Mok-young turned his head forward again, and only now did the person walking alongside him begin to weigh on his mind. Slim-bodied, and his clothes — which seemed to flatter that elegance all the more — made him look not easily trifled with; on the other hand, his considerable height and fine basic frame suggested he was no ordinary person. But with the "grand occasion" at hand — could he be someone connected to it? The question followed naturally.
"You've come from Namwi?"
Mok-young asked, and Hae-gang raised his head to look at him. In the moment Mok-young pointedly did not look back at Hae-gang and his gaze could not reach him, the corners of Hae-gang's mouth rose very slightly, then fell.
"How did you know? Is it written on my face?"
"Written… how could I see it, with your face all covered like that?"
"Ah, I see. Shall I show you, then?"
Hae-gang readily raised his hand and lifted the hat's veil, tucking it right up over the wide brim. He folded up one side of the cloth — which had hung divided down the middle of his face — and then the other in the same way, fully revealing his whole face as he stared steadily at Mok-young.
His face, smiling faintly with an arc a touch more bracing than before, looked above all fresh and vivid — and Mok-young, belatedly looking at Hae-gang, froze.
"What kind of man is born this pretty?"
In fact, Mok-young was only now having the same thought those gathered in the grand hall had had earlier. But he was still utterly in the dark about the fact that this "beautiful man" before his eyes was to become his spouse.
Had such a person been His Highness, the marketplace would have been abuzz far beyond its present level — it would have been turned upside down. But — whether among the market folk or the quiet onlookers — no one was anywhere near connecting Mok-young to him .
The market folk aside, the quiet of those around was the result of a certain "mischief" at work. All kept their silence, pretending not to see as Mok-young's grim air herded them along — but once it struck them that this fire-watching might turn out to be flower-viewing, they were in no hurry to spread the good news. That His Highness was deeply ill was plain enough, but his gaze seized the eye so powerfully that — as though pronouncing judgment — it would take them some time to emerge from their dazed, fanciful thoughts.
In any case, to Mok-young right now, the only fact was that the Hae-gang before his eyes was beautiful — and why the ruffian had picked a fight with this man earlier was now quite within the realm of understanding. He could also guess why the surroundings behind them had grown so quiet. What Mok-young also had no idea of — not in the slightest — was that his smooth-faced betrothed-to-be, if not his equal, was a peerless master who could effortlessly subdue a mere ruffian with a single finger .
"Mm? Looking, General?"
As Mok-young only stared at him in silence, Hae-gang smoothly pushed his face even closer and asked again. The smile had simply vanished, but his face — clear and expressionless — showed his innate beauty all the better, and Mok-young, without realizing it, leaned his upper body back and turned his head away. It wasn't that he wanted to flee, nor that he was flustered — but it was a little overwhelming.
It was his first time seeing a man this beautiful. The young masters of noble birth, praised for their fineness— [continues]
He had often seen pretty men — several so delicate one might mistake them for women — but… perhaps he was a little flustered himself. Never before had he seen beauty that struck the eye with such bold confidence.
When Mok-young seemed unable to readily open his mouth, Hae-gang's interest shifted to something else entirely rather than his answer. Bringing his face close, he caught a pleasant scent, faintly like liquor , wafting from Mok-young, and the urge to breathe it in drew him a little closer. Now Hae-gang's hand came to rest naturally on Mok-young's arm.
In that instant, it was not Mok-young but Hae-gang who was startled. The sensation at his fingertips was like gripping a lump of ice — yet rather than cold seeping in, a strange warmth bloomed and spread upward, and before he knew it he twitched and pulled his hand away. Neither cold nor hot — an indescribably gentle warmth brushed past in the briefest instant.
While Hae-gang stared down at his own hand, this time Mok-young moved. Raising his hand, he let down, one by one, the cloths Hae-gang had folded up over the hat's wide brim.
"Just keep your veil on . Didn't you say there's been a grand occasion of late? A large delegation came from Namwi — were you not one who came with them, then?"
Had Mok-young felt something subtle too? No more discomposure could be found in his bearing or voice; he seemed intent on settling the situation. Hae-gang, too, stopped his mischief, obediently stepped back, straightened up, and began walking again, matching his stride to Mok-young's as before.
"If you mean the delegation from Namwi — are you speaking of His Highness's procession?"
Hae-gang's pretense of ignorance continued. Rather than feeling awkward about revealing now that he was that "His Highness," he wanted to enjoy the situation a little longer. He meant not to be mischievous anymore — but this was, after all, his mischief over the fact that the man hadn't shown even the tip of his nose all this time, so surely enjoying it alone a little was all right.
"It is."
Mok-young answered readily. Hae-gang remained perfunctory, still not answering whether he was from Namwi, but Mok-young didn't press him on it.
"They say he's a man steeped in sickness — are you all right with marrying him?"
Hae-gang threw another question, and this time Mok-young did not readily answer. He only turned his head and looked at Hae-gang again, and Hae-gang gave a light shrug, as if in answer to the look.
It carried a natural, matter-of-fact meaning, as if to say, "How could I not know Dan Mok-young?"
