Though Aeri was beloved by all who knew her and actively practiced improving herself every day, regardless of the words of others, regardless of truth, whenever she looked into the mirror, all she could see…

Was a grotesque mockery of maidenhood.  

It was never static.  Some days her eyes would be just a bit too small, just a touch too close together.  Other days, they would appear bulbous, almost bulging from their sockets, red and rheumy.  Some days, would be a graceless slash in her face, and others, the lips so thick and protuberant as to be reminiscent of two lengths of soondae flopping in a bubbling pot.   Her skin was dull, and lifeless, her jaw by turns too prominent, and nonexistent, her cheeks pitted, and pockmarked--sometimes hollow and thin, sometimes fairly quivering like fresh pig jowls--though through it all her nose remained a flat potato, squatting on her face like a singularly malevolent toad.  At times, her eyebrows were sparse and pale, at others a single black brushstroke over unlovely eyes, while her hair was by turns thin and oily, and coarse and frazzled, the colour an anemic echo of her father’s rich ebony.  

Having grown seeing this face in every reflective surface, she found nothing amiss, but all the same, never believed the words of family, friends, or neighbours who tried to expound upon her physical charms.  She saw what the town considered beautiful, and thereby could also see that by no account did she fulfill any of the necessary requirements.  Yet, she didn’t turn her mind to dismay.  No, her hands weren’t dimpled and plump, but they were strong.  No, her arms weren’t soft and rounded, but they helped her work hard.  No, her thighs weren’t generous and robust, but they held her aloft, and carried her everywhere that she needed to go.

Suitors came, and suitors went, sent right back out by the always cordial (but increasingly exasperated) girl who was entirely content to stay and apprentice under her father, and practice calligraphy in her spare time.  Though she was unfailingly courteous, she held fast to the unfailing belief that these bright-eyed youths cared less about her, and more about the prestige that would come from marrying into her house.  For who could truly ever learn to love anyone as ill favoured as she?  Yes, she was kind, and yes, she was clever, and yes, she was a hard worker, but the songs sung by shamans weren’t known to exalt women for their industriousness.  

Or their calligraphy.

One fragrant twilight in spring, as Aeri returned from the mountain, where she had been foraging for wild ginseng, a sumptuously-dressed shinsa yangban drew near.  So lovely was he that as soon as she beheld his noble bearing, she lost her heart.  The youth sat astride a garama stallion, his rich ebony hanbok--the hems finely embroidered with silver cranes, so cleverly worked as to denote him at least a gungon’s son--almost blending into the horse’s lustrous coat.  The youth’s back was straight, shoulders wide, the column of his throat proud and graceful.  He had a rosebud mouth with a full bottom lip, a high, straight nose, thick sable eyebrows that winged toward his hairline, and abundant, raven locks, drawn up in a tail held by a silver sangtugwan, though a shock of coal black fringe fell over his proud forehead, framing the almost painful masculine beauty of his face.  Yet it was his eyes--oh his eyes!--that entranced her.  Wide and set at an elegant angle, they were rimmed with thick black lashes, the arch of his exquisite lids like twin half-moons in the starry night sky.  Instead of the fathomless black pools, that one would expect to see, however--

--were large, pupil-less, sightless irises, like adularescent moonstones, rimmed in the palest dove grey.

So entranced was she by the comeliness of the stranger that she did not see the man behind him--wearing the gwanbok of a government official--who cleared his throat, displeasure evident even in that small sound.  Startled by the sudden, sharp noise, Aeri turned to him, flustered.  He too was handsome, but while the youth’s beauty was tinged with the ethereal, the glamour that radiated from this man bordered on the feral.  His black eyes were just a touch too slanted--the angle almost unnatural, though undeniably beautiful, all the same.  His bronze skin gleamed with the burnished glow of new money, his full mouth stained the intense carmine of freshly spilled blood on snow.  Holding her gaze, he leaned forward, over the neck of his gongolma, a pointed smile exposing sharp, too-white teeth.  “Cheoja,” he started, his voice a rolling bass purr, “I do not enjoy repeating myself.  Are you going to lead us to the uisa, or just stand there and gawp?”

