Chapter 128

A small, secluded house far from the village.

Originally, no one lived there, but then some suspicious people appeared, and from one day on, smoke began curling endlessly from the chimney. It was because the fire in the stove never went out.

Three full meals a day, plus snacks in between. The woman—reputed in the village to have the best cooking skills—had been called in and was now stirring a large pot with a big wooden ladle.

It was a laborious process: grinding thoroughly dried acorns, sifting the powder finely through a sieve, and then making them into glossy, smooth acorn jelly.

One might wonder why go through all that trouble when you could just go to the market, pay extra, and buy a big block from a jelly shop. But it turned out they insisted on watching the entire cooking process step by step before they could feel at ease.

The woman found it strange, but according to the village chief, the sudden visitors to this house were supposedly distinguished guests. Judging by their extravagant spending, perhaps that was true.

These unfamiliar guests spared no expense in buying the freshest and finest ingredients. In just a few days working here, she had handled more precious goods than she had seen in her entire life.

At first, her hands trembled for fear she might ruin such costly ingredients by mistake. What if they demanded she pay for it? She even wished they would give the job to someone quicker and more capable than herself.

Then, one day, while turning over a fish, she broke its shape. Her heart sank. She thought she was done for, her vision blurring with dread—when a white-haired man came into the kitchen, smiling broadly, saying the smell was wonderful.

That day, the broken fish ended up on her children’s dinner table. Though its spine was snapped in two, her children said they had never tasted such a delicious fish before and stripped it to the bone. Grateful beyond words, from that day on, she cooked with even more care.

The guests were generous enough to never begrudge even an arm’s-length fish. Especially for fruit or snacks, they paid double the price, and for medicinal ingredients to strengthen the body, the price was whatever the seller asked.

Thanks to them, everyone in the village—young or old—was busy scouring the mountains and fields. The mysterious guests had brought unprecedented prosperity to the village.

Unaware of all this, Dori simply found it curious how dishes fit for the imperial palace were appearing on a rustic countryside table.

“Hoo—ah…”

Tired from eating nonstop yet again today, Dori collapsed onto the bed the moment the table was cleared away. People said that if you only ate and slept, you’d become an animal, but since he was originally a fox, didn’t that mean it didn’t matter?

Rolling over to lie on his back and stare at the ceiling, Dori let out a long breath.

The cook’s skills were simply too good. He had vowed to eat only a little this time, but the moment he saw the table laden with food, that resolve completely vanished, and he ended up eating every single thing Haban offered him.

As expected…

…he seemed to have gained weight.

Dori lightly brushed his cheek. Even yesterday, when he checked, his face had looked puffier.

“Mmm…”

Dori glanced sidelong at Haban.

“Tell the Chancellor to proceed with this as written, and to stop this one immediately.”

“Yes. Also, here is the memorial from Takrae.”

As soon as the meal ended, Jipyeong entered the room with his arms full of scrolls.

With the Emperor away from the palace, the Chief Secretary was handling affairs in his stead, sending only those memorials that absolutely required the Emperor’s attention by trusted courier.

Seated at the table, Haban busied himself unrolling the stacked scrolls to read them. Jipyeong handed them over one by one from the top, carefully stacking the reviewed ones so they wouldn’t get mixed up, not once glancing toward where Dori was lying.

Taking advantage of that moment, Dori quickly slipped a hand down to touch his lower belly. He had hoped it was just his imagination, but it was definitely rounder than before.

It’s fine. I’ll just start controlling it from tonight’s dinner.

Dori comforted himself with that thought, quietly pulling the blanket up to cover his belly.

Life in this secluded house felt like living inside a dream made real. It was exactly as he had imagined. He had thought an Emperor would only have lavish detached palaces, yet here was such a small, unassuming house.

Well… maybe calling it unassuming isn’t quite right.

Dori scratched the bridge of his nose with a finger.

The roof was sturdy with no leaks, the walls freshly plastered, and the floors spotless. The house itself looked ordinary, but on closer inspection, it was anything but. All the materials used were of the highest quality, and the furniture filling the room was nearly identical to those used in the imperial palace.

Dori rolled his eyes around, then shifted onto his side. The first thing he saw was Haban’s back, and beyond that, the ornate wardrobe, display cabinets, and chests.

Haewon said those things were ridiculously expensive…

The only reason there was just one table, serving as both dining and writing desk, was because the room was too small; otherwise, the furniture alone would have left no space to move. Of course, it made sense since the Emperor was staying here, but even now, seeing the room didn’t feel real.

Still, even that sight grew boring after a while.

