“Do not yearn for love. The more you yearn, the more you become human. The Son of Heaven is not a human being. He is a being descended from the heavens to act on their behalf. Think only of the nation.”
These were the tiresome words Yeonhon had heard countless times from the Three Ministers. With a sigh, he slumped over his desk. What was love that everyone insisted so adamantly he avoid it? Even the ancient texts of Annals were filled with cautionary tales of emperors deposed and dismembered for succumbing to indulgence, affection, and reckless pleasure. Love, it seemed, was a poison. An emperor who became aware of human emotions could never maintain the throne.
At the time, he had dismissed it all as laughable. The idea of great emperors undone by something so trivial as love seemed absurd. He had pledged, in offerings to the heavens, to be an emperor who neither wavered nor stumbled, who moved only forward without succumbing to fleeting emotions.
It had all seemed so simple back then.
But now, the Emperor’s heart raced when he saw his son weeping in a dream. They said that a parent’s heart ached and throbbed when their child cried, that this was the heart of a parent. Yet, when his son cried, the Emperor’s heart did not ache—it fluttered.
He wanted to part the dark, disheveled hair from his son's flushed face, to see if he bit his lip or covered his face with his hands, as he had when he was younger, trying to suppress his sorrow. His mind remembered the way his son cried, every detail etched in memory, a testament to the boy he had raised.
From the very first moment he had seen his son, he had been drawn to his scent. Initially, it had been nothing more than the innocent smell of milk lingering on the neck of a child. But as time passed, the Emperor found himself obsessing over his son’s scent. It even clung faintly to Yeo So-ui, the boy’s mother. Yet, no matter how similar her features or fragrance were to his son’s, there was a subtle but undeniable difference.
Kang's scent was lighter, untainted by the powdered perfumes of women, mingled instead with the raw, youthful tang of sweat. It was a fragrance that drove him to madness, sending him back to the days of his youth when he had scoffed at the very idea of love. To a time before Kang’s birth—before he had even existed within his body.
The Emperor tried to recall his other son, Yeon Song, but strangely, his memory of him was faint. While Kang’s childhood was vivid, as if it could be grasped with his hands, and even the subtleties of his scent lived within him, the images of his other sons remained hazy. It was unsurprising—some had died swaddled in cloth, mere infants.
From the murky depths of unconsciousness, the Emperor awoke. The bedchamber was still cloaked in darkness. Though dawn had yet to break, the Emperor rose from his bed as soon as his eyes opened. As his figure moved, a court lady approached, bowing her head and drawing back the curtains.
“Your Majesty, did you call?”
“Water.”
At his curt command, the court lady nodded twice and retreated. The Emperor, clad only in his bare skin, ran a hand through his drowsy hair. Glancing at his limp hand, he turned his head—and there lay Kang, asleep, face down.
His son’s breath was slow and shallow, as if he were barely alive. How many days had passed since he had taken him? The Emperor’s fingers traced the marks left on Kang’s back, nape, wrists, and fingers. He chuckled faintly at the flow of forgotten memories.
He had never intended to indulge so deeply in his son’s body. His plan had been to savor him moderately, pave the way, then transform into the wolf that would plant his seed and ensure offspring.
“Mm...”
He pulled down the blanket and spread apart the plump, protruding buttocks. Inside the buttocks, the swollen, red hole opened its mouth. Thanks to the constant sexual activity day and night, the hole was suitably loose, and the accumulated seed slowly dripped out. The emperor, watching the semen pooling between his thighs, knowing the court lady was approaching, swept it with his fingers and pushed it into the gaping hole. The court lady, who was watching the scene, blushed. A wet sound echoed repeatedly from the fingers touching the hole filled with semen. Kang slightly furrowed his brow at the fingers rummaging below, but he couldn't open his eyes at all.
Should I go further here.... The emperor, who had been captivated by the semen slowly oozing from his son's hole, sighed and withdrew his finger.
"Ugh..."
Kang moans as he rests his forehead on the bed. It seemed like the lower part would respond. But after eating the soup he always have for breakfast, it wasn't long before it was a mess. If he didn't get completely absorbed in the regular court sessions, it was obvious what kind of talk would circulate.
Surely, the priest will perform a ritual to depose the emperor. The emperor's face, which had been filled with a happy smile as he looked at his son, turned cold. He wiped his hands, stained with cloudy semen, on the water brought by the court lady. The soapy water used to wash his hands faded, and clear soapy water appeared. As she wiped her face, a court lady approached and meticulously dried her off.
The emperor donned a two-piece robe and moved to the place where he would have his morning soup. The attendant informed that it was a soup that warms the body and is also beneficial for vitality. The emperor, while stirring the steaming soup, calmly spoke as he watched the court lady serving his breakfast.
"Give Hee-bi a break too."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Hee-bi seems to have weak vitality, so make a soup that helps with vitality and bring it."
Come to think of it, if he eats a soup that boosts vitality in the morning... The emperor, who had been absentmindedly savoring the soup, ended up chuckling to himself.
Now the smell of milk will come from his chest instead of his neck. The nipples were a pale pink color. And it was small. Usually, when women become pregnant, their breasts swell, and their nipples also enlarge, so he wondered if they become as big as grapes for easier sucking. The emperor elegantly ate the soup without making a sound while watching the court lady. The court lady, feeling awkward under the emperor's fiery gaze, lowered her head.
