Struggle Chapter 91

Sim Eung looked up at Nanyoung, who was now taller than him. When had he grown so much…?

Tears welled up unbidden. Sniffling, Sim Eung shook his head.

“…If something is weighing on your heart, please, I beg you, do not bear it alone. No matter how unreliable I may seem….”

“What do you mean, unreliable?”

Nanyoung smiled and approached Sim Eung. Though gaunt, the bone structure of Nanyoung’s hands was so elegant that, rather than seeming dry and unsightly, they called to mind the image of slender, jade-like fingers. Those hands grasped Sim Eung’s shoulders and patted them.

“You are the only person I can trust, Sim Eung. What are you saying…?”

“For you, Young master, I can do anything. So please… please….”

Sim Eung pulled Nanyoung’s hands toward him. Then he pressed his forehead against them and wept. Nanyoung was bewildered, yet his nose stung with emotion.

Then, suddenly, it felt as if a bolt of lightning had struck his mind.

“…What is it that you know?”

At the stunned question, Sim Eung froze.

“Did you… see something, or…?”

Nanyoung’s voice trembled more than ever. By Sim Eung’s reaction alone, Nanyoung had already gained certainty.

“Sim Eung… please….”

“Young master….”

Sim Eung lifted his head. Nanyoung, having gone pale, was silently shedding tears, drop by drop. His hands, too, were trembling uncontrollably.

“Young master. Young master….”

“H-how long have you known?”

Lying to Nanyoung in this state was meaningless. Nor could he soothe his heart. Sim Eung quietly said that he had discovered him climbing over the wall the night of the fire at Taerok’s house. He said he had seen nothing else. He even begged to be killed if he had dared to make presumptuous guesses, but Nanyoung only stepped backward.

“Young master… surely His Excellency Grand Prince Baegan did not force you….”

That was all Sim Eung wanted to ask.

“No.”

Nanyoung shook his deeply bowed head.

“It’s not like that….”

It was a feeling he could never speak of elsewhere. Nanyoung’s circle of acquaintances was, as a rule, even narrower than that of most royal kinsmen. Outside of blood relations, Sim Eung was the only one to whom he could be said to have given his heart.

Nanyoung confessed, sobbing as if a floodgate had burst open.

“I liked him.”

“Young master…!”

“I am in love with him….”

As Taerok had said, perhaps he had been looking for a justification.

“That must be why even in my dreams, His Late Majesty Father no longer visits me….”

“…”

“What should I do now, Sim Eung? What am I to do…?”

Would it have been better if it had been an assault? Sim Eung let out a lament.

“Young master, could it not be a passing fancy for a season?”

Though that would not undo what had happened between the two of them, Sim Eung at least offered some perfunctory words to console Nanyoung, who was sobbing convulsively as if he could not breathe.

“So, what if you were to go away for a while?”

But the suggestion to go away was sincere.

“Soon, an envoy will be dispatched. Once His Majesty the King decides on an era name, a noble embassy will depart to announce it, and as is customary, a royal kinsman must take the lead, must he not? If you seek His Majesty’s permission and go for a brief respite….”

“…”

“After that, it may well be that everything has changed.”

At these gentle words, Nanyoung blinked vacantly.

∞ ∞ ∞

He had given word that if his uncle came, he was to be let inside without further announcement. Sim Eung resolved not to return to his own residence for a while but to stay and greet Taerok in person.

Two days later, Taerok visited Nanyoung’s palace. It was after he had nearly spent four whole nights sleepless, having first dismantled his own private soldiers to set an example for the abolition of private troops, and then raided the houses of meritorious officials one after another.

Nanyoung was nodding off.

“To think my uncle arrives after such hardship, and yet…”

Though he murmured so, Taerok’s expression seemed quite pleasant.

It had not been long since he had laid the dozing Nanyoung’s head on his own thigh. Nanyoung opened his eyes.

“Since when have you….”

Rubbing his eyes sleepily and rising groggily, those were the first words he muttered.

“It has been a while.”

Disappointed by the lackluster reaction, Taerok turned petulant. In front of Nanyoung, he felt as if he were experiencing an adolescence he had never actually had.

“Ah… it has been a while, Uncle.”

“The palace is in an uproar, yet seeing my nephew dozing off, I find myself thinking all the world’s affairs are merely tiresome, and wondering what all the fuss is about.”

