Chapter Text
“If you and I are not in the same world. I will find you. My Soo” Wang So, 4th Prince.
Go Ha-Jin looked around the Goryeo exposition. Her eyes took in the different stands of makeup and historical displays about her own. She adjusted the products on her stand while she listened to a nearby expositor talking about Goryeo-era beauty rituals, their makeup, scented soaps they used to employ, and the origin of all these rituals and when the royals started to apply them.
Her mind kept drifting to her restless nights, her dreams, haunted by a mysterious man for months now. She frowns as she puts down a scented bb cream, recalling the man's eyes, almond-shaped and dark, they tilted ever so slightly at the corners, giving his gaze a sharp, foxlike intensity that could shift in a breath to something warm and disarming. High cheekbones sculpted his face into fine lines, while a straight, refined nose gave balance to the delicate structure.
“I’ve been dreaming with the same guy for a year,” Ha-Jin said, her hand unconsciously rising to her face. She felt out of sorts, disoriented by the man who had haunted her for months now. “He has a long scar running down his left eye… he covers it with a mask.” Her eyes, lost in the memory of the image, glazed over as she added, almost to herself, “The clothes are from the old days.”
Her coworker shook her head as she looked up from her task of arranging the different makeup items. Her lips tilted, her eyes softened taking in Ha-Jin's demeanor.
“It’s because you nearly died, you were in a coma for a year after you almost drowned.”
“I’m healthy now,” Ha-Jin scoffed and shrugged, her small smile fading as her eyes glazed over. “But why do I cry so much whenever I dream about him?” Ha-Jin said to herself.
Every time she dreamt of him, the same question resurfaced, bringing with it a tide of grief that drowned her. It was a physical ache, a heavy weight in her gut and a hollow emptiness in her bones.
Her mind, still reeling from the dreams, was finally drawn back to the present by the man speaking about Goryeo’s history. She continued her work, shaking her head to clear her thoughts and offering a practiced smile to the customers who approached her stand. The expo dragged on, and by the time she was restocking the ISOI brand's new serums and creams, her movements had become automatic. Lost in the precise ritual of her work, her attention was so fixated on the perfect alignment of each bottle that she didn't notice the tall man's approach. He came to a halt directly in front of her stand, his stillness a silent interruption. Only when she looked up, her hand mid-air, did she freeze. A jolt went through her body. Despite the surprise, her face automatically shifted into a practiced smile as she quickly bowed her head in greeting.
When she rose, her gaze landed on his pleasant expression, and a jolt went through her. It wasn’t a greeting so much as a silent acknowledgement, and it made her skin prickle. His smile was unsettling, as if he held a secret just for her. Despite the odd feeling, Ha-Jin kept her professional demeanor, her smile fixed. But his unblinking stare made her shift her weight, the small movement a physical sign of her discomfort. Is he going to say something? she wondered.
Under his gaze, time seemed to stretch, an eternal pause as his eyes took her in. He finally broke the silence by shifting his gaze to the tag on her chest, his brows rising slightly.
“Your last name is Go?” he suddenly asked.
“Huh?” she replied, caught off guard. The familiar, unnerving way he looked at her made her skin crawl, but she answered anyway. “Yes, my name is Go Ha-Jin.”
“Did you know today’s ‘Go’ was Goryeo’s ‘Hae’?” he asked, his voice unexpectedly emphatic. Ha-Jin’s smile faltered. Confused as to why he was spouting history facts instead of letting her do her job, she simply nodded along, attempting to redirect the conversation back to the products she was trained to sell.
“Oh, really?” She pointed to the beauty products. “Our company advertises Goryeo’s cosmetic culture as well. It’s a funny coincidence.”
The stranger sobered as she spoke, watching her intently through his glasses.
“There’s no coincidence,” he said, his smile now gone. “Everything will come back to its place.”
Ha-Jin’s polite smile vanished. His enigmatic words left her speechless. A moment of silence stretched between them before he broke the quiet, taking a slow, deep sniff of the air.
“I smell rose fragrances here,” he said.
Ha-Jin smiles, relief washing over her now that the conversation had turned to something she could actually discuss.
“Oh, yes, we’ve put rose oil in our products,” she said, her hand reaching for a serum from the stand. “Specifically this one, we’ve added Bulgarian rose oil—”
She froze.
Bulgarian rose oil… did you put that in?
The words, spoken by an unknown male, were not her own. They echoed in her ears, a memory that wasn’t a memory. Her vision blurred, her mind and body disconnected. She felt dizzy, an intense sense of deja vu washing over her.
“Are you okay?” the man asked, concern etched on his features as he watched her struggle to focus, her mind a thousand miles away.
The sound of his voice snapped her back to the present. She forced a smile, a trembling, miserable effort, and shook her head.
