Chapter 78: Memories of a Withered Flower

It was a year when exceptionally heavy snow fell.

Because there were no court servants residing in his mother’s pavilion, the room heated in the evening would often be cold by dawn.

When Gangcheon would trudge through the snow to pay his respects before the sun had even risen, his mother, lying on a bed devoid of warmth, would greet her son without even being able to fully open her eyes.

The hands beneath her quilt were as cold as a corpse’s.

Even in his young heart, Gangcheon felt such pity for her that he would warm her hands with his own palms and cheeks every time.

When Gangcheon had Manchul light the fire and change the water in her tangpa, his mother would offer a smile that looked as though it might flicker out.

“Gang-ah, is it not nearly time for your tutor to arrive? You must go back. You must not keep your teacher waiting.”

Hearing his mother’s tender, weak voice, Gangcheon would pout and shake his head.

“I wish to see Mother eat her breakfast before I go. If I am not here, who will attend to your meal?”

“When the time comes, someone will surely come to serve me. So, hurry back.”

When Gangcheon hesitated to leave, the woman who lacked the strength to even sit up would sometimes issue a stern command like a great general.

It wasn’t as if the heavens would flip upside down just because he skipped one day of lectures.

When Gangcheon was scolded by his mother and returned with tears streaming down his face, she would spend the rest of the time alone in that small pavilion.

Since there was no way to verify, it was even doubtful if she was receiving proper service from the court servants who occasionally stopped by.

Eventually, Gangcheon began dragging Manchul to his mother’s pavilion every dawn to light the fire.

Of course, Manchul was the one who did most of the actual labor.

Only after changing the water in the tangpa with the water boiled while lighting the fire and tucking it under his mother’s quilt would he return to his own quarters, finally able to close his eyes in peace.

However, that routine did not last long.

Not long after the New Year began, she passed away like a withered flower falling.

Charged with the crime of violating the law that states no one but the Emperor or Empress may die within the palace, her body was cast out at dawn as if it were being discarded.

Gangcheon only learned of his mother’s death and the fact that her body had already been removed from the palace the following morning.

On that particular day, he had been suffering from a cold—the likes of which he had never caught in his life—and had been too ill through the night to go and light the fire in her pavilion.

That became a deep-seated grudge in his young heart.

Since he was young and powerless, a grudge was all it could remain.

At night, when his mother came to mind, Gangcheon would burrow under his quilt and weep, only to attend his morning lectures as if nothing were wrong when the sun rose.

Because he was merely occupying a seat under the title of Prince, he suffered much sorrow at the hands of the other princes.

There were many times he was surrounded and beaten by princes who stood a head taller than him.

Thus, in his eighth year, Gangcheon set aside his books and began to hone his martial arts.

He did it because he felt it was unfair to just take the hits, and he wanted to pay back at least one blow for every one he received.

Perhaps he was naturally gifted, for by his tenth birthday, he was already able to defeat his master three or four times out of ten.

By that time, the other princes could no longer touch him lightly.

Then came his thirteenth year.

Gangcheon finally escaped the suffocating Imperial Palace and left for the battlefield.

There, there were no siblings to pick fights, and no Emperor to look upon him with cold indifference.

During those times when he was free to do as he pleased, Gangcheon lived without even recalling the sorrow of his mother’s death.

To whom would he direct his revenge? To the Emperor, the ruler above all? Or to the Empress and the concubines who had ignored his mother?

Was it not his own fault for being too weak to protect his fragile mother?

Gangcheon thought this way and lived, considering himself fortunate simply for having escaped the palace.

He gave no thought to the affairs of Hanseong, except for the occasional exchange of letters with his maternal grandfather, who had secured a minor post at the edge of the palace after his mother received her title.

Had his grandfather not also met a sudden, violent death, Gangcheon would have likely continued to live quietly, guarding some remote border.

He wouldn’t have even considered killing those related to him by blood.

But what else could be done?

They were the ones who drew their swords first.

To live, he had no choice but to kill them all.

He figured he might as well take the opportunity to avenge his mother, who had died after being neglected.

Thus, Gangcheon sent a portion of the men who now comprise the Black Shadow Unit to slaughter every member of the Imperial family.

The Emperor, the Empress, the Crown Prince, and even the siblings who had bullied him as a child along with their mothers.

Even after killing them all, his heart did not feel at peace.

It was only natural.

The revenge for his mother had been nothing more than an excuse for the slaughter.

What peace could be gained by settling a score for events that had passed so long ago?

Still, having started the task, he had to see it through to the end.

If someone were to emerge later, brandishing a faint trace of the Emperor’s bloodline to target his own neck, it would be a nuisance.

Then again, one never knows.

Who could say if his heart would truly find peace once every last one of them was dead?

When he returned to the Great Hall after sunset, Haeryeong was asleep in a corner of the bed, looking like a crumpled heap.

