The capital wasn't what they imagined. Not by a long shot.
Cheon Sa and Min Ho had arrived with wonder in their eyes and hope in their hearts, marveling at the wide stone-paved roads, towering buildings adorned with fluttering silks, and the vibrant blend of voices that echoed through the winding alleys. The city felt like a dream at first. But now, as the sun dipped behind the tall roofs and the shadows of the capital grew longer, the glittering wonder had peeled away like old paint, revealing a city that was cold, unfeeling, and far too crowded to care.
Their stomachs churned with hunger, gnawing at them like wild dogs. They had spent the entire day wandering from shop to stall, asking for work, only to be waved away again and again. Every inn, tavern, and merchant house was already overrun with desperate men and women seeking the same thing: food, a roof, survival. The city had no space left for wanderers.
Even trying to draw water from a public well became a task of humiliation. A long line of residents stood with their own buckets. When Min Ho had stepped forward to ask for a turn, a man barked at him to "Where is your bucket!" The crowd's eyes had turned on them, some with annoyance, others with pity. Neither felt any better than the other.
"We should go," Cheon Sa had whispered, and they did, silently, defeated.
On their way they stumbled upon a small boy that darted out from a narrow alley, holding something close to his chest. It was a half-rotten ear of corn, maggots writhing on its surface. He had yanked it from a trash heap, shaken off the insects, and bolted into the shadows like a rat that knew better than to linger.
Cheon Sa and Min Ho exchanged glances.
Eventually, they stumbled upon a wide river, clean, glimmering under the dusk sky. It was the closest thing to salvation they had seen all day. But a large signboard nailed to a tree declared in bold letters: "No Drinking or Bathing. Penalty: One Silver or One Week in the Cell."
When Cheon Sa read the words out loud, Min Ho didn't hesitate. He seized Cheon Sa's hand and tugged him away with sudden urgency, as though the river itself had turned poisonous. To them, a single silver coin was the stuff of fantasy, something spoken of in moonlight tales. And the thought of sleeping in a prison cell, cold and watched, wasn't any more comforting. It struck them both in that instant how easily a small mistake could ruin everything.
Most wouldn't even have read the warning. Those who couldn't, who wandered close out of thirst or ignorance, might already have been dragged away, questioned by guards who didn't care to listen, accused of crimes they didn't understand. That could've been them. One wrong step, one misunderstanding, and they wouldn't just be punished, they could be exiled, thrown out of the city like stray dogs.
Min Ho didn't speak a word as he pulled Cheon Sa along the narrow path, but his grip said everything: We can't risk it. Not now. Not like this.
Now, as twilight blanketed the capital, they sat beneath a wooden footbridge on the edge of a busier part of the city. The air smelled of roasted grains and grilled meats, but it might as well have been a dream. Min Ho's breathing had grown shallow, ragged. He hugged his knees, trying to make himself smaller so the crowd stepping around them wouldn't step on him by accident.
Cheon Sa remained quiet, watching with concern. They have to keep going.
Min Ho gave a dry laugh. "Do you think if we drink from that river, they'll throw us in a cell and feed us at least?" he asked, resting his chin on his knees. His voice was thin, almost lighthearted, but Cheon Sa knew him too well, it was a desperate kind of joke.
Cheon Sa shook his head, solemn. "I don't know."
"I mean, Old Man Choi said the cells aren't great, but he didn't say anything about starvation. Could be better than out here."
Just then, a voice cut through the din of passersby.
"You two look like you've seen better days."
They looked up to see a boy, maybe a little younger than them, standing casually with his hands tucked behind his back. His robe was faded but intact, the color washed into dull greys and browns. His dark hair was bound into a ponytail while his bangs were tousled, as if wind-blown, and there was something in his eyes that gleamed not cruelty, not pity, but something sharper, more aware.
"I'm Dong Wook," he said, grinning. "I know every street, gutter, and shortcut in this place. You two aren't from here, you don't look like foreigners from across the sea either so I know you probably don't want to change your coins..."
"Yes! We've got some coins, we were hoping to find a place to change them," Min Ho burst out, cutting the boy off mid-sentence. His face lit up with unrestrained relief, eyes wide and shining, his grin stretching so eagerly it nearly reached his ears. It wasn't just about the coins, he was simply overjoyed that someone had finally spoken to them, noticed them, offered help without scorn. In that moment, Min Ho looked like someone who had been drowning and just spotted a rope hanging from the sky.
"Say no more," Dong Wook interrupted with a wave of his hand. "I know a guy who'll give you a fair rate. No cheating. No middleman nonsense."
Cheon Sa narrowed his eyes. Something about the boy felt too slick, too smooth. He stepped forward and whispered to Min Ho, "We should tell him it's old coinage, let him know what he's dealing with."
But Min Ho only smiled and shook his head. "We'll tell the exchanger. Not him. What if he changes his mind?"
Cheon Sa frowned. "You think he's doing this for free? There's always a cost. He'll want a tip." He whispered.
"We'll worry about that later. Let's get the coins changed first," Min Ho said brightly, already stepping forward.
Dong Wook raised a brow as he watched them whisper, then shrugged as if to say, Whatever makes you feel better. "You're lucky you met me. Half the money changers here will look at your coins and claim they're fake just to buy them cheap. I know the real deal."
Min Ho leaned in with a grin, whispering into Cheon Sa's ear, "You see? The heavens sent us a helper." His voice carried a lightness that hadn't been there all day, and for the first time in hours, he looked like a boy with something to believe in again. He turned eagerly to Dong Wook. "Let's go."
