Chapter 167

Chapter 167

The Past Calls, the show Park Moondae and Seon Ahyeon were appearing on, usually included five or six cast members per episode. There was a fixed cast member who took on the role of emcee, of course, to make sure everything ran smoothly.

Oh, I can definitely see how this is going to go, thought the emcee, a long-time player in the variety show field, after looking over who the guests would be.

A popular idol, and an idol from a prestigious university. There’s going to be plenty of people hung up on comparing them. He’d filmed over twenty episodes of the show by now, and he thought he could already picture how the episode would be edited.

Indiscriminate comparisons, of course, would lead to extreme backlash from TeSTAR’s fans, as such a popular group. This was an informational program, so nothing would be too blatant. They would make sure to give the TeSTAR members some good screen time, and if that didn’t work out, they would ensure the members looked cute, at the very least.

Oh, man! This is going to be tough, though. A middle school graduate against a Hankuk University student! The emcee repressed the urge to snicker, thinking the production team would have a hard time trying to make sure the edits remained pleasant and friendly.

At that moment, he got his signal to begin.

“Here it comes!” he shouted toward the camera, waiting in one corner of the set.

“When do we get these off?”

“Where are we?”

The six members of the cast, their faces completely covered with blindfolds, hobbled along behind the member of staff guiding them. The emcee gave the camera a thumbs-up and took a moment to assume the proper persona.

“Prithee, tell me why you are dressed like that?”

“Whoa!”

“That scared me!”

“Take off those ugly things this instant!”

“Huh?”

The cast members squirmed in confusion as they removed their blindfolds. They were surprised by what they found waiting for them.

“Huh? What is this place?”

“It looks like a hanok building.”

“Looks to be from the Joseon period, for starters.”

They were all whispering to other members of the cast that they either knew or wanted to seem like they knew. The emcee focused his attention on the person to watch today—Park Moondae, who was listening to Seon Ahyeon’s whispers looking utterly unperturbed.

He’s pretty chill. He had black hair and a handsome, tranquil face. The emcee found himself thinking rather judgmentally that his face didn’t look as though it belonged to an uneducated person.

Idols these days are quite handsome, aren’t they? Nodding to himself as he turned his attention to the blond Seon Ahyeon, he quickly moved on to his next line before the cast members could recover from their shock and try to say something clever.

“Hear ye! There will be an important event today. Dress yourselves in your uniforms in a timely fashion and seat yourselves! Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Mixing modern speech with some more old-timey sounding language, he slunk through the paper doors with his hands behind his back.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“Hey! Sir?”

“Wow, what’s with this show?”

The door closed behind him, leaving the perplexed members.

“Looks like we have ourselves another fine group today!” the emcee said, grinning as he moved to the monitoring room. It was his role to watch the guests embarrass or distinguish themselves, reacting and adding commentary to the footage.

Let’s see now. They’ll say stupid sh*t for around twenty minutes, at least until they get an idea of what’s going on. Making this prediction based on his experience on the show so far, he flopped into his seat in front of the monitor.

He was immediately met with a surprise.

“I’ve been thinking about what the official who looked a lot like the emcee said to us. I think our goal is to figure out what sort of event we’re attending, put on the proper uniforms, and be there on time.”

“Yes, that sounds right.”

“Moondae, you’re so calm! Your survival roots are really coming through.”

“That means we have to get out of this room first... It seems like an escape room puzzle. There’s a lock next to this door.”

“Oh! You’re right!”

Park Moondae was going at full speed.

“Wow! They’re so fast today!” the emcee said, remembering his role and clapping. But he was bewildered.

What’s he doing? He hadn’t even given the guests any time to fumble around and explore. Things were progressing incredibly quickly.

The next scene shook him up even more.

“Listen up, guys. I’ll read it to you.”

One of the guests, a seasoned comedian, removed a piece of traditional paper from a small box attached to the door and read out their first quiz.

