And at those words, he moved only his eyes to glance at Dankyeong.
When their eyes met, Dankyeong gave a warm, good-natured smile.
As if to say she only wanted to see the pure form of drawing a bow, without any particular intent.
He lightly hooked his fingers on the bowstring.
The string, seemingly tied very tightly, felt unusually stiff and unyielding against his fingertips.
Normally, he would have tossed the uncooperative bow to the soldiers and ordered them to re-string it rather than bother pulling it himself.
But what whim was this?
On this day, he suddenly felt a strange urge to tame the bow himself.
He pointed the empty bow toward the sun hanging in the center of the sky.
The piercing sunlight made him close his eyes slowly, and he took a soft breath in.
A reddish dot glowed through his eyelids, and he pulled the string back all at once toward it.
Creak, creak—the sound of each bowstring fiber stretching filled his ears.
At the moment the string was fully drawn, Dan I-jae opened his eyes.
A halo of rainbow-colored sunlight gently surrounded the sun, forming a target.
Thud
A dull sound echoed as the string released into the air.
A sharp wind brushed past one cheek.
Though it was a dry shot, Dan I-jae stared at the center of the sun as if to confirm a hit before finally turning his gaze toward the hand touching his bow.
“Is the bow usable?”
It was Dankyeong.
“A bit stiff,” Dan I-jae replied honestly.
“If you force a tough one, it snaps easily,” she said.
Her tone suggested she didn’t like the answer much, judging from the way she handed the bow over as if tossing it to a soldier.
“It’s just a string if it snaps, but I worry my brother might get hurt.”
A gloved hand pressed gently on Dan I-jae’s shoulder.
He glanced at the hand and replied dryly, without emotion.
“If Lord Taejeong wouldn’t keep giving me bows, there’d be no chance of injury.”
“Then I must be more careful,” she replied.
Dan I-jae shrugged lightly.
Dankyeong, nudged by the gesture, withdrew her hand.
“Yes. If I don’t want my younger brothers to get hurt, I must act more prudently. Isn’t that the duty of the eldest?”
The newly-strung longbow returned to her hands.
She gently drew and released the bowstring to check its condition.
“Did you go outside the palace with Yoon yesterday?”
She pointed the empty bow westward.
Dan I-jae turned his head in the direction her bow was aimed.
The golden ornaments atop the high pavilion of Jeonghan Palace glinted in the afternoon sun.
“Yes,” he replied.
She snapped the bowstring.
The hollow sound cut through the air and vanished.
“I know you two like your drink, but do be moderate. The rumors are not kind.”
Rumors, indeed.
It was an old piece of advice.
Gossip about the “drunkard Second Princess” and the “good-for-nothing Eighth Prince” had been circulating for ages.
Every morning, people whispered about what had happened at Ungyeong Palace the night before, and by evening, they speculated who had knelt in penance in front of Jeonghan Palace.
It was a daily ritual in Yeonju.
They even bet on which royal child would be appointed Taejeong before it was officially announced.
Perhaps, in their eyes, the royal family was no better than fighting cocks in a pit.
“Still, isn’t it better if I’m the one drinking?”
Dankyeong flicked the empty bowstring again.
Then, frowning deeply, she looked at Dan I-jae.
She seemed to want to say something, lips pressed tightly together, but soon shook her head and set down the bow.
“Is your heart still noisy?”
“…It was never exactly quiet.”
“I-jae.”
Her hand returned to his shoulder.
“Didn’t your father mention it before? That he intends to grant you the land of Shinneung. I’ve been there a few times myself—it has a mild climate and good sunlight, a peaceful place for reflection.”
“Plus, it’s close to Hahyeon, your mother’s homeland. I know life at Ungyeong Palace is stifling, but bear it a little longer. I will see to it that you are made the Marquis of Shinneung.”
Her gentle smile felt unusually warm.
Dan I-jae had seen that same smile before—on someone else.
Most likely the person Dankyeong now hated the most.
The master of Jeonghan Palace.
His father, King Danheul.
To think they hated each other so bitterly, yet resembled one another.
Parents and children truly are a tragic bond.
Dan I-jae gave a soft smile and nodded in return.
