My deep soul

Chapter 39

Jinyoen sat in her chamber, the lantern casting a soft glow over her features. Her mind was heavy with the looming matters that would decide the fate of Silla. She traced patterns absentmindedly on the wooden desk, deep in thought, when the soft shuffle of footsteps approached.

Kyung entered quietly, carrying a folded letter. Jinyoen nodded without looking up. “I see,” she murmured, taking the letter and scanning it briefly. Minutes passed in silence, broken only by the distant wind brushing against the window panes.

Then, the door opened again. A man entered, bowing with precision and respect.

“Lady Jinyoen, I see you have recovered well,” he said, his voice carefully measured.

Jinyoen inclined her head slightly. “Indeed! Lord Hwi-Kyung,”

He continued, “long time has passed since we last spoke.”

“Indeed it has, my lord,” Jinyoen replied smoothly, her tone polite but edged with subtle mockery.

Hwi-Kyung hesitated for a moment, studying her expression. She was unflinching, regal even in the soft glow of her chamber.

“What brings you here? You were away from the capital when I arrived,” she asked, raising a delicate eyebrow.

“I was,” Hwi-Kyung admitted. “But I needed to meet the queen.”

Jinyoen let out a soft, mocking laugh. “You met her? How nice!” Her words dripped with irony, and Hwi-Kyung stiffened, realizing that she was fully aware of the tension between them. Yet, he did not respond; he knew better than to underestimate the power this young woman wielded.

“So, are you planning revenge against the queen now?” Hwi-Kyung asked, a faint chuckle in his voice, though unease flickered in his eyes.

“You are still the same, Hwi-Kyung,” Jinyoen said, her voice measured but sharp. “You speak too soon, before you truly know what is at stake.”

“I am speaking what I know, my lady,” he replied carefully.

Jinyoen leaned forward, her dark eyes glinting. “Then tell me… who is your son, really?” She paused, letting the question hang in the air.

Hwi-Kyung stared, speechless. Her insight cut straight to the heart of the matter. She had seen through his intentions before he even spoke.

“I know the real reason you are here, Hwi-Kyung,” Jinyoen said, her tone low and commanding. “You need your son to be king of Silla. And you came here, seeking my help. Am I correct—or not?”

Shock flashed across Hwi-Kyung’s face. He had not imagined that she would know so much. He swallowed hard, realizing he was dealing with a woman whose mind was as sharp as any strategist he had ever known.

“Where does your loyalty lie? With Park Youngshill?” Jinyoen pressed further, her hand brushing her teacup as she sipped slowly, maintaining the calm of a predator watching its prey.

“I… know which side I am on, my lady,” Hwi-Kyung said cautiously. “I believe it is best that only I know for now.”

Jinyoen allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. “Good. Now, tell me… what kind of profit shall I gain for helping your son? How do you intend to pay me?”

Hwi-Kyung opened his mouth to speak, but Jinyoen interrupted, laughter bubbling softly from her lips, light yet sharp as a blade.

“You have already crowned him in your mind, haven’t you?” she said, leaning back gracefully. “Be careful, Hwi-Kyung. People who raise their hopes too quickly often fall the hardest. What will happen when that happens? Just imagine.” Her gaze was piercing, unrelenting. “Be careful what you say to me. I can make both you and your son dance in the palm of my hand.”

Hwi-Kyung’s face paled imperceptibly. He had expected resistance, but the force of her presence and intellect was far beyond what he had anticipated. He knew she would not accept his plea easily—but he also knew that without her aid, his son’s path to the throne would be nearly impossible.

He chose his silence, understanding that to provoke her further would be dangerous. Jinyoen’s laughter faded into a calm, measured smirk, her dominance in the room unquestionable.

“You may remain silent for now, Hwi-Kyung,” she said, her tone silky yet deadly. “But remember… everything has its price.”

Hwi-Kyung bowed deeply once more, realizing that every move in this game had to be carefully measured. Jinyoen’s eyes followed him to the door, unyielding, as though she could see every secret ambition hidden in his heart.

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The hwarang clinic was quiet that evening, the fading light from the papered windows casting long shadows across the shelves stacked with herbs and vials. Jinyoen moved with practiced care, arranging jars of dried leaves and mixing powders, her hands steady but her mind wandering. The events in Baekje still haunted her—the fear, the violence, the helplessness—and yet, she felt stronger now, tempered by what she had survived.

The soft creak of the door made her glance up. Jidiwi stepped inside, his face unusually grave, the weight of unspoken thoughts heavy in his dark eyes. The moment she saw him, a smile rose to her lips, but it faltered as she noted the intensity of his expression. She quickly set aside the tray she was holding, her smile replaced by concern.

“What happened?” she asked softly, moving toward him.

He didn’t answer at first. He stood still, jaw tight, as if weighing his words. Then, finally, he spoke, voice low, almost trembling despite its usual commanding tone.

“I need to ask you something,” he said. Jinyoen nodded, urging him silently to continue.

He took a deep breath, his eyes locking with hers. “If I say… if I say, ‘I want to farm with you, have children, live a simple life, and forget all of this… would you come with me?’” His words hung in the air, heavy with vulnerability and longing.

Jinyoen froze. The weight of his confession settled over her like a sudden, unexpected storm. Her breath caught, and she took a step closer. “I… you can’t mean that,” she whispered, shaking her head.

“I do,” Jidiwi admitted, his voice rough with emotion. “I cannot bear the throne, Jinyoen. I cannot bear the expectations, the blood, the… the fear. I could live a life with you, simple and quiet. I would trade everything—my crown, my power—for that. For you.”

Jinyoen’s hand moved instinctively, taking his with both of hers. She searched his face, seeing the raw exhaustion, the tears threatening at the corners of his eyes. “Are you going to use me as your excuse to run away?” she asked gently, her voice firm but laced with care.

He flinched at first, then looked down, ashamed. “Maybe… maybe I just want a life where I’m not constantly failing everyone,” he admitted in a whisper.

Jinyoen shook her head, her eyes bright and unwavering. “You’ve lived your whole life asking yourself why you must be the king,” she said, stepping closer, pressing her hands against his chest. “You know why. It’s not easy, I know that. But you can’t give up. Everyone has responsibilities. They cannot run from them. You can tell from a person’s eyes if they’ve given up, and Jinheung…” Her voice softened, full of warmth and conviction. “…I see your eyes. You have never once given up.”

Her words seemed to pierce through the layers of his exhaustion, cutting straight to the heart of him. The tension in his shoulders loosened, and before she could fully register it, he bent toward her. His tears began to fall freely, hot and trembling, soaking her robe.

Jinyoen didn’t pull away. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly against her. She let him cry, her own breathing steadying him. She felt the weight of his pain, the burden he carried, and she whispered softly into his hair, her voice full of love and promise.

“You are not alone, Jinheung. I’m with you,” she said. “Always. I will never leave you.”

He clung to her as if the world itself had crumbled around them, and in that embrace, all the fear, all the pressure of the crown melted away, leaving only the two of them—together, unbroken, and utterly devoted to each other.

For the first time in a long while, Jidiwi felt a flicker of peace, not as a king, but as a man held by the woman he loved most, the woman who understood him fully and would never let him bear the weight of the world alone.