Chapter 6

​”Young Master Yoo-ha.”

​An elderly maidservant hurried out to greet him the moment he arrived.

​”How is Grandmother?”

​”She woke only a short while ago, sir.”

​Yoo-ha nodded and entered the room. The elderly woman, who had been staring wistfully out the window, turned her head. Her benevolent face broke into a bright smile the moment she saw him.

​”My Yoo-ha is here.”

​”The wind is cold, Grandmother. Why are you sitting so close to the draft?”

​”Cold? This much is fine, child.”

​The old woman smiled gently and beckoned him closer. Yoo-ha moved to her side, his eyes falling on the tea tray on the table.

​”This tea has gone cold. Could you bring a fresh pot?”

​The maidservant, whose hair had turned gray from a lifetime of service to the old lady, gave a quiet nod and slipped out of the room.

​”So, did your father finally send you a servant?”

​”Yes, of course. He provided a strong man who can look after Nanny and handle the heavy chores easily.”

​”Good good… that is a relief. See? What did I tell you? Even if your father treats you gruffly sometimes, he cherishes you in his heart.”

​Yoo-ha looked into the old woman’s crinkled, kind eyes and nodded, feigning agreement. She was the only person in this sprawling mansion who truly loved him. Yoo-ha was the first grandson born to her first daughter-in-law; it was she who had brought his mother—the daughter of a prestigious Maru lineage—into the Seong household.

​Even when his mother’s family was falsely accused and purged from the Maru registry, and even when Yoo-ha himself was confirmed to be a mere human rather than a Maru, she alone had stood as a shield for them. She continued to protect him even now, long after his mother’s passing.

​”How is the chest pain? I heard they changed your prescription. Is it helping?”

​”It seems to be working this time. My breathing has grown easier since I switched medications.”

​”That is good news.”

​Since her collapse two years ago, Yoo-ha’s grandmother had grown frailer by the day. They had summoned every renowned physician to examine her, yet none could explain why she would suddenly stop breathing and lose consciousness without warning. Finally, around this time last year, they had managed—with great difficulty—to secure the services of a royal physician who was retiring to his hometown.

​[You should prepare yourself.]

​The diagnosis was a naturally weak heart. The doctor explained that she had only survived this long because she had been fortunate enough to avoid physical labor throughout her life. However, as age withered her frame, her already fragile organs were failing rapidly. It was an ailment, he said, that not even the Heavenly Emperor could cure. He left them with a grim prognosis: she had a year left, at most.

​It was heartbreaking, yet Yoo-ha accepted it. She had lived her full natural lifespan; death was the inevitable end.

​Ever since he was deemed “not a Maru,” Yoo-ha’s position within the family had been precarious—a situation that only worsened after his mother’s death. The only reason he had endured this house, a place of sickening memories and bitter resentment, was the woman smiling at him now.

​He wanted to stay until the very end.

​He wanted to be the one to witness her final moments.

​He wanted to personally ensure that she finished the remainder of her life in peace before he finally turned his back on this place forever.

​”Grandmother, I will bring you some Hongru rice cakes soon.”

​”Mir Kingdom Hongru rice cakes?”

​”Yes. I know you’re fond of them.”

​”How did you manage to procure something so precious?”

​”I was lucky. It isn’t much, but it should be enough for you to enjoy a few times.”

​”My Yoo-ha goes to so much trouble. Thank you, child. If you find yourself short on coin, I will help you.”

​”No, it’s quite all right. I’ve already settled the payment.”

​Hongru rice cakes were made from the stamens of the Honghwa tree, a species that grows exclusively in the Mir Kingdom. These cakes, derived from Mir’s national flower, are a delicacy highly coveted in Ansi as well. Since the people of Ansi originally migrated from Mir, much of their culinary culture remains rooted in Mir cuisine.

​Strangely, however, the Honghwa tree refuses to grow anywhere else. Even when cultivated with extreme care abroad, it never blossoms. Consequently, genuine Hongru rice cakes can only be sourced from Mir. Over time, they have become a symbol of status in Ansi—a luxury consumed by the elite to flaunt their wealth.

​After reassuring his grandmother and sharing a few cups of warm tea, Yoo-ha eventually took his leave and returned to his own quarters.

