“Too fine a face to go around hiding.”
“But I think you’d best keep hiding them. If some rude fellow falls for my lady’s beauty, I’d be in trouble, wouldn’t I?”
Arriving at his room, closing the door and walking deeper inside, Mok-young idly raised a hand and slowly began to remove just the mask — and then he recalled what had happened a while ago. Hae-gang’s face, gazing at his own face; the sudden dizzying sensation; and those kind, lovely words.
On his face, surfacing at the end of that fierce kiss, his worry showed through plainly. A reddish heat colored it, of course, and his lips were moist and slightly swollen, his very gaze hazed with languor. Mok-young had been holding that hand. That late at night, Hae-gang had been utterly steeped in a kiss like a lightning strike.
And that face, faintly smiling beneath the spreading flush… what need to say more? Among all Mok-young had seen, none had been so beautiful. *He’s the only one who should go around with his face covered,* he thought — then shook his head and set the half-lifted mask down on the table.
It wasn’t that Mok-young had never heard himself called beautiful — but he’d heard “fierce” far more often. Especially Ju Geon-yang, ever since he was young. Back when he was a child not yet ten, he’d even , so Mok-young’s sense of himself leaned far more toward “fierce-looking” than “handsome.” He simply thought that as a warrior and a general, there was nothing odd about looking that way—
So he had no particular opinion about his own looks.
But when his wife, come from a distant foreign land, looked that fierce face in the eye and said it was a waste to hide it, that he wanted to look at it — whether it was a joke or not, he couldn’t help the ticklish feeling in his cheeks. For all that he seemed a strong man clad in iron armor, the Ghost King was also a person, and a man.
***
In the deep, quiet night when all things slept, the fever-heat unfailingly came upon Mok-young’s body. Cold and heat tangled together as though gnawing at each other, seeking an outlet, and Mok-young — who could only embrace the boiling whole without venting it — merely gritted his teeth and curled his body round.
Only when his breath caught so badly he couldn’t bear it did he open his mouth, and each time a hot “haa” barely squeezed out. Afraid the sound would leak out the door, Mok-young buried his face deep in the blanket. His mouth moved slowly, biting the cloth, stuffing his mouth fuller and fuller with the thick fabric, clutching the pillow.
His dantian felt as though it were being torn and pounded. It burned with pain, then a strange ecstasy spread, and the urge to touch himself below boiled up.
This fever-heat had not originally visited him often. Since he never neglected his training and was good at managing his yin energy himself, it was a trouble he experienced perhaps once in a while. But since meeting Hae-gang — already several times, in quick succession over a short period — which chilled Mok-young to the bone.
It wasn’t hard to guess he was being affected by Hae-gang. His yang energy — what in the world was it made of? Since the day he’d grabbed his wrist , this was already the third time Mok-young had shut himself in alone at night suffering a similar fit. From just holding hands, he’d suffered twice in less than two days — and thinking of what happened in the carriage… damn it.
Mok-young wrapped his arms more tightly around his belly and gritted his teeth. Even with his mouth full of blanket, he nearly made a sound.
It was an utterly incomprehensible phenomenon. It wasn’t as though there’d been no yang-aspected people around him — let alone extreme-yang ones. The Emperor Ju Geon-yang, whose face he often saw, was an extreme-yang person, and among the other generals there were many yang-aspected men. Taken as a whole, fire-aspected people were few, but . But among those he met daily in that life, none had ever affected him like this.
“Still, a little… shouldn’t we get used to each other, my lady?”
The moment Hae-gang’s hand had lifted the mask and then wrapped around his nape occupied Mok-young’s mind, the energy he’d felt in that instant lingering strongly.
Since completing the Hyeoneum Divine Art, ordinary yang energy couldn’t make him feel even warmth — and yet such intensely powerful yang energy blowing into him like steam!
In the end it had stopped at kissing Hae-gang, and afterward he’d gone limp as though his strength had drained, holding him — but honestly, even in that moment, Mok-young had felt trapped in that trembling, unable to move. If he’d set his mind to shoving him off by force, he could have. But through their bodies touching beyond the piece of cloth, it felt as though Mok-young’s ice-wall-like wariness was being gently melted away.
*’Should we be using separate rooms? No — sleeping apart entirely, perhaps.’*
An absurd thought wove itself through Mok-young’s head. His hand had already strayed, wholly unrestrained, toward the space between his thighs, and there he sat alone, holding his breath, his mind ransacked by delusion like some back alley, his pride thrashing as if in its death throes.
