SAFBIAN Ch 163

Chapter 163 (Extra 1.7)

“By the way, it sounds rather noisy outside.”

“Ah… that…”

It turned out Riri had been pecking at the door for some time, insisting on being let in. Since Dori hadn’t stepped a single foot outside Haban’s quarters, the bird had grown sulky.

“A mere chicken, and it knows such things?”

“That’s harsh. My Riri is very clever. I’m actually beginning to suspect she might be a suwin (獸人, beast-person).”

A beast-person who could transform into a chicken? Well, if there were fox beast-people, why not others?

“Perhaps so.”

Haban’s agreement was listless at best. Whether beast or human, if it wasn’t Dori, he had no interest. Rather than amusing him, anything that drew away Dori’s attention merely irritated him.

“I think Riri’s looking for me. May I step outside for a moment?”

“…”

Indeed, he should have disposed of that wretched chicken when they returned from the remote house to the imperial palace. But he could hardly admit to being jealous of a bird. So, with great reluctance, Haban gave a nod.

The moment he gave permission, Dori sprang to his feet.

“I’ll be right back, don’t worry.”

He darted out so swiftly that it stung Haban’s heart.

“Your Highness! You mustn’t run!”

Lady Jang Sanggung’s breathless scolding voice grew fainter and fainter as she rushed after him.

Once the doors leading to the corridor closed behind the departing Dori, Jang Sanggung, and Kim Naegwan, the emperor’s bedchamber, once lively, fell abruptly into silence.

After waiting a beat, Haban called for Kim Naegwan.

“The Chancellor will have sent something. Bring it to me.”

“…But, Your Majesty—”

“I would only look at it.”

Of course, the Chancellor had already pressed him, sending a young eunuch with a demand for a response. Only the Chancellor could presume to hurry the Emperor so.

With hesitation, Kim Naegwan brought in a silver tray, Haban immediately picking up the scroll at the very top and unfurling it.

“Is Jipyeong still at it?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Useless fool.”

Haban clicked his tongue, annoyed. The contents of the endless memorial petitions were headache enough, but the Captain of the Imperial Guard—who was supposed to assist him—was only making matters worse by stirring turmoil outside.

Unless one had lived a prior life, no one could have foreseen that arrow.

Of course, in any circumstance, the Guard Captain’s duty was to protect the Emperor, but what could be done when Haban himself had leapt directly into its path?

“Tell him to go back.”

“That is…”

Kim Naegwan faltered, leaving the words unfinished.

Conveying the order would likely be in vain. Jipyeong would not heed it, though issuing an imperial command outright was equally impossible.

Haban found it pathetic — the Guard Captain wearing himself down pointlessly. Better he wielded his sword a few more times, training his strength.

To persuade that stubborn ox, only one man will suffice.

Haban dropped the scroll back on the tray with a sigh tinged with frustration.

“And yet, the Chancellor himself does not appear.”

“Have I only now crossed Your Majesty’s mind?”

At that moment, Geumhu entered through the doors.

Though he had heard the Emperor had awakened, he had not been able to rush over immediately. His eyes, ringed black with exhaustion, told clearly enough he had been harried by state affairs in the Emperor’s stead.

The imperial palace was austere, so much so that even a breath seemed sacred. Court ladies tiptoed, and the sentries kept silence save when duty demanded.

Yet lately it had grown loud again.

His Majesty has awakened.

The rumor traveled swifter than unshod feet, spreading like the wind, in less than a quarter of an hour.

Seated at his desk, Geumhu felt his heart leap at the whispers. He longed to confirm it immediately, but the infernal mountain of memorials before him had no end.

With a terse flourish, he left a mark in abbreviated script upon the paper he was reading, then rolled it up and placed it on a tray. He thought that if he endured through tonight, he could finally clear up this backlog after days of toil.

Yet suddenly Jipyeong’s face flitted across his mind.

“…”

Geumhu set down his brush and strode out of his office.

If Haban had awoken, there was no way that fool Jipyeong would remain quiet. If that block-headed man had not already thrown himself down in penitence, Geumhu would be astonished.

He passed quickly through whispers and gossiping eunuchs, hastening until he came to the Emperor’s residence. And indeed — there was Jipyeong, kneeling on the bare flagstones in the courtyard.

At least he could have laid down a mat.

How could he kneel directly on the cold ground? He would ruin his knees.

It was said that when a man was foolish, it was the body that suffered. Once again, this half-witted beloved, this incomplete half, would have to be protected and nursed.

Geumhu’s glance was ice-cold as he passed by. Entering the chamber, he found only Haban and Kim Naegwan within.

“Have I only now crossed Your Majesty’s thoughts?”

Geumhu sensed immediately that they had just been speaking of him, and he drew up a chair to sit with languid poise.

Unlike others, who upon seeing the awake Emperor knelt and wept with joy, his expression did not waver. This so amused Haban that he allowed a dry laugh.

“Bring tea.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Since Dori disliked strangers entering the inner quarters, Haban had restricted outsiders.

Kim Naegwan seized the chance to show skill, brewing tea with practiced hands. The dried chrysanthemums harvested last autumn released a delicate fragrance as the steam rose.

Handing the first cup reverently to the Emperor, he also placed one before the Chancellor.