“Ahem. ‘The six test takers will henceforth be assigned to the Hall of Worthies. Their names are Eul, Gap, Byeong, Mu, Gi, and Jeong. The conditions are as follows...’ What in the world is this?”

Below that stipulations were listed, beginning with “Should Eul and Gap be assigned together, so will Byeong.” They were contradictory to each other and didn’t make sense. It was a complicated example of the sort of logic puzzle that often came up in these shows—a menacing, no-holds-barred type of question.

“Hahaha! Look at their faces!” The emcee began to gloat over the perplexed expression on the guests’ faces.

“So ‘Gap’ and ‘Gi’ work at this Hall of Worthies.”

“I-is that so?”

“Yes. And if we list the names in order... they come in first and last, respectively.”

Park Moondae pressed the first and sixth buttons on the six-button wooden lock simultaneously, and the door opened.

“Whoa!”

“No way!”

“What...”

It had taken him all of about three seconds to arrive at the correct answer. The emcee stared slack-jawed at the monitor. He nearly turned and asked the production team member seated beside him if Moondae was the one who’d attended a prestigious university.

“Are they supposed to be able to do this so quickly?”

A few members of the production team shook their heads at him from their positions and made X shapes with their arms. The emcee barked an incredulous laugh and thought to himself, I thought he was supposed to be a middle school graduate!

The guy on the monitor who was supposed to be from Hankuk University was clapping along with everyone else, meaning he wasn’t capable of producing the answer with the same speed. This same situation repeated itself several more times.

“Why don’t we look around a bit before we leave? Maybe there are more clues in the room.”

“That sounds like a great idea!”

“L-look!”

After a quick search, Seon Ahyeon discovered a hidden box with another quiz. He handed the note to the Hankuk University student to read.

“I’ll read it now! ‘Kill winged animals with bow and arrow, and wild animals of the field with a spear. Sea animals must mix with animals of the earth...”

There was a bit of nonsense involved in the question, requiring some out-of-the-box thinking. Park Moondae spoke as soon as he’d heard the entire question.

“Hmm. That’s three occurrences of a winged animal, one of a wild animal, two of a sea animal, and then one more of the winged animal... If we assume that they are the four mythological guardians, each one must represent one of the four cardinal directions.”

“The four mythological guardians? You mean something like the blue dragon?”

“Oh, I know! The winged animal is the phoenix! Like that, right?”

“Yes. That would be it.”

The guests were excited as they figured out the puzzle, and another lock with pieces that could be pulled in four separate directions was quickly unlocked.

“Yeaaah!”

“Moondae, you’ve got a really good noggin on you! It’s nuts!”

“Thank you.”

“Huh? That wasn’t supposed to happen, was it?” the emcee said.

In the monitor, Moondae bowed to the other guests as they clapped and thumped him on the back. The production team muttered among themselves upon seeing the emcee’s reaction.

“They’re supposed to make a full round of the room before they can solve that...” a PD said sheepishly.

Moondae had solved the quiz without needing the additional hints regarding the location and a feng shui puzzle, solely relying on his own wit.

The emcee jokingly scolded them. “If you invited someone so smart, you should have made it more difficult and taught him what our show’s all about!”

The cameras caught the PD’s embarrassment. The scene was hilarious, just as intended, but the emcee was secretly impressed.

I guess innate wits matter more when it comes to this sort of thing! He was only half correct. Park Moondae was actually a little taken aback by the situation he’d found himself in.

They copied questions straight out of the LEET and PSAT exams. He’d watched the previous episode to prepare himself and found the questions oddly familiar. Though extra words and steps had been added, the problems themselves were the same.

And once you solve those sorts of problems, you never really forget them. That was why he was able to answer them so fast. And even without that, Moondae had the advantage.

If you’ve formally learned logical thinking it makes these riddles a breeze. In preparation for the PSAT, Moondae had taken a graduate’s formal logic class in his final semester and gotten good grades. Questions like this weren’t even a challenge to him.

