One night, when the frogs cried mournfully and the bright moonlight shone through the pine trees into the house, Kim Jwa-su’s beautiful young daughter, Ch’osaeng was deeply immersed in the pages of a book. But the soft moonlight that filtered through the window and illuminated the page was so beautiful that she could not resist. She closed the book and went out into the courtyard to the moonlit pond.

She was lonely, sequestered in the inner quarters, and as she admired the moonlight, she sighed and said, wishfully, "If only an elegant young man were to appear, we could stay up all night together talking and composing poems together...." At the sound of her soft voice, the frogs in the pond suddenly stopped their clamorous croaking.

Startled by the strange silence, Ch’osaeng looked around the courtyard in concern. She thought she heard a voice calling to her, but that was not possible this late at night. As she was about to turn away, she clearly heard her name again. It sounded like the voice of a young man, close by.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"Please, don’t be afraid."

"Who are you, sneaking onto our property so late at night?"

The young man approached her. His eyes were gentle. "I have adored you for a long time," he said. "I could not bear it any longer, especially on a night like tonight. I had to meet you. I hope you will let me spend the night together with you."

Ch’osaeng took a careful look at the young man. He was quite handsome. He wore a golden cap with a green suit of clothes. He seemed trustworthy, and his decent looks were enough to please her.

"I like to read and I enjoy writing poetry, but tell me—what family are you from?"

The young man looked awkward and could not answer. He sighed deeply.

"Why do you sigh like that?"

"Ask me anything but that. Think of me only as a man who has longed for you until now. That is all I ask. Let me be with you until the night is over."

"But—"

"I know this is the house of Kim Jwa-su and you are his daughter. But my ears are sharp. If someone were to come, I would hear them a long way off. I know what to do. Please, enjoy this night together with me."

"Oh," said Ch’osaeng. Desire for the young man surged in her heart. If not for my strict father, she thought, I would spend all my days and nights with this man.

"Please, don’t be worried. My ears are sharp. Come now, take me to your room." And strangely, when he stepped into Ch'osaeng's room, the frogs in the pond started their loud croaking once again.

The interior of P'yongyang castle was as still as death and the moon of the early summer night gazed down upon a sleeping world. The two young lovers, in their sweet embrace, were oblivous of the deepening night.

The night drew on; the moon at its apex descended into the westward sky and the east grew pale with the coming dawn. Just as day began to break, the dawn bell tolled majestically from the bell tower in Pyongyang castle. The sound welled over the south gate and rang into Ch’osaeng’s chamber.

At the sound of the bell, the young man suddenly got up and began to put on his clothes.

"What is the matter?" asked Ch’osaeng.

The young man replied, "I must go now." He could not hide the anxiety on his face.

"You can stay a little longer. You don’t need to leave quite yet."

"How could I possibly want to leave your lovely presence?" he said. "But I must leave. I must leave now."

Ch’osaeng’s mournful expression pulled at the young man’s heart. He held her face in his hands. She could see, from the look in his eyes, that he did not wish to part. But there was nothing to be done.

"I’ll wait you tonight," said Ch'osaeng.

"I shall return tonight. Do not be concerned about me." The young man left with reluctant steps. And as he walked out into the courtyard, the frogs grew silent again, for a long time, and then they all chorused together as if by some silent agreement.

From that night on, without anyone’s knowledge, the young man in the golden cap and green clothes came into Ch’osaeng’s room each night without fail.

But every night, as on the first night, the young man hurriedly dressed and left just before daybreak, at the first tolling of the dawn bell.

After many days, Ch’osaeng could not contain her curiosity any longer. "Why do you cover your ears and leave whenever the bell rings?" she asked. "Do you hate the sound so much?"

The young man replied, "No, I get up only because it is time to leave! Don’t think of it as anything else. I will see you again tonight." He paced nervously and made a strange moaning sound.

"I didn't mean to upset you," said Ch'osaeng. "I just wanted to be with you a moment longer."

"I am not angry with you. But I must -- I must go now."

When she was alone, Ch’osaeng thought again about the young man's hurried departures each morning. It was so strange. Why would the sound of the morning bell terrify him so? She realized that she didn't even know who he was.

As time went on, Ch’osaeng grew worried about her nightly trysts with the young man. At first she was afraid that they would be found out, that rumors would ruin her reputation and her father's name. But in time she knew that what she truly feared was the bell that rang without fail at every dawn to end their time together.

Then Ch’osaeng had an idea. One day she went to the bell ringer and bribed him with a piece of tortoiseshell jewelry. She asked him not to ring the bell -- just one time -- the next morning.

That night, as usual, the loud croaking of the frogs ceased as the young man appeared. Ch’osaeng met him ecstatically as usual, preparing the bed and entering with him into the sweet murmurings of love. "If only I could be with you forever," he said to her as the dawn approached.

"But why can't you?" she asked. "I want you to stay longer. I—"

The young man became suddenly tense. "What?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing."

And that night, the bell that always tolled as the sky grew light—it did not ring. As the paper windows became bright with the golden light of morning, the young man was in such agony he did not know what to do. Ch’osaeng felt a terrible foreboding.

"Quickly—my cap and clothes," he cried, "Quickly!"

"Stay with me, I beg you," said Ch'osaeng. "Just one time. Only this once."

As he struggled to put on his green suit, the young man collapsed. He made an eerie sound and stretched out at length on the floor, where he began to writhe and moan. And when Ch'osaeng saw the young man’s transformation, she let out a single scream and fell unconscious.

In the morning sunlight that pierced the room, the green suit melted into scales and the cap that shone like gold turned into a green serpent’s head. The young man returned to his true form. When he saw that Ch’osaeng had fainted, the green snake looked at her with sad eyes and, wriggling his long body, he slithered out of her room and disappeared into the pond.

Afterwards, the widely influential Kim family’s fortunes dwindled bit by bit, and Kim Jwa-su himself suffered a stroke that left him paralyzed and unable to speak. It is said that this was because the guardian spirit of the pond had loved Kim Jwa-su’s daughter, but now, ashamed of having revealed his true form, he had abandoned them.

Ó 2003 Heinz Insu Fenkl