​Yoo-ha’s residence was located far from the dwellings of the other Seong descendants. It was an annex originally built as a summer retreat to escape the heat, but it had become a place of exile for him and his mother once Yoo-ha was confirmed to be an ordinary human. Though it sat within the Seong estate, it was tucked away in the deepest shade; except for the height of midsummer, the building was perpetually cold.

​”Where is Hwi?” Yoo-ha asked Yong-rae, who was busy hanging laundry near the wall.

​Yong-rae shook out a wet cloth with a sharp snap before answering. “He’s likely serving Nanny her meal.”

​At this, Yoo-ha turned toward the servants’ quarters where the nanny was resting.

​He counted himself lucky to have brought Hwi here, yet the more he observed him, the more certain he became that Hwi was not a man accustomed to serving others. It unsettled him to think of such a man waiting on his frail, ailing nanny.

​As Yoo-ha rounded the corner past the kitchen, Hwi came into view. He was sitting cross-legged on the small wooden veranda, his gaze fixed distantly on the sky. Despite supposedly being tasked with the nanny’s meal, he was lounging on the old porch with an air of complete leisure.

​Yoo-ha had always known his annex was aged and shabby, but he’d at least considered it sturdy. However, seeing Hwi’s massive, towering frame perched upon that narrow, dilapidated space, a fleeting worry crossed his mind: the floor might actually collapse under the man’s weight.

​But more than that, the sight of Hwi sitting there, gazing leisurely at the sky, was pleasing to the eye—so much so that Yoo-ha found himself wanting to simply stand and watch. He lingered for a moment, watching Hwi, before finally breaking the silence.

​”Hwi. Yong-rae mentioned you were serving Nanny her meal.”

​”I brought her the food.”

​”I meant… never mind. So, where is she now?”

​”Inside.”

​Yoo-ha studied his posture. These were not the movements of someone born and bred to serve. Hwi acted as if this place were his own home—no, he was as relaxed as a high-ranking guest merely stopping by for a visit. Had he not been draped in those frayed, lowly garments, anyone would have mistaken him for the scion of a great noble house.

​His speech carried the same weight. Even setting aside the lack of honorifics, his casual tongue didn’t stem from a lack of education; rather, it bore the natural, condescending cadence of someone used to looking down upon the world.

​Did his family fall into ruin? Is he perhaps a fugitive involved in something nefarious? Whatever the reason for wearing a servant’s clothes, it was clear he harbored secrets he could not speak of.

​Given their current roles, Yoo-ha knew he ought to say something about refining such behavior and speech. But as he looked at Hwi—eyes closed, expression at peace as he felt the wind—Yoo-ha found himself captivated.

​It might have been a strange thing to say of a man, but Hwi was beautiful. It was a strong, solid beauty—a charisma rooted in a composure so deep that nothing seemed capable of shaking it.

​After watching him in the quiet, Yoo-ha approached and reached out to adjust Hwi’s loosely tied collar. The man’s clothes were always half-undone, as if he lacked the basic knowledge of how to fasten the ribbons properly.

​”Hwi, there is always a chill in the air here. You must be careful.”

​”……”

​”It may seem like a trifle, but if the damp cold seeps into you all day, it will take a toll on your body.”

​Hwi remained silent. He didn’t offer an “I understand” or a “I’ll be careful.” He simply stared intently at Yoo-ha, his gaze filled with a budding fascination.

​”What is it?” Yoo-ha asked.

​”I was wondering if there truly is no reason.”

​”Reason for what?”

​”A motive.”

​”You always say things that are difficult to understand.”

​”And you, Master, always do things that are difficult to understand.”

​”Me?”

​When Yoo-ha tilted his head in confusion, Hwi watched him as if finding the reaction immensely amusing. It was Yoo-ha who looked away first, unable to withstand an intense gaze that seemed to peer directly into the depths of his mind.

​The tips of his ears burned hot. Why? An answer to his own question threatened to surface from somewhere deep within, but Yoo-ha shook his head, a faint smile fading from his lips.

​After firmly tying Hwi’s collar, Yoo-ha stepped out of the creaking porch and entered the nanny’s room.