Just reread the last chapter... Found out I somehow copied the file, which contains chapters that were not edited and proofread at all -_- Now, just reading it made me wince. But yeah, I fixed it already.
Anyways, you all already know this is an NSFW story which contains explicit content, as I've warned and tagged on NU. Starting this chapter, I will not give any warnings. Just know, the next scenes ahead will make you seethe. So, yeah.
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By the time the sporadic sobbing from Yewol Palace had faded, the early dawn settled softly, followed by a drizzle. The rain, thin as strokes from a fine-tipped brush, gradually grew heavier over the next few hours, turning into thick droplets that lashed the ground like a whip. The previously dry weather of the capital was suddenly replaced with a muggy, oppressive dampness. The mountains wore a shroud of ashen gray, their peaks swallowed by the heavy mist. Leaves, weighed down by the accumulated rain, drooped toward the earth. Water droplets clinging tenuously to the edges of leaves fell with a faint plop, hitting the ground. One fortunate droplet landed on a flower petal, momentarily preserving its shape.
“Hyah!”
But the sharp cry of a coachman driving his carriage broke the stillness, shattering the delicate droplet into countless pieces. Wherever the carriage passed, it churned the sodden earth into thick mud, leaving behind puddles that obstructed any would-be travelers.
As dawn lifted and a fiery sun took its place in the sky, the carriage finally stopped in front of Gyeonghye Manor. Since the lord of the manor, King Gyeonghye, had earned the ignominious nickname "The One-Armed Prince," visitors had become a rarity. The coachman dismounted, breathless and without bothering to don a rain cloak. He opened the carriage door, bowing deeply as he did so.
From within, the guest, who had maintained a stony silence throughout the journey, spoke at last.
“What are you doing? Bow your head to the ground.”
“I... I apologize!”
The coachman hastily prostrated himself in the mud. The guest, draped in a rain cloak, stepped out of the dim carriage. Slowly, his feet emerged, descending deliberately onto the coachman's back. The coachman clenched his teeth, enduring the weight pressing down on him. But it was only the first step.
As expected, another foot followed, unhesitatingly planting itself on his back before descending to the ground. This was none other than Kang Hochang, the current Grand General. Though a formidable presence on the battlefield, he abhorred the idea of dirtying his boots with mud outside of war. Every time he disembarked from his carriage, someone was made to bow beneath him to spare him the indignity of stepping onto the earth. His daughter had shared this habit, as did her child, the one-armed prince.
Kang Hochang handed his rain cloak to a servant and donned a black cloak embroidered with an elaborate hawk soaring through a forest, its edges billowing in the stormy wind.
“Let’s go,” he commanded curtly.
“Yes, General,” replied his guards, falling into step behind him.
At Kang Hochang’s quiet command, his two escorts fell into step behind him. The royal manor, wrapped in a dense shroud of darkness, seemed to have forgotten its once-glorious days. Now it stood silent and desolate, reflecting the ruin of the one-armed prince who called it home. The path to the inner garden was kept pristine, yet the vibrant plants and elegant birds that once adorned it were conspicuously absent. In their place stood lifeless ornaments and foreign paintings—gifts from Kang Hochang or the Noble Consort.
The prince’s fall had scattered his allies, and even the Noble Consort’s once-secure position now teetered. She was derisively called the “Lady of the Rear Quarters,” barely clinging to relevance. It was a grim fortune, though perhaps better than that of Consort Sook, who had succumbed to madness and met her end in exile. No longer did the consort burn incense for the emperor. Instead, she spent her nights praying for her son, offering rites to appease the restless spirits of her deceased children, whom a shaman claimed haunted the prince. But it was all futile. Kang Hochang, still haunted by the brilliant image of his grandson’s former glory, could only sigh at his daughter’s desperate gestures.
And now, that very grandson—who had recently consummated a union with the emperor—summoned him to this forsaken place. Once a rising star, the prince had become a man of unchecked depravity, drowning himself in drink, pursuing women, and lashing out at all around him. His children, now grown enough to seek their father’s attention, were met with rejection. Even his concubines bore the brunt of his wrath.
For such a man to summon him now... Kang Hochang, seasoned by decades on the battlefield, dismissed the notion with a scoff as he arrived at the garden where the prince awaited.
“Your Highness, are you unwell?”
The prince, who by all rights should have been lying drunk, stood upright, his face hidden behind a mask painted with a grotesque grin against its white surface. Without a word, he strode toward a small pavilion on the garden’s eastern edge. Kang Hochang followed silently, leaving his escorts to guard the door.
Deprived of the familiar weight of his sword—handed off to a servant long before—Kang Hochang absently brushed his empty waist, his lips pressed tight. His wiry beard swayed like brittle grass.
Inside the pavilion, the prince spun abruptly, his empty sleeve fluttering like a tattered banner.
“You’ve heard the news, haven’t you? Just as I said, Kang has become His Majesty’s consort.”
“Yes, Your Highness. I have heard it and seen it with my own eyes.”
With these old eyes, I watched as the emperor declared Kang his consort, smiling all the while. It was a scene the prince had witnessed, too. He wasn’t seeking an answer—only validation that his words were right.
The prince’s mask gleamed eerily in the dim light, its twisted, grinning expression unnervingly bright. Without a mouth and with eyes arched downward in a mocking curve, it looked like the face of a specter clawing its way out of the grave.
“Tell me, General,” the prince began, his voice rising, “Do you truly wish to see a child from that union crowned as Crown Prince? It would tear the foundation of this realm apart! How can a son become his father’s consort and bear his children? A man cannot conceive! Kang’s body is incapable of pregnancy!”
