Chapter 23: Bite Marks – 1
The Prince Kyung’s residence was the largest estate in the capital after the Imperial Palace.
Red-gold wooden pillars held up blue-glazed roof tiles—grand and imposing.
In its study, the sound of go stones clicking returned after a long time.
A young man in a crane-robe placed a white stone on a star point and spoke.
“Prince Chung took a step back. He admitted poor oversight and paid the tribute shortfall from his own purse. A pity.”
Heon only fingered the black stones in silence, eyes fixed sharply on the board’s 361 lines.
Time passed. His dark pupils seemed to be staring not at the board, but into the distance.
“Master?” the man called, puzzled.
After several calls, focus returned to Heon’s dry, winter-wind eyes.
Rubbing the deep line between his brows, he spoke flatly:
“Jega-lyeon, you think you’ve won? The game isn’t over.”
“Master, it’s been over for a while. I’ve taken this many.”
Jega-lyeon grinned, shaking the captured black stones.
Heon looked down, startled. He’d thought it was close, but the board was a sea of white.
“You seem unlike yourself. Are you unwell lately?”
“No. I’m fine.”
“Or… still not sleeping?”
“Thanks to your jasmine tea prescription, I sleep about two hours.”
“Hm. Not normal sleep, but better. Then—did something happen on your recent trip? Since returning from Jemyeong, your color’s been poor. Chief Ma said you might have been swindled. If you show me the item, I’ll appraise it.”
“Heh. Chief Ma’s tongue loosens with age. It was nothing.”
A faint twitch touched Heon’s lip.
That brazen woman—no, Dan—her voice rang clear in his ear:
“Stop pretending you’re a saint. You fetch miracle drugs for someone else like a house dog; I can see rock-bottom at a glance. It’s just a body—one time won’t kill you, will it?”
Insolent.
If he could go back, he’d break her wrist.
His hand-back itched madly. Seeing his gaze, Jega-lyeon took out a salve.
“I gave you ointment. You didn’t use it—now it’s scarred. If you apply it regularly, it’ll fade.”
“I’m fine. It’s slippery; it hinders my brush grip.”
“Uh… Master, the ointment goes on the back of your hand, not your palm. If it bothers you, I’ll wrap it with bandage.”
While Jega-lyeon fumbled for bandages, Dan’s voice thundered again:
“Sir, I know very well about men and women. You won’t regret tonight for the rest of your life.”
A woman bragging she knew “those matters” so well—she had to be crazy, not a grave-robber.
Yet the unadorned scent of her skin set his blood boiling—
like a ripe peach he wanted to bite into.
Dan had begged in a voice soaked with pain and pleasure:
“Ugh… stop, please stop, sir.”
And what had he done?
He’d pounced like a starved beast—biting, tearing, tasting.
Maybe the mad one that night was me.
He pushed the thoughts away and suddenly craved strong, bitter Dragon Well tea.
He spoke to Jega-lyeon, who hovered with the bandage:
“Forget the bandage. Shall we have tea?”
“Then… shall we go to the back garden? You’ve worked all day—you need air. As your physician, not just your strategist, I recommend a walk.”
“Fine. Let’s go to Houmyeong Pavilion.”
They left the study, passed Nakdo Hall, and headed to the artificial lake at Houmyeong.
Heon stopped, staring at something for a long time.
Jega-lyeon glanced over, then said carefully, “Ahem. There are young pages at the end of the corridor. Looks like some kind of game. Shall I check?”
“No. Let’s go.”
At the pavilion, Jega-lyeon measured tea leaves into a gaiwan. As he lifted the kettle, Heon—usually expressionless—spoke with displeasure:
“I saw them shunning a boy… calling him fatherless.”
“His name is Jang Yeong, age fifteen. No siblings. From Guoyang County, arrived in the capital three months ago. His father died at war before he was born; raised by his mother. Likely a servants’ initiation.”