Seeing the profile of the man sleeping in a ball, an involuntary sigh escaped him.

Gangcheon carefully lifted Haeryeong’s body.

His consciousness seemed to return briefly at the sensation of being lifted, and Haeryeong opened his sleep-heavy eyes hazily.

Gangcheon patted the back of the man, who was making sounds like a child in his sleep, and whispered quietly in his ear.

“Dinner will take some time to prepare, so sleep more.”

While he paced slowly around the room, Haeryeong rested his warm cheek against Gangcheon and closed his eyes again.

Breathing softly.

The steady sound of his breath reached Gangcheon’s ear.

Holding the body that had grown warmer than usual with the approaching heat cycle, he was somehow reminded of his dead mother.

When he was a child and would fuss in his sleep, his mother used to hold and soothe him just like this.

It had felt so good when he would wrap his arms around her neck and hear her delicate laughter.

Gangcheon let out a deep sigh despite himself.

The reason he had been exceptionally kind to Sirak was because the man reminded him of his mother.

It was the same reason he had appointed Sirak’s foster father as the Vice Minister of War to provide him with a substantial backing, and why he visited his quarters every single day so he wouldn’t be alone.

The Empress was in a position where he would be respected even without the Emperor, so Gangcheon had sought out the Consort even more diligently, hoping he wouldn’t die alone after being neglected like his mother.

He had bestowed fine clothes and silks without reserve, telling him not to live like the woman who wore only simple garments without a trace of gold.

He had also sent many precious jewels and ornaments.

He thought that would be enough.

He had never even considered that by focusing on one, the other would end up living exactly like his mother.

A hollow laugh escaped him as he realized how he had lived with such indifference to things he would have known if he had shown even a little interest.

Then again, it was also partly because the Empress was of such a patient nature.

He never showed whether he liked or disliked anything, so how was one to know?

The reports from the Black Shadow Unit had always just said he was faring well without issue.

Gangcheon patted Haeryeong’s back and sighed once more.

How difficult it is for one person to care for another.

He wondered how his father, the late Emperor, could have taken so many spouses.

It was incomprehensible.

As if hearing Gangcheon’s sigh, Haeryeong called out to him in a sleep-drunken mumble.

“Your Majesty, do you have some worry?”

“Oh dear, you woke up quickly.”

“I heard a heavy sigh.”

“I suppose a sigh escaped me as I recalled my late mother.”

Haeryeong, who had been leaning limp against him, lifted his head.

A mark had formed on his cheek, seemingly pressed by the embroidery on the shoulder of the dragon robe.

Gangcheon giggled as he pressed a kiss to the red mark.

“You have a dragon on your cheek.”

The mark vanished quickly, but Gangcheon continued to rub his lips against Haeryeong’s cheek for a while.

He saw Haeryeong frown slightly as if annoyed, before relaxing his body in resignation.

‘Is it because he is half-asleep?’

His expression was even more vivid than usual.

“Your Majesty’s mother was…”

“She was a Suk-won. The seventeenth, or perhaps the eighteenth. She was a concubine in name only, receiving not a shred of favor.”

“What kind of person was she?”

Gangcheon paced again, patting Haeryeong’s back.

Leaving the bedroom and walking down the corridor, the door leading to the loft opened as they turned.

As they stepped outside, Gangcheon asked:

“Are you not cold?”

“No. Perhaps because of the heat, it actually feels quite refreshing.”

The scent of flowers from the large magnolia tree near the loft drifted over on the breeze.

He also caught the faint, sweet fragrance of the cornelian cherry flowers that were withering near the wall.

“My mother was a very small woman. She was so tiny that even as a mere six-year-old, I reached her waist.”

Gangcheon spoke quietly of his mother.

He told the story of the woman who was as soft and delicate as a new spring leaf.

He slowly whispered stories that only Manchul knew and no one else.

“Your heart in practicing filial piety at such a young age was truly admirable, Your Majesty.”

Haeryeong whispered, wrapping his arms around Gangcheon’s shoulders.

“It is said that if you keep a deceased parent in your heart, you are reborn as their child.”

“Therefore, one serves their parents while they are alive and nurtures their children after they have passed.”

“Your Majesty’s mother will surely return as an Imperial heir.”

“So, please do not miss her too dearly.”

Gangcheon peered into Haeryeong’s face by the light of the still-dim moon.

Haeryeong, his face pale and fair, searched Gangcheon’s expression with an inquisitive look.

“Why do you look at me so?”

To the man asking quietly, Gangcheon replied with a brief kiss.

“Every single word you speak is so beautiful. I have fallen for the Empress all over again.”

“I am beyond happy to have met such a virtuous Empress.”

It seemed the time had finally come for him to make his choice. He felt bad for Sirak, but there was nothing he could do.

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