With a start, Aeri suddenly remembered where she was, and who she was.  “Naeuri,” she bowed.  “I ask that you forgive this one’s impertinence.  Please…  Come with me.”  Leading them to the stables, so that they could be assisted by one of the young groomsmen, she couldn’t help but overhear their conversation.

“Do not scare the girl, Kijin.”  The first man’s voice was as clear and vibrant as a gayageum, pleasant even as he chastised. 

“It takes a lot more than a deep voice and a handsome face to affright one of these country girls, Sej--”

The first man loudly cleared his throat.

“Say...just like that, Minseok,” Kijin continued.  “They are tougher than they…” he paused delicately, but after a moment, finished, “look.”

“Well.  I would not know.” Minseok answered cheerfully.  

Aeri did not have to turn; she could feel Kijin’s sharp gaze boring into her back.  

“Just so.”

***

Aeri had just directed a maid to bring food for the travellers when the boom of her father’s voice echoed through the courtyard.  

“Ouri dal!”

Chuckling ruefully, she turned to find her father leaning against her samcheon, gently swaying back and forth.  Moving toward his side, she tucked herself under his other arm, and smiled at her uncle as they started to lead her father toward his room.  “Celebrating Suritnal early, Abeonim?” she queried as she tried not to stumble under her tall father’s not inconsiderable weight.  

Tapping Aeri’s cheek lovingly, her father gave her a crooked smile.  “No, my little plum blossom.  It was around this time...seventeen springs ago...that your omoni’s family agreed to give her to me in marriage.”

“And had I known how heavy your abeoji is when he is drunk, I would have convinced our parents to give your omoni to someone who would not crush my calligraphy hand,” Aeri’s uncle grunted as he struggled under her father’s weight.

“Worry not, samcheon,” Aeri responded.  “If he breaks your hand, I’ll reset it, and reteach you calligraphy!”

A derisive snort came from the direction of the travellers.  Dragging her father ever closer to his chambers, Aeri was prepared to ignore it, but when in his cups, her father was a bit...obstinate.  “You there!  Why...did you laugh?”  Pulling his arm from around his cheonam, he leaned his full weight onto his daughter, making her stumble momentarily.  Lifting a wavering hand, he waggled a finger at the travellers.  “You--”

“Abeonim, come on, time for bed,” Aeri interrupted, not wanting anyone to hear what may have come next.  

“I meant no disrespect, uisa,” said Kijin.  “I merely laughed at the idea of this rice-grain sized girl setting bones, or teaching her samcheon calligraphy.”

“And you...who are you?!” her father demanded belligerently, pulling away from her to stumble toward the travellers.

“We are--”

“We are merely travellers, come to see uisa Jung Chungnyeol, whose fame has reached even the capital,” said Minseok mildly, interrupting his hot-headed companion, though he did not look up from his bowl of violet-hued japgokbap.

“Well, so you have found him, but what kind of person insults a man’s daughter in his own house?!”  

“What kind of man allows his daughter to play at medicine?  Or calligraphy?”

“Play at--” her father’s face reddened even further, as he ripped himself from Aeri’s side to wobble toward the two men.

“Samcheon!” Aeri begged quietly, “Do something!”

Her uncle shook his head.  “You know I cannot.  Not when your abeoji is like this.  Best to let him vent his spleen.  His hangover, and his embarrassment, will move him to apologize in the morning.”  

Meanwhile, her father had reached the travellers, and was swaying over them as he glared.  “I will have you know that our Aeri is the best calligrapher in town--even better than her samcheon!  No one has seen the like of her hand, not since her mother!  Furthermore, she is my apprentice!”

“Is that so,” Kijin murmured in polite unbelief.  “I think that says more about the quality of work in this backwater province than the talent of some starry-eyed girl.  No offense meant, uisanim.  Understand that I am a man of the world.  I recognize that these are only the senseless ramblings of a drunken father understandably inflating the charms of his only unmarried daughter.”

“Ro Kijin.”  Minseok’s voice was mild, but held a warning.  

