The Tale of Sim Cheong (沈淸傳)

A modern translation of the 71-leaf Wanpan woodblock edition held by Seoul National University.

Translator’s note: Simcheongjeon is one of Korea’s most beloved classical novels, a story of filial devotion. A blind man named Sim and his devoted daughter Sim Cheong live in poverty; to restore her father’s sight, Cheong sells herself as a human sacrifice to sailors, is thrown into the sea, is saved by Heaven, returns as an empress, and is finally reunited with her father—who then opens his eyes. Korean terms, place names, and allusions to Chinese classics are kept where meaningful, with explanations in parentheses.

― Volume One ―

1. The Blind Man Sim and Lady Gwak — A Hard Lot

In the last years of the Song dynasty, in Dohwa-dong (“Peach Blossom Village”) of Hwangju, there lived a man whose surname was Sim and whose given name was Hak-gyu. His family had for generations held government office and been renowned, but their fortunes had declined, and before he was twenty he lost his sight. With that, the path to office was cut off and all hope of high position vanished. Living a hard life in the countryside, with no close relatives and his eyes besides gone dark, he was unknown to others; yet as the descendant of a noble line, pure in conduct and firm in integrity, all praised him as a man of virtue.

His wife, Lady Gwak, was wise and virtuous, possessing the virtue of Tairen (mother of King Wen), the beauty of Zhuangjiang, and the chastity of Mulan. There was nothing she did not know of the Book of Rites, the Family Rites, the “Inner Standards” chapter, and the Guanju poems of the Zhou Nan and Shao Nan sections of the Book of Songs. She lived in harmony with her neighbors, was kind to those beneath her, and managed the household flawlessly; she was as upright as Bo Yi and Shu Qi and as poor as Yan Hui. With no inherited property, a single room, and few belongings, they could barely manage even their daily meals.

With no fields in the countryside and no servants in the wings, the pitiable, gentle Lady Gwak sold her own labor and took in sewing. She did every kind of needlework—official robes, gowns, ceremonial coats, jackets and surcoats, fine quilting and topstitching on men’s and women’s clothing, washing and starching, summer garments, headbands and hat-strings, buttons and sleeve-covers, socks and leggings, pouches and sashes, hoods and capes, embroidered pillow-ends with mandarin-duck designs, crane patterns on rank badges; she prepared shrouds and mourning robes for funerals, wove all manner of silks and ramie and hemp, prepared food for weddings and funerals, arranged dishes, folded paper and stacked fruit for feasts, and dyed cloth in blue, red, yellow, white, and incense-brown. Three hundred and sixty days a year, not resting for a single hour, she worked until her nails and toenails wore down. She gathered pennies into coins and coins into strings, lent at interest to honest neighbors and collected without fail, and so provided the spring and autumn ancestral rites, the care of her sightless husband, his clothing for the four seasons, his morning and evening side dishes, and every delicacy to his taste—always serving with utmost devotion. So the people of the upper and lower villages praised Lady Gwak as a woman of grace.

One day the blind man Sim said, “My dear wife.” “Yes.” “Born into this world, who does not have a spouse? But by what grace in a former life did we become husband and wife in this one—that for the sake of blind me, you never rest a moment, earning day and night, serving me like a child you cherish, fearing I might go hungry or cold, providing food and clothing in season with all your heart? I may be at ease, but your toil makes me uneasy instead. From now on, do not trouble yourself so much over me; let us live as we may. We are nearing forty with no child beneath our knees, and so the ancestral rites will end. When I die and go to the next world, with what face shall I meet my forebears? And thinking of our lot—who will hold our funeral, and at the yearly memorial day, who will set out even a bowl of rice or a cup of water for us? Let us offer devotions at the famous mountains and great temples; if by good fortune we have a child—even a blind one, son or daughter—we will resolve the regret of a lifetime. Pray with all your sincerity.”

Lady Gwak answered, “The old texts say, ‘There are three thousand unfilial acts, and the greatest of these is to have no offspring.’ So our childlessness is all my fault, and I deserve to be cast out; yet by your broad generosity I have lived until now. My longing for a child is desperate day and night—what would I not do, even to sell my body or grind my bones? But our circumstances are hard, and not knowing how you, with your upright and steadfast nature, would regard it, I could not bring it up. Since you have spoken first, I will offer devotions with all my heart.”

And so, with the wages she had earned, she offered every kind of devotion—at famous mountains and great temples, spirit shrines, ancient ancestral halls, and village guardian shrines; visiting the various Buddhas, bodhisattvas, and the Maitreya; offering prayers to the Seven Stars, to the Arhats, to Jeseok (Indra); making offerings of food, clothing, lamps, and paper—every kind. And on the days she stayed home, she devoutly offered rites to the Kitchen God, the House God, and the Earth God. Would a tower built with such devotion fall, or a tree planted with such care break?

2. The Dream of Conception and the Birth of Sim Cheong

On the eighth day of the fourth month in the year Gapja, she had a dream. An auspicious air hovered in the sky, and amid a brilliant rainbow a heavenly maiden came down from the heavens riding a crane. She wore a coat of many colors and a flowered crown on her head; ornaments swayed at her waist with a tinkling sound, and she held a branch of cassia flowers. She bowed to the lady and came to sit beside her—like the clear light of the moon entering her bosom, like the Bodhisattva of the Southern Sea rising again from the ocean—so that the lady’s heart and mind were dazzled beyond composure. The maiden said, “I was the daughter of the Queen Mother of the West. On my way to present peaches of immortality I met the lad Okjin and lingered too long in pleasant talk, and so I missed my time. For this the Heavenly Emperor found me at fault and cast me down to the human world. Not knowing where to go, I was told by the Old Lord of Mount Taehang, by Lady Huto, and by the Buddhas, bodhisattvas, and Sakyamuni to go to your house; so I have come. Pray receive me kindly.” And she came into her bosom. The lady started awake—it was a dream. At once she woke the blind man and told him; the dreams of the two were the same. That night, however it came to pass, indeed from that month she conceived.

Lady Gwak kept her heart gentle: she would not sit in an improper place, would not eat unclean food, would not listen to lewd talk, would not look upon what was bad, would not stand at the edge, and would not lie down in a crooked spot. Ten months passed, and one day the signs of childbirth came. “Oh, my belly! Oh, my back!”

The blind man Sim, glad on one hand and alarmed on the other, neatly spread a handful of straw, set a bowl of fresh-drawn water on a low table, knelt upright, and prayed: “I pray, I pray to the Three Birth-Spirit Kings. This is a child born to Lady Gwak in her later years—let her give birth as easily as a melon seed slipping from a worn skirt.” As he prayed, an unearthly fragrance filled the room, a five-colored rainbow encircled them, and amid a fading of his senses the child was born—a daughter.

