Chapter 4 – Wind
“Eek—!”
Startled, Duhan-pyeong grabbed Seol-yun by the shoulders and shook her. The movement caused the blood pooled in her mouth to scatter in all directions, splattering the walls and table with chaotic droplets. Seol-yun bit her lips hard against the metallic taste. The stream of blood sliding down her throat grew increasingly difficult to swallow.
“A-yun, what… what’s happening?”
Duhan-pyeong held her tightly from behind. His concerned tone and gentle touch made Seol-yun lightly tap the back of his hand with a feeble force. Since their marriage, he had been her steadfast protector. She didn’t want to worry him, so despite her labored breaths, she spoke softly.
“I’m fine. I’m just tired, that’s all.”
She forced herself to turn her head, noticing a faint smile tugging at the corners of Han-pyeong’s mouth as he buried his face in her hair.
She must have imagined it.
A strange déjà vu prickled the cautious corners of Seol-yun’s mind.
“I… I need to rest.”
The Sichuan Tang family was not renowned for martial prowess. Primarily focused on poisons, antidotes, and clandestine remedies, they lacked physical strength and combat expertise. Seol-yun assumed her coughing up blood was the result of accumulated fatigue.
“Will you take me to bed, Han-pyeong?”
Tomorrow, she would feel better. She planned to rest deeply and order medicinal herbs to restore her body. Lifting her right hand to the lacquered jujube wood table, she leaned on it—and suddenly her body tilted sideways, falling in a graceless sprawl.
“Ah—!”
Her knees hit the floor with a jarring thud. She hadn’t expected Han-pyeong to catch her, but when no concerned voice asked if she was hurt, suspicion flickered through her mind. She lifted her head to find him motionless, his forehead hidden by the sleeve of his white garment.
Hic… hic…
Seol-yun shook his shoulders gently, thinking he had been startled. She opened her mouth to reassure him, but each time his sleeve shifted, she caught sight of his torn lips. Hastily wiping the scarlet blood trickling down his mouth, she pushed herself upright.
“You…”
She asked cautiously, her voice trembling.
“Why… are you smiling?”
At her question, Duhan-pyeong slowly lowered his sleeve. His expression, solemn as if he had never smiled, left Seol-yun disoriented. Her mind spun like fireworks exploding in the sky. Blood rising from above soaked her chest in a sudden wave.
“Of course it’s funny, sister.”
A familiar voice reached her ears. Seol-yun remained seated, pressing her hands against the floor, turning her head toward the source of the voice. Between the flowing, crimson cloth embroidered with flowers, a silk shoe peeked out.
“How long I’ve waited for this moment…”
The moment Seol-ryeong came into view, Seol-yun’s vision swirled. She was the daughter of the Sichuan Tang family head, once his concubine and later a stepmother after the mother’s death—Seol-yun’s half-sister.
Seol-ryeong stepped forward, graceful and playful, walking like a fluttering butterfly. As she neared them, she smiled brightly, directing her words toward Duhan-pyeong.
“Isn’t that right, Pyeong-pyeong?”
Seol-yun’s eyes turned red at the familiar nickname. Even having devoted herself entirely to research on poisons and antidotes, she could not help but notice the situation. Her father lay gravely ill; her sister was sprawled on the marital bed; her husband showed no intention of correcting the nickname. Everything was in utter chaos.
“That dress… huff, haah, haah…”
Labored breaths escaped her. Seol-ryeong twirled in place, laughing, lightly patting out the wrinkles of the red garment. The dress, Seol-yun realized, was the wedding attire she had worn when marrying Han-pyeong. She couldn’t possibly have forgotten—the red mesh cloth draped over her head, Duhan-pyeong using a long stick to lift it from her face.
The right sleeve had burned slightly from a dropped candle, the same mark now mirrored on Seol-ryeong’s sleeve.
“How does it look? Suits me better, doesn’t it? You’re too plain for this red dress.”
