Chapter 9
“Arrogant wench.”
At those words, Yero’s tension melted, and she collapsed weakly. Even Ilip’s rigid pulse grew sluggish and unhurried.
“I revealed my precious name to one as lowly as you. Why do you hide yours?”
Yero slowly lifted her head and gazed into Ilip’s eyes. They were murky and black, like shadows deep within fog-filled waters.
“What use is the name of a lowly, arrogant woman to you?”
Yero’s hands, which had stilled, moved again, wringing the water from the cloth.
Between the dripping droplets, Ilip’s breath mingled with Yero’s.
When Yero unconsciously turned her body and looked at him, she froze. As if caught in his eyes, her limbs stiffened. A large hand reached out and seized her shoulder.
“Ah…!”
She let out a short scream, but her body was already pressed down onto the bedding.
Ilip, towering over her delicate frame, smiled.
The only thing draped over his muscular body was a loosely tied robe, and the raw, pounding pulse beneath could be felt clearly.
Whether he knew her predicament or not, Ilip leaned close to her ear and whispered.
In a fleeting instant, a wound was etched upon the skin of her nape.
It looked so much like a butterfly that, before she could dwell on it, Ilip spoke as if entranced.
“I could make you one of my retainers. Perhaps it would be better than wandering aimlessly.”
Yero’s cheeks flushed red, as though painted with rouge. She felt pathetic for gauging his mood so carefully, as if walking on thin ice.
“I already belong to someone. So I do not wander.”
One of Ilip’s thick eyebrows lifted lazily.
“So.”
His head lowered, until they were close enough to breathe each other’s air.
“Your name.”
Yero’s fine lashes trembled. Her small, plump lips quivered, shaping words that she swallowed back.
But what could she do?
Ilip’s patience was short, and a cold threat fell.
“Shall I strike the girl dragged here with you? Will you tell me your name then?”
Yero instinctively shook her head. Hot tears welled behind her eyes.
In front of this man, her heart kept melting, only to freeze again. She feared it might crack and shatter into pieces.
She almost spoke, but clamped her lips shut. Ilip, who had been frowning, held back his anger, swallowing it down as he coaxed her gently.
“Good girl.”
His rough fingers, calloused from wielding a sword, brushed her lips. Her soft lips pushed his hand away gently, regaining their color after briefly blanching.
At last, Yero, who had been stifling her tears, spoke.
“…The darkness of one who has learned light is the most wretched. So my name is Mumyeong (No-Light).”
She said it calmly, without trembling. A falsehood, yet not untrue. A truth, yet not quite fitting. A faint, ambiguous name.
Ilip brushed back his long, black silk-like hair and laughed emptily.
“How sorrowful.”
Was it a rebuke? A question?
Or was it a small comfort from a cold man? Whatever it was, the rising swell in her chest—was it only because she was foolish… or because she was someone who had learned sorrow through tears?
Yero knew he didn’t truly believe the name.
His hand, hot against her lips and eyes, carried only the warmth of medicine. For one with a cold heart to possess unyielding warmth was strange indeed.
Suppressing her tears, Yero rose. Ilip let her go without resistance.
She gathered her scattered hair and straightened her disheveled robe.
All the while, Ilip leisurely watched her pale face.
With slow movements, he packed tobacco into a pipe and pressed it down. When he drew in a breath, dizziness spun the ceiling above.
“What are you doing!”
Yero, smelling the tobacco, quickly snatched the pipe from his hand.
“You cannot smoke—at least not for a few days!”
Ilip let out a quiet laugh.
Daring. Was there anyone left who could raise their voice beside him like this?
A foolish girl who forgot her place—yet why did he surrender the pipe so easily? And why did he feel the urge to tease her?
Ilip leaned against her shoulder, encircling her thin waist.
Her hand trembled as she held the pipe. White nails dug into her skin until blood beaded, when his rough hand covered hers.
He drew the pipe back and inhaled, burning the last of the tobacco to ash.
Then—he exhaled smoke toward Yero before letting her go.
“A brightness shows behind the fog. Your name truly is Mumyeong (Mist-Light).”
