one • gisaeng
an official low-status female entertainer/e

-Seoul, Modern-day :: Seohyun-

Dizziness. Stumbling. Every bright color is blended before my eyes, turning into a sick shade of grey.

"Where did she come from?"

"I bet she wandered off set."

"I didn't see anyone filming by the palace."

"Do you think she came from the mental hospital?"

The words—spoken so strangely that it is almost foreign to me—fly past my ears. I close my eyes, willing the image of my father and my sisters before me.

"Maybe she's a celebrity. Should we take pictures?"

"Ooh, maybe we could get money for them later if she's really famous."

My father had warned me of the shock, but I hadn't expected it to be this severe. I suppose I should be thankful that I had at least stayed in one piece. My father said that when he first came here, he was nearly 'run over' by a 'car'—and, after seeing them for the first time, I understand why. The beasts are simply enormous! 

"Should we talk to her?"

"I don't know... what if she turns out to be a saiko?"

"Omomomo."

I force myself to walk—at first slowly, but then gaining confidence. Right foot in front of the left. Left foot in front of the right. Right foot in front of the left. This is for Soohyun.

This is so Soohyun can live.

::-::

-Kyeoshin Mountain, Joseon Era; Flashback-

My father bursts through my door, stirring me awake at once.

"He's having another attack."

No other words are needed to have me racing to the other end of our countryside estate, dressed only in my thin nightwear. Silence ades among our household; my father has woken only me, knowing that I am the closest to Soohyun. Every second counts against him when he suffers an attack.

It seems to be hours before we finally reach Soohyun's room. I fling the screen doors open, cracking them against the wall. Soohyun is crawling to the window, gasping, jerking this way and that, eyes rolling in panic.

I drop to his side and slip my hand over his forehead. It burns my palm, but I keep it there until the glow from my fingers causes Soohyun's eyes to slide shut. "How?"

"I do not know," my father whispers back. "It came upon him in the middle of the night."

I feel sudden fatigue. Casting a resting spell on Soohyun is not simple; since his spirit is exceptionally agitated during his attacks, it fights my energy.

"Perhaps he is plagued by an evil spirit," my father says tiredly. "Perhaps your mother brought it over here."

"Mother would not have done such an act."

"Of course. Not on purpose."

My parents met 32 years ago. Or rather, they shall meet 368 years from this day. A strange concept, I realize, but time has always been indescribable.

When my father was a Sungkyungkwan scholar, he studied the art of wizardry in secret. He managed to travel to the future—the first and last of his time to do so—where he met my mother. There they fell in love, and she came back with him as his wife. For ten years they lived a happy life... until she was seized with a strange illness.

The same that plagues Soohyun now.

"It would be reasonable," my father murmurs. "I was suspicious at the apparent lack of consequences, when traveling through time could bring crucial changes to history."

"Father." I gently rest Soohyun back on his mattress. "If that is so, there is only one way to fix this illness."

I feel my father's gaze rest on me—curiously, openly.

"The cure for Soohyun-orabeoni... lies in the future."

::-::

-Seoul, Modern-day :: Jung Yonghwa-

I.

Am.

So.

Dead.

"Oppa! Go out with me!"

Dead. Dead, I tell you. Deader than a doorknob. Deader than a doornail. Deader than my pet goldfish that I had when I was five. And let me tell you: That's pretty freakin' dead.

How did it come to be this way?

Well.

I, appreciating the beautiful creativity of nature as I do, decided to take a little walk. The only problem, is, well... I'm kinda famous. Not a ton, really. Just, well, if I'm trying to eat in a restaurant, I'll get insane discounts because the manager wants my signature to sell on eBay. And if I ever dare to stroll down the streets, I'll get mobbed and left to die by the very hormonal teenage girls who call themselves my #1 fans. And if I'm ever, like, ever, seen with a girl, the paparazzi will swarm until they've blocked the roads from Seoul to Busan... before they realize I'm just catching up with my cousin.

...Okay, yeah. I'm pretty famous.

Sooo. What was supposed to be a delightful, relaxing, psychologically rejuvenating, and an all in all wholesome experience... involved me earning a lot more exercise than I'd originally planned. Again. Being chased by girls. Again. Who, I swear, are out to kill me. Again.

Sometimes I think it'd be better for a gang with guns and knives to chase me, not these fangirls. At least a gang would know when to give up. Not the fangirls. They run until they faint from heat exhaustion.

"Yonghwa-oppa!"

"It's Jung Yonghwa! Oppa, I loooove youuuuu!"

"Marry me, Yonghwa-oppa!"

"Oppa, sign my album! My poster, too!"

Hmm. My #1 stupid decision of the day? Walking alone. See, I thought it'd be good and all to walk alone, because without any of my dongsaengs or bodyguards, no one would recognize me. Technically speaking.

But, instead, I was recognized anyway, and now I'm left to fend for myself. Figures that my fangirls are the kind of people who memorize how far apart my eyes are in millimeters, or know exactly what frequency my voice is, or... Heck, they've probably got a nanosized tracking device embedded in my shoe and I don't even know it.

Coughcreepycough. Coughnolivescough.

"Where did he go?"

"Let's split up!"

"Yeah, right! On my dead body! I bet you just want him for yourself!"

Crap. They're like a starving pack fighting over a piece of meat.

"THERE HE IS!"

Wait. They're looking at me. They're looking at me?!

"OPPAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

::-::

-Kyeoshin Mountain, Joseon Era; Flashback :: Seohyun-

My father's eyes are dark and serious. "I will use my spirit to sustain your presence in the future. It will only last until the sun sets. You must find an anchor before then, or you will be forced to return here."

