You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.

- Mary Oliver

Let our scars fall in love.

- Galway Kinnell

i.

Ha Jin could find many griefs in her current life, if only she went looking for them.

Here is one she does not have to go looking for: her mother.

She remembers the stone altars, and how her hands trembled when she folded them to pray for someone who hadn't even been born yet. She feared him there, at first, though she wouldn't admit it. After, she forgave him there.

It wasn't so far from a snowfall, and every other kind of fall that followed.

But: her mother. Her mother doesn't understand why Ha Jin lay still as death for six months, and then woke suddenly and inexplicably, and became obsessed with an ancient history museum. She understands better, perhaps, why Ha Jin would want to work for the textile industry—fashion is at least connected, in some way, to her prior career as a makeup artist.

Still, a mother's worries never cease. "Are you sure you're well, yet?" She tucks a lock of Ha Jin's hair behind her ear with a gentle finger. "You seem so restless, since you…woke up."

Came back, Ha Jin thinks. In the mirror over her mother's shoulder, she marvels again at how she looks so young.

Her leg doesn't hurt here. It was never twisted in a vise. She was never under false suspicion of poisoning a prince, in this world.

(He still had the scar. The scars.)

"I'm just glad to have a new job, Omma. I'm…excited." And she is, but not in a way her mother would understand.

Her first week of work is largely uninteresting. She is somewhere half between a secretary and a maid—answering phones, fetching coffee, guiding visiting tycoons to sumptuous offices that float many stories above the grime of the city streets. She keeps her ears pricked; she watches Ji Mong like a fox whenever she sees him fast, just in case he has some message to convey to her.

He never does.

So. The week passes, and then Ha Jin gets her orders. A whole batch of the assistants do; they are assigned to waitress a private family dinner that Wang Taejo is hosting for his sons, the Hwangbos, and the young blood of his most trusted (current and former) business partners.

Ha Jin thinks of Goryeo, the exorcism ritual, the passing of masks. She accepts her assignment with a nod and a quick, flat smile.

The night of the dinner, the three connected conference rooms on floor fifteen of the Wang-Hwangbo building are opened into one long, tunneling space. The internal walls fold away and bouquets tables laden with canapes and cocktails are arranged. Hours beforehand, Ha Jin and the other assistances are given simple black dresses to wear. They are snug-fitting, dipping low in the back.

Every world has its court ladies, seemingly.

She doesn't see Woo Hee, in the chosen group. She does see Chae Ryung.

"So this is how you know Baek Ah," Chae Ryung remarks, with a slightly-too-sweet smile.

Ha Jin decides it is in her best interest to feign a huff. "What of it?" Already, there are too many lies.

Ha Jin hopes they won't overtake her.

ii.

Yeon Hwa once poured a glass of merlot over a man's head at dinner without getting a single drop on her cream-colored Chanel suit.

The man in question was not Wang Yo, but she recalls the incident pointedly when his hand drifts to her lower back for the third time in thirty minutes.

"What are you doing?"

His lips brush her ear. He smells like sin, bottled in amber glass and sold for some ostentatious amount of money. "Irritating your brother."

Across the room, Wook looks unaffected to all but the most discerning eye. Yeon Hwa, possessor of that eye, can see the compressed line of his mouth. She pushes Yo away, raking her nails over the fine-woven sleeve of his burgundy suit. "Stop it, damn you. I can make Wook angry on my own."

"Do you want to?"

At the moment, she's more angry at herself. They've been milling about, waiting for the call to meeting, with Wang Taejo nowhere to be seen. As such, the worst and sharpest of family and inter-family dynamics have made their appearance.

So hasn't even looked in their direction, hasn't been jealous in the least. Yeon Hwa, for her part, has been stealing far too many glances at the devastating lines of his black suit. Whatever Wang So's estrangement from Yo, they must share the same tailor—everything is fitted within an inch of its life.

So has spoken to Baek Ah, Wook, and has tried to speak to his mother. That last was painful to watch, even though Yeon Hwa couldn't hear a word they said.
Yo still watches her, and she wrenches her eyes from So, too late.

"Aish," Yo says quietly. "Am I second-best to him, after all this time? You'd rather have the carved-up gutter rat."

To defend So in this moment is to give herself away. Yeon Hwa is always careful with herself.

"You always want to be first in everyone's estimation," she tells Yo, going on offense instead. "Even though nobody but yourself is first in yours."

His fingers close, vise-like around hers. He has his mother's eyes, impossibly dark and often deadly. "Are you very sure about that?"

Wook is making his way towards them. Yo drops her hand and assumes his usual mocking smirk. There's no depth to it. He salutes Wook and then fades off into the crowd.

Wook opens his mouth to speak and Yeon Hwa just…can't do it. Not tonight. She takes her fate into her own hands, whether it looks desperate or not, and marches towards So.

