Camellia Permeates the Snow

Episode 14

” Shattered and Broken “

Yeonhwa stood frozen like a rabbit before a wild beast, unable to move.

The gaze that touched her felt like ropes tightly binding her.

At that moment, a drop of blood seeped from her fingertip, cut by a broken string.

The blood, heavy and glistening, couldn’t hold its weight and flowed down, staining Kang-yoon’s fingers. She reflexively tried to pull her wrist away out of embarrassment, but it was futile. Flustered, Yeonhwa looked up at Kang-yoon with trembling eyes.

“Did you know me?”

“Y-yes…?”

“I asked if you knew me.”

The unexpected question caught her off guard.

It was so obvious that she didn’t know what answer to give.

Kang-yoon was the Crown Prince of the vast empire, Ahwan-guk.

How could Yeonhwa, a mere queen of a vassal state, not know him?

Moreover, he has been renowned for his exceptional qualities since he was proclaimed Crown Prince.

Yeonhwa had heard stories about him since she was young—the perfect son of the Emperor, the Crown Prince sent by the heavens, the son of a god who appeared once in a millennium.

He had been perfect from birth and had risen to a position so high and noble that no one dared to approach him.

“As someone who was once a subject of a vassal state, of course, I know His Highness the Crown Prince.”

“I’m asking if you met me before Yeoguk fell.”

The density of his voice and the grip on her wrist increased in intensity. It was a different strength than when he had captured her in front of Heeg yeong gung days ago.

The pain twisted her wrist, forcing Yeonhwa to swallow a groan.

“I don’t recall ever having an audience with His Highness.”

“Then how is it possible?”

Kang-yoon bit his lip as if trying to hold back something.

What could have made him so furious? Had she touched on a forbidden topic? She glanced sideways for help, but Ari, terrified, was huddled up and couldn’t even meet her gaze.

Now, she couldn’t even think of pulling her wrist away. All she could do was ask for forgiveness without understanding the reason.

“I apologize, Your Highness. My mind is dull, and I do not understand what you are asking.”

It was clear from his unwavering grip that her answer was not satisfactory.

“Your Highness, if you would tell me what I did wrong…”

“Enough.”

At his sharp command, Yeonhwa could do nothing more. She bowed her head deeper, waiting for his judgment. Time passed endlessly until he finally spoke.

“Have you learned to play this instrument?”

With a softer voice, the grip on her wrist loosened. Although she couldn’t grasp the situation, she knew this wasn’t the time to hesitate.

Yeonhwa forced her voice to remain calm as she replied.

“It is an instrument I enjoyed playing before entering the palace when I was in Yeoguk.”

Again, there was a pause in their conversation. A moment of silence filled with the soft sigh of a dignified person and the rustle of fabric. Finally, he said,

“From now on, when you refer to yourself in my presence, call yourself ‘this humble one.’”

The thin fabric brushed against her fingertips. The gentle cloth wrapped around her painful wound, helping to staunch the bleeding. Without needing to see, Yeonhwa knew Kang-yoon was tying up the wound on her fingertip. After securely binding the handkerchief to prevent the wound from reopening, he finally released her hand.

“I will send someone at an appropriate time. We will continue our conversation then.”

His orders remained cryptic. She had no chance to ask what he wanted to discuss.

“Keep today’s events to yourself.”

Kang-yoon turned away from her without giving her a chance to bow. He vanished over the wall in the blink of an eye, leaving the surroundings enveloped in silence like after a storm.

“Ari, he’s gone.”

At her words, Ari, who had been trembling, looked around with frightened eyes. Then she let out a big sigh and relaxed her tense shoulders.

“Oh, thank goodness… I was so scared, thinking I might get punished… Oh! Is your hand okay, Yeonhwa?”

Ari rushed over to check Yeonhwa’s hand. Seeing the handkerchief wrapped around her fingertip, her eyes widened in surprise.

“Is this… perhaps yours, Yeonhwa?”

“It’s not mine.”

The Crown Prince wrapped it for me. Although she knew Ari likely already guessed the answer, she refrained from saying more.

After all, the handkerchief bore the emblem of the Ahwan-guk royal family.

The tiger holding the sun was a symbol that could only be used by the royal family of Ahwan-guk. It was certainly not something to be used just to bind a small wound, especially one belonging to a mere sacrifice.

Kang-yoon had used it to tend to Yeonhwa’s injury. He had been angry, then cared for her wound, and now he was going to send someone.

Yeonhwa was utterly confused by this unpredictable flow of events.

She couldn’t understand why Kang-yoon, who always seemed to be on edge around her, would protect her whenever she was in danger or got hurt.

Did he dislike her, or did he want to keep her close? What was she to him? Why did he shake her so profoundly? It seemed he was trying to sever all the remaining ties she had, like this bittersweet feeling.

“Yeonhwa, we should go inside now.”

“The instrument… the string broke…”

“Don’t worry, Yeonhwa. It was an instrument they were going to discard anyway. We can just say a cat came and chewed on it overnight. Now, let’s get up.”

Ari helped Yeonhwa to her feet. Yeonhwa looked at the broken Bigamgo, her thoughts tangled, before returning with Ari to Manhaedang.

The broken instrument was left behind, soaking in the moonlight.

***

As they quickly moved away from Manhae-dang, Kang-yoon suddenly stopped.

He wasn’t out of breath from running, but his heart raced. He let out a low sigh, trying to suppress the turbulent emotions within him.

Yet the anger roiling inside him refused to settle. In the northwestern part of the vast imperial palace stood a place called Seonghwajeon.

Once the favored palace of a concubine, it had fallen into disuse after she was deposed, leaving behind a garden that no one visited. In that forgotten place, Kang-yoon secretly set up memorial tablets for his brothers.

