promises they’ll stay in touch. He’s almost teary-eyed with relief. Mariko looks at him.
“Why did you say your father was irrational earlier? He seemed very kind and pleasant.”
“It’s because he wants you to like us. When you had your headphones on, he was screaming at me and threatening his ‘useless brother-in-law’ with the navy.” She snorts a giggle.
“What, really?” Hiro rolls his eyes.
“I made him promise not to before telling him anything, and he was still tempted.”
She actually laughs. He’s so happy she’s laughing, and that he got to talk to his dad, and that all went well. The relief is deep. He hadn’t realised just how tense he has been the last few days. Maybe this won’t be quite the disaster he envisioned.
This situation continues for the best part of a week. They are still doing what they should on a daily basis. Spending time outside of that apartment, including having lunch, working out, being allowed to work on kimono designs again, being saddled with piles of reports – fortunately mostly off a provided kindle – makes their confinement marginally more bearable. Somehow, they soon grow closer in ways neither expected. Hiro isn’t quite the careless verbal bully he has appeared to be over the years. A tease, most certainly, but genuinely caring and he’s someone who can use his extroversion for good things. He also proves to her that he can tell the difference between tatemae and honne – he may not always care, but he can play the politeness game if necessary. Mariko gradually proves she isn’t a mute doormat – in private she is funny, kind and a ferocious gamer. Maybe not the most sparkling girlfriend he has ever had, but her willingness to appreciate small kindnesses, her patience and private nature allows Hiro to step into the role of defender and reliable partner, something no one has ever expected of him before. Or rather, expected but then everyone was always sure he would not step up. They take turns hiding the phone – it becomes a bit of a running joke between them – staying in touch with Busan daily and reading news. Pyeha talks to Hiro each night, a brief but deep conversation, in a way doing the mentoring he has been doing with Byeol over the years. From Pyeha’s perspective, Hiro has always resisted accepting responsibility, has always been a bit too glib for such serious conversations. They have some father-son mentoring catching up to do, and the respect they are finally being able to show each other is good for them both.
One morning it finally happens. The overseers have ordered Mariko to test hormone levels every morning, with a stick – at least they have stopped injecting her, settling for blood samples and temperature – and while she has considered faking it, well, it doesn’t make sense to be childish about the process at this point. She keeps telling herself things could be a lot worse. She’s getting a lot of work done. She’s forced to live a healthy life with food, vitamins, working out. Hiro is proving to be, well, not a dreamboat – if he had been, she wouldn’t be throwing things at him daily – but at least considerate and practical, and not too selfish when working on the process. Mariko has quietly – shyly keeping the kimono project away from him- been sketching a full motif for a uchikake to go with a shiromuku, that would include symbolic nature scenes, water, ume – endurance and strength in the face of hardship – and butterflies, in almost white on white. Maybe even an albino koi or two. And several cranes cannot be avoided for a wedding. If he spots the brighter hikifurasode sketch, well, that could have been for anyone, it’s not like a man would notice the difference to a regular kimono, even when she was googling gingko leaves on his phone, though that would suit autumn better. But cranes, chrysanthemums, she’s not into pink so probably red. Ugh, so common like everyone else’s. How about navy blue? She is brushing her teeth, with the test stick on the edge of the sink, thinking loosely on spring patterns that would work with silver, when noticing it has developed two bars. Blinking. Oh no. Oh, yes? Mariko stares at it, not quite sure what she’s feeling. Hands shaking, she tears another stick from its wrapping, uses it. Puts them next to each other. Maybe it was faulty. It could happen, after all. It wasn’t. She gulps and stares at the two sticks, at the four bars stating that her hormone levels have risen enough to be detected. Hand over her mouth, she must have been making a sound, because Hiro bangs on the bathroom door and asks what’s the matter. She tries to say something, reassure him that nothing is wrong, but her voice has stopped working. Only little choked squeaks come out. He bursts in to check on her, catches the tableau around the sink. His eyes widen.
“Oh.” A long pause, then; “Are you ok, Mari-chan?” She nods, not feeling very okay at all. He puts an arm around her, sits her down on one of the couches, pulls up a blanket around her. Mariko feels mainly dazed and cold. “Wait a second.” He vanishes into the bathroom, there’s tinkling, then silence. A few minutes later he’s back with three test sticks. “If you need some time, just hide the sticks today. I made a fake one you can leave out for them to find.” Her heart skips a beat, and her eyes nearly tear up at this small kindness. She is not in love him, but she’s helplessly grateful that he understands her well enough to come up with something like this.
“Thank you, Hiro-chan. I appreciate it.”
He pockets the correct ones, crouches down, peers into her face.
“You look a little pale. Shock?” Mariko nods. He holds her hands, his are warmer. “Just breathe. We’ll talk once the breakfast monsters are gone.” He grabs a random book from the pile. “Here. Pretend to read.” She checks the title.
“’Management of aquaculture in mountainous regions?’”
“Absolutely engrossing, Mari-chan. A page-turner.” He grins at her. “I’ve even made notes in the margins for you.”
Another day she would have pretended to smack him. Today she just opens the book and tries to read. It’s a blur. Breakfast appears, hot tea will be appreciated, she’s not meeting anyone’s eyes. Hiro hovers more than usual and is pushing food onto her plate. The door clicks shut. Silence. A long silence. She doesn’t know what to say, really. What do you say to the father of your apparent baby, who is just as trapped as she is. Do you thank him for the help?
“I am … I’m a little lost.” Her hands shake slightly, she tries to hide it by holding onto the teacup. “I didn’t think this would work. So quickly. I thought this could take months. Trapped like this here.” Pauses. He’s just watching her. By now she knows he will talk to fill any vacuum, that he listens like this is on purpose. She tries to be coherent and fails. “It’s what we had to do to escape. I know that. I agreed. It just feels … strange. Unreal. Like the difference between sketching a pattern, just in your head and later seeing someone wear the finished kimono.” Sips from her cup, more to have something to do than being thirsty. “I’m a little afraid. It’s a major change in life, for any woman.”
“You don’t know me that well, and we don’t know what my uncle will come up with next.” She nods. “He did say we would be allowed to leave this place once this happened. That we’d be allowed phone access again.” He sounds serious, but a small grin is dancing on his lips at mentioning phone access. “And he would allow us to get married once this happened. If that is what you want.”
“Do I have a choice?” Hiro sighs.
“It would be simpler, and probably better for the baby if we do. But at the same time …” He hesitates. “… you said you were trying to break up with me for a long time. So, if that’s what you prefer, I will support your decision. Fully.” She echoes his sigh.
“That sounds more like theatrics. It would look like symbolic independence, but in practice …” Shakes her head slightly, black hair swaying. “It would end up the same way, no matter what I decide.” A sad smile. “The illusion of a choice. I am not angry with you, Hiro-chan. It’s not really your fault either. It’s just one of those things that happens when you’re the cousin of a cousin and fit the requirements.” A shaky, steadying breath. “It may be better if we help each other in this. While your uncle is still a bit … irrational about heirs, it makes sense to me that we don’t to complicate things. Once things calm down – if that’s what you want – I’ll keep my eyes closed and give you your freedom back.”
Mari-chan’s tone is thin, quiet, not quite bitter, more resigned. Hiro nearly chokes. This poor sweet young woman, this generous and kind woman, offering to shoulder the burdens, so that he can go back to being an irresponsible fool? Wasn’t that what he had wanted? Why had he ever wanted that? He had been an idiot.
“If you will do me the honour of marrying me, I am not letting you go. Just so that you know.” She looks very sceptic. “I know words are very cheap, but I promise to prove it to you every day, from this day on. Okay?” He can tell she doesn’t quite believe him, and that it’ll take more than a few sweet nothings to make her trust him. His father had pointed out how the right words at the right time had immense power, but in the day to day, just being there, just choosing the other person, putting their interest first was more important in building trust and the foundation for liking, even love. His snarky side, never far away, comments that his father may have been slightly hypocritical because Hiro cannot imagine how a man can manage this with more than one wife and queen, much less six of them. He shushes his own snarkster and focuses on Mari-chan. What to do to cheer her up? He decides against commenting on her sudden use of chan, because then she might stop. He did very much notice the change, though, and when it happened.
They get through this day as any other day. He walks with her in the park that covers the palace grounds. It’s in a semi-public part of the park, but Hiro pulls rank at security and receives grumbling permission. Some of the visitors do not notice them, after all they look like most young couples out for a walk in the middle of the day. But a few reacts with quickly averted stares, polite bows, which he returns with a pleasant face, and he can just imagine the rumours that will gradually spread like wildfire. He has been seen with any number of various women over the years, most of them just social acquaintances, some more. But this is walking about, in the palace park, at midday when most people are at work, with a young woman dressed in a seasonally correct, all proper accessories, kimono, but with modern hair. It’s not the kind of situation and company you would ordinarily find Hirohito Kotaishi in, and from the corner of his eye he spots phones being held up for recording. Perfect multi-tasking. Both some air and a nice chat with Mari-chan and placing some spokes in his uncle’s wheels. They talk about the end of winter, changing seasons, agriculture and trade as it relates to seasonal eating, she talks about regional textile patterns, how she would eventually like to create a series of motifs based on Polynesian imagery for everyday wear, he talks about learning more about the underlying issues of the country, about science and research and grows animated when talking about arches and structural support in bridge building, and the Seikan rail tunnel under the Tsugaru Strait. There is a shared interest in making things better for others, though it manifests in different ways. In roundabout ways around witnesses they talk about the future. Where to live. What to do. He will of course be busy training to take over after his uncle. She says that she wants to keep doing her kimono designing, whether it will be permitted to be a commercial venture or something for charity. Hiro laughs slightly.
“You might end up creating a museum in due time, with your work on display.”
She smiles back, how that is unlikely, but that it’s a sweet dream. He files the concept away for another day, given that it’s clearly something she cares about. “That might be something my mother could help you with. I hope you will like her.”
“At least yours wasn’t party to this lunacy. That’s something.”
“She’s not much of a traditionalist, she was into underground music. Leather jackets, a vintage motorcycle. Played base in a synth band. I can’t imagine her doing something like this to us, ever.”
“Sounds very … alternative for a queen.”
“Oh, she can play the Korean queen or the Japanese princess to a tee when she so chooses. She would force the three of us kids to shape up any time formality was required. And do well at school, always. Most of the time she just doesn’t want to pretend to be a perfect doll, so won’t bother.” Mariko gives him a long side-eye, wanting to ask more but too polite to.
“She sounds a bit wild. And then your father is all mild-mannered and proper.” Hiro laughs so hard he has to stop to wheeze. She looks surprised, as if she doesn’t understand what is so funny.
“Proper? Father, ha ha ha” – he’s using the Korean term – “Father has a habit of marrying anyone who can contribute to court and country. Last time the question resurfaced I asked why he didn’t add the Prime Minister and he nearly choked on his tea.” A short pause for catching his breath. “Good times.”
“I suppose you asked in that innocent voice of yours, did you?”
“But of course, I did.”
She’s beginning to get a feel for how her future husband operates, and why the relationship between Tenno and Kotaishi is sometimes thorny. It’s easy to view Hiro-chan as a shallow ass and he does enjoy delivering verbal barbs, but it hides a great deal of caring, a love of learning and hard work. She’s also discovering that he grew up in a closeknit family, not only having a close relation with his brother, but a warm and respectful relationship with his parents. Very different from her own stilted and silent upbringing, where learning art was the only freedom of expression. There is a good chance that this baby of theirs will have a more cheerful childhood, if only she can navigate the shoals of adapting to life in the imperial family. A cool unspoken thought suggests that in due time the two of them will have greater leeway to set the tone of their own court, even if they would still be up against the Imperial Household, that traditionalist monolithic bureaucracy. In that contest, she would bet on Hiro-chan, though. She holds his hand during the walk, in public, in front of cameras. Hiro counts that as a partial success. They have lunch, mainly lamb and seafood, with rice and crispy pickles. Hot pineapple soup and tea against the winter weather. The sky is clear and dry, spring is somewhere on the way but hard to detect yet. Mariko very hesitantly suggests being allowed to design something to wear for the coming ceremony. Says that usually there is quite some time to prepare, for most people, but probably not for them, and that she would, if possible, wish to wear something that she herself had created. Quite a lot of staring into the tabletop, pauses and a small voice, that it may not matter to anyone else, and an outsider might not be able to tell the difference, but it matters to her. The answer is a foregone conclusion. If Mari-chan wishes to wear her own designs, she should, in fact she should design every single one of her outfits for the ceremony, and he’ll back her all the way. Now that he thinks of it, is there a possibility for her to design something for him, too? If it’s not too much? Or even the kurotomesodes for his mother and younger sisters? She shakes her head in open mouthed surprise. Designing isn’t the issue for her. It’s the printing, painting and embroidery that takes time, the actual crafting even if the actual textile base can have been pre-cut. Anyway, it’s not that complex sewing. Given their ahem results this morning, it looks like spring designs will be needed, and that means crafting will be forced pace. Especially if she wants silk brocade with a pattern that she has designed, and not a plain tanmono bolt. (Comment: she doesn’t go into full detail talking to Hiro. The majority of thinking about textiles is in her mind)
The rest of the day follows as all the other in a Waiting for Godot pattern – the night is sweetly cuddly and soft – and in the morning they allow the staff to find out. There is a whirlwind of activity and Mariko is barely allowed to get dressed before being rushed off to the Imperial clinic, Hiro just barely makes it to the end of the cavalcade of milling attendants. He’s all stressed out, dressed but still with bed hair. Doctors everywhere, nurses, people running around with clipboards; for being Japan this is very much out of the ordinary. When the emperor shows up, finally Hiro loses it. No, he is not having his uncle walk into a gyn clinic to go stare at his girlfriend, not no-how, especially if she’s in a state of medical examination dress, that’d be only for medical professionals and possibly himself. He actively punches one or two people, leaning heavily into his fighting Korean side, while sealioning in to protect her. Ending up nose to nose with his uncle, who he is – up to being locked up with Mariko – normally getting along well with. Now, he is screaming into his face that one step further, emperor or not, uncle or not, he will punch his teeth out and rough him up because he’s protecting Mariko’s honour and safety and the rest of you people can just go … at this point he switches to cursing in his native Korean. It proves the percentage of the staff that understands what he’s saying, because those are detailed gruesome threats. Judging from his body language and eyes he is intending every single word. It even makes single-minded Uncle Aki take a step back.
“You do not understand. This is important.”
“With all due respect. You are not a medical specialist. You do not belong in that examination room.” Deep, steadying breath. “You will get any results once there are results available. Until then,”Hiro is so furious he feels the throb of veins behind his eyes. Is this how father feels when he blows up like a volcano? “You will stay away from Mari-chan. You will not speak to her. Next time you see her, you will apologize to her on your knees. I do not care who you are or what exalted position you hold. You. Do. Not. Interfere.” Is this what you feel like before you draw your sword or before you affix your hands around someone’s throat? People are backing away, in a receding wave.
“Have you lost your mind?” Through clenched, fighting face teeth:
“No. I have just come to my senses.”
For all his desperation and emotional turmoil about finally having a grandnephew on the way Akishino backs down in the end. He has ever since Hiro was a school kid, and later teen, viewed his sister’s son as essentially Japanese. There is a strong similarity between mother and son, in overall personality, how they move, the joy of puns and teasing. Yes, the kid is somewhat exuberant and not too dignified unless it’s officially required, but in every way that counts he could have been Shiori’s boy raised in the islands.
This is like being face-to-face with his brother-in-law in one of his infamous but fortunately rare rages. Akishino has only witnessed these once, when they had set Hiro straight about his faulty naval academy application and he had never been the target himself. He had admittedly been rather upset himself that day, and for good reason. But this? Even Hiro’s eyes narrow the same way, and that growl in either language … he can certainly hear the same words in his brother-in-law’s voice, like an echo. He has no doubt that Hiro would indeed use violence right now to defend his girlfriend and possible child. In a certain way, it is like watching a samurai taking a stand. Death before dishonour.
He orders staff and security to stand down and does his best to mend everyone’s tattered face. Hiro is sticking to defending the door, his back against the doorhandle, until he is united with a pale but collected Mariko. Her condition is confirmed in all ways medical science can do this early, much to the elation of the wider court, but that there is always a high risk this early and she should be treated with velvet gloves the coming few months. The way the emperor’s jaw is set proclaims there will be velvet gloves for a much longer than a few months.
