The Scent of a Familiar Lie

The Emperor was a man of deep affection; surely, if he could prove the truth, that wrath would subside. Jin-mok believed with all his heart that the tenderness the Emperor once showed him was his true nature.

Thus, he entreated once more, begging for a single chance to demonstrate his skill.

“If you merely copy a painting you have already seen, how am I to believe it was truly yours to begin with?”

The Emperor’s words were as hard as stone, leaving no room for a needle to prick through. Jin-mok’s throat went dry. He lifted his head only to meet a pair of frigid eyes looking down at him.

“Even if you truly did paint it yourself, I find I do not care.”

Jin-mok stared up blankly, blinking slowly. Then what is the purpose of this interrogation? As if reading the unspoken question, the Emperor smirked. It was the most pleasant-looking smile Jin-mok had seen all day.

“Simply tell me who gave you the tip regarding that painting. Do so, and the Prince shall be absolved of all guilt.”

Jin-mok couldn’t understand how giving a birthday gift was a crime, yet the Emperor continued with these nonsensical demands.

“A tip regarding the painting… what do you mean by that?”

The Emperor did not answer. Instead, he crooked a finger toward the eunuch standing behind him. Looking at the face of the man carrying a large, rolled scroll, Jin-mok recognized him—he was a close aide to the Emperor whom Jin-mok had seen frequently in the past.

The Emperor nodded for him to unfurl the scroll and watched Jin-mok’s face from a slanted angle. Jin-mok realized instantly that the image on the scroll was familiar.

It was the very portrait of the Emperor that Jin-mok had been working on. It was a shabby, unfinished work—the sketch barely completed and the colors only partially applied. Had the Emperor gone so far as to have such a thing professionally mounted and framed?

Jin-mok forgot that he was being watched. He gazed at the scroll with a look of pure, overwhelming emotion.

“Does this painting look familiar?”

At the sound of the Emperor’s voice, Jin-mok swallowed the hot lump rising in his throat and answered.

“It is… remarkably similar to the one I drew.”

The Emperor gave a cold nod.

“This portrait was painted by my personal artist, who died several months ago. I found it hidden away where no one was meant to see it. Yet, the portrait the Prince brought is so strikingly similar. Could such a thing truly be a mere coincidence?”

Jin-mok lowered his head and bit his lip. More than the Emperor’s chilling words, the fact that he had so cherished a half-finished painting touched his heart.

I promised myself I would be satisfied just to see him one last time, he thought. But hearing that low, deep voice made him ache to be by the man’s side again. His shoulders trembled with the weight of a love that had always been solitary and desperate.

The Emperor spoke heartlessly to So-hwa’s shaking back.

“Who whispered in your ear? Did they entice you, saying that if you brought this portrait, I might grant you my favor?”

When Jin-mok looked up, the tears he had been holding back spilled over. Listening to the sound of the drops hitting the dry earth, he shook his head with all his might.

“How many people in this world could paint exactly like another just because they were told to do so? I simply heard from the envoys in Gyeong that Your Majesty’s birthday was approaching. My talents are meager; reading and painting are all I know… I merely tried my hand at the only skill I possess.”

The Emperor snorted, his response icy.

“I see. So, with your ‘meager talents,’ you simply happened to paint the exact same image by sheer coincidence?”

There was no other choice but to persist with this claim. He could not say he was Ha Jin-mok, and even if he did, who would believe him?

Even if the Emperor accepted his story, there was no guarantee that assassins wouldn’t return. With so many eyes and ears in the interrogation courtyard, he could not let his true identity slip from his lips.

Jin-mok bowed his head in grief.

“I know it is difficult to believe. However, Heaven and Earth know that this is the truth. If there is a single grain of a lie in my words, I would have no complaint if I were struck by lightning this very moment.”

Despite the desperate plea, the Emperor only let out a small sigh.

“You are right. I cannot believe you. Men!”

At his command, the guards moved again.

“Bind the Prince to the frame. Give him ten strokes of the paddle. If he loses consciousness, wake him and continue.”

Jin-mok burst into wails as the guards hauled him up. The paddle? He had never even been struck by a hand in his life, and now the paddle? It was a word that had never even entered his mind.

