The wind blew relentlessly, tangling Kang's hair and drawing a furrow across his brow. He tried shielding his face with his hands, but it was futile. The long sleeves of his robes flapped violently, striking his face with every gust. Resigned, Kang lowered his hands to rest on his knees, sitting quietly amidst the ceremony.
A sudden, eerie sensation prickled at the back of his neck, prompting him to turn his head.
The emperor stood there, watching the funeral with his usual, impenetrable gaze. Kang had seen this sight countless times before—funerals presided over by the emperor, who stood motionless, like a stone statue carved into the scene. The only thing that ever changed was the woman at his side. When King Jinyeong had died, it had been Consort Sook. When his daughters passed, it had been their mothers who accompanied him. The women rotated, but the emperor remained unchanging.
And yet, today felt different.
A strange unease crawled beneath Kang’s skin, like insects scuttling across his body. He instinctively touched the back of his neck, then dropped his hand, unsure what had provoked the sensation.
Had the emperor smiled just now?
It must have been a trick of the light. Kang blinked, trying to clear his head before refocusing on the ceremony.
The high priest stood at the forefront, reciting solemn prayers, supported by attendants conducting the rituals. The coffin of the late grand emperor began its slow journey along the cobbled path.
Draped in mourning robes of black, the emperor stood as impassive as ever, his face betraying no emotion. If anything, he seemed bored, as though the procession were an obligation to endure rather than an occasion to grieve.
Kang recalled a conversation from long ago.
"Abamama, are you not afraid of death?"
He had asked in confusion after seeing the emperor shed no tears, even after the loss of so many children.
The emperor had smiled then, meeting Kang's puzzled gaze as he sat poised on his throne.
"One grows accustomed to all things in time," he said, his voice calm, almost casual. "Even death. Even pain."
Kang had stared back at him, unable to comprehend such detachment, his young face a mixture of innocence and bewilderment.
The emperor had leaned forward, cradling Kang’s cheek with one hand. With an affectionate softness that belied his chilling words, he pressed a kiss to Kang’s lips.
"You will understand one day," he whispered against him. "You are the son of the Son of Heaven, after all."
When the emperor mentioned that even Kang's blood was the same, Kang gave a bitter smile. He wasn't wrong. Kang had grown accustomed to death, and the endless funerals held in the palace no longer stirred him. As time flowed ceaselessly, the intensity of past events faded.
In his earlier days, Kang had tried to live like his other siblings. But it was an impossible feat without the emperor's permission. The emperor always had the final say, while Kang could only seek approval. In such a rigid hierarchy, there was little Kang could do. Over time, as he silently bid farewell to siblings who passed away without so much as a parting word, Kang grew distant from his desires and connections.
After all, the emperor wouldn’t allow it anyway.
Sometimes, Kang wondered if even dying required the emperor’s permission. Lost in this foolish thought, Kang blinked slowly until a sharp thud brought him back to reality. He quickly raised his head.
The High Priest was nearing the end of the funeral rites. Kang, who had never been particularly close to the Grand Emperor or the Empress Dowager, found himself feeling indifferent to the Grand Emperor's sudden death. His gaze fixed on the coffin, Kang let his mind drift to thoughts of dinner. Would he have boiled meat with liquor? Or should he roast it and share a few pieces with Seol? Leftovers could go to the palace cats; they’d probably meow pitifully for food by then.
A strong gust of wind, carrying the scent of incense, scattered Kang’s idle thoughts. His sleeves flapped like fallen leaves. The sharp wind felt unusual, unsettling even. Kang let out a soft sigh as his gaze shifted from the procession to the sky. It loomed heavy, as though ready to weep. Was it mourning for the Grand Emperor who had died just the day before?
He extended his palm, expecting to feel the sky’s tears, but no rain came. Instead, the wind brushed against his fingers as if tasting them, only to vanish. Lowering his hand, Kang turned his attention forward again.
The procession had moved farther away, passing through the Eunwoo Gate. From there, it would circle the capital, receiving the tears and condolences of the people, before finally arriving at the tomb prepared in advance.
The coffin had fully crossed the gate, signaling the gradual conclusion of the funeral. Kang exhaled deeply, as though releasing pent-up tension, and rose from his seat. Movement beside him caught his attention, and he instinctively turned his head.
The one-armed King Gyeonghye was struggling to keep his balance and nearly fell, but a court lady quickly steadied him. His empty left sleeve flapped in the wind, a silent testament to his missing arm. Even his mask had shifted slightly, though King Gyeonghye swiftly adjusted it with practiced ease.