Somewhere in the purposeful chaos that descended, Mariko gives up trying resist and allows herself to be numbly led, sat down, moved to another room, offered tea which she sips, then standing somewhere, sitting again. No one pays much attention to her when she at first spoke up, so she resigns herself to being treated like a human doll for now. They can’t keep this up all day, can they? Behind her quiet façade she knows that however she feels about this current treatment, she’s safe now. It’s not a thought that makes her sparkle with joy, but it makes the next few hours bearable. She clings to it like a life buoy. Hiro is hovering around her like an animated umbrella, talking to the people passing in and out of her vision, trying to shoo them away, trying to talk to her. He’s sounding increasingly agitated at her silence, but Mariko can’t make herself interact with him. If she responds, she will break apart in a thousand weeping shards and that is not helpful for anyone right now. Until they are finally left alone together, she believes they may be in his suite, on his couch, her only verbalisations have been dull “yes” and “thank you.”
“Mari-chan? Please, please say something. Do you need anything?” His face is right in front of her, is he kneeling on the floor? Holding her hands lying on her lap, she hadn’t realised she was shaking.
“I’m sorry.” A rote answer, with all the proper honorifics. Hiro looks horrified.
“What did they do to you?” He grasps her upper arms instead. “Are you in there?”
That statement is at once so stupid and so Hiro that it breaks through her numbness.
“I’m fine. Really.” He looks simultaneously relieved and very disbelieving. “Yes, really.” Pause “It was just … overwhelming. From when they saw the positive stick and then everything.” She looks at her hands. They are still quivering involuntarily. “They don’t care about me anyway …”
“At the moment, to everyone within the Imperial Palace you are the most important woman in the world, Mari-chan.” She shakes her head slightly, hair swaying.
“Yes, I am. Or rather, that woman is, but I am not.” Pause “There’s a difference.” Pause “There was no point in … I just hid. Inside.” Within a second, she’s wrapped in a hug, face pressed against his shoulder. There’s midnight blue silk against her nose and mouth, tries to breathe, and she realises she’s crying, muffled sobs, shoulders shaking. Hiro is rubbing her back and swearing in both languages. He sounds angry but not in body language or touch. After forever, he pulls away, looks her straight in the face:
“Whatever happens, if you feel like that. Talk to me. Please.” pause “Please don’t hide from me?” More muttered swearing, he’s rummaging through pockets, locating tissue and lets her blow her nose. Oh, those small kindnesses.
“Look, I get it. In this kind of life, you are always two people. Yourself, and the role they make you play. Remember Sunrise, Sunset?” Pause “Some days it’s bad, like today for you.”
She makes a sniffled laugh.
“Like you facing down the emperor-bad? I heard you.”
“Yeah, well, he had that one coming. If anything, I understand why dad gets so mad sometimes. Idiots, the lot of them.” He sits down on the couch next to her, grouches about his knees. “But to me, I don’t think that woman they’re fussing over is the most important in the world.” Long pause, long enough that she nearly asks him What?
“I think that you, Mari-chan, is the most important in the world. As you said, there is a difference.”
That makes her cry again, but less in hopelessness, more in exhaustion, and she’s smiling slightly, with a pink nose.
Even comforting Mari-chan, even reminding himself to have clean tissues at hand in at least one pocket, Hiro is reminded of the earlier confrontation. He’s not exactly proud of himself for blowing up like that – his Japanese half is wincing in embarrassment – but it had to be done. He should probably track down the staff members he had punched and apologize. At the same time, doing that had somehow shifted the balance of the Court. From the second Mari-chan had walked out that door, when the doorhandle had poked his back, he had felt the first tremors of a tectonic shift. You could tell by bows a few degrees deeper, a flick of an eye in his direction before speaking, where just yesterday he had been treated respectfully, but not to this degree. His uncle’s illness might not be common knowledge yet, but the household members could read the room of relative power.
Hiro knows he will milk that influence, to the last drop to make sure nothing like today ever happens again to Mari-chan. She had scared him, to the point where he had considered that she had been drugged. And he finds he doesn’t like it when she cries.
The rest of the day, Hiro fights a three-front war trying to make Mariko rest and eat; trying to keep the Imperial Household from pestering her; and trying to field all the questions about procedure that seems to land in his lap. Should someone contact the lady’s parents? Documents to sign. His opinions on her preference for room temperatures? Would he approve this official communiqué? It feels never ending. He does do his best and manages to tamper down his increasing desire to just yell and sulk uncooperatively. In a lull, when she’s napping, he texts his father, describing their day.
“Just wait before they publish something official before talking to mom, please.”
He hesitates, then writes:
“Once things calm down, not today, can I talk to you? In person?”
Instant assent, as the most natural thing in the world.
“I think …” It takes him three tries to type this, choosing his word with care. “… you need to talk to uncle, because there are things happening here this side of the strait. I felt the change today. Mari-ya is not doing well under the pressure.”
A few back and forth, including “Of course I’m looking after her!”
Hiro hesitates, then writes. “I was you today. Like when you blow up in fury. Kept from punching uncle, nearly did.” Pause to read “Yes, I had reason. But dad, I’m so sorry.” Pause “I’m sorry for having been such an ass growing up.” He can almost hear the startled huff, can imagine the expression. Reads:
“I love you, Lee Hiro. You silly kid. Always did.” Replies in text and saying it out loud:
“Love you too, dad”.
A few weeks later the Imperial Household seems to have mostly adjusted to the excitement but is still slightly intrusive. There is still some tension between his majesty and his future niece-in-law – he is polite and attentive about her physical well-being; she is unfailingly polite in return but quiet, she and wears the court formality as an armour. It is building up to something of an arms race in out-politing each other. Hiro finds is both amusing – it’s the passive-aggressive version of his own sarcasm – and frustrating, because whenever Mari-chan is alone with him, she steps out of her tatamae mechsuit and he’s a witness to the toll this is taking on her. Not that she’s actively complaining or whining, he almost wishes she would. When he cheekily offers to install a sandbag in his, now their shared suite of apartment, for her to take out all that repressed temper on, she rolls her eyes at him and said no. The alternative they settle on is letting her unleash the pent-up anger on a variety of console games, the combination of virtual bloodshed and solving challenges seems to work. She tells him gaming is silent, socially acceptable and leaves no permanent traces, such as a sandbag would. After which, she pushed him off a ledge in-game, on purpose.
Hiro has tried to defrost her relationship with her parents; she still won’t speak to them above a yes, no and thank you, the hurt of their betrayal going too deep. He still winces at the awkwardness of his future in-laws first visit – it had been utterly refined and serene, the ikebana flowers just so -with every single attempt by Mari-chan’s parents at mending fences had been met with the equivalent of standing outside in January in Magadan wearing swim trunks. Afterwards, the poor in-game monsters had been bashed harder than usual, with Mari-chan growling at the screen.
Hiro counts himself lucky she still tentatively allows herself to be open around him. He’s leveraging his growing influence at court – it’s unofficial but noticeable – to smooth out their daily lives, reorganise their schedules to find time together and create bright spots in her day. After getting a silent earful from the Imperial Household, followed by another embarrassingly crude lecture, this time on the treatment of women in the early stages of pregnancy – the laundry staff must have tattled after changing bed linen – he’s settled for cuddles and letting her sleep in his arms at night for the duration. He tells himself to look at this from the positive side, it gives them a chance to build some closeness after the being thrown together, a kind of reverse courting. Telling her that made her toss a pillow at him; he’s beginning to count pillow tossing as a success in sparking a reaction and keeping her from clamming up.
Hiro tells himself the best he ever did during these chaotic weeks was supporting her design work. Mari-chan grows bright-eyed and distracted when drawing and combining textile patterns, she even chatters on the phone with the weavers, and the day he was allowed to take her to XXX to visit the silk brocade weaver facility in person it felt like he was standing next to the real Mariko, rather than the barely animated doll she displays to court. His own knowledge of grades of silk and the symbolic meaning of kimono motifs and how to arrange them together pleasantly is sketchy at best, but if she is set on something with sakura and ume, which she says is unusual on a haori this formal, for him, he’s not about to argue with an expert in the field.
At least she’s eating better now, maybe because of her condition, maybe because he’s pushing snacks on her at every opportunity. He’s fine with either since she’s not looking quite as thin and cold. He had talked Jin Lian into sending him an arctic winter level duvet for Mari-chan – it had been one embarrassing conversation, including an apology two years due, but it had to be done, not just for the duvet. Lian had included down stuffed slipper boots to go with the gift, he had thanked her for the thoughtfulness and asked her to recommend more games that Mari-chan would like. She had looked a bit confused and questioning, but had sent him a list later, wishing them good luck, and including a few cheat codes. It took about a week for his brother to phone him sounding somewhere between confused and angry.
“I thought I told you never to speak to Jin Lian again, ever.” His brother’s sibeoleon dialect has gotten stronger over the years, the vowels extra-long with hidden temper.
“Sorry, Hoyeol, but it was that or calling your tiger cousins. I needed the stuff for Mari-chan and I rarely hang out in Magadan.” Pause “And I needed to apologize.” Pause “I was an idiot back then, and you were right to lose your temper.”
His older brother looks dumbstruck, staring a Hiro.
“What’s wrong with you? Are you on drugs? You got a medical death sentence?”
Ouch! That hurt, but it was well-deserved.
“Look, I apologised to Dad for being an ass growing up. The least I could do is doing the same to my sister-in-law.” Pause “And to you, hyeungnim.”
“Do you have a fever?”
“No, I’m getting married.”
“Huh? And that makes you ring half the family and apologize? If so, I can give you a list.” Pause “Congrats. I guess. She must be very patient to put up with you. I suppose dad knows? But I haven’t heard from either of our mothers so what’s going on?”
They both hear Jin Lian yelling in the background:
“You’ve been to sea for a month, and you said no gossip, you twit!”
SHIORI ARRIVES LIKE A STORM (what’s with Empress Masako? Is the grandmother alive, Kiko? I suspect conflict Shiori, but she may dote on Hiro)
Shiori vs her sister-in-law vs her mother will tie more aspects both of Shiori’s modernity “the one woman who looks great in a biker jacket over a kimono” and how there are many ways of being respectful of tradition while being a modern woman – a good lesson for Mariko, who needs a mentor and someone to back her up.
Also, Empress Masako is estranged from her husband emperor Akishino after that final late miscarriage. She’s pretty much depressed and stays in darkened rooms – a warning to Mariko what could become of her if this chasing an heir becomes an obsession. Masako largely vanished from public life a few years ago, officially due to health issues. She was married to Akishino, the late emperor’s only son, with the express intent of acting as empress in public and have sons in private. For reasons mainly due to her husband’s fertility issues – testicular torsion emergency surgery in his early teens – the natural way proved difficult, and her father-in-law, the Imperial Household and the attention of the public eye didn’t make the situation any easier. She has had one ectopic pregnancy, several early miscarriages, been through any number of IVF treatments, in a rather highhanded manner from the court, with every detail of her medical record and daily health of interest to everyone. Given this, Masako feels a failure, like her body has betrayed her duty and left her a victim to this psychological abuse. She drifted into depression, lost interest in taking care of herself, was medicated and had little support from her husband, family or in-laws. That final pregnancy, when she was over 40, led to a miscarriage in late second trimester … and it’s a dark secret of the court of the source of the insemination … which would have produced a brother for her husband, not a son … which she was told of afterwards. Her mental health is really not good, and she has minders keeping an eye on her around the clock. Given all this, in a way, her single-minded husband has been reasonably tolerant about his nephew’s reluctance to commit to married life for a long time, and while very harsh, his decision to throw Hiro and Mariko together for the express purpose of procreation once he received his own cancer diagnosis is understandable but not empathic. If anything, he has treated Mariko better than he treated his own wife, allowing her more agency, though since Hiro doesn’t know the ugly details of the background, his nephew has been understandably furious and in full defence of his own and Mariko’s dignity and privacy.
Shiori’s mother is alive, dowager empress Kiko, who is elderly, slightly thin, easily distracted. Physically frail, but her mind drifts off, not in nasty ways but into pretty Sakura and the flight of egrets over water. Reads poetry, lots of silences. It’s hard to tell if its age or personality or both – Shiori tells Mariko her mother had always been a little like this, now it’s worse. She was Japanese nobility, then the empress, she had a son and three daughters, feels she did her duty for her nation, and since no one needs her now, as a widow with grown children and no grandchildren, no passionate hobbies, she is allowing herself to fade. Her husband, Shiori’s father, never let her be an equal partner in politics or personal interests, and the Imperial Household ran everything since he wouldn’t stand up for her against them. In many ways, she had always been like this – fragile, ephemeral, never backed Shiori up against her father when she was a rebellious, she not just accepting her powerlessness but was actively playing into the cultural trope. There is sadness here, the sadness of fading sakuras, utterly cultural, but at the same time it’s an echo of gender roles of times past. For Shiori who is both avantgarde and traditional in her tastes and interests, and for Mariko who is softspoken, works in a traditional field but has warmth and spirit underneath, she’s an example and warning of what has been, of times past. Kiko is like a bonsai tree, so stunted and trimmed from early childhood that only mild melancholy remains, colour scheme in pale blues, grey, sage, white. Or like foot binding, though that’s a Chinese custom, and this takes place in Japan in 2052. Her relationship with her daughter who was sent off to Korea in 2018 as a hostage and a war treaty bride with a few hours’ notice would be strained if Kiko ever allowed herself enough fire to have been angry at her husband for disposing their youngest daughter for political and diplomatic gain, she had wept beautifully and then moved on. Given that Shiori found a compatible family in Korea that allowed her space for her interests in a respectful way, and that she is actively choosing to pin her maesil more prominent than her chrysanthemum on her collar – her son Hiro does the other order as Crown Prince of Japan and a prince of Korea – is a silent statement of how she feels about her parents. Shiori is probably angrier at her father than her weak mother, she didn’t expect her really to defend her, but the strain is still here.
Mariko designing a kimono for her mother that subtly conveys her feelings is an interesting way to address the unresolved tension between them. It’s a method that uses Mariko’s skills and position to make a statement, potentially leading to a confrontation or reconciliation that could provide the closure she seeks. This approach adds layers to Mariko’s character, showing her ability to use her art as a form of communication and perhaps even leverage. It’s a nuanced way to bring underlying issues to the surface in your narrative.
CONTINUE HERE
Lee Daeyeong and the infiltration of the Empire of Vietnam: (2054) This section is about Southeast Asia in general and Lee Daeyeong in particular, beginning from 2054 and stretching past the partitioning of China. Lee Daeyeong is the son that they were expecting when the issue with Captain Jo happened. It is something that no one has ever sat him down and told him about, but this kid is smart and lethal; he naturally reasoned out the timing, once he learnt about the outrage and that his mother had been pregnant at the time. In many ways, finding this out affected him psychologically – the desire to protect, the willingness to step outside regulations but also his own personal code of conduct, his morals, what he will and will not deign to do. He has been mulling over what made a man of such integrity, honour and 40 years of friendship overstep so totally, made him throw it all away in an instant, by choice. To Lee Daeyeong Captain Jo must have made an active choice, because the wangja are taught in age-appropriate ways, from an early age how things like storks and adult hugging work. He knew even as a kid that object A does not go into slot B unintentionally or by accident. The question of how such a mind works, the but why eludes him. Probably because he would probably quote Marco Ramius of Red October: “I’ve read this book. Halsey acted stupidly.” Daeyeong is decisive but never rash – he has problems understanding people who are decisive about dumb choices. He also thinks a lot about Lee Lim, his granduncle who turned traitor and assassin, and who failed in the end. He can certainly understand the temptation, the dark desire for power, to be the one who sets the agenda. He also thinks his granduncle went about things in inefficient ways, he himself would never do something that dumb. If you want to rebel against your family, you need to think it through, consider all contingencies and above all make sure that you win. You need to control the butterflies of chaos, and control perception and public opinion, not just take a sword to your target, and – above all – these are modern times. Swords? Really? When there are plenty of more efficient weaponry. Thinking about all of this frustrates Daeyeong, to the point of head-desking.
He asks him mother about her sister, his aunt Tae Jial, because he is great at sniffing out absences, those things people avoid talking about. She’s not truly forthcoming, but he collects enough information to create a summary. Another stupid family member who allowed herself to be led by reckless emotion and desires into making inefficient and pointless choices. Hurting people for no rational reason is anathema to Daeyeong – you only do that for a reason, and you consider it thoroughly first.
