WHEN THE FLOWERS BLOOM IN MARCH ~ INCHEON~ PART ONE

9.

Bandits – you scamper away from the high grasslands. They tumble from everywhere. They are ants on hills, scattered. They are chasing you.

A carriage approaches, rattling by the narrow route.

Dynamites flung, sailing through the air, thudding upon the mud and dry, brown leaves. Fire comes like sparks.

It sputters.

It explodes.

The occupants of the carriage are a robust lord dressed in purple, embroidered with gold thread and his lady. They both seem to be pregnant, except he is wider.

His moustache is thicker than his bushy eyebrows and his one earring brings out the colour of his golden eyes.

‘Get on with it!’ a bandit smacks you on your head. You follow along. He thinks you are a bandit too – maybe you are. You look at your tattered palace maid gown. Your hair is pinned up like a male’s and your face is a thin layer of dirt.

‘Give it here.’ The brawniest bandit demands. He is also the shortest.

‘We have nothing’ the lord’s moustache wiggles as he speaks.

‘You heard him.’ The woman’s face is stern and plain. Her hair is lustrous against the similar outfit, but different colours. She blends more with the woods, her figure hidden.

‘I have information that there is jade in your carriage. Are you not Ying su the jade merchant?’ the man shrugs. ‘Who is Ying su?’

The bandit smirks. ‘I was going to spare you if you were Ying su, but seeing you are not Ying su. Strip them naked and take the carriage!’ the brawny man orders.

‘Wait – wait, I am Ying su. What do you want?’ his sleek eyes look around, touching the woods. The woman has not moved. She juts her invisible hips, alert appearing to be unfazed.

Suddenly, arrows fly from behind, whisking and whizzing past. It is everywhere. You fall on the ground, a possum. A body collapses upon you. You whimper. You can feel his blood trickling upon your face and soaking your shoulders, through your chest.

You close your eyes, feeling the tip of the arrow, but with the frantic sounds and all that yelling, accompanied with the rest of the explosion you think you are dead. You faint. You feel the weight lift away.

‘It is her’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I know she saw me after the palace raid.’ The voice says. Your eyes crack open, unfocused.

‘Move her in.’

‘We have to make sure.’ The woman says frantically.

‘Does it matter? She is not a bandit and she is a palace maid too.’ You are rolled over and the back of your rags torn easily.

A gasp

‘It is her’

‘She is awakening.’

‘At this rate, she might not.’

‘She needs a catalyst – she does not know does she?’

‘You created her’

‘No, I did not! Air and fire are not one.’ He says. ‘It is a coincidence.’

‘No, it is destiny.’

‘The long lost Han dragon heir’

‘Her yin is weak’

‘She is going to need all the help she can get.’

‘How do you convince her to do this thing?’ the woman asks.

‘It is in her blood. She can’t return. She’ll die of combustion if she doesn’t.’

‘You are a palace maid.’ The familiar face of the lady observes. She is pacing the room, lit with a single candle. ‘It is dawn. We need to confirm who you are. There is a restructuring in government.’ She mutters addressing you.

You are flagger basted, but you cannot think in this state. You are resigned. All the feeling from the past weeks floods your mind.

Seiichi

‘They say you’re Inhyeong, but no such palace maid is registered at the government office.’

You are in a state of grieve. You can feel something stirring inside you. It is something hot. You feel the rage that cannot come out. You are burning with temperature.

‘You must return to the palace, your majesty.’ She kneels to you. Her way of kneeling is peculiar. It is not like that of the palace maidens.

Both her knees hidden in her gown digs onto the ground, her back hunches and her hands twist forward in obeisance. It is also rapid; everything about her straightens as one carved from fine bamboo.

‘Water’ you rasp.

‘Don’t you want revenge?’ she asks.

‘Seiichi is dead.’ You reply.

‘Don’t you want to know who did this to you?’

You turn your face away.

She huffs and stamps off. The door rattles at impact. The candle goes off.

You will do it

Something whispers it into your ears.

‘Do what?’ you ask the empty room.

The face comes out from the dark as soon as the candle shoots to life. The face retracts.

You are more powerful than I imagined.

‘Who are you?’ Your chest rises and falls unevenly. Your eyes fall on the mass of shadow at the corner. You are remembering the assassin that materialised from the night’s sky.

He walks out of the shadows. You hear the finality of his steps and feel the beauty of his advance. You see the protruding katana from his neck.

The candle wiggles slowly, enlarging him so he does not look like a man, but a humanoid with a stick poking out his neck.

He is like breeze, coming. He is wind at your face, unexpected.

‘M – Mr Young?’

You are exhausted. You close your eyes.