"Guarding the 'descendant' is our calling—our mission."
At Seol Yong's firm words, Dae-ho let out a tittering laugh. A mischief utterly unlike his usual taciturn, dependable "Black Shadow Army commander" demeanor played in that laugh.
The two of them—no, the two beings—were not ordinary men. One was the incarnation of the Azure Dragon, one of the four divine beasts; the other, too, was the incarnation of another of the divine beasts, the White Tiger. Thousands of years ago they'd been divine beasts of the same rank as the Black Tortoise and the Vermilion Bird, but now they too had become attendants serving those two divine beasts…
…And so the White Tiger had taken up the calling of watching over the one who bore the "essence of the Black Tortoise" from his side, while the Azure Dragon, too, bore the calling of attending the one who bore the "essence of the Vermilion Bird" at his side.
"You're a prickly one. If that's our calling, then those two getting tangled up is just their fate."
That Hae-gang carried an extraordinary yang energy was because he was none other than the one bearing the "essence of the Vermilion Bird." By a chance accident, the divine beast's power had settled into a body not yet fully matured; thanks to it he'd kept his life for the moment, but he'd been left gasping through each day.
Hae-gang didn't know any of this. And Seol Yong couldn't tell him. Guarding the descendant might be his calling, but he couldn't reveal his own existence. Besides, when Hae-gang could fully make the Vermilion Bird's essence his own, he'd come to realize it himself—so all Seol Yong could do was watch.
In the end, it was true that if Hae-gang couldn't bear it, he wouldn't live long. But if his will sought to endure this ponderous, inexplicable calling, Seol Yong would only lend a hand so that Hae-gang's "now" wouldn't grow too perilous.
In any case, that two descendants inheriting the divine beasts' essences should exist in the same age was the strangest thing of all. To the divine beasts, who'd lived eons, it might be but a moment's crossing—yet that the two should then become bound as husband and wife was a remarkable coincidence even to them.
Was this the heaven god's blessing, or his mischief? Dae-ho felt intrigued; Seol Yong felt worried.
"And what's with the name Cheong-i Seol-yong, anyway? You really have no sense. Why didn't you just go around with 'Azure Dragon' pasted on your forehead?"
"Oh, and Baek Dae-ho is so much better."
Seol Yong gave a shallow sigh, and Dae-ho just giggled on, delighted.
"Crunch. Crunch."
Unaware that the two divine beasts, borrowing human form, were exchanging idle gossip at their first meeting in ages, Hae-gang was striding quickly across the snow-piled courtyard. With great long strides he walked, grumbling to himself that today of all days Yeonriwon felt pointlessly vast.
And at last, when he'd reached Mok-young's door—
"My la—"
Hae-gang started to call to his wife to announce himself, then stopped. His body swayed, and he quickly caught at the door before him. The solid wood groaned, creaking under his heavy hand.
Thump! His heart leapt as though it would drop from his chest. A fierce dizziness shook his vision, and he'd lost his balance just like that.
"Haa…"
Hae-gang's fingers curled, gripping the wood hard, and he tried to right himself. In the meantime, all that escaped his barely opened mouth was one hot breath. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. His heart began to pound wildly as though it would burst, and with his breath catching in gasps, he couldn't even get out a single short syllable of a call.
Then a chill—strong enough to freeze his whole body—raced up his spine and spread to the nape of his neck in a single breath. Hae-gang's body nearly swayed again, but he bit down hard and endured.
What in the world was happening to him? As he drew nearer Mok-young's room, the whispering hovering at his ears…
…grew ever greater and more grotesque, and he became convinced it had everything to do with Mok-young. A sound sharp enough to tear his eardrums tangled into a vast mire of incomprehensible noise, and now—in this instant—it rang out like a shrill scream fit to rip his eardrums apart.
Hae-gang's eyes squeezed shut. A blood-curdling shiver, enough to raise gooseflesh all over his body, swept through him in an instant.
Hae-gang thought, for the first time in fourteen years, that he was "cold."
"My lady!"
In the moment when his throat had tightened past bearing and he felt he might suffocate at any second—when his body lurched violently and he thought, this time I'll really collapse—Hae-gang felt, within this bizarre phenomenon, an even fiercer, single-minded resolve that he had to see Mok-young no matter what, and at last he raised both hands and flung the door wide open.
