They strode into the manor like they owned it. 

The old woman drying the garments had already scuttled away, but Miyoung, clutching the wet sheets close to her chest, stayed rooted as the soldiers passed. 

Their heavy boots pounded into the ground as one, lifting yellow clouds of dust into the air. It stung her eyes and stuck to the still-wet fabric hanging on the bamboo racks. Miyoung glared up at the dirt stains; her hands would be rubbed raw in frigid water washing them again. Distracted by her futile indignation, Miyoung didn’t notice the glimpse of stark navy and red uniform until it had already entered her vision. She whipped her head down, but it was too late: her eyes met a soldier’s. He had the eyes of a snake.

Ping— 

By the familiar sound of a baton being swiped out of its holster, Miyoung dropped into a kowtow. She regretted it the moment her forehead hit the ground. How was she going to stand up for her people if she couldn’t even stand up to the sound of metal? Air rushed past—she squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the hit—but there was no impact. CRACK—

Miyoung lifted her head slightly, looking around in bewilderment before spotting the bamboo clothing rack tilting to one side. She watched as it toppled, slowly at first, then crashing down all at once. The newly washed garments spilled at the soldier’s feet, and he tread over confidently with bulky boots, making it a point to drag the fabric a few feet forward. The soldiers behind him walked on the expensive ramie and silk without a glance.

Miyoung seethed, her fears forgotten to the white heat warming up her body. That pompous son of a—

But she could do nothing except hunch over in a bow, eyes fixed on the ground as the soldiers marched forward. Miyoung didn’t need to look to know that their rifles glittered under the sun, their batons gleamed a bright silver, and the red and white stripes of the Rising Sun waved pretentiously behind them.

The clamor grew louder the closer the soldiers got to the manor. Miyoung could hear the servants’ and slaves’ groveling as they knelt before the passing soldiers—the Red Sea bowing before Moses. She grimaced at the thought.

Before Miyoung could register what was happening, a shadow loomed over her, darkening the dirt she had been staring at. Her whole body tensed again, but when Miyoung peeked up, she saw that it was only Junghee, holding a wooden basin under an arm. Her long, black hair was half-mussed out of its braid. 

With a quick glance to the soldiers who were steps away from entering the manor, Miyoung edged close to her friend. She carefully placed the soaked sheets into the basin and whispered, “Do you know why they’re here?” 

Junghee stilled for a moment. “Hmm...” She then reached for a dirty garment. “Well...” Junghee tried to wipe off an especially grimy stain by rubbing it on her own skirt. “Hmm.” 

Uneasiness crept in Miyoung’s stomach. “Junghee, what’s going on?“

Before she could answer, a voice spat from above, “Get up.” 

Miyoung shot to her feet instantaneously, her body as mindlessly compliant as a puppet on a string. Head bowed, eyes down, Junghee mirrored her on the left. 

“Lift up your skirt.” 

Miyoung could just about see the sordid expression on his face. Her palms were sweaty as she twisted her hands into the folds of her starchy cotton skirt. Miyoung roughly swished it around, billowing out the folds, and felt the rush of air as Junghee did the same.

The voice in front of her snorted. If the man who knocked over the clothes was a snake, this one was a pig. He trotted away as suddenly as he came.

It was only when his footsteps melded completely back into the commotion of the manor that Miyoung lifted her head again. Face smoldering with shame and anger, she knelt down again to collect the rest of the sheets and garments on the ground. As she and Junghee wiped off the clumps of dirt clinging to the wet fabric, they watched the soldiers snake in and out of the manor, shoving doors and servants out of their way alike. Furniture, artwork, and even rare porcelain were flung out of the house. They collected outside in puddles of splinters and shards. 

Miyoung’s hands were idle long before the soldiers recollected outside. They marched through the courtyard, stamping up dust and waving their flag once again. There were only a few steps left between them and the gates when a man with an especially embellished coat stepped forward and barked at the manor. Miyoung could never quite grasp the twisted, foreign pronunciation the soldiers spoke in. Though most of the lieutenant's words slipped her understanding, she could catch “guns”, “twenty guns,” and “close surveillance” under a transparent threat that needed no common language to convey. 

The soldiers resumed their march, and Miyoung turned to Junghee. “What did they say?” she asked.

Junghee stared after the soldiers. Her hands, curled tightly into her skirt, were shaking. 

“Junghee?” Miyoung nudged her arm. 

Instead of answering, Junghee bolted up to her feet. Holding the basin full of dirty garments in her arms, Miyoung followed. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Junghee jerked the basin out of Miyoung’s arms and placed it back on the ground. She took a few cautious glances around before grabbing Miyoung’s wrist. “I have to show you something right now,” she whispered. Her voice left no room for argument.

Miyoung’s stomach twisted with dread, but she allowed herself to be dragged out of the side gate of the courtyard, leaving the soiled garments and the wreckage behind.

… 

The manor sat nestled in a valley surrounded by a cragged horizon of hills jutting into the pale blues of the sky. The sandy beige walls were swatched with smooth gray rock and knotted with bright green and browning yellows. From the hills, the dull slopes of the manor roofs seemed minute, trivial.

Miyoung followed Junghee up the rundown path. She itched to say something, but she didn’t have the courage nor the right words. They trudged upwards. The heavy sound of breathing didn’t mask the charged silence.

They still had a long way up until the summit when Junghee slowed to a stop. Instead of taking a different route or going back to the manor as Miyoung expected, Junghee turned around and began to dig into the side of the rock wall. 

