The Dragon Queen

by William Andrews

  Books. I remembered my father’s and uncle’s books. The teachings of Confucius and Buddha, the reflections of great scholars on the lessons of life, the poems, the parables. Of course, there was a palace library and since I was the queen, I could go there at any time. But scholars were men, not women. And as queen, I was expected to be a living example of Korean traditions. Hence, I never once visited the library.

  Lying in bed with these thoughts spinning in my mind, I realized how much I missed reading. I tried to remember the poem my uncle recommended from Songs of Dragons Flying to Heaven, but I could not. I tried to remember my uncle’s other books. Then I remembered The Analects of Confucius and the saying, “They must often change, who would be constant in wisdom.”

  I had read this passage many times. They were only words before, but now I understood them as clearly as if I had written them in my own diary. I was now sixteen years old and coming into my own. I had to change or I would spend the rest of my life as a stone queen and I would never be able to speak for the spirits of Korea. Whatever my challenge would be, I would need the wisdom of the great scholars and prophets. Though the Taewŏn-gun and my husband would disapprove, I had to teach myself what I needed to know. And then I would decide if I wanted to become a dragon queen.

  The next morning Lady Min and Mister Euno came to my quarters at their usual time. I could tell by the way she held her mouth that Lady Min was angry about my behavior from the previous night. We went into my study, and Lady Min took a seat in a Chinese chair and crossed her arms. Dressed in his Western-style suit as he always was, Mister Euno announced that we were going to work on the finer points of hosting a tea ceremony. It was something we’d rehearsed dozens of times already, and I was convinced there was nothing more I needed to know. Mister Euno ordered Han-sook to have my attendants fetch a tea set and brew some tea. As my lady’s maid headed for the door, Confucius’s words, “They must often change . . . ,” ran through my head. I gathered strength and raised my chin. Before Han-sook reached the door, I said, “Wait, maid.”

  Han-sook stopped and looked at Lady Min. “Look at me, maid, not Lady Min,” I ordered. My maid faced me and lowered her eyes. “Do not fetch tea. Instead, have the palace manager bring a writing table for my study and a bat chest for books. Be sure they are fit for a queen. And bring pens and paper, candles, and a reading glass, too.” Han-sook raised her eyes slightly as if she didn’t know what to do. “Go now,” I commanded. “I want everything this morning.”

  At my tone, Han-sook did not hesitate, and said, “Yes, Your Majesty,” and quickly stepped out of the room.

  I turned to Mister Euno. “Mister Euno, your services are not needed here today. When I want you, I will send for you. Leave me now with Lady Min.”

  The short man’s expression did not change as he bowed respectfully and said, “As you wish, Majesty.” He put his hat over his topknot and walked out of the room.

  “What are you doing?” Lady Min insisted after Mister Euno had left. She sat in the Chinese chair with her arms crossed. Now that we were alone, she talked to me like a mother-in-law again. “You need these lessons.” She pointed her fan at me. “Do not challenge me.”

  Her Excellency—Grand Lady Min, wife of the Taewŏn-gun, mother of the king—was my mother-in-law and an important leader of the Min clan. Since they had crowned her son king three years earlier, she had ruled over the palace as if she herself were the queen. She was the most powerful woman in Korea—at least until they put the crown on my head and had bowed to me at my coronation. Even Lady Min had bowed. And if I were to be queen, I would have to be her queen as well.

  “Your Excellency,” I said. “Of course, you are right. And I would not challenge you. But before I was crowned queen, you told me I could change the government and make things right for the Mins. That is something I want to do. You said our opportunity would come someday. I need to be ready when that time comes. I do not believe I can do that by just learning how to host a tea ceremony.”

  Lady Min stared down her nose at me. “Hmmm,” she said. She rose from the chair and slowly paced across the room, fanning herself as she did. “Do you think you are ready for more?”

  “Yes, Excellency.” I went to her side as if we were partners in a grand conspiracy. “Naturally, you know what is best,” I said, “but I was thinking . . . the Taewŏn-gun and the Yis have an advantage. They have knowledge that you and I do not have. We need books and lessons so we have their knowledge when our opportunity comes.”

