One week later, Hwa-yeong stood in the KBS television studio at five in the morning, wearing her best hanbok and the expression of someone who had just discovered modern entertainment was run by particularly ambitious demons.
The studio buzzed with activity that made a royal court seem peaceful by comparison. People wearing headsets rushed around shouting numbers that apparently meant something important, while enormous lights blazed overhead with the intensity of artificial suns. In the center sat a curved desk where she was to dispense wisdom to the nation while pretending that having her soul captured by cameras was a perfectly normal Tuesday morning activity.
"First time on television?" asked the makeup artist, a cheerful woman who seemed determined to paint her face with enough cosmetics to supply a small theater troupe.
"This humble servant has never participated in such… extensive spiritual documentation," Hwa-yeong replied, trying not to flinch as the woman wielded her powder brush. "In my experience, preserving one's image for posterity typically involved portrait artists and considerable advance planning."
The makeup artist paused. "You really do talk like that all the time, don't you?"
"How else would one speak?"
"Right. Well, try not to move too much. The cameras pick up every little thing."
---
From the corner, Eun-mi watched the chaos with fascination, like someone discovering a particularly complex form of organized insanity. She had talked her way into the studio by claiming to be Hwa-yeong's "cultural consultant," a title Producer Seo accepted with the weary resignation of someone who had learned not to question teenagers with official-sounding business cards.
"Joseon unni," Eun-mi called softly, "remember what we practiced. Keep the predictions general but specific enough to sound real. And whatever you do, don't mention Minister Jung by name. City people think talking to cats is crazy."
"Minister Jung's wisdom has guided countless important decisions," Hwa-yeong protested.
"I know, but TV people don't understand proper respect for reincarnated nobility."
---
Producer Seo appeared, clipboard in hand and the manic energy of someone running on coffee fumes. "Five minutes to air, Miss Yoon. Remember, keep it light and entertaining. Our viewers want optimism, not existential dread."
"This unworthy servant shall endeavor to provide spiritual guidance that honors both traditional wisdom and morning television requirements," Hwa-yeong said solemnly.
Producer Seo blinked, trying to decode her phrasing, then sighed. "Just… be yourself. The authentic traditional thing is exactly what we want."
As they led her to the set, Hwa-yeong caught sight of herself on a monitor—a small, formal figure surrounded by bright modern chaos, looking like a time traveler arriving in the wrong century. For a moment, she felt the familiar weight of her past life's failures, standing in another court where her words could seal someone's fate.
"Little songbird," whispered her long-dead patron's imagined voice, "this time, sing only for yourself."
---
The morning show hosts, a man and woman with the aggressive cheerfulness of people professionally trained to find everything delightful, welcomed her with enthusiasm that felt simultaneously genuine and terrifying.
"We're so excited to have you here, Miss Yoon!" gushed Min-jung, the female host. "Tell our viewers a little about your background."
Hwa-yeong settled gracefully into her chair. "This humble practitioner has studied the ancient arts of divination and herbal healing, seeking to serve those requiring guidance in life's complexities."
"Wonderful!" said Jae-sung, the male host, with a smile suggesting he understood none of that but was committed to being enthusiastic. "And we understand you also prepare traditional beauty treatments?"
"Indeed. The wisdom of our ancestors recognized outer beauty reflects inner harmony. When spiritual energy flows freely, physical radiance naturally follows."
From the corner, Eun-mi gave a thumbs up.
---
The hosts began reading viewer questions—worried wives, anxious students, people seeking clarity about jobs and relationships.
"Mrs. Kim from Busan writes: 'My husband has been working late every night for the past month. Should I be worried?'"
Hwa-yeong considered this as seriously as interpreting omens for a royal court. "The patterns suggest Mrs. Kim's husband carries burdens to secure his family's wellbeing. Late hours may indicate economic pressures rather than romantic betrayal. However, wise wives approach such concerns with direct communication rather than silent anxiety."
She paused, struck by inspiration. "I also recommend preparing a special meal to welcome him home, creating an atmosphere of warmth that invites honest conversation."
"That's such practical advice!" Min-jung exclaimed. "And so traditional!"
---
When asked about university exams, she said:
"Knowledge, like a garden, grows best with consistent tending rather than desperate forcing. Create a daily ritual that includes moments of rest. The mind requires both effort and restoration. And perhaps—" she smiled softly, "—begin each study session by expressing gratitude to the ancestors who preserved the knowledge you now learn."
Off-camera, Producer Seo was making frantic but delighted gestures.
---
Finally:
"Before we finish, could you share a simple herbal beauty tip for our viewers?" Min-jung asked.
"Certainly. For skin impurities, a daily wash with green tea and rice water cleanses gently while preserving natural oils. For dull complexion, mix ground almonds with honey and apply twice weekly." She paused, then added with quiet authority, "But true beauty begins with adequate rest, proper nutrition, and peace with one's conscience."
"Wonderful advice," Jae-sung said. "Thank you so much for joining us."
"The honor has been entirely this humble servant's," she replied with a small bow.
---
As cameras cut away, Producer Seo rushed over. "That was perfect! Phones are already ringing."
Eun-mi grinned. "You were amazing, Joseon unni. Wise without being preachy, traditional without being weird."
"The experience proved less soul-destroying than anticipated," Hwa-yeong admitted as they left the set. "Though the cameras create an unsettling sensation, as if one's essence is preserved for unknown purposes."
"That's literally what they do," Eun-mi said. "But the unknown purposes are mostly people eating breakfast."
---
As they gathered their things, a production assistant approached with awe. "Miss Yoon? My grandmother called the station. She said your green tea face wash advice was exactly what her mother used to recommend."
"Please convey this humble servant's respects to your honored grandmother. The wisdom of our ancestors deserves preservation and practice."
Outside in the morning sunlight, Eun-mi lit a cigarette. "So, how does it feel to be famous?"
"In my past life," Hwa-yeong said slowly, "fame was dangerous. Court attention could elevate or destroy. But today, I felt something different."
"What?"
"Usefulness," she said simply. "People asked genuine questions and received honest answers. If this is fame, perhaps it need not be feared."
---
Back at the boarding house, Minister Jung awaited on the steps, sitting regally in a patch of sun.
"Your Excellency appears pleased with this morning's developments," Hwa-yeong said, bowing to the cat.
Minister Jung meowed once, regally, then led them inside where Mrs. Kang was fielding phone calls with the harried expression of someone whose quiet life had just been invaded by success.
"That was you on TV, wasn't it?" Mrs. Kang called out, covering the receiver. "Because now every woman in Seoul wants to know about rice water face wash, and they all think I'm your secretary!"
Eun-mi and Hwa-yeong exchanged glances.
"I believe," Hwa-yeong said thoughtfully, "we are going to need considerably more than a bigger workspace."
---