Wei Wuyuan’s fingers brushed the end of Ha-hyeon’s clothing ties. The sound of silk rustling was startlingly clear.
This is insane, truly. Why is he doing this here.
More than the terror of being found out as a man in disguise, what was harder to bear was the cognitive dissonance. Ten years ago, it had been this very boy who had dug Ha-hyeon out of the snow with his small, fern-like hands — Ha-hyeon, who had been buried in a snowfield, barely clinging to life. Back then, he hadn’t yet even carried the grand name of Wei Wuyuan.
Young Wei Wuyuan had tended carefully to a guest of unclear standing — and a suspicious invalid at death’s door at that. Ha-hyeon had simply assumed the child was something like the precious youngest son of a powerful noble family. That was how it had been written in the original work, after all.
When reading it as a book, he had imagined only a pretty-looking boy — but meeting him in person, he had been a child so endearing that no words could do him justice. And so Ha-hyeon had made excuse after excuse to linger in that house. When it was lonely, he became a companion to talk with and read books aloud to; at night, they crossed old wooden practice swords and sweated together, honing their martial arts.
But that had been the root of all the trouble. Because the bond had sunk into his very bones, on that night when the world’s power shifted and the boy’s entire clan was slaughtered, Ha-hyeon had gone and saved the child anyway.
After that, Ha-hyeon had vaguely hoped — in some undefined way — that the boy was living out an ordinary, happy life somewhere. He truly had never dreamed, not even in sleep, that they would meet again like this.
“Your Majesty…. This humble consort is ashamed.”
Ha-hyeon grabbed the Emperor’s hand. He realized only a moment later what an act of disrespect that was. He and Wei Wuyuan were not alone in the room. Not only Wol, but the head eunuch, imperial guards, and palace servants who had accompanied the Emperor were all present.
“Tsk. Too bashful for her own good. The great undertaking of producing an heir seems a long way off. Very well. Everyone, withdraw.”
The moment those words fell, the eunuchs and palace maids who had filled the room drained away like a receding tide. It was an eerie departure — not a rustle of fabric, not a single footstep to be heard. Sa Ha-hyeon could well imagine that those who had withdrawn from the room would be standing outside like a folding screen around the building. And so Ha-hyeon felt exactly like a rat trapped in a jar. His eyes, with nowhere to go, trembled uncontrollably.
We’re screwed. Now what do I do.
Fortunately, Wei Wuyuan showed no sign of recognizing Sa Ha-hyeon. If he had recognized him, it would naturally have exposed everything — that the princess of Seoran was a fake, and a man besides — and all would have been lost. At the very least, the immediate crisis of losing his head was behind him.
“If you dislike me undressing you so much, undress yourself.”
“……”
Ha-hyeon’s mouth fell open. He had nearly been so startled that a string of profanity almost burst out of him. Was he supposed to strip bare and perform in front of a child he had raised with his own hands — however briefly? Should he just bite off his tongue and die? Shame and the crushing weight of reality crashed over him in waves.
Couldn’t an asteroid just fall already. They say that’s how the dinosaurs went extinct — couldn’t it wipe out this ridiculous world too? Ha-hyeon honestly wanted to just pass out.
“Why are you standing there in a daze. Did I not tell you to undress.”
Wei Wuyuan’s expression cooled to something icy. Whatever the past had been, the person before him was no longer that gentle, lamb-like boy. He was a cold-blooded man devoid of warmth or mercy, a tyrant who had trampled an entire continent, and the predator who held Ha-hyeon’s life in his hands. If his male body were discovered here, past bonds and sentiment be damned — his head would be taken on the spot. Ha-hyeon himself was one thing, but Wol weighed on his mind.
“…What could it possibly matter whether there is a red birthmark below this humble consort’s navel or not.”
Ha-hyeon bit his lip. He was straining his throat trying to produce a thin, high voice, and his Adam’s apple was aching for it. Come to think of it, his throat alone would give him away as a man. And then it suddenly came to him — the purpose for which the Emperor had come here.
Right, she told me to say I’d play the flesh flute for him…. Ha, is this really the right move.
To do such a thing to a child he had raised with his own hands. Ha-hyeon felt like biting off his tongue and dying, but to keep Wol and himself alive, this was no time to worry about pride or ethics. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced the words out.
“I could… serve you with my m-mouth….”
In that instant, a heavy silence fell over the room. Wei Wuyuan’s eyes narrowed. He tilted his head to one side, as though he had just heard something he hadn’t expected.
“With your mouth?”
“…Yes. Though this humble consort’s skill is lacking, if it is service with the mouth….”
“What on earth are you saying.”
The frustration was brief — then Ha-hyeon felt a sudden sense of kinship. Wuyuan didn’t know that word either. Wol-ah, look at this. Even His Majesty the Emperor doesn’t know such a term. He had no choice but to dance around it more obliquely.
“I mean the flesh flute. Though my skills are humble, I will serve you with my utmost.”
The moment those words left his mouth, Wei Wuyuan’s expression twisted in a peculiar way. It was a strange look — somewhere between irritated and utterly baffled.
