Chapter 57: Amnesia Side Story 11: The Weight of an Unseen Miracle

The true meaning behind the name ‘Haun’ was a secret shared only by Ihan and Hwaun, a truth known to no one else under the vast sky. It was the Emperor’s vow to love Hwaun regardless of his name or appearance—a confession that he cherished every version of the man.

To answer that love, Hwaun had begun carving. He wanted to give Ihan a token of affection that belonged only to the two of them. Using the small dagger Ihan had given him, Hwaun worked tirelessly, forgetting to rest.

Since he was unskilled and had never carved before, his fingers were often nicked by the blade. Though none of the wounds were deep enough to leave lasting scars, he had seen blood many times before the piece was finished. When Ajin, unable to bear seeing her master’s hidden injuries, had informed the Emperor, Ihan had practically exploded with worry, demanding he stop immediately. But Hwaun had been stubborn.

He had carved the image of the small inn where he had stayed when he was “Haun”—the very place the Emperor had once visited in secret just because he was curious about Hwaun’s past.

This carving was Hwaun’s answer: a vow that he would love the Emperor under any name, and a confession that he understood the depth of the Emperor’s heart.

“Highness…” Ajin looked as if she were about to burst into tears. Having watched Hwaun’s devotion from the closest distance, she couldn’t imagine the pain of being forgotten by the one you love most.

But contrary to her expectations, Hwaun’s heart was fluttering. He imagined how happy Ihan would be when he finally understood the meaning of this carving, even if he didn’t recognize it now.

“Ajin, go to the Hall of Eternal Peace.”

“Now, Highness?”

“Yes. But do not seek an audience with His Majesty. Just deliver it to Eunuch Oh.”

“Look at this. Is this a carving, or did someone just ruin a perfectly good piece of wood?”

Eunuch Oh suppressed a smile as he watched the Emperor poke at the small wooden object on his desk. Ihan had been grumbling for the last hour, but he hadn’t looked away from the gift once.

“To give such a thing as a gift… the nerve is truly beyond words.”

The “clumsy” gift was the one sent from Jeong-an Palace. Eunuch Oh had waited for the perfect moment—just as the Emperor’s temper was about to flare over a stack of dry reports—to present it.

‘The Noble Consort carved it himself, Your Majesty.’

When Oh had said those words, he had seen a flicker of warmth in the Emperor’s eyes, which he professionally pretended not to notice.

“Who does he think would be swayed by such a thing? Honestly. If he had at least made it pretty, I wouldn’t say anything,” Ihan muttered. Yet, he was leaning in close, tilting his head to examine the carving from every angle.

“Your Majesty, the Noble Consort hurt his hands several times while making this. Is the sincerity not remarkable?”

“…Hurt his hands?”

“Yes. Even after you told him to stop, he refused. He said he wanted to give you a gift that held meaning only for the two of you.”

“Only for… me?” Ihan repeated, sounding like a parrot. A sharp pang of longing hit his chest. “Why would he hurt his hands for this? It’s not as if I even like it.”

Despite his words, he picked up the carving with both hands, holding it as if it were made of glass.

“What does it mean? Why is this building significant to me?”

It wasn’t a palace building; no structure in the Imperial City looked like this. It was a building from the outside world—a world Ihan currently didn’t remember visiting with Hwaun.

“How would I know that, Your Majesty?” Eunuch Oh replied shamelessly. When Ihan glared at him, the eunuch bowed deeply. “How could a lowly servant know the private memories shared only between Your Majesty and the Noble Consort?”

“Hmph.”

Ihan looked at the carving again. He’s telling me to remember, he thought. Hwaun had sent this knowing Ihan wouldn’t recognize it. He hadn’t even included an explanation.

“Is there… that much?” Ihan’s voice grew heavy. The small piece of wood felt leaden in his palms. He realized that the memories he had lost weren’t just palace politics—they were layers of life lived outside these walls.

Initially, he wanted his memory back to uncover Hwaun’s “plots.” But now, he found himself intensely jealous of the “Ihan” who had known this man so well. He was jealous of himself.

Chief Attendant Wi stood before the Emperor, trembling. The Emperor had been staring at the nameplates for a long time without saying a word.

Ihan’s gaze was fixed on one name.

Jin Gwi-bi (Noble Consort Jin).

The Emperor’s most precious treasure. In that title, Ihan saw a reflection of a heart he no longer remembered—an affection so great that his past self wanted the whole world to know it.

He was thirsty. Ever since losing his memory, he felt a constant, unquenchable dry throat. It was the thirst for answers.

If I live through those times again, will I fall in love with him a second time? If I never remember, will he love me just as much as he did before?

Ihan’s fingers traced the rough texture of the wood carving. He rubbed the grain as if the wood held the essence of a soul—as if by touching it, he could steal a piece of the connection that “the other Seong Ihan” and Yeon Hwaun shared.

Suddenly, Ihan reached out and flipped a nameplate with a sharp clack. He stood up so abruptly that his chair screeched against the floor.

“Your… Your Majesty!” Eunuch Oh hurried to follow.

“We are going to Jeong-an Palace,” Ihan declared, his voice ringing through the hall.

Left behind, Chief Attendant Wi looked down at the table. The plate that had been flipped was the one belonging to Noble Consort Jin.

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