Already we can summarize Lee Daeyeong as someone who has plenty of self-confidence, a rational mind, a practical bent, and isn’t too troubled when it comes to morality. He’s not a psychopath and he’s not Stalin or Pol Pot. But he’s someone who would order men into battle to Take that hill, knowing that none will return, and not lose sleep over it. Goal oriented. Great with people, though he scares many. Leans into his charisma, has a stunning smile that not always reaches his eyes, and develops a strong sense of private vs public persona from early on.
He probably should have had therapy as a kid or talked to some older mentor. As things developed, he concludes that he has both brilliant and dense relatives on both paternal and maternal sides of the family, and that it’s up to him to stay brilliant, and within his own moral tenets. Of course, those tenets can be darker than for other people, but he does have them.
Morals, Lee Daeyeong style: He will not hurt people for no reason, and all assassinations should be humane, if possible. He will mitigate collateral damage if possible. He will keep his exact word once given, and he rarely lies to those close to him. He believes in treating family members well, to the best of his ability. He believes in consent, which to him includes accepting blackmail or consenting to being contracted by parents and he would not do anything to a pillow partner who screams and struggles. He believes in low-cost solutions – the keep it simple, stupid model – if blackmail or scaring people works, no need to off anyone. He believes in equality between men and women, and that love is love. He wants most people to live healthy, happy, educated lives, which makes him believe in progressive politics, while staying firmly royalistic. He believes – firmly – that people should work on themselves, and in general do better; he will do his utmost to help people close to him with that. With varied success – he can be a tad domineering when it comes to making other do better. It may be simpler to describe him as a tad domineering in general. The desire for self-improvement includes himself. Also believes in re-education, not always a comfortable situation. He believes that “It’s morally wrong to allow suckers to keep their money.” He believes in playing to win, except when playing games with small children; if you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen. He believes a modest life and moderation in all things is a virtuous life but refuses to call himself a good man. The furthest he’ll go is “I try to be a good man.” He has the morals of a cat when it comes to enemies: they should either be dispatched with little fuss, or be broken down, dishonoured, embarrassed and live in shame to serve you in the future … this is the one enemy the Taiping will regret having made.
Sending him off to Vietnam was a very smart move by Pyeha – keep him very occupied with family business far away and at a less powerful place; challenges are good for ENTJs – and I suspect Jiwon gave him a heads-up. I will even push the parallels one step further and claim that Daeyeong has a lot of similarities to those two ancestors – Lee and Tae – who tore Russia apart in 1850. Then there were two men, now there’s only one.
He’s 23 in 2054, Lunar New Year. Well, except for his very much on purpose marriage and the order from his father to “go there and take over. Make and take. Put down roots and make the family proud. Make sure they don’t spot you. I’ll back you up if needed.” Pyeha shows off the scar at his throat, explains that of all the daeguns, he and Byeol are the most similar in abilities and temperament, though they have turned out differently on the surface. Competence, focus, attitude – they are both born leaders, with a strategic vision. Byeol is just rasher and more exuberant, Daeyeong is equally forceful, just with a quieter, more pristine surface. But there’s a 13-year age difference, and Korea isn’t in Daeyeong’s future. He’s sorry about this, but he will not allow it. He doesn’t want Dae to turn bitter, or worse a traitor. Their eyes meet, both know that a coup could be one of the trouser legs of time, a possible future.
“I don’t want to do that, father. I love my hyeungnim.”
“I know you do. That is why I have been thinking about ways to protect you from that temptation. Ways to keep you engaged and busy.” A long look over the rim of his glasses. “I intend to use you, Lee Daeyeong, for the good of the house of Lee. But” a slight smile. “… it would be in ways I suspect you will enjoy.”
He explains that he has been keeping an eye out for ways to contain the Taiping for a while, and encouraging anti-Taiping sentiment in the empire of Vietnam has been part of that strategy. Now there’s a suggestion from their Court for a dynastic tie, since they are under the impression that Korea has plenty of surplus princes.” Rolls his eyes, in a dry voice:
“I do not consider any one of you a surplus or expendable. However. The Nguyens are not as stable as they look, and your capabilities would be a good fit. Go there, get married, take over the place. Make and take. Put down roots, give us a bunch of healthy grandsons to establish in the region, make yourself indispensable. You have free hands with the southeast lands as far as I’m concerned, as long as you hold the Taiping in check.” Daeyeong is staring at him, then collects himself to continue listening. “It’s an opportunity for a theatre of your own if you care to look at it that way. It is not intended as exile; I will back you up in any way you need. I’d actually be grateful if you would accept.” Scrunches his lower lip in thought. It’s on the one hand an insult to be considered a potential traitor – he suspects the all-seeing eye of his beloved mother to be behind this one – but he must admit that there has been a dark sense of envy tangling with his thoughts at night for years. It’s nothing he actively wants, there are just persistent thoughts of what if. Traitorous ideation, in other words. Going to another country, with the outright purpose of grabbing power, now this … might be something good. It would allow him to stretch his wings, be his own man, not always staying in the shadow of Pyeha and seja, however much he loves them both. A cold thought points out that between his parents and his eldest brother, if they thought he would mount a coup, he’s perfectly aware they would have him assassinated, without hesitation, and weep bitterly afterwards. Running his own country if he can take it, could even be something good, for everyone. Making things work better makes him tick, after all. A sense of fate, of rightness, that his decision here will change the future. He accepts, with a smile but serious eyes. Says he has six months to graduation, that he will need to read up on the situation in Vietnam and have a crash course in the language. And brush up on his Cantonese. That he’ll use the avowed soft masculinity (tender charisma, purity, and politeness) and their admiration for all things Korean to wheedle his way in, as cover for what they’re planning. What he does once he has his foot in the door is another thing all together. His father comments that plan will be helped by being pale skinned and handsome and he advises him to pack plenty of sunscreen and wear hats.
Lee Daeyeong takes Vietnam society with storm. He’s stunningly beautiful by the local standards, tall compared to the local average, a tad more muscular than the local slim standard, a bit less round face, while being all pure and polite, resembling a fighting scholar-type in the Confucian trope standard, a specimen of polished masculinity. Within his family he greatly resembles Lee Hoyeol in looks – he’s the masculine beauty, the model looks brother, except for having the wrong facial expression – and Lee Gyeol and Doyun in body shape and height. His princess-wife is smitten by being well treated and well pleasured, his in-laws are somewhere between in awe and afraid of his capacity for hard work, and willingness to adapt to local customs. He is leaning into his Winter tiger heritage. The nickname for tigers in Vietnamese is Sir Thirty – Daeyeong embraces that one – and one of its meanings is perfection. He is using the symbolism of the tiger in his PR campaign. He selects the Black Tiger as his insignia, a melanistic tiger face. He also has a homecourt advantage, in that he’s using lots of the Lee’s wealth to buy, bribe and grease his way to power at his new court. On top of that, like all his brothers regardless of mother, he has been well educated in ahem making women enjoy his attentions. All of the above, combined with that Vietnam never dropped the rules for polygamy in 1959 under French pressure as happened in our timeline – as opposed to the (AU) Korean situation where it is only permitted in connection to the risk of a family line dying out, and then only if the family can afford equal treatment and standards – leads to Lee Daeyeong quickly accumulating a group of legal wives for the undisclosed purpose of having children to marry off into positions of power in the future, as per his father’s suggestion. Those events won’t happen for another 20 years, but you have to start somewhere. Yes, Daeyeong is probably the coldest and most hard-core of all the brothers. He’s not evil or nasty per se, but he will lie and scheme to achieve his goals. <fx: “Murder. The solution is murder”> Byeol will punch your teeth in, then proceed to smash your scull in with brute force, while swearing creatively. Daeyeong will stab you, patently listen to you beg, and leave you to bleed out. Same result, different techniques. In the same vein, he will charm his ladies into devoting their lives to him, because he understands that treating them better than the alternative costs him little. Within three years, he has political allies offering him sisters and daughters, sometimes even at the women’s own insistence, which is unheard of in Vietnamese culture. So, Sir Thirty, Mr Black Tiger, advisor and brother-in-law to the emperor is cutting quite a dash in high society. At the same time, he inspects farmlands, is polite to labourers, has opinions about trade, and helps his Korean brother-in-law – Lee Hana’s chaebol fiancé – establish resorts and everything touristy to boost the local economy. He’s doing the equivalent of kissing babies, accepting flowers, and shaking hands everywhere, with a smile. There is not even a whisper of corruption – he has the yakuza accountants to thank for that one – and he observes all ancestral rites and observations. For all his dark thoughts, private nature, and his inner demons – people like him and respect him in general. He’s polite to the Buddhists. His ladies are swooning with satisfied akitas and they happily watermelon. The local Imperial family is congratulating themselves that the Korean King really showed them great respect in sending them such a fine example of a prince, and a son of the senior queen, to boot. Which proves that they do not understand Pyeha and Tae Jiwon, much less Daeyeong, very well. They have pretty much allowed a tiger into their midst, thinking it is a housecat. He is indeed a fine example of a Korean prince, a proud member of the House of Lee, and on his mother’s side a descendant of the Great Khan. The only issue here would be is that he’s not as much on the Nguyen side as he seems. Or at all.
He switches to wearing the gold-and-platinum maesil second and a new tiger pin first on the left, and the yellow dragon & sword of the Nguyen emperors on the right. His tiger pin is a black tiger face – the tiger of winter and water – signalling that he’s establishing a new branch under the parasol of Lee, with respect for his mother’s heritage and that of his new country. It is done after a group of melanistic tigers are found to have spread from Odisha in Bengal … and he has the slivoviki and the yakuza dart and dye local tigers black, so that there will be hands-on media instances, not just photoshop and rumours. There have never before or after been such black tigers observed anywhere. He has a mume plum tree planted in his courtyard, the tree whose flowers form the maesil, for symbolic purposes, and a small ancestral shrine underneath it, he’s into devotions but he rarely talks about it out loud to anyone.
Leaving for Hue is a great boost in his relationship with Pyeha and Byeol, things are much more relaxed, and he feels like he can talk to them about his exploits. He also grows closer to Hiro, in the sense of having a similar job, and comparing notes. They are brotherly but these two will never be best friends – Hiro is too much of a snark machine, and Daeyeong is too narrowly focused on achieving things. Like ENTJ-ENTPs ever: either they match very well (Byeol & Karo) or respect the ability, hate the attitude. His periodic reports become a little of a running joke at the Korean Court, on the lines of what did Daeyeong do this time. The court homepage is handled with infinite discretion (2054). It is mentioned – with the traditional pictures of descending formality – that Lee Daeyeong Daegun has married Nguyen Hien Lan, (given name means Gentle/quiet orchid) daughter of the emperor of Vietnam and has moved to Hue. She’s staring at him adoringly throughout, as if she can’t believe her good luck. Hien Lan isn’t really a great hit at Court; she’s far too meek, submissive, and awestruck for most of the family. She’s in awe of Pyeha, who does the elderly benevolent family patriarch spiel and of the dignity of his famous queen, Byeol does the polite older brother, but he’s a foot taller and twice as wide as her, with wangsejabi Karo matching him – she takes to calling them Brother and Sister Mountain in private, when back in Hue. Compared to the four of them, Hien Lan is happy with her fairytale tiger prince. Tae Jiwon snorts in private that she’s a mix between Song Meilin and An Minji, which from her perspective isn’t a compliment. She’s of the opinion that her son needs someone as cool and capable as himself, an equal partner, or else he can fill his home with cloned copies of this one and enjoy simple pleasures. She upfront orders him not to marry unintelligent women, because genetics, and storms off with a:
“Just don’t give me stupid grandchildren, Ppak Cindal!” in full disappointed Asians mode. He looks over the brothers present; Byeol is trying not to laugh, and Hoyeol is shaking his head.
“She means well. At least I think she does.” Gyeol, ever the scholar, over his glasses:
“She knows history. Stupid heirs are one reason dynasties fail. There are other reasons too, of course, but this is one of them.”
“Oh, I know. Hien Lan was part of the deal, so I had little choice. I’ll select the next ones more carefully.” Byeol:
“The next ones? Plural?” Daeyeong shrugs:
“Hey, it’s permitted down there, and Dad did after all give me a direct order – in full King’s Voice – to procreate. Happy to oblige.” Hoyeol nearly chokes, the other two are snorting. “I’m thinking young, from brilliant families. Not self-assured enough to cause trouble, easy to manage, healthy and grateful.” Pause “I’ll probably need to find a teacher for the children, too.” Hoyeol:
“You are very cold when it comes to love, I’m just telling you.”
“This isn’t about love, hyeungnim, this is about politics. Politics is cold business. Analytical. Getting your hands and sometimes your ‘duck’ dirty, as necessary.” Pause “Ask Hiro hyeung.” Rolls his eyes. “I never did understand why he was squealing like that. Just get it over with and be happy she wasn’t a dog. It’s marriage, not the end of the world. She’s kind of nice, too, so he got off easy.” He shrugs.
“I hope someday you will fall in love, bitterly so, and then you’ll change your tune.”
“Whatever.”
Daeyeong isn’t that fond of the weather – he finds Vietnam way too hot, too muggy, too much rain – but he’ll live with it. Food is great, having a bunch of wives is pleasant. This brother is bi in the Roman Empire sense – he’s fine with accepting certain acts with men, anything underneath absolutely not, and it’s about pleasure, not love from his perspective. He ends up taking in a soft boy, the modern Korean term is flower boy, as his fifth wife, along the historical lines of having eunuchs at court. This is probably the extent of scandal he would ever bother risking, and it still falls within Sino-sphere historical practices. Besides, at that point no one can doubt his overall potency and adherence to the role he’s playing. It’s seen more as a foible, than a moral fault, and quite a number of men on that side of the fence would give a lot to be in that guy’s shoes. Or out of them. Ahem. They, too, would be happy to offer. Vu Can Khiêm is the 19-year-old only son of a desperate political ally, Chancellor Vu, who is out of female relatives to attempt to bribe with. Daeyeong needed his support just as desperately but wasn’t letting on. He asks in no uncertain words for consent, tells father and son that this will be as his wife, not as a companion or um-friend. He also tells them upfront that they will sleep together, not just sleep – this is not an honorary position – until the kid is blushing, and he gives him a fair and honest chance to back out, if any of this is something Can Khiêm can’t accept. Who agrees instantly, because let’s face it, if you’re gay or European level of queer and you get a chance of being the Black Tiger’s live-in boyfriend, who would say no? Daeyeong has picked up a lot from his father, just using them in different ways – he’s not doing the “it’s your choice once you marry me,” it is “this is what marrying me entails, last chance to back out.” At least he’s asking. Their first night is spectacular and sets the standard for things to come – ending up so thoroughly wrecked that he must be carried over the shoulder by the groom goes straight into the “rumour in St Petersburg” gossip mill. Oh, spill the tea” Daeyeong has not issue with any of this. It feeds into his media presence, after all. Introducing Vu Can Khiêm to others goes something like this:
“And this is my fifth wife.”
“But that’s a man.”
“No, this is my fifth wife.”
Surprisingly, this turns out to work very well to the benefit of everyone. The girls get a gay friend, Can Khiêm get social acceptance and a steady lover, the kids get a funcle, Lee Daeyeong is just beaming. Society titters but jointly decides to ignore the gender of the fifth wife. He couldn’t care less about that either. From his perspective, he gets a useful and grateful political ally, and someone available during certain times of month and other women’s health issues. Vu Can Khiêm is the whispered envy of most gay men throughout the southeast ad he understands his role and defers properly. It can be said that he sort of loves him for being so understanding and caring, generous, protective. He just choses to ignore the darker sides of the man, which is a bit delulu but he’s in love. I mean the man is smoking hot: handsome, masculine, stylish, self-assured, considerate, thirsty, well-akitad and rather dominating. The type to pull you up close against a wall or grab you by the wrist. A large percentage of women agree with their judgment, he’s a little too scarily dominant for the rest.