  “I see what you mean,” Lady Min said with a slight nod.

  “But only if you think it is the right thing to do, Excellency,” I said humbly. “If so, then I am willing to do the work.”

  Lady Min stopped fanning herself and brought a finger to her chin. “It couldn’t hurt. We will have to be careful, however. The Taewŏn-gun will not look favorably on a woman taking up scholarly matters, especially you. But if we put it to him in a way he thinks will help him, he might agree. I will see what I can do.”

  “Thank you, Excellency,” I said with a respectful nod. “And regarding last night, please forgive my rudeness. I was only thinking that if we are to be successful, you and I, I must act like a queen. For our clan, Excellency. For the Mins.”

  “Yes,” she huffed. Then she tucked her fan inside her robe and her face slid into a sly grin. “Very well,” she said. “For the Mins.”

  After Lady Min left, I sat at my desk and stared at the tapestry with the two-headed dragon. I thought about what I was doing. I had taken a step toward being a dragon queen. I tried to see my future, sitting on the red throne commanding armies and making important decisions.

  I asked the dragon, “Am I doing the right thing?” He stared back at me and did not answer.

  THIRTEEN

  Two years later

  By the time I’d settled into my role as queen, Korea was undergoing great change. The Taewŏn-gun had sacked hundreds of corrupt government officials and replaced them with mostly Yi clan members who were only slightly more honest. With Lady Min applying her influence, some new officials were from the Min clan—more than the Taewŏn-gun had wanted. Though there was bickering between the Yi and Min officials, the government ran more smoothly than it had before.

  The regent had also raised taxes again. There were land taxes, fallow-field taxes, cloth taxes, taxes on having a baby, and even a death tax. The rival clans—the Kim, the Pak, Ch’oe, and the Min—constantly complained that the taxes were ruining them. The Taewŏn-gun was unmoved. He used the new funds to restore civilian authority over the military and to expand it, adding hundreds of new troops, acquiring new weapons, and building two new warships. He formed an alliance with the Japanese to counter China’s authority. He convinced the scholars and yangban that his isolationist policy was right for Korea. In short, through guile and intelligence, and by the force of his personality, the Taewŏn-gun had consolidated control over the country for himself and the House of Yi.

  But none of his projects was as grand and conspicuous—or as costly—as the rebuilding of Gyeongbok Palace. There had been a flurry of construction since I’d arrived. The Taewŏn-gun wanted the palace to be a grand symbol of sovereign Korean power for the entire world to see—especially the empire of China. And so it was. Thousands of workers built dozens of new halls and pavilions with broad upturned roofs. There were lovely new courtyards, gardens, and lakes. They built vast new quarters for King Gojong and named it Gangnyeongjeon, meaning “Health to the king.” It had several buildings, pavilions, courtyards, and even a private library—which, for the king, seemed to be a waste. Gargoyles and statues surrounded the quarters to keep evil spirits away. There were expansive new quarters for the Taewŏn-gun and Lady Min. They’d finished digging the pond in the back of the palace grounds, filled it with water, and put in hundreds of red and white koi fish imported from Japan. They built an island with a lovely hexagonal pavilion that they named Hyangwonjeong. And the Taewŏn-gun finally had his grand banquet hall—
a two-story structure named Gyeonghoeru Hall. It was surrounded by a square lake on three sides.

  They built a new queen’s residence for me, too, and named it Gyotaejeon. Like the king’s residence, it wasn’t just one building but a group of buildings for me and my servants and staff. There was a large main building that housed my bedchamber with a high bed, and a sitting room with a Chinese couch and watercolor scrolls on the walls. There were servants’ quarters and a private courtyard planted with mature persimmon trees. They built a study for me, and I had them move in the writing table and bat chest I had requested the day I dismissed Mister Euno. It was a proper queen’s table made from cherrywood and ornate brass hardware. The matching bat chest had ten drawers where I kept paper, brushes, inks, and wax for my seal. I had my servants hang the tapestry with the two-headed dragon on the wall behind my writing table.