The blind man cut the cord, laid the child down, and was beside himself with joy. When Lady Gwak had collected herself, she asked, “Tell me, husband—is it a son or a daughter?” The blind man laughed heartily and felt the baby’s lower parts; his hand passed over smoothly, like a ferryboat gliding by. “It seems the old clam has borne a new clam.” Lady Gwak grieved: “After all our devotions, the child of our later years is a daughter?” The blind man said, “My dear, do not speak so. First, the birth went well; and a daughter, well raised, would I trade for any son? We will raise this daughter with care, teach her manners first, teach her sewing and weaving thoroughly, and when she becomes a graceful, virtuous woman, we will choose a fine husband for her; if they live happily together, may we not rely on our son-in-law and have our grandchildren carry on the ancestral rites?”

He ladled out hot rice-soup, fed the new mother, and then, alone, cooed over the baby.

My golden child, my jade child—ah, my darling daughter!

Has Sukhyang of the Pojin River come alive again as you? Has the Weaving Maiden of the Milky Way come down as you?

Were I to obtain fields north and south, could they be more welcome than you? Were I to gain coral and pearls, could they be more welcome than you?

Where were you, that only now you have come to be?

3. The Death of Mother Gwak and the Blind Man’s Lament

Thus they rejoiced—until Lady Gwak unexpectedly suffered a postpartum affliction. Before even the first seven days had passed since the gentle Lady Gwak gave birth, she took too much of the outside air and fell ill. “Oh, my belly! Oh, my head! Oh, my chest! Oh, my legs!” She ached all over with no relief, until the blind man, beside himself, felt all over her aching body: “Speak to me, gather yourself. Is it indigestion? Has the Birth-Spirit grown angry?”

The illness grew steadily worse, and the blind man, frightened, brought Doctor Seong from the village across the way to take her pulse and prescribe medicine. But though one uses asparagus root, liriope, pinellia, tangerine peel, cinnamon, hoelen, siler, bupleurum, cassia twig, apricot kernel, peach kernel, and all the herbs of Shennong’s pharmacopoeia, there is no medicine for a fatal illness. Her condition deepened until she was helplessly dying. Knowing she could not live, Lady Gwak took her husband’s hand, drew a long sigh, and left her last words.

“We two met and meant to grow old together for a hundred years. In our poor household, fearing it would burden you—my sightless husband—if I were careless, I wished above all to honor your wishes and serve you; so, braving cold and heat, I went about the lower and upper villages selling my labor, receiving rice and side dishes, eating the cold rice myself and giving you the warm, serving you with all my heart that you might not hunger or freeze. But whether this is the limit of my allotted life, or our bond is simply severed—it has come to nothing. How shall I close my eyes and go? Who will mend your worn clothes, who will offer you tasty food? Once I am dead, our blind husband, alone in the world with no kin to lean on, bowl in hand and staff in grip, will go out in his season and fall into ditches, stumble on stones, and tumble down—I can see before my eyes how he will weep, lamenting his lot; I can hear ringing in my ears the sad sound of him going house to house begging for food. After I die, how could even my soul bear to hear and see it? And the child I bore at forty after devotions at famous mountains and great temples—must I die without once nursing her, without even seeing her face fully?”

“At Yi-dongji’s house across the way I left ten nyang of money; fetch it and put it toward the funeral. In the lower chest there is an official robe for the household of Inspector Jin, with a crane rank-badge I left unfinished, wrapped in a cloth; when they come for it after my funeral, give it to them without worry. The Gwideok-mother across the village was close to me; if you take the child and ask her to nurse it, she will surely not refuse. And if by Heaven’s mercy this child does not die but grows and walks on her own feet, lead her, ask the way, and come to my grave; tell her, ‘This is your dead mother’s grave,’ so that mother and daughter may meet face to face—then even as a soul I will have no regret. Name the child Sim Cheong. The jade ring I wore is in this box; when Cheong grows up, give it to her as if she were seeing me. And there is a coin the state bestowed, inscribed on each side with ‘long life, fortune, health, peace’ and ‘great peace and ease’; I have hung it on a fine silk pouch with a scarlet braided cord. Take that out and fasten it on her too.” And casting off the hand she had held, she sighed, turned to lie facing away, hiccupped two or three times, and her breath suddenly stopped. Only then did the blind man know she was dead.

“Aigo, aigo! My dear wife, are you truly dead? How can this be?” He pounded his chest, struck his head, rolled and tumbled, fell down and got up, stamped his feet and grieved. “My dear wife! If you had lived and I had died, you would raise this child; but if I live and you die, how am I to raise her? Aigo, aigo—this cruel life! If I would live, what shall I eat to live; and if we would die together, what of this little child? Flowers fall and bloom again, the sun sets and rises again—but where my wife has gone, can she never come again? Whom shall I go to find? Aigo, aigo, what sorrow!”

As he grieved so, the people of Dohwa-dong, young and old, men and women, gathered, shed tears, and said, “The graceful Lady Gwak has died, how pitiful. Let our hundred-odd households each give a little and hold her funeral.” By common agreement they prepared a shroud and coffin, chose a sunny spot, and on the third day held the funeral, singing the bier-song in mournful voice.

Eo-eo, eo-eo, eo-eori neomcha eo-eo. They said Bungmang Mountain (the burial hill) was far, but the hill across the way is Bungmang.

Eo-eo, eo-eo, eo-eori neomcha eo-eo. They said the road to the netherworld was far, but beyond the door is the netherworld.

Pitiful Lady Gwak—graceful in conduct and rare in talent—neither old nor young, you have parted from this world forever.

Eohwa neohwa eo-eo.

As they made their way along, look at the blind man Sim: he had left the swaddled infant in the care of the Gwideok-mother and, leaning on his staff, followed along the ridges of paddy and field, clutching the rear of the bier and weeping bitterly. When they reached the grave-site and finished the burial and the mound, the blind man held the rite, and with sorrowful heart composed and read an elegy.

Alas, my wife, alas, my wife. So graceful a wife—who could ever match you?

We vowed to live together a lifetime; in haste you have departed—where have you gone? Leaving this child behind, how am I to raise her?

From the netherworld, to which one goes never to return, when will you ever come? Buried in the deep mountains, you lie as if asleep.

Silent and still, you are hard to see or hear. My tears fall and wet my collar; the soaking tears turn to blood.

