Carrying the Child of the Man Who Killed Me

Chapter 10

Ji-hyuk seemed flustered for a moment. It was only natural – Yeocheong, who was supposed to stay in the abandoned palace, had burst into the room in a dishevelled state.

His body, thinner than the last time they had met, and his tear-stained cheeks could have evoked pity, but Ji-hyuk quickly turned his head to hide any emotion.

“So the rumours about the Queen Consort losing her mind were true.”

“Maybe it would be better if I lost my mind. After all…”

The whispering of the onlookers grew unbearably loud, as if they were shouting directly into his ears. But Yeocheong didn’t care.

He was well aware of how pathetic and broken he must appear. Yet he clung to the faint hope that even if Ji-hyuk no longer loved him, there might still be some remnant of affection or care for someone he had once loved. Maybe he would pity him, even just a little.

With this desperate thought, Yeocheong held out his trembling hand to Ji-hyuk.

“Please… tell me it was all a lie…”

“…Escort the consort back to the abandoned palace. And find out what the guards stationed there have been doing.”

Ji-hyuk’s voice was cold and unyielding, crushing Yeocheong’s fragile hope.

Ji-hyuk let out a low growl that seemed to convey anger. Was he really just ashamed to see Yeocheong in such a state? Was that why he was so eager to send him away?

With nowhere else to retreat to, Yeocheong, his arm held tightly by a soldier, spoke in a trembling voice.

“Was it because you didn’t want me to bear your child? Is that why you made me drink ‘Yejucha’?’

“What?”

Ji-hyuk, who had been about to turn away, frowned deeply and turned back towards him. The soldier holding Yeocheong hesitated at Ji-hyuk’s reaction and loosened his grip slightly in surprise.

“No, that’s not it… You didn’t know, did you? It was just… just…”

“How did you know?”

Most of the onlookers seemed confused, tilting their heads in confusion, clearly unfamiliar with what ‘Yejucha’was. However, Ji-hyuk’s reaction was quite different. It was clear that he knew exactly what the tea was and what its effects were.

Yeocheong’s lips trembled. The truth he had desperately tried to deny was now thrust in front of him.

“Your Majesty, there’s no need to get involved with him.”

“Your… Majesty?”

“Hah, didn’t you know? His Majesty completely defeated the Song Empire in the last war and ascended the throne as Emperor. Your homeland no longer has the power to support you.”

The rise and fall of Song meant little to Yeocheong. When he was sent here, he had already accepted that he would never return. What did it matter what became of a homeland he no longer belonged to?

But the revelation that Ji-hyuk was the one who had destroyed Song was another matter entirely.

He had been nothing more than a nominal prince, too insignificant to be considered a real hostage. As the queen’s consort, he had no power or influence. But had his lineage and position been a threat?

Was that why Ji-hyuk had locked him away so easily before marching off to war?

The words that should have shocked him felt strangely dull. He could no longer muster the strength to feel surprise or anger.

Yeocheong, who had just confirmed that everything he had believed in was a lie, forced himself to speak, even though he knew exactly what the answer would be.

“You said you loved me…”

Yeocheong lifted his head dazedly, his eyes fixed on the man who was now Emperor. He vividly remembered a day in the sunlight when he had seen this face light up with a smile. But the face now before his blurred vision was cold and hardened, as if to declare that the smile had been nothing but an illusion.

“You said you were glad I was here… that you wouldn’t mind if time stopped like this…”

“You believed that?”

Tears clouded Yeocheong’s vision, preventing him from seeing clearly. The face of Ji-hyuk, now Emperor, wavered and distorted in his tear-filled eyes.

The pain in his bound arms, easily grabbed by the soldiers, and the sting in his knees from running, stumbling and being forced to kneel – none of it hurt as much as the words that sent his heart plummeting into an abyss.

“If time really stopped…”

“…”

Ji-hyuk’s words hung in the air, unfinished, like a blade ready to deliver the final blow.

“If time had truly stopped, I would still be a powerless king of a small nation, groveling before the discarded son of an emperor. For you, that time may have been blissful. But for me… well.”

Ji-hyuk’s words, dismissing that time as anything but happy for him, struck Yeocheong like a dagger. He had never realized how much the informal, easy tone Ji-hyuk used when they were alone could hurt so deeply. Unable to hold back, tears that had been welling up in Yeocheong’s eyes finally spilled over.

“Then why…”

“It was fortunate your father thought me nothing but an impotent fool.”

Your father. Ji-hyuk sneered, referring to Yeocheong’s father, the now-vanished Emperor of Song. Despite knowing since the beginning—even since three years ago when Ji-hyuk departed for war—that Ji-hyuk had never truly been his lover, the cruelty in his voice still tore at Yeocheong’s heart.

