A Cold Reunion

Furthermore, the Emperor was a cold-blooded ruler; no matter how much he favored someone, he would purge them without blinking an eye if they committed an impropriety. He dominated his ministers, who were paralyzed by fear, moving freely between the roles of a tyrant and a benevolent sovereign.

It wasn’t that he did this because he found it enjoyable. He simply acted that way because it was the lesson he had been taught since childhood. In truth, neither politics, nor the fear of his ministers, nor the praise of the people gave him any pleasure.

Sang-gang was a man so emotionally numb that he admitted it to himself. Throughout his entire life, he had never once been truly shaken by anything.

Yet, even he had once taken a brief interest in something else. Two years ago, he had become engrossed in the paintings of a commoner artist whose reputation was widespread in the markets. The man’s paintings weren’t flashy, but they had a certain taste that made them worth looking at.

Uncharacteristically, he had summoned the artist to the palace and made a hobby of watching him work during his rare breaks from state affairs. Was I a little happy then? A faint memory of feeling that way remained.

However, even that did not last. After the painter met a sudden, violent death at the hands of an assassin’s blade a few months ago, Sang-gang found himself unable to feel interest in anything at all.

The state affairs he used to handle so diligently were beginning to bore him. Should I start another war? Or should I just let the country fall to ruin? During every morning assembly, as he looked down at the ministers prostrating themselves before him, he wondered whose neck he should take to make this boredom vanish.

But today was a little different. Upon receiving the imperial portrait presented by the hostage who came with the envoys from Gyeong, the Emperor felt a sudden wave of unpleasantness.

Sang-gang gazed at the portrait of himself, then shifted his gaze to the back of the person prostrate before him. In Sang-gang’s private quarters, there was another painting very similar to this one.

Since the artist had died after barely laying down the base colors for the face and fabric over a light sketch, they weren’t perfectly identical. However, the features, the black dragon robe, and the languid posture leaning against the throne were so identical they looked like copies.

“Lift your head.”

The Third Prince of Gyeong, who kept his gaze lowered as if he dared not meet the Emperor’s eyes, was quite a beautiful youth. However, his deathly pale complexion and his cheeks and fingers, as thin as if he hadn’t eaten in days, made that beauty seem frail and pathetic. Even so, his features were clearly those of a handsome man.

Beneath long sleeves of pale jade and blue, only the tips of his gathered fingers were visible. His fingertips, tinted a soft pink, were fine hands that had never known a day of hardship.

Sang-gang could tell at a glance that they were very different from the hands of the painter, who had ground stones and flowers to make pigments because he had no money.

“What did you say the Prince’s name was?”

When he asked while handing the painting to the Head Eunuch standing beside him, the man bowed and answered.

“It is Wi Sohwa, Your Majesty.”

“Small Flower… A name better suited for a courtesan.”

In the Great Empire, names containing “flower” were mostly used by courtesans or those who sold their bodies. To think it was the name of a Prince.

At the distinctly unmasculine name, Sang-gang pulled the corners of his mouth up into a sharp smirk and rested his chin on his hand. He then gestured toward the trembling youth.

“I hear the Prince painted this portrait himself.”

“Yes… Your Majesty. That is correct.”

The Prince, trembling like a sickly mule, barely squeezed out an answer in a shaking voice. Sang-gang stared at him and asked again.

“How did the Prince of Gyeong know what my face looked like?”

Gasp. Sohwa let out a sharp, frantic breath and bowed his head deep. Sang-gang did not believe for a second that this youth had painted it himself. However, he was a bit curious about where he had obtained the image.

“Do not even think of telling a lie. Is it true that the Prince painted this himself?”

When the Emperor pressed him in an irritated tone, unable to wait even a moment, the youth made a sound as if he were being strangled.

“S-small servant…”

“You are not a subject of mine, are they not?”

The Prince stammered an answer, his face turning white. Despite his tone and expression, his reply was surprisingly bold.

“S-since Gyeong is a vassal state of the Great Empire… I heard it is no different from being Your Majesty’s subject.”

Sang-gang let out a hollow laugh at his answer.

“Your tongue is quite smooth. However, from now on, you should mind how you use it. Well, finish what you were saying.”

“It is true… that I painted it.”

Sohwa replied with a solemn face, as if overflowing with a sense of injustice, and bowed his head. Even though his arms, braced against the floor, were shaking so hard the tremors were visible through his sleeves.

