Thirst Lodged in the Throat (1)
The high monk never once revealed his name, from beginning to end.
"Everything stems from the old grudge of the precursor."
"So please help me, Master. Why is it rebellion against heaven just for a life to cling to survival?"
The Grand Prince quoted even the words he'd heard from the Han shaman, desperately trying to persuade the master.
"Seek out a pine tree that grew alone by a clear spring source and carve a Buddha statue from it to make an offering. That is the only way, Your Highness."
"But it won't cure me completely, Master!"
"Your Highness."
"I must become king. And to do that, I must remove the curse Father placed on me. That's how I can live."
Before the high monk, the Grand Prince revealed his rebellious heart without any concealment.
The worry that he might ruin everything by telling the king never even crossed his mind, strangely enough.
He held a small but firm belief that the monk would bury it without informing the king.
"Will you confess everything to Father and block my path of rebellion against heaven, Master?"
The high monk slowly closed his eyes, then opened them.
"If that were the case, I wouldn't have come to you first, Your Highness."
"Master..."
"Reporting Your Highness's unfortunate concerns to the kingdom's sovereign would only bring greater harm to the royal house."
It had been over a decade without a word, yet this man had appeared first upon sensing his resolve, to persuade him.
If he'd intended to tell the king, he wouldn't have shown himself at all.
"Help me, Master. With the same heart that saved my young life by praying to Buddha for three days and nights long ago—stay by my side and aid me."
"At the end of the path Your Highness seeks to walk, there will be no future you truly desire."
"Master."
"But for the time being, I will remain at your side."
With his eyes closed, the high monk slowly turned his prayer beads and recited calmly.
"To ensure this land's proper course isn't twisted, I will offer what little harsh counsel I can from beside Your Highness."
"Master, thank you so much."
The high monk decided to stay by the Grand Prince's side to dissuade him from treason.
But the Grand Prince was simply overjoyed that the high monk he'd sought for so long would remain with him.
"Master, after that, I never found another pine that grew alone by a clear spring—except for the young one by the king's altar."
The pine Buddha statue couldn't dispel the curse, but it could suppress it.
It could gather back even a little of the life slipping away.
"Until now, you've been searching in the wrong places. Return once more to the spot I first told you of."
Half in doubt, the Grand Prince revisited the place where he'd felled the first pine after more than a decade.
And astonishingly, a new pine had sprouted from the stump.
"Though the spirit dwelling within is meager, it will stave off Your Highness's suffering for a few years."
"As expected, now that you've come to me, Master, everything flows as it should. Haha!"
The new sapling was very small.
Its trunk was no thicker than a child's arm.
When he carved a small Buddha statue and made offerings, the pain vanished as if by magic starting that very day.
The rotting sore, grotesquely swollen, began to heal visibly.
The high monk stayed at the Grand Prince's residence, turning his prayer beads and chanting sutras daily for him.
Using the excuse of searching for the high monk, the Grand Prince traveled the country, seeking foundations for his cause.
Meanwhile, he didn't forget to play the part of a debauched idler to the outside world, easing his father's suspicions with a smokescreen.
The Grand Prince's wife, unaware of his circumstances, often sighed and shed tears over her rarely seen husband.
Then one day, the Han shaman secretly visited the Grand Prince.
"My lord, I can't be certain, but there may be a way to thwart the royal curse without committing treason."
"Han, what is it?"
The Grand Prince felt his heart sink.
It should have been joyous news, yet strangely, his mind didn't soar.
Because I no longer need to become king? No. My rebellion against heaven is ultimately...
"The master's dharma power was so exalted it blinded my spirit eyes. I could scarcely dare look straight at him."
"And?"
"Take the master's life, burn his body, and obtain the ashes."
"How certain are you of success?"
"About fifty percent, my lord."
At a success rate less than half, the Grand Prince felt a calm rise within him, his mood oddly complex.
But he schooled his expression and lightly scolded her.
"Long ago and even now, he toils for my life. Never speak such irreverent words again, Han."
"Forgive me for troubling you."
After sending the Han shaman away, the Grand Prince fell into contemplation.
He knew exactly what that residue of emotion lurking in the corner of his unwelcome relief was.
I must become king. Only then can I live...
Was he seeking to become king in order to live, or using the desire to live as an excuse to become king?
The sentiment that he couldn't sacrifice the high monk stemmed from the whisper of ambition: he couldn't abandon the throne.
I will defy Father's will, drive out my brother, and seize the throne solely to survive...
Not out of lust for power.
The Grand Prince mocked himself thus.
***
Haegeuk was steadily climbing the charts, renewing its peak ratings by 1% or 2% at a time, quietly but surely.
Jeong Seo-hoon delivered solid, stable performances, but now praise for his acting was hard to find anywhere.
It was mentioned frequently only in niche communities like BiLab, but externally, there was none.
Even on set, compliments about Jeong Seo-hoon's acting had become rare.
"It's just too taken for granted now. No need to praise the obvious, right? Jeong Seo-hoon acts well? Saying it hurts my mouth—it's a given."
Lately, Kim Sang-hee seemed perpetually in high spirits.
The entire production team knew why.
"Above all, something way more entertaining than our drama is happening every week. Honestly, KBC's real-life script has me raising both hands in surrender. These days, watching their drama is far more fun than mine."
"To think something's more entertaining than the drama you wrote— you must be in a great mood."
As Jeong Seo-hoon chuckled in response, Kim Sang-hee grew even more excited and chattered on.
"It ended last Tuesday at a peak of 9.7%, you know? Guess what it hit yesterday?"
"What did it hit?"
"Don't freak out. 8.1%. 8.1%! How does it drop 1.6% in one episode? I'm so excited to see where it'll crash today that I barely slept last night."
"You're having trouble sleeping lately? Still, you need proper rest."