Though I pray with breaking heart, there is no way to bring you back. My longing for you is desperate, but what use is it to look for you?

The roads of this world and the next are different—who is there to console me? Perhaps we shall meet in a life to come; in this life there is only regret.

These are poor offerings, but eat your fill and return.

Just as he finished reading the elegy, he seemed about to faint: “Aigo, aigo, how can this be? You go, you go, leaving me behind—what use is it to blame the wife who leaves?” He wept so bitterly that the funeral guests restrained and calmed him.

4. The Blind Man Raises His Child — Sim Cheong Reared on Begged Milk

When he returned and entered what he called home, the kitchen was desolate and the room empty. After grieving so, he turned his thoughts: ‘The dead cannot live again. There is no help for it; I will raise this child well at least.’ So he asked, house by house, where there were infants, and begged milk to feed her. With his eyes dark he could not see, but his ears were keen, and he would sit and judge by his sense of things; when the morning sun rose, hearing voices at the well, he would quickly go out and say, “Madam, please—ladies of the house—give this child a little milk. Is not a motherless little one pitiable? Feed your own precious baby, and give one breast of what is left to this child.” And who would not feed her?

Having begged plenty of milk and fed her until the baby’s belly was round, the blind man, delighted, would squat beneath a sunny bank and coo over her.

Baby, baby, are you sleeping? Baby, baby, are you smiling?

Grow up quickly and be gentle and clever like your mother, full of filial devotion, and show your father precious things.

What grandmother is there to look after you? What mother’s house is there to entrust you to?

Since there was no one to mind the child even for a day, in between he would go begging, carrying a hemp sack sewn into two pouches—rice received on one side, unhusked grain on the other—gathering them up; and on market days he went stall to stall, gathering a penny here and there, and bought taffy or mussels as treats for the child. So they lived, and he kept without worry the first and fifteenth of each month and the lesser and greater memorial rites and death-anniversaries.

Sim Cheong was one destined to become noble, so the spirits of heaven and earth helped her, and the various Buddhas and bodhisattvas secretly aided her; she grew without serious illness, walked on her own feet, and passed her early childhood. The heartless years flowed like water, and before long she was six or seven years old, with a beautiful face and quick movements, outstanding in filial devotion, exceptional in understanding, and gentle as a kirin (a mythical auspicious beast). She knew how to serve her father his morning and evening meals and to perform her mother’s rites by the proper rules—who would not praise her?

5. The Filial Sim Cheong Begs for Food

One day she said to her father, “Even a bird like the crow, when evening comes, knows to bring food in its beak to feed its mother; how then should a person be worse than a bird? Father, with your dark eyes, when you go out to beg you may stumble on high places and deep places and narrow paths and be hurt; and on foul days of wind and rain or cold days of snow and frost, I worry day and night that you may fall ill. From today, Father, please keep the house, and I will go out to beg food and ease our worry about meals.”

The blind man laughed and said, “Your words are admirable. Such is your kindness; but how could my heart be at ease, sending out a young child like you and sitting to receive food?” Cheong said again, “Zilu, a worthy man, carried rice a hundred li to support his parents; and Tiying, though a worthy woman, sold herself to save her father imprisoned in Luoyang. When I think of such deeds, are people different now from then? Do not be stubborn.” The blind man thought it right: “Admirable, my daughter; a filial child, my daughter. Do as you say.” And he consented.

From that day Sim Cheong went out to beg. When the sun shone on the far mountains and smoke rose from the village ahead, with worn socks and leg-ties, a hemp skirt that was little more than a waistband, an unlined jacket without a front panel, somehow bound together, a dark hood thrown over her head, barefoot without socks, dragging heelless shoes, a worn gourd tucked at her side tied with a cord and held in her hand, on bitter days of deep winter and frost she felt no cold but went door to door, entering each gate and earnestly pleading: “My mother has left this world, and who does not know my father is blind and cannot see? With many giving a little, if you eat one spoonful less and give it to me, my sightless father will be spared his hunger.” Those who saw and heard her were moved at heart and gave a spoonful of rice or a dish of kimchi without grudging; and if anyone said, “Eat before you go,” Cheong would say, “My old father waits in a cold room—shall I eat alone? Let me hurry back and eat with my father.”

Gathering rice from two or three houses until it was enough, she would hurry home and step to the door: “Father, were you not cold and hungry? You waited long.” The blind man, with nowhere to settle his heart since sending his daughter out, would be sighing—then quickly and gladly hear that voice, fling open the door, seize her two hands: “Your hands must be cold,” and bring them to his mouth and blow on them, stroke her feet too saying they were cold, click his tongue and brim with tears: “Aigo, aigo, how grievous—your mother. How heartless, my fate! That I should send you to beg food and live by it. Aigo, aigo, this cruel life clung to in vain, only making my child suffer.”

Cheong, in her deep devotion, would console her father: “Father, do not speak so. To support one’s parents and for a child to be repaid with filial care is upright in principle and proper to human duty; so do not worry, and please eat. This is kimchi, this is soy sauce; you must be hungry, please eat plenty.”

Serving him thus through all four seasons, she became the village’s beggar; and as one year, two years, four or five years passed, being quick by nature and skilled at sewing, she did not eat for free but took the village’s sewing for wages, made her father’s clothing and side dishes, and on days without work begged to barely sustain them. Time flowed like water, and Sim Cheong reached the age of fifteen. Her face was outstanding, her filial devotion exceptional, her conduct composed, and her doings extraordinary—a thing of inborn nature, not to be taught. She was a man of virtue among women, a phoenix among birds.

6. The Meeting with Lady Jang, Wife of the Minister

As such reports spread through all the neighborhood, one day a maidservant came from the household of Minister Jang of moonlit Mureung village, saying her lady summoned Miss Sim. Cheong said to her father, “An elder summons me, so I will go with the maid and return. Even if I am delayed, I have set out your meal; if you are hungry, please eat. Be sure to wait for me and take care.”

Following the maid, she looked where the hand pointed: willows planted before the gate encircled a snug village. Entering the main gate, on the left a green paulownia dripped clear dew that startled a crane from its dream, and on the right an aged pine, when a clear breeze blew, seemed an old dragon writhing; before a high pavilion the Lotus Hall stood where gulls flew, lotus leaves floating high and round and flat upon the water, goldfish bobbing. Passing through the inner gate, the scale was grand and the doors and windows brilliantly figured; a lady with half-grey hair, neat in dress and clear of complexion, looked blessed. Seeing Miss Sim, she took her hand gladly: “So you are indeed Sim Cheong? Just as I had heard.”

