TCBW C9

Chapter 9

Checking him over, turning his body this way and that to see if perhaps he had been bitten by the snake or bore some hidden injury, the sharp, pressing energy Unhyo had worn only moments ago vanished from his gaze as if it had all been a lie.

“That’s a relief.”

It was only after hearing Suhoe’s answer that he exhaled in relief, murmuring faintly.

“Heavens… in the dead of winter, what kind of snake could it have been? No — more to the point, young master — no, Suhoe‑nim — how could you, without a thought for the danger… decide to chase it off?”

“At the time… I was the only one there. The other servants… were all busy preparing for today’s wedding, weren’t they?”

“Even so… but really…”

Over nothing more than a few mountain birds?

Unhyo just barely bit back the rest of the thought.

If he pressed further into the boy’s reasoning, he felt he might truly become angry.

He simply could not understand it.

To him, the mountain birds were nothing more than fleeting scenery — a topic of conversation to give the lonely Suhoe something to speak about.

And yet, to hear him say he’d scaled the wall on such an important day for that reason…

“Haa.”

Letting out a long sigh, Unhyo’s hands — in the middle of twisting Suhoe’s long, plaited hair into a coil to secure it with a binyeo¹ — paused in mid‑air.

Should he scold him, or let it pass?

In the end, deciding at least to give him a firm warning on this last day, Unhyo was just about to speak when—

“They all survived.”

Suhoe’s quiet voice came first.

And when Unhyo saw that expression — the boy’s cheeks faintly puffed out in something like pride — he found he could not bring himself to speak harshly after all.

Yes… it was different, after all.

He had no choice but to relent.

Perhaps to others they were nothing, but to Suhoe, the birds were not something to let simply pass by.

Before he realized it, his hand was resting gently on Suhoe’s shoulder.

Thinking about it, this was a boy who had never, not once, caused trouble for another.

When he’d vanished earlier, he’d panicked, thinking perhaps he had tried to run — but remembering the Suhoe he knew, there was surely a reason.

Granted, he’d had no idea this would be the reason — but that, too, was in keeping with his nature: someone selfless enough to forget his own position for the sake of something else.

“Young master… ah, no — Suhoe‑nim. Eh, perhaps because I’ve never known the meaning of your name, I can’t seem to get it to stay on my tongue.”

At the softened tone in his voice, Suhoe turned back slowly with a small smile; relief showed plainly on his youthful face.

“I like young master. I’m not used to the name ‘Suhoe’ yet…”

With that, even the quiet thought Unhyo had harbored — to at least rebuke him one last time for being reckless — simply melted away.

What on earth was he to do with such a good‑hearted young master?

Meanwhile, as Unhyo sighed heavily over his welfare, Suhoe’s eyes were fixed on the clock.

He could not shake the thought of Dowoon — the tall guest who had caught him when he fell from the wall — and at last he stood up abruptly.

“Yes… I think I should go see him before the ceremony.”

“What are you saying, young master?”

“That man… the tall guest who saved me…”

At the sudden mention of Dowoon, deep lines furrowed across Unhyo’s brow.

“Sit down immediately!”

“But — you said he was a guest. He must still be inside. After all the help he gave, I didn’t even ask if he was all right — I should at least check. I’ll just be a moment.”

“I’m telling you not to do that.”

For no clear reason, Unhyo’s voice suddenly sharpened.

Taken aback, Suhoe faltered. He could not recall the man ever so flatly forbidding his actions without explanation.

“Why…?”

“Think carefully. Today is your wedding day. As a precaution, the shrine informed even the guests that no outsiders would be allowed to come and go. And yet that man came here, openly. Which means he was either formally invited, or he has a connection of equal standing.”

And indeed, the shrine was not a place one could enter without an invitation.

“So you mean…?”

“Yes. Since I’ve heard the one you’re to wed is from a major corporation and holds high rank, most likely that man is a secretary or aide sent from that household.”

Secretary…

The word seemed ill‑fitting to the image Suhoe held of Dowoon. The general image of such a job simply did not mesh with the impression the man had made on him.

Even without knowing much about corporate hierarchies, his instincts told him Dowoon was far from someone who served at another’s beck and call.

In that brief meeting, he had felt the overpowering presence of an apex predator before its prey — a man whose very air gave the sense of placing the entire surrounding world underfoot.

Such a man, a secretary? It was like forcing a man into ill‑fitting clothes that made him look nothing but awkward.

Even so, Suhoe admitted that Unhyo’s words were sensible. And if, as he suggested, someone like Dowoon truly worked for this “great man” from the conglomerate, then just how enormous must that person’s stature be?

He found he could hardly imagine it — and frowned.

Perhaps Unhyo was wrong, or perhaps he himself simply misunderstood what “secretary” meant.

Still, seeming to give ground under Unhyo’s reasoning, Suhoe pursed his lips, thinking — and then, as if putting forth a final rebuttal, spoke seriously:

“…But Unhyo, if you’re right, then isn’t that all the more reason to be concerned? I may have greatly inconvenienced someone I might see often in the future.”

“Exactly. So you may set your mind at ease on that point.”

But Unhyo’s reply was firm, his tone certain in a way that hinted he already knew something more.

“Still…”

“Do you not trust me?”

Suhoe shook his head slightly, his face showing lingering unease.

“…Haa. I can’t say much, but he’s not the sort who could be easily hurt. In fact, I’d say it’s physically impossible for him to be harmed.”

“What? What do you mean…?”

“No more. Just trust me. Have I ever been wrong?”

Left briefly at a loss, Suhoe shook his head again.

In truth, Unhyo’s intuition was the keenest of any servant in the shrine — his sense for the unseen had never once led him astray.

“Then calm yourself and sit down again. The ceremony will be starting soon, and we’ve much to prepare.”

“…Yes.”

Reluctantly, Suhoe obeyed his tone, but inwardly he resolved: the moment Unhyo left his side, he would find Dowoon and check for himself.

“…”

Unhyo’s deep, weighted sigh settled over the crown of his head; it was as though he could already read the boy’s intentions.

“Haa… young master.”

“Yes?”

“In case it needs to be said — do your best to avoid that man. Before the ceremony, certainly. And even afterward. In fact, don’t cross paths with him at all.”

The last words carried an urgency, almost a plea, woven through with warning.

At once, Suhoe’s shoulders tensed.

Unhyo clicked his tongue inwardly.

This naive, stubborn child would undoubtedly seek that man out the first moment he turned his back.

The truth was, Unhyo was holding back from saying everything he knew about Dowoon — he couldn’t bear to tell this innocent boy all of it.

…A guest.

Gye‑geum’s stern warning still echoed in his ears, holding his tongue like a bit in a horse’s mouth.

He stopped his hand in Suhoe’s hair, hiding the faint tremor in his fingers.

The more he thought about it, the more that brief meeting at the gate replayed in his mind — a flash that chilled his blood.

Because behind Dowoon’s back, he had seen it: shapeless masses of crimson‑black energy, writhing together like living shadows clinging to him.

They had been restless spirits — vengeful shades born of grudges and regrets so deep they could not leave the mortal plane.

And that man was wearing them, whether as armor or as a shield.

Whether by choice, or bound by some dreadful curse, Unhyo could not tell — but the density of that aura made it clear this was no recent thing.

notes:

1. Binyeo (비녀) — A traditional Korean ornamental hairpin used to secure a chignon or coiled braid, often in formal or ceremonial dress.

2. Restless spirits (원혼) — In Korean shamanic belief, spirits bound to the world by unresolved grievances or regrets; considered dangerous and inauspicious.