Mok-young nodded to himself and turned his head forward without another word. Given his distinctive attire, it would be nothing strange for someone to recognize him easily. And so — though the man beside him was a stranger from foreign lands, with something oddly companionable about him — Mok-young, feigning indifference, let slip a piece of his true feelings.
"It's fine. It's a match made by the Son of Heaven — what does it matter whether affection grows between us or not?"
Mok-young's answer struck Hae-gang's ears strangely. At first he took it as "it can't be helped, it's the imperial command," but then it also parsed as "if it's fate, I'll accept whatever comes."
The pleasure and intrigue Hae-gang had tasted for the first time in a very long while now seemed ready to draw to a close. Hae-gang— [continues]
[Hae-gang] nodded. Then, this time tilting his head slightly in the opposite direction, he turned his gaze toward Mok-young's shoulder. His gaze grew unfocused, and his sense of smell sharpened.
A cool fragrance. Closing his eyes softly, he felt the scent of a cold forest wafting from Mok-young, and as he breathed it in deeply, it seemed to seep into his chest and open it, and for an instant he nearly let out an involuntary "ha" of admiration. Hae-gang gritted his teeth and barely held back the sound threatening to escape, tilting his head toward the calm Mok-young. The ruffian and all that bluster had already vanished from his mind. Even as he thought he mustn't let Mok-young notice, he couldn't help his body leaning in with curiosity.
It was remarkably fragrant. Though by a yangin's nature yang should prevail — how could his scent of eum be so intense? It wasn't fragrant from merely resembling a "woman" — the fragrance of eum itself was this intense.
It was a fragrance that called to mind a forest dense with snow-laden trees — yet beneath it flowed something cozy, as though a path of flowers were laid out. A floral scent, shall we say — in any case, like small, unassuming wildflowers clustered thick, exuding a quiet loveliness even amid the fragrance: flowers of a season that seemed never to wilt. Camellias.
"Ah."
The ruffian was already forgotten, and Mok-young asked him something. Coming to his senses at that, Hae-gang let out a soft exclamation and — as if to show he'd been doing nothing suspicious, belatedly — straightened up and faced Mok-young. Then, raising his hand, he brushed aside the cloth half-covering his face, met his gaze, and smiled.
"Thank you. Had it not been for you, I'd have been in trouble."
Hae-gang simply pretended not to know Mok-young. His attire made it plain to anyone that he was from another country — so he greeted him casually, as if seeing Mok-young for the first time. In truth, this was their first face-to-face meeting, so there was nothing particularly strange about it.
"Are you an outsider? There's been a grand occasion of late, so public order isn't very good. In unfamiliar places, take care to avoid quarrels."
Mok-young spoke. Inwardly he was greatly startled to find the "outsider" before him possessed of such a beautiful countenance , though outwardly he betrayed nothing.
Mok-young could not even imagine that this "outsider" of unfamiliar countenance could be His Highness, come all the long way from Namwi to marry him. He had never heard a word that His Highness possessed world-stunning beauty — nor even imagined it.
Someone might well have told him, but he had spent all his days in the barracks, so he'd had little chance to meet anyone who might tell him such things. Nor had he himself bothered to ask after news or look into it.
His subordinates, worried at his utter indifference, had even suggested he go take a look — but Mok-young had silently, resolutely focused only on his duties. As he'd said, the poor state of public order weighed on him — there was a separate garrison in charge of the capital's security, but they seemed insufficient alone, so he was lending them troops .
"There's a grand occasion, yet order is poor? Shouldn't it be tightened instead?"
Hae-gang asked. He was curious about Mok-young's answer , and genuinely intrigued. This was the capital of Northern Wei — surely its security couldn't be so lax.
He looked at Mok-young, and the face beyond the veil remained somewhat hazy.
"The feasts of Northern Wei are to your liking, I see. To have such a devoted general here."
There was a slight barb in Hae-gang's words. He seemed to have concluded that this looked less like "fate" and more like a mere "imperial command." To have the scent of incense brush past him before they had even shared the nuptial cup, before the wedding day had even arrived — how was he to take that?
Hae-gang had every reason to dislike this marriage, but seeing with his own eyes just how indifferent the other party was to the whole affair was another matter entirely. Not that he himself was exactly thrilled about the marriage — he had not come here with any great expectations, and perhaps precisely because of that, the sense of being slighted struck all the more clearly.
Or perhaps, as someone had said, it was because from the moment they faced each other as those "bound by fate," he had felt the flutter of that fate.
"Please forgive my impertinence. Thank you for today."
As the letter drew to a close, Hae-gang offered his farewell. And before long, Mok-young had to part with him, left so flustered he could scarcely tell whether the man had truly come from Namwi at all.
Mok-young watched Hae-gang's retreating figure, his ceremonial robes brushing the frosty ground. He felt oddly abandoned, left standing there with that unknowable, roguish-looking well-wisher, but before long he too shook off his bewilderment and headed where he needed to go.
He quickened his steps. Late that night, lying in his bedchamber on the verge of sleep, Mok-young idly recalled his brief meeting with Hae-gang and thought: whether it was because of that man's beautiful face, or the bittersweet fragrance that clung to him, or everything he had felt from him — he could not say.
***
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