Because Hae-gang had lowered his sword first and stood stock still. As if saying stab him if you like — defenseless. Like the time he’d sparred a trainee at Danogwan: discovering Mok-young, he’d stopped stock still, not minding the opponent’s attack one bit. And now too Hae-gang’s gaze was fixed straight on Mok-young alone.
Of course Hae-gang trusted Mok-young’s sword wouldn’t truly harm him, but it was hardly safe. So just as Mok-young moved his lips to scold—
Clatter—.
Hae-gang let his strength go, dropped his sword to the ground, strode to Mok-young and threw his arms around him in a tight hug. The most unexpected “attack”(?) of any martial stance — Mok-young was caught with no chance to dodge and went rigid.
Sparring hard and then what was this? Didn’t he know a warrior’s etiquette? Such complaints flickered in Mok-young’s mind, but not a word came out properly. Because Hae-gang’s body, come into his arms and pressed against him, burned like a blazing fire. Only then did Mok-young realize that he himself had been too absorbed in this sparring.
Clatter—.
Mok-young’s hand dropped his sword, and his raised arm — a bit slow — wrapped around Hae-gang’s back. Naturally the two’s bodies pressed closer, and Hae-gang hugged Mok-young firmly with both arms, instinctively burrowing deep to reach his yin energy.
“Are you o—”
Mok-young’s lips, about to ask if he was okay, moved then stopped. Hae-gang’s hand had reached the back of the leather guard at his neck. The intent was obvious. Hae-gang’s slow hand, quite calmly, as if doing the most natural thing, pulled and loosened the ties.
Srrrk— the sensation of the leather ties pulling transmitted clearly through the skin of his nape. Mok-young flinched pointlessly, a chill running down his spine, but he didn’t push Hae-gang away or stop him.
Was it worry that his absorption had overtaxed Hae-gang, and so a guilty feeling that made refusal impossible? Or… had he simply been caught in this instant, rendered unable to do anything?
Thunk. The leather guard soon fell to the ground, and this time Hae-gang’s face buried deep into Mok-young’s nape. At the same time Hae-gang’s arms hugged Mok-young firmly again, as if to trap him fully in his embrace — pointlessly reminding him of “that day” a few days ago. Their first night, when they’d been drunk on each other’s energy, leaving only instinct, soaking in.
“Are you alright?”
Mok-young belatedly opened his mouth and asked. His head turned slightly toward Hae-gang, but Hae-gang buried his face deeper, nuzzling slowly, so they couldn’t properly face each other. He wondered if his condition was bad, his consciousness dim — but judging by his actions, it wasn’t that bad, so Mok-young was somewhat relieved.
“I’m fine. More than ever… very fine.”
At the end of the answer, Hae-gang took one deep breath and slowly exhaled. Meanwhile the cool camellia scent filled his chest, and Hae-gang felt a dizzying pleasure just from breathing.
He felt he’d learned a slightly dangerous sensation. Having freely unleashed his yang energy more than ever, and right after, being able to touch the cool energy that seemed to cool even the fireball in his depths — this moment, like burying his body deep in a snowfield with a faint camellia scent, was so thrilling Hae-gang felt he’d become addicted.
“I’m so fine I feel like getting scolded every day.” But having expressed his raw, honest feelings too frankly, he ended up dropped by his wife.
“Seeing your mouth’s still alive, you’re fine.”
“Ah, I’m not done yet—”
“…but let’s say you’re done.”
Seeing how fierce his wife’s eyes were, Hae-gang smiled and stepped back. Having just thoroughly experienced how strong his wife was, it was right to spare his body when needed.
After all, avoiding marital fights was the best policy. Hae-gang reaffirmed that resolve once more, but it was just light banter.
<p style=”text-align: center;”>* * *</p>
A sky that had been unusually blue, dazzling sunlight, and a forest lush with trees boasting their freshness.
It was a day brimming with life in all directions, under the protection of Jujak, Namwi’s guardian god. His Majesty the Emperor had chosen an especially auspicious day to hold a hunting tournament, praying for abundance ahead of the autumn harvest — and the sky had answered, clear beyond measure.
On such a good day. On the day when everyone prayed for abundance and honored the Emperor’s grace, strictly forbidding needless killing though it was a hunting tournament, enjoying a reverent festival — thirteen-year-old Go Hae-gang was dying. The child who’d wanted to bag a boar to please the Emperor and show off his talents lay sprawled in the bushes, struck in the shoulder by an arrow someone had “misfired.”
No one looked for the child. As if someone had aimed, it was a secluded spot. Being such a place, the shooter couldn’t not have known that someone had been hit by his arrow — yet he didn’t call others for help. He vanished like smoke; what poured over the back of the child sprawled panting in the bushes was only silent stillness.
“Haa, haa… haa…”
Only his exhaled breaths rang in the child’s ears. Not so loud, yet why did it echo so hugely in his ears? It was the only signal telling him he was alive now — but also a sign his life was fading.
The trees boasting their freshness became a giant curtain, blocking even the sunlight. When a breeze from somewhere rustled the leaves bleakly, only then would a sliver of sunlight squeeze through the deep shadows to tickle the child’s cheek — but far too little warmth to warm his cooling body.
*I said I’d let Minister Hong taste boar meat…* Consciousness was darkening. His eyelids were so heavy that opening and closing his eyes once was a struggle, and amid it Hae-gang thought such things. The child who didn’t know the word “flashing before one’s eyes” merely sensed the end and recalled the faces of those who’d been by his side.