“I see. Send that boy to Steward Baek to learn work.”
The steward was the highest rank among house servants—being placed there meant a future was set.
Jega-lyeon wanted to ask why, but Heon’s frosty gaze stopped him.
“Yes, I’ll relay it. Also—tonight the palace holds the Lantern Festival. Prince Chung’s faction may attack over today’s affair. Please be careful.”
“Heh. Don’t worry. Without a pack, they’re just jackals who can’t even bare their fangs.”
Jega-lyeon had sounded confident—but the scene Heon faced was absurd.
Night cloaked the palace.
In the Fengcheon Hall atop a three-tier marble terrace, cold air swirled.
Emperor Gye-won, on the dragon throne carved with nine dragons, asked with amused eyes:
“Prince Kyung. They say you coveted my concubine. Is it true?”
“No, Your Majesty.”
As Heon denied everything, Prince Chung spoke boldly before all officials.
“No, Father. Prince Kyung embraced Concubine Gi—I saw it with Prince Hyeon. Palace maids passed by; they can confirm.”
“I stake my honor that Prince Chung speaks truth,” added Prince Hyeon.
Maids prostrated themselves and chimed in:
“I saw it too. His Highness Prince Kyung had his arm around Lady Gi’s shoulder—indecent to witness.”
“Yes, it’s true.”
Crown Prince Mun’s face bloomed with joy, though he kept a solemn mask and scolded:
“Prince Kyung! How dare you commit such treason and still hold your head high? Kneel and confess!”
“Shame on you, Prince Kyung. Kneel and admit your crime!”
As the court pressed him, the Emperor asked slyly:
“Heh. Prince Kyung—did you desire Concubine Gi so much?”
“Absolutely not, Your Majesty. How could I covet your woman?”
“It’s natural for a man to be moved by beauty. Considering your service, gifting you a flower from the palace would not be so difficult.”
All eyes shot to Heon in shock.
Heon, silent until now, knelt respectfully.
“I only offer my sincere congratulations.”
“Congratulations? What do you mean?”
Just then a eunuch rushed in and whispered in the Emperor’s ear.
The Emperor leapt up and roared with laughter:
“Ha-ha-ha! Concubine Gi is pregnant with a dragon seed! Excellent news!”
“Con—congratulations, Your Majesty! Ten thousand years!”
Officials and princes dropped to their knees in chorus.
At their lightning-fast about-face, Heon only gave a soft, mocking smile.
Whoosh. “Aagh!”
Later, colorful lanterns filled the palace with beauty—but at Yangsim Hall, a harsh frost fell.
“Next.”
“Aaah! S-spare me!”
Whips cracked across attendants’ backs.
The princes’ closest servants begged for mercy, but were beaten half to death.
The princes themselves lay prostrate, trembling.
“As princes of the Great Yuan, you grow jealous of my favor for Prince Kyung? I’m ashamed to call you my sons.”
Emperor Gye-won swept his gaze over the twenty princes bowing before him, frowning—unable to hide a lifted lip.
Seeing their graying hair and wrinkled faces, he felt it again: his sons looked older than he did.
At sixty, he was still vigorous enough to beget life—thanks in part to Prince Kyung, who licked his boots (metaphorically) and delivered results.
But even Prince Kyung’s eunuch took lashes.
“Enough. Prince Kyung, do you know your fault?”
“I am dull—please enlighten me, Your Majesty.”
“ Tsk. You let fools handle your rear guard. Can I still call you mine? And you”—he glared at the court—“knowing he is my right hand, you tried to drive him out?”
Crown Prince Mun rose under the stern questioning.
“Father, we never meant to frame him. But there is a problem with Prince Kyung. Nearing thirty and still unmarried—every palace lady and noblewoman watches him. We are all men with strong blood.”
“So?”
“Jealousy and competitiveness have stirred, knowingly or not. From this incident, Prince Kyung seems shaken. I request you bestow him a marriage.”