And pitting me against a student who didn’t even attend university for that long before going on hiatus is silly. Park Moondae looked at the Hankuk University student with some sympathy but soon remembered that he wasn’t in the position to be worrying about anyone but himself.

Regardless, things seem to be going smoothly. While Park Moondae stood to the side feeling satisfied with himself, those around him were busy checking the inside of a new box.

“What’s inside?”

There was something wrapped in silk—a book that looked newly made. The cover and all its pages were filled with Chinese characters.

“Oh! Uh...”

“I can’t read that. It’s got nothing but Chinese characters.”

“You’re right.”

“Why don’t we take it with us... just in case?”

“All right. You take it with you, Ahyeon. Why don’t we head out now?”

“Okay!”

That was when Moondae spoke to Ahyeon.

“Mind if I look at that for a moment?”

“Of course!”

Moondae glanced through the pages quickly and grinned.

“...?”

“Oh, thanks.”

“Now, guys, let’s open this door together!”

“Okay!”

Seon Ahyeon pocketed the book, and the guests counted down before throwing the door open.

“Three, two, one!”

“...?!”

“...!”

They then froze. A corridor stretched out before them, full of busy palace officials.

“My gosh, I think we’re in a palace.”

“I’ve seen people dressed like that in historical dramas!”

It was time to move on to the next stage.

“Looks like things are about to get interesting!” the emcee said, staring into the monitor.

“Look, what are they wearing?”

“Gah!”

The members were rebuked by the palace officials and began to run for it, hiding from the officials as best they could in the vast palace they found themselves in.

“I’m freaking out!”

“Shh! Keep it down.”

“Th-th-there’s an open door here!”

“Nice one, Ahyeon!”

They came across a room with an unlocked door and found their uniforms in a wardrobe inside.

“Wow! Official outfits?”

“That’s pretty cool!”

They weren’t simple officials’ uniforms.

“Those are the blue uniforms they used to wear at Sungkyunkwan. I heard that you recently passed an exam from that institution.”

“This show’s really serious about the backstory, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, nothing. Forget what I said.”

A short skit performed by the palace officials told the guests that the uniforms were actually a sort of school uniform worn by students of Sungkyunkwan, the highest educational institution in the Joseon era. Another man introduced himself as their teacher and told them that the event they were going to would be overseen by the king.

“The audience can’t be delayed!”

“The audience?”

“The king. We’re supposed to see the king!”

“Damn! So that’s what it is!”

“But first... have you not forgotten something? Ahem.”

“What...?”

They prepared some food to pay tuition to their Sungkyunkwan teacher. Only then were they able to don their real uniforms and move on to the next step.

“That Moondae’s a good cook, as well”

The emcee sipped a drink, product placement of course, as he stared at the monitor. He sounded resigned. The production team was sighing left and right. The guests were going at an unprecedented speed. At the pace the cast was solving the problems, they were becoming slightly worried about the length of the episode.

Moondae was solely to blame for this, of course, but this wasn’t the only puzzling part. They were engaging in theatrics to fill out the episode some more, making up for the speed at which they had solved the puzzles.

“What games did you enjoy the most at Sungkyunkwan?”

“Which ones, Ahyeon?”

“Uh, M-Moondae?”

Moondae sidestepped the question, and Seon Ahyeon was clearly confused by it, but he also did his best to respond. It was cute to watch.

He’s making sure the younger members get some fun screen time, too. The emcee, assuming Ahyeon was the younger of the two, found it a little heart-warming and impressive to see Moondae letting Ahyeon and Golden Age’s main vocalist take the more funny roles in the skits.

There’s a reason he won first place in that audition show! Moondae was obviously perceptive as all hell.

“Hmm, what do you think?”

“Uh, let’s see. Give me a moment. I’ll try to work it out!”

He even backed out of answering a few of the quizzes to let the Hankuk University student have a chance at it. The guy wasn’t nearly as impressive as Park Moondae, however, neither with his speed nor his accuracy.

