Chapter 18: A Gift of the Sword, A Dance of the Heart

“Your Majesty.”

“…Yes?”

Jaran burst into laughter at the sight of Ihan, who answered vacantly, his mind clearly having wandered off. Only then did Ihan realize what a spectacle he was making of himself. He hurriedly composed his expression and looked at Jaran, pretending as though nothing were out of the ordinary.

“What is it, Empress?”

“Do not worry, and please wait a moment.”

“……?”

“I am speaking of Jin-bi. He has a separate task to attend to, so he has stepped away briefly. Do not fret, Majesty. He will return shortly.”

Ihan’s face instantly flared up, his secret thoughts having been completely exposed. He briefly considered making an excuse, but he knew it would be futile in front of Jaran, so he bit his tongue.

Even so, hearing the Empress say there was no cause for worry calmed his anxious heart—though he felt a small prick of petulance, wondering how the Empress knew of Hwaun’s circumstances when he, the Emperor, did not.

It was truly strange how the ladies of the Internal Court seemed to ignore him, the Emperor, and band together so tightly. If asked whether he disliked it, he would say he welcomed their harmony, but occasionally, when he felt as though he were competing with them for Hwaun’s attention, he couldn’t hide his sense of absurdity.

Despite the Empress’s reassurance, Ihan couldn’t fully erase the worry from his face. He tried to pretend to enjoy the performance, but instinctively, his eyes continued to roam the hall, searching for Hwaun like a restless bird.

In the meantime, Jaran, after hearing a whisper from Seon, raised a hand slightly to signal the orchestra to stop. As the music died down, the dancers in the center bowed and withdrew. It wasn’t just the Emperor who was confused by this sudden shift; Suk-bi and Jeong-bin also looked on with wide eyes, having clearly not been informed of this change in program.

Holding the answers to everyone’s silent questions, Jaran finally spoke.

“Your Majesty. In truth, the most important performance of today’s banquet is yet to come.”

“Hmm…? Is there a separate performance the Empress has prepared?”

“It is not something I prepared myself, but it is a gift that Your Majesty will likely find most pleasing.”

Ihan looked puzzled at Jaran’s enigmatic reply. He knew the Empress took extraordinary care in organizing his banquets, but her stepping forward to personally recommend a performance was unprecedented.

“Then… let us begin, Majesty.”

Smiling lightly as if she understood Ihan’s inner turmoil, Jaran wasted no more time and nodded toward the waiting head eunuch. Upon receiving her signal, the eunuch gestured to the standby orchestra, and a new melody began to fill the banquet hall. Even then, the stage in the center remained empty.

“……?”

It was just as the first few bars of the piece had passed that someone slowly walked into that empty space.

The gazes of the curious onlookers converged on a single point, and as the figure revealed themselves, eyes widened in shock. Suk-bi and Jeong-bin were speechless, and even the servants—who usually remained as invisible as shadows—could not hide their astonishment at the unexpected turn of events.

But none were as shocked as the Emperor, who instinctively bolted upright from his seat. Letting out a faint, groaning sound like “This… what…,” Ihan stood there with his mouth agape, unable even to blink. Jaran, unable to hide her amusement, spoke softly.

“Your Majesty. Please, sit down first.”

Ihan, still not fully in his right mind, let out a dull “Huh?” and looked at Jaran before realizing he was behaving with a total lack of dignity. He hurriedly sat back down. However, no one could fault him for his reaction; like him, everyone else was still struggling to process what they were seeing.

Seated again, Ihan squeezed his eyes shut and opened them once more, checking if he had misidentified the figure. It wasn’t a mistake. It wasn’t a dream or a phantom.

Standing alone in the center of the empty stage was indeed Ihan’s lover—Jin-bi, Yeon Hwaun.

The first thing that caught everyone’s eye was a red, translucent veil covering the lower half of his face, starting from the bridge of his nose. His long eyes were cast downward, looking calmly at the floor. He looked so different from his usual self that the spectators found themselves unintentionally holding their breath.

That wasn’t all. Hwaun’s attire followed the general structure of a male consort’s robes, but the sleeves were longer and the fabric itself was so ethereal that with every step he took, the fluttering cloth looked as vibrant and grand as a professional dancer’s.

The snow-white fabric made the red veil stand out brilliantly, while the garment itself glowed with an elegant light. The luxurious gold embroidery stitched onto it made it clear to anyone how much sincere effort had gone into its making.

“That, that is….”

And finally, what truly captured everyone’s attention was the weapon held in Hwaun’s hand as he slowly took his opening stance. A single, slender soft sword—one that bent gracefully even with the slightest movement—was held firmly in Hwaun’s grip.

Jaran raised her voice a bit more to continue.

“Since Jin-bi has personally prepared this gift to celebrate Your Imperial Majesty’s birth… I pray that Your Majesty receives it with joy.”

Only then did Ihan finally manage to let out the breath he had been holding. He hadn’t even finished processing the shock of seeing this version of Hwaun for the first time, and now he was told this was a gift Hwaun had prepared for him? Even hearing the words, it felt unbelievable.

As the orchestra’s volume swelled, Hwaun began to move. He extended an arm, and as the sword sliced through the air, the small bells on his wrist bracelet let out a clear, crystalline sound that divided the atmosphere alongside the curving tip of the blade.

His body, highlighted by the fluttering robes, looked slender and delicate, yet strangely beautiful. His steps, moving forward and retreating in repeated patterns, were clean and without a trace of hesitation.

It was too dignified to be called a mere “sword dance,” yet too beautiful to be called “swordsmanship.”

No one in that room—not even the palace veterans who had seen countless dancers—had ever seen anything like it. There were no exaggerated gestures or seductive glances meant to entice, yet that lack of artifice moved the heart even more.

It seemed as though he were simply demonstrating the swordsmanship he had mastered. However, when paired with the magnificent robes, the wickedly curving blade, and the beautiful music, it became an act of exquisite art.

Some saw in those movements the seasoned grace of a professional dancer; others saw a master swordsman in deep, mountain solitude, devoted to self-discipline. These impressions would shift back and forth with every blink of an eye. One moment, the heart would relax as if enjoying a show; the next, the body would tense up as if witnessing a live duel.

If such impressions were felt even by the common eunuchs and palace maids, there was no need to describe the impact it had on the Emperor.

Ihan forgot to breathe. He couldn’t even blink. Every time Hwaun swung his arm, the surrounding scenery vanished. Every time Hwaun took a step, the sounds of the hall grew distant. None of the banquet’s noise could disturb him.

In this moment, Seong Ihan felt as though he were alone in the room with Yeon Hwaun, and every movement—even the slightest flutter of Hwaun’s eyes—was for him alone.

His mouth went dry. A thirst rose within him—a kind that could never be quenched even if he downed every cup of wine on the table. In the many banquets he had attended, he had seen countless performances by women, but he had never felt anything like this. The realization that Hwaun had prepared all of this just for him, just to celebrate his birthday, made the situation even more intense.

While practicing this sword dance, Hwaun must have been thinking of him, even during the hours they couldn’t be together. Ihan sometimes wondered if Hwaun thought of him as much as he thought of Hwaun when they were apart. Of course, he knew the answer in his head, but feeling it through his skin like this was a different matter entirely.

Since this dance was for Seong Ihan’s birthday, Hwaun—whether he intended to or not—had no choice but to think of Ihan the entire time he practiced. That single fact filled Ihan with an overwhelming emotion.

I pray Your Majesty accepts this with joy. Though it is lacking and clumsy, I pray you find my heart within it and deem it lovely. Ihan could almost see Hwaun swinging the sword and moving his body with that desperate, singular wish.