Looking closely, she was a born beauty. Sitting with her collar drawn neat, she was like a swallow bathed and perched by a clear stream after the rain, startled at the sight of a person; her dazzling face was like the moon high in the sky reflected on the water; her gaze like a bright morning-star shining in a clear dawn sky; the lovely color of her two cheeks like a lotus newly opened on a late-spring slope; her brows the spirit of the new moon; her loose hair like newly grown orchids; her trim side-locks like a cicada’s wings.

The lady praised her: “You may not know your former-life affairs, but you are surely a heavenly maiden. If you become my foster daughter, I will teach you housekeeping and letters and raise you like my own, to enjoy my later years. What do you think?”

Miss Sim rose, bowed twice, and said, “My lot has been hard: within seven days of my birth my mother left the world, and my blind father raised me on begged milk so that I barely lived. Today, my lady, not weighing my lowliness, you would make me your daughter; it is as if I saw my mother again—I am so overwhelmed with awe and gratitude that I cannot settle my heart. If I followed your words, my body would be honored and rich; but who then would look after my blind father’s meals and his clothing through the four seasons? I serve my father as both father and mother, and my father trusts me as both daughter and son; had it not been for my father, would I be alive now? I mean to serve him as long as my body lasts.”

As she finished, tears wet her face like fine rain in a spring breeze beading on peach blossoms and falling drop by drop, so that the lady too pitied her, stroked her back, and said, “Filial are your words, my child; so it should be.” As day darkened, the lady gave her cloth and grain generously and sent her back with the maid, saying, “Be sure not to forget me, and if you hold the bond of mother and daughter, it will be this old one’s good fortune.”

7. Three Hundred Sok of Offering Rice — The Monk of Mongun Temple

Meanwhile the blind man Sim, sitting alone and waiting for Cheong, sensed the day had darkened, found and took his staff, and going out beyond the brushwood gate, fell as if pushed into a ditch deeper than a man’s height—his face the color of mud, his clothes turned to ice. Floundering, he slipped deeper, and trying to climb out he slid back, helplessly about to die; however he cried out, the sun had set and travelers had ceased—who was there to pull him up?

Just then a fund-raising monk of Mongun Temple, who had come down with his subscription book on his back to rebuild the temple, heard on the wind a piteous cry: “Save me!” In his compassion the monk sought out the source and found a man fallen in the ditch, nearly dead. In his urgency he leapt in, seized the blind man’s topknot, hauled him up, and set him out—and it was the blind man Sim he had known before.

The monk carried him on his back, sat him in a room, and asked how he had fallen. The blind man lamented his lot and told the whole story; and the monk said to him, “How pitiful. The Buddha of our temple is full of efficacy—there is no road of prayer that fails, and if you seek, he grants an answer. If you offer three hundred sok of rice to the Buddha and pray with all sincerity, you will surely open your eyes, become a whole man, and behold all things of heaven and earth.” The blind man, not considering his circumstances and beguiled by the words “open your eyes,” said, “Then write down three hundred sok.” The monk spread his bag, wrote in the topmost red column, ‘Sim Hak-gyu: rice, three hundred sok,’ took his leave, and went.

After sending the monk off, the blind man thought again: there was no way to provide three hundred sok of offering rice, and in seeking blessing he had instead incurred guilt—what was he to do? “Aigo, aigo, my fate! What folly I have done. Having boldly written down three hundred sok of offering rice, I can think of it a hundred ways and find no means.”

As he lamented so, Cheong came hurrying, saw her father’s state, was startled, stamped her feet, felt all over his body, and asked the whole story; only then did the blind man pour out the matter. Cheong heard it gladly and consoled her father: “Father, do not worry, and please eat. If by opening your eyes you would behold all things of heaven and earth, I will prepare the three hundred sok of offering rice by some means and send it to Mongun Temple.” “However hard you try, in such straits as ours, what can you do?” “Wang Xiang broke the ice and got a carp; and as the saying goes, sincerity moves Heaven. There will be a way to obtain the offering rice, so do not grieve deeply.”

8. The Bargain with the Nanjing Sailors — Sim Cheong Sells Herself

Having consoled him in every way, from that day she bathed and purified herself, cleaned the house, built an altar in the back yard, and when the night deepened and all was still, lit a lamp, set out a bowl of fresh water, faced north, and prayed for her father’s eyes to be made bright.

As she continued praying so, one day she heard that ‘merchant sailors of Nanjing wish to buy a maiden of fifteen.’ Cheong heard this gladly and, putting the Gwideok-mother in between, asked the reason they wished to buy a person. “We are Nanjing sailors; when we pass the Indangsu (a perilous sea-crossing), if we offer a sacrifice in rite, we cross that boundless wide sea safely and make tens of thousands in profit. So if there is a maiden willing to sell herself, we will pay without sparing the price.” Cheong heard gladly and said, “I am a person of this village; my father is blind, and I need three hundred sok of offering rice—how would it be for you to buy me?” The sailors heard this and said, “Her devotion is utmost, yet how pitiful,” and consented; at once they carried three hundred sok of rice to Mongun Temple, and said, “The boat is to depart on the fifteenth of the coming third month,” and went.

Cheong told her father she had obtained the offering rice: “The old lady of Minister Jang’s household wished to make me her foster daughter and gave three hundred sok of rice, so I have agreed to be sold as her foster daughter.” The blind man, knowing nothing of the truth, heard only this gladly: “If so, how grateful. When do you go?” “They say they will take me on the fifteenth of next month.” “Ah, that has turned out very well.”

9. Sim Cheong Prepares for Parting

From that day Cheong brooded: parting forever from her blind, white-haired father and dying, and a person born into the world dying at fifteen—her mind went blank, she lost all interest in tasks, refused food and drink, and passed her days in worry; then she thought again, ‘It is spilled water; it is an arrow already shot.’ As the day drew near: ‘This will not do. While I live, let me at least do my father’s laundry and sewing.’ So she made and put away his spring and autumn topstitched lined clothes; she stitched his summer garments; she padded his winter clothes with cotton, wrapped them in cloth, and put them in the chest; she folded a dark hat-string and fastened it to his hat and hung it on the wall; she dressed his headband, fastened the cords, and hung it up.

Counting the days until the boat’s departure, one night remained. The night deepened to the third watch, and the Milky Way had tilted. Facing the candle, kneeling with both knees together, she bowed her head and drew a long sigh; however filial, could her heart be whole? ‘Let me sew my father’s socks one last time,’ she said, and threaded a needle; her chest grew tight, her two eyes dim, her mind blank, and a ceaseless weeping welled up within her. For fear her father might wake she could not weep aloud, but sobbing, she pressed her face to his and felt his hands and feet.

