The Royal Emissary/Emissary Kim Character Analysis

“If a man is keeping an idea to himself, and that idea is taken by stealth or trickery—I say it is stealing. But once a man has revealed his idea to others, it is no longer his alone. It belongs to the world.”

[…]

An image floated out of the darkness into Tree-ear’s mind—that of himself with his eye pressed to the knothole of Kang’s shed.

Stealth.

He could not yet tell Min of Kang’s idea.

“The melon shape is common enough now—I see it often,” Kim said. Tree-ear could hardly breathe. Did this mean that the man did not care for the piece?

“And yet this work is unmistakable,” he continued.

The old fool! he thought. He does not wish the emissary to see the imperfect glaze . . . his pride keeps him from a royal commission. The fool . . .

Tree-ear’s eyes filled with tears. He bent to pick up another piece of laundry. Ajima meant something like “Auntie”; it was a term of great affection, reserved only for older kinswomen. Tree-ear was kin to no one, and yet Min’s wife wished for him to call her Ajima.

“Because he is proud, Tree-ear,” she said. “He does not wish to be fed out of pity.”

Tree-ear kicked a small stone at his feet. Why was it that pride and foolishness were so often close companions?

Could it be? He had fallen asleep! He had slept for who knew how long, with a fox nearby—and he had survived!

Tree-ear laughed out loud, and the sound of his laughter reminded him of his friend. We are afraid of the things we do not know—just because we do not know them, Tree-ear thought, pleased with himself. He must remember the idea; Crane-man would be interested in discussing it.

Across one side of the shard ran a shallow groove, evidence of the vase’s melon shape. Part of an inlaid peony blossom with its stem and leaves twined along the groove. And the glaze still shone clear and pure, untouched by the violence that had just been done it.

“My master works slowly.”

The emissary nodded solemnly. “As well he should.”

“We would like to give you a new name. Would it be agreeable to you if we were to call you Hyung-pil from now on?”

Tree-ear ducked his head quickly, recalling that the son of Min had been called Hyung-gu. A name that shared a syllable! It was an honor bestowed on siblings. No longer would Tree-ear go by the name of an orphan.

“If a man is keeping an idea to himself, and that idea is taken by stealth or trickery—I say it is stealing. But once a man has revealed his idea to others, it is no longer his alone. It belongs to the world.”

[…]

An image floated out of the darkness into Tree-ear’s mind—that of himself with his eye pressed to the knothole of Kang’s shed.

Stealth.

He could not yet tell Min of Kang’s idea.

“The melon shape is common enough now—I see it often,” Kim said. Tree-ear could hardly breathe. Did this mean that the man did not care for the piece?

“And yet this work is unmistakable,” he continued.

The old fool! he thought. He does not wish the emissary to see the imperfect glaze . . . his pride keeps him from a royal commission. The fool . . .

Tree-ear’s eyes filled with tears. He bent to pick up another piece of laundry. Ajima meant something like “Auntie”; it was a term of great affection, reserved only for older kinswomen. Tree-ear was kin to no one, and yet Min’s wife wished for him to call her Ajima.

“Because he is proud, Tree-ear,” she said. “He does not wish to be fed out of pity.”

Tree-ear kicked a small stone at his feet. Why was it that pride and foolishness were so often close companions?

Could it be? He had fallen asleep! He had slept for who knew how long, with a fox nearby—and he had survived!

Tree-ear laughed out loud, and the sound of his laughter reminded him of his friend. We are afraid of the things we do not know—just because we do not know them, Tree-ear thought, pleased with himself. He must remember the idea; Crane-man would be interested in discussing it.

Across one side of the shard ran a shallow groove, evidence of the vase’s melon shape. Part of an inlaid peony blossom with its stem and leaves twined along the groove. And the glaze still shone clear and pure, untouched by the violence that had just been done it.

“My master works slowly.”

The emissary nodded solemnly. “As well he should.”

“We would like to give you a new name. Would it be agreeable to you if we were to call you Hyung-pil from now on?”

Tree-ear ducked his head quickly, recalling that the son of Min had been called Hyung-gu. A name that shared a syllable! It was an honor bestowed on siblings. No longer would Tree-ear go by the name of an orphan.