The physician pressed his palms together and exhaled a heavy sigh, his weary gaze settling upon Lady Enna. The faint glow of the oil lamp flickered across his lined face, casting shadows as though the burden of his words weighed upon him.
"Lady Enna…" he began, his tone grave, "Sir Juho's pulse tells of a long-ailing heart, and his breath reveals weakness in the lungs. The affliction is not a passing one—it has rooted deeply within him."
Enna's fingers tightened around the silk hem of her sleeve. Her chest tightened, yet she forced her breath to remain steady.
"But…" her voice wavered despite her effort, "if treatment is given with care… Will he recover? Will he not be spared?"
The physician's eyes dropped, and another sigh escaped him, heavier than the first. The silence between them deepened like a shadow stretching over the room.
"I shall prepare the most potent herbs and apply every method within my knowledge," he said at last, his voice low, hesitant. "But, Lady Enna… to speak truthfully, the malady clings to him with great strength. I dare not promise what Heaven itself has not granted."
A chill ran through Enna's body, and for a moment her breath caught. She leaned closer, her words trembling like the wick of a candle before it dies.
"Then… then this illness… it shall not take his life, will it not?"
The physician bowed his head. His voice quivered as though each word weighed a thousand stones.
"In the darkest of fates, Milady… Sir Juho may indeed be claimed by this disease."
Enna's brows knit together, disbelief storming across her pale face. Her lips parted, her voice barely a whisper.
"To die…?" she echoed, the words stumbling from her tongue. "No… no, that cannot be. He is but twenty-three springs of age—he has only just crossed into manhood."
The physician lowered his head, his words weighed with sorrow.
"Lady Enna… forgive me for speaking so directly, but you must be prepared. For Sir Juho's recovery, his duties at court must cease at once. His body cannot bear the weight of politics and labor. He must rest, wholly and without burden, if he is to endure."
Enna's breath trembled as she pressed her hands together in her lap. After a long pause, she nodded.
"…Very well. I shall see to it that all matters are withdrawn from him."
Her eyes wavered like ripples on a disturbed pond. "But tell me… his condition… should I speak plainly to him? Or should I say it is but a passing weakness? I cannot bear to bring him fear… to make his heart heavy with worry."
The physician released a long sigh, his shoulders drooping beneath the moonlight.
"Lady Enna, truth is a bitter medicine, yet it must be swallowed. It is better that he knows the depth of his illness. If you wish, I shall be the one to speak. It is my duty, after all."
Enna felt her chest tighten, as though invisible hands clutched her heart. Her gaze faltered, but at last, she inclined her head slowly.
"…Then… I beg of you, speak to him gently. Let not your words cut deeper than they must."
The physician folded his hands in a bow.
"Rest assured, Lady Enna. I shall be measured in both word and tone."
He turned back toward the house, his footsteps soft against the packed earth of the courtyard. Stopping before the wooden threshold, he removed his shoes, then slid open the door. A faint glow spilled out from the chamber where Sir Juho lay. The physician disappeared into the room, his presence quiet but solemn.
Enna remained in the courtyard, frozen beneath the night sky. The autumn wind stirred the garden lanterns, and their flames wavered as though mirroring the storm within her.
From the shadows, the household servants, who had withdrawn earlier to grant privacy, returned. Their footsteps hesitated as they caught sight of Enna's pale, stricken face.
One young maid, clutching her hands to her chest, approached timidly. Her voice was soft, almost trembling.
"Lady Enna… are you well?"
Enna turned her head slowly, her lips parting but no sound escaping at first. Her eyes glistened under the flickering lamplight, betraying the storm she tried so hard to subdue.
The servant's eyes searched Enna's face, as if reading storm-signs upon a calm sea.
"Lady Enna…?"
Enna blinked as though waking.
"Ah… yes." She steadied her breath, smoothing the crumple in her sleeve. "I am well enough. Go—fetch what is needed for the recovery broth. The chicken must be young and clean. Ginseng, if the apothecary will permit it, dates for sweetness, a fist of garlic, and a scoop of glutinous rice."
