Outwardly, they all said, “It’s so guests can always enjoy a pleasant scent,” but the truth was that it was because of the plague spreading among them—a venereal disease that caused the flesh to gradually rot away.
To hide that foul odor, they inhaled the smoke of the lotus herb until their very last breath.
So then, why was Dan Ijae burning lotus herb?
He was neither a monk nor a courtesan.
“Could it be he caught that wretched disease from drinking and frequenting brothels, and now some part of him is rotting away?”
At that moment, all the color drained from his face, and the temptation to savor that fragrant scent vanished completely.
It made sense.
He even recalled how the palace officials advised him to leave whenever he mentioned a “smell”…
“Grinding ink is one of the most basic fundamentals of learning, and yet you claim you haven’t had a chance to do it all this time? Fine. I’ll do it myself.”
Sahyeon hurriedly gathered the bamboo scrolls into his arms to escape the situation.
He thought he had grabbed them securely, but one scroll from the middle slipped and fell, causing the others to spill noisily to the floor.
With a light sigh, Dan Ijae stood up and gathered the scrolls into one arm.
“If it’s such a fundamental of learning, then I suppose I have no choice but to learn it.”
So he really meant to follow him.
Sahyeon reluctantly stood up with a displeased expression.
It was uncomfortable, but as a teacher, he couldn’t exactly turn away a student who wished to learn.
***
“If you’re truly interested in studying, you should start getting friendly with the archives.”
At Sahyeon’s voice, the old librarian who had been keeping the place alone lifted his head.
Sahyeon, who always entered quietly and sat in front of him to observe his work, had suddenly entered with such noise—it was curious.
And when he saw Dan Ijae following behind, he gave a long sigh and stood up.
What a strange day.
Important people had been coming in and out of the archives since morning, and yet the other librarians were nowhere to be found, leaving this old man alone to deal with both the nobleman and noblewoman.
“I greet the Eighth Prince.”
Dan Ijae barely acknowledged the old librarian’s greeting and practically dumped the scrolls he was holding onto a table.
“Is that any way for someone pursuing scholarship to treat books?”
“I never said I was pursuing scholarship. Besides, Baek Munhak, didn’t you throw your books on the floor earlier?”
“I dropped them by accident! You always twist things…”
Well, Dani-yun’s worries did seem unnecessary—they appeared to be getting along quite well.
The old librarian quietly watched the two from a corner.
Sahyeon, who had always worn a tense expression and uneasy gaze while trying to decipher the other’s intentions, looked noticeably more relaxed.
But what surprised the librarian more was Dan Ijae.
Because of his chronic headaches and illness, his face always looked unpleasant, yet now, he was smiling like a “normal” person.
The old librarian faintly remembered seeing the late king a few times from afar.
When he first saw Dan Ijae, he had felt a chill down his spine, as Dan Ijae reminded him more of the queen consort than any of the king’s other children.
But now, seeing him with a faint smile, he was reminded of Jaya—how she used to bring stacks of books and smile brightly while discussing them.
‘He really is Lady Jaya’s son.’
The old librarian had no choice but to swallow the bitter taste in his mouth.
“Now that the archivist is here to guard the place, this old man will take a rare opportunity to go get some fresh air.”
Sahyeon’s eyes widened in surprise.
“You’re not going to stay with us?”
“Archivist, is it so terrible that this old man wants to feel sunlight for the first time in months?”
“N-no, it’s not that, but… it’s cold outside.”
“Try just sitting in here restoring books. You’ll get used to your bones freezing in no time.”
He had made his point so firmly that there was no stopping him.
Sahyeon, with wide, pleading eyes, tried to appeal to the old man’s sympathy, but someone who had endured storms and hardships wouldn’t fall for such weak tricks.
In the end, only the two of them were left in the archives.
“So it’s just the two of us now?”
Did he really have to spell it out like that?
“W-whether it’s two or three of us, what does it matter? Weren’t you here to grind ink?”
“I just thought it was funny that the two of us were alone in this big archive. Why are you stammering so much?”
Suddenly, Dan Ijae’s hand touched his cheek.
Sahyeon flinched and tried to back away, but the hand slid away before he could.
“You feel a bit feverish.”
“I’m fine.”
“How can you be fine when your face is so red?”
He couldn’t deny it—his face had been burning ever since the old librarian said he was leaving.
Sahyeon cooled his cheek with the back of his cold hand and muttered irritably.
“It must be from the rage building up thanks to you, my lord. If you’re that concerned, why don’t you sit down and grind the ink?”
Dan Ijae tilted his head playfully but didn’t push further.
