Chapter 28

Lying face down, he thrust his cock hard and ground it roughly up and down.

It felt far better than using his hand. The lingering warmth Hisa had left behind wrapped around his cock and clung to him. Like an animal in heat, he instinctively rocked his hips, grinding until the tip was crushed into the mat.

“Ha… ha… hng, ah, huff…!”

The mat grew wetter with the fluid leaking from his tip. The faint, sticky smell that had lingered in his mind now filled his nose. Hong Yeom-rang, who had been rubbing his cock up past his navel in a mess, bit the inside of his cheek hard.

That bittersweet scent. He buried his face where her head had rested, where her cheek and breath had touched, panting.

The veins in his cock stood out fully.

At the peak, the liquid that had been slowly dripping now burst out like a flood, splattering the mat, his lower abdomen, even under his chin.

Hong Yeom-rang wiped beneath his chin with the back of his hand. The thick, unpleasant smell spread through the small cave. The mat he lay on was no different.

“So where’s my lady going to sleep now.”

If he hadn’t been born into a noble family, people in the capital had said he would have ended up as some rogue or thug and gotten his head cut off. Those words meant nothing to Hong Yeom-rang.

So before becoming a royal consort and losing his head, he thought he might as well go to the battlefield, and laughed to himself. What a pathetic situation this was.

Hong Yeom-rang looked around the cave that had somehow become familiar. Then he lay back down on the sticky mat. He didn’t even feel like washing again. He wanted to see what Hisa would say when she came back and saw him like this.

The shoulder he had forgotten throbbed.

Heat climbed from his shoulder to his neck and head.

“F*cking bastard.”

He didn’t know what expression a beast had, but that creature that had stood on his shoulder had acted like it could tear his throat out at any moment. Hong Yeom-rang was the kind of man who always paid things back.

That tough hide had finally been pierced. He had even drawn blood.

Yet it still wasn’t enough.

His lips twisted in dissatisfaction. No matter how long he waited, Hisa didn’t come. With a weary body, Hong Yeom-rang closed his eyes. He would sense her when she came. He planned to scold her for running around at night.

As that thought settled, his twisted lips softened into a satisfied curve.

Hisa returned, her whole body smelling of grass after running deep into the mountains to gather herbs and even pressuring the goblins to get what she couldn’t find.

She had rushed out without thinking, and now, as she entered the cave, she saw Hong Yeom-rang asleep on her mat.

“…Yeom-rang?”

He hadn’t even dried his hair. His upper body was bare, and his pants were half lowered. Seeing how close they were to slipping off, Hisa hurried to grab a blanket and wrapped it around him.

She thought he would grab her wrist and startle her, but Hong Yeom-rang stayed still.

“Rang?”

She called him that because she could tell he didn’t like being called “Rangi,” yet there was no response. Hisa placed her lukewarm hand on his forehead.

“He’s burning.”

Bruises had risen up to his neck.

From his left shoulder down to his chest, dark bruises spread. Hisa chewed up the herbs she had gathered and spat them out. That was the fastest way. She spread them over his shoulder and sorted a few separately. Then she put water and herbs into the teapot he had brought and boiled them for a long time.

She soaked a cloth and placed it on his forehead. Even though she had never cared for someone like this before, she handled everything smoothly.

From time to time, she went closer, placing the back of her hand on his cheek, checking if he was breathing properly, and whether the herbs had slipped off as he shifted.

She stared at him, the man who always spoke sharply, now sleeping quietly without guarding against her.

Her fingers traced from the bridge of his nose to the tip, then to his philtrum, and finally brushed his lips.

“You’ve grown, but you haven’t changed.”

Seeing Hong Yeom-rang flushed with fever reminded her of a child burning with heat.

A child who had walked barefoot through a snowy mountain path without fear.

Each breath he exhaled had been so hot that she feared something would go wrong, so she had carried him on her back.

One day in the past, there had been a moment when she felt unbearably lonely.

The goblins, the birds, the animals in the forest, none of them could comfort her at times like that. She had been in this forest so long she had stopped counting. She didn’t even know who she was anymore.

Her distant memories hurt too much to recall, so she buried them deep.

In winter, the shaman who was the mother of the current shaman had left for a large ritual. Having lost the only human she could talk to, Hisa stood alone in the mountains.

Snow that covered her toes rose to her feet, then her ankles.

She was cold, not wearing proper clothes.

Summer was hot and winter was cold. Even so, she didn’t feel like hiding in the cave. Through the snowstorm, she could see the scattered lights of the village. Beyond the sacred tree where she could descend, people lived there.

She wanted to grab anyone and talk.

She wanted to talk to people, to do something with them, but not knowing what to do, she just stood there watching the village.

“Huff… huff…”

As she watched, she saw something small.

In the snow where even animals stayed hidden, something small staggered forward. It was a child, his whole body flushed red with fever.

Not an ordinary child. That was obvious from his clothes. Wearing silk instead of rough cloth, barefoot in the snow, he gasped for breath.

“Are you okay?”

A ghost or a human.

She had never seen a child ghost before.

That was what Hisa thought as she looked at the pretty young boy. Startled by a voice suddenly in front of him, the boy stumbled back.

“F*ck.”

He looked about eight or nine.

The curse from such a young mouth made Hisa wonder if he was a runaway servant.

“Move. If you block my way, I’ll… I’ll kill you.”

The child, burning with fever and barely able to breathe, spoke while staring into empty air. Hisa moved deliberately into his line of sight.

His eyes were bloodshot, heat poured from his nose and mouth, his face flushed with fever. She raised her hand and waved her rough fingers in front of him.

No reaction.

“Child, this is a mountain path. I’ll take you to the village.”

“Get lost! Move! Do I… look easy to you?”

The child shouted fiercely. Each time he did, his breath hitched, and Hisa found herself watching him anxiously.

“I’m worried you’ll die like this.”

“Who are you calling a child!”

That shout seemed to take his last strength. He staggered badly and collapsed to the side.

Hisa caught him and carried him on her back. His burning heat seeped through her thin clothes. His breath against her shoulder was hot.

Just moments ago she had been unbearably lonely, but that feeling vanished as she focused entirely on saving him.

With no shaman around, she feared he would freeze if she left him under the sacred tree in the snowstorm. So she headed to the nearest cave.

“Mirang, please bring herbs to reduce fever and some restorative pills.”

She spoke to the goblins who would be listening somewhere. The forest paths opened, guiding her quickly. When she entered the cave, a fire was already lit. Animal pelts were laid out, and the scent of prepared herbs filled the air.

She crushed a pill with water and tried to feed it to the boy.

“Ptooey!”

Still conscious, he spat it out.

“You have to eat it.”

“Get it away. I… have somewhere to go.”

“With this much snow outside?”

“Better to be buried and die. Then I can be buried next to my mother.”

Those were brutal words for such a young child.

Still burning with fever and unable to see properly, he tried to stand, swaying.

Hisa didn’t know what to do. It was her first time dealing with such a young child, and even though he was small, his fierce presence wasn’t something she could take lightly.