Chapter 1…. I Must Live
“Prince Dosan, Lee Chang-hwi, heed His Majesty’s command.”
A deep male voice rang out behind the boy stacking stone towers, calling his unfamiliar title and name.
Being addressed by one’s princely title was rarely a good sign.
He had no way of knowing how much time had passed.
Around this time last year, he had been at Suganggung Palace, and the year before that, at Gangnyeongjeon Hall, bracing against winter’s chill.
‘Will I even see another year? And if so, where will I meet it?’
Before the sunset that painted the heavens blood-red, he felt himself shrinking into insignificance.
The moment Chang-hwi stepped forward, strangers surrounded him in an instant. From among them, one man strode with some authority and stood before him. The others all lowered their heads in deference.
“Prince Dosan, listen.”
The man, as if he himself were the reigning king, steadied his voice and began reading the royal edict.
‘…Prince Dosan.’
Rolling that unfamiliar title over in his mind, Chang-hwi fixed his gaze on the man holding the edict. But the man ignored the tremor in his eyes.
“Song Han-gyu has died as a criminal. I hold him alone accountable for his crime and will not pursue the matter further.”
“…What did you just say?”
At last, Chang-hwi understood the chill of the day. Song Han-gyu—his father-in-law.
The previous summer, Song Han-gyu had been caught by Chi-yang while trying to restore Chang-hwi, and had been reduced to slavery.
The officials had petitioned endlessly that he be executed, but Chi-yang, his longtime friend, could not bring himself to kill him.
“You say… Song Han-gyu is dead…?”
“And then, what of Lady Hee-su… the Queen Dowager?”
“A fitting judgment will be delivered in due course.”
At that, Chang-hwi felt his last thread of reason snap. The messenger, sensing this, gave a subtle glance to his men.
Immediately, the men who had surrounded Chang-hwi seized his arms and forced him to his knees.
He struggled, trying to break free from their iron grip, but to no avail. The two burly men subdued him with ease.
“Report this to His Grace: Song Hee-su, though daughter of Song Han-gyu, was once the queen consort and a member of the royal family. How could her life be taken so lightly?”
“She is the daughter of the traitor Song Han-gyu—and the wife of Prince Dosan, at the center of the rebellion.”
“You dare—!”
His words reached deaf ears. Chang-hwi thrashed until his face was pressed into the dirt by brute force.
Barely turning his head to one side, he glared at the man before him as though his uncle himself were standing there. A fundamental doubt seized him.
“What did His Grace say should be done with me?”
“……”
The man dropped his head, unable to answer. That was answer enough.
“I cannot die.”
“……”
As if expecting this, the man gestured with his chin.
A bowl of neatly prepared liquid appeared before Chang-hwi. Poison—surely, the royal hemlock.
“Release me! Do you know who I am?”
“…The edict does not say you are to drink. So I will leave it here. But if you do not take it, another way—and another after that—awaits you, Prince Dosan.”
With uncharacteristic politeness, the man placed the poison down and withdrew.
The sun was still sinking into scarlet dusk.
Staring at the men’s retreating figures, Chang-hwi lowered his eyes to the poison before him, then closed them.
Memories unfurled:
The crown prince cherished by both grandfather and father. His sudden enthronement, the years in Sujeong Palace, and the day he crossed Wangsim Bridge.
And in every memory, there was Hee-su.
“Hee-su… why…”
His chest ached with guilt toward her. He pressed his right hand against his left breast, where a coldness seemed to seep through his skin.
“I…”
He whispered, then suddenly kicked the poison away.
Clang.
“I will not die!”
Before the shattered bowl, Chang-hwi spoke with even greater resolve. No—if he must die, he would only die after confirming that Hee-su still lived. She, who always became endangered because of him—he had to ensure her safety before the end.
Therefore, he could not die now.
Four days later.
The mornings were still cold, but the noons warm.
Four days had passed since the men’s first visit.
On the first day, they left poison. The second day, rope. The third, a dagger. And on the fourth, no one came at all.
Forcing himself to ignore the looming death, Chang-hwi endured each day.
“They won’t leave it at this.”
He spoke not of the men, but of his uncle.
He knew his uncle’s nature well. The man never voiced his true desires.
So too with action. Even when Chang-hwi had been king, his uncle always claimed he would serve faithfully until his majority.
Even at the moment of abdication, he refused again and again—until Chang-hwi pressed the royal seal into his hands himself.
Such a man now wanted Chang-hwi dead. Yet, true to his nature, the edict bore no direct mention of death.
“This time, Uncle Chi-yang, it will not go as you wish.”
He pressed again against the ache beneath his left breast. Just then—
Whoosh!
Flames roared, and smoke from burning timber poured in from every side.
Chang-hwi instinctively covered his nose and mouth and rushed for the door.
Clatter.
He pulled the handle, but something heavy on the other side blocked it.
Clatter, clatter—
“Why won’t it open…”
He yanked with all his strength, but the door only rattled.
He turned to the inner window—pulled at it with all his might—but again, only clattering, no movement.
“So this is it…!”
Holding his breath, he shook every exit, but none yielded.
“I… cannot die…!”
His eyes landed on a wooden stand holding scrolls. Seizing it, he hurled it at the door handle with all his strength.
Crash!
The door splintered, leaving a hole the size of the stand.
Without looking back, Chang-hwi squeezed his body through.
“Cough! Cough!”
He tumbled into the courtyard, tears streaming, nose running, lungs rejecting the smoke.
Shhhk—
“As I expected, Your Highness.”
A cold blade brushed the nape of his neck. Chang-hwi closed his eyes in resignation.
The assailant, seeing him freeze, slightly eased his grip.
Whip—Clang—!
Chang-hwi spun the opposite way, seized the man’s wrist, and twisted hard.
The startled man faltered, though still confident. He smirked, eyeing his sword and Chang-hwi’s empty hands.
Then he lunged—
Swish—
“Urgh!”
His sword struck Chang-hwi’s left chest, forcing him to one knee.
“Reckless. You fight barehanded.”
Smirking, he raised his sword again.
“…Huff… huff…”
Watching him struggle for breath, he switched the blade to his uninjured hand. That moment was the opening.
“Yaaaah!”
From his sleeve, Chang-hwi drew something gleaming.
The man’s eyes widened. Only moments ago, he had been unarmed.
Thrust!
It was a small silver dagger—the kind women used for suicide.
Without hesitation, Chang-hwi drove it into the man’s throat.
Blood spurted as he withdrew it.
“…Forgive me. You must have had a family too.”
He gently closed the man’s eyes and quickly exchanged garments with him.
Donning the blood-soaked robe, he hung the silver dagger around the man’s neck—just as it had always hung around his own.
The dagger, gifted by Hee-su, had long rested on his chest, its chill forever biting at his skin.
“Thanks to you, I live, Hee-su.”
Caressing the dented sheath, he murmured her name again.
“That is why I cannot die yet.”
Dressed in the man’s clothes, he dragged the corpse back into the burning house.
Whoosh—
The flames, feeding on wooden beams, spread furiously.
Thud.
He cast the man into the fire in his place.
That man—husband, father, once his subject, his uncle’s retainer—ended there.
“In the temples, life ends like this.”
Chang-hwi pressed his palms together in final respect.
‘May you be reborn not as a subject or servant, but only as husband and father.’
Then he turned slowly, vanishing into the forest of Yeongwol, clutching his wounded chest.
‘And I, too, will no longer be king—but only a husband.’
Lee Chang-hwi, rightful heir, once the most legitimate king of Joseon—was now dead.
And so, he had to live.
He survived.