“How many nights are left to see me? Once I die, in whom will he trust to live? Grievous—my father. Since I came of age you laid down your begging; from tomorrow you will be the village beggar again, and how he will be slighted, how scorned. By what cruel fate did my mother die within seven days of my birth, and now I part even from my father—could such a thing happen twice?”

Before long the east grew light. “Rooster, rooster, do not crow. For mercy’s sake, do not crow. If you crow the day breaks, and if the day breaks I die. Dying is not so grievous, but how can I forget my helpless father and go?” The east grew light, and Cheong, thinking to make her father’s meal one last time, opened the door and stepped out; already the sailors were beyond the brushwood gate: “Today is the day the boat departs—please let us go quickly.” Hearing this, Cheong lost the color in her face and the strength in her limbs; she barely called the sailors: “Wait a moment, and let me make his meal one last time for him to eat, and say my words, and then I will go.”

10. The Last Parting from Her Father

Cheong went in, made the rice with her tears, served it to her father, sat facing him at the table, and to have him eat plenty broke off pieces of dried fish and put them in his mouth, wrapped seaweed and laid it on his spoon: “Please eat plenty.” The blind man, knowing nothing, said, “My, the side dishes are unusually good today.”

Cheong went into the ancestral shrine to take her leave, weeping: “This unworthy granddaughter Sim Cheong, for the sake of opening her father’s eyes, is sold as a sacrifice at the Indangsu; the ancestral rites will end, and I cannot overcome my longing.” Weeping, she took her leave, closed the shrine door, came before her father, seized his two hands, and fainted; the blind man, startled, said, “Child, child, what is this? Gather yourself and speak.”

Cheong said, “I, your unworthy daughter, deceived you. Who would give me three hundred sok of offering rice? I sold myself to the Nanjing sailors as a sacrifice at the Indangsu, and today is the day of departure; look upon me one last time.” The blind man, hearing this, said, “Is it true, is it true? Aigo, aigo, what is this you say? You shall not go, you shall not go. Did you do as you pleased without even asking me? If you lived and I opened my eyes, that would be a fitting thing; but to kill my child and open my eyes—how could I bear to do such a thing? Whom shall I go to find? I would sell my eyes to buy you—shall I sell you to open my eyes? What would I open my eyes to see? I want no money, I want no rice—you wretched, base men!”

Cheong held her father and wept and consoled him: “Father, there is no help for it. I am already to die, but you must open your eyes, behold the bright world, take a good wife, have sons and daughters, carry on the line, and not think of your unworthy daughter, but live long in peace. This too is Heaven’s decree; what use is regret?”

The sailors, seeing their piteous state, brought into the village two hundred sok of rice and three hundred nyang of money and one bolt each of cotton and hemp, and asked the villagers to provide for the blind man’s livelihood. Only then did the lady of Minister Jang’s household in Mureung hear of it; she summoned Miss Sim and said she would give three hundred sok of rice again, that Cheong should return it to the sailors and speak no more of such an improper thing. Miss Sim said, “What use is it to regret now what I failed to say at first? Having pledged my body to another and fixed an agreement, to break the agreement again is what unworthy people do; I cannot follow your words. Your heaven-like kindness I will repay even in the next world, knotting grass to requite it (a classical idiom for repaying kindness beyond death).”

Miss Sim wept and wrote the lady a parting verse.

A person’s death and life are within a single dream; drawn by feeling, why should one needlessly shed tears—

yet there is a most heart-rending place in the world: that, where grass grows in the south, a person cannot return.

Cheong returned and took her leave of her father; the blind man clung to her, rolling and writhing in anguish: “Kill me before you go—you shall not go just so. Take me with you.” Cheong consoled him: “Would I sever the heavenly bond of father and child because I wish to, or die because I wish to? But the unlucky fate is fixed, and life and death have their times; this is Heaven’s doing, and what use is it to lament?” And having the villagers hold her father, she followed the sailors away.

11. Toward the Indangsu

Weeping aloud, she cinched her skirt-string; her loose hair hung at her two ears, and tears flowing like rain wet her collar. Falling and stumbling, held up as she went, she looked toward the house across the way: “You are lucky in your lot—stay well with both parents.” The men and women of the village, young and old, wept until their eyes swelled, holding one another, and at the village entrance they let go each other’s hands and parted.

Looking back at every step, shedding tears at every second step, she reached the river-head; a plank was laid at the boat’s prow, and Cheong was led aboard and stowed within the bars. They weighed anchor, raised the sail, and the sailors raised a song.

Eogiya, eogiya, eogiyang, eogiyang.

Singing thus, beating the drum boom-boom, plying the oars and rowing, they set the boat on the waves and departed.

― Volume Two ―

12. The Voyage to the Southern Sea — Passing the Eight Views of Xiaoxiang

On the vast wide sea rough waves rose; the gulls on the water flew into the reed thickets, and the wild geese of the north returned south. The surging sound of the water was surely the sound of fishing boats, but in the winding currents no human trace appeared, only the mountain peaks were green. That the boat-songs they sang held every sorrow—surely that was said of me. Reaching the Yellow Crane Tower—

At dusk of a darkening day, where is my homeland? Haze over rivers and hills, my heart is heavy with care.

—such was the trace of Cui Hao. Entering the Xiaoxiang River, the high Yueyang Tower floated upon the lake; looking southeast, the mountains were piled fold upon fold and the river broad and wide. The Eight Views of Xiaoxiang spread before her eyes; gazing slowly, the waves were boundless—the tears of Ehuang and Nüying (the two wives of the sage-king Shun), the speckles dappling the bamboo drop by drop: is this not the ‘Night Rain on the Xiaoxiang’?

Reaching the western hills, the wind and waves struck hard, a cold air stirred, and dark clouds encircled; the soul of Wu Zixu, loyal minister of Wu, appeared and poured out his grievance, and again the soul of Qu Yuan of Chu appeared and said: “I am Qu Yuan of Chu; having given my full loyalty, I drowned in this water. You die with filial devotion for your parents, and I gave my full loyalty—loyalty and filial piety are one and the same. I have come to console you. On the ten-thousand-li road over the sea, go in peace.”

Cheong thought, ‘Dead these thousands of years, their souls remain and are visible to human eyes; I too am then a ghost. This is an omen of my death,’ and lamented sorrowfully:

The autumn wind rises chill in the evening hour, and the wide world is luminous, shining bright.