“…I have heard the news of the palace as well. I merely feel mortified before His Majesty that I could be of no help.”

“And you don’t feel mortified before me?”

“…”

“I jest. I am well aware that Grand Prince Heonui, possessing no private soldiers to begin with, was only given a retinue of attendants. No matter what is done, people will say His Majesty the King is cruel. For now, until matters are somewhat settled, it is actually more helpful for his younger brother, Grand Prince Heonui, to remain quiet. You see, the thing about the human heart is that if you press down too hard, it wants to fight back.”

And then, silence.

To Nanyoung, the shadows under Taerok’s eyes seemed as if they would smell of soot. Indeed, instead of his usual scent, Taerok carried the smell of the torture grounds where criminals were interrogated.

“Have you… eaten?”

“Not yet.”

“I shall have something brought.”

As Nanyoung rose from his seat to call a servant, Taerok caught his wrist. Turning back with a puzzled look, Nanyoung found that Taerok himself had shaken his head, taken aback by his own action. He himself did not know why he had suddenly wanted to hold on, why Nanyoung had struck him as someone who would soon be left utterly alone, sending a chill through him.

“It’s nothing.”

Having composedly shaken his head, Taerok’s hand fell away. Nanyoung wrapped his own hand around his wrist where the touch had slipped away and rubbed it gently. It seemed the warmth would linger for a long time.

When he stepped outside, Sim Eung stood there with a grim expression.

“Please set out a table with drinks.”

“A-a table with drinks?”

Sim Eung’s expression was strange, as if an undesirable son-in-law had entered the room of a cherished youngest daughter. Nanyoung laughed softly.

“Sim Eung, you’ve aged so much in just this time.”

“Young master.”

With a whining tone, Sim Eung tried to reassure himself at Nanyoung’s casual manner. Even as he turned away, he kept glancing back at Nanyoung, who waved him on, telling him to hurry.

And shortly after, a table was brought in with evening dishes accompanied by wine.

Given the ambiguous hour, the spread was not large, but it had been arranged with attentive care. In particular, a dish of braised beef, made by dicing scorched cowhide and simmering it in soy sauce, anchored the table in balance.

“Nanyoung.”

However, neither Taerok nor Nanyoung touched the food. Taerok poured out a plum wine, still slightly astringent and green-tasting, freshly brewed earlier that summer.

“I heard you vomited blood.”

“…”

“That your stomach lining was so torn it looked as if a rat had been scratching it furiously, and you vomited blood.”

“It is nothing serious.”

As he answered, Nanyoung took his own cup.

“How is it not serious?”

But Taerok took the cup away from him. If his insides were torn, why was he thinking of drinking? At times like this, Taerok was the very image of a strict elder, and as he had when he first met his uncle as his teacher, Nanyoung found himself instinctively straightening his posture.

“To think you are unwell.”

Taerok sat with only one knee raised, filling the cup.

For some reason, his atmosphere was much gentler than usual. It was not the gentleness feigned to tighten a stranglehold. Taerok seemed to carry the relief of having finally finished everything.

“Nephew, come sit a little closer here.”

Nanyoung shuffled over on his knees to Taerok’s side.

“When your stomach is irritable, you must not skip even a single meal.”

For the first time, Taerok picked up a spoon and chopsticks and touched the food no one had yet disturbed. But even this was not for himself; it was for Nanyoung.

Perhaps because they had recently received freshly butchered heifer meat, the table was filled with dishes made from precious beef.

Taerok scooped up a little of the porridge to test the seasoning. It was bland, somewhat disappointing for his own palate, but seemed fitting for someone with a troubled stomach.

“Ah.”

Taerok himself held the spoon to Nanyoung’s mouth.

It was a white rice porridge made flavorful by taking lean meat from a cow’s foreleg, cut into pieces, leaving only a proper amount of fat, and drying it. Once it was dried hard, it was carved into slivers with a knife, then ground into powder. Nanyoung said he could eat by himself. But Taerok paid him no heed.

In the end, he had no choice but to open his mouth, receiving the assistance with his meal—something even as a very young child he had never done.

Taerok, holding a wine cup in one hand and a spoon in the other, watched carefully until Nanyoung had chewed and swallowed every last bite.

“With the palace in such turmoil, the most helpful thing you can do right now is to conduct yourself well so that no one need be troubled on your account.”

Nanyoung deeply agreed with those words as well.