  It was in my study that I took on my education under the unblinking eyes of the two-headed dragon. Lady Min had convinced the Taewŏn-gun that I should learn the classics to most effectively serve him and the king. He had agreed to let me study rudimentary books, which I quickly learned. I pressed Lady Min to bring me more—the advanced books that only scholars read, the ones the Taewŏn-gun didn’t want me to read. When she was able to get them to me, I devoured them. Though they were thick, dense books that few were supposed to understand, they were easy for me. I read each one from cover to cover three or four times. I carefully thought through the concepts and theories on Confucianism, Buddhism, Western philosophy, and logic. I wanted to discuss them with others, but I didn’t dare. I wanted to ask for more, but I had to be careful not to raise questions.

  One day, the palace assigned me a new guard, who replaced the one who had been with me since I had arrived at the palace. I was surprised at this because the guards I had seemed to me to be perfectly fine. The new guard’s name was Kyung-jik Kim. He was tall and handsome and had a strong square jaw. I asked my sergeant of the guard why they had assigned Kyung-jik to my staff. He replied that the palace did it as a favor to Minister Kim. “You see, Majesty,” the sergeant said, “Kyung-jik is the minister’s nephew.”

  I remembered when Minister Kim had visited me in my quarters two years earlier and warned me not to trust anyone. The walls have ears, he had said. Perhaps the guard that Kyung-jik replaced was one of the ears in the walls. Perhaps Minister Kim had assigned Kyung-jik to me because he was someone I could trust.

  That is, if I could trust the minister. I had tried to forget about his late-night visit to examine the tapestry with the two-headed dragon. I had not heard from him since that day and had decided to dismiss his musings about the tapestry—and me—as those of an old man’s overactive imagination. But I had no one else to trust. And more than once when I was exhausted from my studies and my eyes grew heavy, I thought I heard the two-headed dragon trying to speak to me. I would open my eyes and look at the tapestry. I sensed that something important was at hand and that somehow, I would play a critical role. And if I did, I would need help. I decided that I should trust Minister Kim and his nephew, the handsome, square-jawed guard Kyung-jik.

  Eventually I tired of reading the classics, and one day on a pleasant walk in the pine forest near Mount Bukhansan, I told Lady Min I wanted to learn about Japan. She was surprised and asked why. As we strolled and took in the fresh pine air under the gray granite mountain, I replied, “The Taewŏn-gun and the Yis are using the Japanese to move away from China. We, the Mins, need to know about the Land of the Rising Sun for when our opportunity comes.”

  Lady Min glanced at our guards to make sure they were out of earshot. Then she whispered, “Yes. That is the right thing to do. We will have to be careful. My husband will not look favorably on you knowing too much about Japan. He has questioned me on how I am helping you, but I have revealed nothing. I will talk with Mister Euno in private and have him visit you straight away.” We continued to stroll through the pines and said nothing more about it.

  A short while after we got back to the palace, Mister Euno came to my quarters alone. When he arrived at the door of my new study, he took off his hat and bowed, exposing his topknot. I let him stay bowed for a while. By now I had become comfortable with everyone bowing to me and was learning how to use my position to my advantage. Finally I said, “You may sit here, by my table.” He sat on a cushion in front of me.

  I had only seen Mister Euno occasionally since that day I had sent him away. When necessary, I willingly submitted to his training to handle a delicate diplomatic situation. Though I depended on him, I never trusted him. I remembered how he looked and dressed like the Japanese diplomats who pressed us to open trade with them. I remembered how he beat me with his switch before I was queen. And there was a mysterious side to Mister Euno, too. He was secretive and clever. He always listened to everyone and everything, yet he never gave his own opinion or said anything unless someone asked him. Then he would choose his words carefully, never revealing too much. Sometimes on an early morning stroll, I would see him in a courtyard, dressed in a white keikogi robe with a long black belt, practicing the movements and techniques of the Japanese samurai. I was surprised at the small man’s grace and speed. I wondered why a diplomat like him felt it necessary to practice the military arts.

  Sitting in front of me now, Mister Euno asked how he could be of service. To be higher than him, I sat at my writing table on several cushions with gold tassels. I said, “As you know, I have been studying the classics so that I can be most helpful to the government as queen. I must say, the books are difficult and I don’t understand them.”

  “You are too modest, Majesty,” Mister Euno said. “But do not be concerned. They are teachings only a few truly understand.”