"I should, but checking Taejong's Origin's ratings and reactions is too fun—I end up watching that every day. Ah, when I should be writing more of mine."
Nothing delights like a rival's downfall more than one's own success.
Especially when it's not friendly rivalry, but KBC's competitor born of bullying and grudges.
"Seo-hoon, let's watch Taejong's Origin together tonight. I'll call the PD and Lee Seo-hyeon too."
"Got it."
That evening, they wrapped shooting early and gathered four at Kim Sang-hee's bar.
Jang Seung-won nitpicked the directing flaws throughout the broadcast; Lee Seo-hyeon said little but her expression screamed satisfaction; Kim Sang-hee clutched her phone, relaying live viewer reactions to the trio non-stop.
The peak rating never surpassed the real-time count of 5.6% in the first 15 minutes.
"Whoa. 8.1% yesterday, 5.6% today? Where's it gonna bottom out?"
"Scarier than the old stocks I dumped. This isn't a falling knife—it's a bomb."
"Next week it'll definitely dip below 4%. They're really gonna end at episode 20 early?"
"Even pegging it at 20 was wrong. Feels like they're shooting a total flop script now—maybe just axe it next week."
The PD and writer were thrilled, trading "your merit," "no, yours" in perfect harmony.
"Gonna step out to call my wife real quick."
"Manager's texting me too. Be right back."
As Jang Seung-won and Lee Seo-hyeon stepped away, leaving them alone, Kim Sang-hee wiped the grin from her face and asked.
"But you're nailing the emotions lately? Episode 32, scene 42—the one you said would be toughest for you."
"A bit tricky."
"Why? Just do it like in Illegal. You've acted it plenty. Killing someone."
"...It's subtly different. Others might pass it, but I'm not sure about the PD or you."
"That much? Nah, just like Illegal and it'll be fine."
Kim Sang-hee tilted her head; Jeong Seo-hoon gave a wry internal smile.
***
"Sis."
"Yeah, little bro? What's got you asking your big sis for help? Spill it easy."
"...Help me nail this emotion real quick."
"Look at you? Why so meek? You're making me nervous."
"Imagining it with eyes closed alone isn't working. Help me out."
"Fine. What do I do?"
"Lie here on the bed pretending to sleep. Not actually sleeping."
Jeong Su-ryeon cocked her head but hopped onto the bed as told, stretching out.
"Clasp your hands lightly over your stomach."
"Got it."
Jeong Seo-hoon stood from the chair, looming close by her head, gazing down motionless.
His slightly moist eyes held a tangle of complex emotions.
In the depths of those pupils, offering no hint of his thoughts, Jeong Su-ryeon had a random notion.
Great eye-line angle right now? Snap a pic for merch and it'd rake in...
Jeong Seo-hoon stared down silently, rooted.
A faint tremor started at his shoulders, rippling to his fingertips.
An ineffable pathos transmitted more vividly through the thick silence.
But what's the scene? Looks like he's gazing at the pitiful world alone—maybe practicing overlooking his sleeping wife?
As Jeong Seo-hoon lingered, building emotion, the antsy Jeong Su-ryeon prodded slyly.
"Hey, what's the scene that you're staring so seriously and soulfully?"
"Shouldn't feel sappy."
"Yeah. Normally your gaze like that would give goosebumps, but why's it feel comfy and refreshing instead?"
Fangirls or actresses might swoon under that look. For siblings, corneal hives were standard.
Yet it felt custom-tailored comfy. Something off.
"You lying there, me standing—worried gaze over a dying wife or something?"
"Nah, was building 'hurry up and die' vibes."
"What? Not the wife—cursing the Crown Prince while overlooking him?"
"Close. Told you it wouldn't feel sappy."
"Fuck. No wonder your stare felt like AC cool breeze. Glad. Thought I was nuts for a sec, but I'm normal."
Jeong Su-ryeon grumbled, squeezing her eyes shut, and asked quietly.
"This help more?"
"Better than solo image training, at least."
"Don't forget to tally my contribution for inheritance split later?"
His heart itched.
Elusive, not quite graspable, frustration piled up.
Murder? I've done it enough to remember. Blood? Hands soaked plenty. But...
Jeong Seo-hoon imagined his co-star he must kill, overlaid on his sister's feigned sleeping face.
Yet the emotion he tried to layer kept losing cohesion, unraveling.
Out of all that killing experience, I've never done this kind once.
Battlefield emotions were simple.
Hatred, vengeance, all manner of negative justifications for slaughter swarming.
Perfect for playing pleasure-killer Lee Jin-wook or materialistic thug Kim Chan.
But slaughtering a good, kind, pitiable life out of ambition? No such experience.
That was his current lack, the emotion he felt deficient in.
When consulting on this, Kim Sang-hee and Jang Seung-won brushed it off lightly.
Just do it like in Illegal?
Finale stretch, plenty of time. Research the emotion slowly.
Jeong Seo-hoon couldn't afford leisure like them.
To nail this scene's emotion, he'd filmed himself dozens of times, reviewing videos alone.
Yet that unfilled 1% void glared every time.
Jeong Seo-hoon slowly gripped his sister's neck.
He imagined channeling full force into ligaments, bones, muscles formed by his fingers.
But what expression to wear this instant? No image formed.
This is a killing I've never done, an emotion even Lens Authority can't satisfy me with, so then...
If only he could return to that world.
Startled by the sudden thought, Jeong Seo-hoon yanked his hand back.
"Bro. Reminds me of back when you first countered my ambush—feels all mushy. Done now?"
"Yeah, get up. Not working. Guess the prop's crap."
To return to Rashid's life, that world of precious comrades and struggle, just for slaughter's emotion?
Jeong Seo-hoon felt mild self-disgust and forcibly shook it off.