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# Chapter 3: An Unfamiliar Voice
By the time the sun reached its zenith, Seo-jun was still wandering through the fields. His sense of direction had completely collapsed. He’d thought following the Han River would lead him to Hanyang, but the river kept bending in different directions before vanishing from sight altogether. All that remained was brown earth and a smoke-darkened sky. Smoke rose in the distance—a sign of settlement. His lips were parched. His throat burned. Only now did he understand how precious that americano from a modern café had been. His phone still wouldn’t work. The fourteen percent battery was ancient history now. That small screen had been his only connection to the world, and even that was gone. His hand drifted unconsciously to his pocket. But there was nothing there.
Calm down. You’re an expert in this era. You’ve written ten papers. Sejong’s social structure, economic systems, the class hierarchy—
His thoughts kept scattering. His body’s demands were louder. Hunger. Thirst. And an unnamed dread. His heart raced. His hands trembled. He tried to take a deep breath.
As he approached the source of the smoke, Seo-jun examined his clothes again. A blue hoodie. Black slacks. Modern running shoes. All of it would raise immediate suspicion in fifteenth-century Joseon. Especially the rubber soles—a material that couldn’t possibly exist in this era. How would he explain it? His only assets were his memory and knowledge. But that was dangerous too. Too much knowledge made people suspicious. Too little, and his lies would unravel. A scholar had to be careful. Caution was the condition of survival. His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized himself—his clothes, his speech patterns, his movements. Everything had to fit this time.
The source of the smoke was a single small house. A thatched-roof cottage. Straw woven together, not tiles. Walls made of mud and branches. One door. No windows. Firewood was stacked near the entrance, and fresh footprints lay beside it. Recent ones. Probably this morning. Seo-jun stopped. Should he go in or not? This was definitely human habitation. But could he really enter? How did people of this era respond to strangers? History books focused on macro events—royal policies, rebellions, famines. The daily lives of ordinary civilians went unrecorded. That was what frightened him most. The unknown was most dangerous. His heart pounded. He tried to steady himself.
Just as he was about to step forward, a voice called out. “Who are you?” A woman’s voice. Neither young nor old. Just cautious in tone. The door opened, and a figure appeared. An earth-colored skirt. A white jeogori. Black hair tied back. She looked to be around twenty. Her eyes measured him like a merchant assessing whether gold was real or fake. Seo-jun instinctively bowed. “Ah… forgive the intrusion.” His voice wavered. He couldn’t hide it. And his pronunciation was strange. He’d spoken in modern standard Korean, but he had no idea how different it was from fifteenth-century Joseon.
The woman’s eyes narrowed further. “Are you a scholar?” A scholar? How could she tell? Seo-jun looked down at his clothes. A hoodie and slacks were absolutely not scholar’s attire. Then it was his speech? His movements? He thought desperately. “Yes, that’s right. I’m… a student who came up from the provinces.” It was a lie. It had to be a lie. But that was dangerous too. A student would need credentials. Documents proving he was preparing for the state examination. His heart raced. He tried to steady himself.
The woman set down the water jar she was holding. “Does a student wear clothes like that?”
It’s over.
His heart felt like it would burst from his chest. His lie had already been exposed. And this woman was no simple village woman. Her eyes were sharp. Full of suspicion, yet curious. Seo-jun took a deep breath and steadied himself. “I… lost my clothes washing them in the river. These are… borrowed for now.” Another lie. This one more specific. The more specific, the more believable it seemed. Seo-jun thought this was the secret of historiography. Grand lies fell apart easily, but small, specific lies looked like truth.
The woman stared at him for a long moment. The silence felt eternal. “Come inside.”
What?
Seo-jun was taken aback. The woman stepped aside, gesturing into the house. “You’ll catch a cold standing outside. Come in.” He carefully entered through the door.
The interior was darker than expected. No windows meant only light from the doorway filtered in. In that light, he could make out shapes. A central hearth. A pot above it. Water jars and grain containers along the walls. A straw mattress in the corner. A wooden table. The smell was strong. Smoke, grain, and something burning. His nose was assaulted. To his senses, accustomed to modern detergent and car exhaust, it was almost toxic.
“Sit.” The woman placed a cushion before the wooden table. Seo-jun sat. His legs trembled. “What is your name?” His name. Should he give his real one or a false one? He hesitated. “I’m Lee Seo-jun.” He gave his real name. Making up a false one seemed riskier. The more lies, the higher the chance of exposure. The woman nodded. “Lee? Are you from the Jeonju Lee clan?”
The Jeonju Lee clan?
Seo-jun recalled his history textbooks. The Joseon royal family was the Jeonju Lee clan. But common yangban families also shared the same surname. That was the rule of same-surname, same-origin clans. “Yes, that’s correct.” Another lie. But a necessary one.
The woman went to the hearth and began preparing something. Seo-jun watched her movements. She was efficient. No wasted motion. Like someone who’d repeated these actions thousands of times in this small space.
Shortly after, she returned with a small bowl. Inside was lukewarm water. “Drink. You look thirsty.” Seo-jun took the bowl and drank. The water tasted strange. Slightly earthy. Probably well water. But he now understood how precious it was. The moment it touched his throat, life returned to him. “Thank you.”
“Wait here until father returns. It’s dangerous to travel alone at night.”
Father?
His heart began racing again. There was another man in this house. And if he was her father, then this woman was his daughter.
The woman returned to the hearth and began preparing rice. Seo-jun watched her. How quickly her fingers moved. How skillfully she rinsed the grain, poured the water, adjusted the fire.
This is daily life in Joseon.