Yero’s face flushed scarlet to the tips of her ears. Heat surged through her body, racing to her head. Her pulse throbbed at her temples.
“If you jest so easily, then you must be well. As promised, release me and my companions.”
“I said an hour, did I not…”
Yero widened her eyes and looked up at him.
His face was once again unreadable.
“How did it feel, knowing my life was in another’s hands for an hour?”
Ilip reclined lazily against the bedding, still holding her in his dark gaze.
“Not pleasant, I imagine.”
He twisted his red lips into a smile, stretched out his arm, and opened a drawer. Picking something at random, he tossed it at her.
Something glittering struck Yero’s chest and fell into her lap.
She picked it up—it was a red jade ornament carved in the shape of a camellia flower.
“Payment. You saved my life, so I should give you something I wear… but as you see.”
Ilip spread his arms shamelessly. His robe, damp with sweat, clung to his skin, scandalously revealing his frame.
“This is all I wear.”
Like meeting the eyes of a dangerous beast, Yero quickly averted her gaze.
“Mumyeong. I will remember your name.”
When I find you again, you will be mine. Yet Ilip left the thought unsaid.
The frightened girl might flee if she knew. He had never abandoned nor lost what he desired.
Yero bowed deeply and retreated. She swore never to face this man again—for then her lie would not be exposed.
Crossing the threshold, she exhaled a long, buried breath. Just stepping past the door, the world seemed to open again.
Shouts of men, cries of birds, the lowing of cattle—all rushed into her ears at once. The world felt strange, as though she were a newborn beast hearing it for the first time.
She staggered, clinging to the railing for support.
I survived. I lived.
Too long for a dream, too real for an illusion. The cool weight of the jade ornament in her lap was proof.
Step by trembling step, she descended the stairs, until her legs gave way and she collapsed.
She had crawled out from the jaws of death—yet had no name to call, no warmth to seek, no place to lean on.
Loneliness and sorrow spilled from her heart.
What use are tears if no one will understand them? She forced them back.
Just then, a white cloth embroidered with butterflies and peonies was held out before her.
Yero looked up sharply. Suo stood there, looking troubled.
“Wipe your tears.”
Yero gave a faint smile and shook her head.
“I didn’t cry. Just felt dizzy for a moment…”
Suo hesitated, then drew the cloth back. From behind him, a small figure peeked out—it was Yuso.
“Lady! My lady!”
Tears brimmed in Yuso’s eyes as she ran to Yero. Yuso was the name she could call, the warmth she could seek, the place she could lean on.
‘How sorrowful…’
The man’s careless words kept echoing in her mind.
What did he know? What had he seen, to dare say such words, to offer such comfort—when he knew nothing?
Yero buried her face in Yuso’s embrace, holding her tighter.
“My lady, look! Lord Suo gave us azure silk. You can’t even find this in Hoan Kingdom!”
“Really? I see…”
“He really did! You won’t have to suffer anymore!”
“…That’s a relief.”
Yero rubbed her reddened eyes and bowed to Suo.
He quickly bowed back, flustered, waving his hand.
“You saved a noble life. This is but a small return. As for my earlier rudeness…”
“It’s nothing. I understand. No need to say more.”
Suo scratched his forehead in embarrassment and looked away.
From afar, Princess Ryeo-hee was watching them. Yero could feel it. Her gaze was long and heavy, like a thread tying them together.
“That handkerchief…”
Yero, carefully holding the azure silk Yuso gave her, spoke softly to Suo. Reluctantly, he turned back to her.
“Your wife gave it to you, didn’t she? If you knew what it means for a woman to embroider peonies and butterflies, you wouldn’t dare give it to another.”
Leaving those words behind, Yero took Yuso’s hand.
As Ilip had ordered, men were set to follow her. But she vanished without a trace, like a woman who appeared only by chance.
The order had been: bring her back, and if she refused, kill her. Suo could not fulfill it.
Blankly holding the handkerchief, Suo met Princess Ryeo-hee’s gaze.
Each time he closed his eyes, the vanishing afterimage terrified him with its loneliness.