Seol-ryeong circled Seol-yun mockingly, her light steps emphasizing the taunt. Seol-yun clenched her fists at the revelation: the esteemed scholar Duhan-pyeong had secretly been having an affair with her half-sister.
“Ugh… ugh…”
Her nails dug painfully into her palms, yet the ache in her left chest was sharper. Her bloodshot eyes fixed on Duhan-pyeong.
“This is the poison you dedicated your life to.”
He nodded as he continued.
“The odorless, tasteless poison. The one you devoted years to perfecting, sacrificing sleep to unveil on the day you became head of the Sichuan Tang family.”
All for consolidating power as the new family head.
When Seol-ryeong learned forbidden arts or played the geomungo, when she donned beautiful new clothes for flower viewing, when she delicately handled plum blossoms—Seol-yun’s hands, roughened by herbs and incense, had healed countless small cuts and scratches, blackened by constant labor. All of it, for the family’s future, for the happiness of loved ones.
“By your own poison, A-yun… you’re the one who will die.”
At Duhan-pyeong’s chilling words, Seol-yun’s eyes welled with tears.
“A-ah…”
Even now, he made no attempt to rush her or yell, watching her instinctively search for escape. With a whistle of contempt, he lifted the teapot, filled with poison, in his hand.
“You—master of all poisons—didn’t even notice this one? The one that burns from within, leaving thirst unbearable, drying the body to death? Effective, isn’t it? No one will detect it, not even during a post-mortem. Well done, A-yun.”
Her organs twisted, thirst clawing at her from within. Seol-yun pressed her nails deeper into her palms, refusing to show weakness before Duhan-pyeong and Seol-ryeong. Yet her body instinctively sought water; her cracked lips bled.
“W-water… water…”
Seol-ryeong pressed the silk shoes firmly onto Seol-yun’s outstretched hands, stomping them sideways. A rush of hot tea poured over her head. Duhan-pyeong, lifting the lid made of silk, poured lotus tea over her until the cup shattered. He shrugged casually.
“Where else will you find a husband as considerate as me? I even prepared tea for A-yun, fearing she might be thirsty.”
“Pyeong-pyeong is far too thoughtful. He’s watched over a stone-hearted sister for three years, without fail.”
They stood side by side before Seol-yun. In Seol-ryeong’s hand was a piece of fine red silk recently gifted by the Empress Dowager.
“The Sichuan Tang legacy will continue through our child. With the inheritance you left behind, sister.”
Duhan-pyeong gently stroked Seol-ryeong’s prominently rounded belly.
“See… I told you not to meddle, sister.”
“Seol-ryeong, you…”
“You’re a foreign object in our Sichuan Tang family,” she added, looking down at Seol-yun with a contemptuous sneer.
“Just a scrap.”
Exchanging glances, Duhan-pyeong and Seol-ryeong gripped the ends of the silk and advanced toward Seol-yun. Calmly, Duhan-pyeong gestured that such tasks were for men, motioning Seol-ryeong to step back with delight.
Seol-yun, on the brink of unconsciousness, bit the soft flesh of her mouth to remember their faces, their words. Even facing death, she contemplated a way to survive this ordeal.
“Celebrate our happiness, A-yun, and the birth of our child. When our child becomes head of the Sichuan Tang family, perhaps we’ll mention the achievements of their late aunt, Seol-yun, once or twice.”
A demon.
No, a ghost. A monster.
The husband who had spent three years beside her on the marital bed. Was he even human?
How could the same man be so cruel, petty, and narrow-minded?
“Huff… ugh… haaa…”
Hot tears streaked her face. Deceived by appearances, misled by feigned kindness—her path seemed utterly tragic. She could not resist the force of the silk pressing her body down. Duhan-pyeong twisted his face, veins red from pulling the silk, shouting ecstatically.
“Die, A-yun. Hisss, die—!”