Unfortunately, neither man paid attention.  

Aeri’s father’s face grew purple with apoplexy.  “Inflating the char--” he broke off, pacing back and forth.  “You impudent wretch!  My daughter has the makings of the best uisa that this country has ever known.  There is no end to my child’s talents!  She has straightened crooked limbs, and revived babes dead from their mother’s knees.  Even her calligraphy is healing!  She has cured green sickness, mortification, blood poisoning, winter fever--”

“Blindness?” Kijin purred.

“Of course!” her father roared.    

Aeri closed her eyes.

“Excellent, then,” Kijin rumbled.  “Then I do not believe that we have need of your services after all, old man.  If your daughter is as deft as you say, then let her cure my companion here.”

For the first time since he had arrived, Jung Chungnyeol visibly began to sober.  “What’s that?”

There was a pause, and then Minseok slowly stood, his robes billowing and flowing as he did, the cranes moving almost as if they were alive.  Gracefully, he turned to Aeri’s father, who paled and stumbled back before falling on his face, palms flat on the ground in supplication.  “Seja Jeoha!” he cried.  “I have made a grave mistake.  Please forgive this subject’s impudent tongue!”  

At those words, both Aeri and her uncle flung themselves to the floor beside her father.  Before the crown prince could speak, however, Kijin had also stood.  “It would appear as if your foolish boasting has made you trouble, old man.  For if your daughter cannot cure the crown prince’s blindness in three days time...then you must admit her useless as an apprentice, and as such…  She will be put to death.”

“Naeuri,” Chungnyeol wailed.  “Please spare the life of my innocent daughter!  I am an old, foolish man--it was not she who spoke against you--take my life instead!”

The official was silent as he stalked around the prone bodies of the three.  Finally, he came to a stop before Aeri, who shuddered at the sight of his embroidered slipper, thoughtfully tapping inches from her face.  

“Kijin,” wangseja--the crown prince--gently chided.  “While imprudent, his words were not so unpardonable as to face the grave.  The old man, in his cups, and having no idea whom he was addressing acted as any father would in defense of his only child.  In this case, mercy must be shown.” 

There was a pause.  Then Kijin spoke, his voice tight, but silken as a spider’s web.  “You are right, Seja Jeoha.  We are civilized men, not barbarians.  Your word is law.”  He turned toward Jung Chungnyeol.  “Therefore, instead of death for either of you when your precious daughter fails… she will be taken under the patronage of the government...as gisaeng.” 

Aeri’s bones chilled in horror, but her father bowed toward the crown prince, crying, “Your grace is immeasurable, Jeoha!”

“Daegam!” Aeri protested, watching Kijin’s feet from her peripheral vision--eyes still on the floor--as he once more sat down to his dinner.  “The most common treatment for ailments of the eye takes at least nine days to ferment.”  From the corner of her eye, she saw him gracefully wave his chopsticks in an elegant gesture.

“Figure it out.”

The thundering of hooves suddenly echoed outside of the compound, followed by the sound of a rider dismounting.  Within moments a young soldier had entered the courtyard at a rapid pace.  Coming to stand before the crown prince and Kijin, he bowed.  “Jeoha.  Daegam.”  

“You may speak,” Wangseja offered.  

“The king requires your presence, Daegam,” the soldier said.  

“For what purpose?” Kijin inquired. 
 

“Rumours of treason in the kingdom.  Peha has ordered you back to uncover the traitors.”

A low growl issued from Kijin’s chest, but he stood, all the same.  “Very well.”  He turned to Aeri’s father.  “You there, get up.  Have your groom saddle my horse; I leave immediately.”

“Yes, Daegam.”  Standing quickly, Chungnyeol gestured to a waiting maid, giving her the order to give to the groom.  Scrambling, Aeri, her father, and uncle, still bowing deeply, so as not to meet Kijin’s eyes, followed him as he swept from the courtyard.  