It was now plain as day: if he truly surrendered his body into his bride’s — his wife’s — hands, in a single moment he would be hurled into the abyss of depravity.
***
They say enemies meet on a single-log bridge — that thought flashed through Mok-young’s mind as he crossed the courtyard toward the great gate in the small hours, near enough to dawn, on his way to work. No, no — perhaps “enemy” was putting it a bit strongly. Someone he had to meet face to face, true, but an enemy…? Turning such idle thoughts over, Mok-young finally shook off his drowsiness.
With the firm plan of simply pretending not to notice and striding briskly past, he quickened his steps — but the other one, Go Hae-gang, clearly had no intention whatsoever of pretending not to notice. Of course not. How could it be otherwise, when a man who opened his eyes only once the sun stood at its zenith each day had miraculously risen at dawn to pace the courtyard — obviously to see his bride off on her way to work.
“My lady! Why are you in such a hurry!”
Far from pretending not to notice, he called Mok-young in a ringing, carrying voice, as if he would not suffer being ignored for a moment. The household servants passing nearby glanced at the pair, and Mok-young was forced to stop dead mid-step. He had not caught last year’s fever or anything of the sort , yet there was nothing here worth giggling over. *Only duty is the answer…* — that thought billowed up in one corner of his mind, and meanwhile Hae-gang stepped lightly forward and came right up to him. Unlike Mok-young, who had not slept properly all night, Hae-gang looked quite refreshed, as if he had slept soundly.
“Well, isn’t this a sight — you, up at this early hour.”
Mok-young’s voice was edged with irritation. Part of it came from an odd, comfortable tension, and part of it was plain contrariness at the sight of that bright, clear face alone, so his words came out none too kindly. But Hae-gang did not seem to mind in the least, only curving his lips into a gentle smile.
And his attire, too, was quite a sight. A formal robe was thrown over everything, but the thin white garments beneath were, quite literally, mere sleepwear under an outer layer. Not quite indecent, but hardly the dress to come out into the courtyard in this cold. Still, he had thrown one long robe over it all, so it passed.
“Someone in such poor health, going about dressed so thinly — what are you thinking?”
The scolding slipped out of Mok-young’s mouth at last. His voice was still gruff, but he could not hide the worry beneath it. Only last night he had said that, since his pulse had to be taken and his medicine taken, he could not even admit his wife into his room — so it weighed on his mind. After all, it was no secret how poor his constitution was .
Yes, that was right. Hae-gang — — wore a deep scowl, as if he hated the very night itself. Whether he had truly slept well or was only pretending to have, Mok-young could not tell. Perhaps—
Perhaps he was deliberately putting on the act — at the thought, Mok-young brushed aside his petty feelings and let out a soft sigh. Then Mok-young’s hand moved. He lightly tugged the gaping front of Hae-gang’s formal robe and drew it closed for him.
“If my wife sets out early, what can I do? If I want to see your face even once, I must rise at such an hour.”
Hae-gang stood with his hands clasped behind his back, idly, quietly looking down as Mok-young fastened his robe. There was a little strain at the corners of his mouth — he was holding back a laugh. The corners were already twitching slightly.
Hae-gang’s words were sincere. Today he had truly forced himself up early. Morning — when the sun rises and all things wake and the yang energy begins to fill the world — was a burden to him, so Hae-gang always opened his eyes late. Only once the sun had climbed to mid-heaven, past the hour when the yang energy might grow too strong, could his body settle and adapt to it . In any case, for such a Hae-gang to have risen early today and come out to see his wife off — the devotion was touching, and well worth savoring his wife’s touch as she fastened his robe.
“The General awaits, my lord.”
The pulse-taking was over, and after taking the medicine Seol Yong had prepared, Mok-young listened as Seung-gyeom came in to report: that Hae-gang had followed him as far as the gate, and upon hearing he could not be admitted, had lingered there, pacing.
It might have been nothing much, but to Hae-gang it did not feel so trivial. Because no one knew better than he how Mok-young was drawing a line and pushing him away. Of course, that did not stop him from finding the man still endlessly fascinating.
Mok-young found Hae-gang peculiar and unfathomable, but Hae-gang, too, found Mok-young peculiar. Perhaps Hae-gang had been first in that. From the moment they had first met at the marketplace, Hae-gang had felt an interest in him.
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