The setting glow flies level with a lone gull, and the clear autumn water is one color with the sky.

13. The Indangsu — Sim Cheong Casts Herself In

Arriving at one place, they lowered the sail and dropped anchor—this was the very Indangsu. A fierce wind rose mightily, the sea heaved as if dragons and fish were fighting, as if a thunderbolt had struck; in the midst of the wide sea the boat laden with a thousand sok lost its oars, its anchor-rope broke, its rigging snapped, its rudder came loose; wind blew and waves struck, fog and rain mingled and thickened, the way ahead still a thousand, ten thousand li, all four sides dark and heaven and earth desolate. As the boat barely drifted on, the gunwales pounded bang-bang, the mast cracked, and in an instant all was in peril; the chief boatman and all below him took fright and lost their wits. Preparing the sacrificial offerings, they bathed Cheong, changed her into white clothes, seated her at the head of the table; the chief boatman stepped forward, beat the drum boom-boom, and offered the rite.

The rite finished: “Sim Cheong, the time is urgent—quickly enter the water.” Behold Sim Cheong’s bearing: she joined her two palms, rose, and prayed before Heaven: “I pray, I pray before Heaven. That I, Sim Cheong, die is not in the least grievous to me; but I meet this death wishing to resolve, in his lifetime, the deep regret of my sick father. Bright Heaven, be moved, and open wide my dark father’s eyes.” Through tears she said, “All you sailors, go in peace, make tens of thousands in profit, and when you pass this water again, call my soul and offer it water-rice (an offering to a drowned spirit).”

So saying, without changing her color, she stepped to the gunwale and looked: the spotless blue water surged and curled in churning foam; Cheong, aghast, sat back with a thud, gripped the gunwale again, and fainted, fallen forward in a state too pitiful to behold. Coming to herself again, with no choice she rose, drew her whole body tight, pulled her skirt over her head, and in quick little steps stepped back and then cast her body into the sea, crying:

“Aigo, aigo, Father, I die!”

One foot caught at the gunwale, and she plunged in headlong with a splash. Her flower-like body was swept by the waves, and the bright moon sank into the water, as a grain of corn dropped into the wide sea. Like the air of breaking dawn, the waves grew calm, the gale subsided, the fog thickened so that the drifting clouds halted, and the clear sky and blue mist were as bright as the eastern quarter at daybreak. The chief boatman said, “After offering the rite the weather has turned fair—is it not by the virtue of Miss Sim?”

14. Sim Cheong in the Sea Palace — Life in the Crystal Palace

At this time Miss Sim, having entered the wide sea, believed herself dead; but a rainbow shone brilliantly, a fragrance pierced her nose, and a clear flute sounded faintly. As she lingered and hesitated, the Jade Emperor had issued his command, instructing one by one the Dragon King of the Indangsu, the Dragon Kings of the Four Seas, and the King of the Underworld: “Tomorrow the heaven-sent filial daughter Sim Cheong will come to that place; let not a single drop of water touch her body; bring her into the Crystal Palace, attend her for three years, adorn her, and return her to the world.” At this command the Dragon Kings of the Four Seas and the King of the Underworld were all amazed and awed; as Miss Sim leapt into the water, the fairy maidens received her and set her on a palanquin.

Entering the Crystal Palace, it was a world apart, unlike the human realm. Whale bones hung as roof-beams shone with a numinous color in the sunlight, and fish scales gathered as roof-tiles cast an auspicious air into the sky. The palace, adorned with precious treasures, harmonized with the light of heaven; on a crystal tray and a jade-stone table were crystal cups on amber stands, with purple-cloud wine and thousand-day wine and unicorn jerky for refreshment; on the jade-stone tray were peaches of immortality, and in the center the three-thousand-year jade peaches were heaped high—nothing that was not the food of immortals. As she stayed in the sea palace, since it was the Jade Emperor’s command, how could the attendance be ordinary? The Dragon Kings of the Four Seas each sent their handmaids to pay respects morning and evening, holding a small feast every three days and a great feast every five days, attending upon Cheong.

At this time the lady of Minister Jang in Mureung village had hung Miss Sim’s writing on the wall and examined it daily; its color did not change. But one day water ran over the scroll and its color changed and darkened, so she thought, ‘Has Miss Sim now fallen into the water and died?’ and grieved without end. Before long the water withdrew and the color became brilliant again; the lady, thinking it strange, wondered, ‘Has someone saved her, that she lives?’ That night the lady of Minister Jang prepared offerings, went out to the riverside, and for Miss Sim called her soul and offered a rite of consolation, weeping aloud—how could even the lowliest creatures of heaven and earth not be moved?

15. Reunion with Mother Gwak in the Sea Palace

One day word came that Lady Okjin of the Gwanghan Palace was arriving, and the sea palace seemed to turn over; the Dragon King took fright and all sides were in a flurry. Now this lady was none other than Lady Gwak, the wife of the blind man Sim, who upon her death had become Lady Okjin of the Gwanghan Palace; hearing that her daughter Miss Sim had come into the waters, she had obtained leave from the Emperor and was on her way to meet her daughter. Before long she descended from her palanquin and stepped up to the threshold.

“My daughter, Sim Cheong!” At that call Cheong knew it was her mother and rushed out: “Mother, Mother, you bore me and died within seven days, so for fifteen years I have not even known your face, and the boundless deep regret between heaven and earth has had no day to clear. Today, coming to this place, had I known I would meet my mother again, I would have told my father this on the day I left, so that it might have somewhat consoled his grief at sending me away… We mother and daughter are glad to meet, but my lonely father—who will he see and rejoice in? My longing for my father is fresh again.”

The lady wept and said, “I died and became noble, and thoughts of the human world grew distant. Your father raised you and you leaned on each other, and then he parted even from you—how must he have looked on the day you came? Worn down by poverty, how must your father look, and surely he has aged greatly. In these decades has he remarried? And was not the Gwideok-mother of the back village devoted to you?” She put her face to her daughter’s and felt her hands and feet: “Your ears and neck are fair—you are like your father. The jade ring I wore, you have it even now; and the red pouch with the coin inscribed ‘long life, fortune, health, peace; great peace and ease’ on both sides—aigo, you have fastened it on.”

“How could you know that today, parting from me again, you will meet your father once more? My duties at the Gwanghan Palace are so pressing that I cannot leave it long empty, so I must part from you again; it is grievous and pitiable, but since I cannot do as I please, what use is it to lament? Hereafter there will surely be a day when we meet again and rejoice.” And she rose and tore herself away; Miss Sim could not hold her and had no way to follow, so weeping she bade farewell and remained in the Crystal Palace.

