“We need a plan,” Yumi said. “One that isn’t you simply walking up and trying to beat the machine to pieces with a rock. They’ll think we’ve gone insane—and no matter how spindly those scholars are, you won’t get far with all four of them piling on top of you.”
“What else do we do?” he said. “Like I said before—we don’t have any resources.”
“No,” Yumi said. “There is one resource we have that we haven’t tried using in a while. The truth.”
He frowned at her. “What are you saying?”
“You’ve shown me,” she said, “that I have more power than I ever dared to wield. The spirits brought you here so that I could realize it. We are the ultimate authority in this town. Not those scholars, not Liyun, not even the local officials. The yoki-hijo can ask for anything. Demand anything.”
“So we just walk up and insist that the scholars let us break their machine?” he said. “I think they’ll ignore us, yoki-hijo or not.”
“Then we don’t give them any other option.”
They locked eyes. The truth. The （lowly） truth. He wished he’d been brave enough to use it more in his own life. He nodded. “Your world, Yumi,” he said. “Your rules. Tell me what you want me to do.”
“Thank you,” she said, moving her hand next to his, almost touching. “Thank you, Painter.”
She had him quickly step down from the shrine and slip on his clogs. He left behind his paints, including the sketches of townspeople he’d done while waiting for the map. This wasn’t a task for a painter, but for a girl of commanding primal spirits.
He found Liyun outside, chatting softly with Hwanji and Chaeyung. Together they bowed as he approached, by now accustomed to the way he decided when his meditations were done.
He stepped up to them, braced himself, then spoke the words Yumi had prepared. “The spirits came to me,” he said, “and asked me to destroy the machine that the scholars brought. I do not entirely know the reason, but I believe it is hurting them.
“This knowledge is partially to blame for my erratic behavior lately. I’ve been trying to figure out how to navigate my duties, the social norms I’ve been taught, and this strange demand of the spirits. Today, it is coming to a head. I want you to support me in gathering the people of the town. Then, together, we’re going to go to the scholars and demand that the machine be destroyed.”
All three stared at him. He tried not to wince. And yet, saying it like that…felt good. Actually, it had been easier than he’d imagined.
It was a test with dangerous stakes. How far did Yumi’s authority go? How far could he push these people?
“Are you certain about this, Chosen?” Liyun finally asked.
Yumi stepped up beside him and spoke, with him repeating the words. “I have never been so sure about something in my life, Liyun. This is what the spirits wish of me. You will help me. Either that or you will remove me from my position—but you would have to physically restrain me. Because I am going to deal with that machine right now.”
Painter blinked at the force in her words. He’d thought that kind of sternness was reserved solely for wayward stone-stacking trainees.
Chaeyung and Hwanji looked to Liyun. Who, at last, bowed.
“You are the yoki-hijo,” Liyun said. “If you have carefully considered the ramifications to both yourself and to our order…”
“Even if I’m right,” Yumi said through Painter, “then others will undoubtedly see it as jealousy. They will paint me as erratic, someone who has lost control of her emotions and her mind after seeing the machine replace her. I will likely be removed from my position. I know, Liyun. Nevertheless, this is what the spirits have demanded. So I serve—as you taught me so well.”
“You might,” Liyun whispered, “spend the rest of your life in…captivity. Serving only under lock and key, stacking with strict oversight.”
“And you will be disgraced,” Yumi said through Painter. “I know, Liyun. I know.”
Liyun hesitated, then bowed, a deep and flowery bow. “Chosen,” she said （highly）。 “We are your servants.”
“Ha!” Hwanji said, grabbing Painter by the arm. “I knew something was wrong with those scholars, Chosen. We had other scholars from the university come to my home village, and they were kind and quiet men who helped us with the disease upon our crops. These men though, they spend all day sneaking around. Shooting everyone dark glances.”
“Quickly, woman,” Liyun said. “Go and fetch the town officials. We will need their bailiff to execute this command. Assuming it pleases you, Chosen?”
“It does please me,” Painter said. “Thank you.”
Within half an hour, they marched through town with not just the town’s bailiff, but twelve of its strongest men, who carried hammers for breaking stones. Painter walked at their head, Yumi at his side, seeming nervous but relieved.
“It is a better plan, isn’t it?” she whispered.
He nodded. “You’re wrong about one thing though,” he said back softly. “You said the machine would replace you. It can’t.”
“But—”
“It can summon spirits,” he said. “But it can’t create art. Art is about intent, Yumi. A rainbow isn’t art, beautiful though it might be. Art is about creation. Human creation. A machine can lift way more than Tojin can—doesn’t make it less impressive when he lifts more than almost any human being.”
He smiled at her. “I don’t care how well a machine piles rocks. The fact that you do it is what matters to me.”
She smiled back, brushing her hand against his, causing their arms to radiate warmth. But then they reached the scholars’ tent. It was time. The machine wasn’t in its place out front, but they often rolled it into the tent for brief maintenance. As the group arrived, the lead scholar—Painter couldn’t remember his name—was stepping out, wearing his tall hat. He froze when he noticed them all.
“Scholars,” Painter said. “By the authority of the spirits themselves, we have come to destroy your machine. Step aside.”
The scholar cocked his head, then called into the tent.
“Sunjun! They’re here!”
Sunjun, the most engineering-minded of the scholars, popped out of the tent. “Already?”
“Indeed,” the lead scholar said. “Looks like it’s time for a confrontation.”
Sunjun sighed, then took out some device and activated it. Painter couldn’t see what it did, but this wasn’t the reaction he’d been hoping for. They didn’t seem frightened, or even surprised. More…regretful. Perhaps they were stalling. Honam poked his head out of the tent, then handed the lead scholar something. A pair of goggles. He affixed them to his face, then looked at Painter.
“Stand aside,” Painter said. “And relinquish the machine.”
The lead scholar instead studied him. “So,” the man said. “This is the descendant of the nomads. You’ve done quite well for yourselves, as a people. Tell me. What is it you think is happening here, boy? The division between our nations? The fact that you have entire cities nearby that can’t visit ours?”