The servant dipped in a quick bow. "At once, my lady!"
She gathered her cloak and hurried through the wooden gate, her small form swallowed by the dusk.
For a heartbeat, the courtyard hung silent—only the paper lanterns murmured in their frames and a single leaf skated across the stone. Enna stood motionless beneath the eaves, the night air pressing cold against her skin. Then she shook her head, as if dislodging a nail of fear.
"It is no hour for trembling," she whispered to herself. "Reason must lead."
She crossed the flagstones to the kitchen wing, sliding the door with a soft rasp. Within, the hearth lay banked, a bed of embers pulsing like the last glow of a sunset. Clay jars lined the wall—soy, vinegar, salted roots—each capped with linen and twine. From the rafters hung ropes of dried herbs, their silhouettes wavering against the lamplight like silent bells.
Soon after, Enna finished preparing the chicken boiling soup, a dish she had mastered through care and patience. The fragrance of ginseng and jujube filled the hall like a quiet prayer. Servants carried in the low lacquered table, its surface set with the steaming bowl of broth, small dishes of radish and herbs, and warm tea. They entered softly, placed the table before Juho, and then stepped back, bowing respectfully to both master and mistress before withdrawing from the chamber.
Juho, pale against the bedding, pushed himself upright with effort. His body trembled faintly beneath the quilt, yet he forced composure upon his face, the movement slow and heavy as though lifting more than his own weight.
Enna knelt across from him, folding her hands in her lap. Her gaze did not waver.
"Juho," she said, her voice steady but her eyes deep with unshed sorrow, "you must take this. Eat and regain your strength."
Juho's eyes moved first to the food, then lifted to meet hers. His face bore composure—but a composure so rigid, so deliberate, that it unsettled her heart. It was the composure of a man who had already received a sentence.
"Enna," Juho spoke at last, his voice low and crackling like a dying ember. "You heard, did you not?"
For a moment, the silence in the room deepened, broken only by the faint hiss of the lamp. Enna's lashes lowered, and she nodded slowly.
"Yes," she whispered. Then, gathering herself, she added, "But I do not worry too much, Juho. Because…"
Before she could finish, Juho shook his head, his hand rising weakly from beneath the quilt as if to stop her words. His lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes clouded yet resolute.
"Enna," Juho said, his voice steady, almost unnaturally composed. "It is all right. You need not feign calmness before me. I can see through it. I understand."
At those serene words, something inside Enna shifted—the cold knot of fear in her chest softened, warmed by his gentleness.
Juho's lips curved into a faint smile, so fragile yet so full of grace.
"I am sorry," he whispered, "for being the cause of your worry."
Enna shook her head at once, her hands tightening over the folds of her skirt.
"No… what are you saying? Do not say such things. It is not that at all. I was only… only…" Her words faltered, breaking apart like scattered petals.
Juho's gaze lingered on her, calm and unyielding, his dark eyes reflecting lamplight with a quiet depth.
"Enna," he said softly, "please, hear me."
Her heart quickened, beating like a drum within her chest. She could only nod.
"I cannot step away from my duties," Juho continued, his voice firm despite the frailty in his body. "The court is entangled in matters of grave importance—diplomatic proposals with neighboring states. To abandon my post now would bring harm to many. And so…" He drew a shallow breath. "So I cannot permit this illness to be spoken of. No ears must hear of it beyond this room."
Enna's lips parted, but no words came. Slowly, heavily, she lowered her head, for she understood all too well the weight of his burden.
Juho gave her another smile—gentle, peaceful, like moonlight on still water.
"And Enna… I beg you, do not trouble your heart. Truly, I do not wish for you to bear my worry. Let me carry it alone."
The lamplight trembled upon the chamber walls. Enna gazed at him, her throat tightening, torn between the fierce urge to protect him and the helplessness of knowing his resolve.