"Your Majesty…"
Han Ji's fury had not subsided since the court was adjourned. The moment he dismissed that stubborn boy, his temper ignited like wildfire. How dare Yunxi look directly into his eyes—into the eyes of the king—and say such words with no fear? It burned his pride, clawed at his chest, and made his blood boil. He was the king! He had the power to punish, to silence, to destroy with a single command. Yet somehow, standing before that boy, his strength had felt hollow, his words useless.
Now, inside his chambers, his rage consumed him. Han Ji swept priceless vases off tables, shattered jade ornaments against the ground, tore silk scrolls from their stands. Each crash echoed through the palace walls, each shard a reflection of the turmoil he couldn't contain. Eunuchs and maids scattered like frightened birds, too terrified to breathe in his presence. They had learned long ago that when the king's temper flared, it was safer to remain invisible.
"Your Majesty, please… please calm down," Eunuch Song tried soothing him, voice trembling. He had known Han Ji since he was a boy—he had seen his laughter, his tenderness, and his cruelty. Even so, he had never dared speak against his storms of anger. Yet now, out of loyalty or desperation, he spoke.
The words pierced through the haze of fury. Han Ji stopped, breath ragged, hands trembling as he gripped his face with both palms. He sank to his knees, shoulders shaking. The sound that came from him was not the roar of a king—but the broken sobs of a man who had lost control of himself.
"Leave us," Man Song, the king's trusted eunuch, commanded sharply. His eyes swept over the servants. "Not a single word of this will be spoken outside these walls."
The terrified servants bowed low and hurried out.
Man Song stepped closer, lowering himself beside Han Ji. He had seen the boy he served grow into a ruler feared by all, but never once had he seen him undone like this. Yunxi's words were simple—he had admitted to sleeping at the General's residence. Nothing more. Yet why did it crush the king so deeply? Why did it reduce him to this trembling wreck?
Han Ji's cries only grew louder, his body shaking as if every chain he had bound himself with had snapped all at once. For twenty-two years he had never allowed himself to break, never shown weakness to another soul. But tonight, he shattered.
Man Song gathered him into his arms, cradling him against his chest. "It's enough, Your Majesty… let it out," he whispered. Though Han Ji's exterior was one of iron, Man Song knew the truth—the king's heart was fragile, soft in places he dared not expose to the world.
Hours passed before exhaustion dragged Han Ji into uneasy sleep.
---
By morning, his head throbbed viciously. His body ached, his mouth dry, his soul heavier than stone. He stirred and called hoarsely, "Is anyone there?"
Eunuch Song entered with a steaming bowl of soup. "Please drink this, Your Majesty," he said gently.
Han Ji eyed it with little interest but accepted. His appetite was gone, eaten away by thoughts that gnawed at him relentlessly. Each time Yunxi's words replayed in his mind, his headache worsened. "My head…" he groaned, pressing his temples.
"I'll massage it once you've finished the soup," Song replied. "But don't spill it all over your bed, I beg you."
Han Ji glared at him faintly but drank slowly, sip by sip. Song's thin smile held quiet patience. With a damp towel, he wiped the sweat from the king's brow. "I'll prepare your bath. Try to rest until it's ready."
As Song left, Han Ji's gaze fell on the courtyard through the window. Sunlight spilled across it like nothing had happened. Inside, the chambers had been restored, as if the destruction he caused last night had never existed. But the emptiness inside him remained.
He was the ruler of this nation, a man with all the power in his hands. Yet at good was power, when it could not stop the way his chest tightened at the memory of that boy's voice?
Han Ji closed his eyes, and once more, Yunxi's words stabbed through him like daggers: he had admitted it—sleeping in another man's bed. The thought made his blood boil. His grip tightened until his knuckles went white. Why did it matter so much? Why did his heart rebel against him?
His chest rose and fell rapidly, fury surging again. With a sharp cry, he hurled the soup bowl to the ground, shattering it into pieces.
Song rushed back in, startled, and froze when he saw the mess.
Han Ji met his gaze coldly. "It slipped," he said with deliberate calm, though his voice shook with suppressed anger. He stood abruptly, but pain lanced through his skull and forced him back down. "Help me," he barked.
Song hesitated, pity flickering in his eyes. Han Ji's pride flared at the look—he refused pity from anyone. Rising again on sheer willpower, he brushed past the old eunuch without so much as grazing him, his jaw tight and posture rigid.
---
Elsewhere, in her chamber, Meiylin's voice rang sharp.
"What do you mean nothing special happened? What is it that happened that's not special?" she hissed at her maid, her hands slamming down on the table. "Do you think your loyalty to him outweighs mine—the one who freed you from the filth you once lived in?"
The maid trembled, bowing low. "Young Miss… I was not permitted into the king's chambers. Only those personally chosen by the old eunuch were allowed in. But—" She lifted her eyes, hesitant. "I believe something did happen. Dami's hand was bleeding when she came out. Badly. I asked again and again, but no one dared tell me the truth."
Meiylin's expression twisted with frustration. The king left alone, servants hiding secrets, Yunxi daring to speak back at him? Every detail stank of something hidden. It enraged her.
"Leave me," she ordered coldly.
When the maid was gone, Meiylin's lips curved into a sly smile. "I must act quickly… or the game will slip from my hands."
She turned to another servant. "Write a letter to His Majesty. Tell him I am gravely ill, and that I request his presence. No one else must come in his place—only him."
The servant obeyed, and after Meiylin reviewed the letter, she handed it back with a satisfied grin. "Deliver it yourself. Straight into the king's hands. No one else must see it."
"Yes, Young Miss," the maid replied, bowing before hurrying out with the letter clutched tightly.
Left alone, Meiylin leaned back in her chair, eyes glittering. "Let's see, Your Majesty… just how much that boy matters to you. I want to here it from you."