As the official swept onto his gongolma, he leaned over its neck in a gesture mirroring that which he made when he first met arrived.  “Remember, cheoja.  Three day’s time.”  With that, he dug his heels into the sides of his horse, and both he, and the soldier thundered down the path.  Silence reigned at his departure.  

“Well,” Wangseja said, surprising everyone, who had all but forgotten his presence.  “He certainly has a flair for the dramatic, does he not?”

With a start, Aeri spun, having completely forgotten that wangseja was still there.   

As if awakening from a drugged slumber, her father came to life.  “You, there!” he said, gesturing to a hovering maid.  “Go to my study and bring back ginseng, and snails.  Go to the night market and buy--”

“Uisa,” the crown prince interrupted mildly.  “This is your daughter’s duty.  You are not to interfere.”

Chungnyeol’s mouth worked.  Fairly shaking against the words that wanted to tumble from his lips, he looked at his daughter, his eyes wet with unshed tears, for he knew that to argue against the will of the crown prince could mean death for their entire house.  An uncontrollable shudder ran through his body, and then he bowed to the prince.  “Life forever, Jeoha,” he murmured, his voice broken.  Turning to Aeri, he smiled through his tears, his eyes saying everything that his words could not.  Putting his clasped hands to his manggeon, he bowed low, forehead sweeping the dust.  When he rose, he met his daughter’s eyes, his own burning with an inner fire.  “Work hard, my precious love.”   

“You have my leave,” the prince tossed. 

Bowing, jaws hard with bitter, unsaid words, both Aeri’s father and her uncle left for the house.  

Turning to the crown prince, Aeri bowed, even though he couldn’t see it.  “May this one have permission to touch Seja Jeoha?  For the examination?”  Though her gaze faced the ground, she could hear the smile in his voice, all the same.

“You may.”

Straightening, she came close, looking at him, before she touched him.  His cheeks were as full, and blushing, and covered with down as soft as spring peaches, while the rest of his face was illuminated with the youthful glow of the selfsame peach blossoms that gave birth to the sweet fruit.  True to what she had thought, his modest cherry mouth was tipped in a small smile, as he stared off at nothing.  Lifting trembling hands, Aeri gently touched the sides of his face, tipping it down, so that she could properly examine his eyes.  

After a moment, the crown prince spoke.  “Do you think me handsome, cheoja?”

“Very, Seja Jeoha,” Aeri said honestly, not even thinking to lie.  

“And my eyes?”

“It is a pity, Seja Jeoha,” she murmured, taking note of the clearness of his sclera, the healthy shine of his cornea.

“Do they horrify you?”

“They are beautiful.”  He was silent, then, so Aeri asked, as she gently palpated the delicate skin beneath his eyes with her thumbs, “Were you always this way, Seja Jeoha?”

“No,” he frowned.  “This affliction came upon me eight years ago, on the eve of my 16th birthday.  The court gossip purports that it is punishment for being the son of an overly ambitious bin.”

“Gossip is rarely correct, and often cruel,” Aeri murmured, carefully turning his head this way, and that, peering into his ears, pressing delicate fingertips against his lymph nodes, deftly checking his pulse in the gentle hollow in front of his ear.  Finally finishing her examination, she sighed.  “Aside from an unusually quick pulse, I can find nothing wrong with you.  Have you always had a delicate heart, Seja Jeoha?”

Wangseja paused, a delicate flush suffusing his face.  “If you are to be my uisa...then you must call me Minseok.”

***

The next morning, the crown prince insisted upon changing into something that wouldn’t immediately mark him as royalty, and then accompanying Aeri as she gathered and prepared ingredients, purportedly to keep her from running, but as that was always said with a charming, sideways smile, Aeri soon came to realize that that was the charming prince’s way of teasing.  Surprisingly, he didn’t slow her down.  He attended her as she purchased fish gall from laughing, weather-beaten fishermen at the lake, walked with her through her father’s extensive gardens to pick onions, and garlic, and accompanied her to the trading market to purchase dates and fresh castor oil--though he did allow her to harvest fresh honey from her father’s beehives alone.  