The guards dragged him as his legs gave out. He tried to dig his heels into the dirt to resist, but So-hwa’s frail body was no match for them.

“It’s a misunderstanding… Save me, please save me, Your Majesty…!”

If it were the real So-hwa, who grew up as a prince, he might have had some retort. But the soul inside was Jin-mok, who had lived as a commoner. When he reached the cross-shaped wooden frame, his body shook violently.

A warm sensation spread between his thighs, and his clothes quickly became damp. While one guard loosened the ropes on the frame, Jin-mok, held by another, felt his eyes roll back as he lost consciousness.

Fainting felt like a mercy. He didn’t even remember the Emperor’s cruel command to wake him and keep beating him.

*** Sang-gang watched the Prince, who had been so terrified he’d soiled himself, and let out a hollow laugh. To actually lose control of his bladder… The boy looked fragile, but this was so absurd he couldn’t even find the energy to stay angry.

The guard preparing the frame bowed with an awkward expression. When they looked to him for instructions, Sang-gang gave a light wave of his hand to continue.

“Your Majesty, the Prince’s constitution seems quite weak. Perhaps another method of questioning would be better? Looking at his state, I fear a disaster might occur if we use the paddle.”

“Is he not someone whose death would be of no consequence?”

“That is… well.”

The Royal Secretary approached Sang-gang and bowed low.

“It would certainly save trouble if he died, but if his back were to break and leave him a cripple, it would create more work in the long run.”

As Sang-gang turned toward him, the Secretary continued without a change in expression.

“Furthermore, however small the nation, he is a prince of a state that serves Your Majesty. If word spreads that he suffered such hardship immediately upon arrival, it may leave a poor impression on other nations.”

Sang-gang simply smirked at the Secretary’s words.

“And what does it matter if a poor impression is left?”

The Great Empire was the strongest power on the continent. If someone felt slighted enough to start a war, it wouldn’t be so bad—it would be an excuse to escape this tedious imperial palace. Was he to be told he couldn’t interrogate someone as he pleased just because he had to mind the opinions of a tiny kingdom like Gyeong?

“If not the paddle, then what? The leg-screws will ruin his legs and cause more trouble. Cutting tendons or tendons would do the same… Does that leave only branding?”

Thinking about it, branding didn’t seem like a bad idea. If done in a place not easily seen, others wouldn’t notice. Observing Sang-gang’s expression, the Secretary shook his head.

“Wake the Prince.”

At the command, a guard fetched a bowl of water and splashed it onto So-hwa’s face. Regaining consciousness, So-hwa coughed up the water that had entered his nose and mouth, his eyes widening as he surveyed his surroundings.

When their eyes met, he began to scramble across the ground as if trying to crawl toward Sang-gang.

“Save… save me, Your Majesty. Spare me, please… spare…”

When a guard pulled at his shoulder, So-hwa began to sob uncontrollably, reaching out his arms toward Sang-gang. Seeing those trembling fingertips, a smile tugged at Sang-gang’s lips for some reason.

“Let him go.”

As the guards released his shoulders, he scrambled forward and clung to the hem of Sang-gang’s robes. To see him trembling with huge tears hanging from his eyes was quite a sight.

“Please spare me…. I have committed no crime….”

“No crime? Is lying to my face not a crime?”

As Sang-gang replied with a smirk, the boy shook his head vigorously.

“This humble servant (soin-ne) has never spoken a lie.”

The use of the term ‘soin-ne’ sparked a sudden sense of déjà vu. It was a term commoners often used, so it was natural for it to be familiar. Yet, it felt a bit more… stirring than that.

As Sang-gang looked down without reacting, So-hwa clung to him with trembling hands, pleading for his life. What should I do? Should he rip that insolent mouth apart—the mouth that insisted it wasn’t lying even while paralyzed with fear?

Without realizing it, Sang-gang reached out and lightly brushed the area beneath the boy’s eyes, which had turned particularly red against his pale face. The soft cheek felt pleasant to the touch. Yet, it wasn’t satisfying. Sang-gang realized only then that he had been expecting a texture that was a bit firmer, a bit rougher.