My deep soul

Chapter 19

The moon hung high, pouring its silver light across the quiet courtyards. Jinyoen pushed open the wooden door softly, a small smile on her lips. She had expected to find Sunwoo where he always was lately—sitting up late, stubbornly practicing his writing despite his bruises and fatigue.

She stepped behind the figure bent over the desk and, without hesitation, wrapped her arms around his shoulders from behind.

“So, you came early,” she murmured, teasingly warm. “I thought you would get late tonight.”

The man stiffened. Slowly, he turned his head.

Jinyoen’s eyes widened in horror—
It wasn’t Sunwoo.

It was Jidiwi.

Her arms flew back as though she had touched fire. “I—I’m so sorry! I thought you were my brother.”

Jidiwi’s gaze darkened. “Can you stop calling him that?”

“What?” She blinked, utterly taken aback.

“Stop calling him brother,” Jidiwi repeated, his voice low and firm.

“But… he *is* my brother,” Jinyoen said, frowning in confusion. “How else am I supposed to call him?”

Jidiwi turned fully toward her now, his sharp eyes locking onto hers. “Just stop. I don’t want to hear it from you.”

Jinyoen, unsettled by his tone, sat down quickly, reaching for the sketch she had left unfinished from the day before. With steady strokes she continued the drawing, trying to push away the tension in the room.

Jidiwi, however, didn’t move. He simply stood there, watching her, his expression unreadable.

Finally, she broke the silence. “Is it true that you can’t read?”

His jaw tightened. “It is. You’ll have to teach me from the very beginning.”

She nodded softly, brushing the last stroke across her parchment. She handed it to him. “Here. This character means *butterfly*. If you look at the picture rather than the word, you’ll see how the image helps you remember.”

Jidiwi stared at the paper in awe, his lips parting as though he had been given a treasure. When he looked up at her, there was something vulnerable in his eyes—almost childlike.

“Is there… another word I can learn?” he asked, his voice softer now.

Jinyoen smiled gently. “Alright. Which word?”

He hesitated. “King.”

Her brush stilled. Then she carefully painted the character, adding shapes around it. Handing it to him, she explained, “This bird in the nest is the queen. The little one who has fallen to the ground—that is the king. The queen refuses to step down, so the king must stand on his own, just as this small bird must learn to fly. He became king against his will, and now he is left alone. He has no one to help him. So he must become strong by himself.”

Her words cut through Jidiwi like a blade. His throat tightened as memories flooded him—loneliness, rejection, the heavy weight of a crown he never asked for. He clenched his fists, forcing back the sting in his eyes.

“There are some people who should never have been born,” he muttered bitterly. “If he hadn’t been born, he wouldn’t have been pushed out of the nest at all.”

Jinyoen turned her gaze to him sharply. “No. That’s what cowards do—blaming what has already happened. A king shouldn’t give up. He must reclaim what belongs to him, learn from his mistakes. Don’t you see? The faceless king is lucky in a way. He grew up away from the palace. He grew up with the people. He understands them. That will make him a better ruler than anyone else.”