"It's nothing," she said. Her hands tightened around the serum, her knuckles turning white as she tried to force her thoughts back to the memorized sales pitch, willing them not to stray. "It's good for your skin if you put this on every day." The words came out sounding strained, even to her own ears. Her eyes landed on another product on the stand, and she grabbed it instead of the serum, anxious to pretend she was fine.
“Did you know even Goryeo had something like a BB cream?” Ha-Jin said, her smile forced. She uncapped the product and poured a little on the back of her right hand. “Even men use this these days—”
The words “Brace yourself.” and “I won’t lose you.” slammed into her mind, a man’s voice ringing in her ears. A flood of images followed: a face with a barely visible scar running down his left eye, so close she couldn’t make it out. Her fingertips tingled, a ghostly sensation of his skin beneath them.
The product slipped from her numb fingers, hitting the floor with a soft thud that snapped her back to the present. She stumbled backward, but the stranger's hand was there, firm on her shoulder, steadying her.
“I think you should rest,” he said, his voice laced with concern.
Ha-Jin clung to the stand, her chest heaving as she fought to catch her breath. "What's wrong with me?" she whispered, the question not for him but for herself.
The noise caught the attention of Ha-Jin's coworker, who rushed to her side, apologizing profusely to the man. "You should go," she said to Ha-Jin. "Don't worry about it, I'll take care of it.”
Ha-Jin nodded, murmuring an apology to the man before she left. As she moved away, it dawned on her that he was the expositor she had been listening to earlier.
Dazed, she left her post and headed to the locker room to change. She traded her work outfit for her own clothes, a simple blue dress over a white shirt, and let her hair fall loose. Ha-Jin walked aimlessly through the mall where the exposition was being held, a ghost in the crowd. She blew out a shaky breath, still unnerved by the images that flashed in her mind. A deep, pervasive sadness clung to her, a feeling of being both startled and profoundly unsettled.
A large sign caught her attention as she walked: Traditional paintings on customs of the Goryeo Dynasty.
Ha-Jin's head tilted, her brow furrowed in confusion as she stepped toward the entrance. Inside, she spotted a painting depicting several Goryeo figures, their expressions so full of life in the chaekgori style.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as if a greater force were pulling her. It drew her inside the small room filled with chaekgori paintings. Ha-Jin's breath caught. The paintings weren’t just images; they were alive, bringing memories to her mind. A festival. The glow of lanterns. They flashed before her as she stood before the first canvas.
She stepped further inside, and another painting stole her breath. It was a man with an outstretched hand, and flashes of a face flooded her mind. His profound gaze settled on her own as rain dripped across his face. His figure transformed, becoming a monarch. Gwangjong? Ha-Jin’s voice echoed in her mind.
"It wasn't a dream," she thought, her eyes already traveling to the next painting, her heart thumping a frantic drum against her ribs.
Memories of her, the princes' faces, their voices and laughter—all of it brought a sharp pain to the pit of her stomach. Tears sprang to her eyes as she turned, feeling as if the gates of her long-lost memories had been thrown open. The warmth of the Eighth Prince's hand, stopping her from falling in the snow, was so real she could feel it as she turned.
The next painting was a punch to the gut. It was the man she'd been dreaming of. As she stared at his depiction, his voice filled her mind, the echoes of the past clashing with the present:
You are mine.
I said, that girl is mine.
Brace yourself. I won’t ever lose you.
Even when you put your hands on my face, I won’t ever lose you.
Images of them embracing and touching emerged from the depths of her mind. A wave of love, anguish, despair, and yearning—the full force of every emotion she had ever felt for him—came crashing back to the surface as her eyes took in the painting.
Her eyes traveled to the inscription beside the painting. She started to read, a litany of titles and deeds: His name is 'So.' He established the slave investiture act. The greatest King of all. Doubting his own relatives. The emperor of blood.
She read every word, tears blurring her sight. A memory surfaced, her own voice ringing in her ears:
...You won’t be remembered as a bloody emperor in history...
So, dressed in his silk and brocade goryongpo, walked on the palace entrance steps, watching her from afar. She watched him in return, her mind a swirl of thoughts about an impending future she couldn't prevent.
...I will help you...
Ha-Jin turned to the next painting, spotting him alone as he trekked to the palace. A fresh wave of tears fell as she whispered, "I'm sorry."
She watched the painting as her vision blurred through her tears. A pain like no other filled her chest, and she whispered again.
"I'm sorry I left you alone," she whispered, her hand clamped over her mouth. A shuddering gasp escaped, and her knees buckled beneath her. The pain of her failure—of leaving Wang So alone for a lifetime—was a physical weight on her chest, a grief so profound it shook her to her core. Her body convulsed, and she sank to the floor of the gallery, her dark hair a curtain that shrouded her face.
Footsteps echoed on the wooden floor, the sound of expensive soles approaching. The sobs racking her body were the only noise in the empty gallery. She fell silent when a pair of Italian leather shoes appeared before her. A handkerchief was offered, held out for her to take. Wiping her nose, she looked up.