Minister Hong — nagging but more often kind; his wet nurse Seo Sang-gung — seemingly soft toward His Highness the Prince yet of quite firm character; Inner Attendant Jeong, who often played with him; Scholar Park, who read books and taught him writing; and the palace maids who taught him flower names, told him the seasons, shared tasty food. Hae-gang’s detached palace wasn’t populous for a prince’s residence, but it gathered people who looked after each other and could share laughter over small things.
Hae-gang knew well he was a neglected being — the saying “serving the Fifth Prince is tantamount to demotion” was tacitly spread. The clever child, who’d learned early to read the room, knew his situation better than anyone. So he always felt gratitude and affection for those by his side.
If not enjoying power, then when grown into a proper prince, he’d wanted to gift them at least a comfortable life. The child barely thirteen, more regretful of that than of his own life ending, clenched his fist tight. His not-yet-hardened palm was full of calluses — traces of day-and-night bowstring practice. Yet instead of drawing the bowstring splendidly, he was clutching weeds at death’s door — how pitiful the sight.
“Child. Dear.”
Just when he felt he lacked even the strength to lift his closed eyelids. Just as the strength of his clenched fist was loosening — a woman’s voice was heard.
A dream? Hearing things, already dead? Such thoughts faintly crossed his mind, and then he felt his body slightly lifted, and soon moist water touched his lips.
Hae-gang couldn’t ask what this was, who she was. Still unable to open his eyes, his body limp, it felt as if the water the woman poured into his mouth passed down his throat on its own.
And shortly after, a terrible pain came, as if his body were engulfed in flames. It seemed to snap him awake, but soon he’d lose consciousness again; Hae-gang thrashed in pain, collapsed on the ground.
“Heok, heok. Keoheok…! Keuheup! Heueuk, haa…”
A panting utterly different from the panting of a fading life poured from Hae-gang’s mouth. Breathing was similarly hard, but this was the struggling of wanting to live a little longer—
The woman’s voice pierced Hae-gang’s ears. But Hae-gang still couldn’t respond. Busy shaking his head, clutching weeds tight in his hand, trembling, gasping. Then hurriedly drawing breath again, then halting and convulsing, then urgently exhaling, coughing as if choking, and even banging his forehead on the ground — thump, thump.
“Hae-gang, you must open your eyes. Hae-gang…”
The woman called him again. The call was so familiar, yet the voice was utterly strange to Hae-gang. But he had no leisure to ask who she was; he couldn’t even think it.
He only thought the pain burning through his whole body might be more terrible than death.
“Hae-gang. Hae-gang. Hae-gang. Hae-gang.”
Yet the woman’s calls continued, till finally it gave him the creeps. Kneeling, crouching as flat as possible, forehead on the dirt, Hae-gang squeezed out his last strength to turn his head sideways and blinked once.
Blurry vision. Someone’s figure. An inexplicable affection felt from the touch on his shoulder.
That was the limit.
“Hae-gang!”
A near-screaming, desperate cry struck his ears, and with that Hae-gang lost consciousness.
“Go Hae-gang!”
And when he snapped his eyes open again, it was thanks to his wife’s rough touch and booming call.
“Ah…”
He’d clearly been lying on his side asleep, but the firm touch had pushed him askew; Hae-gang blinked slowly. Then let out a shallow exclamation.
Danmok. The person gripping his shoulder and looking down with a grave face was surely his wife with whom he’d shared the nuptial cup — Dan Mok-young. Blinking a few more times, calmly clearing the fog in his head, Hae-gang realized he’d been wandering in a dream.
A very distant dream. Fourteen years, was it? Since that day’s incident, he’d never once dreamed anything related. Emerging fully from the dream, a feeling so fresh it startled even Hae-gang swept through him.
In truth, that day’s memory didn’t properly remain in Hae-gang’s head either. There was the sense of being hit by an arrow in an accident, and of someone holding him and feeding him something like water just before consciousness fully went out. But he hadn’t properly seen the person, and with the sensation of lips and mouth moistening he’d lost consciousness, so he didn’t know what happened after, or even whether he’d suffered such great pain.
But just now, it hurt. Surely. Just like real life, as if he’d returned to thirteen and relived what he’d completely forgotten. A burning pain had wrapped around his whole body. Opening his eyes he knew it was a dream, but the hot lingering pain remained, and unknowingly Hae-gang raised a hand to rub his arm.
But he couldn’t dwell deeply on its cause. Because Mok-young’s face before him looked like someone facing a great crisis. He must have been groaning in his sleep.
“Shall I call a physician?”
Sure enough. Mok-young asked. Hae-gang didn’t answer at once, just gazed blankly at his wife’s face.
Hair usually tied neatly in a topknot now flowed calmly down; on the handsome face, neat yet firm, dark clouds gathered. The dark clouds were the emotion called worry, and Dan Mok-young’s eyes, deep and dark as an abyss, seemed to deepen the feeling.
Before he knew it. *That you look at me like this.* In eyes hard to believe belonged to someone who’d been so displeased even with the wedding night, a corner of Hae-gang’s chest sank in, soaking. He didn’t bother to voice it. Questions like “Were you worried about me, did you care enough to make that face” were useless.
Hae-gang reached out, grabbed Mok-young’s arm, and pulled him to himself. The force was so strong Mok-young lost his balance and toppled onto Hae-gang. He tried to right himself at once, but Hae-gang wrapped both arms around his back and held him firmly, so Mok-young was trapped in Hae-gang’s embrace, unable to move.
Like a fireball. Touching skin through thin cloth, the clearly felt heat made Mok-young flinch. He’d woken him thinking something was greatly wrong, seeing him curled up groaning severely even in sleep — and now he was spewing heat as if to scald; Mok-young thought this was no time to be leisurely held. So he tried to rise at once—
“No physician. Just… if we stay like this, I’ll get better.”
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