The world was cloaked in darkness. A heavy, ink-black darkness, like being trapped in a deep well where even the faintest sliver of moonlight couldn’t reach. He stood there, utterly still. He tried to extend his arms, seeking a way out, but it was as though heavy stones were tied to his limbs. His fingers—could they move? They twitched faintly, weakly. he could breathe just fine, yet with every breath, a deep, sharp pain stirred between his hips. It wasn’t a pain easily described; it was raw, stinging, and deeply unsettling. Though the entrance remained closed, it throbbed painfully with the slightest movement, and deep within, an intense sense of intrusion lingered—like something large had violated that space.
A thick, rod-like object, massive and unyielding, had passed through me countless times—more times than he could bear to count—and left behind something warm and sticky that clung to his insides like dew. It was the source of his brothers, sisters, and all the siblings born before and after him.
“Hee-bi.”
The name floated to his ears, spoken with a soft, gentle laugh.
“…Ah!”
Kang's eyes flew open. The light was blinding, almost painfully bright. But nothing came into sharp focus. Tugging the blanket that covered his bare body closer, he tried to sit up, but froze as a strange sensation coursed along his spine. He could feel it—a viscous liquid seeping sluggishly from his hypersensitive insides. Kang’s face turned pale in an instant. His lips, swollen from days of relentless sucking and biting, trembled slightly.
“Abamama…”
His voice, hoarse from crying for what seemed like an eternity, was rough and strained, as though scraped against stone. Even speaking hurt, and Kang grimaced as he reached for his throat. But when his gaze inadvertently fell upon his wrist, he froze.
From the protruding bone to the middle of his forearm, red and purple bruises marked his skin like blossoms in full bloom. The memories flooded back: of the Emperor forcing his wrists into binds amidst the garden, of his unrelenting strength. Kang’s shoulders trembled faintly as the recollections surfaced.
"I look forward to the day you call yourself my concubine," the Emperor’s voice echoed, vivid and alive as though he had just spoken.
With trembling hands, Kang covered his ears. He didn’t want to hear it. That unwavering gentleness, the elegant and graceful smile, the warmth of his touch—they were all things Kang knew intimately as his father. Yet, the way his father looked at him now—those eyes—were unmistakably different.
Feeling a wave of nausea, Kang lowered his head. Half-hidden beneath the blanket, his naked body was visible. Unlike the dark bruises on his wrists, red marks were scattered across his inner thighs and chest.
He had to escape.
As Kang traced the unfamiliar marks on his body with trembling eyes, he slowly lowered his shaking hands. His unsteady gaze shifted from the door to the window. Unlike the residence he had lived in just a few days ago, this one was positioned higher. Golden drapes adorned the outermost layer, while inner layers were composed of overlapping red and white curtains. These were tied with silk—the symbol of the royal family—letting sunlight stream through unobstructed.
The sunlight, filtered through the intricate patterns of the window, was breathtakingly beautiful. It reminded Kang of a translucent gemstone he had seen as a child when his mother opened her jewelry box. She had smiled gently, calling it a rare treasure, and pressed it against her ear playfully. Kang had held the gemstone between his thumb and forefinger, lifting it to the sunlight. The brilliance was so dazzling it felt like it could blind him.
He had thought the same when the Emperor's unbound hair cascaded down like a waterfall. When the Emperor lowered his gaze and smiled gently at him, it was as if all the happiness in the world had been gathered in that moment. Kang had found peace in the Emperor’s arms, inhaling his scent. Though strict to the point of mischief at times, the Emperor had been undeniably kind—a father in every sense of the word.
But now…
The memory of a deep, fervent kiss resurfaced. He recalled the Emperor’s hand stroking the nape of his neck. His hands were large and burning hot. The wandering movements had stopped, and his palm curved inward, caressing soft skin. His thumb brushed past Kang’s manhood and trailed along the dip of his collarbone. Then, without hesitation, his hand slipped inside Kang’s clothing, exploring his collarbone and the firm chest beneath it. His fingers grazed against a hardened nipple, and before Kang could stop himself, a low moan escaped his lips.
“Hngh…”
Even to his ears, his voice sounded high-pitched and delicate—like the coquettish cry of a woman on her wedding night, embraced by her huband. Realizing belatedly that he had let out such a sound while clinging to the Emperor, Kang twisted his shoulders, attempting to resist.
