Spring had fully blossomed. Flowers were in full bloom everywhere, their fragrance filling the air. Bees and butterflies swarmed in droves, exploring the sea of blossoms. The people climbed the mountains, now transformed into fragrant oceans of flowers, to celebrate the pregnancy of the Emperor’s beloved consort. Everyone came to pluck flowers, undeterred by thorns that drew blood or bee stings that left them swollen. The Emperor was the greatest sage king of Yeon. Unlike his early days of inexperienced rule, the nation had found stability under his reign. Natural disasters no longer struck, and barbarians no longer invaded. Yeon had become a sacred land, and the people attributed it all to the Emperor’s grace. With tears of gratitude, they plucked flowers to make wreaths, bouquets, and rings, sending their congratulations to the consort. Village chiefs even offered sacrifices to the heavens for the consort, the Emperor, and the divine. The heavens, moved by their sincerity, showered the land with a rain of flowers. The Emperor was pleased, but the pregnant consort lay listlessly in his chambers, unwell.
“The fever is severe.”
The Emperor frowned, troubled by the fever Kang had that had persisted for two days. He placed his hand on Kang’s hot, damp forehead and clicked his tongue before turning to the royal physician. The physician bowed deeply.
“Your Majesty, I have been tending to Consort Hee with all my heart. The fever is a sign that his body is healing. Please, do not be angry…”
“How can I not be angry when the Emperor’s child is suffering like this?”
The Emperor’s voice was cold and indignant.
“Have you grown so old and dull-witted?”
The Emperor’s mocking tone shamed the physician, who bit his lip and bowed even lower. When it came to Kang, the Emperor’s anger was relentless. Was this the end? The physician trembled as if facing the grim reaper. Meanwhile, Kang, who had been silently listening, raised a weak hand and grasped the hem of the Emperor’s magnificent robe. Sensing the faint touch, the Emperor turned his head. Kang gestured for him to come closer. The Emperor, obedient as a child, leaned in, and Kang whispered into his ear, his breath hot and labored.
“Abamama… no, Your Majesty. My body is weak, so please don’t blame the physician too harshly.”
“But you’re in so much pain.”
The Emperor frowned as if he himself were suffering and pressed Kang’s hand to his cheek. Kang let out a pained groan and muttered.
“It’s because Your Majesty went on for too long… I told you it hurt.”
Kang glanced at the Emperor, who fell silent, having no retort. He had held Kang until dawn, which must have taken a toll on his body. Combined with the shock of the Emperor’s confession, it was no wonder Kang’s body and mind were both in pain, causing the fever. The Emperor looked at Kang with a sullen expression and grumbled.
“That’s why I told you not to keep saying it was wrong…”
“I am deeply sorry, Your Majesty. I’ll be fine now, so you may attend to court matters. I will receive proper treatment here.”
Kang spoke wearily, urging the Emperor to leave. The Emperor rose, his golden eyes emotionless as he gazed at Kang’s flushed face. He placed his hand over Kang’s eyes, as if telling him to rest. Kang’s face was half-covered by the large hand, and he closed his eyes, drifting into a light sleep.
Though his father was cruel and capricious, he was also unbearably tender in moments like these. Kang resented how his father could perfectly separate the two, making it impossible to hate him fully.
“If you bear a child, you can cherish it as if it were your own.”
One day, the Emperor had said something ambiguous while handing Kang a medicinal brew. The memory surfaced, and Kang opened his feverish eyes. Everything was blurry. Was it the fever? The physician had said that the relentless, obsessive, and sadistic intimacy had taken a toll on his body. Even the swollen area needed treatment. All of it was causing the fever, but why did it hurt so much?
“I’ll give you a real sibling.”
“A real sibling…?”
Kang hugged his belly and muttered. He felt like the Emperor had said something similar in the past. The memory was hazy, just out of reach, and Kang furrowed his brow.
It couldn’t be. No matter how obsessed his father was with him, could he really have done such a thing? The pregnancy must have been heaven’s will. That’s what he tried to tell himself, but the answer remained unclear.
Perhaps the Emperor had intervened in Kang’s fate from the very beginning. Kang’s eyes widened, and he pulled the blanket closer. But then he felt someone between his legs. The soft touch made him think it was the Emperor, but the Emperor had gone to court.
“Ah, it’s just Seol.”