For all that he hasn't made a single effort to greet her, he smiles.

"Yeon Hwa."

"It's been a long time," she says tightly.

"Yes." He looks ill at ease in this room, eyes constantly darting to the exits. "I had business elsewhere."

"But you're needed here," she tells him. Tempted to put a hand on his arm, but Yo did that a moment ago to her and she doesn't want to acknowledge that it meant something. "We're glad to see you."

"You are, maybe," So tells her. "Thank you." Then he stops still, eyes narrowing.

Swiftly, Yeon Hwa follows his gaze.

And there, across the room pouring tea, is the girl who was on Wook's arm at the museum tradeshow.

iii.

She's here again, crossing his path and setting all his senses ablaze. It isn't fair, but nothing is ever fair in life, and therefore So spares little thought to that.

No, he's far more interested in who is truly behind this girl's mysterious appearances: who would know that he had gone to Baek Ah's, who would know Park Soo-kyung's name, who would know that leadership in the company would soon be shifting.

So fights with his fists; he has no stomach for politics.

Across the room, Yo laughs at something their mother says.

The whiplash of isolation has descended upon So countless times; he has already felt it twice tonight, when neither Yo nor their mother would greet him. He supposes this is his due, to be chasing down a shadow while they have already set their plans in motion.

Doubtless, this girl is one of Yo's.

(There was a model once. Yo met her in Paris, but she was from Jinan. It must have been five, six years ago? So came home, and nobody wanted him, but in a handful of moments he thought he saw something soften in Yo's face. The next time he returned, the girl from Jinan was gone.)

So doesn't know much. Never has, never will. His nerves sizzle to the outer edges of his skin, he can smell danger, he can break the wrist of a thrown punch by catching the fist in his hand and twisting sharply.

He doesn't know much, but he doesn't like to think that this girl is one of Yo's.

She has slipped into the hallway, no doubt helping prepare the room where Taejo will hold court.

Where everything will change, whispers in So's ear, but he shakes it away and hunts her down.

"You."

She lets out a startled cry as he catches her arm and spins her, back against the wall, out of sight around a corner.

"I told you," she whispers. "I'm on your side."

(Why was Yo laughing?)

"You're following me," he answers, not letting go of her arm. Her skin is soft to his touch. He aches, and he is angry, and the two are so often inextricable from each other. "You're a spy."

"I told you I was." She is different now than she was by the side of Baek Ah's pool, she is wearing more red on her mouth and charcoal around her eyes. "I told you I was here, to spy, and help you."

The meeting will start soon. He can't be late. He can't be anything except a bullet loaded and ready. He lets Ha Jin's arm go.

"Tell me," he says quietly, "One thing. Anything, that will really prove your help."

She glances, left, right, back at him. "You don't trust Yo," she says, "And you shouldn't. But you also shouldn't trust Wook. He'll strike when you're not expecting it."

Wook is unlike him in nearly every way. Collected and patient and beloved. In one way, though, they are the same:

Neither is ambitious.

Is that still the truth?

He swallows hard. Looking at Ha Jin's face, shining through its heavy makeup, does something to him that he cannot understand. It wakes some softness and some degree of complication that doesn't, he is sure, rightly belong to him.

"If you are wrong," he says fiercely, "You will regret the day you crossed my path."

She bites her lip. She says, "I won't regret that day."

Mu appears at the other end of the hall. He beckons So with a tilt of his chin. Something is about to happen, and there is no time.

So leaves her, and feels it in every step.

iv.

He trusts So. Mu, of course, is trusting by nature, but So has been like an open book to him ever since the doctor ask Mu to hold So's six-year-old hands away from his bleeding face.

"I did not mean to interrupt," he tells So now.

So thrusts his hands into his pockets, jaw set sharply. "You interrupted nothing."

That's a lie, but Mu doesn't press it. So's troubles, or not-troubles, with one of Wang-Hwanbo's endless stream of pretty assistants, is not the most important thing at the moment. "I could not bring myself to tell our father of our conversation," Mu says.

So flinches. "I…"

"Yes, I understand. You are still reluctant." Mu feels his skin prickle with anxiety. He needs So to step up, but it's not something he can order or demand. It is only something he can ask. "When he announces me as successor tonight, I will have to take up the reins. At least…at least for now."

"How much longer," So says, voice as cold as Yoo or Yo's, but eyes still tormented, "Do you really think our father has to live?"

It destroys Mu, to even think of it. To think of the person he loves most (and most imperfectly), laid to rest. But Taejo is not immortal. He never has been. "I don't know," he answers truthfully. "But he will want a clean transfer of power. He'll hand off to me, and then…"

"Me." So bites his lip. "You'll hand it over to me."

v.

