GMLS Ch 30

“No matter how much you examine the tea, there’s no way anything will show up. You could drink the whole pot and nothing would happen. Because if you just drink that, it’s just a tea with a slightly peculiar fragrance.”

“Are you insane. How, how could you do something so dangerous!”

“Surely you aren’t asking because you truly don’t know. It’s a question that can be answered just by thinking about who the biggest beneficiary of the test would be.”

“Did you intend to make The 5th Prince the emperor from the very beginning.”

“Not from the very beginning.”

“Then since when….”

“Well. It’s a bit ambiguous to say exactly when. But if you’re asking when I came up with the specific plan, I can answer that.”

Snap. The folding fan closed. Yeo Yullyeong, his earlobes and cheeks turned red from the cold, turned his body to face me.

“It was when you bowed your head before the emperor, saying you would become The 5th Prince’s Captain of the Guard.”

My breath caught at the purely revealed heart.

“I don’t know what you thought of me, but from the moment you came to my house, you were my son.”

The snake, covered in dozens, hundreds of layers of skin, finally revealed its true form. That snake was me. The eyes, veiled by prejudice and wariness, were finally opened.

Yeo Yullyeong reached out and cupped my cheek.

“If you cry here, your cheeks will freeze solid. Don’t cry.”

Then, looking at me shaking my head, he said, ‘You’re all grown up in body, but still a child.’ Just like that, I was led by Yeo Yullyeong and returned to the residence.

The Ammukdan members were appalled to see Yeo Yullyeong, frozen by the cold wind, and me with ice on my cheeks. A commotion broke out as they immediately brought every blanket they could find and wrapped them around us, boiled water to prepare a bath, and lit a bonfire.

Even amidst the chaos, Yeo Yullyeong smiled languidly. Even with his usual inscrutable smile, I could clearly guess his inner thoughts, and only then did I realize, ‘So I was his son.’

⊹ ࣪ 💮⊹₊

His dazed eyes lacked focus.

Lying on the bed, Yihwa recalled the events with Yeo Yullyeong from the day before yesterday. How was Yeo Yullyeong back then? What did he say with what expression? Looking back, he couldn’t remember well.

It was the fifth day since he had woken up. A fortnight had already passed since the end of the test.

The imperial guards and the Milyeong troops had packed up their belongings in small groups and had all left the shrine by yesterday evening. All that remained were Yeo Yullyeong and a few of his Ammukdan subordinates, a physician to look after Yihwa’s wound, and Monghyul and Wi Junghyuk.

Yihwa groaned and turned onto his side. Yeo Yullyeong was using such good medicine that the wound was healing day by day. It was even okay to secretly draw on his internal energy.

But even when he said he was fine now and they should return to the palace, Wi Junghyuk wouldn’t listen. Monghyul was the same. He said he had received an order from His Highness the Prince, and since there was no change to it, it was right for him to be here.

What more could he say when they brought up an imperial command? In the end, Yihwa quietly backed down. After that, he became one with the bed. It was the first time since being taken in by Yeo Yullyeong that he had lived so idly. No, to be precise, it was the first time since he was born.

In his childhood, he would gather twigs for firewood or dig up plant roots from dawn. If he was sick, he had to go out and beg. Otherwise, he would have to starve.

On the bed, Yihwa curled up his body. In the narrow, damp, and smelly thatched hut, death always stood tall, looking down on him.

Could a life without light truly be called a life? Instead of answering that question, Muryun led Yihwa’s life into the light. He made Yihwa, who had been alive but not living, know what life was.

It was the first time in his life he had been raised in such a warm place. The soft clothes that brushed against his skin. The sweetness that melted on his tongue. Even the colorful, sparkling toys. He had changed the color of the world Yihwa saw.

But Muryun himself was not very fond of talking about that time. It was because it had been an act to alleviate his own guilt. Yihwa was secretly upset about that. It seemed that the days that were like a treasure to him were just a flaw that he wanted to forget.

‘It must be a similar feeling to how I rejoiced at the moment I left the mother-of-pearl box, yet the box itself still remains a nightmare.’

Thinking that far, Yihwa pulled the blanket up over his shoulders.

If Muryun wasn’t by his side, Yihwa would return to the mother-of-pearl box. Even if his body was here, his mind would be drawn there. Dark, narrow, and rattling, the inside of the mother-of-pearl box was a moment-to-moment agony, and his delicate, weakened spirit was torn to shreds.

If he fell asleep like this, he would surely face a nightmare. Sighing, Yihwa finally kicked off the bed. He threw on a black robe and ran through the gallery, out into the open. His boots, made of black leather, stepped on the white snow.

Haa. A puff of white breath brushed against his cheek.

He looked up. The night sky was full of brilliant, colorful stars. The Milky Way, like a giant serpent, crossed between them. Looking at the wondrous display of light, he thought of Muryun. Thinking of him made him miss him.