By this point it’s a known fact that you can bribe the Black Tiger with women for his household, also but that he’s very picky, more about personality than looks. He sees it as being selective. He wants rank – if he can’t benefit politically, why bother? – and he want smarts and manners, after that looks. In fact, Daeyeong will live with everything, all of it; he’s playing the role of a warlord, a political heavyweight, and everything is falling into place. <fx: Kronk: “Yeah, it’s all coming together.”> This is where he wants to be, and doing what he always said he would. He even admits to his father that he had been right in sending him down to southeast asia, that his talents would have been wasted in Busan. Pyeha calls him my black tiger and praises him for his maturity and smarts, while not being too informed about the details of his son’s activities. He’s taking to using the spelling Ly, which is Vietnamese for the same Li/Lee/Yi, meaning the mume plum flower, and using a maesil on a black circle unless visiting the Korean court. He is indeed putting down roots and viewing himself as the root yet another major branch of the house of Lee.
Lee Daeyeong is committing a lot of shady stuff, including framing political opponents into being jailed, some discrete assassinations, and he is adept at playing social media – he is paying extremely well for the social media version of a troll farm and the equivalent of Cambridge Analytica, some of it stationed in Mongolia, bringing money to that hard-hit country, some of it based in Hyderabad. The man has layers: he has a benevolent and admired public surface. His opponents know enough to fear him; if you go up against him, for some reason opinion will turn against you, and in some cases, people simply disappear, or step on a cobra. As you do. His family in Hue benefits from his generosity, tolerance, and caring nature – he’s nice to women, he likes children. In fact – as opposed to his brothers Lee Hoyeol and Lee Chanyeol who thought their huge family was too much and wanted solitude – this man thrives on having a bit of a harem and lots of kids. He loves having projects like this. But he doesn’t fully trust any of them, his second wife got involved on her family’s side in a plan to overthrow him and she accidentally on purpose caught ‘dysentery’ and passed away when an epidemic accidentally on purpose hit Hue. So sad. Anyway. The same illness accidentally on purpose targets just about all royal Nguyen men in Hue, including the emperor and his sons, which means the emperor’s grandson by his daughter and her black tiger husband is next in line. Any other pretenders either back down quickly and keep any thoughts to themselves, or rather quickly step on a snake or fall out a high window. As you do.
Nguyen Thi Lan, journalist at the Mekong Times, in the 2060s. Known for writing light-hearted articles about the struggles of everyday life on the river
Lee Ijin joining the Slivoviki. (2056) He’s around 15, even when they say yes, they are not going to let him leave right away. it’s at his uncle Lee Hoyeol’s place in Magadan. Pyeha talks about how his family were unalived by someone with Ijin’s position, a long back and forth between dad and granddad. Ijin are made to pledge his loyalty to both his grandmother and his stepmother Dan Karo. The then-leader of the Slivoviki is called Stolyapin. Tae Jiwon says Ijin will be allowed to tattoo a red maesil, not a white, because he would join the Slivoviki from blood, not out of loyalty alone. As an adult, with his full tattoos, he’ll have a big snarling white tiger over his left shoulder down the arm and chest, sort of perched on his shoulder, tail lashing across his mid-back. After all, he’s another winter tiger, and descendent of the great Khan. Dark wings over his shoulder blades, as angel protection, with a photo realistic peony filling up the space between them. Curled around his right shoulder and down his arm, coming out from under the right protective wings over his shoulder blades, he has a chain, with every link carrying the name of the descending family Lee/Yi, beginning back in the 1400s. A rough count of five per century means around 30 links. The last two closed links have the legends Lee Gon and Lee Rim, the following, open one – leaving space to continue adding names – is Lee Angae, his half-brother. He also has the slivoviki crest and the taegeuki on his right collar bone – on the correct side, but below where it would be visible when clothed. He has a full photo-level tat of a flowering plum tree branch across his lower back and tailbone, to him symbolising everyone in his family, all of them, both buds, flowers, and the flowers-fading-into-actual-plums. He never once, in any way, turns on his family, and that is very important, in essence breaking generational trauma by staying loyal to his 8-years younger brother Lee Angae, being the new Dependable Sword, in a way. Ijin, even young, is someone with an iron rod will power, sense of morality and quiet dignity, soft spoken but carries a big bat – to a certain extent he resembles his uncle Lee Hoyeol more than his father. He probably would have done well in the military, or the special forces, but voluntarily chose another path. I suspect the rough, semi-legal ways of the yakuza and the slivoviki speaks to him, that’s the outlet for his more chaotic side. Physically he takes after his mother and maternal grandfather – he’s slim, trim, and medium height, with the agility, explosivity and strength of a martial arts expert or a gymnast, rather than the tall and built frame of his father and full uncles. I am convinced he will add a link to his chain tat for a future nephew and grandnephew, because that’s Ijin in a nutshell. In a weird way, Pyeha loves this kid for being everything his own uncle Lee Lim wasn’t and takes to bringing him along with Byeol-as-the-underboss to yakuza leadership functions, signalling his approval of his slivoviki-yakuza grandson, whose path is different from those male relatives who are trained for public office. Ijin’s double-uncle Lee Wokang – Jin Chiel’s son – who is 7-8 years his senior, is a close friend and mentor, though they diverge in their degree of filial dedication. Not that Lee Wokang is disloyal, it’s more like he has his own yakuza life with his brother Lee Doyun, mostly in Tibet. Lee Wokang does have a white maesil tattoo somewhere on his body, probably close to his left collar bone. Ijin like his father is somewhere between Confucian and Orthodox, just like he is both Yakuza and Slivovik. Very much a character balancing between two opposites in all he does. I haven’t thought ahead to if he ever gets around to have a family. I suspect either that he’s bi and sings that he’s happy this way, or so focused on work and duty that the question never comes up. Thinking about it more, I suspect he’s socially-romantically hetero and preferentially gay, with an overlap, which makes him put off making a call until way later. Given the social situation in the Kingdom, having a male partner is more or less unthinkable and it’s beyond unthinkable for Ijin. But having a wife is going down known ruts and socially acceptable patterns and just simpler for everyone involved. Ellinore suggests that he has a best friend whom he has very conflicted ahem feelings for. I know for a fact that he has plenty of male colleagues, even friends, and how much those are friends or um-friends is anyone’s conjecture at this point. I know for certain he’s into male men, not the eternal-teen idols. He’s very probably adhering to the saying: it’s not bromance if you keep your socks on.
He spends a lot of time in the 2060s in Tibet and the new country off Sichuan, hanging around his uncle Lee Doyun and Lee Wokang who are into financial market mayhem. He’s approximately of an age to pass for campus in Lhasa. I also think he has very rare flings with Vu Can Khiêm during family gatherings, with his uncle’s quiet permission. Lee Daeyeong’s reasoning goes something like, if it makes them happy and relaxed, go for it, I can’t be everywhere myself. Makes Lee Ijin less likely to make thirsty mistakes and Can Khiêm gets the benefit of pent up akitas. (Again, Dae is a very cool and rational man.) He never outright tells Ijin about this, though Can Khiêm certainly knows he has a limited permission, they talked about it after the first time, once they got back home.
Preparing to Dissect the Taiping 2056-2057: Pyeha and Seja are approached by revolutionaries from the southern part of the republic wanting military support against the Taiping and looking to split the place into Wei/Yue halves, or Qing/Ming in other words. Which would bring in Vietnam, and maybe other parts of Southeast Asia. Spontaneously, they will say no. It’s a ridiculously dangerous venture, with little upside for Korea – full on land war in Asia? No way. Pyeha will not hand over a young Manchurian grandson to be a figurehead for a wacky venture like this. Lee Hoyeol would have fatherly litters of kittens.
At the same time, they both believe in divide and rule. The Heavenly Republic has been a true pita for 200 years, there has been terrorism, assassinations, and repeated border wars. A civil war is never great, but if they can nudge the outcome, well, maybe? If the non-Taiping south wants to play footsie with the Vietnamese and allies and recreate some heir-to-the-Ming out of 2/3 of the current Republic, and do a small Qing renewal in the north, creating a client and buffer state for Korea, Pyeha and Byeol aren’t going to stop them. Korea would profit from a weaker China and splitting the Republic would be great. However, they won’t go all in until the toggle has flipped over to likely victory. The fact that Lee Daeyeong is married to a Ngyuen princess and is growing influential at their court also means that there is a possibility that this venture could end up with a duo of first cousins on top. In fact, Daeyeong was dispatched to Vietnam with the express purpose of extending Lee influence into Southeast Asia, in whatever way possible. (See text above.) He is the power behind the Emperor of Vietnam by now and was in the process of staking more claims on neighbouring territories, while successfully expanding the tourist industry. Huh and hmmm. They will keep an eye on things, move a few budget chess pieces, and make sure the grandkids/nephews in question are well-protected, properly educated and do not get entangled in inappropriate marriages. Also, that the boys stay good friends, this is crucial. Byeol:
“I’m beginning to see why you were so ferociously angry with me back then.” Pyeha:
“Young men’s brains can be distracted.” Rolls his eyes.
There is also the religious Confucian question of the Mandate of Heaven. The likelihood that Pyeha would cede any of the prerogatives is exactly nil, and while Byeol is more modern when it comes to traditional religion, he’s not about to hand over any Korean possession, factual or virtual, except under duress. If the Republic splits into Yue and Wei, they can kiss any hope of retrieving the Mandate goodbye for the foreseeable future, is his opinion. The fact that Vietnam in this AU is still a Confucian Empire means that there 4-6 Confucian sino-sphere countries, depending on if you bother counting Mongolia, and then the little Laotian-Hunan-Assam Mountain chaos that needs to decide whose side they’re on. And with Lees in control of three, maybe four of them, they get to decide over Yue and Wei too.
A third aspect is Hiro over in Japan. They both know for certain that Hiro is after more agricultural lands closer than Kagami no Shima to feed his people more than just fish and seaweed. If the Republic blows to high heavens, Japan will have a vested interest in nabbing Fujian and Zhijuan, the provinces across the strait from Taiwan, and probably be happy to grab more if they could. So, a third cousin as a viceroy, like the Kurodas. This is going to call for a high-level family get-together, also known as a war conference. Looks like Lunar New Year of 2057. The business and strategy meeting will be attended by inner core Pyeha, Byeol, Lee Hiro, Lee Hoyeol, Lee Daeyeong, Lee Gyeol on legal/historical perspective, Lee Doyun on economics, Tae Jiwon – because no man in this family is reckless enough to exclude the Winter Tiger Mother of Korea from these kinds of discussions. It’s pretty much parents and their six sons – Hiro is included, Wiji is excluded as too young – three rulers, three experts in their fields and their oldest brother’s advisors. My take is that it looks like Hell in a Handbasket for China in the 2060s. Pyeha will be pushing 80 – he was born in 1986 – Byeol is in his mid-40s, and his older kids are high school age. I think they decide jointly that the operative parts of this venture will be handled by the next generation, and Pyeha will be seonbae emeritus on how to dissect a country and walk off with the most profitable parts at minimum cost. Lee Hoyeol, always the one to stay out of politics, isn’t happy about this project as it relates to the Qing, and protests that there are Qing relatives with better claims out there. Why do they have to involve his Lee Muhyeuk? (Of course, he and Lian picked that name, and probably sniggered in secret) Hyeungnim points out that while this is true, none of the other Manju claimants would have the backing of the house of Lee. Besides, he knows perfectly well that Lee Muhyeuk is ambitious and playing second fiddle to his winter tiger cousins won’t be enough for him in the long run. Hiro is going “rice, rice, rice, and pork, chicken, pork, chicken, count me in! When do we start?” cheerleading dance routine. Excitable as ever. Lee Daeyeong is a bit dazed at first, he’s the younger son who for all his adapting excellently to being the heavyweight power behind the throne in Vietnam, having carved out his future there, has never before been in on his family’s frankly uninhibited landgrabby ways of conducting international politics. Last time, when they took the most recent chunk of Siberia, was ten years ago and he wasn’t allowed to be involved, due to his youth. But this is great! He always felt a bit alone, like no one in his family – except his mother – would understand his scheming nature. His brothers are either chaotic or very uptight, and his half-brothers are great friends but off doing their own things. Now everyone is in on scheming, and he gets attention for being close to the crux of the matter. He’s about 30, feels offering up a primary school son to wild-eyed Yue rebels as a figurehead is a bit premature, especially if they want the kid hitched to some surviving Ming heiress. He votes for encouraging other people to bleed first, and then wrestle the prize away from them afterwards. He hints that he had his eldest son slated as the beneficiary of doing a bit of an accidents-do-happen to his cousin, but that he does have or will have other sons, so keeping Yue in mind for any one of them could be an option. He also suggests that they need to discretely locate a couple of the Ming girls and protect them. He doesn’t quite say kidnap and raise them, he doesn’t have to, and while his more moral family members are aghast, his fellow conspirators nod at the choice word “protect.” He doesn’t suggest they cull the surplus, including any male heirs; that is a plan that he figures he’ll handle on his own. (Comment: My God, Lee Daeyeong is turning out to be one dark, powerful, and slightly amoral character. He resembles his aunt Tae Jial, with the decisiveness and smarts of his father. He’ll be the big man of southeast Asia within 20 years, and I won’t be able to stop him.) I’m fairly sure Yangmi and Lee Gyeol are expecting exactly that – they are the history and constitutional experts, they know what happens if you don’t – and if he doesn’t, they’ll remind him to. Since he lives in Hue, he’s closest to the mess anyway. His mother is probably aware and gives him a thumb’s up. Lian and Chanyeol are probably shocked, they like Manju well enough, but restarting Qing China under Korean management wasn’t exactly what they expected from a family gathering and being asked to sit in on a discussion. They both vouch for Korean Manju not having the appetite for this process, that they just want the Republic to stop harassing them and the (Han) Chinese can go do their own thing, be my guest. If the Lees want to play international politics again, it’s fine, but please leave Manju alone. And of course, Jin Lian is against slating her Lee Muhyeuk as Qing King of Wei, that goes without saying. Lee Doyun, Mr Abacus himself, is asking for an estimate of cost-benefits to this. He acknowledges that Hiro hyeungnim wants more agricultural lands and that if they pull this off, their corner of the globe would be much safer, which includes trade, industry, and people’s lives in general. He suggests looking at water management and hydropower while they’re at it, and something should be done about Hunan – side-eyes younger brother Daeyeong, who snaps back that he’s on it, but his hands are quite busy currently. Doyun’s point is that if they control China, they will control the food supply for most of Asia <fx: mwuahahah! Especially if they also hold Manchuria, the beef and dairy rich pacific rim, and are controlling parts of southeast Asia, and all that Japanese seafood and lamb> along with excellent natural resources. All together they will control oil, minerals, food, quite a lot of other energy sources, and have the military and transportation to keep it. By keeping China split up, they can keep the Taiping from ever being powerful enough to threaten a resurgence. (Comment: He’s wrong because everything changes if your perspective is long enough. But he’s correct in prognosticating the next few centuries) Gyeol, ever the scholar, will create unassailable legal precedents for whatever they decide to do, with alternative solutions prepared if reality shifts. It’ll make him and Seo Mo-Ah happy to do together. What can I say? Creating legal scenarios on historical precedents is his thing, it’s like Hiro and infrastructure projects. It makes them glow. Lee Chanyeol is likely to end up Minister of Agriculture, Lee Doyun as a much later Minister of Finance, but for now ambassador to Tibet or work at the IMF in Lhasa. He’ll be slated as liaison on raising the descendants of Chinese refugees in the Tibetan farmlands, as well as liaising with brother Daeyeong over the mess in the Himalayas. He’ll have Lee Wokang and probably Lee Ijin along as illicit financial advisors and bodyguard, respectively.
Already on the flight back from Busan to Hue, Lee Daeyeong is plotting the take-over of Yue. He will need a Zhu girl of Ming background, of suitable age to marry, preferably yesterday, and in a pinch, he’ll collect 2-3 of them. (Comment: No, this is not a good guy) He uses his own security forces to take down a compound far within the Republic – this is certainly black ops, I’m assuming the slivoviki are along with military style weapons – he has everyone slaughtered and piled up except the three daughters of the house. Zhu Fang Hua is of suitable age for watermelons, the other two are a bit young, but can be kept in order to keep the oldest girl in line by blackmail. This Zhu extended family have been closeted Confucians in the Heavenly Republic, and when their compound is stormed, it’s the wrong forces from what they expected, but equally murderous. Fang Hua asks trembling questions about what is going on, what is to be expected, realises she must choose between Stockholm syndrome and suicide – Daeyeung tells her upfront why he wants her, that if she causes too much trouble, he’ll just track down another Ming heiress and have this one done away with. The scene is pretty much Daeyeung leaning back against a table, arms and feet crossed, black special ops clothes, but with the correct pins, including a measil throat brooch. Very self-contained, focused, straight talking, and scary. Of course, he’s using every trick in the book to project fear, he’s not stupid. The rumours of the Black Tiger of Vietnam have spread far, even into the Republic, and have grown with each retelling. No one there knows anything for certain, only whispers of authority, masculine beauty, and cruelty, He who must not be crossed, and now his grasp has spread far into Taiping lands. It’s even more scary, because the armed troops are not speaking Yue/Cantonese with each other, it’s another language, and it doesn’t sound like Vietnamese either. There is even an otherworldly feel to it, not in reality, but it fits many tropes.