He sat where Sahyeon pointed and stared at him blankly, waiting as Sahyeon unpacked inkstones and water vessels.
“First, feel the water vessel.”
Sahyeon took Dan Ijae’s wrist and guided his hand to the vessel.
“The water used to grind ink shouldn’t be too cold or too hot. It’s best to collect clean water in advance and let it become lukewarm. Some people even collect pond water under moonlight at night, but those are usually the ones who can’t write worth anything.”
Whether he was listening or ignoring him, Dan Ijae just kept running his hand over the smooth water vessel.
“This inkstick, the finest kind, is glossy black and has a faint pine resin scent. But since everything in the palace is of the highest quality, I suppose you won’t need to worry about that.”
Sahyeon forcibly pulled Dan Ijae’s hand away from the vessel and placed the inkstick in his palm.
It was like dealing with a child.
Hopefully, he wouldn’t throw a tantrum about being treated like one just because he hadn’t finished elementary studies.
“The water is rain, and the inkstone is the earth. If there’s too much rain, the earth floods, and the ink gets washed out. If there’s too little, the earth dries up, and the inkstick scratches, producing impurities. That’s why you pour just enough to wet the inkstone evenly…”
Sahyeon’s white hand overlapped Dan Ijae’s as he held the inkstick.
Still holding his hand, he slowly began grinding.
“Don’t press too hard, but don’t be too gentle either—just enough pressure to spread the ink evenly across the surface. Once the ink reaches the right viscosity, add more water. Just like how the earth needs the right amount of rain…”
He must have squeezed too tightly, because the veins beneath his palm began to pulse.
Sahyeon gave his hand a light pinch.
Dan Ijae, who had been staring at their overlapped hands, looked up in puzzlement.
“Don’t grip it so hard. You’ll break the inkstick.”
A discontented hum.
Still, Dan Ijae obediently loosened his grip as instructed.
Warmth returned to the back of his hand.
“When farming, you can’t just swing a hoe wildly relying on strength. You have to dig to the right depth to mix topsoil and subsoil. Oh right, not that you’d know since you’ve never farmed.”
“So then…”
“Shh.”
Sahyeon interrupted without hesitation, then extended the hand holding Dan Ijae’s.
“Can you hear it?”
And he whispered into Dan Ijae’s ear.
Just as he was about to turn his head halfway, as if to look at Sahyeon, he instead lowered his gaze to the back of his hand again and quietly closed his eyes.
Scratch, scratch.
The sound of ink being ground in the inkstone held between two overlapping hands.
A pleasant friction sound that tickled the eardrums—it sounded like snow piling up flake by flake outside the window on a quiet night, or like the sound of fine sand being stepped on by the riverside.
He lifted his eyelids.
The pooled ink on the black inkstone was pitch black, like pure darkness, yet it seemed to shine as if it contained a light source—just like the glow in Sahyeon’s eyes.
The trickle of water being poured.
The tickling sound of ink grinding.
The sound of breath brushing his ears.
The warmth spreading across the back of his hand.
And…
The faint scent of ink gently wrapping around the tip of his nose.
“Do you understand now?”
Dan Ijae took a deep breath.
“So this was the smell that always lingered around you.”
Sahyeon looked down at him as if wondering what nonsense he was saying now.
“The smell of ink was always on your hands.”
“You didn’t know it was the smell of ink?”
Sahyeon retorted, not even bothering to hide how ridiculous he found the comment.
Dan Ijae chuckled.
“It’s been so long since I last smelled it.”
“Even if you kept your distance from writing, you should have at least written letters, no?”
“There were plenty of people around to pass on messages—why bother with letters?”
“Oh dear, maybe I should start by teaching you how to write again.”
Sahyeon withdrew the hand that had been holding his and pointed to the inkstone, as if saying, Now try it on your own.
Dan Ijae obediently poured water into the inkstone.
And just as Sahyeon had taught him, he slowly began to grind the ink.
Watching him with skeptical eyes, Sahyeon gradually shifted to the seat across from him.
He brought over an empty bamboo slip he had been annotating and spread it open.
He dipped the brush in.
The properly ground ink soaked into each bristle of the brush deeply.
He drew a stroke over the green-stained bamboo strip, already marked from multiple erasures and rewritings.
Just as he had originally intended.
Why had he become so cautious, when he was once bold enough to argue confidently before the King of Pasa?
When cracking a hard shell, you use a hammer and chisel—but to preserve the soft flesh inside, you need delicate hands.
To barge into the palace of Pasa’s king with bare hands required one approach.
But once inside, finding the right string to grasp required a different attitude.