That thought struck him hard. He realized how much he didn’t know. Textbooks taught war, politics, culture. But how could they teach this? How this woman prepared rice? The movement of her fingers? The sharp eyes hidden behind her careful speech?
“Do you… have a name?” Seo-jun asked.
The woman turned. At that moment, evening light streamed through the door and illuminated her face. For the first time, Seo-jun could see her clearly.
A round face. Black eyes. Long, thin eyebrows. A small smile played at her lips. But it wasn’t a warm smile. It was the smile of someone taking measure of another.
“I’m Park Yeon-woo. I’m the daughter of a physician.”
A physician. A doctor.
Seo-jun’s mind engaged. The daughter of a physician meant she likely had medical knowledge. And a physician’s status was chungin—neither yangban nor slave, but somewhere between.
“Park Yeon-woo… a good name.” He paused. “And to be a physician’s daughter—that must be an honored position in this region.”
Yeon-woo served the rice in a small bowl. It was far less than a modern meal. But Seo-jun understood its value. “Eat. You can speak with father later.”
He began eating. The rice tasted strange. Different from modern rice. Coarser. Slightly bitter. Probably the quality of the grain. But it didn’t matter. Hunger justified everything. “Thank you,” he mumbled with his mouth full.
Yeon-woo sat by the hearth, watching him. As her gaze continued, Seo-jun felt uncomfortable. “Why are you… looking at me like that?”
“Do you have medical knowledge?”
What?
“Ah? Yes?”
“You said you lost your clothes washing in the river. That means you went to the river alone. Do students go to rivers alone?”
Seo-jun’s face paled.
“And when you drank that water earlier, your hands trembled. Not from cold. From fear.”
Yeon-woo leaned forward.
“And the way you eat now… it’s strange. Like someone eating for the first time.”
Seo-jun’s fingers moved to set down the bowl.
“Don’t lie. My father taught me. The body of a liar always sends signals. Breathing quickens. Eyes twitch. Your eyes are twitching right now.”
It’s over.
His heart screamed. This woman wasn’t a physician’s daughter. She was an interrogator. She was trained to find lies.
At that moment, the door opened again.
“Yeon-woo. I’m home.”
A man’s voice. An older man. Probably in his fifties. His face resembled Yeon-woo’s, but with deeper lines. His eyes were even sharper.
“Father. We have a guest.”
The man looked at Seo-jun. His gaze mixed curiosity with suspicion.
“Who are you?”
Seo-jun stood and bowed. He felt it was all over. His lies had been exposed. And if this man was a physician, he probably had connections to Hanyang. Perhaps even to the secret police.
“I am… Lee Seo-jun.” His voice shook. “A student of Joseon.”
The physician nodded. Then a smile appeared at his lips—sharper than any Seo-jun had seen before.
“A student, you say. Then I’ll ask you one thing.”
“Yes?”
“Where exactly are you a student from?”
As those words fell, Seo-jun understood. All his lies had been exposed. Now, to survive, he had to tell the real truth.
But how could he even begin?
“I… come from somewhere else.” He spoke slowly. “Where exactly, I… don’t really know myself.”
The physician’s eyes narrowed further. And in that moment, Seo-jun realized how deep a hole he’d fallen into. This man and his daughter were no simple rural healers.
They knew something.
Yeon-woo slowly stood. She reached to a shelf beside the hearth. What she pulled out was a book. An old book. Its title was written in Hangul.
Hangul?
Seo-jun’s eyes widened. Hangul shouldn’t have been created yet. Or rather, it would be created. King Sejong’s creation of Hangul was in 1443. Seo-jun’s current time was 1427. That meant this book was…
“Can you read this book?” Yeon-woo asked.
Seo-jun took the book and opened it. Inside were medical prescriptions written in Hangul. Or more precisely, written in what would become Hangul. Sixteen years ahead of time.
In that moment, Seo-jun understood.
This woman and her father weren’t just healers. They knew something. A secret. And that secret was probably connected to what Seo-jun knew.
“You…” the physician said slowly, “are truly not of this age.”
Seo-jun’s breath caught.
“How did you know?”
“Only three people in this age can read this book.”
The physician stepped forward.
“Myself, my daughter, and… one old bookseller. Yet you read it too. As if you already know what it is.”
“I…”
As Seo-jun began to speak, Yeon-woo raised her hand.
“Father. This person is not dangerous.”
“How can you be sure?”
“There are many lies, but no harmful intent. And… this person really does seem lost.”
The physician looked at Seo-jun again. His gaze still held suspicion, but now it was tempered with something like compassion.
“Then who are you? Really.”
Seo-jun took a deep breath. He couldn’t continue lying. These people were trained to detect deception. So what truth could he tell?
“I am… a scholar from somewhere else.”
“Somewhere else?”
“Yes. From a very distant place… from a time much later than this.”
The physician and Yeon-woo exchanged glances. Their eyes held surprise. As if what they’d already suspected had become real.
“Very well. Sleep here tonight. Tomorrow morning, we’ll talk more.”
The physician spoke. “And remember one thing. What you see, hear, and read in this house—tell no one. Understood?”
“Yes.” Seo-jun replied.
Yeon-woo pointed to the straw mattress. “Rest here. Tomorrow morning I’ll bring you safer clothes. You can’t go to Hanyang dressed like that.”
Seo-jun lay down on the bed. The smell of straw irritated his nose. And lying there, he thought.
What do they know? And why are they helping me?
As night deepened, Seo-jun heard the physician and Yeon-woo speaking in quiet voices. He couldn’t make out exactly what they said, but one thing was clear.
They also knew something.
And when he learned what it was, his journey would take a completely different path.