Now I’m wondering how the editing for this will pan out. The emcee tutted quietly, then realized something.

The situation’s been completely reversed. The production team had expected the main vocalist of Golden Age to take the quizzes by storm, while TeSTAR got a few cute scenes, but the opposite of that had happened.

The emcee didn’t even know that much about Golden Age, apart from having heard about them a couple of times. The production team had no reason to ensure they fared well on this show. The other TeSTAR member, Seon Ahyeon, was so good-looking and graceful that he felt like a real noble Confucian scholar.

Those two are seriously impressive. The emcee was stunned.

Park Moondae was helping the younger idol—the one who’d attended Hankuk University—but the original plan had been ruined. The guests continued to progress through the plot devised by the production crew and were now at their final obstacle.

It was already nonexistent, as it turned out.

“There is something you must bring us quickly— Oh. You already... brought it.”

“I’m sorry?”

A man who introduced himself as an official from the Hall of Worthies had been about to demand they bring something—the book they’d found in the first room.

“No way!”

“Moondae! Thank you!”

“We all did this together— Oof. Thanks.”

Park Moondae was forced to endure another round of back-thumping.

“No one’s ever gone this fast before, have they?”

“Filming will be over before sunset! Yay!”

The guests excitedly moved on, and finally arrived at the audience chamber. There, a hidden quiz appeared before them.

“What brings you here, good sirs?”

“Do we have to know that, too?”

“Hmm... Time to retreat, guys!”

The guests were nervous and about to make a strategic retreat when Park Moondae whispered to them.

“Uh, actually, I have an idea.”

“You again!” the emcee shouted gleefully.

Everyone in the monitoring room waited eagerly.

“My guess is that the king awaiting us is... King Sejong.”

“...!”

“Wh-what makes you say that?”

“This book.”

Moondae produced the book from earlier and opened it, revealing the Chinese characters that filled the book.

“Doesn’t this look a lot like a letter from the Korean alphabet to you?”

Moondae stopped at a page and pointed to the top of it. The first character on the page... looked a lot like the first letter of the Korean alphabet.

“Huh?”

“Hold on a minute!”

The guests began to check each page carefully. Though the letters were slightly different from their modern versions, there were what looked to be consonants and vowels from the Korean alphabet at the top of many of the pages.

“Whoa, wait. Is this the Hunminjeongeum, the book that explains the Hangul alphabet? King Sejong was the author.”

Moondae didn’t quite nod.

“Uh, but Hunminjeongeum is supposed to have been written by the king himself. It seems odd that Hall of Worthies scholars would bring it to him. That leaves...”

“Yes?”

“The Hunminjeongeum Haerye.”

This was a book that explained the principles behind the Hangul script’s creation as well as its usage. While it was easy to assume that this book would have been written in Hangul, it had actually been written in Chinese characters. Before King Sejong, Korea did not have an alphabet of its own.

The book was supposed to be an explanation of Hangul for people who knew Chinese characters, after all. Moondae smiled faintly.

“I heard that scholars of the Hall of Worthies wrote that book. I think we can go inside and tell King Sejong that this book is titled Hunminjeongeum Haerye before offering it to him.”

This was the correct answer.

“Incredible!” exclaimed the emcee.

The production team was reacting in a similar fashion. The guests on the monitor were thrilled as well.

“Moondae, how do you know this?”

“Wow, I think he’s right!”

“That fits perfectly! I had a feeling it might be something like this the moment the Hall of Worthies came up!”

Moondae wasn’t done, though.

“I think two of us are supposed to take the book to him.”

“What?”

“Remember how, at the first question, “Gap” and “Gi” were assigned to the Hall of Worthies?”

“Yeah, of course!”

Moondae nodded.

“I think that question was about us.”

“...!”

“There are six of us, and we were sent to the palace, just like them.”

As it turned out, the backstory matched up perfectly with the guests.

