NOVEL WEB Chapter 11: 11
The post-wedding glow clung to Jihoon like the finest Goryeo silk, warm and comforting. Waking beside Taeyoung each morning was a revelation, a quiet joy that permeated even the most mundane daily tasks. Taeyoung's affection was a steady, grounding force: the way his large hand would settle on Jihoon's waist during breakfast, his low chuckle at Jihoon's bewildered questions about Goryeo etiquette, or the almost imperceptible softening of his fierce gaze whenever their eyes met across a crowded room. Jihoon, in turn, found himself basking in this newfound tenderness, his heart swelling with a love he'd never thought possible. Yet, even in the sweet intimacy of their shared life, the jarring tick-tock of his dual clocks—his illness and the novel's relentless plot—persisted.
The morning after his conversation with Jaemin, Jihoon sought out the young prince. He found Jaemin in his chambers, sketching delicate plum blossoms, a wistful look on his face. "Your Highness," Jihoon began, his voice gentle. "Have my words given you pause?" Jaemin looked up, his large eyes filled with a new, quiet resolve. "Sir Jihoon," he said, setting down his brush. "Your words... they were like a clear spring in a desert. My adoptive family, my home in Joseon, Prince Min Youngjin... they are where my loyalty truly lies. To abandon them for the empty promises of this Goryeo family who cast me aside... it would be a betrayal of my own heart. I will not seek their favor." Jihoon felt a wave of profound relief wash over him. He got it! He actually understood! This was it, the first crucial deviation.
Jaemin's commitment to his Joseon roots, and by extension, to Min Youngjin, was paramount. Jihoon knew he now had to ensure that their reunion in Goryeo would somehow bypass the "betrayal" that had led to so much suffering in the original novel. This was going to be tricky, like walking a tightrope over a pit of plot holes.
Life as the General's spouse quickly settled into a demanding, yet surprisingly engaging, routine. Jihoon found himself hosting a steady stream of noble visitors, their elaborate greetings and veiled questions often leaving him mentally exhausted. He'd navigate conversations about ancestral lines and provincial harvests, internally translating every polite nod into "are you really worthy of our General?" He sometimes slipped, referring to a "presentation slide" instead of a "scroll," or asking if the palace had a "proper accounting software." Madam Ahn would merely blink slowly, her face a mask of polite confusion, before smoothly correcting him.
Taeyoung, however, found Jihoon's faux pas endlessly amusing. During one particularly stuffy tea ceremony, when a haughty noble implied Jihoon's 'unconventional' upbringing, Taeyoung had simply draped an arm over Jihoon's shoulders, a subtle but possessive gesture. "My husband's wisdom," Taeyoung had stated, his voice a low, dangerous rumble, "comes not from dusty lineage, but from a perspective sharper than any blade. He sees what others miss." Jihoon had blushed violently, both from the public display and the sheer tenderness in Taeyoung's eyes, but the noble had instantly wilted under the General's implied threat.
The quiet domesticity with Taeyoung was a stark contrast to the courtly theater. After long days, Jihoon would often find Taeyoung waiting for him in their chambers, a warm bath drawn, or a simple meal laid out. Taeyoung's hands, so capable in battle, were surprisingly gentle as he'd comb out Jihoon's hair before bed, a quiet ritual that spoke volumes of his affection. Jihoon often dozed off against Taeyoung's broad chest, feeling safe and utterly loved.
This fragile peace was shattered a few days later. A royal decree, brought by breathless palace messengers, arrived with shocking news: Min Youngjin, Joseon's Prince and a celebrated military strategist, was to arrive in Goryeo within the week. His mission: a diplomatic envoy to discuss border territories and the "status" of Prince Jaemin.
Jihoon felt a cold dread seize him. Status of Prince Jaemin. This was it. This was the moment the plot truly began. Youngjin wasn't coming as a lover returning for his beloved; he was coming as a political envoy, likely tasked by the Joseon King to retrieve Jaemin, which would then lead to Jaemin's difficult choice, and Youngjin's eventual "betrayal" and descent into sadism.