Fang Hua’s younger sisters are terrified and rebellious all at once, but she sees only one route for survival for all of them. Not one she wants, but she’s on her knees among armed men who has systematically done away with her entire family. <fx: Scream. Sound of gunshot. Rinse and repeat. Lee Daeyeong telling them to use silencers in an annoyed tone, in Russian.> On leaving she sees corpses lined up on the ground, blood everywhere, more remains being dragged out to be piled up. She’s transported back to Hue, wedded as his third wife on the way back, but treated with all physical consideration and a fair bit or respect when she expected neither; he lends her his jacket, makes sure she eats, snuggles with her at night – I can imagine her terror about that at first – until the red peony has passed. Which is fine by him. The man has five madam aunties, seven sisters and two wives; he knows how female bodies work and is rather understanding. <fx: *eyeroll* Many conservative men don’t, this man does, because he pays attention.> Making sure she has had a peony in between starting in on things means he’s dead sure about paternity, too. She’s introduced to the other two as fait accompli, along the lines of:
“I need to have a son by this girl for political reasons. It’s for my family. Be nice to her, I don’t want any trouble under my roof.” In Vietnamese so she doesn’t understand. He can be such a charmer. <fx: another eyeroll> He frames the take-out of her family on the Taiping, because of course he does, to everyone outside his special ops troops, and makes a bit of political hay from the Taiping dictatorial repression of other faiths. For all the rocky, coercive, murderous start of this duo, he grows to like her, because she shows a combination of intelligence, discretion, and prudence. Zhu Fang Hua simply isn’t as desperately submissive as the rest, and she has an active mind, even though the Taiping caused her schooling to be weak or patchy. It’s something he authorises to amend, to her astonishment, providing her with books and teachers, especially online schooling. She will ask about things no one else dares to do, like about the white stone tiger in his family shrine, that he will kneel before in ancestor worship or why he planted a plum tree. The addition of Lee Daeyeong’s private shrine adds a layer of depth to his character, emphasizing the personal and introspective aspects of his identity. The white tiger statuette and the mume plum tree serve as powerful symbols of his heritage and the duality within him. The white tiger often represents strength and courage in East Asian cultures, while the mume plum, or meihwa, in this story called the maesil, is associated with resilience and renewal. These elements subtly reinforce the themes of light and dark, strength and vulnerability, that run through the narrative.
By choosing not to discuss the symbolism of these items with anyone, Lee Daeyeong’s character is portrayed as introspective and perhaps burdened by the weight of his lineage. It suggests a private acknowledgment of his family’s complex history and his role within it, which he carries silently. This shrine becomes a personal sanctuary where he can reflect on his family’s legacy and his own place in the world.
Apart from the matter of urgent watermeloning, about which he doesn’t budge an inch, she is treated with consideration, care, even compassion. A case of many small kindnesses. He’ll get her whatever she wants, except freedom. Her middle sister is actively affronted when she isn’t maltreated and describes her new husband as considerate. tries to run away fairly shortly. It does not turn out well for her. Zhu Fang Hua doesn’t run, mainly because she realises her chances of escape are low, and taking her youngest sister along makes them even lower. She knows the Vietnamese authorities will do nothing against Sir Black Tiger. So, Stockholm syndrome it is. She is clever enough to gradually realise that he’s trying to be nice to her, that his family face and the warlord face he shows to the world are not the same. He’s a man that to a certain degree has two personas, but they are both him. He’s not faking being kind and considerate to his family, he truly is. It’s just that he has this Medea side, too. Knowing what his parents’ likely reaction will be, he refrains from even mentioning her to Busan for several years. They never realise how he acquired her, they somehow figure it’s a matchmaking contract, like a southern version of a saju. His brother Lee Gyeol probably suspects the truth, given that he’s well-read in the darker histories of the Sino-sphere and he knows his younger brother, but he chooses not to say anything, either. He and his wife, Seo Moah, are pointedly nice to Zhu Fang Hua once they meet her, but never explains the reason for the warmth. In a certain sense, Gyeol is as detached and aloof as Daeyeong, when it comes to people outside his immediate family, but he has the temperament and tasks of a legal scholar and a historian, rather than a hands-on ruler. He has a firm moral core – he was furious with Hiro for messing with Jin Lian and Lee Hoyeol for fun, even he realised there was no real seductive purpose, and Hiro joking about Manju women making it worse – but he understands the psychology and the harsh requirement of leadership, accepts the sometimes-brutal necessities of power. It’s a case of Gyeol understanding Daeyeong, and he would probably back him up, or try to mitigate any side-effects in a family decision-making council, but he prefers to keep his own hands clean, his talents just don’t run to the practical side of infiltrating and taking over a foreign nation. These two brothers get along, in a cool and professional way, brotherly love hidden way underneath and rarely if ever expressed, they’re just too cunning and analytical to be effusive. (Remember, Lee Gyeol is the brother who stole a kitten, put it in a basket, in order to charm and bribe the future Queen Yangmi into marry his father, when he was six years old. “Look at the facts, analyse, decide on an action plan.” Of course, his two older brothers Byeol and Hoyeol were the instigators on this, but Gyeol added his even at that age good understanding of people to use. After all, few people can resist a fluffy Siberian kitten in a silk ribbon, and he knew that.) Lee Daeyeong, the younger brother who has become a powerful warlord in Vietnam, appears to exhibit a dual nature. To the world, he presents the face of a ruthless leader, yet to his family, he shows kindness and consideration. This duality is recognized by Zhu Fang Hua, who, despite her lack of freedom, sees the genuine care in Daeyeong’s actions towards her.
Lee Gyeol, on the other hand, is portrayed as a detached scholar with a strong moral compass, understanding the harsh realities of leadership while preferring to remain uninvolved in the practicalities of power. His relationship with Daeyeong is described as cool and professional, with an underlying brotherly love that is rarely shown. Gyeol’s intelligence and analytical nature are highlighted by his childhood actions, which demonstrate his ability to charm and manipulate from a young age.
I’m certain Lee Daeyeong considers dating as a prelude to a relationship a waste of time in general. Either she wants him, or she doesn’t, and if she doesn’t, would she agree anyway? My god, this is one cool customer.
The first time – after quite a while – she develops wetland akitas together, his reaction is cuddling, great pride and trying to achieve that again. He knows with icy certainty that women can fake noise and tremors, but not these physical reactions, and one who does is to be treasured above all others. Snuggles her on his arm, they chitchat, and he ends up telling her a story, in mixed Cantonese Vietnamese (his third and fourth language, her first and second):
“Long ago, when the heaven and earth were in harmony, there was a story of a young prince, the firstborn son of a wise and benevolent king. He was handsome and smart, and his father cherished him. But he was not the heir to the throne, for he was born of a concubine who also adored him. He was filled with envy and greed and wanted more than his share. He harboured wicked thoughts, and his parents’ love could not soothe him. He planned a rebellion and wielded his sword against his elder brother, who had become the king, and his wife, and their three sons. He killed them all, except for one prince who escaped death by a hair’s breadth. The loyal guards rushed to the scene and fought the traitor who perished that day. Of the glorious dynasty that had lasted for six centuries, only a venerable old uncle, a small, wounded boy, now the new king, and a distant cousin remained. The little king devoted his youth and prime to restoring his country, working hard for the sake of his people. When he was ready to find a wife, the most beautiful princesses of the land were brought before him, and he chose the most dazzling one, the one whom all the wise men praised as the most fortunate. They said her skin was as white as snow, her hair like red maple leaves and her eyes like green gems. But the princess’s heart was as black as her skin was fair. She did all sorts of evil things for her own gain, and her father, a mighty lord of frost and ice, let her be for the sake of her rare and splendid beauty. The king was shocked by the wicked witch who was about to enter his palace, and looked for ways to send her away, without offending her or her powerful father. His heart was moved by the sight of the younger princess, who was less pretty but more kind and pure. The elder sister would not stand for it and schemed with a hostile kingdom to seize the queen’s crown anyway, and to have robbers kidnap the younger princess. In the end, the hostile kingdom tried to murder the king, to take over his land by leaving him childless, but they accidentally killed the evil princess instead. The king married the younger princess, and had a blissful and prosperous life with her, raising a large family of many noble sons and a lovely daughter. Their kingdom grew strong and rich, and he conquered vast and fertile lands, some by force, some by marrying the sister or daughter of their ruler. And so, the king and his queen, under the watchful eyes of heaven, brought forth an era of peace and abundance, their virtues shining through the pages of history.” Pause.
“I don’t recognize this story, is it from the Three Kingdoms? From the Hundred Kingdom period? And what happened next? All stories end by ‘This story teaches us’ even when they’re taken from history, and this one didn’t.” He sighs.
“This story is not over, so I do not know the ending or the moral.”
“Huh? What do you mean?” Another sigh.
“The Kingdom in the story is our Kingdom of Korea. The envious prince raised his coup in 1990, and the little boy king who had his throat cut is my father. His scar is longer than my index finger.” pause “I’ve touched it. The enemy realm in the story is the Heavenly Republic.” Fang Hua goggles, eyes wide as soup plates. “I live every day with my father’s example of what a good, honourable ruler should be. But at the same time, I carry the blood of his treacherous uncle, Lee Lim, whose name is never spoken out loud. And the blood of my murderous aunt, Tae Jial, whom my mother feared so much that she turned down my father when he courted her, rather than to compete with her elder sister. I’m the fifth son of the queen. My father sent me to Vietnam, in his words to make and take, to keep me from the temptation to revolt against my first brother. I can’t even say he was wrong, I might have, and I’m relieved my path went in a different direction. And that, Zhu Fang Hua, is how I ended up as the black tiger, in this time and place.” Stunned silence.
“I think … I think you are trying to use dark to promote light. Like the yin-yang. Harnessing the tiger? I’m sorry if I overstep.” He pulls her closer.
“That’s one way of looking at it. I’m a proud and loyal son of the house of Lee, Ly in Vietnamese, and I would die for my family. At the same time, I’m wearing the demon mask in a theatre play, to allow the rest of them to be the heroes. I am making some hard choices, committing some dark deeds so they don’t have to.” Pause. “Do you remember what I told you when we first met? Why you are here. With me.” Silence. She swallows, then nods. It is not something you are likely to forget, especially with a small watermelon nestled between them. “My second brother is married to a Manju princess. His son can lay claim the Qing throne if we care to contest it in the future.”
“But the Qing dynasty has been gone for over 200 years. Erased and vanished. The Taiping aren’t about to let the devils come back …” She falters under his steady gaze. “Are you saying … The Ming dynasty has been gone even longer. All of it lies under the Heavenly Republic …”
“The winners write the history, Fang Hua, it’s always like that. We are four Lee brothers poised around the Taiping, just waiting for the rebellion to start, for them to be distracted. It is years away, but it will happen. Once it begins, the carving knives will come out, and their China will be split like a roast pig to keep them from ever rising again. Yue is old Ming territory anyway, closest to us here. Do you begin to follow my reasoning? My first brother, crown prince of Korea, will champion our Manchu nephew for the north. My fourth brother will help in the west from Tibet, and my Japanese brother – he’s emperor over there now, remember I told you my father had a penchant for marrying into other dynasties – will harry the coast in exchange for enough rice paddies. It will likely be a pointless bloodbath; civil wars usually are. Lots of ordinary people suffering, for years, but I just don’t see how to avoid it.”
“They expect you to do the dark deeds on their behalf?” A small, huffed laugh.
“Well, my talents seem to lie that way, and they believe I can handle these things with less remorse. I try to offer libations for those innocents who get in the way, it’s not enough, might make no difference. Tried to look after their families, as long as they kept quiet. Just saying that I’m not blind to the consequences. But I have a task to do, a future to create, and if I falter, it all comes down.” Pause. “Do you hate me?”
“Is there a safe answer to that question?”
“You may feel whatever you wish, as long as you don’t act on it.” Again, a steady gaze. This is a man of convictions and few regrets, but he has been fair and tolerant so far. She swallows again.
“I am not sure I will ever forget what you did to my family. Those are scenes I see in my nightmares, too often, and I wake up choking. Blood on the floor, oh god, their heads. But” a long pause “if the Taiping had come after us for being Confucians, and they would have, one day, the outcome would have been the same. I and my sisters would have died on such a day too if that had been the case. I don’t know if I hate you for killing my family or if I’m thankful for rescuing us. I don’t know. I might never know which side that spinning coin will land on.” Pause. “Lee Daeyeong, in fairness… I’m trying so hard to be just. There was killing, but no torture. We would have died anyway, and in uglier, more drawn-out ways. You have been good to me. You allowed me to study. Except for your demands,” puts his hand on her belly “I had no choice about those. But even then, I know that now, you did try. To be decent. To be a good man.” He snuggles her even closer, just waiting on her verdict. Thinks so far it could have been worse. “So, I find myself in this time and place, bound to you by circumstance.” Pause. “I will try to make the best of what cannot be changed.” Pause. “Is that enough?” He kisses her forehead.
“Yes. It is. Thank you.”
The Taiping civil war 2.0 in (2060): After a lot of mis-starts, the Yue rebels in 2060. Pyeha is 74, Jiwon 66. Byeol 42, Daeyeong is 29, with a brace of children, the oldest sons are 5 and 4. From Daeyeong’s perspective, this is way too early and pushes his hand. All four sideline powers are watching and waiting. Four? Well, Doyun is working some financial-incentive & PR-campaigns in the Tibetan borderlands behind the lamas’ backs, creating a push-pull for re-migration. He also has fingers on the Indian trade, the It-sector, and international financial markets, while his wife literally has her head in the clouds. Hiro has spent three years constructing landing crafts, transport ships, and agricultural machinery. We all know he’s drooling at the prospect. Uncle Aki has passed, the new young Imperial couple is seen as a breath of fresh air, and ushers in the Reiwa era, symbolised by the sakura, the ume and the regal and spiritual colour purple. Japanese royalty watchers catch on to how that exact combination was evident in his wedding clothes, which, no one has forgotten, was designed by her majesty the empress. His silk brocade black haori, that he reuses whenever there is a formal dress occasion involving the Lees, has been the upmarket ideal ever since. The quality silk brocade weavers are drowning in business requests. The combination of single sakura & ume flowers on purple is worn on modern and traditional clothes both, on stationary, backpacks, and on black for kurotemosodes. It’s used as a symbol for an even more modern Japan, one that is integrating with the rest of the world. There are two little princes, 7 and 5, and a toddler baby princess. They are the bittersweet apple of the eye of their grandaunt dowager empress Masako, and their paternal great-grandmother dowager empress Kiko. Given Hiro’s attitude of “What, again?”, empress Mariko is expecting a fourth baby. The children are shuffled back and forth between Kyoto and their paternal grandmother in Busan, where it is felt there are more appropriate playmates of a similar age, and it’s a natural way to become bilingual. Hiro is clueless to the family conflicts, and Mariko is rolling with the punches. Their maternal grandmother is pretty much out of the loop as Mariko has still not received an apology from her parents yet. Petty but correct.