Miyoung only watched. “What are you一” 

Junghee had only displaced a couple of rocks when a sharp glint of metal showed in between the ashy granite. Miyoung’s stomach dropped. She joined Junghee in uncovering the rest of it ferverously. 

The rocks scraped her hands and bruised her fingernails, but all Miyoung could feel was the clockwork rhythm of please don’t let it be what I think it is, please pulsing in her head. Junghee pulled away the last of the rocks. Hidden in the crevice left behind were two burlap sacks packed with rifles. Miyoung felt bile rise at the back of her throat.

She reached out a hand to feel the narrow, black barrel of one, and her fingers quickly recoiled at the touch of cold metal. She swallowed. “You did this?” 

Miyoung could hardly register Junghee’s nod over the pounding in her ears. How did Junghee steal the guns? When did she have the time? Miyoung’s head spun, trying and failing at recalling a memory, but it didn’t matter; she just had to return them somehow. Miyoung needed to get them back to the Japanese Legation. 

Without realizing what she was doing, Miyoung reached for the guns again. Her hand was abruptly swatted away.

“What are you doing?” Junghee now stood almost protectively in front of the hole in the rocks.

Miyoung stared at her. “We have to return them. Now.”

Junghee gawked back, wide-eyed, face carved from stone. “No. We’re not. You’re not. I’m giving them to the Righteous Army as soon as I get the chance.”

Miyoung’s hands were cold and clammy. “Do you realize how many people you are going to get killed? Tortured? Not just the Righteous Army, but us and our families and the entire manor when they find out that you’re the one who stole the guns. Twenty shitty guns that won’t do anything for Joseon except—“

“Joseon. Is shit.” Junghee took a step forward. “Our army is shit. They need better guns and I saw an opportunity and I am going to give it to them.”

“They will be executed if they’re caught with these guns in their hands.”

“They’ll be executed no matter what they do!” Junghee took a big breath. Her face was flushed from yelling. “What is your problem?”

Miyoung opened her mouth but paused. What was her problem? Junghee was being defiant. She was rising up against the Japanese like they had always dreamt of doing. Why was Miyoung so angry? 

“You’re being selfish,” she said, “You wanting to help the Righteous Army is endangering everyone else.” But that wasn’t the reason. Now Miyoung was just searching for a scapegoat for her anger—

“Selfish.” Junghee took another step forward. “I’m being selfish?”

Miyoung stood her ground. 

“Being selfish is standing around and thinking ‘I really do hope people leave Joseon alone soon’ and not doing anything!” Junghee stormed. “And what, you think stealing a couple of guns will ruin our lives? Our lives are already ruined! We’re already endangered! And we’ll always be in danger, as long as we submit to being Japan’s slaves—Miyoung, what is wrong with you? This is our chance!”

Was Junghee always this outspoken? Miyoung couldn’t remember. Junghee was making so much sense, but none of it made sense to her at all. Why couldn’t Miyoung just agree? Why was she so angry?

“You aren’t thinking,” Miyoung spat. But Junghee was. Was she thinking? 

Junghee shoved Miyoung, slamming both hands into her shoulders. Miyoung stumbled backwards and landed on the ground. Her already scraped hands stung from the impact.

“Miyoung. Shut up.” Junghee’s voice was callous, her expression grim.

Miyoung felt nauseous. She was choked with anger but couldn’t understand why, and her head was flooded yet desolate at the same time. Miyoung twisted her hands into the folds of her skirt and watched as a muddy red blossomed onto the cotton fabric. For a moment, all she could feel were her hands rubbed raw in frigid water. It froze and numbed her senses. 

Pushing to her feet, Miyoung threw herself at Junghee and shoved her away from the crevice in the rock. Before Junghee could get back up, Miyoung snatched the bags out of the hole, one in each hand. They were heavier than she had anticipated, and the burlap grated against her chafed palms. Her grip weakened. 

“No!”

When Miyoung whirled around, Junghee was already on her feet, and she tackled Miyoung to the ground. One of the bags slipped completely from Miyoung’s hold, skidding off the edge of the hill. Junghee made a strangled sound and reached out an arm in a vain attempt to catch it. 

In Miyoung’s other hand, the sack tore open upon impact, leaving nothing but an empty husk in her fist and a scatter of rifles on the ground. A few skittered off the outcrop, and Junghee dove off Miyoung’s back to save the ones balanced precariously on the ridge. 

Scrambling to her knees, Miyoung grabbed one of the dislodged rocks from the wall and raised it over Junghee’s head. Junghee was on the ground, reaching for a rifle. Eyes cast downwards, facing the other away, she was utterly defenseless yet—

Junghee, seeing the shadow of raised arms and a big object over her head, flinched into herself, pulling the rifle into her body like she was going to die protecting it.

Miyoung hesitated. And she knew she was afraid. 

Not even a moment later, Junghee glanced up. Before Miyoung could lower her arms, Junghee was on her knees with both hands wrapped around the rifle.  Miyoung opened her mouth to say something, anything, but the thin, black barrel was already hurtling towards her. It drove hard into Miyoung’s ribs. The rock dropped out of her hands as Miyoung pitched backwards. 

Time slowed as she fell. There was fear in Junghee’s eyes. The wind was knocked out of Miyoung’s lungs. Anger on her face. Miyoung’s head hit the ground, and her ears rang. She was the picture of righteous rage. Looking up dazedly at Junghee’s looming face, she could’ve felt inspired, reinvigorated, but 

If he was a snake, and he was a pig, she was a chicken. 

So Miyoung closed her eyes before the downward swing of the rifle could reach her face.