This was no accident—this was intentional. Jae-ha lifted his head, scanning the shelves again. Two entire rows had been crammed full of Hwanggwaju, yet the room was so vast that plenty of space remained below.
But considering Hwanggwaju could only be brewed ten bottles per century, the amount here was staggering. It was essentially a stockpile of several hundred years’ worth.
Wait… so was that why Tamlang Seonggun had been denied the Baeksa fruit? No—hold on. Then when Lord Yeomjeong mentioned the owner of the Hwanggwaju…
Jae-ha snapped his head toward the bed. At the same moment, Hae-hyun seemed to reach the same conclusion.
“They must have intended to give all the Hwanggwaju to the Cheonrok.”
…But why?
The more he learned, the stranger it became. Lord Yeomjeong hadn’t tried to harm Cheonrok—he had only put him to sleep. For decades, while no one knew his whereabouts, he had apparently been confined in this luxurious room, with crates of his favorite Hwanggwaju stacked at his side. Yet the Cheonrok, locked away in enforced slumber, couldn’t drink it, couldn’t even use the room.
Jae-ha stared at the sleeping Cheonrok and the jade doll tugging faintly at his lips. What even was that thing? It had appeared out of nowhere, as if by miracle, leading them straight here. Surely Cheonrok hadn’t foreseen everything, preparing for Jae-ha’s arrival at Myeongheoseong long in advance…?
Everything seemed to line up, and yet none of it made sense. Maddening.
“Let’s wake him first,” Hae-hyun said.
Only then did Jae-ha remember their goal. Right—get the Cheonrok, then head to Seo-cheon. Why bother guessing at Lord Yeomjeong’s motives? The more he thought about it, the less he even wanted to know. It only left a sour taste. Shaking off the ominous unease, Jae-ha asked:
“How do we wake him? You said we can’t get close.”
They couldn’t touch the Sleep Flowers, which meant they couldn’t shake or jostle Cheonrok directly. And simply calling his name didn’t seem likely to work… Jae-ha glanced around for a stick or something long enough to prod him, but Hae-hyun stepped forward first.
“Stand back.”
A golden light burst across Hae-hyun’s body, and a violent gust roared through the chamber, aimed squarely at the bed. Jae-ha squinted against the dust, brushing his hair out of his face.
The blossoms, hanging limply as though their necks had broken, couldn’t withstand the gale. Uprooted in droves, they tore from the soil, their blue, firefly-like petals scattering helplessly into the far wall before fluttering to the ground. What had once looked like a beautiful painting around the Cheonrok’s bed quickly became a gouged-out ruin of dirt and debris.
Hae-hyun cleared every last flower with surgical precision. His control over the wind was so sharp that not a single petal drifted near him or Jae-ha.
When the final blossom had fluttered away, the wind stilled. Jae-ha ran a hand through his wild hair. Hae-hyun’s was a complete bird’s nest, yet oddly it made him look cutely disheveled, as though styled on purpose. Jae-ha decided to leave it be.
Meanwhile, the jade doll that had been flung against the wall popped upright, stomping furiously as it marched back. During the sudden windstorm, it had tried to cling to the Cheonrok’s collar, but with its featherlight weight, it hadn’t stood a chance. Blown away like paper, it now stomped indignantly at Hae-hyun. He ignored it completely.
Bending down, Jae-ha gently shook the Cheonrok’s shoulder.
“Excuse me… please wake up.”
The Cheonrok, having taken the brunt of the wind, looked like he’d been assaulted—hair tangled, clothes rumpled. And yet, instead of pitiful, the sight carried a fragile, almost delicate beauty.
“Cheonrok-ssi? Cheonrok-nim?”
Whether from Jae-ha’s persistence or the fading of the Sleep Flowers’ effect, the Cheonrok’s brow twitched faintly. Soon his graceful eyelids lifted slowly, revealing hazy eyes.
“Mmm…”
His voice was languid, drowsy. Exhaling softly, he stared blankly at Jae-ha, then reached out. Cool fingertips brushed Jae-ha’s cheek.
