The morning court was heavy with the scent of incense and tension. Inside Gyeonggukjeon, the seat of imperial affairs, ministers stood in two rows like stone statues, heads bowed. Golden screens lined the chamber, catching the morning light in liquid ripples. Eunuchs stood still. Silent as shadows.
Among the gathered officials was Yi Seungho, Chief Royal Secretary, a man known as much for his sharp mind as his colder smile. Barely in his twenties, he stood tall and poised, with narrow black eyes and a face too calm to be trusted. His phoenix-embroidered robes swept around him like storm clouds.
But Seungho was not at peace.
As the Minister of War began to present a report on the northern borders, Seungho flinched.
Whispers. Not from any man present, but others. Cold, restless murmurs danced at the edge of hearing, weaving between the ministers like invisible threads.
"Murderer…"
"He lied…"
"My son… give me justice…"
Seungho narrowed his eyes. Again.
"This always happens. Who did these councilors offend so badly that spirits follow them even into the throne room?" he thought, fighting the urge to massage his temples.
The Emperor, sitting in silent majesty atop the dais, watched. King Hyeonjong, a man in his mid-forties with a firm jaw, composed features, and a jade ornament in his topknot, raised a hand. His black dragon robes shimmered with gold threads. The murmuring ceased. The room bowed in silence.
"Chief Secretary Yi," the king said, his voice calm but edged. "Remain after the meeting. The rest may leave."
Bows were given, scrolls gathered. As the doors shut and the rustle of silk faded, it was only Seungho and the Emperor.
"What is going on in the Water Hall?" the King asked bluntly. "How many reports of ghostly disturbances have come from there now?"
Seungho stiffened, lips twitching at the irony.
Ah. Right. His Majesty doesn't believe in ghosts.
"Too many to ignore," Seungho replied with practiced diplomacy. "I will investigate personally."
Yi Seungho stood before the Emperor with his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes cast down in calm deference.
"See to it," said King Hyeonjong. "We cannot afford rumors. Not now."
Seungho bowed deeply.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
But as he left the court and stepped into the palace corridors, his composed mask cracked.
"See to it, he says," Seungho muttered, jaw clenched. "As if I enjoy being surrounded by ghosts whispering about their unfinished embroidery and beheadings."
The moment his shoes touched the path that led toward Water Palace Hall, a chill ran up his spine. The old wing had always unsettled him. Even as a boy, passing by it made his hair stand on end.
He paused beneath a gingko tree, glancing toward the faded tile rooftops in the distance.
"I'll send someone else."
A decision, not hesitation.
"Officer Nam," he called to a young guard hovering nearby.
The man bowed instantly. "Yes, Chief Secretary?"
"Take two men and investigate the disturbances in Water Palace Hall. Speak to the maids, collect any reports. Be thorough."
"Understood, sir."
"And if you see anything strange…" Seungho's eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me. Just write it in a report."
He turned on his heel and walked away without waiting for a reply.
---
Back at Water Palace Hall, the oldest and most neglected wing of the inner court, shadows pooled in corners where light dared not stay. The air smelled faintly of lotus roots and wet stone.
Chorae stopped scrubbing a lantern stand and looked around, squinting.
She could see them. Faint silhouettes moving behind pillars. Wisps of sleeves trailing along the walls. Silent mouths, eyes like smoke.
Ghosts.
Not angry, not terrifying—just there. The lingering shades of forgotten concubines and maids. Some braided their hair. Some sat in eternal tea ceremonies with empty cups.
"Ah… what an uneventful haunting," she thought, exhaling. "No curses, no floating heads, not even a tragic violinist. The only good thing about this place is the pay."
She leaned on her mop and narrowed her eyes at a spectral court lady adjusting her phantom jeogori in the corner.
"If you're going to haunt something, at least be dramatic about it," she muttered.
Outside the Grand Secretariat Hall
Yi Seungho had just begun reviewing the reports on ghost sightings—without reading a word—when the courtyard gates slammed open.