Inside the room, the assistants file out with their heads bowed, having poured tea and pale liquor in squat, soap-bubble-thin glasses. Baek Ah is sorry to see them go, not for such a shallow reason as that they are beautiful women, but because without them, it is only the whole terrible hierarchy of his entire life, gathered around one table.

Eun and Jung are shifting uncomfortably to his right. On his left, Won is texting with his phone between his knees. Yo leans back, but his eyes are merciless in their surveillance. Wook rests calmly across from him, hands folded together.

So and Mu enter at the same time. So is only wearing a suit because Baek Ah called in some favors, and had one ready-made in black merino.

So, drawn tight as wire, sits down at the far end of the table. Mu joins his father at the head.

Yoo is here too, and so is Mrs. Hwangbo, who is as unshakeable as her two children. Baek Ah has never had much to do with Yeon Hwa, but his opinion of her is not much higher than his opinion of Wook.

Looking around this assembly, he finds himself thinking of vultures and eagles, and feels himself to be neither of these two.

Taejo looks almost deathly ill. His hand grips the lacquered edge of the table, and when he speaks, it is with effort. "You may wonder why everyone here is young," he said. "You may wonder where my vice-chairmen are, and my advisors."

There's a weighted silence.

Every single person in this room, Baek Ah thinks, is unhappy.

That is the reason he leaves.

Eun and Jung—and So—are the reasons he comes back again.

"You are all here," Taejo continues at last, "Because you are the company."

A ripple of conversation. Jung to Eun. Won to Yo.

Wook and So are stone-still and silent. Baek Ah does not know what to make of the parallel.

"I hope to hold out for a month," Taejo explains. "These things should be done properly. An announcement of my retirement—" Despite his frailty, Baek Ah notices that he is too proud to say why—"And my successor."

His eyes turn to Mu, and Baek Ah is certain of what comes next, until he isn't.

Wook stands up. Slowly, surely, as a snake might lift its head from endless coils. "Forgive me," he says, bowing formally to Taejo. "Before you make any pronouncements, daebu, there's something I have to bring to our attention. As a near-family, we have to be cautious."

"What is it?" Taejo is vexed, and, Baek Ah thinks, confused.

Yo is bone-white. His hands are fists, the signet ring on his middle finger winking darkly. Baek Ah suspects that Yo had planned to interrupt, and that Wook beat him to it.

(The world is changing.)

Wook taps his phone, and the screen on the far wall blinks to life. Everyone turns, jackknife-quick, but the only thing to do is watch.

In a second, shaky footage appears, then steadies into resolution. Baek Ah draws in a breath that is matched by everyone from Eun to Yeon Hwa. It's an image of Mu, on the phone.

"I'm going to tell him," he is saying. "I can't do this. It's not my dream, it never has been. I don't want the responsibility of a goddamn empire. I don't want—the whole thing's in shambles. The company has been driven into the ground."

The screen goes black. The silence is blacker.

Mu shoots to his feet, frantic. Tortured. "Abeoji…"

Baek Ah tightens his hands on the arms of his chair. This isn't his battle, but everything is their own war. Everything.

"It is my understanding," Wook says smoothly, before Mu can continue. Wook's lips are tipped down with concern. "It is my understanding that this has been leaked to the press. We have days, maybe. More likely—hours, before the stock prices drop."

Taejo splutters, and says nothing. It's too late. Whatever Wook was doing, he has done it. To call him a traitor is to expose Mu to further judgment; to call Mu a traitor is to play into Wook's hands. Or Yoo's, or Yo's, though neither of them seem to have prepared for this.

And most of all, Taejo cannot name Mu his successor, now. He can't choose a man who doesn't believe in what this room represents, what billions upon billions of won represent.

The market would never trust him.

He can't choose a traitor, which is what everyone will believe Mu to be.

Baek Ah drops his chin to his chest. He can't bear to see the pain on Mu's face. Who is Baek Ah, to judge him? He would have lived all his days in Namwon, if So hadn't needed him.

This isn't his dream, either.

"I understand that this is embarrassing." Wook's voice is still silky. He directs his next bow to Mu. "My apologies. I thought we should all be prepared."

If looks could kill, Wook would be dead from several directions. Mu is generally peaceable, but he looks like he'd like to throttle him.

Taejo's gray pallor has flushed to an unhealthy shade of purple. When he stands, he has to lean on both hands. "Well," he says. "If you want me to thank you, Hwangbo's son, you will not hear such words here."

Wook smiles, and waits.

Taejo's voice rises. "You all want it so much," he bellows, staring down the lot of them. Even Baek Ah feels the heat of his gaze. "You want to rule, every last one of you. Very well then. I accept." He lifts one hand from the table, a gesture of challenge. "Take it. Take it from him, you wolves. Take it from each other."

Then he collapses.