Kang lifted his head slightly, but dizziness overwhelmed him, and he collapsed back onto the bed. Lying there, dazed and panting, Kang assessed the situation more calmly than he expected.
From the moment he was born until now, everything had gone according to the Emperor’s will. He was the Son of Heaven, after all. Before being human, he was chosen by heaven to become the Crown Prince, and he had ruled without incident ever since. He had fathered over twenty children, and less than half had survived. Kang tilted his head, puzzled by the unusually high number of deceased siblings.
Could this really be a coincidence? Ever since the Emperor had claimed he had begged heaven for Kang, doubt had taken root. Siblings, consorts, and even ministers had been swept away like leaves in a storm. The revival of incestuous marriages after hundreds of years—and not just between siblings or cousins, but direct relations—was unheard of except in the case of the founding ancestor.
“No way…”
It was just a faint suspicion, a mere possibility, but what if…
What if he had planned it all from the beginning and orchestrated their deaths?
A shiver ran down Kang’s spine. Could he have gone that far just to possess him? No matter what, he was still the father of his other siblings. Kang knew how those siblings had gone to the battlefield to prove themselves and died, so he burrowed deeper under the blankets.
What about the consorts? If he had become the Emperor’s consort, then the other consorts, including his mother, wouldn’t be safe either. If Kang fell ill or miscarried, the Emperor might frame the consorts and have them killed.
The delusions grew darker, and Kang clutched his head, shaking it. Had coupling with his father, who had become like a wolf, driven him to such imaginings? Kang let out a hollow laugh, then bent over as a sharp pain shot through his lower abdomen.
He had felt this pain before—right after drinking the medicinal brew the Emperor had given him. The similarity made Kang blink. Cold sweat dripped down his back.
Kang shook his head. It couldn’t be. All of this was just suspicion born from his weakened body. His heart ached too much, and he wanted to find a reason.
“Hng…”
But no matter how hard he tried to understand, his heart refused to accept it. How could he do this to him? If he had truly loved him, if he had understood him, he wouldn’t have taken him this way. It was as if he had used heaven to force himself upon Kang.
For 20 years, Kang had lived solely for him, and in an instant, he had trampled everything—his efforts, his achievements, everything. Kang had hidden his face because he knew the Emperor cherished it. He hadn’t gone to war, fearing he might die, and he hadn’t married, all because the Emperor wanted it. He had endured everything, afraid of displeasing him, of earning his hatred, of becoming a target for others.
Would he have to endure this pregnancy too?
Kang touched his belly with trembling hands. As he caressed it, a palace maid called out, “Your Highness.”
“What is it?”
Kang asked in a hoarse voice. The maid replied softly, “The Empress Dowager requests your presence.”
“Where?”
Kang sat up, his body drenched in sweat. The maid promptly named the location—a pavilion near the flower garden. Kang sighed, took a quick bath, and dressed in plain clothes with a purple robe draped over them. He headed to meet her, though the crowd of people trailing him like a school of fish made him sigh inwardly.
Walking alone in the midst of spring’s warmth, Kang felt as if he were trapped in winter. He stopped abruptly, clutching his belly in pain. As he groaned, a eunuch rushed over in a panic. Kang gritted his teeth, his face pale, and endured.
“It’s nothing. Let’s go.”
Having grown accustomed to enduring, Kang walked towards the pavilion with a feeling of despair, as if walking on the tip of a needle. The garden bathed in sunlight was breathtakingly beautiful, and for a moment, Kang's gaze lingered there. Then, moving slowly, Kang ascended the steps. Just as Kang was about to bow upon meeting the Empress Dowager, she raised her hand to stop the gesture with an indifferent expression.
Unless it concerned the Emperor or King Jihong, she was brutally cold, and Kang let out a bitter smile at this realization. Even though Kang’s pain was evident, the Empress Dowager never uttered the common words, "Are you alright?" Instead, she sat upright, intently staring at Kang. Despite having seen her face countless times, facing the Empress Dowager—who was also her grandmother—made Kang uncomfortable. He wanted to look away but refrained, knowing it would be impolite. Instead, he tried to meet her gaze with composure.
