TCBW C8

Chapter 8

“Unhyo, please — just a moment. I didn’t even give that gentleman a proper greeting.”

Even as he was carried in Unhyo’s arms, Suhoe could not take his eyes off Dowoon.

“Is that really what matters right now? That man is… hhh—”

…He is a guest.

Unhyo bit back the rest of what he was clearly about to say, exhaling roughly. Gye‑geum’s single word — guest — had effectively gagged him.

Even after that, Suhoe mumbled several more times that he ought to give a proper farewell, but Unhyo only ignored the protest and quickened his pace.

Only once they had completely vanished through the gate did Gye‑geum slowly approach Dowoon.

Despite her deeply wrinkled face, her eyes were sharp and bright. She studied him in silence for a moment before bowing low.

“Please forgive the rudeness of our children, young master.”

The unfamiliar honorific young master from a stranger — and a strange old woman radiating an odd sense of discord — made Dowoon narrow his eyes.

“You’ve come a long way. I apologize for the unusual trouble you’ve encountered. I should have come to greet you properly, but as you can see, this body is old and unwell, and traveling is beyond me. I am Gye‑geum.”

“Even in the depths of this mountain, it seems there is something that would let you recognize my face. To see an utter stranger and instantly call me by such a name — and address me with courtesy at that.”

“You may not remember, young master, but we met once in your childhood. I have also met your father. More than anything, I could tell instantly by looking at your soul.”

When she not only mentioned a past meeting he had no memory of, but also claimed to “see his soul,” Dowoon’s expression crumpled in distaste.

Gye‑geum met his gaze, unblinking.

“Let’s discuss the details inside. The weather is cold.”

Dowoon did not avert his own eyes.

“I still don’t see my companion.”

This time, it was Gye‑geum who looked away first. Without a moment’s hesitation, she turned toward the gate and answered.

“He will be here shortly.”

“…You speak as though you have CCTV set up.”

“Nothing like that — I just know.”

The vague yet utterly confident answer only sharpened the strange feeling Dowoon already had.

She glanced at him briefly, and then — as if noticing something — stepped right up to him without warning.

“Young master, if it won’t offend you, might I take a quick look at your back before you go inside? There’s a leaf stuck there…”

Without waiting for his consent, she reached behind him and made a light brushing motion, as one would to flick away a dried leaf.

Where her skin‑and‑bone fingers brushed, there was a faint chill — but Dowoon gave no sign of noticing.

“That will do. Come in, please.”

Gye‑geum had felt a brief, strong jolt through her fingertips, but feigned nothing amiss as she bowed once more and led the way.

Following her without a word, Dowoon heard the heavy thud of the gate closing, and at once a deep stillness settled — as though the outside world had been cut away.

Above the empty spot where he had just stood moments ago, tailed lights drifted slowly down through the air. Trembling like the remnants of a trace, they seeped into the dust and disappeared without a sound.

Inside, the room was warm in contrast to the frigid air outside.

Unhyo set Suhoe carefully down on the floor, immediately searching for a fresh pair of socks.

“I told you not to move, didn’t I? You startled me half to death! It’s bad enough you weren’t where you were supposed to be — but to stand on a bucket and try to climb the wall?”

Bringing the white socks over, Unhyo placed Suhoe’s cold feet on his own knee and began to scold him.

He called for the other servants to bring warm, wet cloths, and after confirming that he and Suhoe were alone, he carefully loosened the boy’s hair, now tangled with dirt and broken twigs.

“Do you have any idea how shocked I was to see the trouble you’d gotten into in that short time I was away?”

“…”

Suhoe kept his head bowed and said nothing.

“Do you know how important today is? The very reason you’ve even been given the name Suhoe is for the sake of fulfilling your duty on this day. Have you forgotten that?”

Working the camellia‑oiled comb gently through his hair, Unhyo did not stop talking.

“Even if the dragon didn’t appear, I told you — the message has been sent, so He will be watching from the heavens!”

He even pointed toward the window at the sky.

Suhoe followed the motion with his eyes. All he saw was a low ceiling of dark clouds.

Surely the dragon who hadn’t shown Himself for the lavish ritual banquet earlier wouldn’t have been watching a boy climb a wall — but Suhoe kept silent, letting the stream of lecturing words wash over him.

“If you were trying to run away, you’d better explain what you were thinking.”

If the gossiping servants’ barbs earlier had been like a well‑sharpened blade painted with fragrant poison, then Unhyo’s reprimand was like bitter medicine in a rough wooden cup — it might smart around the edges, but it never burrowed into his heart to wound.

Harsh as his words could seem, peeling them back revealed the truth: deep concern and affection.

That was plain now, too. His hands, though currently occupied in arranging Suhoe’s hair, moved with the care of someone checking for injury.

Gently pulling the snarls from the ends upward into a neat hold, his motions were practiced.

And so Suhoe knew — without asking — just how much Unhyo had worried, how frantic he must have been when he realized he was gone.

The right thing now was to let him speak until he’d let it all out. Forgiveness was something to ask only after hearing everything.

Even if the lecture seemed unusually long today, a pause would surely come eventually.

But as the wedding hour drew nearer, the scolding did not end.

Growing restless, Suhoe turned abruptly.

“Please, look ahead! Don’t you remember that I asked why you did that?”

Yet Unhyo clearly had no intention of letting it pass today. He caught Suhoe’s head and turned it back to face forward, continuing.

Finally, Suhoe spoke up.

“I… I’m sorry. I must have worried you a lot. But… I couldn’t help it.”

“…What exactly couldn’t be helped?”

His first burst of anger had eased, but his tone had not softened.

It was, after all, incomprehensible to him — that anyone, for any reason, would scale the wall on the wedding day he had waited his whole life for.

Suhoe hesitated, unable to give the real reason so easily.

“You’d better tell me quickly.”

“Mm…”

“Quickly.”

“…Mm—I… it’s…”

Unhyo pressed, his voice dropping lower and firmer.

“Young master.”

Ah, what do I do…

The words that had risen to his throat retreated again into the old well of shame.

Then, as if struck by a thought, Unhyo asked carefully the question he had most dreaded the answer to:

“Don’t tell me — are you still being bullied? Or… was it a nightmare?”

Suhoe shook his head quickly in dismay.

“N-no, never that.”

“Then what was it?”

The pointed question followed, his voice steeped in concern.

Suhoe realized there was no more avoiding it. Faced with Unhyo’s persistence, he decided to confess the reason behind his actions.

“It’s just… what you told me about last time…”

“…”

“It was because of the mountain birds.”

The grim line of Unhyo’s brows creased in puzzlement.

“Mountain… birds?”

Birds?

Now that he thought about it, he had mentioned them a few times lately — mostly to give Suhoe, who lived alone in his chamber as the aegbaji, some small point of interest so his heart wouldn’t wither from isolation.

‘Really? They must be beautiful. But why have I never seen them?’

Each time, Suhoe’s voice had sounded tinged with real wistfulness. But Unhyo had thought nothing of it — certainly not that he would take the matter this much to heart.

So he remembered even an offhand remark…

“Yes. I saw a snake going into their nest, and I wanted to save them.”

“…A snake?!”

All color drained from Unhyo’s face. His near‑shout was almost a cry as he grabbed Suhoe’s arms in alarm.