The scent of their first private meeting — it had begun there, and even now it tickled Hae-gang’s nose pleasantly.
“Don’t overexert yourself for nothing. So what if I don’t get to see your face as I leave? Where’s the harm in that?”
Mok-young let his hand fall. It sounded somewhat offhand, but he was not truly trying to push Hae-gang away. It was said out of concern for him, too.
“It’s no strain. I rested well last night, so my body feels much better now.”
Hae-gang spoke, his offhand tone carrying a quiet consideration . He meant there was no need to worry so much. Yet Mok-young understood his words, and they pricked a corner of his heart.
Someone who had tossed and turned all night, dreaming, unable to truly sleep — and now claimed to have rested well. A needlessly petty feeling rose in him . He didn’t particularly want to scold Hae-gang. If sleeping well had left him feeling better, then that was fortunate, he thought. Still, an uncomfortable feeling squirmed in a corner of his heart, and a childish petulance reared its head and thrashed wildly .
It wasn’t as if Hae-gang had disturbed his sleep. Or had he? He had come up all gruff, flaunted his authority before him, and in the end stripped off his armor and kissed him — and it was because of that business that he hadn’t slept all night.
The simmering resentment had now become full indignation, settling damply upon Mok-young’s chest . He was glad, in this moment too, that he wore a mask — since it hid his expression.
“I’m late. I’ll be off — go back inside.” In the end, Mok-young let fall one more offhand remark and turned away. Hae-gang made no effort to detain him with further words, only quietly watching Mok-young’s retreating back as he passed through the great gate.
“Truly, a heartless one.”
A low murmur slipped through Hae-gang’s lips. But a faint smile still hung at the corners of his mouth.
Truly heartless — and yet, what was this feeling, this urge to make things all the harder for him? Recalling his bride’s lovely face as it had been revealed the previous evening inside the carriage, amid the full bloom of camellia scent, Hae-gang curved his lips a little higher.
If he flustered him more, might he see that face more often? A spine-tingling thought bloomed in Hae-gang’s mind as he watched Dan Mok-young’s back grow distant beyond the house , and began to grow recklessly.
It was an undeniable fact that Go Hae-gang, who had long lived without knowing joy, had come to smile far more often since meeting his bride.
***
Within Yeonriwon there was a wide open space ringed like a rampart by tall, towering trees. It was a training ground. Prepared for Hae-gang’s use, it differed somewhat from an ordinary training ground — it was not merely vast.
The landscaping was exquisite. Low, sturdy trees and rocks were set about, and to one side there was even a pond. Carp drifted in the pond, its edges adorned with beautiful flowers and grasses, and a little arched bridge had been built as well — standing upon it, one could take in the whole view of the pond at a glance.
For a training ground, it looked excessively like a garden — the scenery was so lovely that “rear garden” would have suited it better. They said it was Mok-young’s elder brother who had overseen the repairs of this house from the beginning and produced this design. Was this really a training ground? What business had a supposedly sickly man speaking of training grounds — and yet, when word of it reached the palace, that person merely glanced at it and concluded, “Ah, I see,” and let the matter drop . The palace was full of incomprehensible folk. It was no trouble at all to dismiss this, too, as merely another eccentric hobby of a wayward prince.
But for Hae-gang there was no better training ground. If the Hyeoneum Divine Art was the art of hiding one’s body and training the senses to their extreme , then the “Juyang Divine Art” that Hae-gang practiced was a martial art whose essence lay in governing one’s own qi and one’s surroundings to sap the opponent’s skill. For a concrete example: where one who trained the Hyeoneum Divine Art would use *chukji* to run swiftly across the ground, one who trained the Juyang Divine Art used *gyeonggong* in a manner that narrowed others’ qi. For Hae-gang, obstacles suited to concealment all served as devices aiding his training.
Even now he stood atop a branch swaying in the cool wind. It was winter, and the leaves had long since fallen, leaving the branches utterly bare, so Hae-gang’s figure was clearly visible — it was a marvel how so tall a frame could stand so lightly.
*Clang!*
At a presence suddenly drawing near, Hae-gang whirled. Even as he raised his sword to block the blade that came flying in a surprise attack, he seemed to let its force flow past — then reversed it, turning that very force back upon his opponent as he fell back. Naturally his opponent would not retreat from that much, so as the attacks came in succession, the two moved nimbly, trading bouts, climbing to ever-higher branches, then across to the neighboring tree.