16. The Blind Man’s Wandering and the Ppaengdeok-Mother

At this time the blind man Sim, having lost his daughter, could not die though his life was cruel, and barely scraped by. The people of Dohwa-dong, pitying that Miss Sim had drowned out of utmost filial devotion, set up a Tear-Shedding Stele (Taru-bi) and composed an inscription. No traveler passing the riverside read the inscription without weeping, and whenever the blind man missed his daughter he embraced that stele and wept.

The villagers increased the blind man’s money and grain, and his household grew better off year by year. At this time there was in that village a Ppaengdeok-mother, a woman much given to dalliance, who, learning that the blind man had much money and grain, volunteered to become his concubine and lived with him. Giving away grain to buy rice-cakes, giving away cloth to take money and buy liquor, hurling abuse at the villagers—she combined every vice; but the blind man, starved for many years, had at least the pleasure of her company and knew nothing of it, while the household dwindled little by little. Unable to think what else to do, the blind man asked, “Listen, Ppaengdeok’s-mother. People all used to whisper that our circumstances were sound; how is it that lately we have come to such want that we must go begging again?”

Selling off what little household goods remained, carrying them on head and back, they set out on a vagrant life in foreign parts. One day, hearing a rumor that a feast for the blind was to be held in the capital, he said to the Ppaengdeok-mother, “Born into this world, let us once see the capital. The thousand-li road to Luoyang is far and long, and I cannot go alone; how would it be to go with me?” And that very day they set out, traveled some days, came to a post-village, and lodged for the night.

As it happened there was nearby a blind man called Hwang, whose circumstances were fairly comfortable. The Ppaengdeok-mother, being lewd and much given to dalliance, was so notorious in the neighboring villages that he had long wished in his heart to meet her once; and the Ppaengdeok-mother too thought, ‘Rather, if I follow the blind man Hwang, my later years will be at ease,’ and, waiting for the blind man Sim to fall asleep, ran away and fled. Waking and feeling beside him, the blind man found the Ppaengdeok-mother gone, and lamented alone: “See here—where has the Ppaengdeok-mother gone, abandoning me? On the far, far thousand-li road to the capital, with whom shall I make a companion and go?” Weeping, he then scolded himself: “Enough, enough, you wench! For nothing I grew attached to such a slut, lost only my livelihood, and come to ruin midway—this is all the doing of my fate.”

Muttering on alone as if conversing with someone, when day broke he set off again. The heat was severe and sweat soaked his back, so he took off his hat and bundle by a stream, bathed, and came out to find his hat and bundle gone. Going all about the riverbank, groping on every side—however he groped, where would they be? Unable to go forward or back, the blind man cried aloud: “Aigo, aigo, the far thousand-li road to the capital—how shall I go?”

As he wept and lamented so, just then the Magistrate of Mureung was on his way back from the capital. The blind man told the magistrate of his plight, and the magistrate, pitying him, gave out a suit of clothes, travel money, and a pipe; the blind man took his leave and went up toward the capital, weeping aloud as he went.

At one place there was a mill-house where several women were husking grain. The blind man, to cool off, sat resting in the shade of the mill-house, and the people, seeing him, said, “Don’t just sit there—come thresh some grain.” The blind man answered, “If you’ll give me something, I’ll thresh.” “Then shall we give you meat?” The blind man laughed ‘ha-ha’: “That too is ‘meat.’ As if you’d give it so easily?” “Who knows whether we will or won’t—thresh first and see.” “Right—that word is half a yes.” He climbed onto the mill and, pounding ‘ddeolguteong, ddeolguteong,’ sang the mill-song.

Eoyua, eoyua, the mill. Whose mill is this?—the leather mill of some great house’s lady.

Ddeolguteong, ddeolguteong, pounded helter-skelter—the mill of Jiang Taigong.

Our sovereign is good, and the land at peace and the people secure; how much more, a feast for the blind, never seen in past or present—

Let us too, in this age of great peace, sing the mill-song. Eoyua, the mill.

Carried away with delight, when he had done so, the maidservants laughed ‘kkalkkal’: “Oh my, blind sir, what song is that?” Somehow he finished the threshing, was given lunch, put liquor in his bundle and shouldered it, gripped his staff, and set out: “Well, you wives, take care. I’ve eaten well, and I’m off.” Taking his leave there, the blind man entered the city, where the whole vast capital was so full of blind people that they bumped into one another and could hardly walk. The blind man met a blind woman called the Blind An-woman at a certain house and passed a night with her.

17. Sim Cheong Returns as the Descended-Immortal Flower (降仙花)

One day the Jade Emperor sent word to the Dragon Kings of the Four Seas: “The time for Miss Sim’s betrothal draws near; send her back to the Indangsu so that she may not miss the favorable time.” The command being most solemn, the Dragon Kings heard it and, sending Miss Sim, placed her in a great flower-blossom with two handmaids attending her at her side, put in much food for morning and evening and silks and treasures, set her carefully in a jade flowerpot, and sent her to the Indangsu.

The sailors who had gone to Nanjing, having made tens of thousands in profit, were returning to their homeland; reaching the Indangsu, they moored the boat, set out clean offerings, offered a rite to the Dragon King, and called Miss Sim’s soul in consolation. Looking toward one place, a single flower-blossom floated bobbing in the middle of the wide sea; drawing near to look, it was indeed the place where Miss Sim had drowned, and moved at heart they lifted out the flower. It was large as a cartwheel, ample enough for two or three to sit in. “This flower is not of this world—it is strange and uncanny.”

At this time the Song Emperor, after the empress passed away, did not take a new consort but gathered flowering plants to fill the Sangrim Garden, living with rare blossoms and fine plants as his companions. The Nanjing sailor, hearing news of the palace, transplanted the flower he had obtained at the Indangsu into a jade pot and reported the matter outside the palace gate. The Emperor was delighted, had the flower brought in and set in the Hwanggeuk Hall; its color was so brilliant that it seemed the sun and moon shed light, its size beyond compare and its fragrance outstanding—it was no flower of this world. He named the flower the ‘Descended-Immortal Flower (Gangseonhwa),’ and when it was moved to the flowerbed, the peony and the lotus all yielded to lower places, and the plum, chrysanthemum, and balsam were as mere subjects beside it.

