Chapter Text
The caste system in 17th century Korea was not complex.
Every baby knew the basics by the time they were four, every 12 year old had written at least 2 essays on it, and every one in the entirety of Korea had the rules imprinted in their brains.
Wonwoo had grown up singing the rhyme,
“The five classes, levels apart,
Know your place, know your part,
The Yangbans, rich, mighty and strong,
The Chungins, proud, educated, never wrong,
The Sangmins, 'clean' and ready to serve
The Cheonmins, 'dirty', getting what they deserve
and then the Baekjeong, well, we mustn't look
for every glance, step, and word is their life took"
The actual royal family only consisted of a few members in the kingdom of Baekje, and therefore, the next in command were the Yangbans. Yangbans were treated practically as highly as royalty, and were incredibly respected. These were rich aristocrats and bureaucrats who held high positions in the monarchy. They were feared as well as respected, as they were known to treat the lower castes poorly.
The Chungins were highly educated, skilled workers and administrators who helped the Yangbans and the royal family in their work. They were also respected, but also took on the role of commoners in certain situations, like when it came to taxes, or rations.
The Sangmins and Cheonmins were both the commoners, with minor differences in treatment, the former considered ‘clean’, and the latter ‘dirty’. The Sangmins, however, were the foundation of the Joseon dynasty, and the farmers belonging to this caste were relied upon throughout the kingdom. The Cheonmins had the lowest social status, and took on jobs like stool cleaners, and shoe shiners, who usually only worked for people of slightly higher status. Some Cheonmin were taken by Yangbans or royalty to do dirty housework at their palaces.
As for the Baekjeong, they were the ‘untouchables’. The Baekjeong were considered feral, and diseased, and were avoided. They usually had jobs like dogcatchers, and sewage cleaners, and were looked down upon. A Baekjeong was not even supposed to make eye contact with a royal, let alone speak or interact in any way, and the punishments given out by the higher status were severe, based on the offence. Rumor has it that Baekjeong were not even allowed to cross the shadow of a higher caste man.
The Yangbans were especially cruel to the Baekjeong. They would give out punishments for just an accidental glance at their eyes, ranging from 20 slashes of a whip against their back, to hanging from the town centre’s tree by his arms, naked.
Wonwoo had always been told stories by his favorite handmaiden. When he was very young, while the handmaiden would brush his hair, and set out his clothes, and make sure he brushed his teeth properly, Wonwoo would hear a traumatic story every day, about a poor lower caste citizen, who was beaten to death, or who had all their property taken away, or who had been publicly humiliated as punishment.
Wonwoo listened to these stories with more fascination than repulsion. In his heart of hearts, he knew that these acts use of power were unfair, but he had grown up listening to these stories, and by one point they seemed almost normal. Like it was okay to kill a Baekjeong for talking to a royal.
As Wonwoo grew older, he stored away the thoughts of the Baekjeong injustices to the corner of his mind, as he quickly learned that the rest of his family, and the other families in the neighborhood were devout believers in the punishment system. For a while, he accepted the apparent normalcy of this behavior, and shrugged it off. Since he never had encountered a Baekjeong yet, he supposed it didn’t matter much yet, and he would deal with it when the time comes.
The only person, it seemed, who understood his musings, was his best friend Soonyoung. Son of another Yangban, Soonyoung met Wonwoo at a banquet held by his parents. Wonwoo was already made aware on the day of the banquet that there would a boy of his age present, and they became fast friends on that day itself. Wonwoo’s mother playfully grumbles that they have been inseparable since, partially due to the lack of other children in their area, but mostly due to their unexpected harmony of characters. Soonyoung understood the injustices, but was far more vocal about it. Soonyoung complained daily to his parents, who often asked him to leave the house while they cooled down after the arguments became particularly heated. At sixteen years old, Soonyoung was already determined to become a lawyer to save the poor lower caste people from their unavoidable, unfortunate fates.
Wonwoo belonged to a family of purelined Yangban. His mother had been of the highest of the Yangban status, and always commented on the fact that she had lowered herself slightly to marry a man who was a fraction below her in status. His father did not particularly take offense to such statements, he simply accepted the fact that he was lesser than his wife, and since they both loved each other, he didn’t really mind the comments, which were anyway usually made in good humor. However, the pure family tree made it hard for Wonwoo to even consider a future with someone outside his own caste.
Not that he thought about it much. Marriage had never been a factor he ever considered when it came to future plans – he doesn’t think he has every properly flirted with a girl. Soonyoung always teases him for that.
For as long as he can remember, Wonwoo had always been reminded proudly of his status. If he threw a tantrum, "You are a Yangban, act like it". If he received high marks for a test, "Good job Wonwoo, a Yangban must always be the best", even if he excused himself to bed, "A Yangban needs his beauty sleep."