The prince’s voice erupted into a shout, only to break into a burst of manic laughter. Gripping a nearby pillar with his remaining hand, he trembled violently, his emotions unbridled. Kang Hochang remained silent, his calm gaze waiting for the storm to subside.
“Heaven does not lightly bestow its favor in selecting the emperor’s consorts,” Kang Hochang said at last.
“Have you considered,” the prince sneered, “that His Majesty might have manipulated the rites?”
“Even if that were true..”
The general’s interruption hung heavy in the air. His steady, unflinching tone contrasted sharply with the prince’s frenzied demeanor. The prince narrowed his eyes, suspicion flashing across his face. This was the grandfather he had once trusted, the man who always soothed his fears. Yet now, his calm defiance felt alien, almost threatening.
The prince’s right eye twitched uncontrollably, betraying his mounting unease.
“...If His Majesty had defied heaven’s will, disaster would have already struck. And yet, here we are. Decades into his reign, the nation prospers. The people smile. The Chunqiu teaches that when a ruler errs, heaven withdraws its mandate. But what do we see? No calamities, no omens. Even as His Majesty has executed ministers and consorts, as he has sent countless others to exile or death, heaven remains still. Not even the naming of an heir has stirred its hand.”
“What does that prove?”
“Your Highness!”
Kang Hochang’s voice, raised in rare fury, shattered the tension in the room. For the first time, he barked at the prince. Startled but unmoved, King Gyeonghye stared daggers at his grandfather, who had fully aligned himself with the emperor’s cause.
Kang Hochang lowered his gaze briefly, then met the prince’s eyes with cold resolve.
“Accept it now, Your Highness. The fault does not lie with His Majesty or the Consort.”
“Then whose fault is it?”
“It is yours. You are not destined to be emperor.”
“…So you mean to cast me aside?”
“No.”
Kang Hochang began to walk away, his steps deliberate as he pressed his aching temples. He sighed, turning back to the prince with a hardened expression.
“I have always been His Majesty’s servant. Yes, before all this, I hoped for you to ascend to the throne. You were my daughter’s child, after all. Do you think I did not care for you? I revered you as much as any grandfather would. But now, I see the truth. You lack the qualities of an emperor. You’ve already lost that battle.”
“It was His Majesty who ruined me! He turned me into this wretched creature so he could crown his beloved as consort and make him Crown Prince! It was him! He threw me into hell—and even your daughter, my mother, was broken by him!”
The prince tore off his mask and hurled it to the ground. It landed in the dirt of the once-beautiful garden, the grotesque grin of its painted features pooling with water.
Kang Hochang gazed steadily at the face revealed beneath. The left side of the prince’s face was mangled beyond recognition, a grotesque shadow of his former beauty. But the right side, unscarred, retained a celestial elegance—an agonizing reminder of the grandson Kang Hochang had once cherished. The prince’s right eye burned with a manic glint, his mind fractured by a past that had stolen his future.
The prince’s voice trembled with rage as he grabbed Kang Hochang by the collar and shoved him against the wall.
“What now? Do I amuse you because I’ve become a cripple? Fine! Throw me away like the others! Discard me as you did her!”
“You’ve gone mad.”
Kang Hochang’s icy retort pushed the prince further into his spiral.
“No, it’s the emperor who’s insane!” the prince roared. “So mad with love for his son that he made him his consort! And yet you call me mad? Why not call him mad, too?”
“Even if His Majesty is mad within the palace walls,” Kang Hochang said evenly, “he has brought prosperity to the nation. He has reduced taxes, enriched the land, and shown mercy to his people.”
The prince fell silent, his lips trembling. The torn corner of his mouth stung as the wind grazed it. Meeting his grandfather’s gaze, he hastily covered his face with his sleeve, muttering incoherent words.
“Don’t look at me… Don’t look…”
“Your Highness,” Kang Hochang pressed on, his tone unyielding, “you may see me as a cold-hearted old man, but I serve the emperor. To seek petty revenge by killing the consort would—”
Before he could finish, the prince seized a porcelain vase and brought it crashing down on Kang Hochang’s head. The attack came so suddenly that Kang Hochang staggered, his senses reeling. He had not expected such betrayal—not from the grandson he still believed would never harm him.
“Die! Just die already! You abandoned me, too!”
The prince’s voice was raw with anguish as he picked up a stone and struck Kang Hochang again, this time driving the man to the ground. Blood seeped into the soil as Kang Hochang’s fingers twitched feebly, his last thoughts clawing toward escape and a final warning for the emperor. But the prince did not relent. With a twisted smile, he brought the stone down again and again until his grandfather’s body lay still.
Breathing heavily, King Gyeonghye gazed at the lifeless form, his expression cold and detached. Bloodied stone in hand, he whispered bitterly, “Do you think I’ll die alone? No… I’ll drag them all down with me.”
The prince’s right eye gleamed with an unholy light as he smiled, his flawless profile stained with blood, grotesquely beautiful in the moonlight.
To destroy the emperor, he would have to kill where heaven’s gaze could not reach. Though chosen by the heavens, the emperor was bound to live and die for the nation alone. Every son who bore the title had relinquished their humanity for the crown.
But what if the emperor sought freedom? What if, for love, he abandoned the capital, left the empire behind? Would the heavens truly bring ruin to the land?
King Gyeonghye did not know. But he was willing to bet everything on the answer.