In the Shadow of the Throne

You Will Live Like a Queen

The wind barely stirred the millet stalks on the hillside, as if hurrying to carry the scent of autumn down to the village. Yoon Hwa Jin was still a child then. She wrestled with her too-long hanbok skirt as she ran toward the market, desperate not to miss the stall woman who always hid a handful of dried persimmons for her. Her mother shouted after her to slow down—the skirt wasn't meant to kick up clouds of dust—but Hwa Jin was already far ahead.

The clamor of the market was like a spring stream: always the same, yet somehow different every day. Radishes glistened in their baskets, the fishmonger wiped his shoulder with his apron, and at the edge of the stalls stood a wandering woman. On a ceramic tray spread before her on the ground, seashells glowed with a pale light, alongside bone-carved beads and a small bronze mirror in which the sky hung upside down. An eight-year-old girl wandered over and curiously picked up the mirror.

- You don't need that, little one. - the bead seller said in a low voice. - It only brings trouble.

- Trouble finds even those who stare at it. - replied the woman beside her with a hoarse laugh. Then she turned and looked straight into the girl's face.

The child's eyes were like sunlight breaking through clouds—warm, and revealing everything they touched.

- What's your name? - the wandering woman asked.

- Hwa Jin. - the girl answered, still gazing at her own eyes in the bronze mirror as the light danced across her pupils.

- Hwa Jin. - the woman repeated softly, a gentle amusement curving her lips. - Hwa... flower, Jin... jewel. Flower and stone. Not bad. Not bad at all.

The girl's mother hurried over, bowed quickly, and took Hwa Jin firmly by the arm, pulling her close to her side. It was never wise to linger too long in front of the wandering woman. Those who did always seemed to continue their day a little differently than they had begun it.

- We have no money. - the mother said quietly. - Come on, Jin-ah.

- I'm not here for money. - the woman replied. - Not today. Sometimes the wind simply blows. Sometimes words ride along with it. And if you stand in their way, they'll pass right through you anyway.

The mother's face darkened, yet she remained where she was. In the village, people neither truly respected nor openly laughed at such talk; they simply stepped around it, the way one avoids mud beside a ditch.

- What do you want to say? - she asked at last.

The wanderer leaned down and with her fingertip gently nudged the bronze mirror so that the light fell across the little girl's face. Hwa Jin blinked but did not step back.

- Your daughter... - the woman said slowly. -...will live like a queen.

The mother let out a quiet laugh, but it was the kind of laugh that sounded more like a cough—without voice, without belief. In the village, all they knew about a queen's life came from old songs: golden embroidery, silk, teahouses, silence. The mother knew silence well—the kind that stretched taut over the well in the dead of winter, the kind that sat beside the morning mist—but she also knew that silence could sometimes be hungry.

- I'd rather you didn't bring such words upon us. - she said patiently. - A queen has nothing to do with us. We sow, we reap. Good day.

- No harm in what you think. - the wanderer smiled. - The word travels anyway. It needs no passport.

Then, as if it were simply part of the market's game, she pinched a small bronze mirror between two fingers and placed it in Hwa Jin's palm.

- Remember this, it grew in water, yet it shines on dry land.