Not that Wonwoo particularly minded, but now he would never forget it. Waking up, eating breakfast, picking an outfit, walking, running, hopping, swimming, all was to be done like a Yangban. Yangban's kept their head held high at all times, never conceded to another, wasn't clumsy, and was regal. But most importantly, Yangban's never spoke to a lower caste unless absolutely necessary. Chungins were marginally liked, Sangmins were tolerated, and Cheonmins were snarled upon. As for Baekjeong, well, they were lucky to even catch a glimpse of the footstep of a Yangban.
Wonwoo could say he was satisfied with his life. As a royal, he lived a life of comfort, a handmaiden always by his side, feeding him the best food, clothing him in the most expensive robes, rocking him to sleep on satin bedsheets. He received the best education, as the most skilled teachers in Korea taught all the young boys of Baekje, and he had all the books he wanted to read in a personal library. His parents were lovely, and would look out for him at all times, making sure he never ran into trouble and always got what he wanted. He made friends with the few other boys and girls living in neighboring (three miles apart) palaces, and was hardly ever absolutely lonely.
Wonwoo was always the "good little boy" of the Yangban community. He was the young man who was the apple of every young Yangban girl’s eye, the hidden envy of every prince, the desire of every mother for her family. He never put a finger in the wrong direction, and always thought before he spoke. He was extremely self-conscious, due to his upbringing, as his mother had always taught him to be careful with his words and actions, because his every move was watched, and his every mistake was recorded. That was the way a Yangban’s life operated.
He was also the only heir to the throne. Growing up without siblings, his parents always made sure that he was protected at all times, and was never faced in the path of danger. He had befriended his two bodyguards, Dongbin and Seyong, over the seventeen years of his heavily guarded life, and joined them for coffee daily. However, Wonwoo wasn’t always comfortable with having two helicopters hovering over his shoulders with every step he made. He often complained to his parents, who firmly refused to change their stance, stating that it was for his own benefit and well being that the two bodyguards were assigned to him. She would always caress his face in the end, making him feel guilty for eve having voiced his thoughts in the first place, and would tell him, “I just wants what’s ultimately the best for you” and that was that. He was always one to bottle up his feelings, because ‘it didn’t matter to anybody else’.
Unconsciously, one day, Wonwoo found a kind of loophole.
-
"Eomma! I know what I want for my birthday"
Panting, with sweat beading on his forehead, it was evident that Wonwoo had ran all the way from his quarters to the main dining room. His mother was very particular about punctuality, and had designated meal times for the family, so Wonwoo found himself awkwardly staring at the scandalized eyes of his parents, already seated at the dining table.
"Er, sorry", Wonwoo rushed to his place at the table, where his plate was immediately heaped with breakfast, steaming coffee pushed right under his nose, causing him to flinch.
Wonwoo's mother wiped her mouth with a napkin, "Well, that was quite an entrance. Please be a little calmer while entering the dining hall. You know how a Yangban should carry themselves. And quit panting, you sound like a dog."
Wonwoo drank a gulp of coffee, trying his hardest not to roll his eyes, and took a breath.
"Since I am turning eighteen, and it’s such a significant milestone in my life, I want to go to the village for my birthday"
His mother smiled with a hint of confusion in her eyebrows, "That's… simpler than I expected. It shall be arranged immediately, we will call Dongbin and-"
"I want to go alone"
The smile slid right off his mother's face. Wonwoo had prepared himself for the reaction, and braced himself for the impending lecture.
"Wonwoo," his mother started in her 'I disapprove' voice, "do you understand the underlying implications of what you are suggesting? You are basically telling us that you don't mind being in the face of danger, you're ready to give up your status, you're ready to give up everything you have worked for up to this point, everything-"
"Eomma, please, it's only one day, I'll even wear plainclothes and everything, I won't talk to many people, it will be fine"
"It won't just be 'fine', Wonwoo, what if someone recognises you?"
"Eomma, it's not that bad, nothing will happen, I-"
"What do you mean nothing will happen, how can you predict that nothing will happen, I can think of a thousand things that can happen-"
"Oh yeah? What’s the worst, tell me one"
"Jeon Wonwoo!"
"That is absolutely enough", Wonwoo's father slammed his hands on the table. The sound resonated throughout the room. Rubbing his forehead, he continued, "Younghee, he is old enough to go out for one day, I'm sure Wonwoo has shown enough responsibility for one day?" Wonwoo could see the shavings of a smirk on his father’s face and grinned.
Wonwoo's mother frowned.