Cheon Sa didn't reply, but as he followed, his eyes never left the back of the stranger boy leading them. He still didn't trust Dong Wook, not with that too-casual smile, not with the way he seemed to know every crack in the pavement. But he couldn't ignore the hope flickering in Min Ho's eyes, like a candle refusing to die.
They trailed behind Dong Wook through a labyrinth of narrowing alleys, the noise of the city fading behind them. The air grew heavier, fouler, carrying the scent of rot and smoke. They turned down a passage where the stone walls seemed to lean in too close, casting everything in shadow.
There, the crowd changed.
Men lounged against the walls or slumped on the ground, their clothes stained and torn. Some were muttering to themselves; others stared blankly ahead as if watching ghosts. A few crushed dried leaves in their palms and sniffed the dust, while others rubbed red powder into their gums or held it to their noses like it held the answer to their misery. No one looked up. No one cared that two outsiders had stepped into their decaying world. It was as if they'd entered a place forgotten by the rest of the capital.
Dong Wook kept walking without hesitation. He didn't flinch at the sights or smells, this wasn't new to him. It was familiar.
Finally, he stopped before a faded wooden door set into a crumbling wall. Without ceremony, he knocked twice, sharp, deliberate.
A long pause.
Then, the door creaked open just enough to reveal a man on the other side. His appearance was disheveled, hair tangled and oily, beard patchy, his dark robe hanging off his wiry frame like they'd been scavenged from a corpse. He looked them up and down with a dull-eyed glance before stepping aside, allowing them in with a grunt.
The room inside was dimly lit by a single oil lamp that flickered against the soot-stained walls. The air was thick, almost suffocating, and it smelled of mold, sweat, and old metal. Sitting inside were four men, none of them looked up right away. One was sharpening a knife on a whetstone, another rolling a coin between his fingers, and the other two whispered among themselves with twitchy eyes and jerking movements. Their jeogori and baji were mismatched and fraying, and their faces bore the hardened, restless expressions of men who'd seen more than they wanted to and done worse than they'd admit.
Dong Wook raised his voice with ease, as if greeting old friends. "Brought customers. They've got coin and want to make a deal."
One of the men, seated nearest to the flickering lamp, slowly turned his head toward them. His grin came lazily, like it had been stitched onto his face but it carried no warmth, no welcome. It was the kind of smile that made Cheon Sa's stomach tighten, a silent warning wrapped in crooked teeth.
Without saying a word, the man reached behind him for a worn outer robe that had been draped carelessly over the back of a chair. The robe was faded, with frayed edges and a few suspicious stains, but he slipped it on with slow, deliberate movements, layering it over his inner garments like a butcher preparing for work. The way his fingers moved, calm and unhurried, gave the moment a quiet dread, as if he was expecting things to get messy and didn't want to ruin his clothes.
He didn't take his eyes off them. Not once.
Cheon Sa felt Min Ho shift behind him, just a small movement, but enough to feel his unease.
Dong Wook, on the other hand, was all ease and charm. "They've got some coins they want to exchange," he said.
"We have old coins," Cheon Sa said, his voice calm but firm just enough to make their purpose clear without giving too much away.
The man's grin widened slightly, still as dead as before. "Old coins, eh?" he drawled. "That's always a fun story."
The atmosphere thickened.
And just like that, the walls of the room seemed closer than before.
"Fresh ones?" The man directed his question at Dong Wook.
"Good ones." Dong Wook replied.
Cheon Sa instinctively shifted forward, placing himself just slightly in front of Min Ho. It was a small gesture, barely noticeable, but one born of habit. His eyes scanned the room, reading not just the men's faces but the glances they traded, the subtle shifts in posture, the way their hands rested too comfortably close to their sleeves like they were trying to reach for their weapon.
And then the man in the robe laughed.
It was sudden and loud, cracking through the heavy air like a whip. He tossed his head back, the sound rough and humorless, as if he'd just heard the most amusing joke in a long time.
"Good ones." Dong Wook repeated, his voice laid with some hint of warning.
"Well then," The man said after nodding once to Dong Wook, wiping imaginary tears from the corners of his eyes, "let me see it. Come on, sit."
With that, he eased himself onto the floor beside the oil lamp, its weak flame casting shadows across the deep lines of his face.
Cheon Sa and Min Ho obeyed without a word. They moved carefully, like animals approaching something that might be asleep or might be ready to pounce. If the men had meant them harm, surely they would've struck by now. Still, Cheon Sa couldn't silence the hum of caution inside him. Even Dong Wook had settled on the floor like this was routine, which only added to the strangeness of it all.
"Go on then," the man said, voice low and expectant. "Let's see what the heavens dropped into my lap today."
Min Ho didn't hesitate. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, worn cloth pouch. He handed it over, and the man accepted it with surprising care, as though holding something far more valuable than he'd expected.
With a flick of his wrist, the man spilled the contents onto a flat wooden board in front of him.
The coins clattered and rolled, small, ancient things with dulled edges and faded inscriptions. The sound echoed in the cramped room, the clink of metal the only music in the silence that followed.
And then, the man's grin, so broad and theatrical just moments before, began to falter.
His eyes narrowed.
He leaned forward, squinting, running his fingers over the coins with a slow, deliberate touch.
"Now look at that…" he murmured, almost to himself. "These really are some old coins."