TCBW C11

Chapter 11

“It is not the case that simply being near the shrine allows those without spiritual power to see everything.

It’s only that they can see a little better than usual.”

Her tone was calm, almost like someone revealing a secret.

At her words, Dowoon kept his eyes fixed on that patch of empty air she had pointed to earlier.

“It seems it does not appear to you, young master, but just where I pointed stands an old presence that assists in conducting this wedding ceremony.

Because the heavenly dragon will not descend, that being shakes a bell at each stage of the ritual to inform the dragon of this sacred union.”

“You’re saying it exists, but can’t be seen?”

“Yes. I apologize for not explaining in detail beforehand. But even so, that unseen being is neither dragon nor deity—it is merely a faint presence that has lingered here for many long years. So even if you cannot see it, you need not trouble yourself overly.”

“Is there a way to see it?”

Glancing quickly at the sharp profile of his face, Gye‑geum gave a tiny, swift snap of her thin fingers.

At once, a sharp tak—tak sound rang through the rear courtyard—like dry bamboo cracking, or hard stones striking together—a sound that made the listener’s nerves prickle taut.

The instant the sharp noise struck his eardrums, Dowoon found himself instinctively turning his gaze once more to the spot Gye‑geum had indicated.

And in that moment, his eyes widened, ever so slightly.

A moment ago there had been no more than a haze of faint energy in the empty space—yet now, as if it were a lie, an old man stood there.

Clad neatly in a pale sky‑blue durumagi, white hair flowing into a full white beard reaching his chest, he stood immobile like a statue that had kept the same post for centuries. His bony fingers held delicately to the multicolored thread tied to a bronze bell.

At this sudden, vivid revelation of a being that was undeniably there, Dowoon felt as if a fog had cleared from his vision.

Hae‑eon, however, already wound tight with suspense, gave a startled yelp and fell straight back when, after the piercing tak-tak, the old man abruptly appeared in his sight.

“Ugh!”

Encumbered by his awkward ceremonial robes and the tense strangeness of the situation, his body toppled helplessly off balance.

Servants rushed in to lift him up, while he looked between Gye‑geum and Dowoon with a pale face, not even stopping to retrieve the headpiece that had fallen to the ground—his expression demanding an explanation.

“Wh-what on earth is…”

But Gye‑geum ignored Hae‑eon’s small commotion, watching only Dowoon’s steady, unwavering gaze at the now‑revealed elder.

“You see him now, young master?” she murmured.

“That old man is an ancient presence who has overseen weddings at this shrine for generations. Not a dragon or a god, but a witness to the union, and a herald to the heavenly dragon.”

“And all this… for the sake of holding a wedding?” Dowoon’s lips curved faintly askew.

“To let Him know it is a beloved who weds. To tell the dragon that it is not merely a scapegoat marrying into the Lee family, but a cherished union of the clan’s bloodline.”

Dowoon kept staring at the old man, Gye‑geum’s explanation underscoring what he saw. This bizarre space, these impossible beings—step by step, they were proving his father’s words were no delusion.

“A beloved bride…” he murmured under his breath.

“Yes. The dragon had the thing most precious to him stolen away. And so, he wishes to receive in return what is most precious—a child not merely as a formal sacrificial offering.

Not just any child born without thought, but one raised in the Lee household’s deepest affection, whose very being is a pure crystal of love. Only such a soul can fill his loss and quell his ancient rage.”

Even before Gye‑geum’s whisper reached its end, Dowoon was already certain:

Even if the dragon desired it, there was no chance he himself would ever come to love this boy called Suhoe. And thus, any child born of him would be nothing but a pale deceit in the dragon’s eyes.

As she studied the unreadable expression returning to Dowoon’s face, Gye‑geum slowly turned her eyes toward the old man standing in the courtyard’s center.

As if recognizing her silent signal, he released the bell from one of his hands, its skin drawn taut over bone.

Another clear, almost mystical ding-ling rippled through the courtyard.

In its wake came the soft, careful sound of footsteps treading on damp earth.

It was Suhoe, walking with the support of several markedly young‑looking attendants.

His face veiled by one arm, he entered the yard soundlessly; with each step, the faint blue shimmer of his silk skirt brushed his ankles with a susurrus.

Catching those quiet sounds now and then, Dowoon lifted his gaze—and found himself staring.

The boy approaching him was far removed from the frightened, dirt‑smudged creature who had tumbled sans warning into his arms earlier.

Now there was in every movement an air of refinement and grace that seemed untouched by the mundane world.

Could this truly be the same reckless child he had seen straddling the wall?

And as with the old man who had appeared so suddenly before the folding screen, Dowoon thought again how strange it was that Suhoe too could present such utterly different auras each time they met eyes.

When at last Suhoe halted in the bride’s place, supported by the attendants, a heavy silence fell over the courtyard.

The servants standing near Hae‑eon, still half‑dazed, placed a carved wooden pair of geese carefully upon the low ceremonial table—signals that the wedding, even with its puppet groom, was commencing.

Well‑versed in the order of the rite, Suhoe, standing upon the straw mat, stole a glance past his arm at the man in the groom’s place opposite him.

His curiosity had piqued: who was it that could command someone like Dowoon as his secretary? As the other servants’ gossip suggested, was it an older man of immense wealth, or a surprisingly young figure of commanding charisma?

And so, in Suhoe’s mind, Dowoon was already excluded from the groom’s seat.

Even so, the tall man lingered in his thoughts without his knowing why.

Ding-ling.

The chime broke his musing. Reflexively—trained by countless rehearsals for this day—he lowered the arm hiding his face.

At long last, he would see the person who was to be his “husband.” Slowly, gradually, he raised his head, the mingled tension and faint hope in his eyes gleaming unsteadily.

His heart pounded.

In the few seconds it took, the brief instant of lifting his gaze, countless thoughts and memories flowed through him like a panorama—the years molded to his role as aegbaji, and everything that had brought him to this moment.

And then, within the clear depth of his chestnut eyes, appeared sun‑faded light brown hair and a kind‑looking, unfamiliar face.

“…”

Somehow, Suhoe found himself staring at Hae‑eon as if something had gone wrong.

Yes, the man was young—but he was not someone of overwhelming presence like Dowoon, nor did he look like the sort to command such a man.

There was only a gentle, ordinary air about him.

The wild beat of Suhoe’s heart eased swiftly, the brightness in his eyes dimming, the taut line of his lips loosening.

Not that it was bad—perhaps he ought to feel relief that, as the servants had said, his partner was no elderly stranger but a presentable young man.

So… this is him.

And yet… in his chest, there was a discordant discomfort, as if forcing an ill‑fitting puzzle piece into place. He let his gaze drop without realizing.

On the other hand, Hae‑eon’s eyes only grew wider with surprise.

What he had thought would be merely a boy of good height revealed, with the lifting of the veil, a beauty far beyond expectation—so striking that it seemed almost a waste for such a face to have been hidden away in a mountain shrine all this time.

Even the faint air of disappointment on Suhoe’s face only deepened the poignancy in his expression, making him all the more moving to look upon.