“Who… are you?”
The low, unhurried voice was slurred with sleep. Distracted by it, Jae-ha failed to notice the Cheonrok’s other hand sliding around his waist.
“Ah, I’m Seo Jae-ha. You’re the Cheonrok, right?”
“Yeon-je.”
“…Sorry?”
“Don’t call me Cheonrok. Call me Yeon-je.”
Smiling faintly with his eyes, the Cheonrok tugged him closer. Off balance, Jae-ha toppled against him, blinking in bewilderment. …What was this atmosphere?
“So then, Jae-ha—why did you come to wake me?”
His voice, soft and suggestive, vibrated beneath him. Jae-ha braced himself with his arms, his shadow falling over the Cheonrok’s face.
The Cheonrok seemed utterly unbothered. Had he slept so long that something in his brain had dulled? The thought crossed Jae-ha’s mind only because his calm was so unnatural.
“Um… you don’t know? You’ve been asleep for decades.”
“Decades?”
The question carried no surprise at all.
“…Yes. Hallakung-nim asked me to find you. Sala Doryeong was injured, and nothing heals him. He said we need the Cheonrok’s power…”
Even as Jae-ha explained, the Cheonrok only tightened his hold around his waist, otherwise silent. The hand that had caressed his cheek slid down, gently tucking Jae-ha’s hair behind his ear. The slow, tender movement was almost ticklish.
And strangely, Jae-ha didn’t feel annoyed. Normally, he’d have shaken someone and demanded they take him seriously, but with the Cheonrok… he felt no urge at all. Maybe he was still groggy himself. That had to be it.
“Mm. And then?”
“And then…”
“Yeon-je!”
The thunderous shout shattered the moment.
A harsh voice rang out, steel clashing in the background. Jae-ha’s head whipped around. At the same time, the Cheonrok’s hands dropped firmly to his waist, securing him in place.
The figure who emerged looked vaguely familiar. Jae-ha quickly remembered who it was.
“Lord Yeomjeong.”
Hae-hyun immediately stepped protectively in front of him. Tilting his head gave Jae-ha a clear line of sight again.
“Who the hell are you?”
Lord Yeomjeong snarled, his breath rough as though he’d rushed.
“How did you get in here?”
“Oh? Yeomjeong?”
The Cheonrok raised himself slightly, speaking up. Lord Yeomjeong’s eyes shot straight to him—and flared dangerously when they fell on Jae-ha draped against his chest.
“Move!”
Bellowing, Lord Yeomjeong strode forward. In only a few long steps, he had crossed the chamber. Instinctively, Hae-hyun gathered power, golden light rippling across the back of his hand.
“Wait.”
It was the Cheonrok who cut through the charged air. Only then did Jae-ha realize he was still being held. Hastily, he pulled free. When had this even started? The Cheonrok let him go easily, though even the act of release felt lingering—his palm trailing slowly down to the fingertips, leaving warmth behind.
Rising fully from the bed, the Cheonrok swept his hair back. The wavy strands cascaded like golden embroidery over his flowing robes.
He was taller than Jae-ha had expected—just slightly shorter than Hae-hyun, who stood over 190 cm. His voluminous garments hid his build, but the breadth of his shoulders and the firmness of his chest made it easy to imagine. …Wait, why was he even noticing this? Frowning, Jae-ha shook off the thought. Something about the Cheonrok had felt wrong from the start.
“Yeon-je.”
The fury in Lord Yeomjeong, so fierce it had seemed ready to tear Jae-ha and Hae-hyun apart, melted away the instant the Cheonrok stepped closer. His voice softened quickly, his expression awkward in a way that almost looked… shy.
“Yeomjeong.”
Drawing out the word with lazy warmth, Cheonrok asked:
“How long was I asleep?”
Lord Yeomjeong pressed his lips together. His lowered lashes made him look like a child hiding a misdeed.
“…Not long.”
Liar. Jae-ha bit back the retort that almost slipped out.
