Camellia 149

Seolyeong carefully explained the situation.

“His Qi is in reverse flow, it doesn’t appear to be a sign of Qi deviation. His complexion is nearly normal, but he remains unconscious and seems to be having his energy drained.”

“…Drained?”

Yuwon, who had been listening silently, repeated the word. Even after speaking, her lips continued to move slightly, showing how troubled she felt. Seolyeong fell quiet for a moment.

His eyes, now a warm shade of brown thanks to the illusion, rested on her. He had countless questions for the physician who had watched over Sahyeol Amje’s health before he entered the Yurigung. For example, had she known in advance that the man’s body was doomed to fall to an imugi?

But what if she truly knew nothing?

The Sahyeol Amje Seolyeong knew was not one to share his pain or expose his wounds. Would such a man have confided in this frail woman, whose frame was barely half his own, his only living blood relative who had survived the flames with him?

Once he had gathered his thoughts, Seolyeong began from what he had seen in the past.

“A human body cannot bear such intense yin energy. No matter how high his cultivation has risen, he cannot escape the limits of being human.”

He made an effort to stay composed rather than get swept up in emotion.

For a moment, the dark cabin where Yuwon had extinguished the candlelight grew bright again. Seolyeong had used his yang Qi to relight the short wick.

When trying to persuade someone, you had to meet their eyes and speak sincerely. In complete darkness, only distrust and suspicion became clear. The light flickered. Scenes from Sahyeol Amje’s past unfolded again in Seolyeong’s mind.

“To put it simply, the sect leader has become a living yeouiju. Have you heard of the Imugi legend? A serpent on the verge of ascension will soon borrow his body to rise to the heavens. The energy of the yeouiju is stored in the sect leader’s danjeon.”

Yuwon might not believe him. Even Seolyeong, who had formed a bond with a legendary sword, found it hard to think of it as anything more than an old folktale.

But to his surprise, her response was serious.

“You’re saying there’s a Yeouiju in Sahyeol Amje Amje’s danjeon?”

That cold, sharp beauty, like a finely forged blade, was something the siblings shared. There was no denying the striking beauty of her face, yet with that chill in her expression, she looked colder than anyone.

When Seolyeong nodded, Yuwon looked away and muttered.

“So that’s why… the snake scales…”

She let out a low sigh.

She had been the one to place needles into her younger brother’s body, holding on to the thread of his life. Of course she had noticed changes. The scales that kept growing across his skin would always return a few days after being removed, piercing through flesh again. It had left her puzzled more than once.

But no matter how hard she pressed, Yujae never gave a clear answer. Every time she asked about his condition, he would deflect with ridiculous jokes, or chase her away, repeating that he was a body already on the brink of death.

He had gotten his wish in the end. She had left Yeonhu Mountain, no longer involved in his life. That was what he wanted too, so it had been the right path for both of them. Of course, if she said she wouldn’t grieve the death of her only brother, she would only be lying to herself.

“You may return to your sect, Gyo-mo-nim. There is nothing more to say.”

But Yuwon could not bring herself to return to the snowy mountain her brother had created. Even knowing he was now hovering between life and death, she couldn’t act so easily. Shame was wedged deep in her chest.

Just as Yujae had once pointed out, her love had become sick and weary. Maybe… maybe she resented him not just for exposing the part of herself she didn’t want to admit, but for voicing it before she could.

Seeing her defensive response, Seolyeong quickly added,

“I would like you to come with me. With ordinary physicians, he…”

“If I cannot see the patient as a patient, my medicine is useless.”

Yuwon cut him off in a strained voice, turning her head slightly. She wanted to avoid that desperate gaze, and to hide the conflict written across her face.

“The time when I wanted to save that man has long passed. A physician who does not wish for a patient’s recovery cannot truly give their best. Find someone who can care for him without hatred or fear, Gyo-mo-nim. That’s all I can offer you.”

Seolyeong thought back to the nights Yuwon had nursed him. Her hands had felt warmer than any parent’s, though he had never known his own. Even in his fading consciousness, he had thought: if someone had hands like these, they might even bring the dead back to life.

There were those who found joy in killing, surely. But there were also those who found joy in saving others.

To Seolyeong, the physician before him looked like someone of the latter kind. That belief gave him the strength to continue.

“…Everyone fears him. Everyone hates him. Even you, his own sister, feel that way. So what can strangers feel? Of course, I know this entire tragedy was Sahyeol Amje’s own making.”

Before continuing the argument, he needed to state this clearly.

“He hurt you, again and again, and never once tried to soothe those wounds. You’ve spent far more time beside him than I have, so I can’t even begin to imagine how deeply you’ve suffered.”

Sahyeol Amje was a fickle, contradictory man. Sometimes he showed mercy, like a sky looking down upon the world. But then, without warning, he turned cold and cruel. Unless someone had lived with him day in and day out, they would never be able to describe the tangle of emotions he stirred: frustration, resentment, sorrow.

If he hadn’t known that Yuwon was Sahyeol Amje’s sister, Seolyeong would never have come here. He wouldn’t have clung to someone who clearly wanted nothing to do with him. He wouldn’t have ignored her request to leave and made one last plea.

“But, physician.”

There are different kinds of hatred. One begins without love. That hatred turns into something sharp and unbearable, capable of cutting ties entirely, as if the bond never existed.

“You miss him just as much as you hate him.”

The second kind of hatred is born from love.

Seolyeong’s voice grew even more desperate.

“You haven’t entirely buried your old feelings. That’s why you’re still brewing Yangcheonju, isn’t it? Because you never know when he might need it again… The truth is, if it isn’t you or me, there is no one left who can love him. We are the only ones who remember who he was when he was just Tang Yujae.”

His blood fiend senses had picked up the scent of Yangcheonju before he even reached the hut. She wouldn’t have kept brewing that wine unless she was still worried about her brother’s future.

“That means we may be the only ones who can bring him back.”

Yuwon, flustered by the onslaught of words, finally spoke.

“How do you know so much about him?”

Seolyeong held out his hand with quiet formality.

“If you come with me, I’ll tell you everything I’ve seen and heard. I won’t leave anything out.”

The past he carried in his heart wasn’t only Tang Yujae’s. The one who had survived the collapse of the estate wasn’t just the nobleman who cherished his sisters.

Unlike Tang Yujae, who had wanted his sister to live out her life without ever knowing the truth, Seolyeong believed she had the right to choose for herself.

What kind of life she lived should be up to her, not someone else. That way, if she ever had regrets, she would have only herself to blame. When others drew the path for you, you ended up blaming them instead.

In the still cabin, Yuwon bit her lip and reached out to take Seolyeong’s hand. The flame of the nearly spent candle flickered weakly. Before the night grew any darker, Seolyeong gently pulled her forward.

Now it was time for the two of them, and only them, to go save the man they knew.