There is quite a lot of civil war, battles, and plenty of unnecessary civilian casualties, numbers are reaching a million and climbing. The neighbouring states sell or rent weapons, do some humanitarian support but mainly wait for a crack. Over time international interest vanes, it becomes one of those drawn-out humanitarian disasters that no longer make headlines. Civilians in the border regions try to slip away, along the coast people try to flee to Taiwan, but the bulk of the population is trapped within the centre. As can be expected, Hiro gets impatient and there’s a landing across from Taiwan in 2066, creating a bridgehead. This sparks not only attacks from the Taiping, with the Japanese troops being allowed to act as humanitarian defenders, to the utter surprise of the hard-hit locals. Food, medical care, and freedom of religion? Where do I sign up? But it also distracts the Taiping to the point where Pyeha and Byeol signs off on sending their army across the border, Beijing falls and the Korean mechanised infantry storms across the northern plains under air superiority. They stop at the pre-agreed border line. Lee Chaneyol’s people are following up with agricultural surveys, and doing soil tests, because why wouldn’t you? Lots of demining and treatment of civilians; body, and soul. For King, Country, and affordable noodles! The civilians want to flee but have nowhere to go, most go into hiding and there is very little guerilla resistance.
Lee Muhyeuk is 17 at this point, old enough to understand, too young to actually do it. His cousin Lee Angae is 18 and is kept far away from the fighting in Busan. There is an event where the two of them sneaks off, and ends up having a chat with their mothers, before being rescued by other family members.
Lee Daeyeong waits until everyone is distracted, before throwing his Vietnamese troops across the border and backstabs fleeing Taiping, in essence reverse decimating their forces while trying to cross the Yangtze. It’s seen as an echo of the Battle of Red Buff, and much is made of his battle acumen. Which he naturally borrowed from someone else. As you do. At this point, he’s lived in Vietnam for 16 years, he’s the underage emperor’s father and guardian, running the Imperial court into full pangolin. The former emperor, any other male Nguyen royalty, and Lee Daeyeong’s treacherous second wife accidentally on purpose died in an outbreak of dysentery in Hue in 2059, along with some random victims, so unfortunate. Ahem. About half of the city was affected to various degrees, including Lee Daeyeong himself, but the death toll was around fifty, and there was much praise for the courage of the water treatment workers and the medical staff in the media, with news stories focusing on exactly what Mr Tiger wants. Zhu Fang Hua notices that the pattern of casualties is very interesting, especially given than exactly none of the children of the Ly household has caught this. Their 9-year-old son, Lee Minwonjang in Korean, Li Mingwang in Cantonese, is a potential candidate for the new state of Yue, again under supervision, and he has another couple of suitable little girls named Zhu lined up for engagement, and marriage in 10-12 years. He has eight wives, including a guy, and about a football team of various kids. He does like being married and keeps doing it, along the lines of if it’s worth doing, it’s worth overdoing. Not that he loves all of them, as opposed to his father’s attitude about his queens in general and his mother in particular. Lee Black Tiger is more of a kind user and decent husband, than someone headlong in romantic love – he is way too much a man with the need to be in control, someone who has trust issues about giving himself unreservedly to any other person. He is always prepared to be forced to let them go, to fate, or to be purged if they support his enemies. Zhu Fang Hua is the only one allowed to catch even glimpses of his soul, of his inner workings, and even then, she has to pull it out of him; it’s like doing dental surgery on an un-sedated tiger. Their back and forth is pretty much: he coyly shows a glimpse of the aquatic life under his cool surface, then retreats while she thinks things through, retaining deniability. It may be the furthest extent the man flirts. Or possibly giving her kompromat to use against him counts as a love language. The second she would do anything even remotely disloyal he would stop, and there would only be surface for ever and ever. <fx: Jimmie Yang’s Disappointed Asians> Fortunately, she’s so far into Stockholm syndrome, and now she has children to protect, that she’s leaning into play acting tigress to his tiger, where most of the rest of his women are more deer in the headlight, or little bunny types. For Pyeha and Lee Black Tiger who both have several wives, as opposed to the rest of the Lees in this universe, I tend to use different terms, because their attitude differs so much. Pyeha looks on his gaggle as friends, lovers, wives first, as his queens second. They are – to varying degree – his equals or as close to it as Korean society would accept, and to an extent he loves and knows all of them well, apart from Meilin. Calling them jointly a gaggle, as in a gaggle of geese, is sweet and joyful, and ducks are a Korean symbol of auspicious marital life. In many ways, despite having a huge family, including 18 children, he has little interest in women in general, or in dalliance. It sounds weird but the man has an on/off button for the akitas. I’m not saying he has a kink about marriage, but as long as he lives with someone daily, and that he has a loving, friendly and receptive relationship with, there will be plenty of doggos for everyone who wants them. A bit of need for emotional or intellectual connection, too. Jiwon was someone he fell for emotionally and intellectually, someone who vibed and connected, and then she shared his tastes. She’s just perfect in his eyes. Everyone else he either lived with first or know well from corresponding.
His son on the other hand is much more dominating and self-sufficient. He views himself as the centre, they are his wives, his women. The sun and the planets. He doesn’t really love them but treats everyone with smiling tolerance and consideration for as long as they live with him. He sees them as somewhat replaceable and interchangeable – he never ends up asking “What’s your name again?” but it’s a close call – except for his Nguyen princess and Zhu Fang Hua – the first among equals – and Vu Can Khiêm, who is special for other reasons, and he would be sad but not crushed if any of them would pass away. Pyeha on the other hand would be devastated, and if Tae Jiwon would die before him, he would be crushed to the surface of the earth and his reason for living lost. Neither of them sleeps around outside their families, for Pyeha this is simply not done, it’s not in his nature, and might not even be possible. For Lee Black Tiger, it’s more of a thing to be avoided because it would clash with his public persona, and these things always leak out. He’s a very thirsty man in general. Pretty much the textbook definition of crawling-through-Sahara levels of thirst. But he’s not about to let his power akitas run his life or affect his rational efficiency. So, he’ll marry someone or include them as a live-in girlfriend at the drop of a hat, but he doesn’t do one-night stands or flings. Southeast Asia interprets this as the Black Tiger being intensely honourable within his both dark and benevolent images. Such a good Confucian man and let’s ignore the specifics. Again, this is a case of both right and wrong.
He leans heavily into the black tiger iconography. Some people address him as Ly Ho Den or Li Heihu, he even changes his given name within Vietnam eventually, though he never formally changes his Korean name. Most of the powers of Southeast Asia are screaming in night terror about the black tiger and his rising power. And about the black tigers, his black clad household stormtroopers, armed with staffs, knives, and small arms, used for defence and intimidation. As you do. Mr Tiger believes in speaking softly and carrying a big bat, or in this case a private security force. Unfortunately for his enemies, he rates protection from both the yakuza and the slivoviki. There are assassination attempts, that fail, some of them serious, with other casualties, some as ridiculous as the CIAs various attempts on Castro. His dad and big brother Byeol are merely high fiving him and cheering him on. And thus, Vietnam has quietly fallen to the house of Lee. Over the years he works on overthrowing the Taiping and subverting their religious influence – despite being Confucian, he actively includes Buddhist and Hinduist clergy into his planning and wins quite a lot of respect for his forward thinking. He’s helped in this endeavour by Lee Doyon hyeung, who by living in Lhasa and being married to a Hindu wife, has good insights in what would work and what would not. Towards the end of his life, he has imbedded family into Cambodia and Laos, and one of Doyun’s sons, with their joint backing is trying to straighten up Hunan—Assam, controlling the headwaters of the Yellow River. His sons are eyeing Thailand, Myanmar, and Singapura, but nothing has come of it so far. He has concluded that there is nothing to gain by creating an empire – he holds to the Lee concept of divide and rule everywhere under the same umbrella. He never technically rules anywhere himself, but he’s the grandfather of four rulers in the region and has children and grandchildren spread out in administration, industry, and military key positions far and wide. Grandfather Tiger is revered and loved in his extended family in the southeast, his northern Lee brothers and nephews are respectful of his achievements with the new Pyeha discretely telling seja Lee Angae to keep an eye on Vietnam and Yue for the future. There is an illustrated storybook about the black tiger, that becomes a classic in the region. Some of the surviving descendants of his earlier enemies roll their eyes at the blatant whitewashing of history.
Lee Doyun kicks off his remigration plan, and there is humanitarian aid, combined with resettlement of empty land from the ethnic Han Tibetans.
I really need to delve more into Lee Doyun, I don’t have a good feel for him yet
Info re: writing about Lee Muhyeuk and Wei
Note: Descendants of Ming Zhu Zhilian are seen as Manchu royalty, they joined the Plain white Banner in 1724, before the cut off. Which means there may be Manju Zhu girls around for Lee Muhyeuk. Family name Hesheri, Han version He
Zhu Rongji, Zhu Qingshi
Aisin-Gioro Youzhi, 3 sons and two daughters, eldest son Aisin-Gioro Yuzhang current heir
Observation: by the late 2050s Pyeha will pretty much be the father-in-law or grandfather of most Asia, and parts of Europe, comparable to Queen Victoria and that Polish king in the Middle Ages. It’s an exaggeration but not by much. Korea will have incredible soft power in times to come, if they manage to leverage this influence. Let’s see:
He’s married to the sister of the Khan of Siberia (that’s Tae Jimon’s old title, if we go back) who is also part Romanov: Korean-Russian-Mongolian
their oldest son is seja of Korea and is married to a Northlander princess who is also part Romanov
their second son is married to a Korean-Manchurian lady of Qing heritage
the third son is a renowned Confucian legal-historical scholar, his wife is Korean of the same type
their fourth son is married to a Hyderabadi Kshatrian finance family lady met in Tibet, he’s making waves in the International Finance, might end up running the IMF from Lhasa.
their fifth son is married to a girl of the Nguyen house of Vietnam
their fifth son is also married to a Zhu girl, heiress to the Ming emperors
his grandson by his second son is the Qing King of Wei from 2067
His grandson by his fifth son is Emperor of Vietnam
his grandson by his fifth son is the Ming King of Yue from 2068
His grandson by his fifth son is in the process of creating a new country around Laos, Yunnan and parts of the Golden Triangle, very much in his audacious father’s minage (2070s)
Comment: If I was the Heavenly Republic, I would start sweating about now, because they are pretty much surrounded by landgrabby Lees.
He’s married to a Japanese princess, the daughter and sister to the last two emperors.
Their son is the crown prince/Emperor of Japan and married to a Japanese-princely-house lady
Their oldest daughter is married to the second prince of Portugal
Their youngest daughter is married to the prince of Japanese Hawaii
His grandson by his son is the Viceroy of the Japanese holdings in China (decide on name) later
His grandson by his youngest daughter is King of Japanese Hawaii in the next generation, after his granddad and dad.
His grandkids by his older daughter are likely marrying into the European royal houses, except Spain, never Spain.
He’s married to a Saxon princess from the Germanies, the daughter and sister of the last two kings
their daughter is married to the only son of the viceroy of Japanese Kagami no Shima
their oldest son is crown prince of Saxony after his uncle
Lee Yangcheol ends up with a fellow agronomist in Harbin, she can be whatever (Korean-Han-Manju)
Lee Gyeol marries his fellow law student, they met at university and been peas in a pod since (Korea)
The two younger Saxe-Lee brothers probably ends up either in Europe, or move back to Korea. They’re so far down the line there is no pressure whatever they decide. Persia and the UK are options for them.
Lee Wokang ends up in finance and international relations with half-brother Lee Doyun. The yakuza connections come in handy here, and Lee Ijin his younger nephew, Byeol’s son, is in this cabal too.
Lee Hana marries into a tourist and hotel chain chaebol, mostly for love.
Lee Miran is going to stay single, unless she goes full lavender.
Lee Wiji is on the young side for something dynastic and hasn’t been explored fully yet.
Lee Jian and Lee Sunshin are a bit young.
Cultural phenomena:
This is a quick look at things that are different in movies, shows, books, gaming etc.
Karaoke etc:
Koinkas definitely exists in East Asia, and by extension in Alaska. Karaoke culture is still a Korean Japanese pastime, and there are online/television shows and competitions on a karaoke theme.
Arcades and internet cafes with games survive better in this AU – they become a hangout for young adults and the bored working crowds. Japan has its preference for fandom-themed hangout places, America has renfaires, cosplay and LARPing has worldwide appeal.
Traditional circuses used to exist, but mainly remains in Europe and above all in Russia.
There is traditional ballet, because the Bolshoi Theatre exists in Magadan. Swan Lake will catch its infamy during the Northlander uprising in 2047, along with the signage “Yanayev, why are your hands trembling?”
Disney exists, including artist Carl Barks, because Walter Markham made a throw-away simile about Scrooge McDuck in 2047. The studio is American. They do not buy Star Wars and Marvel. Mickey Mouse not popular export to Confucian countries, Donald Duck’s anger translates better. Chip & Dale are popular internationally.
Krazy Kat is a beloved comic, and treated as high literature by the Ivy League Literati, so George Herriman exists. His descendant (grandson?) Flip Herriman does documentary teve-programs in the 2040s but works a lot in sports. The Herriman family in New Orleans are into jazz, as in our world.
Most blatantly communist stuff is Italian: Soviet posters, the statues, the bombastic architecture. They have the Leopold Gatto animated series, it sees some success with being sold to Russia, which promotes it in the Northlands in a Russian dub. It backfires magnificently: it takes two episodes for every Northlander except the local chekisti to be on the floor laughing their rear ends off. A universe with the confluence of a snarky resistance movement, Kot Leopold and Jonas Gardell has no other response except laughter. Rebyata, davaite zhit druzhno becomes another sarcastic catchphrase of the resistance, usually said before assuring someone would need dental surgery or a nose job. Even longtime resident chekisti who have adapted to local customs somewhat find this hilarious, but will not let on, and they dutifully report back to Moscow that the show is indeed very popular. As you do. Ragazzi, diventiamo amici. Italy does accordions in this timeline too, and Pinocchio is the iconic poster-boy for a good Italian Soviet citizen, in books and animated movies.
The Northlanders have a glowing stand-up, evil humour tradition: Ridiculing Russians is a national sport there. Think British humour but sharper. No, even sharper than that, with full deniability. Due to oppression, this stand-up tradition spreads to the more-or-less cultural underground scene of Irkutsk, given the combination of exiled Northlanders both performers and audience. Which means that after 2047, there is a Korean market for stand-up in the High North, including Irkutsk, Krasnoyarsk and even in Magadan. There is a synergy effect of vicious Russian jokes that go straight into the Magadan Rock-punk scene and vitalises the next generation of bands.
Tom & Jerry could be anywhere, also Roadrunner – animal chase cartoons are pretty universal.
There are fewer Chosen one stories, including superheroes, they are seen as very American. A more popular version of the Hero’s journey in Confucian societies: People must earn their powers and do good for society. Hercules works better than Superman. Batman, Zorro and possibly John Wick works, as they are defenders of society operating just outside the law. Other Confucian traits are respect for elders, and the striving for balance, in your own life, and in society.
Some repressed culture will make Nu Pagodi: here it ends up as being animated in Taiping China. The Wolf and the Rabbit. Probably not the Wolf, it should be one other animal from the Chinese Zodiac.
KungFu movies are big hits – Bruce Lee hails from a Cantonese refugee family – including Kung Fu Panda.
Thelma & Louise – women finding themselves is an undisclosed queer movie theme.
Astrid Lindgren exists, Brothers Lionheart is a smash hit and translated into many languages. She is forced to live in Irkutsk a few years – Brothers Lionheart and Mio, my Mio were a little too political for Moscow – and returned as a national treasure since her home region simply stopped working until she was home again. Because malicious compliance is a hobby and a duty, the way the Northlanders look at it.
Moomin exists, popular just about everywhere, particularly in Japan and for some reason in South America.
Telenovelas exist, huuuuge in Spain since the beginning of television, major cultural export, traded for kdramas. They are in a way the grandmother of all the other dramas, soaps and sitcoms, and the streaming services and cable channels make cheap hay by buying titles and seasons off each other.
Who Framed Howard the Duck was a good and successful movie, successful in the Northlands. Arne Anka is a rip-off of Howard.
Masyanya is a Northlander parody show but published from St Petersburg. The movie Repmånad also exists, because it centres on Private Conscriptovich and his group of not too successful recruits.
Columbo must exist, and before Howard the Duck. He is popular in Austro-Hungary, because of our timeline Romania, and in Europe in general. Also in Japan, Korea, Vietnam – very noir and asking polite questions. Peter Falk is an icon with a huge international fandom. There is a costume drama make-over of Columbo set in 18th century Joseon.
Brother Cadfael the medieval monk sleuth is a popular Welsh television series, with an international audience on streaming services/cable. It is exotic, dark and poses interesting philosophical questions, while solving crime. And it has Celtic music.