“Until the very end, your father clung to his concubines’ skirts. At least he died with no lingering regrets. Compared to their fates, perhaps a swift beheading was merciful.”

“…My mother.”

Yeocheong’s voice trembled as he whispered, his tears falling even faster. Ji-hyuk’s callous words about his mother—the woman who had lived and died with dignity, even amidst the chaos—struck a nerve that Yeocheong could not ignore.

Yeocheong’s head snapped up. Among the emperor’s concubines was his own mother, the only person in the empire who had truly loved him. She had cared for him until the day he left, the one who had cared for him when he left to marry Ji-hyuk and move to Yeon.

How could he have forgotten her until now? The realisation struck him like a bolt of lightning, and a flicker of despair lit up his otherwise lifeless eyes.

“Maybe one day I can bring your mother here. Even if I can’t bring her permanently, she could at least stay for a few months to rest.” 

“My mother… what happened to my mother?”

Surely not – surely it couldn’t be what he feared. Yeocheong looked up at Ji-hyuk with trembling eyes, clinging to the last shred of hope. But Ji-hyuk crushed that hope without hesitation.

“What do you think happened? You’re not stupid enough not to know, are you?”

Ji-hyuk’s words were cold, without pity or concern.

Then, as if to underline his point, Ji-hyuk drew the sword hanging at his side. A weapon that Yeocheong had once seen as a symbol of protection now gleamed with a sharp edge, its blue steel shining as it pointed in his direction.

“There is no place in the empire for a queen’s consort.”

Ji-hyuk raised his arm high, the sword shining in his grip. Yeocheong didn’t even look at the blade, his tears falling silently to the ground. The last glimpse he caught of Ji-hyuk was obscured by the reflected light of the sword, leaving the emperor’s expression unreadable.

‘It was all so foolish. I actually thought I could be someone worthy of love, that I could be happy here with His Majesty… I was the only one with such naive hopes.’

The moment they first met, the day he followed Ji-hyuk to Yeon for her wedding, the time Ji-hyuk first spoke to him despite his cold demeanour – all these cherished memories shattered to pieces, piercing Yeocheong’s heart with unbearable pain.

The memories of his mother, once so beautiful to him, were probably only beautiful in his mind. Foolishly, he had clung to them, replaying them endlessly, hoping to somehow return to those days.

‘If I die now, will I see my mother again? I told her before I left that we would meet again… is this how we reunite?’

Yeocheong closed his eyes, letting go of the last fragile hope he had clung to. At that moment, everything was shattered beyond repair.

Rather than endure this endless agony, he wished it would all end with a single, decisive pain. This was Yeocheong’s last desperate wish.

—

Even with his eyes closed, the pain seemed to fade. It was as if the buzzing voices around him were no longer audible, as if his ears had gone deaf.

He had believed that Ji-hyuk loved him. He had believed that the warm comfort he received whenever he worried about not being able to have children was sincere, a reflection of Ji-hyuk’s true feelings.

Little did he know that the one who wanted to avoid having children the most was Ji-hyuk himself. But like a fool, he had leaned into those big, warm hands and accepted the comfort they offered.

How stupid must I have looked? How ridiculous and pathetic was it that I blocked the truth when it was staring me in the face, denying it to the very end?

‘If it had to be like this… maybe it would have been better to go to Seonguk. At least if I hadn’t given up my heart and expected nothing from the beginning…’ 

But it was too late. Everything was over and these thoughts were meaningless. Was I really going to join the world of the dead like this? Yeocheong clenched his fist, feeling the fabric of his slightly mismatched sleeves crumple in his grip.

‘Wait, the sleeve?’

The clothes he was wearing were too big for him, a consequence of his emaciated body. But the fabric now felt unnervingly fine and soft. It wasn’t the kind of fabric he’d worn before.

Yeocheong hadn’t even noticed that he had closed his eyes, but when he slowly opened them, a faint coughing sounded in his ears.

“There’s no need to be so tense.”

It was a voice he thought he would never hear again. He had been told that the person was dead, that his head had been severed in an instant.

“Right…”

But Yeocheong couldn’t forget the owner of that voice. Even though he hadn’t heard it very often, it was deeply engraved in his memory, forever imbued with fear.

“Seventh Prince. I hear you’ve started to like the Crown Prince of Yeon?”

And as those words, impossible to forget, fell upon Yeocheong, he couldn’t help but raise his head, forgetting even the manners of the moment.

‘This can’t be… Am I dreaming?’

Yeocheong lifted his head to find himself staring at the royal seal. It was the same seal that had marked the moment of his first private audience with the emperor, the moment that had changed the course of his life. Now, once again, that moment seemed to come full circle and confront him once more.