Chapter 121: A Flower Sent in His Place

Unable to take his eyes off the inkstone, Sanghyo slowly blinked his narrow eyes and looked at Gangcheon.

“Are you granting me permission to resign as the calligraphy tutor?”

“I am.”

“Has Your Majesty also finally realized that teaching the Noble Consort is a futile effort?”

Gangcheon, assuming it was because Sirak was impossible to teach no matter the effort, let out a small groan of annoyance.

However, Sang-hyo’s next words differed from what Gangcheon had expected.

“It must have been quite an ordeal for him to try and relearn things he already knew.”

“What did you say?”

Gangcheon asked back involuntarily.

Sang-hyo, preoccupied with examining his new inkstone, failed to notice Gangcheon’s expression hardening into a chill and continued his explanation.

“I am saying that His Grace the Consort has clearly learned to read and write before.”

“He is pretending to be unskilled, but the way he handles a brush and draws his lines shows a distinct difference from someone who is truly ignorant.”

Gangcheon ground his teeth.

“Since when have you known this?”

“Your servant noticed from the very beginning, but is there a problem?”

Only then did Sang-hyo steal a glance at Gangcheon’s face and tilt his head in confusion.

‘This is why people who focus only on one thing are so difficult; they may be competent, but they lack all flexibility.’

“Then why did you never report this to me?”

Sang-hyo wore an even more bewildered expression.

“But… did Your Majesty not command me specifically to teach the Consort his letters?”

“You never once inquired whether or not the Consort already knew them.”

Gangcheon was rendered speechless by the retort that he shouldn’t have to report things he wasn’t asked.

“I told you to start from the Thousand Character Classic. Had I thought he was already literate, I never would have given such a command!”

“If you had given me even a hint, I would not have acted like such an idiot!”

Gangcheon’s voice grew louder, but Sang-hyo remained perfectly composed.

“Then Your Majesty should have told me to observe the atmosphere while teaching him, rather than just telling me to teach the Thousand Character Classic.”

“As your loyal subject, I focused solely on the task Your Majesty assigned to me.”

Gangcheon contemplated smashing that damned inkstone Sang-hyo was staring at, then slammed his palm onto the desk with a loud bang.

Something was boiling over inside him.

He wondered if he should just let his temper flare, but he quickly reconsidered; it wouldn’t do for rumors to spread that he was throwing a tantrum.

It would be troublesome if the Consort noticed.

Furthermore, if a needless rumor reached the Empress’s Palace, what would he think?

What if he viewed the Emperor as an irredeemable ruffian for throwing fits while he was lying ill?

Gangcheon clenched his fists and slowly forced his temper to subside.

Seeing his sullen, hardened expression, Sang-hyo let out a small cough and addressed Manchul.

“Chief Eunuch. Could you have someone deliver these treasures to my private residence?”

“I shall do so. As it is already late, I will have them sent tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, how grateful I am. Thank you, elder.”

Gangcheon watched the two of them conversing so harmoniously and clicked his tongue softly.

‘Even when I try to let out my anger, I find myself hesitating because the Empress keeps flickering in my mind. What is happening to me?’

To be honest, he didn’t want to leave an even worse impression on an Empress who already treated him like a common thug.

‘They say a gentle person is terrifying when they finally snap, and he fits that description perfectly.’

Haeryeong had been so agitated that Gangcheon couldn’t even hold his hand, let alone get a proper word in; the memory left a bitter taste in his mouth.

‘I thought he was a gentle puppy, but he turned out to be no dog at all. The Empress was a tiger cub.’

A sigh escaped him as he recalled how he hadn’t been able to say a single word while the man was venting his rage.

Eventually, the anger that had reached the crown of his head when he first heard Sang-hyo’s story began to settle.

With a calm mind, Gangcheon dismissed him and fell into solitary thought.

He wondered how the Minister of Rites would act now.

Would he finally vomit up the truth about his connection to the Consort?

While pondering what to do with Sirak, a laugh suddenly escaped him.

‘Is it not laughable that I don’t even feel a sense of betrayal?’

He had assumed there was at least some affection there.

Even in this situation, his thoughts kept returning to the Empress, who was likely still lying in bed with a feverish face.

The image of that face, looking at him with parched, dry eyes, refused to leave his mind.

Forgetting that it hadn’t been long since he returned from the Empress’s Palace, Gangcheon rose from his seat again.

As he strode toward the door, Manchul—who had been waiting as silently as an inanimate object—followed and asked:

“Your Majesty, where are you heading in such a hurry?”

“…….”

He stopped in his tracks.

‘He wouldn’t welcome me even if I went. I’d be lucky if he’s even conscious enough to know I’m there.’