Sniffling, she mumbled a quick "thank you," her head bowed in a show of embarrassment as she took the offered handkerchief.
Keeping her eyes on the floor, Ha-Jin stood and wiped her face, too embarrassed to look at the kind stranger who had helped her. When she finished and looked up, ready to thank him properly, she found the gallery empty.
“Oh…” she mumbled, a wave of disappointment washing over her. She turned just in time to see his back, a man in a pristine suit walking toward the exhibition's exit, his phone pressed to his ear. Just as he was about to exit, he started to turn his head. Ha-Jin took a step toward him, her hand with the handkerchief raised, a grateful smile starting to form on her lips.
But her smile froze, her hand stuck in the air as their eyes met. His were dark, upturned, and almond-shaped. Her heart stuttered, the beat pounding in her ears as she recognized those eyes.
The man bowed his head subtly before pressing on, disappearing from the museum.
“Gwangjong?” Ha-Jin whispered, turning to look at the portrait of Wang So, and then back to the empty space where the stranger had just been.
Her eyes landed on the dark blue handkerchief in her hand. A frown creased her brow as the reality of the past few minutes solidified. She sprinted toward the way the stranger had disappeared.
Outside the painting exposition, Ha-Jin’s eyes darted wildly across the mall, her head turning one way and the other as she tried to find him among the crowds and bustling stands. Her heart thudded in her chest. Could it be? Her mind raced, desperately trying to reconcile the fleeting glimpses of the stranger’s face with her own memories of the king she had loved in another life.
Her shoulders slumped. Her hand, clutching the handkerchief like a lifeline, fell to her side as she realized she had lost him in the crowd.
"I could've sworn he—" She shook her head and turned away. Her mind was reeling with a nagging sensation: the man in the museum had Wang So’s likeness.
"I must be going crazy," she whispered, her hands flying up to clutch her head.
The image of the crying woman from the mall lingered in Jeon Gwang-seok's mind as his car sped away from the parking spot. He hummed to himself, the sound a counterpoint to his thoughts. Why was she so familiar? He searched his memory for a previous introduction, but came up empty.
“We are ten minutes late,” a voice next to him said.
Gwang-seok turned to his secretary and half-brother, Jae-In, who was typing furiously on his phone. A smirk played on his lips as he fixed his eyes back on the road, the city lights blurring into streaks of color.
“We are right on time,” he countered.
“Hyung,” Jae-In said, looking up from his phone, his expression a mix of nervousness and frustration. He watched Gwang-seok, whose dark eyes remained fixed on the Seoul streets, his expression unreadable as the car drove through Gangnam.
“The President asked to meet,” Jae-In said, his voice cautious. He was threading carefully, as his brother was known to be unpredictable at moments of urgency.
“Does he now?” Gwang-seok felt a familiar knot of tension tighten in his gut at the mention of his father. He turned his gaze from the Seoul streets to his brother, who sat next to him, looking nervous and fidgety.
Jae-In nodded and pulled out his MacBook, a presentation with his own embellished flair already on the screen. A smirk flickered across Gwang-seok’s face.
“It’ll be fine,” he interrupted, turning his attention back to the window and away from his brother. His mind, however, immediately returned to the crying woman. He couldn't shake the sense of familiarity. A flash of annoyance crossed his face and he clicked his tongue, frustrated by the thought he couldn't seem to let go of.
He'd been wandering the Goryeo Expo, supervising the ISOI stands to ensure their presentation was flawless. The family brand was built on bringing Goryeo's cosmetic culture into the present, and Gwang-seok found a genuine, if unexpected, curiosity in the chaekgori paintings on display. The impressions of the ancient dynasty drew him in.
A loud sob from the small room halted his steps. Gwang-seok's head snapped toward the noise. A young woman stood before a painting, her face contorted in an expression of raw grief. He glanced around the exhibit, but no one else was there. His eyes fell on her again. Her dark eyes were brimming with tears, her expression so filled with sorrow it was painful to witness.
He wondered what she could possibly have seen in the paintings that moved her so deeply. Then he watched her knees buckle beneath her as she sank to the floor and sobbed.
Without a second thought, he stepped forward, his hands outstretched to catch her. He stopped short, however, realizing he had breached her space. He frowned, seeing she hadn't noticed him and still had her head in her hands. He cleared his throat and offered her his suit handkerchief instead.
The fleeting glimpse of her face as she took the handkerchief made him freeze. He took in her dark hair, her porcelain skin. Even with her eyes closed, he felt he could picture them clearly. The jarring ring of his phone jolted him back to the present. He took a step back, annoyed with himself for his sudden, impulsive care toward a stranger.
Yet, he couldn’t stop himself from turning one last time to catch a glimpse of her. Their eyes met, hers doe-like and widening slightly. He gave a subtle bow and walked away, his mind only half-attuned to the voice on the other end of the line.
Who is she?