When she asked him how it was that he moved so confidently in a new place, when he could not see, the prince admitted that, though he could not see with his eyes, over the years, he had trained himself to see in another way, using the sounds around him to determine the rough location of everything in the nearby landscape.  “That could be a great advantage in combat,” she conjectured.  

“One on one, or one on a few, in a small space, perhaps,” he allowed.  “However, if there are too many loud sounds, or the space is too open…” Spreading his hands, he shrugged.  “I become as useless as any other blind man.”

“Don’t say that!”

“Why not?  It is true!”

“It certainly is not!  You are not at all useless!  No one person is good at everything.  You’ve taught yourself how to navigate your world in a way that wouldn’t have occurred to one man in a thousand!  You’re clever, industrious, merciful, gracious--”

“And handsome?”  His sideways smile was cutting.  Rueful.  

Aeri was glad that he couldn’t see the heat rise in her face.  “Yes, Seja Jeoha.  You are most handsome.”

“Yes, well…  Handsome, or no, accomplished or no, a blind king can never sit on the throne.  So, it is up to you, my little uisa, to make me whole.”

“I shall try,” Aeri responded glumly.  “After all, I never was any good at dancing, or singing.”

Later that afternoon, the time had come to purchase...animal materials.  

Making her way to the stall of an old man, Aeri confidently requested fresh bone marrow, liver, and bile.  The elderly man nodded kindly at her order, and then easily turned to the nearest goat, and slit its throat.  Shocked by the pained bleats and unexpected violence of a living thing being slaughtered and butchered right in front of her--without thinking--Aeri turned to bury her head in Minseok’s chest, grasping at his robes to pull him even closer.  This portion of ingredient collection had always been under the purview of her father, and though Aeri was a practical maiden, she had never witnessed the murder of any living thing, and in the moment, was overcome.  

Upon realizing just whom she was holding, Aeri pulled back in horror, preparing to bow and beg for forgiveness when the crown prince’s strong hands on her shoulders jerked her to a halt.  

“Now, now,” he murmured with a careful smile.  “That is not necessary, Aeri.”  

Perception let her know that the prince was telling her not to reveal his identity, so, delicately grasping one of his sword callused hands, and giving it a squeeze, she merely nodded, murmuring, “Yes, thank you, Orabeoni,” before swallowing hard, and turning away both from he, and the grisly sight.  

As they headed away from the market, to deliver the animal ingredients so that they could be immediately put into cool storage, Minseok reached over, and deftly collected all of Aeri’s packages.  

Mindful of her surroundings, Aeri kept up the agreed upon ruse.  “Orabeoni… Why…?”

“It wouldn’t do for orabeoni to make his dongsaeng carry such heavy things, would it?”

She looked up curiously into his face, which, though handsome, told her nothing.  “No,” she finally allowed.  “No, I suppose not.”

The shadows grew long as Aeri gave her purchases to a maid and directed her as to their storage, but Aeri didn’t have time, and so, with night falling, she hiked into the mountains, the prince ever close behind, to forage for the necessary fungi by torchlight.  She had just finished filling her basket when the low, terrifying growl of a tiger rumbled somewhere outside of the circle of light.  Wordless, the prince grabbed her by the arm, and shoved her roughly behind himself as he turned to the sound.  Blinded by the torchlight, Aeri could see nothing, only hear the horrifying rumbling of the beast, that seemed to come from everywhere at once.  

The prince pinpointed it easily, however, turning to face it, torch held high.  “Choi Aeri,” he whispered hoarsely.  “When the time comes, run.  I will hold off the beast.”

“I cannot, Seja Jeoha,” Aeri whispered back, standing her ground, though her insides quivered with fear.  “You are wangseja.  If it comes to it, every loyal subject must lay down their life for yours.”

“I am Wangseja, by mandate of Heaven,” he hissed, terrified to raise his voice too much, for fear of inciting the animal.  “You must obey my will.” 

“Seja-”

“For your abeoji’s sake, then!”

That silenced her. Then, “What will I tell Daegam?  He will think that I orchestrated this, and will have my entire family put to death!”

“He will not,” the prince assured.  “Trust me, and obey my word.”

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