"Call the official."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The court lady stepped back, and the attendant walked briskly to the spot. Before the attendant, whose voice was so strange that it was impossible to tell if they were male or female, could call out "Your Majesty," the Emperor's beautiful lips parted.
"When Hee-bi becomes pregnant, immediately bring a woman who became pregnant around the same time."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"I will make that woman a wet nurse; she must be a woman overflowing with virtue." The family must also be of noble lineage... If the child born is a boy, they might have their wedding night, so he hopes he is handsome.
Usually, the consort’s first night was with the wet nurse or a palace maid who had raised him. The consort’s first night was more like an education, so instead of feeling pleasure, the wet nurse or palace maid would give detailed instructions on how to share intimate moments. The emperor glanced at high official, who was bowing his head, as he recalled the wedding night he couldn't even remember.
The Empress Dowager requested, "Your Majesty, please continue to command us." The emperor put down the spoon and sipped the lukewarm tea brought by the court lady.
"The milk of Hee-bi belongs to the Son of Heaven, so do not give it carelessly to the princes or princesses."
“Should I give Hee-bi a heads-up?"
"The emperor will be the one to inform him."
That kid is very timid.
The emperor sipped his tea with an inward smile. He shouldn't have fallen in love. If you fall too deeply, they said, it's like a deep well from which you cannot escape. Since he was an emperor who had to govern the country with reason and composure, he was always taught to step back from human emotions little by little.
It wouldn't be so bad to just stay indulge and fall asleep with Kang. The emperor, who was watching the innocent face floating on the surface of the tea, smiled faintly.
The gods known as the Sky do not die. They created numerous nations and then abandoned them. To them, a nation was merely a thing to set up humans resembling themselves, watch their development, and discard when they got bored.
But the Yeon Kingdom was different. The sky transformed into a female form and mingled with her son, falling in love with him, hoping that the nation he would create would prosper. Additionally, the country had to prosper. The child's body was still buried in that land beneath the temple, and the child's blood was flowing to the descendants.
At first, she was troubled by the idea that she should not interfere in human lives, but she was outraged by the foolishness of her son's descendants. They easily swung between joy and sorrow and became complacent in their governance. When her son's country was on the verge of being invaded by the barbarians, she gave up her immortality. Rather than watching her son's country fall apart before her eyes, it was better to give up immortality and protect the nation.
She conveyed her orders through the mouth of the priest. She chose the emperor, the crown prince, and the concubines to maintain a prosperous nation. The emperor, who was withering away due to illness, was abandoned early, and the emperor, who was floundering in a state of infatuation, was sentenced to death. An emperor who lacks coldness, reason, and love for the people cannot protect this country. Her only criterion for choosing an emperor was this. Until she closes her eyes to the unknown end that may come at any time, she wishes for the radiant glory of her deceased son to be preserved.
Heaven, who gave up immortality, will inevitably meet her end. Even if she had continued her immortality, the nation would have eventually fallen. A country that lasted a thousand years could not be seen in any annals. Just as stagnant water naturally rots, the old country also rotted away, giving off a foul odor. The heavens created a nation for immortality and merely watched over it.
Thus, Yeon-guk prospered under the love of the heavens, but ultimately, it was destined to perish. If there is a beginning, there is always an end. No one knows when that end will come.
Is that why? The emperor had no guilt about being involved in the ritual in a country that was running towards an unknown end. Rather, despite being involved in the ritual, seeing the calm sky filled him with confidence.
I am the Son of Heaven. I am a body chosen by heaven.
Even the heavens cannot leave a mark on me, so who could possibly leave a mark on me?
The emperor clenched his fists and laughed as he watched the rising flames. It was his choice, and the heavens had granted it. No, Kang was given because they knew he would call upon others to destroy the country if they didn’t. As he gazed at the flames, the emperor wanted to laugh out loud.
Even the heavens were moved by his love for his son. It didn’t matter if the love he had was only recognized by the heavens. He didn’t care if the officials criticized him, questioning how a father and son could share such love. The numerous concubines and children didn’t matter either. To him, they were like paper dolls, disposable at any time. The only thing that mattered was Kang—so long as he was breathing beside him, that was enough.
He would build a fortress to keep him locked away, so no one could come near it. He wanted to be the one to kill Kang and follow him afterward. The death of Kang should be by the emperor’s hand alone. But he didn’t want to see himself die first, with Kang fading away in solitude. His sons would never love him as much as he did. Kang was a child who often felt lonely. Even when his siblings left, the child cried. If the emperor left, the loneliness would overwhelm him, and he would cry. He couldn’t bear to see the child cry.
Ah, is this what it feels like to be infatuated?
The emperor frowned at the new flutter in his heart and lifted his head. A strange, almost eerie smile appeared as he looked up at the intricate ceiling.
Slowly, his eyes began to close, and in a hushed voice, he murmured, “Infatuation... it’s such a trivial thing.”
Yet, strangely, when it comes to him, it feels almost precious.
His smile faded in an instant, and like a child sulking, he frowned at the ceiling. His insides felt twisted by something so trivial.