For good non-toy cartoons to exist, then Simpsons. For Simpsons: sitcoms need to be common. Disney needs their Rennaissance. Roger Rabbit, then Robert Zemeckis exists, then Ghostbusters and Back to the Future exist.
Hippie counterculture existed, civil rights movement existed. MLK exists.
Dubbing is its own respected industry; voice actors are almost as popular as actors themselves. Translation in general is a major industry, given that there are less of a universal lingua franca. Adaptations are common when a film or series from one sphere becomes popular in another.
Mad Max exists, is Australian, and very steam-punk future, it creates its own fashion style and subgroups.
Queen & Abba exists, then Nordic music exports exist, based on public school music education exists, which means good free public education exists in the Northlands. Freddie Mercury is still queer and Indian, probably from the Commonwealth part of the subcontinent since he moved to the UK.
Tom Lehrer of Finland is a queer songwriter of the sarcastic type, based in Vyborg. He’s Estonian, which is part of the joke. Euskefeurat exists, so does Povel Ramel.
Mr Rogers and Sesame Street are popular American Canadian children’s programs. Jim Henson exists, which leads to the Muppets and the Dark Crystal. George Lucas and Steven Spielberg exists, but not the Star Wars franchise. Star Wars is instead set in the Revolutionary War of the 1770s.
The Scarlet Pimpernel series of books and movies are French – the French revolution was reversed after Napoleon was defeated.
Musik:
Radio Tapok exists as a power-metal-punk group in Magadan, Lee Hoyeol goes to their concerts in the early 2040s.
Depeche Mode definitely exists, because Lee Daeyeong quoted Walking in my shoes in 2060, when his family complained about his Medea-like ways, so it is a Vietnamese-Laotian band.
The Soviet Hymn and the Theme to Red October exists, which makes (Greek) Basil Poledouris exist as a composer. I am going to posit that John Williams is the most famous modern-classic composer of the late 20th century.
The HU, from Mongolia, but produced from Harbin, most definitely exists.
Kpop is a big genre overall.
Traditional versions and instruments used for what we call classical music is more common.
Jazz exists because George Herriman exists because Krazy Kat exists.
In your scenario, some possible names of bands, singers and music groups from Vietnam are:
Pho Real: A hip-hop group that raps about the social and political issues in Vietnam, as well as their love for pho, the national dish of Vietnam. Some of their hits are “Pho Life”, “Pho the People”, and “Pho Ever”. One of their scandals was when they were accused of plagiarism by another rap group, who claimed that they stole their lyrics and beats.
Lanterns: A pop-rock band that sings about the romance and adventure of traveling in Vietnam, as well as their admiration for the lantern festivals that are held in various cities in Vietnam. Some of their hits are “Light Up the Night”, “Fly with Me”, and “Lanterns in the Sky”. One of their scandals was when they were involved in a car accident that injured several fans who were waiting outside their hotel.
Trang: A solo singer who performs traditional and contemporary folk songs, as well as covers of popular songs from other countries and regions. She plays various instruments, such as the dan bau, the dan tranh, and the guitar. Some of her hits are “Moon River”, “The Sound of Silence”, and “Trang’s Song”. One of her scandals was when she revealed that she was dating a famous actor from Korea, who was already married to another actress.
In your scenario, some possible names of bands, singers and music groups from Tigerland are:
Tiger Beat: A boy band that dances and sings catchy and upbeat songs, as well as ballads and rap songs. They are known for their tiger-themed outfits, accessories, and choreography. Some of their hits are “Roar”, “Tiger Love”, and “Tiger Style”. One of their scandals was when they were caught lip-syncing during a live performance, which angered their fans and critics.
Golden Triangle: A girl group that sings and raps about the empowerment and independence of women, as well as their friendship and solidarity. They are known for their golden-colored outfits, jewelry, and hair. Some of their hits are “Gold Digger”, “Golden Girls”, and “Golden Rule”. One of their scandals was when they were accused of smuggling drugs and weapons across the border, which led to their arrest and investigation.
Savannah: A solo singer who sings soulful and powerful songs, as well as jazz and blues songs. She plays the piano and the saxophone and is influenced by the music of the African diaspora. Some of her hits are “Savannah”, “Wild and Free”, and “Savannah’s Blues”. One of her scandals was when she was sued by a former manager, who claimed that she owed him money and royalties.
In your scenario, some possible names of bands, singers and music groups from Brazil are:
Carnaval: A samba group that performs lively and festive songs, as well as romantic and nostalgic songs. They are known for their colorful and elaborate costumes, props, and floats. Some of their hits are “Carnaval”, “Samba de Janeiro”, and “Carnaval do Brasil”. One of their scandals was when they were involved in a brawl with another samba group, who accused them of sabotaging their performance.
Bossa Nova: A bossa nova group that performs smooth and sophisticated songs, as well as jazz and pop songs. They are known for their elegant and minimalist style, as well as their use of the guitar and the flute. Some of their hits are “The Girl from Ipanema”, “Corcovado”, and “Bossa Nova Baby”. One of their scandals was when they were criticized by the government and the public, who accused them of being unpatriotic and elitist.
Funk: A funk group that performs energetic and danceable songs, as well as rap and reggae songs. They are known for their urban and edgy style, as well as their use of the drum machine and the synthesizer. Some of their hits are “Funk”, “Funk da Favela”, and “Funk You”. One of their scandals was when they were banned from performing in some cities and venues, who deemed their music and lyrics as vulgar and offensive.
Movies:
Frozen is Japanese and set in Hokkaido, Frozen again involves the Ainu. (2040s)
Quyên rü (Encanto) is set in the mountains of Vietnam (2058), insanely popular as a national child friendly family movie. It is renowned for addressing generational trauma, and neurodiversity in a sensitive and accessible way. Not a few grandmothers cry and some even have a change of heart. Do Nguyen Mach (Bruno Madrigal), the unfortunate fortune telling uncle, becomes a household name and beloved character in the region, and Do Cuong Nghi’s (Luisa Madrigal, name means strong water buffalo) rhythmically driven and poignant song about being the overburdened and dutiful older sister is played from Seoul to Saigon. There are rock covers in Magadan, by Radio Tapok, of this song and the Russian and Korean versions of We don’t talk about Do Nguyen Mach – the first as rock/punk, the second as kpop – are major hits. Lee Daeyeung is involved in financing this movie, too. He’s apparently into using entertainment and social media to bring about a better world – the man owns a troll farm in Mongolia, after all – but he wouldn’t readily admit it. His somewhat disillusioned brother Lee Hoyeol, who has a side-interest in children’s education and creates pedagogical learning aids for literacy, beside his career as a naval officer, is surprised to find out about this, and it leads to a gradual warmer relationship between the brothers.
The Red Panda is a humorous and educational movie from Vietnam (2062) about girls becoming women. It is seen somewhere between cringe and spot-on, with overbearing tiger parents and discussing the changes of womanhood. It was partially funded by Lee Daeyeung as part of an educational campaign to better the social role and understanding of women’s lives and health. The man is a warlord, but he’s a progressive one, and he believes firmly in education.
The Gatekeepers is a Germanies classic movie, loosely based on Das Boot. (2025) Originally a classic novel, published in Hamburg, Germany. The main character, Markus Ramius, hails from Lübeck.
Alistair MacLean exists, which means that his novels about the naval warfare in the Atlantic exists, which means that films of them exist. He’s from Scotland, within the Commonwealth. IIRC he wrote the Guns of Navarone, which in this world is set in Corsica in a war between the French and the Soviet Italy under Mussolini. The movie is called The Guns of Calvi, set around the former Genoese fortress called the Citadel of Calvi.
For Whom the Bell Tolls, which means Ernest Hemingway exists
The Good, the Bad and the Ugly is a Vietnamese Korean movie about the collapse of the Taiping Republic. The three men are based on the three Lee brothers Lee Rim, Lee Doyun and Lee Daeyeong. Doyon as Blondie, or in this case Reddie, associated with the moral Tibet, Daeyeong the Black Tiger as the Bad, and poor Byeol/Lee Rim as the Ugly, portrayed as Brother Mountain, First Brother. He mutters: “First they do 8 seasons of me being a womanizer in Sunrise, Sunset and now I’m a hulking monster bear? Make up your mind!” (2069)
Several movies about the equivalent of Indiana Jones, the big-hatted, whip-wielding archaeologist-adventurer from the University of Lhasa are international smash hits during the 2020s-2030s. The series continues with his motorcycle and horse riding Mongolian kid, carrying on the legacy of father and grandfather.
The Bellringer of Tianjing is a propaganda movie against the Taiping framed as a dark animated movie, conceived by Lee Daeyeong, but filmed by a Korean studio, because Vietnam is still too poor at this point. (2058).
The Remainder of the Day exists, and is still British, so Haruki Murakami exists as a novelist.
Sense and Sensibility, Persuasion and Pride and Prejudice exist, so Jane Austen exists. There are famous Chungmuro and Bollywood adaptations of both movies.
Citizen Kane exists, which means Orson Wells exist. And the movie exists because Mr Hearst exists, and he exists because Krazy Kat and George Herriman are successful.
Lord of the Ring exists, both the trilogy and a better version of the Hobbit. So, Tolkien exists. Not sure if he’s British, but he is from the Commonwealth, could be South African. Tolkien actually finishes The Book of Unfinished Tales, and he writes a sequel to The Return of the King, that wraps up all the loose ends.
Anastasia exists as a movie. There was a failed revolution in 1918, the tsar and family were murdered, but the White won against the Reds during the civil war that followed. The phrase rumour/gossip in St Petersburg becomes a meme. It is popular in Russia but does not have formal support from the authorities. It’s enough that it isn’t censored. Mikhail Ivanovich publicly watches a re-run of the movie in the late 2040s, with full media cover – he had someone discretely contact the press – and the tsar has angry words with his reformer kid brother, who always embarrasses the Romanovs. Of course, Misha replies in Novgorodian dialect … and narrowly escapes being packed off to Siberia. Again! “You have spent too much time in Stockholm! You are getting way too sarcastic!”
This means Don Bluth exists. He makes the animated Lord of the Rings, not Ralph Bakshi. Tokien’s estate hounds him about this production.
Scarface exists, it’s about a migration crisis. Just as in our world, it is hilariously miscast, with the wrong kinds of Asians, and the only guy speaking Chinese uses the wrong dialect. The title is The Man With The Scarred Face.
Vietnam has a growing and diverse film industry, producing movies that range from historical dramas, such as The Tailor and The Scent of Green Papaya, to action thrillers, such as Furie and The Rebel. Tigerland has a novel and adventurous film scene, creating movies that explore the natural and supernatural aspects of its region, such as Tigerland, a movie about a group of tourists who encounter a mysterious tiger sanctuary, and The Golden Triangle, a movie about a journalist who uncovers a drug trafficking network. Brazil has a prolific and acclaimed film sector, making movies that depict the social and political realities of its country, such as City of God and Central Station, as well as movies that celebrate its musical and artistic heritage, such as Black Orpheus.
Chess exists but centres on the Russia – Korea conflict in the late 1800s. I prefer it to be Russia, and it should be countries that play chess a lot. It will still be composed by ABBA, which is in Russia, but is produced outside the Northlands, because it will be instantly censored and repressed, to the point of being exiled to Siberia. And that is why Irkutsk in Russian Siberia is one of the first places in the Russian Empire that produces Chess the musical, not just spreading the music in discrete under-the-table ways. Irkutsk also has the Empire’s best symphony orchestra and an outstanding theatre tradition, for reasons of centuries of exiling intelligentia and the overall kulturnye people, who didn’t rate outright work camps, also excellent hospitals with plenty of doctors.
I am going to posit that when the war in January – February 2047 happens, when Korea up and nabs the rest of Yakutia Siberia, up to the river Yenisei, there are some but not too many tears in Irkutsk, and a few insolent whistles along the lines of “There’s a rumour in St Petersburg. Have you heard? Comrade, what do you suppose? A fascinating mystery, the biggest con in history.”
Beethoven never lost his hearing.
Series:
Sunrise, Sunset is the Japanese Korean multi-season smash-hit cultural phenomenon, it’s a wuxia/murim-type story of two half-brothers. It is based on a manga/manhwa and was first aired in 2036. (I think)
Reborn Rich exists as a long-running series, based on the book and the manhwa (but better)
Gordon Ramsey’s Hell’s Kitchen series.
Steve Irwin’s nature programs,
Snake Discovery is a kid-friendly, slice of life reality show about a zoo, which means that pet keeping is common, including rare and exotic pets like reptiles. Which means there must be pet shows and expos.
Crashlanding on you is set in Tibet vs Taiping. Apparently paragliding is big in Tibet, which makes sense because of the air currents, which is why meteorology is an important field at Lhasa Uni. She’s the Chinese-Tibetan daughter of a banker.
The Yak Whisperer: A young and handsome yak herder falls in love with a beautiful and rebellious princess from the Kingdom of Yue, who is betrothed to a cruel and powerful prince from the Taiping Republic. He must use his skills and courage to protect his beloved and his yaks from the enemies and dangers that lurk in the mountains. (Telenovela)
The Lama’s Daughter: A smart and spirited girl discovers that she is the long-lost daughter of a revered lama from the Kingdom of Wei, who had a secret affair with her mother, a humble weaver from the Kingdom of Tibet. She must navigate the intrigues and conflicts of the royal court, as well as the mysteries and teachings of the Buddhist faith. (Telenovela)
The Golden Triangle: A daring and adventurous journalist from the Kingdom of Mongolia travels to the Tigerland, a notorious region where drug trafficking, violence, and corruption are rampant. He meets and falls in love with a brave and beautiful guinea pig breeder, who is also a leader of a resistance movement against the oppressive regime of the King of Vietnam. (Telenovela)
Gaming:
Board games is a much more accepted social hobby among adults than in our timeline. Pyeha invented 3D three-player chess some time around 2010 and has been picking up royalties since.
Computer games, phone apps and the equivalent of xbox are common, and a more accepted pastime. By the 2020s most of it is online in the civilised world. Lots of efforts are invested in art, replayability and modularity. Jin Lian is a graphics artist in this area. She and Lee Hoyeol found and invest in a small company that do learning programs for children, they are using their art to teach reading and writing of all the various writing styles, in an amusing and cute way. (I did not know this)
Zelda and Nintendo exist, so the videogame industry survived, Zelda: The Light Fantastic existsin 2048. Nintendo also does boardgames, and has tabletop versions of their videogames, and D&D versions of Zelda.
We hate Felix the Cat. It does not exist. Krazy Kat fills that niche much better in film.
Asterix, Gaston, Spirou, Tintin (but different books) exist- bc Belgium is part of the Netherlands. Great centre for European comics and animation. Not Lucky Luke.
D&D is a thing in this universe. It spread out from the United States around 1980. Wizards on the Coast exists. It turned out to be a huge success in Persia, India and Tibet, and a huge underground pastime facing repression in the Heavenly Republic -these countries do a lot of characters and campaigns set in their own myth-verses. “I’m a 180cm 135 kilo marine veteran. I lifted hard for a while, and I’ve been a bouncer and currently work as hospital security. You have no idea how many guys in the military and security industry are giant nerds. My most memorable D&D game was played outside Krasnoyarsk using a map drawn in snow and pebbles for miniatures. Our Dungeon master was a 189cm Samoan rugby player.” Japanese military logistics staff in the Krasnoyarsk-Norilsk campaign in 2047.
Odd bits and pieces:
The Portuguese house of Braganza is married into the Saxon royal family in our timeline, and the British Windsors are renamed Saxe-Coburg and Gotha. And Portugal and the UK are historical allies in our timeline. So, Saxony as an ally to Korea-Japan-Commonwealth-Portugal makes a lot of sense, the next king of Saxony will be Johann of Saxe-Lee, and I need to rewrite the trade war sequence AGAIN.
Enrique, the second prince of Portugal is married to Lee Ayame, Seri’s eldest daughter. They move back and forth between Brazil, Morocco and Madeira.
The YM keeps a record of everyone senior’s body tattoos, because of course they do. How else are you supposed to identify bodies? Cf the Clown Guild of Ankh-Morepork.
I am going to assume that in the Kingdom of Korea that only nobility is addressed as agasshi.