He knew it would be a useless endeavor.

Yet, despite that, why did he want to see him so badly?

Gangcheon hesitated for a moment and then let out a sigh.

“I shall go to the rear garden for some fresh air until the criminals are apprehended.”

Stepping outside, he saw the sky was already turning crimson.

Walking slowly to the Buyeong Pavilion, he saw the irises were beginning to burst their buds one by one.

“The irises have bloomed.”

“So they have. I thought we might not see them this year since they were transplanted so late, but it seems they have taken root properly.”

The sight of the deep purple petals reminded him of the Empress again, who had said he loved this flower.

Gangcheon crouched down and looked at a flower up close.

“Please, stand up, Your Majesty. There are many eyes watching.”

Manchul was in a fluster, calling out to a Gangcheon who was acting without his usual dignity.

Instead of replying, Gangcheon reached out toward a blooming flower within reach.

Snap.

Holding the iris flower that had broken with a small sound, he finally stood up.

Gangcheon rotated the flower stalk slowly, checking for any damage, and then turned around.

The steps that had felt so heavy moments ago now felt light, and a smile appeared on his face as he inhaled the floral scent.

“Manchul. Send this flower to the Empress’s Palace.”

“It is a flower he loves, so tell him I plucked it myself and sent it. Tell him to recover quickly.”

He wanted to go and give it to him personally, but he had to restrain himself, fearing that if he disturbed the Empress’s peace again, even the physician would start nagging him.

The Empress might find even a flower from him repulsive, but surely a man so gentle would not take his anger out on an innocent blossom.

Believing this, he placed the flower in Manchul’s hand.

‘A man who rejected an armful of jewels might not care for a single flower, but…’

Still, he hoped the man would recognize the apology in the gesture.

Gangcheon let out a sigh as he walked in the opposite direction from Manchul, who was heading for the Empress’s Palace.

‘He truly is a person who never goes as one wishes.’

‘To think he would fly into such a rage only a day after I asked what would make him smile.’

‘He simply refuses to move according to my will.’

But the thing that refused his control most of all was his own heart.

He thought he might be better off getting angry in return, yet the moment he faced that cold gaze, his anger would simply vanish and hide.

Gangcheon turned back for a moment and watched the back of Manchul’s head as he vanished into the distance, feeling a surge of envy.

‘Could I not just follow him? He likely isn’t awake yet, so could I not just sneak in and steal a look at his sleeping face?’

‘The interrogation can wait until tomorrow. It’s not like they can run away.’

Gangcheon, who had stopped until Manchul was out of sight, began walking again with a hardened expression.

But after only a few steps, he stopped once more.

‘I should not have sent only a flower; I should have sent a letter as well.’

His regrets continued to pile up, layer upon layer.

Gangcheon stopped briefly at the side hall to receive a report from the Black Shadows, then headed for the prison (Jeonokseo) in the basement of the palace.

Now that he had sent the flower to the Empress, he had to handle the remaining business.

Only then would he have something to say to the man when he regained consciousness.

As he thought this, he suddenly tilted his head.

‘Why is it that no matter what I do lately, he always seems to be the reason for it?’

Before Gangcheon could pursue the thought further, the prison official came to a halt.

“Open the door.”

Gangcheon scowled before even entering the cell.

The smell of all sorts of filth and blood mixed together to strike his nose.

He hadn’t minded the smell of rotting corpses on the battlefield.

‘I suppose humans truly do grow accustomed to comfort quite easily.’

Stepping inside, he saw a lump of flesh in the shape of a man hanging from one wall.

It seemed the Black Shadow members had played quite roughly with him as soon as he was captured.

Gangcheon let out a sigh as he looked at the face revealed through the blood-matted hair.

“You are quite a sight, Seo Ji-hak.”

The man, who appeared unconscious, struggled to open his eyes.

Lacking even the strength to lift his slumped head, he barely managed to raise his eyelids and looked at Gangcheon with an unfocused gaze.

“You said your lifelong dream was to return home and fulfill it. Tell me, was your lifelong dream treason?”

Ji-hak had been a centurion in the akisal unit Gangcheon had led during his time as a general.

He had been a man Gangcheon cherished for his outstanding skill.

Ji-hak slowly shook his slumped head.

It was a movement so weak it would have been hard to detect if not for the swaying of his long, blood-soaked hair.

A rattling, wheezing sound came from his throat, and a stream of blood flowed from his mouth.

He seemed to be trying to straighten his swaying body, but it looked like an impossible task with his brutally crushed feet.

Jihak, struggling as if he could no longer feel pain, spat out a glob of blood and managed to form something resembling words.

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