"Chief Secretary Yi!"
He looked up, annoyed. Officer Jo Myeong, flushed and panting, sprinted toward him, helmet askew.
"What now?" Seungho said with a sigh, straightening.
"It's—it's the Emperor's favored concubine! Something's wrong. Gravely wrong. The royal physician was summoned and—he can't identify what's afflicting her."
Seungho's eyes narrowed, the relaxed lines of his face hardening into focus.
"You—go inform His Majesty at once."
"Sir?"
"Do it." He was already moving, robes whipping behind him.
---
Meanwhile, in Water Palace Hall, Chorae was trying to bribe a ghost into helping her fold sheets.
"You used to be a court lady, didn't you?" she whispered, glancing at the translucent figure hovering near the laundry. "Come on, you probably did this for decades."
The ghost flickered once, then drifted off with an air of vague insult.
"Tch. Fine. Lazy in life, lazy in death."
She dropped onto a mat with a groan, arms aching, and stared at the painted ceiling where vines curled into dragons.
"Why does this place feel like it's full of secrets just waiting to pounce?"
Outside, wind stirred the bamboo screens. A crow cawed in the distance.
The sun beat lazily on the palace roofs, but a tension had begun to brew beneath the golden silence.
---
Water Palace Hall – Lunch Break
The sun filtered through gauzy paper windows. The scent of rice, stewed radish, and grilled fish lingered as maids sat in small circles, sharing food and chatter.
A cluster of them giggled near the courtyard wall, voices lowered—but not nearly enough.
"They say Lady Hae is coughing blood now… and that she can't even keep down water."
"The same thing that happened to that low-rank concubine last year—remember? She wasted away in three weeks and no one could tell why."
"They've tried incense, tonics, monks—nothing helped."
"And she's pregnant. The Emperor's child… almost due, too."
At a far end of the courtyard, Maeun scowled as she chewed her rice.
"Must they gossip about everything?"
Beside her, Chorae said nothing at first. But her fingers slowed around her chopsticks. Her gaze turned distant.
'An unidentifiable disease?' she thought.
"Welp," she said aloud, stuffing a piece of radish into her mouth, "has nothing to do with me."
"They say even her room smells like a rotting corpse," one maid whispered, eyes wide. "Her clothes, her sheets, everything reeks."
Chorae's head turned sharply.
'Rotten dead body?' she thought, her throat tightening.
Her lips curled into a strange, gleeful twist.
Her chopsticks paused mid-air.
"Now that's interesting," she murmured.
---
Concubine's Quarters – Inner Palace
The moment Yi Seungho stepped past the vermilion gate of the concubine's residence, he grimaced.
The stench hit him like a wall—foul, like meat left to rot in the summer sun. His hand lifted to cover his mouth, but it did nothing to keep out the bitter cold that slithered down his spine.
"Damned spirits," he muttered.
The inner court was too quiet. Palace maids lingered outside, whispering, none daring to step in.
He pushed open the chamber door.
"Lady Hae Seorin?"
There, reclined on her bedding, lay Hae Seorin, the emperor's treasured concubine.
Even in illness, her beauty was startling. Her skin, once porcelain-smooth, had dulled to a waxy pallor. Black hair lay tangled against the crimson silk pillows, and beads of sweat clung to her brow. Her lips, pale and cracked, trembled as if murmuring something unseen.
She was pregnant—heavily so—and one hand clutched her belly protectively.
A chill swept the room, unnatural and biting.
Yi Seungho's vision blurred for a moment, and then—
He heard it.
A voice not human.
"She must die..."
Seungho turned his head sharply.
"She must not be born."
It was a voice like wind and ash, echoing from every corner of the room, thick with venom.
"That child in your womb… and you will join her."
'This spirit is vengeful... and it's targeting the unborn child.' he thought.
Lady Seorin let out a weak gasp, her eyes fluttering open. She stared not at Seungho, but at something—someone—hovering near the shadowed corner of the chamber.