“With you so sincerely caring for me, how could this younger brother act recklessly?”
Her rough leather glove patted his cheek proudly, then withdrew.
Resisting the urge to rub away the mark left on his face, Dan I-jae muttered to himself in irritation.
“…That smell…?”
But he suddenly stopped the thought—because he realized something strange: that foul “scent” that always hovered near had momentarily disappeared.
Was it when he cut off that thug’s hand?
Or…?
“Let’s go hunting sometime soon. A royal hunting ban is in place, but I feel suffocated.”
Just as thoughts drifted to someone he preferred not to think about, Dan I-jae remembered something he needed to tell Dankyeong.
“I met someone in the market claiming to be Chae-gong’s disciple.”
Dankyeong, who had been about to head for the archery range, turned back quickly at his words.
“Chae-gong’s disciple? Did they give a name?”
“White-haired…”
“If white hair, then I’ve heard of them. The young disciple Chae-gong took in last, right?”
Apparently, the “last disciple” was benefiting well from their distinctive hair color.
Dan I-jae rubbed his forehead tiredly and replied.
“Not that young…”
“They say they were with Chae-gong to the very end. I think the name was Baek… something.”
“Baek Sahyeon, apparently.”
“Oh, yes.”
It was the most animated she’d looked all day.
Had she not been informed in advance, Dan I-jae might have feared she’d turn his palace roof into a pincushion with her arrows.
Her vigorous recruitment of “talent” was well known.
Not just her— even the king made time daily to meet aspiring scholars, and others with “ambition” kept their gates wide open for promising individuals flocking in from across the continent.
In the midst of all this, the renowned scholar Chae-gong—whose name was known even to children—met a tragic end.
Not many nations welcomed Chae-gong in life.
His rigid and moralistic nature made him unpopular…
(Sentence unfinished.)
However, people who believed in the goodness of human nature had long revered her ideals — the dream of building a paradise on this chaotic continent, like something out of an ancient legend — almost as if it were a religion.
Therefore, they couldn’t draw Chaegong into the court while she was still alive.
Rather than gaining public favor by using her, there was a risk that her fame might completely overshadow and consume the royal court and the monarchy.
But now, Chaegong had perished, leaving behind only the finest shell a person could leave — “fame.”
Her disciples, who each inherited fragments of that fame, were now spreading across the continent, so the various royal families had no choice but to chase after them with nets in hand, trying to win them over.
The king of Pasa had not been friendly toward Chaegong.
As a result, most of her disciples ignored Pasa.
It seemed Dangkyeong had tried to personally connect with a few disciples who had yet to enter public service, but to them — busy fleeing helplessly in the wake of their master’s death — the idea of joining Dangkyeong, who hadn’t even secured the position of Taejeonggong, must have held little appeal.
They likely thought it wiser to go to Yugang, where many of Chaegong’s disciples had already entered service, and use those connections.
But now, a disciple — and not just any disciple, but the “last disciple who was by Chaegong’s side at her deathbed” — had come to Pasa. It was, quite literally, like a pumpkin rolling into one’s yard on a vine.
“He said he wished to request an audience with His Majesty.”
“I shall try to arrange it.”
To Baek Sahyeon, the scholar, this was a stroke of good fortune. Even if the king didn’t take notice, Dangkyeong, who was desperate for talent, would surely try to recruit him.
Of course, if it came to that and Dangkyeong ended up losing his claim to the position of Taejeonggong, then the life he had somehow managed to preserve even after his master’s death might finally come to an end.
He dearly hoped such a day would never come.
Not for his elder sister, who had spent her whole life walking on thin ice,
Nor for the scholar, who had come all the way to this distant northern land with nothing but a dream of success and the rags on his back,
Nor for Dani-jae.
After Dangkyeong, cheerful as though he’d just caught a massive game animal, left for the archery grounds,
Dani-jae furrowed his brows against a familiar pain spreading from above his temple and took a deep breath into his lungs.
A cold wind, rustling the spruce trees, swept through the palace of Un-gyeong, but to him, the freshness in the air was imperceptible.
The only thing that hit his nose was—
“The stench of rot is overwhelming.”
A sickening stench, and nothing else.