YCHW Ch 19

“I’m usually quite healthy. It’s just that, being on my first journey, I must be nervous, and that’s why this happened.”

Even though he rarely caught a cold during seasonal changes, Yoonso couldn’t help but feel regret that his health was holding him back now. As he swallowed a sigh, a sound came from the doorway.

“Are you feeling better?”

An elderly man with a long white beard entered. Seeing the medicine box in his hand, he appeared to be a physician.

“The fever has gone down.”

“Let’s see…”

The physician approached without hesitation, checked Yoonso’s pulse, and nodded firmly.

“One more day of rest, and you’ll be fully recovered. Youth is indeed a blessing. Here, I brought the porridge you asked for.”

Another bowl, this one containing porridge, emerged from the medicine box. Hwi took it, blew on it to cool it slightly, and fed it to Yoonso. The physician chuckled heartily.

“What a sight. Such devoted care. No wonder, since your beloved looks quite young.”

“What? No, we’re not…!”

Yoonso, startled, tried to deny it but quickly covered his mouth, afraid he might spit out what he hadn’t swallowed, and looked at Hwi. But Hwi merely gave a short laugh and scooped up more porridge.

Not wanting to be mistaken for lovers, Yoonso leaned back to take the spoon himself, but Hwi wouldn’t let go. Despite Yoonso’s pleading look, Hwi either ignored it or genuinely didn’t understand, urging him to eat.

“I’ll leave the medicine here, so make sure to brew and take it. I’ll be off then.”

While the physician left with a boisterous laugh, Hwi focused entirely on feeding Yoonso the porridge, paying no mind to the comment. Yoonso wore a faint frown, glanced at Hwi, and reluctantly ate.

He knew from popular novels that there were quite a few men and women in the empire who loved those of the same sex. But he never expected to be misunderstood as being in such a relationship with Hwi. Was Hwi not bothered by it? It wasn’t just about gender—it was a misunderstanding involving a servant…

“Why… didn’t you deny it?”

“No need to bother with someone we’ll never see again.”

“But still… they assumed you’re involved in male love.”

Before he knew it, the bowl was empty. Hwi handed him a bowl of water, which Yoonso took and gulped down. The cool water soothed his parched throat, making him feel alive again.

As he let out a satisfied sigh, a Yeong-silk cloth came to his mouth. Hwi, who said he’d never done this before, was now tending to him so naturally. Was he starting to enjoy it? Yoonso quickly grabbed the cloth and wiped his own mouth.

“Is that a problem? In a country where even the emperor engages in male love.”

“What? No… that’s different! The partner is a Yeong-chunhwa, isn’t it?”

“Even without being a Yeong-chunhwa, there’s a long history of same-sex consorts.”

Since Yongrin were not bound by the gender of Yeong-chunhwa, it was natural for men to protect men or women to protect women. The emperor, too, took same-sex Yeong-chunhwa as consorts, leading to relatively liberal laws and culture, allowing same-sex consorts even for those who weren’t Yeong-chunhwa.

As the upper echelons set the tone, Yeong-nara had more men and women who loved their own sex compared to other nations. However, such relationships couldn’t produce heirs, and since male-female relationships were generally seen as natural, they were absolutely unwelcome in noble families.

In any case, Hwi seemed utterly unbothered by being misunderstood. Still, he’d probably end up marrying a woman…

“What, don’t like men?”

The abrupt question pulled Yoonso from his thoughts.

In truth, Yoonso had spent more time living as a Yeong-chunhwa than as a boy, had learned about intimacy with men from the scholars, and might even marry the emperor, so he felt no particular aversion. To him, whether his partner was a man or a woman was less important than whether he had to live like this forever.

If he could escape this country… would he meet someone and marry?

He didn’t know. Having never desired or imagined such a future, it felt vague and uncertain.

“I don’t know. More than whether they’re a man or a woman, the person themselves matters more.”

“What kind of person?”

“I don’t know that either. I… I was supposed to serve a lady, so when would I have had time to think about such things?”

Having never discussed this topic with anyone, Yoonso felt awkward and fidgeted with a hangnail on his dry fingertip, stealing a glance at Hwi.

“What about you, mister?”

“Well.”

Hwi answered indifferently, his gaze sweeping over Yoonso’s face. Feeling Hwi’s eyes trace his features, Yoonso, flustered, looked away, only for a cough to burst out.

After quickly finishing the remaining water, Hwi laid him back down. Yoonso sighed and turned to the dim window.

“Can we leave tomorrow?”

“If your body is fully recovered.”

For some reason, his chest felt like a glass brimming with water, trembling and rippling. How could he describe this feeling? Yoonso bit his lip, fidgeted with the blanket, and let out a faint chuckle.

“Being like this reminds me of when I was young.”

Turning his head, his eyes met Hwi’s. Though Hwi didn’t respond, his calm black eyes seemed to say he was listening.

“When I was very young. When my parents were still around.”

In truth, he wasn’t that young—he was twelve, and his parents were, as they are now, very much alive.

“There was a time I was very sick. Literally rolling around in pain.”

Women are born with a womb, but men are not, so for a boy who sprouts as a Yeong-chunhwa, a lanju (egg sac) forms in the body at a certain age to hold the dragon’s egg.

For some, the lanju forms as early as fourteen, but usually around sixteen. Yoonso experienced it much earlier, at twelve.

When something that wasn’t there before takes root, pushing aside what was, pain is inevitable, and for an immature body, that pain was indescribably immense.

“The physician’s medicine didn’t work well, and all I wanted was a warm word from my father, a gentle touch from my mother…”

Crying and wailing, his face became a mess of tears and snot. Realizing the medicine wasn’t helping, he gave up and begged Yeondeok to call his father, his mother.

Not because he wanted them to end the pain. He just wanted them to stay by his side, to make him feel that this pain was worth enduring.

But after a long, agonizing wait, his father came, left a single sentence, and departed.

‘The lanju forming so early must mean there’s hope. Your suffering will bring joy to our family, so endure it.’

Instead of continuing, Yoonso gave a weak smile and shook his head. As his eyelids closed and opened, he thought he saw a chill in Hwi’s dark eyes, and a laugh escaped.

No way.

But maybe.

This man was kind. Though he didn’t seem it on the surface, though his hands were cold, his heart was warm.

“I’m curious. Even you, mister, whom I’ve only known briefly, treat me like this, so why… why did they act that way?”

He was merely someone who had sprouted as a Yeong-chunhwa. He didn’t think he’d become a vastly different person afterward. Yeong-chunhwa or not, he was the youngest son of the So family, a normal boy who loved his parents and siblings.

So why did everyone’s attitude change afterward? Why. Why…

Now he understood. His parents were never that affectionate to begin with. They might pat his head or buy him expensive things when they felt like it, but they weren’t the kind to sit by a sick child’s bedside or read stories softly. His young heart had simply mistaken their small gestures of affection for something vast and grand, leaving him to fret alone.

Recalling the news that his father had sent people to find him, his head grew heavy. Hwi’s hand covered his slowly blinking eyelids.

“Yoon-ah.”

“…”

“Rest well.”

How strange. In his alias, Jang Deokyoon, only the “Yoon” was his real name, and Hwi called him by it. Of course, it was common to use the last syllable of a name as a nickname, especially for servants for convenience, so it wasn’t that remarkable.

Still, it felt nice. That he called him by his name.

On this journey, he wasn’t So Yoonso—he was Yoon.

Yoon.

As his eyelids fully closed, tears rolled down the curve of his face. The moment a teardrop touched Hwi’s fingertip, he curled his fingers inward, as if catching it, as if cradling it.