Is this going to take long?

He was starting to want to go outside. Judging from the piles of memorials in two separate trays—one for reviewed, one for pending—it looked like it would be quite a while before Haban finished.

“This one is for you.”

At that moment, Haban glanced briefly at an unrolled scroll before handing it back to Jipyeong.

“…Pardon? For me?”

Jipyeong’s face lit with anticipation as he checked the scroll’s contents, only for his expression to crumple instantly. His eyes turned accusingly toward Haban.

“…Your Majesty. You read this and still gave it to me?”

“Yes. Is there some problem?”

“….”

Jipyeong pressed his lips together, speechless, then slumped his shoulders in defeat.

The letter—not a memorial, but a personal missive from the Chief Secretary—read as follows:

You idiot of a Captain of the Guard. Have you forgotten your duty? If you’re going to act like this, take off your official robes, go into the mountains, and spend your life swinging a wooden sword. Some of us are so busy in the palace we could use two bodies. Why aren’t you immediately bringing His Majesty back to the palace?

That was the gist of it. The words were dressed up with some restraint in case the Emperor read it first, but having known each other as friends for years, Jipyeong grasped the meaning instantly.

Worse, the elegant and haughty handwriting—just like the Chief Secretary’s own appearance—made the sarcasm sting even more. The simmering fury beneath the words was palpable, and it seemed unlikely he would get away with just a pinch on the arm or a kick to the shin when he returned to the palace.

Haban, who had only been glancing at each scroll before setting it aside, now picked up a brush and began writing something on one of them. Dori, lying on his side, propped his head on one arm.

Why is Haban perfect even from the back?

How could a person be like that? Even the back of his head was handsome.

That morning, they had still been pressed close for warmth, and now he wore only a light, comfortable robe. His half-tied hair trailed down over broad shoulders and a sturdy back, the straight line of his waist as flawless as if it had been painted with ink on paper.

And if that robe were removed, every inch would reveal firm, sculpted muscle. The memory of those muscles moving fluidly under his touch when their bodies were joined made Dori’s face flush hot.

“What are you thinking about now?”

At that moment, Haban asked without even turning around.

Dori had only been quietly tapping his feet under the blanket, yet his hearing was sharp. He hastily shut his eyes and held his breath.

A low chuckle came from Haban’s direction.

Some time passed after that.

Wrapped in a warm blanket on the heated bed, Dori must have dozed off without realizing it. He awoke to the sound of something being tidied—tap, tap.

Ah, he’s finally done.

Rather than rubbing his sleepy eyes, Dori simply listened.

Haban ordered that only the necessary reviewed memorials be sent back to the palace, and the rest be left. Then came the sound of Jipyeong gathering the trays of scrolls and leaving the room.

Once the door closed, the familiar presence approached the bed. Dori decided to keep pretending to be asleep.

A hand slid under the blanket in one smooth motion, cupping his lower belly.

…Ugh—ack!

Startled, Dori’s eyes flew open and he grabbed Haban’s forearm.

“Where do you think you’re touching?!”

“What’s the problem? This isn’t anything new—you were sitting in my lap with not a stitch on just this morning.”

“T-That was…!”

That was only because, when he complained it was too deep and uncomfortable, Haban sat him on his lap and told him to move. He’d said to go only as far as he could handle!

Yet Haban had gripped his waist and pushed him down to the hilt, then pounded upward so hard that all Dori could do was cling to his chest, crying and trembling until he couldn’t think about anything else, let alone resist whatever Haban made him do.

Though it felt deeply unfair, Dori couldn’t bring himself to say it aloud, and just opened and closed his mouth in frustration.

“Anyway, not here.”

“And why not? I’m touching what’s mine.”

“Still, not here!”

While Haban still had only hard muscle at his waist after eating the same meals, Dori was embarrassed that his own soft belly was being grasped.

He pushed Haban’s hand out from under the blanket and pulled it tightly around himself, hiding his body completely. Lying there with wide, round eyes, he put on an exaggeratedly serious expression.

“Then at least let me go for a walk outside.”

“….”

The smile faded from Haban’s face, his eyes turning cool. Dori swallowed dryly but tried not to show any nervousness.

Whether eating, sleeping, or taking a short walk nearby—it wasn’t like a guard was shadowing him. No, it was Haban himself who followed Dori’s every move.

Footnote:

• Acorn jelly (묵, muk) — A traditional Korean dish made by grinding acorns into fine powder, mixing with water, and boiling until it sets into a firm jelly. The process described here reflects traditional labor-intensive preparation rather than purchasing pre-made blocks from a market.