"Fine. But only for a couple of hours. If you're not back before sundown, you are grounded for a month, I don't care if it's your birthday or not. And there are rules. No excessive chitchat, no offering money or services, no excessive shopping, no petting cows, and most importantly, avoid- ”
“Avoid Baekjeong. Yes, eomma, I know, it’s not like you don’t remind me every day.”
“You watch your tone, Jeon Wonwoo. Bad enough I am letting you go on this unorthodox excursion so don’t push it. Oh lord, this is going to be the biggest mistake of my life, isn’t it.” Wonwoo’s mother fanned herself, pinching the bridge of her nose with her other hand.”
“Oh don’t be so dramatic, Younghee” Wonwoo’s father sighed exasperatedly, “Have some faith in yourself, as well as our son, and we have taught him well. He should know how to handle himself”. Although the statement was made almost offhandedly, Wonwoo acknowledged the pointed stare with it’s underlying threat – don’t cross the line, or he would be in trouble.
“Don’t worry”, Wonwoo plastered a bright smile on his face, “I will be just fine, and I won’t do anything wrong. I promise.” He hoped, dear god, he hoped.
--
Perhaps the wish was a little silly, but nobody seemed to understand how much that apparently ‘inconsequential’ trip meant to Wonwoo. To him, it was his first grasp of proper freedom, being able to do what he wanted for a few blessed hours, without having to look over his shoulder slyly to make sure his bodyguards weren’t watching. A shiver rippled through his body at the mere thought.
This was probably the most excitement Wonwoo had felt since he was six years old and met his best friend Soonyoung for the first time. Wonwoo remembers his heart beating fast, elated at the prospect of having a friend exactly his age live in the palace next to his. Soonyoung and Wonwoo had contrasting interests and personalities, but they clicked from day one. A similar pace of his heartbeat was thrumming away, a taste of freedom on his lips. From the front gates of the palace, where he made the last adjustments - a tightening of a shoelace, a smoothening of a wrinkle - Wonwoo could see the main road leading to the village, a small spot of vibrant color in the distance. Wonwoo had chosen to make his journey by foot, reasoning that the one in a lifetime opportunity to see the dazzling scenery at his own pace must not be wasted on the speed of a horse.
As he made the first few steps out of the gates alone, he took a deep breath. This was it. This was the new phase of his life. Who knows what the difference would be, going without two shadows behind him? Would the entire experience be different? Would it be as boring as it always had been with Dongbin and Seyong behind him, leaving him no space to breathe properly? Who knew, certainly not him.
But it was better. Better, better than he had imagined. Every individual sight seemed to have been magnified tenfold, now that he had the time and energy to drink in all of them. He took his own sweet time to bask in the sun, feeling the energized air get closer and closer, as he walked towards the village.
Every little fruit on the trees, every flower, every multi-colored leaf, Wonwoo wanted to imprint the image on the backs of his eyelids, it was possible he would never see them so close up again, unguarded, and at his own will. Wonwoo recognized the singing robins that perched on his windowsill in the mornings, and felt the urge to touch their vibrant bellies. A lump formed in his throat when he thought of seventeen years wasted on him. His bodyguards had morals of practicality and efficiency; they never let Wonwoo spend even one more minute than what was necessary doing an errand, or returning from a ball, or banquet. His mother was even worse. She disapproved of any activity that occurred outside of the palace grounds. Simple pleasures were never enjoyed in its time, and Wonwoo held back tears, thinking of all the fruits he could have plucked, all the songs he could have heard, all the sights he could have seen in all these years. In that moment, he cursed his mother.
The village was even more wonderful, with people bustling with crates of food in their arms, stacks of books, and jars of candy. Every next step brought about a tiny burst of joy in his heart. Little children ran through the adults' legs, hiding in the smallest crevices, their laughter all mixed up in unison. There were dress shops, full of ribboned creations, bakeries with the most homely aromas, and bookstores Wonwoo could have sworn he had never seen before on his previous trips. He could only stare, wondering how he could have missed this plethora of small wonders all of these years. Wonwoo had only previously, rarely, come to the village on a tight agenda, either to deliver a package or invitation, or to buy expensive clothes or jewels his mother did not trust the palace maids with. Wonwoo barely had had time to acknowledge his surroundings and had left each time as soon as he had arrived. He also had not wanted anyone to acknowledge his presence, or recognize him.
At the time, Wonwoo had felt very important. He never questioned why he had to keep his identity a secret, but he assumed it would be something to do with him being a sort of celebrity, being a Yangban. He would put on little airs, and would never hold eye contact with any of the storeowners, imitating his mother as he had seen her do. Looking back, he seemed quite foolish, and Wonwoo was ashamed at the person he was. He made up his mind that this trip to the village would be the start of a whole new Wonwoo, with nothing holding him back.
