"A mother only wants a son who will make her shine." – Queen Yoo
There once were three brothers...
...one died for power
When So enters the world, squalling and kicking, Yo hates him.
Later he realizes he does not need to—there is no danger that So would ever eclipse him in their mother's eyes—but it is too late, too late.
His mother takes his face between her hands and says, you were born to be king. This means that there is never any need for him to be soft-hearted, never any need for him to care for those beneath him. This means that misery in the rich and poor is something only to be used. Yo has seen his mother smile, but rarely has he seen her love. Smiles need not match with happiness; they are better used to other ends.
Only Wang Mu stands in his way. A poet more than a warrior; he should have been a humbler nobleman. Yo thinks, he should have been beneath me.
The others do not matter. Jung is his blood-brother; Jung he does not hate; Jung has his mother's affection but Yo has the full engagement of her mind. They are conspirators; Jung will only ever be her child.
So will never be anything at all.
From his father, Yo learns that nothing lasts forever. That every hole in a dam stopped up cannot be rested upon; another trickle of the sea will find its way in, and the dam will crumble down.
From his father, Yo learns that even the greatest must keep their eyes watchful for the strike of the enemy.
From his mother, Yo learns how to strike.
...one died for lost love
Golden children never know who they are until their sun is setting. Jung grows up happy, surrounded by brothers, favored by the occasional distant smile of the king, warmed always by his mother's love. Jung dreams of leading armies, practices his punches and kicks in the village grounds. Jung lives for the thrill of knuckles split for a good cause.
Jung lives.
Being loved only leads to pain when that love is imperfect. Loving, on the other hand—there need be no fault for it to cut open the heart. He learns this from the tragedies he finds in his own family, from the first time he realizes that the son with only half a face and less a smile is no son at all to their mother.
Jung loves his brother, though he only seems to know it every time his brother leaves. He loves his mother, though it sometimes brings him pain.
This is growing up.
Hae Soo, Jung loves not as a boy, but as a man.
No one ever seems to realize that. And the man in him must bear it, even while the sun is setting.
...and one greeted death like an old friend
The Kangs of Shinju could have killed him a dozen ways, if So was the kind to let himself be killed by anyone. He picks up a new scar every week, some fade, most do not. He feels little more than the tatters of skin and soul, but if his mother taught him anything, it was how to wield a blade so that no one would forget it.
So that no one could forget him.
But life brings him more than scars. When pain is all there is to know, it can be carried. When joy comes in between, memory makes the future near intolerable.
If Gwangjong is a good king, he will never know it. No scrolls will be written for his eyes, to compare him to monarchs before and after. If he is just, it is because he knew injustice. If he is wise, it was because his own broken pride robbed him of the last of happiness. If he rules long—
And there is the trouble. For he only lived by surviving, and survivors never know when to die.
But when his time comes, it is not the fearful end that took his mother, his brothers, that nipped at his heels through youth and manhood.
It is only this: the best of his brittle hopes blossoming before his closing eyes, and Hae Soo's voice, and then darkness closing clear across the sun.