Wang Jung

He’s not sure why they’re been told to gather in Cheomseongdae Palace. These days, they don’t question Ji-Mong’s orders. His word often is as good as Father’s, where the state affairs’ concerned. They head for the top floor. All of them, save for his brother So.

Baek Ah flips a blank age on his sketchbook, closes an eye and sticks his thumb ahead of Eun. Picks up his brush, streaks lines on the page. Eun strikes a ridiculous pose, and he grins so wide his face would split.

The book shelf at the far corner of the room captures Wook and Yo’s attention; Wook loses a book to Yo, but he smiles a thin smile instead.

Jung and Won poke through inventions lying around the tower. Some assembled to a certain degree, few are precariously unfinished with sharp edges waiting to claim an unsuspecting life.

Hanging over their heads, a rectangular frame carved out from bamboo, with two pairs of circular rods attached beneath the frame. Jung recalls none of such inventions the last time they were here.  

“Wow! Take a look at this,” Eun yells. His eyes darting across the room, “What is this?”

“What is it?” Jung questions, hopes Baek Ah has an answer. Baek Ah shrugs his shoulders, his hands work to sketch the peculiar bamboo decoration. His drawing of Eun abandoned, once their brother departs from his pose.

“Ji-Mong, Ji-Mong!” Eun screeches. He’s thirteen, but he acts like he never outgrew the age of ten.

“Tenth Prince!” Ji-Mong hollers, from the balcony. The astronomer sidles next to the shorter prince. Ji-Mong peers close to the object Eun’s pointing at, “This is the future,” he drags the last syllable.

A crooked finger aims for the ceiling, Ji-Mong bears a toothy smile, “A tool to travel from one place to another across long distance,” mimics the action of a person holding a plate, holds it in front of his chest. He jerks the invisible plate left and right, “Faster than a horse. Sturdier too.”

It’s an absurd sight. Plates that could make long journeys short?

“Wow!” Eun squeals, “Ji Mong is always making amazing things.”

“You’re always staring up at the sky,” Yo chimes, flips the pages of a nearby book, “You’re saying strange things more often. What you said about the star of the Crown Prince,” Yo pauses, tosses a sideway glance at the astrologer, “—is that even the truth?”

Ji-Mong’s tower is a treasure trove of weird devices. And a mess. He speaks in riddles, always jest. Never quite manage the air of a serious astrologer. It’s a feat itself that Ji-Mong lasted this long in his position as Father’s advisor.

“That’s what I wanted to say. The person who knows the will of the heavens is a subject of the Crown Prince. Everyone in Goryeo knows that,” quips Won, gestures his hands wide open.

Ji-Mong crosses his arms, “I read the skies for a living. Do you think I would lie?”

Baek Ah slams his sketchbook against the table, “Then, Ji Mong. What is my fortune?” Baek Ah challenges, lips parting to a grin, “If you get mine right, I’ll assume you were correct earlier.”

This is getting exciting. Father never question Ji-Mong’s fortunes. But them? The princes are different books. Jung tucks a finger beneath his chin, crosses one arm over his chest. Leans close to hear Ji-Mong’s answers.

His brothers too speak no sounds, but wait and ears peel open to answers.

Ji-Mong closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, one outstretched hand waving wildly in the air.

“The day of the 13th Prince’s birth was when Mercury, Venus, Mars, and Jupiter were all in alignment, right?” Ji-Mong asks, his hand nearly knocked into Eun’s eyes. Eun ducks away from him, hides behind Jung.

He abruptly opens his eyes, traces the edges of his mouth twice, “That’s how great men were in the past,” caresses his face and his neck lovingly, “You have quite the luck with the females.”

A collective of disappointed groans resonates in the room. A good measure of laughter thrown in as well. Deep down, Jung doubts that Ji-Mong knows what leaves his lips at times.

“Even I can guess that. Who doesn’t know that girls all over Songak fall over themselves for Baek Ah?” Eun bitterly grumbles.