The one who had crossed swords with Hae-gang was Seung-gyeom, the captain of his guard. He had long served as the prince’s chief sparring partner since their days in Namwi , so it was no different here. Since Hae-gang’s attainment was still so high , having Seung-gyeom as his partner made the circulation of yang energy far more efficient.
“Come now, aren’t you spending your energy too freely, going at it in such succession?”
They landed lightly back on the ground, trading a flurry of ringing *clang! clang!* blows, when Hae-gang let his sword drop once more and Seung-gyeom spoke, as if in passing. He had already spent his energy yesterday sparring with trainees at the training hall of Danogwan , and Seung-gyeom worried that crossing swords with him again today might overtax him.
“Don’t be absurd.”
Hae-gang parted his lips to answer Seung-gyeom’s words, and at the same moment his sword flashed like lightning. Seung-gyeom instantly took a defensive stance and blocked the blow, catching his breath — but in the very next moment Hae-gang appeared behind Seung-gyeom and gave his back a light shove with his palm. It was but a small touch, yet Seung-gyeom went tumbling just the same. He managed to roll with the fall and avoid an embarrassing sprawl, but he found himself marveling anew at the power contained in that single touch.
“My condition feels quite good today.”
Hae-gang said, lowering his sword. His gaze was fixed on his own palm — the one that had just struck Seung-gyeom’s back. He lightly clenched and unclenched his fist; a midwinter west wind blew through, but Hae-gang felt not the slightest chill, only staring endlessly at his own hand.
As he himself had said, he was always at about this level — training in the martial arts had never been much difficulty for him even ordinarily — and yet the feeling that today was different from usual was vivid. True to Seung-gyeom’s worry, he had indeed overdone it yesterday, so today he had meant to do only moderate physical training. And on top of that, he had risen early to see his wife off on her way to work. Yet his body felt so much lighter that it pushed all reasonable concern aside. It was the first time he had ever felt so refreshed upon waking in the morning, and that was part of why he had asked Seung-gyeom to spar — to test his condition.
And as a result, the word “strange” had just come out of Hae-gang’s mouth.
“Certainly, all morning today you’ve seemed brimming with sharpness.”
Seung-gyeom, too, put up his sword and spoke as he came to Hae-gang’s side. Having watched over Hae-gang’s condition for so long, he could at least guess at it, even if not as keenly as Hae-gang felt it himself.
Seung-gyeom was himself of a high attainment in the Juyang Divine Art, enough to serve as the prince’s guard captain. But he could not match Hae-gang, and no one lamented more than he that Hae-gang’s energy drained so quickly that he could not sustain his martial arts for long. If only it weren’t for that… our prince might obtain the “Essence of the Vermilion Bird” and reach the supreme realm. Seung-gyeom dared to assert that in attainment alone, no one under heaven could match Hae-gang.
In any case, the condition of Hae-gang that Seung-gyeom sensed today was quite respectable — compared to the skill Hae-gang usually displayed. His movements were far more fluid, and even in wielding yang energy there was a sense of “naturalness” about it, as though the body flowing from above to below were the very order of nature.
As he was wondering whether coming north to Northern Wei, where yin energy ran stronger than in the south, might have something to do with it, Seol Yong’s voice reached them — he had been watching the two.
“Word is you came yesterday fresh from embracing the General. The rumors are flying.”
Seol Yong’s words sounded, as always, like a scolding. At first hearing it seemed to reproach him for failing to keep his dignity, but beneath lay the implication that he was terribly envious of the contact with Mok-young .
Hae-gang had not gone so far as to chatter in detail about the fact that he had kissed Mok-young inside the carriage. It was a married couple’s private affair, after all. It might concern the very thread of his own life , but he had no wish to speak of intimate matters between himself and his wife. Already, Hae-gang had been turning thoughts about last night over in his head since then .
But the reason he paid Seol Yong’s words no mind in this moment was that he knew he himself had been terribly worked up in that moment . The carriage had been filled to the brim with the cool scent of camellias, and he could not turn away from it. To the very last moment he had desperately clung to his final wall, trying not to lay a hand on Mok-young’s body — but from the moment their bodies had touched, an uncontrollable flame had spread through his whole body, and all that remained was to press their lips together.
In that moment Hae-gang had thought he might come to harm. Touching this being of absolute yin, his own yang energy — still not fully mastered — might run wild, and if his qi and blood twisted further, he thought it might hasten his own ruin . But the moment their lips touched, before he had any chance to think, every idle thought melted away, and that aching chill was a kind of pleasure he had never experienced in his life — and recklessness soon ceased to matter at all.
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