But by then, the Emperor had already seized his wrists. Pinning them against the bedding, the Emperor leaned closer. In the shadowed contours of his face, Kang could see his eyes—slitted pupils, narrow and sharp, unlike a human's. His golden irises darkened with a sultry intensity as his face drew nearer.
“...Stay still.”
The Emperor’s voice, smooth and coaxing, reached Kang just before their lips met.
“Be still.”
Obediently, as he had always done, Kang stayed still when commanded. When the Emperor held him, he returned the embrace. Now, lying dazed on the bedding, he accepted the Emperor’s kiss. The Emperor’s tongue slipped between his lips, slowly gliding along his teeth. Kang inhaled sharply, turning his gaze to the side.
Through the corner of his eye, he noticed the door. It was closing slowly, but not before revealing the face of a man—Damyeong, Kang’s closest friend. Damyeong had likely come to fulfill his duty as the royal guard, escorting the Emperor. But to Kang, it meant something different. Damyeong, his childhood companion, someone who had run wild with him in the hunting grounds, could not witness this.
“Ah, Damyeong…”
Kang murmured as he struggled to pull away, but the Emperor spoke calmly, dismissively.
“Considering the wedding still needs to take place, this is nothing.”
Kang looked up at the Emperor, shocked. The Emperor, his lips glistening with saliva, pressed his thumb against them thoughtfully. Then, tilting Kang’s chin upward, he brought their faces closer. Kang, freed from his grip, could only tremble slightly, his fingertips twitching faintly. The Emperor’s hand slid down, covering Kang’s. His large hand enveloped Kang’s completely, concealing it just as his body had hidden Kang’s beneath him. His sleeve covered Kang’s arm entirely.
“Insane…”
Kang bit his trembling lips to stifle a sob. This was madness. He had embraced him in ignorance before, but now, things were different.
If only he weren’t his father, Kang might have accepted it, might have given in. After all, there had been male concubines in the past—men who, through divine blessings, bore children for the Emperor. Historical records showed they only conceived during the wedding night, likely indicating that the divine energy was only transferred during the consummation.
So, am I supposed to lie in his embrace, receive divine energy, and give birth to a child? My father’s child?
Suddenly, Kang recalled something the Emperor had said in the past.
"Don’t you want a sibling? You can cherish them like your own child."
The memory struck with uncanny precision. Kang stumbled off the bed in a daze. His face was as pale as a ghost, and his body trembled as though wracked by a fever.
I need to escape. I need to get out of here. Now.
Consumed by the thought, Kang threw off the blanket covering his body and hurriedly put on a robe. The robe didn’t seem to be his, as it hung down to his fingernails. The golden wolf embroidered on the sleeves clearly marked it as the Emperor’s, but Kang, trembling with the single-minded intent to flee, didn’t notice.
He staggered a few steps with legs that felt like they might give out at any moment. As a sharp pain radiated from his hips, he bent over in discomfort. The part of him that had been endlessly joined with the Emperor throbbed unbearably. Still, he forced himself to move forward. But when he noticed the viscous liquid trickling down his thighs, he froze in place.
“Ah…”
"The seed must be left behind."
The Emperor’s words from earlier echoed in his mind. Kang, who had momentarily lost his sense of time, blinked at the blurry figure of the Emperor.
Seed?
When Kang, still confused, had asked, the Emperor had smirked and pushed his legs further apart, pressing closer. The sensation of the flesh being pulled inward had made Kang tilt his head back, his hot breaths fogging the air.
In the hazy recesses of Kang’s vision, he had seen the royal scribe seated just beyond the bed’s curtains. The scribe held a brush in hand, diligently recording every detail of the Emperor’s actions—an official record of the Emperor planting his seed, a ritual of utmost importance.
"No one…"
Even through the fragmented haze of his consciousness, Kang had heard the Emperor’s voice clearly.
"No one is to remove the seed. The consort must conceive the child of the Son of Heaven."
Through his fluttering eyelids, Kang glimpsed the Emperor’s swaying silver hair. It wasn’t the Emperor who was moving, though—it was Kang, driven by the Emperor’s relentless passion. The Emperor never let him go, even as Kang repeatedly lost and regained consciousness from the overwhelming ordeal. His weakened hand brushed against the Emperor’s forearm before falling limp.
That was Kang’s last memory. The garden, the bedchamber, the library—all these places unraveled like threads in his mind.
---
Poor, poor Kang,
Just a tidbit, Volume 3 is my least favorite volume out of this 7-volume story. And you will know exactly why in the upcoming chapters 🫠🫠