Jihoon excused himself from his current task, a discussion about autumn harvest quotas, his mind racing. He retreated to the library, burying himself in maps and Joseon histories, trying to predict Youngjin's true intentions, his precise arrival point, and most importantly, how to facilitate a reunion with Jaemin that avoided the catastrophic misunderstanding that triggered the novel's darkest chapters. He needed them to meet, to choose each other, before the political machinations could twist their love into something monstrous. He realized his task wasn't to keep them apart, but to ensure they chose each other freely, and crucially, without the element of betrayal.
As the pressure mounted, Jihoon's body, ever the traitor, began to protest. The persistent fatigue became debilitating, and the coughs, once discreet, grew harsher, deeper. One late night, hunched over a particularly dense scroll detailing Joseon's diplomatic history, a violent fit wracked his body. He gasped, clutching his chest, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to control the tremors that ran through him. He reached for a handkerchief, but his hand shook so badly he fumbled it.
Just then, the door creaked open. Taeyoung, dressed in a simple sleeping robe, entered, drawn by the sound. "Jihoon-ah?" His voice was laced with sleep, but sharpened instantly with alarm as he saw Jihoon's trembling form. He was beside him in an instant, large hands gently turning Jihoon's face. "What is it?" he demanded, his eyes searching Jihoon's. Then he saw the tell-tale smear of crimson at the corner of Jihoon's lips, the handkerchief now stained red in his trembling grip.
Taeyoung's face, usually so composed, paled visibly. His eyes, usually fierce, filled with a raw, undeniable terror. "Blood," he whispered, his voice hoarse with a fear Jihoon had never witnessed from him before. He scooped Jihoon into his arms, carrying him swiftly to the bed, disregarding Jihoon's protests. "Physician! Get the physician, now!" he roared, his command echoing through the quiet halls, waking startled servants.
Jihoon tried to wave him off, embarrassment warring with the overwhelming fatigue. "It's… it's just a little cough, General. I'm fine."
Taeyoung knelt by the bed, his strong hand cradling Jihoon's cheek, his thumb gently wiping away the remaining trace of blood. His gaze was fierce, possessive, filled with a desperate protectiveness. "Do not lie to me, Jihoon-ah. This is not 'just a little cough.' This is... this is not right." He ordered the physician to stay by Jihoon's side all night, and though his own duties called, he refused to leave Jihoon's side until the physician assured him Jihoon was resting peacefully, albeit with a grave prognosis whispered low. Taeyoung's doting care, usually a source of comfort, now felt heavy with a palpable, unspoken fear. He didn't understand the illness, but he understood the threat it posed to his beloved.
Despite his lingering weakness, Jihoon felt a renewed surge of purpose. Min Youngjin was coming. He needed to get ahead of the plot. He would oversee the preparations for the Joseon envoy's reception with meticulous care, not just for the General's reputation, but to control the narrative. He'd ensure the setting, the timing, even the seating arrangements, were precisely right to foster a healthy reunion between Jaemin and Youngjin. He'd even planned a small, humorous 'accident' that would ensure Jaemin and Youngjin had a moment alone, without the meddling Goryeo court.
Days later, the mansion once again braced itself. This time, the procession was smaller, more formal, less like a triumphant army and more like a carefully orchestrated diplomatic arrival. Jihoon, leaning against a pillar in the reception hall, felt his heart pound, not just from illness, but from adrenaline. He saw the Joseon banner, the elegant procession. And then, at its head, a figure dismounted from his horse with an arrogant grace. He was striking, with sharp features and an undeniable aura of authority, yet a strange, cold beauty. Min Youngjin. Jihoon's breath caught. He looked even more dangerous and alluring than his sister's descriptions. He was here. The final chess piece had been placed. Jihoon closed his eyes for a brief moment, picturing the pieces on his mental chessboard. He would not just survive; he would rewrite the entire game. He would save Jaemin, no matter the cost, even if it meant risking his own fragile, ticking existence.