I nod silently.

"If you wish to change your mind, do so now."

Silence.

"Then you are certain?"

I meet my father's gaze. "I am certain."

::-::

-Seoul, Modern-day :: Seohyun-

I finally find a peaceful grove of trees and short grass, one that reminds me of our gardens back at home. My father said that many people come to places like this to relax and watch their children play about large, bright structures called 'playgrounds'.

It is a wonderful place. Peaceful, with just the barest hint of pleasant, low noise. When I close my eyes, I feel my shock bleeding away from me.

"DON'T RUN! OPPAAAAAAA!"

"HE'S GETTING AWAY! AFTER HIM!"

What on earth is that ungodly sound...?

When I open my eyes, I see a young man barreling straight toward me, chased by a score of screaming girls. He stumbles in his hurry to get away, crashing on his chest right at my feet. It's a painful fall, but the girls don't even seem to notice.

"Quick! Get him! I need my autograph!"

"I'm going first! My poster, my poster!"

I cannot believe this.

This young man has just fallen— undoubtedly hurting himself in the process—and these girls do not even care? All they wish for is his 'autograph'—whatever be that—and a 'picture' with him—whatever be that?!

I will not let this go untamed.

I sweep around the fallen man, arms folded demurely beneath my hanbok, but voice sharp as steel. "Have you no self-respect? Chasing men like the most contemptible gisaengs. Perhaps you have no eyes; can you not see that he is unwanting of your presence?! Begone with you, else I shall contact the authorities!"

They do not react like I expect. They only stare at me, confusion etched on their faces.

"Why is she speaking so strangely?"

"She must be insane."

"Someone call the mental hospital."

"How does she know Yonghwa-oppa?"

They really do remind me of gisaengs.

"I wonder if this is some kind of stunt..."

"Maybe she's actually his girlfriend!"

"No way! There's no way he would...?"

Then the girls begin to do something very peculiar. They reach into their short trousers and pull out some odd rectangular object, holding it in front of their faces. From these objects comes a strange 'click'—then two, then three, then an uncountable number.

"Okay, time to book it," the young man behind me says, scrambling to his feet. He snatches at my wrist, yanking me away. The girls begin to follow, but I rips the silver pin from my hair, brandishing it threateningly. 

"Crap," mutters the young man beside me, quickening his pace. "Crap, crap, crap, crap."

I shall have to find out what that word means. Even if I have a pretty good idea from the way he's using it.

"This is not good," the young man moans. "Not. Good. Do you know how not good this is? It's very not good."

"I understood you the first time," I say plainly. "You do not have to repeat yourself. I am not a simpleton."

The young man wheels on me, his expression pained. "You don't know how this could turn out."

He must really believe I am a simpleton! "I believe the situation is as follows: You are a prestigious young lord, and those young women were gisaengs who wish your attention. Those gisaengs have witnessed how I attempted to deter them and may believe we are involved in some sort of tryst. As such, they may attempt to tarnish your reputation so you shall spurn me. Thus, I would become a scarlet letter and you should become eligible for romantic relations once more."

The young man stops short, staring at me in amazement. After a brief moment, he suddenly bursts out laughing. I'm not certain what to make of it.

"That's probably the strangest thing I've heard all year," he chuckles, resuming his fast pace. "Young lord? Tryst? Gisaengs? It's like you're really from the Joseon era!"

Well, I am... but I probably shouldn't say so. 

The young man reaches into his trousers—ah, they bear pockets; how clever—and pulls out the same odd rectangular object that I saw the gisaengs using. He touches the object several times before holding it to his ear. 

"Might I inquire on your odd actions?" I ask.

"Hey, uh, Jieun? I kinda have a strange problem..."

Jieun? Whence did he get that name? "I am known as Seo Joohyun, not Jieun."

He continues speaking, not even glancing at me. "Yeah, there's this woman in a traditional hanbok who acts like she's from the Joseon era."

"I am right here."

"What? No, of course she isn't really!"

"Isn't really... what? Do speak in comprehensible sentences."

"...Jieun, I think you've been watching too many fusion sageuks. Huh? Yeah, of course I'll call the manager. Listen, could you meet us at my house? We kinda got in a publicity predicament..."

Oh...! Of course! The young man isn't talking to me. He is speaking to someone else through the rectangular object! The rectangular object is a communication device!

How incredibly fascinating!

"Yeah, I'll catch you up on the full story, I swear. Hm? Oh, really?! Yes, that would be daebak. My manager seems to like you more than me anyway. Okay. Catch you later."

The young man shuts the device before stowing it back in his pocket. "Let's go," he says. 

I can barely bring myself to walk. Imagine the possibilities of such a communication device! There would be no need for horseback, no delay for urgent messages.  With that sort of technology...

"Hey! Joseon Lady!"

The young man stands at the edge of the blackened path—called streets, or so my father told me—with his hands in his trouser pockets, a calm smile on his face.

You must admit... when you get past his odd hairstyle and his strange clothes, he really is quite handsome.

Now where did that come from? 

(So, in case you couldn't tell, I've never been to Korea. Which means I don't know what Seoul's like. Or what's in Seoul. Or for that matter, what kind of place CN BLUE lives in. So... excuse me for any inconsistancies. Also, I'm going to LA, so it might be a little bit until the next chapter can be out. :/

Please, please, please leave a comment below? Your thoughts? Requests? Predictions? Favorite things? Constructive criticism? :D)