This was a phenomenon only he could perceive. Hae-gang had just realized it.
Seol Yong, whom he'd run into just now, had surely taken Mok-young's pulse, yet he'd done no more than caution him to be careful about meeting him, saying nothing particularly grave. Judging by Jihwan, who'd been beside him, saying nothing out of the ordinary either, they seemed to take it as merely "feeling unwell," just as the words said. Yeonriwon's scenery, too, was as tranquil as ever. With the snow beginning to pile softly, it seemed buried in an even deeper stillness than usual. That couldn't be—not when the master of this house, the General, lay gravely ill.
So if all this strangeness was flowing from Mok-young and only he could feel it, then all the more he had to go look after him himself. An unwanted marriage, had he said? Mok-young had spoken as if to tell him to expect no marital affection whatsoever, but Hae-gang couldn't do that. He hadn't "hoped" for anything. Whether affection bloomed or not had never mattered from the start. He'd simply become his wife—so he was simply his person, that was all.
"I heard you're unwell. Where does it hurt so badly? Are you all right, my lady?"
The moment he stepped into the room, Hae-gang headed straight for the bed. A large bulk lay huddled upon it. He knew at once it could only be Mok-young, and he—unaware even that Hae-gang had come—lay facing the wall, curled into a ball, clutching the blanket tight and groaning in pain.
Hae-gang bent deeply over Mok-young, enough to cast a shadow across his body, and studied his complexion. Even now he couldn't bring himself to seize Mok-young's body directly, and steadied himself with a hand pressed to the empty space above the pillow. Strangely, as if the dizziness and swaying had never been, he felt neither now. His heart still pounded on, but the bizarre sound that had tormented his ears had vanished without a trace. It had evaporated in such an instant that he didn't even register it stopping.
Mok-young's face was flushed with a reddish glow. He'd removed his mask, his bare face exposed, but with his face half-buried in the blanket, all that met Hae-gang's eyes for now was part of his profile and the nape of his neck. Hae-gang's gaze drifted slowly downward, sweeping the nape of Mok-young's neck, and seeing it already flushed crimson that far down, he guessed he was suffering a tremendous fever.
"Can you… hear me?"
Hae-gang asked again. His gaze lifted slightly, coming to rest near the corner of Mok-young's eye. His cheeks, too, were tinged with color, but the rims of his eyes were flushed a deeper red.
Before he knew it, Hae-gang swallowed dryly. He shouldn't be having such irreverent thoughts looking at a sick man… and yet Mok-young's face before his eyes right now looked unbearably sensual—
—it was. His fever-flushed face held a sensual allure, as though heat-flowers had bloomed across it, and the moment he thought it, Hae-gang's eyes blinked slowly, his lashes trembling.
It was lust, rising in him. He'd assumed the bizarre phenomenon was emanating from Mok-young alone, but—whether he was being swayed by it or not—his own wretched body was playing the same shameful tricks, Hae-gang thought.
One of Hae-gang's hands moved slowly, slipping at last between the blanket and Mok-young's face. It was an exceedingly careful touch. He worried it might hurt Mok-young, and he also feared being affected himself by the roiling yin energy filling the room, thick enough to set the cool camellia scent vibrating.
But Hae-gang couldn't keep from touching Mok-young, and Mok-young's cheek against his burning palm was—strangely—cold.
It radiated an ice-like chill. To look at him, his face was so crimson you'd worry how fiercely the fever burned—but the feel of him was entirely otherwise. And where Hae-gang's hand touched, warmth soon seeped in.
"Are you… truly ill? Look at me, my lady."
Hae-gang knew it instinctively. Mok-young was in the grip of a terrible, burning fever.
Hae-gang's hand moved slowly, turning Mok-young's face so he would look at him. The eyelids that had been squeezed shut hard enough to furrow his brow lifted slowly, and at last their gazes met.
And Mok-young, too, sensed it. That the secret he could show no one had now been laid bare before the man before his eyes. Could he ever have hidden it from this man in the first place? Such questions came to him now, but they were no more than futile musings.
To be continued in Volume 2
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