  I scoffed to myself at this. I did not see what was so difficult about the concepts that “only a few” could understand. They were easy for me. But I didn’t want Mister Euno to know, so I said, “Yes. We should leave the understanding to scholars instead of a silly young woman like me. But it is my duty, so I do my best with them as I should.”

  “It is good that you do, Majesty.”

  “Mister Euno, I was thinking,” I said. “These books are all in Chinese. It seems that everything is from China. But surely, your people, the Japanese, have scholarly books as well. Shouldn’t I study them, too?”

  Though he was always careful not to express an emotion, I saw a sparkle in his eyes and his long mustache lift a little. “Majesty,” he said, “you are very wise. It is true; there is much you can learn from Japan. I, myself, am a Kokugaku scholar.”

  “Kokugaku scholar?” I exclaimed. “That sounds impressive. Tell me, what is a Kokugaku scholar?”

  “We believe in the Japanese way, Majesty,” he said, lifting his chin. “We seek to—how shall I say?—distance ourselves from China. We study the Japanese classics instead.”

  “The Japanese way,” I repeated. “That is interesting. Why have I not heard of this before?”

  “It is new, Majesty, and perhaps a little controversial.” There was a slight hardening in Mister Euno’s jaw. “But I believe it is the true way for Japan.”

  I stood and pretended to study one of the fancy watercolor scrolls that they had hung in my new quarters. “Your Kokugaku teachings sound like they are too difficult for me, but I want to try to learn them anyway. I assume I will need to learn more Japanese, too. You will help me. In the mornings, as we used to do.”

  “Yes, Majesty,” Mister Euno said from his cushion.

  I turned to him. “Japan and Korea are neighbors. We should be closer allies. I believe this is a good course of action for me. Do you agree?”

  “I do, Majesty,” Mister Euno replied.

  I sat at my desk again. “Good. We will begin tomorrow morning. That is all.”

  Mister Euno bowed, put his top hat over his topknot and left my study.

  The next morning, I awoke earlier than usual. It was cold outside, and a strong wind blew from the north. My servants had closed the walls tig
ht against the wind and had stoked the flame in the firebox outside to warm my quarters through the ondol heating ducts under the floor. I sat at my desk waiting for Mister Euno. I was excited to learn something new instead of reading the same books I had studied for the past few years. I was especially keen on learning about Japan, our neighbor less than one hundred miles across the Korea Strait. The Japanese had always fascinated me, but like most Koreans, I distrusted them. They had invaded our country many times during our history, burned our homes, and looted our land. Although the Taewŏn-gun had improved relations with Japan, they were becoming more aggressive to their neighbors in Asia. It was rumored the young Emperor Meiji was modernizing the military.

  Mister Euno did not come at his usual time, which concerned me. In the time I knew him, he had never once been late. After I had waited for a while, Han-sook came in. She bowed and said, “There is a messenger here from the Taewŏn-gun.”

  “Let him in,” I said.

  The messenger came in. “Majesty,” he said from a bow, “the Taewŏn-gun wishes to see you in his quarters.”

  “Now?” I asked.

  “His Excellency says as soon as it is convenient for you. I have been ordered to escort you.”

  “What does His Excellency want?” I asked.

  “I was not told, Majesty.”

  I waved a hand at him. “No matter. I cannot possibly see him this morning. I have an appointment.”

  “Majesty,” the messenger said, “if it is Mister Euno you expect, I was told to tell you he will not come.”

  “He isn’t coming?” I said. “Hmmm. Well, I suppose then I shall see the Taewŏn-gun.”

  Han-sook helped me put on an outer robe, and I followed the messenger across the main courtyard to the Taewŏn-gun’s quarters. The regent’s residence was smaller than mine and simpler, too, which somehow made it more impressive. The messenger took me to the Taewŏn-gun’s personal study and a guard showed me in. My father-in-law sat on the floor doing calligraphy. Spread before him on a low table were ink bottles and pots with brushes sticking out. A large sheet of paper rested on the desk in front of him. My father-in-law had a reputation as an expert calligrapher. He spent hours on it each day, and his finest pieces were on display throughout the palace.