“Did you just say… flute?”
“Yes.”
“Are you comparing my member to nothing more than a thin bamboo pipe full of holes?”
Wei Wuyuan’s brow furrowed with visible displeasure.
“……?!”
“In all my years, I have never heard such a diminishing term as ‘flute.'”
“N-no, Your Majesty. That is not what this humble consort meant.”
Sa Ha-hyeon’s mind raced. He needed to think of something grand, impressive, large, and thick enough to appease the Emperor’s wounded pride. But all that came to mind were things like a bazooka — words he could never say aloud. We’re done for.
“You truly have no filter. A flute, of all things. I suppose my member looked that insignificant to you?”
When did that little snot-nosed brat grow into an adult throwing a fit about the size of his thing? Ten years ago, he used to flee in embarrassment every time Ha-hyeon washed him. And now here he was, shamelessly making a scene about the size of his member. Ha-hyeon was blindsided by the dizzying gulf of time.
“Insignificant? Absolutely not.”
But Wei Wuyuan still seemed unsatisfied, grabbing Ha-hyeon’s chin roughly and shaking it.
“My asking to confirm the red birthmark below your navel was out of concern — wondering whether it might be a sign of some serious illness. And yet you say you’ll serve me with your mouth. Are women of Seoran naturally this wanton? Or are you particularly so. Answer me. Have you done it before?”
“…I have committed an offense worthy of death.”
Wei Wuyuan’s thumb ground against Ha-hyeon’s lips as if to crush them.
“I’ve heard Seoran is open-minded. I suppose you’ve been going around playing men’s members like a flute.”
It was a blatant insult. But Ha-hyeon was less stung by the humiliation and more unnerved by the sheer force of Wei Wuyuan’s presence so close to him.
“N-no, I have not!”
Am I out of my mind. Going around playing that kind of flute!
Sa Ha-hyeon shook his head vigorously, indignant. And it was no lie. In his past life, he had been too consumed with judo training; in this world, he had been too busy raising the very person in front of him. After that, he had been on the run, forced into abstinence by circumstance. His life had been, to a tearful degree, a pristine no-fly zone.
“Hm.”
“Please….”
Wei Wuyuan’s eyes narrowed. It was the look of someone testing whether a lie was being told. Then his large, rough hand came to cover the back of Ha-hyeon’s neck.
“Enough. Trembling like this.”
“I have committed an offense worthy of death.”
Please, I’d like to stop committing them. Those wretched offenses worthy of death.
Sa Ha-hyeon felt utterly wretched.
“I was too hasty today. I cannot share a first intimacy in such a shabby place. I shall put off hearing the flute for another time.”
Wei Wuyuan stepped back. Ha-hyeon barely managed to stop his legs from giving out beneath him. He straightened his disheveled clothes and composed himself. It was then that Wei Wuyuan, glancing around the room, frowned again.
“Why is this room so cold and pitiful. It’s practically a freezing pit. This is no place fit for a person to live.”
Ha-hyeon felt a surge rise up in him.
That’s because you haven’t given us anything! You shameless excuse for an Emperor.
The most remote detached palace in the entire imperial grounds. Who was it that had crammed him into this near-ruined, ghost-worthy wreck of a building and failed to provide so much as a single bundle of firewood or a proper blanket? But Ha-hyeon lowered his eyes demurely and answered.
“This humble consort is more than grateful simply to be near Your Majesty.”
“You have a way with words.”
“I mean it sincerely.”
Wei Wuyuan gave a short command toward the outside.
“Bring in a drinks table.”
A short while later, a rather lavish spread of wine and food was laid out on the worn old table. Wei Wuyuan dismissed all the eunuchs and poured himself a measure of strong liquor, downing it in one go. Crackle, crackle. Only the sound of burning charcoal in the brazier filled the silence. Sa Ha-hyeon sat across from him without so much as a breath, praying desperately that the Emperor would finish his drink and leave without incident.
“Jaein.”
Wei Wuyuan fingered his empty cup and spoke.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“The wine is going to my head. I find myself wanting to hear an old story.”
“When you say an old story…?”
“A story of your childhood.”
Yes, Your Majesty. I attended a Korean kindergarten and graduated from Korean elementary, middle, and high school. Life was too tight for me to go on to university….
That was absolutely not an answer he could give. And it wasn’t as though Ha-hyeon had any memories of being a princess of Seoran in the first place. In this moment, he could neither tell the truth of his own past — a story from the Republic of Korea — nor speak of the time he had spent with Wei Wuyuan after transmigrating.
On top of that, the Emperor had said he was coming back from a visit to Seoran. His mention of the red birthmark below the princess’s navel was surely because he had heard something about it. Was he suspicious after all? If a story came out that differed from the real princess’s true past, that too would be the end.
“My life was dull enough to induce a yawn, so I am ashamed to speak of it before you.”
“For someone who claims to have lived a dull life, the calluses on your knuckles do not look like they came from holding a brush or a needle.”
Wol-ah. I think we might be royally screwed.
Sa Ha-hyeon closed his eyes, expression stricken.