“……I miss you.”

They say there is power in words, and as he uttered what he had only been thinking, it pierced his heart. His heart ached from not having seen him for a mere fortnight. How had he endured this for five years?

‘It must have been because I understood and accepted it.’

Yihwa asked himself and answered himself.

Back then, he was a scrawny commoner, and he was the son of the Son of Heaven. Of course, it was different now. He was his Captain of the Guard, and he was the master he served. The closest place to him was his own place.

But why was he the only one left here? In a place so far and high that even the season was different.

“……”

Yihwa gathered his thoughts that were stretching on endlessly.

Now that he thought about it, the punishment of exile was not a punishment to send someone to a remote place to reflect. It was surely a punishment to send them to die of a broken heart, yearning for their beloved.

‘Then, what is the difference between my current situation and the punishment of exile?’

Thinking thoughts that would have made Muryun appalled, Yihwa returned inside.

Let’s not have useless thoughts. It only makes me needlessly depressed. In two or three more nights, my body will be fully recovered, and then, without further delay, I will go down the mountain and to the imperial palace.

Even trying to cheer himself up like that was useless. Both his body and mind were withered like dried radish greens.

As Yihwa sulked like a puppy that had its food bowl taken away and burrowed into the blankets, Muryun, in the imperial palace, was also looking at the sky.

The imperial palace he returned to was already in the lushness of summer. The peach blossoms had fallen, and roses were in full bloom. All sorts of insects hopped about in the garden. It was as if being drenched in the cold rain and rolling in the snow just a fortnight ago was all a lie.

Muryun held his coronation ceremony just one day after returning to the palace.

Despite rushing through the empire’s biggest event, not a single high-ranking official could oppose it. There was a story behind this that was hard to laugh at.

Anyway, once the test was over, a winner would emerge, whoever it might be. Then, the political situation would stabilize, at least temporarily. So those who were waiting had leisure in both their minds and their work.

However, an unexpected problem arose. Muryun, who was expected to return to the palace with broad shoulders and full of triumph, had settled down in the shrine. To make matters worse, he showed not even an ant-sized speck of intention to return, and the imperial palace was turned upside down.

Carrier pigeons, reminiscent of wartime, were sent towards Mount Cheontae, but most of them could not withstand the cold of the perpetual snow and fell dead around the midway point. The ones chosen to retrieve them were the Ammukdan members. They grumbled but still took only the messages from the bodies of the carrier pigeons hanging on the tree branches and delivered them to The 5th Prince.

The 5th Prince did not even glance at them once.

The reason the Ammukdan members couldn’t say anything was not just because he had now become the emperor of the Geum Empire. Muryun, without eating or sleeping properly, just stood guard by the bedside of the unconscious Yihwa like a wooden stone. It was visible to the naked eye that he was already exhausted and nearing his limit.

Even when Monghyul and Wi Junghyuk begged him to please rest, saying they would watch over him, he stubbornly shook his head. Then, on the fourth day, he finally collapsed, sending a chill down the spines of everyone in the shrine.

And yet, when he opened his eyes on the fifth day, he immediately went to Yihwa, so it was useless even when the imperial guards and Milyeong troops prostrated themselves before him and pleaded for him to please take care of his royal person.

It was then that Yeo Yullyeong appeared with a sweet smile. The sight of the white-robed scholar, gracefully fanning himself with a folding fan in a mysterious residence built in an architectural style from centuries ago, created a peculiar atmosphere in itself. It was more like seeing a divine beast or an immortal than a person.

Wi Junghyuk thought it wasn’t entirely wrong. To him, Yeo Yullyeong was not a person but a thousand-year-old serpent.

‘Your Highness, my son Yihwa, you see. He is a precious treasure, raised with utmost care. He is the sole heir of the Yeo family and also the only son of this Shangshuling.’

Who here didn’t know that? Muryun looked at Yeo Yullyeong, who was grandly stating the obvious, with narrowed eyes.

‘So I have no intention of marrying him off to anyone less than the emperor of this country.’

Just then, an Ammukdan member who was passing by slipped, an imperial guard on duty dropped the spear he was holding, and a Milyeong troop member who was on the roof fell down like a persimmon left for the magpies in November.

Only two people were composed. The one who spoke, Yeo Yullyeong, and the one who heard him, Muryun. Muryun crossed his arms and retorted nonchalantly.

‘Then if I ascend to the emperor’s throne, you won’t object to me taking your son as my consort.’

‘You are taking the son of this Yeo Yullyeong, so an ordinary dowry will not do.’

‘Are you saying you will object if the dowry is not to your liking? Well, it doesn’t matter.’

‘Become emperor first before you say anything. For your reference, I will give you five days. If you cannot wear the imperial crown within five days, this conversation will be considered null and void.’

Five days was a tight deadline even if he left right away. Everyone present thought Yeo Yullyeong was crazy.