Han Ji stared at the grand feast spread before him. The dishes were arranged with perfection—roasted duck glazed in honey, bowls of steaming rice, delicately carved fruits, fragrant soups that would make any man's mouth water. Yet none of it stirred the slightest appetite in him.
For two days, he had not stepped outside his chambers. Two days of locking himself away from court, from ministers, from the endless duties that piled like mountains at his door. Each time they called for him, he dismissed them. Each report, each petition, each urgent matter—he postponed, delayed, ignored.
"Your Majesty, please… you must eat something," one of the servants urged softly, kneeling at his side.
When he did not respond, she tried again, more timidly. "Your health—"
"Can't you shut up?" Han Ji's voice was hoarse, rough like sandpaper. His pale face twisted into a sneer as his hollow eyes met hers. The words slashed sharper than a whip.
Every servant in the room froze in terror.
"All of you—get out."
The command was sharp, final. They obeyed instantly, bowing and scurrying away as if they had been waiting for this moment. The heavy doors closed behind them. Han Ji's gaze lingered on their fleeing backs, disdain burning in his chest.
His eyes returned to the untouched dishes, and with a frustrated kick, he shoved the table aside. Plates clattered, wine spilled, meat juices stained the floor. He rose to his feet, his robe dragging heavily behind him, his mind sinking deeper into a storm he could not escape.
---
"You don't want to eat… again?"
The voice came from behind him. Eunuch Song stepped into the room just as the last of the servants hurried out. His eyes swept over the untouched food and the mess on the floor. He sighed softly—this was not the first time.
Han Ji's eyes darkened, a wave of disgust sweeping across his face. "Did I not say everyone should leave?!"
But Song was not shaken. His calmness was a shield honed by years at court. He moved forward, covering the dishes with steady hands. "The young miss sent her servant again. She says if her messenger is turned away once more, she will come herself."
Han Ji said nothing. He turned away, his frame stiff, his hands clasped behind his back as he stood at the tall windows. Beyond the glass, the courtyard shone under sunlight, and in its center lay the divine pool built by the hands of gods—or so the legends claimed. But not even such beauty soothed the turmoil in his chest.
Song cleared the table, calling softly to have the food taken away. When the doors closed once again, he lingered, his gaze falling on the king's rigid back.
"Your Majesty…" he began.
But Han Ji's voice cut across him. "Do you think I should let it go?"
The eunuch paused, confused. That question—so sudden, so vague. It required only a yes or no, if only one knew the truth behind it. But Song did not. His silence betrayed his uncertainty.
Han Ji turned his head slightly, his eyes sharp but his expression unreadable. Song dismissed the servants carrying the food and drew closer. "Majesty… may I know what it is you are truly asking me?"
Han Ji's eyes lowered, his lashes trembling. He blinked once, twice, and before he could stop it, a single tear slid down his cheek, landing on his fingers. His hand curled into a fist as though to hide the weakness. He turned his face away quickly, ashamed.
But Song understood. He had always understood, even when the king himself refused to admit the truth aloud.
"You may think obtaining what you want will bring happiness," Song said gently, his voice low and steady, "but perhaps it will only chain you to endless struggle. Some things, when held, bring nothing but instability. You can fight for what you desire, Han Ji. But if your heart cannot find peace with it, then it is wiser to let it go."
Han Ji's head snapped toward him, eyes flashing with fury at the quiet wisdom.
"You cannot have him and be happy, Your Majesty."
The words were spoken softly, but they struck like a blade. For a brief moment, silence drowned the chamber. Then the air grew heavy with tension.
Han Ji's jaw clenched. His teeth ground together. He was the Emperor! The ruler of this land! Wasn't that enough to claim whatever—whoever—he desired?
"Why?" His voice broke the silence like a whip, sharp and demanding. "Why can I not?"
Song looked at him firmly. "Because he does not want you. Does he wish to be with you, Your Majesty?"
The question cut deep, cutting past the anger and reaching the wound Han Ji never wished to acknowledge. He fell into silence, his lips parting but no words escaping.
Song's gaze softened, but his words did not. "Will you force yourself upon him?"
Han Ji's eyes flared, as though struck across the face. The sting of truth filled the room.
"You killed his mother," Song continued, the reminder heavy, unshakable.
Han Ji's hands trembled, his voice rising with raw anger. "That is not fair! My mother was killed too! Do you know the pain I carry? The horror of what she endured before her death? Am I not allowed revenge?"
Song lowered his gaze. He had no defense, no words that could undo the past.
Han Ji's voice cracked, frustration boiling over. "Was I supposed to show mercy? To forgive them after what they did to her? After what they made her suffer?"
Song exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "The first to fall…..was also hurt, when the late queen died."
Han Ji's chest rose and fell in fury. "So you think I was wrong? That I should have spared them simply because one claimed regret for my mother's death?"
Song raised his eyes, measuring each word carefully. "You told me once to speak to you as if you were not king."
Han Ji's lips curled into a bitter smile. "That ended the moment you reminded me I am Emperor."
The shift in tone was sharp. The boy he once was—the Han Ji who could confide his pain—was gone. Before Song now stood the Emperor, dangerous and furious.
"Han Ji—"
"Get out," the Emperor commanded coldly, his voice trembling with anger and betrayal.
Song opened his mouth as if to speak, but the burning look in Han Ji's eyes silenced him. With a deep bow, he turned and left the chamber.
Han Ji stood there, chest heaving, his mind spinning. He had asked one thing, yet the old man had dragged out ghosts of the past. He didn't want to hear of mothers and deaths. He wanted an answer—an answer that justified the madness in his heart.
But none came.
---
Elsewhere, Yunxi sat in a quiet room.
"Teacher, someone has come to see you. He says he is an old friend. Should I let him in?"
The doctor glanced at the boy speaking, hesitation in his eyes.
That had been one day ago, when Yunxi visited the physician who once treated him. Not exactly a friend, not truly a confidant—but when Yunxi thought of someone who could possibly pull him out of his growing mess, this doctor came to mind.
Years ago, as a boy, Yunxi had sought him in secret. He had been young, barely a man, confused by the changes in his body, by desires he could not understand. He had thought something was wrong with him—broken. Too ashamed to tell his parents, he came to the doctor for answers.
The doctor had tried to comfort him, but Yunxi had not believed the reassurances. That night, rain threatened to fall, and he lingered at the clinic, frightened and stubborn.
It was then that another boy appeared. A little older, his face sharp with mischief. He tossed something lightly at Yunxi's chest and beckoned. "Come inside through the back door, before you get drenched."
Hesitant but desperate, Yunxi followed.
The boy led him into a dimly lit room and asked what business he had with his father, the physician. At first Yunxi resisted, but the boy's steady gaze and easy grin weakened him. Eventually, Yunxi broke, hiding his face in the sheets as he whispered his secret.
The boy—Nim Si—laughed softly, trying and failing to hide his amusement.
"You promised you wouldn't make fun of me!" Yunxi complained, his cheeks burning.
"I'm sorry," Nim Si said, though his grin lingered. "It's just—you look too young. But if that truly happened, then you must be old enough." His tone was teasing, his words sharp with curiosity.
"I'm not convinced," Nim Si said at last, a sly smile tugging his lips. "Stay the night. Sleep here with me, and we'll see if what you claim is true."
Yunxi's eyes widened, but he nodded earnestly. To him, there was nothing inappropriate in two boys sharing a bed. He was young, naive, and desperate to be understood. Nim Si hesitated at first, but in the end, Yunxi's insistence wore him down.
And so, that night, two boys shared a bed, bound not by family or duty, but by the heavy secret Yunxi carried.