18. Sim Cheong Becomes Empress

One day the Emperor, following the old precedent of the Tang, walked among the flowerbeds by the moon; the bright moon filled the courtyard, and amid a gentle breeze the bud of the Descended-Immortal Flower suddenly stirred and softly parted, and there seemed to be some sound. The Emperor hid himself and quietly watched: a beautiful dragon-maiden raised her face halfway and looked out halfway from the bud, then, seeing there was a human presence, withdrew and went back in. The Emperor drew near and gently parted the bud: there were a maiden and two beauties. The Emperor, delighted, asked, “Are you ghosts or humans?”

The Emperor thought in his heart, ‘The Emperor on High has sent a good bond. If I do not accept what Heaven has granted, such a good chance will never come again,’ and resolved to make the maiden his empress and marry her. From within the bud the two handmaids supported the maiden and brought her out; it was as if the left and right ministering stars stood apart from the Big Dipper, and the palace was so dazzling it was hard to look upon directly. It being a national joy, he proclaimed an amnesty throughout the realm and specially appointed the chief boatman who had gone to Nanjing as Magistrate of Mujang.

The virtue and grace of Empress Sim were so profound that there were good harvests year after year and an age of great peace returned, becoming a reign of perfect order. Though her wealth and honor were utmost, ever in her heart was a hidden grief—only the thought of her father. The autumn moon shone bright into the coral blinds, and the cricket cried sorrowfully into the room, calling out her boundless feelings point by point; when a lone wild goose cried as it came down from the high sky, the empress, glad at heart, gazed up at it:

Have you come, you wild goose? Stay there a moment and hear my one word.

Do you come bearing a letter from my father in Dohwa-dong? Parted three years, I have had no news;

now I will write a letter and entrust it to you, so be sure, be sure to deliver it well.

And going into the room, she quickly opened a box, untied a roll of paper and spread it out, took up a brush, and tried to write the letter; but tears fell first, so that the characters were blotted with ink and the phrases came out jumbled. “Three years have turned since I left your knee; my longing for you, Father, and the regret piled up are deep as the sea. Your unfilial daughter Sim Cheong, when she followed the sailors, wished to die twelve times a day in the twelve hours, but could find no chance, and slept five or six months upon the water, and at last went to the Indangsu and drowned as a sacrifice. But Heaven helped and the Dragon King saved me, so that I came out into the world again and became the empress of this country’s Emperor. My wealth and glory are without end, but because of the regret knotted in my heart I have no interest in wealth and no wish even to live; I desire only that, after seeing my father again at his knee, I might die that very day without regret.” She quickly wrote the date and came out to find the wild goose gone, only the Milky Way tilting beyond the distant clouds.

The Emperor came into the inner palace and, looking at the empress, saw a sorrowful shade between her two eyes, and asked, “What grief is yours, that there are traces of tears?” The empress knelt again and said, “In truth I am not a person of the Dragon Palace, but the daughter of a blind man, Sim Hak-gyu, of Dohwa-dong in Hwangju; for the sake of opening my father’s eyes I was sold to sailors and drowned as a sacrifice in the waters of the Indangsu.” And she told in full all that had happened. The Emperor, hearing it, said, “If that is so, why did you not say so sooner? It is no difficult matter, so do not grieve so.” And he sent an official to Hwangju to treat Sim Hak-gyu as a Prince-Father (buwon-gun) and bring him; but the Governor of Hwangju sent up a report: “There was indeed a blind man, Sim Hak-gyu, in Dohwa-dong of this province, but a year ago he departed, and his whereabouts are unknown.”

19. The Feast for the Blind — In Search of Her Father

The empress, realizing greatly, said to the Emperor, “I have a plan; please do as I say. All the people of this land are the sovereign’s subjects, and among the people the pitiable are the four kinds: widowers, widows, orphans, and the childless aged. Among these, the most pitiable are the sick, and among the disabled especially the blind; so gather all the blind of the realm and hold a feast for them. Then among them I may perhaps meet my father; this is not only my wish but also likely to bring concord to the country. How would this be?” The Emperor, hearing this, praised her greatly: “Truly you are a Yao and Shun (sage-rulers) among women. Let us do so.” And he proclaimed throughout the realm: “From high officials down to commoners, if one is blind, let his name and dwelling be recorded and sent up from each town. If there is even one blind person who, not knowing of the command, fails to attend, the governor and magistrate of that province shall surely receive grave punishment.” At this command the provinces and towns of the realm were amazed and awed, and carried it out with all haste.

At this time the blind man Sim, wandering here and there with the Ppaengdeok-mother (before she fled), one day heard the rumor that a feast for the blind was to be held in the capital and set out. He met the woman called the Blind An-woman and passed a night with her, and the next day, reaching the palace gate, was already bidden to enter the feast for the blind, and so went into the palace.

At this time the empress, holding the feast for the blind over many days, however she pored over the blind-roll could find no blind man named Sim, and lamented alone; on the last day she took a seat on the rear garden hill and watched the feast for the blind, where the music rang out and the food was abundant. After the feast was wholly finished, she had the blind-roll brought up and gave out a suit of clothes to each; all the blind gave thanks, but one blind man not on the roll stood vacantly. The empress saw him and said, “What blind man is that?” and sent a court lady to ask; the blind man, taking fright, said, “I have no home, so I make heaven and earth my house and the four seas my board, wandering about; I cannot say in what town I live, and so, not being on the roll, I came in on my own feet.”

20. Father and Daughter Reunited and the Opening of His Eyes — The Grand Finale

The empress, glad, had him brought near; the court lady, receiving the command, took the blind man’s hand and led him into a side hall. Not knowing what it was about, the blind man, taking fright, entered the side hall with groping steps and stood below the stairs; and the empress, looking, saw that he was indeed her father. The empress wept:

“Father! It is I, Sim Cheong!” And she ran down and seized his two hands; the blind man, startled, said, “Cheong? Are you alive?”—and in that instant something seemed to burst open in his eyes, and the blind man’s two eyes flew wide open.

“I can see! I can see the world!”

His sight grown bright, the blind man looked upon the empress, and indeed Sim Cheong had become the empress. Father and daughter held each other and wept aloud, and there was no one who saw it who did not shed tears. The Emperor, seeing this, rejoiced all the more, raised Sim Hak-gyu to be a Prince-Father and treated him with high honor; and a miracle befell so that all the blind gathered at the feast also opened their eyes. The whole realm was full of joy, and the people rejoiced and cheered.

Empress Sim, even amid her wealth and glory, served her father with utmost devotion and fulfilled all filial duty, and together with the Emperor brought about an age of great peace, so that all the people praised her virtue. <The End>