He carved chestnut wood and inscribed their names, creating a resting place for the souls of those who had died unjustly. Every year, on the anniversary of their deaths, he would go there to honor their spirits.

Today, he had come to Seonghwajeon as he did every year, hoping to feel his brothers nearby, especially since the gate was open.

As the cold air of late winter seeped into his bones, he paid his respects to his brothers when he heard a distant melody.

“…”

The unmistakable sound of the Bigamgo stirred him awake. But it was entirely different from what he had heard in the palace before.

From the very first note, his body stiffened. The second note made his blood rush, the third one clouded his mind, and the fourth compelled him to move against his will. Kang-yoon turned toward the sound of the Bigamgo.

‘I’ve never heard this before… You’re definitely from somewhere else…’

‘I want to lie on your knees and listen…’

‘It’s okay. If you want to cry, cry…’

A voice he couldn’t identify echoed chaotically in his mind, accompanied by an unbearable headache. He pressed his head, taking labored breaths as he stepped forward.

‘Can you play for me for the rest of your life?’

A face flashed in his mind like a lightning bolt before vanishing like morning dew. At that moment, he felt as if he had been struck in the head by something dull, and he struggled to breathe. His legs, which had been chasing the sound, faltered under the weight of the pain.

“Your Highness.”

Swallowing a groan, Kang-yoon barely regained his balance and raised his arm to stop Muheon, who was approaching.

Meanwhile, the music climbed toward its climax. If the sound stopped, he wouldn’t be able to find the one playing it.

‘This isn’t the Ahwan-guk style of play. I need to find the player.’

The melody was unfamiliar, yet it felt oddly familiar. If he focused just a little, he could almost hum along to the next tune.

Why? What kind of music was this? When had he heard it? It certainly wasn’t a piece commonly played in the royal court. Kang-yoon quickened his pace, determined to uncover the truth.

“Have you heard this performance before?”

“I am not well-versed in music, so it’s hard to distinguish, but it doesn’t seem like a familiar tune.”

Muheon’s response confirmed it. This melody was undoubtedly connected to his lost memories. Kang-yoon increased his speed.

Finally, he stopped at the wall adjoining the backyard of Manhae-dang.

His heart raced as if it might burst. Could it be? Those two characters spun in his mind, but there was no time to hesitate. He ordered Muheon to wait and, without the luxury of passing through the door, leaped over the wall. His eyes were met with the scene he had anticipated.

“…”

It was you again. Min Yeonhwa. On this night when everyone else was asleep, you stood alone under the moonlight, like a spirit or a fairy, mesmerizing me.

You sent this distant melody soaring into the heavens, ruthlessly shaking my soul. You made me want to cry. In front of you, my reason was always thin.

“Ah…!”

The impulse was always directed toward you.

The sound of the Bigamgo string snapping echoed sharply above Yeonhwa’s short moan, piercing deep into his chest. The terrified expression on her face filled his vision, but the pain in his head was so intense he couldn’t think.

“Did you know me?”

“Y-yes…?”

“I asked if you knew me.”

He knew it was impossible, yet before he could think, his lips moved. Once again, Yeonhwa’s bewildered eyes stirred something in his heart.

“I don’t recall ever having an audience with His Highness.”

“Then how is it possible?”

His voice rose without him realizing it. Trying to calm his excitement, he sealed his lips, but Yeonhwa, trembling, begged for forgiveness.

“I apologize, Your Highness. My mind is dull, and I do not understand what you are asking.”

She must have been scared. Breaking the prohibition and coming out at night was one thing, but unexpectedly encountering him must have terrified her even more. Yet Kang-yoon knew. She was not at fault. Why did you, who had done nothing wrong, keep asking for forgiveness every moment? Why did your act of calling yourself ‘this humble one’ and bowing down so low disturb me so much?

“Your Highness, if you would tell me what I did wrong…”

“Enough.”

Don’t say any more. That lowly title does not suit you.

Kang-Yoon swallowed the bitter words that pooled in his mouth. It felt hot in his stomach, like swallowing a bitter medicine.

The cold wind brushed against him, awakening his dulled senses. The red light at the edge of his vision was enough to bring back his scattered reason.

That small scratch looked more painful than the wounds he had received on the battlefield long ago. What have I done?

“Have you learned to play this instrument?”

“I enjoyed playing it before entering the palace when I was in Yeoguk.”

Yeonhwa’s use of the term ‘this humble one’ once again ignited his unpleasant emotions. No matter how lowly her status, it was a term that did not fit Min Yeon-hwa at all. No. He didn’t want to hear that title from her lips. It felt as if he had grasped a coveted object, only to see it roll away into the mud without realizing it.

“From now on, when you refer to yourself in my presence, call yourself ‘this humble one.’”

How could I bear to see something of mine become sullied without permission?

“I will send someone at an appropriate time.”

Kang-Yoon thought he would rather crush it than let go.

He tightened his grip on Yeonhwa’s wrist.

The handkerchief he rarely used, which he had once thought cumbersome, now held a certain charm. But it was time to go back.

Everyone was asleep, but if he lingered too long, he didn’t know who else he might run into.

Bosan was sensitive to energy and might have already realized that the foreign priestess had entered Manhaedang. He had promised to follow her advice for the time being, but if he broke it so soon, wouldn’t it embarrass the Crown Prince? Although it was only a matter of a few days.

“Keep today’s events to yourself.”

Kang-yoon took one last look at Yeonhwa before leaving like the wind. Today, the memory of Yeonhwa remained in his mind as the image of her kneeling before him, bowing her head. It was bothersome.

He wouldn’t realize until much later that the headache had completely vanished.