SAFBIAN Ch 111

Chapter 111

Once, there was a bizarre rumor circulating through the imperial palace. It was said that the crown prince at the time, Haban, had gone mad.

However, since the matter had been kept so tightly under wraps—and because Haban soon appeared perfectly normal afterward—people in the palace whispered that the faction supporting Consort Mun must have fabricated the lie.

But even this was merely gossip; the truth lay hidden behind the towering walls of the Empress’s palace.

Even the young Geumhu at the time did not know the details. He only knew that, long ago, when Haban hovered at the brink of death from poison—an intrigue plotted by Consort Mun—he himself had been summoned by the former empress in secret.

He had been ordered to sit beside the comatose crown prince and read aloud, clearly enough that the words would reach even the boy’s ears.

Precocious and sharp-eyed from a young age, Geumhu had shivered at the empress’s ruthlessness. It was astonishing—before seeing him as the crown prince, she saw him as her son, and yet she still sought to educate him even while he hovered between life and death.

Day after day, Geumhu followed the empress’s orders, sitting at Haban’s side and reading to him for a set amount of time. Not long after, word came that Haban had awakened.

From then on, Geumhu was barred from entering the Empress’s quarters for a time. Later, when the rumor spread that the crown prince had gone mad, Geumhu had only scoffed, thinking it unsurprising.

But that was a matter of the exalted crown prince and the imperial family’s dignity; Geumhu continued his studies as usual. In time, he naturally rose to become the brightest among his peers. Thus, when he was summoned to the palace to receive an award personally from the emperor, he encountered Haban once more—only to see a man wholly unlike the boy he had once known.

“He’s utterly lost his mind,” Geumhu thought.

There was no light in his eyes, his pupils wide and unfocused. His pallid face carried not even a trace of expression, radiating instead an eerie, chilling aura. Even Geumhu—who had never once faltered in the face of anyone—was momentarily struck dumb.

His hair hung loose and disheveled, ink smudged across his disordered clothing. For a crown prince to wander without a single attendant was alarming in the extreme.

Just as Geumhu moved to summon a servant, Haban swung the object in his hand with lethal force. Had it been a blade instead of a brush, someone would have been gravely injured.

Geumhu had fled in haste and never crossed paths with him again.

And yet, somehow, he now sensed that the Haban from back then had returned.

“Your Majesty, it is Geumhu.”

Before any reply could come, Geumhu pushed the door open with force. Stepping into the study, he felt the careful, watchful gaze of Chief Eunuch Kim at his back.

Soon, the door closed quietly behind him.

“…As expected,” Geumhu thought.

The room was a disaster.

Though the bedchamber where the fox had stayed remained untouched, the study was so cluttered that there was hardly space to set foot. Geumhu nudged scattered objects aside with his feet as he approached Haban—only to startle at the white-fox sketch spread across the desk.

“I don’t recall summoning the chancellor.”

Haban, pressing his temple with one hand, lifted his gaze.

“Ah. Yes. It was for this reason. A letter arrived from the River Zhang.”

In truth, it was not Haban but Eunuch Kim who had summoned him. Thus, Geumhu used the letter as a pretext, setting it down on the corner of the desk.

He scrutinized the drawing again. No matter how he looked at it, the fox depicted was identical in appearance.

Judging by how old the drawing seemed, it was certainly not something done in the past day or two.

Meanwhile, Haban opened the letter. The River Zhang was where Yungak currently stayed, citing the anniversary of Jeokbi’s death.

“He writes that he is preparing to return to the palace.”

“If true, that is quite the coincidence.”

Thud.

Haban tossed the letter onto the desk, leaning back in his chair and covering his eyes with a hand.

“Why not go after the white fox yourself, rather than remain here like this?”

Truth be told, Geumhu thought it would be better that way.

Lately, Haban had been reclaiming the affairs of state he had previously left to him, handling them one by one. From Geumhu’s perspective—having shouldered nearly all of them thus far—a few days’ absence would hardly matter.

Far preferable, surely, for Haban to scour the mountains in search of something, as he had before, rather than shut himself away in the fox’s palace study.

“…”

“Your Majesty!”

“Silence that mouth of yours.”

What came back was a gaze as frigid as a northern wind and words sharp enough to cut.

[Cry, cry!]

A snow-white fox bounded swiftly up the sloping mountainside. Though no one pursued him, he ran as if his life depended on it. Rain poured down, soaking his thick fur until his body felt twice as heavy, yet still he did not stop.