“Well done.”

“The aroma is fine indeed.”

Blushing and flustered at the double praise, Kim Naegwan bowed himself backward in embarrassment. He had served in the palace long enough to understand all too well the knotty ties between the Chancellor and the Guard Captain.

When His Majesty makes that expression, it means he hopes to obtain something — likely, concerning the young fox Prince.

Kim Naegwan nodded inwardly. The air seemed peaceful, but beneath the surface, fierce maneuverings raged, each striving to secure time with the beloved.

“Now that I think of it, the season has passed, hasn’t it? I had once promised to show Dori the new gardens.”

“Autumn yet lies ahead. There is still enough time before chrysanthemums blossom — Your Majesty need not worry.”

Of course Geumhu understood the subtext. He sipped leisurely at his tea.

Is this not absurd? My own cherished other half kneels outside in the dirt, while here inside the chamber you sit conversing sweetly, even stalling governance itself.

From beneath his lashes, lowered in a feigned sip, Geumhu’s eyes glinted sharply.

So — you will not step aside so easily after all.

Haban sighed with a weary twist of his lips.

Of course, Geumhu must be weary. Even if the imperial seal had been pressed into his hand, facing jackals lunging from every side would exhaust anyone.

But responsibility had been Geumhu’s to claim, when of his own will he had offered himself that moonlit night. Haban remembered.

It had been the night of the full moon.

“I will go.”

Geumhu had drunk silently, wordless until an entire cask of wine was consumed. Then at last he spoke.

“This is not a decision to be made on impulse.”

“Your Majesty must already have considered us both.”

“And I would spare you.”

Haban poured again, filling Geumhu’s empty cup.

The Empire might be strong now, but the Jin Kingdom (眞國) was richer in iron and of high quality. The princess’s tribute might yet become a blade turned upon the Empire itself.

Yet unlike his past life, Haban had never intended to take her as a hollow Empress. Instead, he considered a political union of a trusted companion with her.

“I know. You mean for me to set aside vain longing. And since my family is weak and cannot serve, you had in truth thought rather of Jipyeong.”

Indeed, it was so. Geumhu’s words were true. A son of noble blood, descendant of the late Empress, and even the current Emperor’s Captain of Guards — Jipyeong alone stood fit in stature to match with the princess of Jin.

Geumhu raised his cup once more, downing it in a single draught.

“My feelings are one-sided. Even if I hold them close, I cannot win him. Yet I cannot open my heart to another. But he… he is different.”

As he oft repeated, that dull man might yet find a good match, live a simple life like others. That would be enough.

Geumhu had resolved himself. Setting down his cup, he stepped back a pace and bowed low.

“Let this unworthy servant serve His Majesty. I will travel to Jin, observe their designs. The marriage will be merely a ruse — a pretext. You need not trouble yourself over it.”

Haban gave a long, heavy sigh.

“I forbid it.”

“…Your Majesty?”

Surely he ought to have approved! It was the best course, a boon for all.

Geumhu edged forward on his knees.

“Why, Your Majesty?”

His next murmur implied perhaps distrust.

Haban turned the empty cup in his fingers and spoke, voice laden with weight.

“The heart is not so easily discarded, however one might wish. Learn from me. I once clung to foolish longing such as yours — and in doing so let slip from my grasp the very thing most precious.”

“I will not regret it.”

What could the Emperor possibly lack? Could he truly, in such a weighty moment, be jesting? Geumhu felt the haze of wine clouding his vision of Haban.

Silence stretched. Tiring of waiting, Geumhu refilled his cup.

The full moon brimmed over. Raising his glass, he saw the lunar disc shiver in ripples across the wine’s surface. He looked up. The moon hung vast and bright outside the window.

Ah, how bright the moon is.

Geumhu thought dully.

In the Empire, it was said that a round jade token split into halves, shared between two people, would bind their fates together.

Upon Jipyeong’s sword-hilt hung just such a half-disc of white jade. He had believed Geumhu’s jest that poverty had forced him to buy only half, and he had thanked him sincerely for the gift.

Geumhu now bobbed and nodded, his face flushed, drowsiness tugging his heavy head.

At last, Haban spoke.

“I will name you successor.”

“Indeed.”

Geumhu answered swiftly, unwilling to miss a single word of the sovereign. And yet wholly sodden with drink, his mind let the import slip past.

“You will make a fine emperor.”

“Yes. I will indeed.”

Ah, so that was it. His Majesty had resolved to send him to Jin. At last, he understood.

Geumhu unfolded his cramped legs, stretching them out as he slumped to the floor.

A choking surge of sorrow welled in his chest.

At long last, he had heard the reply he had been yearning for. Why then did his heart feel hollow, emptied?

“Will you truly accept this?”

Haban held out a small parcel wrapped in golden silk. Though he did not know what lay within, it seemed weighty.

Well. Even if the heart was unfulfilled, the purse must be heavy.

An imperial gift would surpass the worth of a house at the very least. Perhaps it was white jade — he could have it cut and replace the ornament on Jipyeong’s weapon, to give one day to a worthy woman.

“I shall use it with gratitude.”

So drunk he already saw overlapping phantoms of the one he longed for upon Haban’s face, Geumhu accepted the gift into his arms.

Footnotes