“So the two people who are supposed to be working there should take this book to him. If we sort ourselves by age...”

Moondae gestured politely.

“That would be you... and him.”

“...!”

Park Moondae smiled slightly as he indicated the oldest guest as well as the youngest—the Hankuk University student. The people in the monitoring room were unable to do anything but sit and stare, stunned.

“That’s just extraordinary.”

“You must be a genius.”

“You’re too kind. I may be jumping to conclusions.”

“No, you’re right. I’m sure of it. My gut tells me so.”

As the guest said, Moondae was right.

They were supposed to arrive at that answer after being stumped, and needing multiple hints. We were supposed to just move on if they never figured it out.

“So he knows his Korean history, too? Gosh.” The emcee was overwhelmed by the way Park Moondae had easily sidestepped the hardest problem of the day, but he quickly put on his costume. It was time.

“Let’s head down, everyone!”

He took his staff—who were dressed like a procession of officials—and headed to the audience chamber. As it happened, the guests were also coming inside at the same moment, with serious expressions on their faces.

“Gap and Gi from the Hall of Worthies have brought you the Hunminjeongeum Haerye,” they addressed the official at the door.

“Welcome...” he allowed them entrance.

“Yes!”

The guests cheered and rushed inside. Then they saw the emcee seated on the throne.

“There you are.”

“No way!”

The emcee had a triumphant smile on his face as he observed their bewilderment.

“Hey! I mean— Your Majesty King Sejong!”

The oldest guest called him King Sejong in his confusion, which prompted a funny ending caption that read, Spoiler alert! The name Sejong was given posthumously. And that was the end of the shoot.

“Amazing!”

Park Moondae turned out to be right on all accounts.

“That was seriously impressive!” The emcee patted Park Moondae on the shoulder as they wrapped up filming for the day.

“Thank you,” Moondae said, bowing and smiling.

The emcee glanced at the Golden Age main vocalist as well.

There’s no room for comparison here. The ease with which Park Moondae had breezed through the puzzles was sure to come through loud and clear on the show.

As it turned out, Moondae himself was already considering how things would unfold next.

***

“Th-the shoot was really fun!”

“Yeah,” I agreed, nodding. It had been a fruitful day’s work.

Ahyeon grinned. “M-Moondae... So you know Korean history really well, too.”

I shook my head. “No. I just did a bit of prep ahead of the show.”

“Wh-what?”

As I’d said, I’d studied up for the show. “I watched some of the previous episodes.”

I’d only properly watched five episodes and came at the rest with a different approach. I’d created a chart containing the titles and summaries of the past twenty-five episodes or so. After excluding them, I picked out a few major historical events in a similar vein that didn’t overlap in time period with the past three episodes.

The creation of Hangul and the June Democratic Struggle were the most likely candidates. After that, it was simply a matter of memorizing all the most important information about the relevant time period, down to the insignificant details.

With the scope narrowed down like that, it was definitely doable. I’d been forced to memorize endless facts of very little consequence in preparation for the civil service exam, after all. Better still, I remembered a lot of Korean history from my past studies.

“G-good work! Y-you were really amazing!”

“Thanks. You were great, too. You were good at finding clues, and the skits were really good.”

“W-well, that was you—”

“It was you, not me.” I continued to chat with Ahyeon in the van. After we arrived at our next destination and joined the rest of the group for our next round of filming, I asked to go to the bathroom. “I won’t be long.”

“Okay!”

“Sure thing!”

Instead of heading to the bathroom, I instead went to a secluded space located behind the parking lot and called the agency.

It’s time. The show we’d filmed today would air at night this upcoming weekend. I wanted to deal with this before then—smoking out the rat, that is.

“Yes, yes. Hello.”

Was I calling the Management Team? Not at all.

“This is the Management Office, right?”

The Management Office was one level above them.

“I’d like to make an appointment with the office manager in person if you don’t mind.”

With things like this, the most effective strategy was always to go directly to the person at the top of the hierarchy.