The Ghost in the Cabinet

“This building is quite labyrinthine. There appear to be many rooms; can I not use one closer to the entrance?”

Yun-gyo turned back and bowed, looking troubled.

“The Senior Palace Attendant specifically ordered this room to be prepared. I suspect it was a direct command from His Majesty.”

Jin-mok was taken aback. Why would the Emperor insist on giving him that specific room? As Jin-mok’s face clouded with confusion, Yun-gyo simply blinked his round eyes. His gaze suggested there was nothing more to be said once an Imperial order was involved.

“I… I see.”

Upon reaching the room where Jin-mok used to live, Yun-gyo slid the door open and stepped aside.

“I shall bring your evening meal shortly. Please, rest comfortably.”

Jin-mok stood outside the threshold, surveying the interior. Perhaps it was the memory of the day he died, but his feet refused to move.

“Are you not going in?”

Yun-gyo, standing beside him, tilted his head and looked up curiously. He seemed unable to fathom why the guest was hesitating. Jin-mok managed to swallow his dry saliva and forced a stiff smile.

“The room is so magnificent that I was simply lost in admiration.”

Forcing his heavy feet to take that first step, he entered the room, and the door slid shut behind him with a soft shereureuk. The sound sent a chill down his spine. Jin-mok stood frozen, taking in his surroundings.

The inner quarters consisted of two long, connected rooms. The inner one had been his bedroom, and the outer one—where he stood now—had served as his studio and a place to converse with the Emperor.

Nothing here had changed. In front of the window that occupied an entire wall sat the paulownia wood table and chair, finished in black lacquer. Beside them stood the mother-of-pearl cabinet where Jin-mok used to keep his art supplies.

As if possessed, Jin-mok approached the cabinet and opened the top doors. As the double doors swung open silently, he saw his old tools arranged exactly as he had left them.

Seeing them so clean, without a speck of dust as if they had been used only yesterday, filled him with a strange sensation. Jin-mok reached out and brushed his fingers against the brush rack leaning against the inner wall. The hanging brushes rattled together with a clatter before slowly falling still.

His hand then moved to the painting cloth folded neatly beside them. Made of white wool, it had been well-maintained and still felt soft to the touch.

How could he describe this feeling? His first emotion was undoubtedly longing. But close behind it came a wave of sorrow.

He was grateful to the Emperor for keeping these things instead of disposing of them, and he yearned for all the moments they had shared. Yet, he felt a profound grief knowing those times could never return. Though he had come back, he was a stranger in a borrowed body.

Jin-mok let out a mournful sigh as he gently stroked the celadon water dropper the Emperor had bestowed upon him. The dropper, carved with a dragon coiling around a blue rock, had originally belonged to the Emperor himself. By law, items bearing a dragon were reserved for the sovereign, yet the Emperor had casually gifted it to him.

Jin-mok traced the raised scales of the dragon’s body with his fingernail. Though the porcelain was cold, it felt as warm as the Emperor’s hand in his memory.

“Guest, I am bringing in your dinner.”

At the sound of Yun-gyo’s voice, Jin-mok hurriedly closed the cabinet and turned around.

“Come in.”

Just before the door opened, he wiped his damp eyes with his sleeve. Yun-gyo entered carrying a small tray and placed it on the table by the window. The tray was covered with a pale silk patchwork cloth—another item that was painfully familiar.

Yun-gyo folded the cloth over his arm and began uncovering the bowls one by one. The boy’s voice was a soft mumble, sounding a bit apologetic.

“Since this was prepared on such short notice, the side dishes are… a bit meager. I have ordered them to take more care starting with breakfast tomorrow, so please bear with it for today, Guest.”

The meal consisted of fern shoots, bellflower roots, two types of seasoned greens, and a clear radish soup. By imperial standards, it was indeed meager, but for Jin-mok, who had grown up in poverty, it was a feast. Having warm white rice was a luxury in itself.

However, considering So-hwa was a prince of a foreign nation, this was a blatant display of neglect. Jin-mok offered a gentle smile to the boy, who looked visibly worried.

“I have not yet recovered from the fatigue of my journey and my digestion is poor, so I am actually glad there is no oily food. Do not worry. I shall enjoy it.”

As Jin-mok sat down and began to eat, the boy stood quietly by his side. Halfway through his rice, Jin-mok looked up.

“By the way, why do you call me ‘Guest’?”

“We refer to everyone from foreign nations as ‘Guest.’ Did you not know?”

Jin-mok had arrived only recently and had spent the previous day sleeping like the dead, so he truly hadn’t known. So-hwa’s body had not handled the long journey well; even now, the rice felt coarse and difficult to swallow. Combined with the lingering tension, he was beginning to feel a feverish chill.