“It has been over five years since I last showed my face to another country. Furthermore, I believe it has been more than ten years since I visited Gyeong. There is no one there who could possibly know what I look like now.”

No answer came. Instead, the youth lifted his head with an expression that looked as if he were about to cry. His already pale face turned even more ghastly, looking as if he might collapse at any moment.

His eyes seemed to grow moist, and when their gazes met, they turned strangely dreamy. Facing a gaze that felt oddly familiar, Sang-gang gave a small snort.

“Prince, I will give you one last chance.”

Sang-gang wore a light smile as if he had no intention of badgering him. However, the words that came from his mouth were nothing but fierce. In a tone that didn’t match the content, lightly humming as if he were singing a song, Sang-gang spoke.

“If you continue to lie, I will pluck out your eyes. And if an answer that satisfies me still does not come, I will pull out your fingernails and toenails one by one, and finally, your tongue. When there is nothing left to pull, I will slice the skin from your thighs.”

Sohwa’s arms shook like a newborn calf, then finally gave way. Sang-gang watched this with indifferent eyes and continued.

“There are many skilled men in my Imperial Guard. You will not be able to die even after the skin is stripped from your entire body. So, it would be best to tell the truth before you suffer a terrible fate.”

Seeing the youth’s eyes widen in shock, Sang-gang felt a slight surge of amusement. He tapped his cheek with the fingers that had been supporting his chin, waiting for an answer.

He probably put in the effort just to try and gain favor, Sang-gang thought. Though I don’t know what he would do with favor I have no intention of giving.

Imitating a painting wasn’t that difficult, and Jin-mok wasn’t the only one who had seen the original portrait, so it wasn’t an impossible feat. The question was which fool, with no regard for his own life, had dared to take money to sell such information.

Was it one of the envoys sent to Gyeong? But as far as Sang-gang knew, none of them had seen the portrait personally. To paint it this accurately, one would need a detailed description from someone who had seen it clearly.

Hmm. Sang-gang stopped tapping his cheek and knitted his brows. Those who had seen it properly were only the palace maid who discovered the painting, the eunuch who brought it, and a few Imperial Guards.

No matter how much he thought about it, there was little reason for them to leak information about the painting. Unless Gyeong had promised them mountains of gold, they were men who valued their lives more than anything. The palace maid who found the painting in the artist’s quarters was also young but reliable.

That was why it was baffling. Every time he thought he had a lead, a reason why it couldn’t be true would surface. His irritation grew. Since there was no rule saying he had to keep a hostage alive just because he brought him, perhaps he should just kill him. If the King of Gyeong lost his mind and raised an army, it would at least keep things from being boring for a while.

Just as he decided to kill him regardless of the answer, Sohwa prostrated himself with an expression as if his breath were failing. Looking at the trembling back, Sang-gang felt a cruel urge to be unusually harsh, a feeling that surprised even himself.

Why is this? After a moment’s thought, the face of the dead artist came to mind.

‘This lowly one will paint for Your Majesty until the day I die. I will surely do so.’

A pathetic wretch who had actually died doing just that. When he remembered those black eyes that usually couldn’t even look him in the face, yet dared to steal glances to check the Emperor’s expression only when showing a painting, his desire to be cruel grew even stronger.

Thus, Sang-gang turned his slanted gaze to the Imperial Guards standing behind.

“Take the Prince away and lock him up. I shall interrogate him personally later.”

His eyes met Sohwa’s, who had quickly straightened up. Seeing those large eyes fluttering and shaking, a smile naturally formed on his lips.

Isn’t it strange? He had been so listless, yet now his hands twitched with the desire to cut this Prince’s throat. An inexplicable sense of displeasure continued to grow in size.

How dare he try such a pathetic trick. How arrogant.

Shock and resentment clouded the eyes that were shaking violently. But only for a moment; Sohwa soon dropped those deer-like black eyes downward. Reading resignation in that gaze, Sang-gang instantly lost interest in him.

As Sang-gang waved his hand, the Imperial Guards approached and dragged away the youth, who was bowing his head in despair. Sohwa was dragged out so quietly that not even the sound of his feet dragging could be heard. Sang-gang had expected at least a bit of protest, so he felt strangely deflated.

“Boring, so boring.” If the reaction was that weak, there was no satisfaction in tormenting him. Sang-gang gave a subtle instruction to the Chief Royal Secretary standing nearby.