The Empress Dowager's gaze swept over Kang, from his head to his hands. Then, noticing the faint traces left by her son on Kang’s neck and collarbone that had not been completely covered, she let out a small cough. Her grandson, unaware of this, sat there barely holding himself up, his face sickly pale, eyes reddened, lips swollen, and black eyes unfocused. Had her grandson always had such a delicate and sorrowful expression? The Empress Dowager briefly narrowed her eyes, lost in thought, before shaking her head.
After witnessing the Emperor and Kang’s passionate wedding night, the scene seemed to have imprinted itself in her mind, leaving even her feeling unsettled.
“Come here.”
The Empress Dowager shifted her gaze from her grandson and called out to the court lady waiting outside. An elderly court lady approached, holding something in her hands—it was medicine. The Empress Dowager personally stood up, opened the case, and carefully showed Kang the medicine inside as she spoke in a gentle but firm tone.
“You are carrying His Majesty’s seed, so you must take good care of your body and give birth to an excellent prince or princess. That is your duty. Take this three times a day before meals. I have informed His Majesty as well, so do not forget to take it.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Kang wanted nothing more than to escape this place, but he endured it—this woman was both his grandmother and the Emperor’s mother. Yet, perhaps there was a limit to how much one could endure; the constricting pain in his chest intensified, and a sharp ache radiated from his lower abdomen, rising to his throat. Unable to withstand the pain, Kang bent over and grabbed the table for support. The Empress Dowager frowned at him in clear disapproval.
“If you are in such pain, you should remain in your chambers. If His Majesty gets angry with me instead, will you take responsibility for that?”
The way the Empress Dowager now truly treated him as a daughter-in-law rather than a grandson left Kang feeling as if a bruise had formed deep in his chest. No one understood his circumstances, nor did anyone offer him comfort—no one, except for his mother.
Kang slowly lifted his head, looking at the Empress Dowager with dry, chapped lips.
“Is that all Your Majesty expects of me? To dedicate my body for His Majesty’s sake?”
“Then what else could you possibly do as a consort? The duty of a consort is only one—to serve His Majesty with the utmost devotion. His Majesty cherishes you dearly and loves you, so—”
The Empress Dowager hesitated before furrowing her brow and blurting out,
“Surely, after a whole month since the wedding, you don’t still think of His Majesty as your father, do you? From what I recall, you seemed to enjoy yourself quite a bit that night. Am I wrong?”
It felt as if several nails had been hammered into Kang’s heart. Unable to breathe, he stared blankly at the Empress Dowager, slowly blinking before muttering weakly,
“I am trying.”
“Trying is not enough. You must follow through. If you are unwell, His Majesty will be distracted and unable to focus on governing the nation. If, as a result, he is forsaken by the heavens, what then? This country is governed by heaven’s will—His Majesty’s mental and physical well-being is of absolute importance. No matter how difficult it is for you, you must never disturb His Majesty’s peace.”
Her words were exactly what Kang had always been taught. It was the founding principle of this nation and the way the country had remained peaceful until now. These were words engraved in his mind from birth—so why did hearing them from the Empress Dowager hurt so much?
Noticing the change in Kang’s expression, the Empress Dowager sighed, realizing her mistake. She had spoken to Kang as she would to any other consort, but Kang did not take it well and now looked deeply despondent. The Empress Dowager reached out for the first time, gently grasping Kang’s thin hand. The once-strong hands of a skilled archer had grown frail. Seeing Kang up close like this, she felt a twinge of pity.
“Hee-bi, I know this is difficult for you. Marriage itself is a heavy burden.”
The Empress Dowager recalled her own long-forgotten wedding and let out a self-deprecating laugh.
“It is humiliating, and it feels as if your body no longer belongs to you. As if you exist only for His Majesty. It must be even harder for you, since you were once His Majesty’s son. But you must endure. Wasting away here in misery will do no one any good.”
“…Your Majesty, you saw with your own eyes how His Majesty embraced me not as his son, but as a consort. Do you truly accept it?”
Kang finally asked in a dry voice. The Empress Dowager met his wavering eyes head-on before responding.
“And if I do not accept it? Will you return to the heavens?”
Kang could not utter a single word in response to her direct question. The Empress Dowager was an exceedingly pragmatic woman. She, too, had been forced into an unwanted marriage with the late emperor.
She firmly grasped Kang’s hand, meeting his eyes with a smile. It was the composed and seasoned smile of someone who had endured decades within Cheonggeum palace.
