Camellia 75

Seolyeong returned to the chamber with a bowl full of thick snow. The moment he stepped inside, his brow furrowed. He’d left Si Pungjae behind to tend to the boy, but the man was just sitting there beside the bed, staring blankly at him.

Seolyeong clicked his tongue and scolded him.

“What are you spacing out for?”

Si Pungjae turned slowly, hands folded neatly in his lap. His face, so clean-cut and well-shaped, was now shadowed by visible distress.

As Seolyeong brushed aside the bed curtain and approached, the soft rustle of silk died away. Si Pungjae spoke with resolve.

“There is something… this lowly servant would like to ask, if I may.”

While the mad bride had been gone, Si Pungjae had carefully sorted through his thoughts. Especially after seeing Tang Yujae, unconscious, turn his head away from Si Pungjae’s touch, as if he rejected his touch. The sight had solidified his decision.

As much as he hated to admit it, his lord did not respond to his hand the same way he did to the bride’s. When Seolyeong stroked him, he stayed still and calm. But when Si Pungjae’s fingers brushed his forehead, Yujae always grimaced or furrowed his brow in irritation.

Could it be true? That the man he revered had truly begun to lean toward that mad bride? Si Pungjae could not accept such a shift. The Sahyeol Amje he knew was a being unsuited to love.

Seolyeong snatched the silk cloth from his hand and said,

“Ask all you want. I’m not the kind of petty man who can’t take a question.”

“……”

“Pungjae?”

But for all his confidence in broaching the subject, Si Pungjae couldn’t manage a word. His lips parted and closed, but no sound came out.

Seolyeong broke the silence with a bright whistle and dipped the silk into the snow. The cold was different from usual. Maybe it was because the snow had formed under the influence of the sect leader’s energy.

The cloth was biting cold, it slid softly over Yujae’s cheek. Seolyeong moved with care, adjusting the pressure so the child wouldn’t feel discomfort.

Then came a question completely out of the blue.

“…Do you love the sect leader?”

“What?”

Seolyeong’s hand stilled. After a moment, he muttered,

“…That’s the kind of question with only one safe answer, huh? If I say no, you’ll have my head hung at the palace gate.”

“Whatever we say today will go with me to the grave. Please, answer honestly.”

“……”

“You really… don’t love him? Not even a little?”

This wasn’t something he could brush off with a joke. Seolyeong’s face turned unreadable.

The two locked eyes, silent and sharp. It didn’t take long for Seolyeong to realize that the fanatic was hoping for a specific answer.

There was a situation that naturally crossed his mind.

“When the last Cheonma tried to take a wife… his followers tried to kill her.”

Excessive devotion breeds excessive jealousy.

The last Cheonma of the old Demonic Sect had received more affection than any before him, but also suffered the worst obsession. His followers, with hawk-like eyes, refused to let him fall in love. They knew too well how foolish a man could become once he did. The history was full of examples.

A king selling out his country for a beautiful woman, that wasn’t just a story for stage plays. It happened often enough for people to believe in it. Pungjae, too, seemed to harbor that same fear.

Seolyeong tilted his head playfully.

“Did you hit your head, Pungjae? Would you be able to grow old with someone who tore your danjeon to shreds? Even if someone held a knife to your throat and told you to love him, could you?”

He didn’t just ruin his danjeon. He beat him for fun and hurled insults like it was his favorite pastime. There wasn’t a single likable thing about the man.

To think such a man was his husband. Seolyeong let out a long sigh, wondering if he’d committed a grave sin in a past life.

“If he’s drinking himself into a stupor at the banquet, let him. Just go pour him another drink.”

“Please take responsibility for those words.”

The chair scraped back as Pungjae rose to his feet and placed a hand on Seolyeong’s shoulder. His pale, bloodless fingers caught Seolyeong’s eye. Then he said in a low voice.

“As warrior to warrior, I beg you to make a blood oath.”

If the sect leader ever decided to love the mad bride, Si Pungjae would have no choice but to accept it as a loyal follower.

So he would build a wall first.

To keep that mad bride from digging into the sect leader’s heart. To stop him from dragging a god down to earth.

“…A blood oath? You mean about pouring more drinks?”

Seolyeong replied flatly.

Si Pungjae didn’t answer. Instead, he reached into his robes and pulled out an elegant dagger. The handle, finely carved with wave patterns, was extended toward Seolyeong.

Knowing it was presumptuous, he still spoke.

“I ask that you swear never to love the sect leader. As you know, he is the one who mercilessly shattered your danjeon.”

Seolyeong, no primitive from the ancient age, gave him a look that said, “Are you serious?”

“Oh, Pungjae… You really are such a stiff old thing. My joints ache just listening to you. A blood oath? You seriously think I’d fall in love with that man someday? I’d have to be completely mad.”

“You’ll start wanting him sooner than you expect. Every woman who ever brushed against him confessed their feelings and was cast aside…”

His firm tone softened near the end. The Peng women were in Yeonhu right now, it felt like he was calling them out. But Si Pungjae was thinking of all the others who’d come before them.

Sahyeol Amje was a ruler who seduced not with affection, but with sheer, overwhelming power.

Because he had the greatest strength in the world, he could also afford to be the gentlest. The effortless kindness of a man standing above all others, tossing it carelessly to those beneath him, it was enough to stir the hearts of mere mortals.

If you ever tasted that cold gentleness, it would become an addiction. Especially for someone who craved power.

That desire could twist into devout faith. Or desperate love.

Si Pungjae was sure the mad bride would one day stand at that crossroads too. Lately, he’d been monopolizing the Supreme One’s favor. No doubt he’d get cocky and start wanting more.

But Seolyeong only shrugged.

“…Well, I suppose a man like the Sahyeol Amje might look like an immortal to women, but to men he’s just a monster. Unfortunately, I’m a man. So all I’ve ever met is the monster.”

“He… sometimes acts like an immortal to you as well.”

It was something only Si Pungjae, who watched them up close, could say.

Anyone could see Cheonsin was uncharacteristically kind to the mad bride. Any other man would’ve had his head cut off ten times over by now. But Seolyeong performed outrageous acts like they were nothing, and the Supreme One, strangely, let him.

He didn’t glare at him the way he used to. Didn’t treat him like a bother anymore.

Looking back now, Si Pungjae realized… there might even be the beginnings of affection in his eyes.

Seolyeong stared down at the dagger’s sheath, then slowly dipped his hand into the bowl of snow instead. A silent refusal. He murmured,

“That’s not it.”

His hand, now colder than it should’ve been, pressed to the boy’s forehead. The skin beneath the cloth had grown flushed, so he switched to using his hand instead.

He planned to rip up one of his silk garments and make more cloths. He added,

“He acts like a child around me.”

The boy stirred in his sleep, pressing his cheek softly into Seolyeong’s palm. Fortunately, the fever seemed to be going down.

The worst had passed. Seolyeong felt some relief. Maybe because of the childlike body, his insufferable husband didn’t look quite so detestable anymore.

Si Pungjae bit his lip. He could sense it. The bride’s ungraspable warmth would destroy Yurigung’s discipline.

A wind that would drag a god from the sky to the ground.

Starting today, Si Pungjae’s mission was to protect his lord from that wind.