“Kyeng!”

Eventually, he slipped on a rock and tumbled, but Dori, the white fox, scrambled to his feet on instinct.

‘Ugh!’

It seemed he had rolled farther than expected. Though he wasn’t gravely injured, his body ached all over.

Dori scanned his surroundings. If only there were a large tree with dense leaves or an unoccupied cave—somewhere to shelter.

He needed to get as far from the palace as possible, but with rain falling so hard that he could barely see ahead, conserving his strength was the wiser choice. Above all, Haban would never scour the storm just to find a creature like him… surely.

Then, Dori’s cautious gaze caught sight of an old, shabby hut. No light seeped from its windows, no smoke rose from its chimney—likely uninhabited.

Still, best to be sure.

Circling from afar, Dori approached slowly, ears pricked and swiveling for sound. He checked behind him, ready to bolt at the faintest sign of someone’s presence.

Finally, pressed close beneath a window, Dori rose onto his hind legs, bracing his forepaws on the sill to peer inside. His black nose twitched and sniffed busily.

‘Thank goodness. Empty.’

Though he couldn’t see clearly, he was certain no one was there.

Dropping back down, he padded toward the door. Creak. The old wood yielded to his push, releasing the musty scent peculiar to abandoned houses.

Thump.

As the fox slipped inside, the door closed behind him.

Now able to see properly, the hut’s interior left him aghast.

A broad wooden board—seemingly carved from a single felled log—was embedded with an axe head the size of a palm. Knives of varying types were neatly arranged atop the table. Bows and whips hung from the walls.

‘Could this be… the place where Dori hides after escaping the palace?’

In the original tale, Dori fled through a doghole, wandered the mountains, and stumbled upon an empty hut. Terrified by the hunter’s tools within, he had bolted outside, only to return later—heart still pounding—to take temporary refuge.

It seemed this was that very hut.

‘Do they really need to follow the original this closely?!’

The hut was pitch dark. No hearthfire, not even an ember remained. By day, a sliver of sunlight might filter through the windows, but only briefly. At nightfall, cold crept in like a tide.

Dori curled his tail tightly around himself on the icy floor. It was fortunate this was the warm season and that he was in fox form; had he been human in winter, he would have frozen to death.

‘…Cold.’

The thought startled him. Had life in the warm palace spoiled him so quickly? For a fox who once bounded across snowy mountains without complaint to now feel the chill…

Yet he truly was cold. And lonelier still without the three people who had always been near him. Dori hunched his shoulders.

‘Ow, it stings.’

Pain pricked at his wounds. He wanted to lick them, but they were in places his tongue couldn’t reach, leaving him to twitch his paws uselessly.

‘That lunatic!’

Dori snorted through his nose.

His neck, his shoulders, his back—Wonwoo had bitten them all. Attempting to force a bond. And not just once, but several times!

‘Kyeng!’

The moment the red fox leapt on him and clamped onto his nape, Dori’s shrill cry rang out. Then Wonwoo rolled on the ground in agony, as if in pain himself.

Seizing the moment, Dori tried to tear free from the collar—but Wonwoo staggered upright and stomped a paw onto his back.

‘Grrrr.’

‘Kkiiing…’

As a fox, Wonwoo was far larger than Dori. Even as a human, he had been so, and now in beast form, the difference was starker still.

Dori felt wronged. Tears welled uncontrollably, blurring his vision. With every blink, droplets spattered onto the floor. He rubbed at his eyes with his forepaws.

In that instant, Wonwoo regained his senses and lunged to mount him again.

‘Ka—Kaang!’

No! He didn’t want this—!

Dori thrashed violently in defiance, only for Wonwoo’s forepaw to slam against the back of his head. Dazed by the blow, he barely registered the teeth sinking into his nape once more.

‘Kaak! Kaaak!’

The moment fangs pierced him, strength drained from his limbs.

Was this how the bond would be forcibly sealed? The thought barely formed before the massive red fox collapsed, writhing on the floor.

Dori’s tears fell anew, uncomprehending.

‘…You!’

In the end, the attempt failed.

Though his neck and shoulders were shredded with bites, Dori was oddly relieved. Enraged, Wonwoo reverted to human form, binding not just his collar but all four of his legs with leather straps before locking him inside the hut.

“See how long you last!”

With that, Wonwoo stormed out—leaving behind nothing but a single bowl of water.

Dori, half-dead with hunger and barely able to lift his head, lay sprawled there ever since.