I suppose it makes sense, he thought. Being a hostage, it would be awkward to address him by his foreign rank, so ‘Guest’ was likely the most appropriate title.

He nodded quietly and continued his slow meal when, from the distance, he heard the eunuch’s voice announcing the Emperor’s arrival. Jin-mok swallowed the rice in his mouth with a hard gulp and burst into a fit of coughing.

Yun-gyo hurriedly handed him a bowl of water, but the coughing wouldn’t subside easily.

“Are you alright, Guest? You must rise to greet His Majesty.”

“I—ahem—I am fine.”

Jin-mok managed to catch his breath and stood up. As he waited by the door, the memory of the terrifying Emperor from the interrogation grounds flickered in his mind. Just as he licked his dry lips to moisten them, the sliding door opened silently. There stood the Emperor.

Jin-mok immediately prostrated himself. The Emperor did not enter right away; he lingered for a moment before finally stepping over the threshold.

“Your dinner is late.”

Yun-gyo, standing behind Jin-mok, answered for him.

“The Guest was delayed slightly as he was taking a medicinal bath.”

The Emperor ignored the boy and addressed Jin-mok.

“Prince, you may rise.”

“Your grace is immeasurable.”

As Jin-mok stood, the Emperor walked further into the room and sat in the chair across from the meal, flicking his fingers dismissively.

“Since this might be your last meal, go on and finish it. It would be troublesome if you starved to death and became a hungry ghost.”

His crooked smile looked quite predatory. How could anyone swallow food while facing a look like that?

“No, Your Majesty. I was just about to set down my spoon anyway.”

The Emperor pointed a finger directly at the chair Jin-mok had occupied.

“Finish it.”

“…Your grace is immeasurable.”

Hesitantly, Jin-mok returned to his seat and picked up his utensils under the Emperor’s piercing gaze. The man rested his chin on his hand, watching Jin-mok eat as if he were a piece of entertainment.

Come to think of it, this used to happen often. Whenever Jin-mok lost track of time while painting and missed his meals, the Emperor—having already finished his own dinner—would come and sit before him just like this.

Jin-mok paused while scooping his soup and stared blankly at the Emperor. Meeting his gaze, the Emperor’s brow furrowed slightly.

“The side dishes are indeed poor.”

Jin-mok answered quickly to protect Yun-gyo from the Emperor’s scrutiny.

“Not at all. The seasoned greens are quite delicious.”

“Then why is the Prince so clumsy with his utensils?”

“I am eating as best I can.”

Jin-mok reflexively picked up a fallen grain of rice and ate it, only to lock eyes with the Emperor. The sovereign wore a strange expression for a moment before clicking his tongue.

“I apologize, Your Majesty.”

Feeling cowed by a look that seemed to criticize his table manners, Jin-mok lowered his head. Suddenly, the Emperor reached out and took the chopsticks that Jin-mok had set down on the tray.

The Emperor himself picked up a piece of fern shoot and placed it atop Jin-mok’s rice. Seeing that single piece of fern, Jin-mok felt a sting of tears. He doesn’t even know I am Ha Jin-mok, so why is he treating me exactly as he used to?

The old love he harbored for the man surged up, making his throat feel hot and tight.

“Shall I feed you the rice as well?”

“No! No, Your Majesty.”

Jin-mok took a large spoonful of rice and the greens, stuffing them into his mouth at once. The Emperor leaned back on his hand and let out a short laugh.

“How very strange.”

With his mouth full, Jin-mok couldn’t speak, but the Emperor continued regardless, as if talking to himself.

“It is strange because the Prince’s mannerisms do not feel unfamiliar.”

Jin-mok’s jaw slowed. He swallowed the half-chewed rice with effort and asked cautiously.

“What… what do you mean by that, Your Majesty?”

The Emperor straightened his posture with a look of dissatisfaction and clicked his tongue.

“It is nothing you need to know.”

“……”

Jin-mok ate diligently, mindful of the Emperor’s shifting mood. Since the Emperor was still holding the chopsticks, Jin-mok—thinking he needed to finish the bowl quickly—started shoveling plain rice into his mouth. The Emperor’s expression grew colder.

Jin-mok hurried to finish the rice and cleared his throat with the radish soup. As soon as he set the spoon down, Yun-gyo cleared the tray and left the room. The Emperor watched Jin-mok in silence until the boy was gone, then crooked a finger toward the Head Eunuch standing at the door.

“Bring the painting supplies to the Prince.”