"This is a position others are desperate to obtain. Enjoy it. Isn’t that simple? You seemed to enjoy it very much that day. Just continue as you are. Abandon the thought of him as your father and consider him solely as your one and only husband. Wouldn’t that make everything easier? Wealth, power, honor—His Majesty will grant you all of it as gifts. Why make it so complicated? I know you love your father dearly. All you need to do is change that love just a little, just a tiny bit. It’s simple."
Really? No, it wasn’t. If it were that simple, he wouldn’t be in such agony. Kang wanted to close his eyes, unable to share his suffering with anyone. He was exhausted, both in body and soul.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"You must be comfortable for the child to grow well. That way, His Majesty will be happy too. Then, we can all live harmoniously in this golden palace."
Comfort... Kang dwelled on that word, the one that stood out most from her speech, and nodded. When speaking with elders, it was best to listen just enough and end the conversation swiftly. If he resisted, the discussion would only drag on, forcing him into an unnecessary battle of wills. Disliking such confrontations by nature, Kang simply nodded in agreement. He also wanted to leave quickly—his stomach hurt.
Satisfied with Kang’s obedient response, the Empress Dowager stroked the back of his hand.
"Yes. Just do as you did then. Like on your wedding day."
At her emphasis on the wedding, Kang’s face turned pale. He wanted to forget that day, yet she spoke of how beautiful he had been, showering him with excessive praise. As Kang’s complexion grew increasingly ashen, the Empress Dowager rose to her feet, telling him to rest.
"Always take your medicine. You must give birth to a healthy child."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Please, just leave quickly. Kang pleaded internally. Fortunately, the Empress Dowager, perceptive as ever, withdrew with her servants. Finally alone, Kang collapsed onto the table, groaning.
"Your Highness, shall I summon the royal physician?"
One of the court ladies, who had been watching him closely, asked cautiously. Kang shook his head. Resting his forehead against his arm, he whispered in a small voice.
"I'm sorry, but... I’d like to be alone. Just for a little while."
"As you wish, Your Highness."
Once the court ladies, eunuchs, and guards had all withdrawn, Kang placed his hand over his stomach. Inside him grew his father’s child. Everyone awaited the birth of this child with joy—everyone except him. More than anything, staying in this palace with him, Kang feared he would lose his sanity. His chest ached so much it felt like it would burst, like he might die. Clenching his fists, lost in agony, Kang absentmindedly traced the table with his fingers.
It would be easier if he could accept the emperor’s love purely. But why did doubt always cling to the edges of his mind?
He wanted to know. Was this truly something the emperor had pleaded to the heavens for? Or had he orchestrated it himself, not to make Kang the crown prince, but his consort instead? If it was the former, Kang would try to accept it. But if it was the latter—if all of this was born from the emperor’s greed…
The relentless doubt gnawed at his mind, consuming him. It was this doubt that tormented him. And every time he lay with the emperor, the word "father" clung to the edge of his consciousness, driving him further to the brink. The more he desired him, the deeper the chasm of contradiction became. It felt too good, yet it was unbearable because he was his father.
Particularly after sharing the emperor’s bed, when the man left for his duties, Kang would be left alone in the chamber, sinking into despair. The emperor remained the same, always. Yet Kang had changed, now orbiting at the periphery, unable to find his place.
"Manbaeksan3…"
Groaning as pain twisted in his abdomen, Kang thought of the temple atop the highest mountain. Manbaeksan. It was said that those who sought the heaven’s will there would hear nothing but the truth.
As if trying to tether him in place, the pain in his stomach intensified. He could no longer hold on to his consciousness.
"Abamama…"
Unconsciously, Kang called out to the emperor—the man who had made him this way. He wanted to ask if he was truly happy.
But the answer was already clear.
‘He is happy.’
The emperor would smile. Because he was happy.
Abamama is happy, so why am I so miserable?
I do not want this child that Abamama so desperately desires.
All I ever wanted was to be my father’s proud son.
And yet, as he realized he had never been anything more or less than the emperor’s cherished son from the moment of his birth, all his efforts suddenly felt meaningless.
A hollow emptiness consumed him.
3 - Manbaeksan (Literal meaning is Thousands Hundreds Mountain. But this is a sacred mountain where priests reside to hear the heaven’s will. Also known as the Mountain of Truth.)