“What? Are there no other men?” says Ji-Mong, pushing his sleeves up, swats Jung’s hand away from another contraption he fancies, a rounded ball with parts of its side cut off and shaped like a watermelon that could fit a head.

“If that’s all you’re doing, our third brother has great fortune in governing,” Jung retorts. He strides to Won, “Our ninth brother has luck in wealth,” Jung points out, scratching his chin.

Won curtly nods, “Yes.”

Jung stands in front of Wook, “Our eighth brother has blessings in high intelligence.”

Wook smiles back.

Jung claps Eun’s shoulders, “My tenth brother has—” bends down to Eun’s eye level, “My tenth brother doesn’t really ...” he trails off, narrowing his eyes, attempting to conjure up an answer.

He’s stump. Not a single virtue crosses his mind. Eun is Eun. Young, playful, and short. Eun’s the shortest, with Baek Ah and Jung overtaking him last year. Designated youngest, despite Jung’s born last and Baek Ah stands a year younger than Eun.   

“I have the younger brother blessing,” Eun finishes for him, tapping a wooden rod against Jung’s head.

“Hey!” Jung shouts.

“You little—” Eun stands to his feet.

There’s a considerable gap between them. His head only reaches up to Jung’s nose. Share the same father, they do. The men of Mother’s clan dwarfs some of the other clan’s men. It’s victory for Jung. Eun’s lips turn downwards.

“I feel a little hurt,” Ji-Mong says and slaps both hands over his chest, “You always enjoyed my stories before. Now you do not believe me?”

Somewhere in the background, Eun grabs him by the shoulders, drags him around the crowded space. They bump their chests. Jung’s taller, larger. Eun nearly bounces back into the wall behind him.

“That was when we were young. We’re all grown up now. We won’t be fooled by you any longer,” Baek Ah replies, cheeky as always. It’s not hard to see why women falls for him easily, like droplets of rain on a cloudy day.

Ji-Mong chuckles. “Yes, you are all adults now. I won’t be able to persuade you all with my words alone.”

Jung yanks Eun’s arm, stops him from retaliating, and whispers, “Eun, he says we’re all grown up.”

The thought of them stuck in their current form, him forever looking up to Jung sinks three seconds later and Eun tucks in his upper lip, “I’m not finished growing yet.”

Won’s quick to console Eun, “It’s all right. You’re big in other areas.”

Won’s fox-like eyes wides, his lips twitches upwards, “His heart and consideration for others,” he amends, as an afterthought.

Jung knows there’s double meaning to Won’s reply. Whatever it is, he and Eun know not a single context Won’s hinting at and Jung thinks Baek Ah doesn’t either.

“About our fourth brother—” Won interjects amidst the joyful banter, “I heard he’s in the palace. Why hasn’t he come to say hello to you?”

Jung remembers a recent story he heard from the passing maids, “You heard about how he killed the horse he rode in on, right? I heard that the officers who saw are having nightmares. They all took the day off. Why did he do such a thing?”

“Being the way he is, I would refuse his greeting if he came,” Yo remarks, tilts his head away. Jung knows Yo’s not their brother’s biggest admirer, Mother said awful things happened when So’s around. Makes sense why Yo won’t stand for So’s presence.  

“He is probably suffering more than anyone,” Wook chides, “Don’t be like that. He is your brother.”

Just then, the door slides open, out comes a man of sixteen in wrinkled black robe. His wind-swept hair partially obscures half of his face. Jung could only make out of an eye. Almond-shaped, its iris displays the hue of brown of fair weathered wood.

Eun lets out a horrified gasp. Ji-Mong bows. Yo sneers. Jung blinks twice, tries to remember to breathe.

They stare at him. He stares back at them. His face – mask clinging to the right side – bears no expressions. The silence stretches. Neither any brother nor Ji-Mong makes an effort to break it. Until Wook, as usual.

“It’s been a long time,” greets the eighth prince, congeniality shining.

The end of his mouth quirks the smallest of smiles, and he says, “Yes.”

With that, So leaves them.