Yaghonyeo “yagunnyo” second stress)
Mimoui “mee-moo-e” Double stress
Naekkeo “neykah”
jungjeon “choongchan”
Yaghonja “yagundza”
Bisshi (Madam Queen, “Queen-elect”)
samogwandae – Joseon court attire for men (the black hat is called samo)
seja or wangseja- crown prince
sawi – son in law (Japanese)
Byeol star – pronounced “chuy”
Sajang – boss
seonsaengnim – “sir” “teacher” “officer”
Empress Dowager Cixi born Yehe Nara Xingzhen. The name Xingzhen (興禎) can be transliterated into Korean as 흥정 (Heungjeong), that means her Korean name would be Ye Heungjeong, and her corresponding lady in our world is Lee Hoyeol’s daughter Lee Heungjeong. Her older brother Lee Muhyeok – Li Wuhe – is known as the Manchurian tiger. It’ll take dedication not to point out that he technically is the Manchurian Candidate. So, we have three branches of Lee/Tae tigers: the winter tigers, the black tigers, and the Manchurian tigers, later called the golden tigers, because of the yellow of Imperial china.
Technically Lee MinWon, King of Yue, is a Black tiger – son of Lee Daeyeung. His cousin Lee Muhyeuk – son of Lee Hoyeol – is the founder of the Golden tigers, and their mutual cousin Lee Angae is a Winter tiger – son of seja/Pyeha Lee Rim. So, we have stories of the Three Tigers.
… given that Japan holds eastern shores of China, and you could imagine a Sakura Tiger of the East. The pink panther if you will. However, technically, that area belongs to hiro and while he’s a Lee, he’s not a tiger… unless the next generation intermarries with, say, a daughter or granddaughter of Tae Jihan. After all, the Taes and the Japanese Imperials aren’t blood relatives.
ee-mo – auntie
Korean saying: when there’s a sky, there’s a universe (=there’s always a bigger fish)
Honeysuckle means devoted love.
Bamboo means fidelity.
The plum blossom, orchid, chrysanthemum and bamboo are referred to as the Four Gracious Plants. The classical scholars of the Joseon dynasty era called Seonbi projected their spirit of life on the four plants called Sagunja in Korean. Sagunja represented virtues that leaders of the time should possess.
The lack of a door handle is symbolic of the invisible barriers that have been constructed around them, both by others and by themselves.
Sir Harold Nicolson acknowledged that diplomats could become “denationalised, internationalised and therefore dehydrated, an elegant empty husk”. Nicolson also claimed that personal motives often influenced the diplomatic pursuit of the national interest. For example, he wrote: “Nobody who has not actually watched statesmen dealing with each other can have any real idea of the immense part played in human affairs by such unavowable and often unrecognisable causes as lassitude, affability, personal affection or dislike, misunderstanding, deafness or incomplete command of a foreign language, vanity, social engagements, interruptions and momentary health.”
Diplomats themselves and historians often refer to the foreign ministry by its address: the Ballhausplatz (Vienna), the Quai d’Orsay (Paris), the Wilhelmstraße (Berlin); Itamaraty (from the former Itamaraty Palace in Rio de Janeiro, now transferred to Brasília since 1970) and Foggy Bottom (Washington). For imperial Russia to 1917 it was the Choristers’ Bridge (St Petersburg). The Italian ministry was called “the Consulta”.
Korea’s three carriers are called:
천왕성 (Cheonwangseong) – This translates to “Heavenly King Star,” which is the Korean name for the Andromeda Galaxy. It would be fitting for a carrier, symbolizing royalty, and grandeur, aligning with Korea’s constitutional monarchy in your novel. (Southern fleet, probably technically the flagship of the navy)
For Ursa Major, the Korean name is “Bukdu” (북두), which means “Northern Dipper.” It’s a well-known constellation in Korean astronomy and would be a fitting name for a carrier, symbolizing guidance and direction, much like how the constellation has been used for navigation.
The Eunhasu – the Milky Way (southern fleet)
Magadan urban geography.
uley (hive) – vertical open space
miesto (place, square)
chasha (bowl)
ulitsa (street)
golmog (KR: alley)
gusenitsa (caterpillar) tram
electrichka (the electrical) the subway/metro
stantsiya (station) electrichka station
molan (KR: peony)
zjuk (beetle) dump truck
tarakan (cockroach) electrical lorry
bratva and slivoviki – the russian branch of the yakuza
A study of Kingdom of Korea titles, based on the Joseon terminology.
Overall, the strict 18-19th century terminology has been simplified and the members of the court streamlined. Overall, it is modern, sleek, and (for a severely Confucian society) more permissive of (competent!) women, cf Secretary Mo.
There is a sharp difference between formal ceremonial address, the streamlined formality of public address, and the everyday royal address within the court. It would be a severe insult to refer to the high court lady Noh as anything but Noh Sungun sanggung-mama from the public or from the lower servants, but the mid-level servants, personal guards etc will refer to her as Noh sanggung-mama and the royal family as Noh sanggung. (It’s simpler because there is only one head court lady now, not risk of mix-ups)
the King/Lee Gon
is addressed in general as pyeha (Your Majesty)
is addressed ceremonially as jeonha(-mama) (HRH the King)
Is addressed at the Magadan dajeo by Jiwon as pyeha, she tells him in private she was practising thinking of him as oraboninim (Honourable older young man/elder brother) but hadn’t quite made that transition yet. He tells her he’d rather she didn’t. Especially since her four older oppas are … a pita handful. <fx: quiet affront>
Jiwon occasionally calls him Dangsim-nim/Dangsinim (double honorific you) in intimate private after the attack, but after giving him his dojang, she is allowed to address him by name in the privacy of their quarters.
the Queen/Tae Jiwon
is addressed in-court as pyeha (Your Majesty) by all but the King
is addressed ceremoniously as jungjeon-mama (HRH the Queen)
He addresses her as Asshi or Mama (milady, noble lady) or Bisshi (fiancée-queen) in-court and in private before the attack
He addresses her as Jiya in semi-private in-court after the attack, to the slight shock of uptight Noh sungun, but to the quiet amusement of his uncle Lee Jong-In Daegun, but sticks to Bisshi in front of the outer court or in semi-public. (Public reaction when he slips during an interview and uses Jiya, then corrects himself: half the young ladies of Korea go mushy at the romance)
He calls her Jisshi or Naekkeo (mine) in intimate <nudge nudge> private after the attack
After the wedding, he is supposed to address her as jungjeon “Queen” (bc he outranks her), but usually sticks to pyeha in-court, sending a very strong signal of how valued she is
Tae Jiwon
Is addressed as (yeo)dongsaeng (little sister) or Jiwonya or playfully as Kkoma-ya (half-pint, runt, pixie) by her brothers
Her parents vary between Jiwonya and Jivushka, depending on language
Is addressed as Agasshi (Young noble lady, Miss) at home by servants, and by mid-level court servants in the very beginning
Is addressed as Mama (mylady) then Bisshi (fianc’ee-Queen) in general by her family and the royals before the wedding.
Is addressed ceremonially as Mimoui Bisshi-mama (the well-favoured noble fiancée) – this phrase is what is in the official proclamations.
Is addressed in-court as Bisshi
From pests to profits: How a Vietnamese farmer turned capybaras into a successful business
By Nguyen Thi Lan, Mekong Times
Hoa Binh, Vietnam – When Tran Van Thanh first saw a group of capybaras grazing on his rice field, he thought they were giant rats. He grabbed his rifle and shot at them, hoping to scare them away. But instead of running, the capybaras charged at him, baring their large teeth and making loud noises. Thanh ran for his life, leaving behind his damaged crops and his wounded pride.
That was two years ago, when the capybara invasion began in the Mekong Delta. The capybaras, native to South America, were brought to Vietnam by some Brazilian farmers who wanted to introduce them as a new source of meat and leather. However, some of the capybaras escaped from their farms and multiplied rapidly in the wet and marshy habitats of the delta. They soon became a menace to the local farmers, who saw them as pests that competed with their ducks for food and space and destroyed their rice plants by eating and trampling them.
Thanh, a 45-year-old farmer from Hoa Binh province, was one of the many victims of the capybara invasion. He lost most of his income and faced the risk of bankruptcy. He tried various methods to get rid of the capybaras, such as fences, nets, traps, dogs, and poison, but none of them worked. He also tried to hunt and sell the capybara meat, hide, and grease, but he found no buyers, as most people in Vietnam considered the capybara meat a taboo and a curse, and the hide and grease as signs of bad luck and low quality.
Thanh was about to give up and abandon his farm when he had a change of heart. He realized that the capybaras were not his enemies, but his potential allies. He decided to try a different approach: instead of fighting the capybaras, he would embrace them. He would turn his duck-rice field into a capybara farm, and benefit from their manure, weed control, and pest control. He would also harvest the capybara meat, hide, and grease, and trade them with other farmers or markets. He would even offer the capybaras as pets, food, or entertainment, and market the capybara products, such as leather, soap, or perfume, or promote the capybara culture, such as festivals, races, or rituals.
Thanh’s idea was met with scepticism and ridicule by his family, friends, and neighbours, who thought he was crazy and doomed to fail. But Thanh was determined and confident. He studied the capybara behaviour and biology and learned how to tame and breed them. He also contacted some Brazilian farmers and experts, who gave him some advice and support. He also reached out to some potential customers and partners, who showed some interest and curiosity.
Thanh’s hard work and innovation paid off. His capybara farm became a success and a sensation. His capybara meat and products were in high demand, especially among the foreign and ethnic markets, who appreciated their taste and quality. His capybara farm also became an ecotourism attraction, attracting tourists and visitors from all over the country and the world, who were curious and amused by the capybaras. Thanh’s income and reputation soared, and he became a role model and a leader for other farmers in the region.
Thanh’s story is an example of how a Vietnamese farmer turned capybaras from pests to profits, by using his creativity, courage, and perseverance. He also showed how capybaras can be integrated into the duck-rice farming system, and offer some benefits for the food security, nutrition, and income of the farmers and consumers. He also demonstrated how capybaras can be a source of entertainment and culture, and foster the development of social and environmental skills, such as friendship, harmony, and respect.
Thanh is proud and happy with his achievements, but he is also humble and grateful. He says he owes his success to the capybaras, who taught him a valuable lesson: “Don’t judge a book by its cover, or a rodent by its size. Sometimes, the best opportunities come from the most unexpected places.”
The Sino-Sphere in East Asia in generally Confucian and socially traditional, with some celebrity licentiousness on top. Most of the countries retain contractual and arranged marriages, and vestiges of polygamy is several countries, mainly Vietnam, Laos (now part of Tigerland, formed from the Golden Triangle) and some cases in Korea. Men keeping mistresses are seen as normal as long as they are treated well, and the man can afford it. At the same time, these societies hold many traditionally catholic virtues, and the former queen of Korea, mother of the current King, was a catholic STEM-researcher in Busan, who died in a rebellion within the royal family in 1992. This constitutes a query for the local clergy on how much to combat traditional practices, or if the individual situation for women and children should be mitigated by faith and ministerial support. The Taiping china is a shameful example of what christian life should not be, with a theology somewhere between baptists and mormons, including continuous revelations, the leader being a hereditary brother of jesus (no one not taiping believes this!) combined with oppression of other faiths, oppression of women including less education, inward-looking, prioritizing faith over even rational scientific study, which has led to periodical hunger disasters and lack of flood control. No one in the region likes the Taiping, neither for their teaching, nor the refugee crises they cause, the periodic border skirmishes and harassment of ethnic and religious minorities. I fully expect the pope (invent a name) to offer full moral support when neighbouring Vietnam, Korea, Japan with economic backing from tibet, support an uprising in 2060 against the Taiping elders and in 2066 end the conflict, carve up the country into wei and yue, while offering humanitarian support. The Dalai Lama certainly thinks this is a good outcome, given that Tibet has seen 200 years of refugee misery of people of all faiths and social backgrounds fleeing to tibet. The economic and industrial power of the four countries help the two new Chinese states Wei and Yue with flood control and improving education, healthcare and agriculture. The catholic church offers missionary aid, but the former taiping citizens are still slightly traumatized when it comes to evangelisation. They are happy for all other kinds of aids, though. Japan’s maritime pacific empire includes many faiths and ways of life, though it’s traditionally shinto-zen buddist. Kagami no shima (our New Zeeland) still has some anglicans and catholics, with an archbishop in Auckland. Japan is socially liberal, even more liberal than in our world, and more secular than the neighbouring east asian countries. It is still acception of catholic missonaries, even if those are mostly ignored.
In an Au world with no colonialisation, a powerful Korea that owns the Russian Far east, and is excerting soft power and influence into a weak china and southeast asia, the snippet below happens. Analyse and evaluate the effects of these movies on society, and on their relationship. Lee Hoyeol and Lee Daeyeung both have the Korean title of Daegun. One is an officer, working with his computer graphics design wife to create reading writing software in the many alphabets and syllabaries in the region, using his own skills of caligraphy. The younger brother is sent to Vietnam to excert the Lee family influnece. Marries, picks up a reputation for hardnosed, shady and cunning dealing, down to being called Warlord and earning the monicker THe Black Tiger,while promoting progressive ideas behind the scenes. Feel free to be creative but not supernatural. snippet:Quyên rü (Encanto) is set in the mountains of Vietnam (2058), insanely popular as a national child friendly family movie. It is renowned for addressing generational trauma, and neurodiversity in a sensitive and accessible way. Not a few grandmothers cry and some even have a change of heart. Do Nguyen Mach (Bruno Madrigal), the unfortunate fortune telling uncle, becomes a household name and beloved character in the region, and Do Cuong Nghi’s (Luisa Madrigal, name means strong water buffalo) rhythmically driven and poignant song about being the overburdened and dutiful older sister is played from Seoul to Saigon. There are rock covers in Magadan, by Radio Tapok, of this song and the Russian and Korean versions of We don’t talk about Do Nguyen Mach – the first as rock/punk, the second as kpop – are major hits. Lee Daeyeung is involved in financing this movie, too. He’s apparently into using entertainment and social media to bring about a better world – the man owns a troll farm in Mongolia, after all – but he wouldn’t readily admit it. His somewhat disillusioned brother Lee Hoyeol, who has a side-interest in children’s education and creates pedagogical learning aids for literacy, beside his career as a naval officer, is surprised to find out about this, and it leads to a gradual warmer relationship between the brothers. The Red Panda is a humorous and educational movie from Vietnam (2062) about girls becoming women. It is seen somewhere between cringe and spot-on, with overbearing tiger parents and discussing the changes of womanhood. It was partially funded by Lee Daeyeung as part of an educational campaign to better the social role and understanding of women’s lives and health. The man is a warlord, but he’s a progressive one, and he believes firmly in education.
The answer: the impact of the movies “Quyên rü (Encanto)” and “The Red Panda” on society and the relationship between the Lee brothers can be profound and multifaceted:
Societal Impact:
Cultural Resonance: “Quyên rü (Encanto)” touches on generational trauma and neurodiversity, resonating deeply with audiences across Southeast Asia. Its success suggests a society that values emotional intelligence and is willing to confront and heal from past wounds.
Educational Influence: Both movies serve as educational tools, with “The Red Panda” specifically addressing women’s health and societal roles. This indicates a progressive shift in societal norms and an emphasis on informed discussions about gender and personal development.
Entertainment as Soft Power: Lee Daeyeung’s involvement in financing these movies hints at the use of entertainment as a form of soft power, influencing societal values and norms subtly through popular media.
Impact on Relationship:
Shared Goals: Despite their different paths, both brothers are involved in education and societal betterment, which could lead to a stronger bond as they recognize their shared values.
Reconciliation through Art: The popularity of “Quyên rü (Encanto)” and its themes might catalyze a reconciliation between the brothers, as Lee Hoyeol sees the positive impact of his brother’s investments in the arts.
Evaluation:
Positive Change: The movies’ popularity and the brothers’ involvement suggest a society that is embracing progressive ideas and using media to foster positive change.
Broader Influence: The reach of the movies, from Seoul to Saigon and even rock covers in Magadan, shows the potential of art to transcend borders and unify diverse populations under common narratives.
In conclusion, in this AU, the movies “Quyên rü (Encanto)” and “The Red Panda” seem to be catalysts for societal change and personal growth, reflecting a world where soft power and cultural influence are key drivers in shaping a more empathetic and educated society. The Lee brothers, through their contributions to these films, find common ground and a path to a closer relationship, underlining the power of shared endeavors in healing and uniting individuals.
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