Kang-dae waited in the corridor until the physicians completed their initial examination of Jun-ho's wounds. Once they had confirmed that, despite the severity of his injuries, the young nobleman was no longer in immediate danger, Kang-dae turned and made his way toward the rear chambers to report to the Sovereign once more.
When he crossed the threshold, he found the King sitting upright upon his bed. The change was striking. His complexion had improved, and his eyes were clearer than they had been only hours before.
"Your Majesty," Kang-dae said, bowing deeply. "The Daesagan has reached the temple. However, his escort was ambushed on the road. Lord Yi arrived with several deep wounds and severe exhaustion. The physicians are treating him now."
The King's jaw tightened as he absorbed the gravity of what had happened beyond the temple walls.
"See that the physicians do everything in their power to save him," the monarch ordered, his voice firm. "The moment the Daesagan regains consciousness and is strong enough to stand, bring him directly to me. I want to hear from his own lips the state in which he left the court."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
With the King's orders received, Kang-dae withdrew.
He walked slowly along the wooden corridor when a figure emerged from the shadows.
It was Haneul's momjong.
The moment she recognized him, she bowed hurriedly.
"Bujang," she whispered, her voice filled with urgency. "Lady Haneul has awakened. The fever has finally broken, and she has regained consciousness."
Kang-dae stopped.
Something tightened violently in his chest at the news.
Yet instead of turning toward Haneul's chambers, he remained perfectly still, his expression unreadable and his gaze fixed ahead.
"I understand. Make certain she follows the physicians' instructions without exception," he replied, his voice deliberately distant.
Then he continued down the corridor, leaving the servant behind.
He stepped into the outer courtyard.
Night had settled heavily over the mountains. The air was bitterly cold, and the stars burned with an almost merciless clarity against the cloudless sky.
Kang-dae stopped in the middle of the courtyard, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared into the vast darkness above.
His mind was anything but still.
"The night wind may carry away the fallen leaves," came a calm voice behind him, "but the roots remain beneath the earth."
Kang-dae turned slightly.
An elderly monk approached at an unhurried pace, stopping several steps away without disturbing the stillness of the night.
"No matter how many turns a river makes among the rocks and mountains," the monk continued, his gaze following the same stars above, "the water will always find its way back to its source."
He paused.
"If two destinies are meant to meet beneath the order of Heaven, neither distance, nor duty, nor silence can prevent it."
The monk inclined his head in farewell and continued toward the prayer halls, leaving Kang-dae alone once more.
The Bujang remained where he was.
The old monk's words lingered in the cold air.
And beneath them lay the weight of a love he was desperately trying to bury.
Meanwhile, in the warmth of Haneul's chambers, the temple physician finished checking her pulse and adjusting the medicinal compresses beside her bed.
"Your body is still extremely weak, my lady," he warned. "You must remain in complete bed rest."
Haneul barely seemed to hear him.
The moment the physician withdrew, her eyes immediately searched for her servant.
"Where is the Bujang?" she asked, her voice weakened by her recovery.
The momjong carefully pulled the blankets higher around her shoulders.
"For now, my lady, you should concentrate on getting well. You must not strain yourself."
"Where is Kang-dae?" Haneul asked again.
There was something in her eyes that made the servant sigh.
"I saw him in the corridor a short while ago, near His Majesty's chambers."
Haneul's brow furrowed.
A sharp ache settled in her chest.
"Does he not know that I have awakened?"
"Yes, my lady…" The momjong lowered her gaze. "I was the one who told him."
Haneul stared at her.
"And he did not think it worthy of his time to come and see me?"
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Tears gathered in her eyes—not from weakness, but from the helpless frustration that had been building inside her.
The momjong looked at her with sympathy.
"There is much happening within the temple at the moment, my lady. The Daesagan has arrived wounded, and the situation with the palace remains tense… I do not think the Bujang will come to see you tonight."
Haneul said nothing.
The sadness settled over her like a second blanket.
She turned toward the wooden wall, her fingers tightening around the silk of the bedding.
That coldness hurt more than the fever ever had.
Later that same night, duty—and perhaps something more difficult to name—drew Kang-dae toward the chambers where Jun-ho was being treated.
After announcing himself, he slid open the wooden doors.
What awaited him inside was chaos.
The room had become a battlefield of another kind.
Servants hurried from one side of the chamber to the other, replacing cloths soaked in ice-cold water in a desperate attempt to bring down the young nobleman's fever.
The physicians worked without pause.
One cleaned the deep wounds along Jun-ho's side while another carefully stitched the sword cuts that threatened to turn a survivable injury into something far more dangerous.
Kang-dae stood at the threshold for a moment, taking in the scene.
Then his gaze settled on Jun-ho.
The Daesagan lay motionless beneath the layers of blankets, his face pale with exhaustion.
But there was something else in the room.
Something the physicians had not yet noticed.
Kang-dae stepped forward.
Because the blood on Jun-ho's robes was not the only thing that concerned him.