Their eyes met—Kang’s steady gaze locked with King Gyeonghye’s single, unblemished right eye. From behind the mask, King Gyeonghye smiled. It was a familiar expression, one he often wore: eyes curving into crescent moons, lips stretched upward in a radiant grin. It was the kind of smile befitting the emperor’s son.
Before Kang could utter the word brother, a chamberlain serving the emperor appeared, summoning him. Kang hesitated briefly before turning away.
There was no point in lingering on relationships that had already grown so distant. Through the siblings he had bid farewell to without certainty, Kang had learned it was better to stay distant rather than try to draw close. Silently, he faced forward, his lips pressed into a firm line.
What’s the use of living buried in the past?
“Where is His Majesty?” Kang asked as he walked.
The chamberlain, bowing his head respectfully, replied, “He is waiting in his usual pavilion.”
“I see,” Kang muttered simply, clicking his tongue as the rain began to fall, drop by drop.
“His Majesty dislikes the rain,” the chamberlain noted, a touch of concern in his voice.
“Still, His Highness’s presence will surely delight him,” the chamberlain added with a soft smile. “After all, His Majesty cares for you deeply.”
Kang felt a sudden chill at the back of his neck. Was it from the rain? He reached up, brushing his hand over his nape, but there was no trace of moisture yet.
He climbed into the palanquin. Despite standing in the rain themselves, the chamberlains ensured that Kang remained dry by carefully shielding him with coverings. Thanks to their efforts, he reached the pavilion without being touched by a single raindrop.
Inside, the emperor was drinking, using the serenely falling rain over the garden as his backdrop. He was smiling, radiant against the glistening pavilion, like a flower that had just bloomed. His eyes curved gently, his lips drawn upward, and his flushed cheeks betrayed his buoyant mood.
“Baby,” the emperor called out, using the familiar, affectionate term.
Resting his chin in his hand, he smiled with his eyes closed. “Will you get upset if I call you baby again?”
Opening his eyes slowly, the emperor smiled seductively, his gaze locking with Kang’s. He reached out, pulling Kang closer by the back of his neck. Kang froze, his breath caught in his chest. His hands instinctively pressed against the emperor’s chest, trying to maintain some distance.
Kang could feel the emperor’s chest rising and falling with each breath. The emperor looked down at him from above, his gaze unwavering, their foreheads touching. His lips brushed lightly against Kang’s—so faintly that it was hard to tell if they had truly made contact. The delicate proximity made Kang's lashes tremble.
"...You've grown so much," the emperor murmured softly.
"Yes, I have," Kang replied, his voice steady.
"Good," the emperor said with a gentle hum, drawing back slightly with a satisfied smile.
Good for what? Kang wondered, withdrawing his upper body as though to escape the steady rhythm of the emperor's heartbeat. But the emperor didn’t let go of him; his fingers wrapped firmly around Kang’s wrist. His breath, heated by the alcohol he had been drinking, brushed against Kang as he spoke in a hushed tone.
"You still need to take the last dose of your medicine."
Kang’s lips pressed into a firm line, unyielding. He couldn’t help but recall the obstinate expression he used to wear when refusing to take the medicine directly from the emperor’s hand. The emperor's lips, tinged with the scent of liquor, curved into a knowing smile.
It was a smile that bewitched people as a matter of habit. But Kang had long learned to keep his guard up. That smile—so politically potent—was always laced with a subtle poison. A poison so potent that the only way to protect oneself was by maintaining a safe distance.
It was a lesson Kang had mastered after the death of King Jinyeong.
Slowly, Kang wriggled free from the emperor’s grasp. The emperor, unbothered, rested his chin on his hand and chuckled lazily. Then, reaching out, he gently flicked Kang's forehead with a single finger.
His touch trailed down Kang’s skin like a breeze brushing against a wall. It moved lightly over his face until the emperor’s fingertip came to rest on his lips.
Kang lowered his gaze, uneasy at the warmth his touch seemed to radiate. His eyes fell on the emperor’s hand—a perfect blend of elegance and power. Translucent pink-tinted nails, long and slender fingers with well-defined knuckles.
"You really have grown up," the emperor murmured, his voice tinged with a strange affection.
As he withdrew his hand from Kang’s lips, the emperor smiled again, a look of absolute contentment on his face, as though he were cradling all the happiness in the world.
Kang stayed silent, frozen in place. From afar, the emperor seemed warm and endearing. But up close, he was like walking a tightrope over an endless abyss.
For Kang, the emperor had become someone both cherished and deeply feared.