He made almost a beeline to the bookstore, a push of the front door bringing a near melancholy feeling; he had missed the smell of new books and ink. Although he had a huge library back at the palace, the books were all old and used, and he had never experienced the unique joy of picking and choosing a specific book to buy and add to his collection. An involuntary smile spread across his face as he bowed down to greet the store owner.
"Good morning, sir, I haven't seen you around here before, are you new to the area?"
Wonwoo hesitated. He wasn't sure he wanted his name known, he had forgotten what his mother had taught him about encountering these kind of situations, but then again, he probably would not be recognized very quickly, as he was not royalty.
"Good morning. This is my first time coming to the village. My name is, uh, Wonwoo."
"Oh, this is your first time?" Wonwoo exhaled a sigh of relief, the owner had not picked up on his name
"Well, it's a very homely place here", the owner continued, "and you will feel welcome in no time. Can I interest you in a book?"
Wonwoo amused himself for the next two hours perusing through book after book, only stopping to curiously gaze at each interesting customer entering the store. It had been so long since he could just watch other people in this manner, with no inhibitions, regality, or self-conciousness. After all, nobody here seemed to pick up on the fact that he was a Yangban yet, and he had intentionally dressed in his older clothes in order to disguise his appearance. He had regretfully forgotten to bring any money with him, so he contented himself with running his fingers through the hard spines of the novels, making promise after promise to himself to return soon.
Wonwoo wandered around the twisting paths of the village, enjoying himself thoroughly, stopping to talk to the kind baker's wife, the florist's children, petting the potter's dog. His birthday was turning out to be quite the adventure, with the sights that should have been synonymous with his childhood being made aware to him seventeen years later.
For the umpteenth time that day, he made a resolution to himself. He would come here again. Alone.
--
Wonwoo, at exactly half past five, decided that he needed to start on his journey back home if he didn’t want to hear another sermon from his mother. Recounting all the experiences from that day, he had a smile on his face as he walked back to the palace leisurely. He took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet scent of the fresh air around him, feeling like he missed the village bustle already.
Wonwoo was so drawn by a special song of the myna bird that he almost missed the figure bent over on the side of the road. Squinting his eyes, he made out the figure to be a boy around his age, and on further glance, the boy appeared to be wincing. All sorts of questions ran through Wonwoo's brain as he ran the remaining distance to reach the boy. Who was this boy? Was he hurt? Where does he live? How did he get hurt?
On reaching him, Wonwoo saw that the boy was cradling his ankle, and had not noticed Wonwoo reaching him.
“Hey”, Wonwoo began apprehensively, “Are you okay? Do you need help?”
The boy’s head snapped up at the sound of his voice, and Wonwoo took a wary step back at the sight of the pure fear in the boy’s eyes. The boy looked terrified, of what, Wonwoo didn't know. He briefly regretted not looking at his reflection on one of the store's windows before he left, wondering if his hair was all scruffed and his eyes had dark circles, making him look like some sort of feral monkey.
“Please don’t kill me!”
Wonwoo was genuinely confused. He was only trying to help the boy move out from the main road to avoid impending vehicles, and possibly help him go near his house, as it clearly looked as if he couldn’t do it on his own. And wasn't murder a little too far. Stranger danger was one thing, but this was a little offensive. Wonwoo reached out to hold his shoulder.
“What? I just want to-”
The boy slapped his hand away, which would have made Wonwoo feel hurt, if he had not noticed that the intention was not rude, but out of unadulterated terror looming in the boy’s dark eyes.
Wonwoo wanted to snap at him like he would usually do in such a situation, but something made him falter. Maybe it was the boy's voice, or the sudden urgency in his movements, or the way he seemed to unconsciously face away from Wonwoo.
“I’ll go away! Please don’t do anything”
Almost as if the boy remembered something, he covered his eyes with his hands and looked away.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I won’t- I’ll go, please don’t hurt me”
Wonwoo didn’t know what to say, and his mouth moved soundlessly, as he watched the boy struggle to get to his feet, and without another word, or glance, he ran as fast as he possibly could with the injured foot through the woods on one side of the road.
“Wait!” Wonwoo found his voice, and called out, “You can't run on that… foot.”
His voice trailed off, as the boy was already just a small, hobbling fleck in the darkness of the woods. Wonwoo was bewildered. He was hurt, in a way. He had never encountered a person who flatly refused any help that Wonwoo offered. He had never had anyone seem to be afraid of him. He replayed the boy’s strange words in his head
Please don’t hurt me
Please don’t kill me
Until it hit him, all at once.
The boy was a Baekjeong. An untouchable.