Chapter 5
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 5
Chapter Title: Service Trial
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Yeonhwa's face turned deathly pale.
He was a devil. A true demon who knew exactly how to seize and rattle a person's most vulnerable spot.
The moment she called for the Imperial Guard, it wouldn't be Cheonwi facing ruin—it would be her. She knew that all too well.
Yeonhwa sank into her seat, trembling with rage. Tears of fury burned at the corners of her eyes.
"How... how could you do this to me? What have I ever done to you...?"
Moisture gathered in Yeonhwa's voice. Cheonwi feigned surprise and offered her the cup of liquor.
"Wrong? I'm just here to be Your Ladyship's 'secret friend.'"
"Secret... friend?"
"Think about it. When was the last time His Majesty sought you out? A year ago? Two?"
Cheonwi's words struck like daggers straight to her heart.
"In this vast Imperial Palace, do you have a single ally? Everyone's just betting on when you'll be deposed. Even the kitchen maids serve you cold rice. That's the reality."
Brutal facts that dug ruthlessly into her wounds.
Yeonhwa couldn't refute it. The words rang so painfully true, making her feel all the more wretched and forlorn. She bowed her head. The crushing loneliness she'd ignored for over a year came flooding out like a burst dam.
"Hic..."
Tears she'd held back fell with a plop, wetting the table. In that instant, all her dignity and pride as empress crumbled away.
That's when Cheonwi rose from his seat. He approached Yeonhwa slowly.
Expecting more mockery or intimidation, Yeonhwa shrank back.
But Cheonwi's actions were utterly unexpected.
He dropped to one knee at her feet, like a loyal knight.
Then, he gently cradled her bare white foot peeking from beneath her skirt hem.
"Ah...!"
Yeonhwa startled and tried to pull away, but Cheonwi's grip was firm.
"Please stay still."
"Let go! How dare you touch me with your filthy hands...!"
"Your feet are like ice. No circulation at all."
Ignoring her protests, Cheonwi pressed his thumb firmly into the sunken spot on her sole—the Yongquan Acupoint.
It wasn't mere acupressure. A heavy surge of inner energy flowed from his fingertip. A precise technique blending modern pressure points with qi.
"Nngh...!"
A stifled moan escaped Yeonhwa's lips.
She'd braced for pain, but it wasn't. After the sharp sting of blocked meridians clearing came an irresistible coolness and pleasure. Heat bloomed from her toes, racing up her calves to her thighs in an instant.
"A woman needs warmth down below, but the Cold Palace floors are freezing—it's made your chills worse. You'll fall ill at this rate."
Cheonwi kneaded each toe joint with expert skill as he spoke. Everywhere his fingers touched ignited like fire.
Yeonhwa clutched the table edge. She knew she should pull away, her mind screamed to, but her body wouldn't obey. It craved more of his touch.
"Haa... Nn, there... not there..."
"Feels good?"
Cheonwi looked up at her. His eyes held none of last night's ferocity. Instead, they gleamed with a strangely tender—and thus far more dangerous—light.
"If you report me, I'm dead. That's certain, right?"
Cheonwi whispered low, dragging his finger along the arch of her foot.
"But Your Ladyship? You'll rot away alone in this frozen room forever. Withering like a dried flower in a place no one visits. Is that what you want?"
"......"
Yeonhwa had no answer.
Rotting alone. That terror surpassed even death. The warmth from Cheonwi's hands was the sole salvation from that dread. Even if it came from the devil himself.
Yeonhwa's resistance faded. The tension drained from her kicking legs.
Cheonwi's lips curved. The signal of surrender.
He slid his hand upward, ever so slowly.
Up from her ankle, tracing her smooth calf. Each brush of his rough palm against her silken skin made Yeonhwa twitch.
"Hnn..."
Yeonhwa squeezed her eyes shut.
She couldn't predict how far this hand would roam or what it would touch. But she couldn't push it away. No—she didn't want to. If it could fill this suffocating loneliness, she'd embrace the fall.
Cheonwi's hand paused just below her knee, at the crook of her leg.
One of the most sensitive spots. When he pressed lightly with his fingers, Yeonhwa's back arched like a bow.
"Aahn...!"
A raw cry sliced through the night air. Yeonhwa clapped a hand over her mouth too late.
Cheonwi grinned and withdrew his hand.
Plop.
The stimulation vanished like a lie.
Yeonhwa opened her dazed eyes and looked down at him. Regret and longing mingled in her gaze. An expression begging why he'd stopped.
Cheonwi stood and brushed off his robes.
"Today's just the service trial. That's all."
"Ser... vice what?"
"The full course? Next time, if there's a chance. No fun spoiling it all at once."
Cheonwi winked mischievously. Leaving her aflame then dousing her with cold water—an art form in itself. Yeonhwa gasped in hollow frustration.
"You... you're a real devil."
She shot at him between ragged breaths. But her voice held no venom—only a twisted affection.
Cheonwi leaned in, whispering at her ear as if delighted by her response.
"I'll take that as a compliment, Master."
Yeonhwa never knew a simple title could sound so wickedly profane.
"I'll leave the liquor. Enjoy it slowly. And the snacks too."
Cheonwi strolled toward the wall without a backward glance. Light steps, like a local idler out for a walk.
Even after he vaulted over and vanished, Yeonhwa sat frozen in place for a long while.
Heat still burned along her calves from his touch, and her heart pounded wildly.
On the table sat the half-filled cup of clear liquor, shimmering in the moonlight.
Yeonhwa lifted it with trembling hands.
Drinking this might cross an irreversible river. Making her accomplice to that man, stepping onto the path of depravity.
But.
Gulp.
Yeonhwa downed it without hesitation.
The liquid burned sweetly down her throat—thrilling, intoxicating. Poison or medicine unknown, but impossible to refuse.
That night, Yeonhwa clutched the empty bottle and, for the first time, fell into deep sleep. Even in dreams, she felt those hot hands caressing her.
The next morning.
The Cold Palace's dawn was oppressively silent. Even birds veered away warily. The only sound breaking the stillness was the swish of a broom.
In one corner of the yard, Cheonwi swept with feigned diligence. Outwardly, a lowly eunuch dutifully at work—but his eyes fixed not on the broom tip, but on the woman seated on the porch.
Empress Yeonhwa.
Her profile, clad in faded mourning robes and staring blankly at the sky, looked not just desolate but precarious. Since her deposition and exile here a year ago, she'd been little more than a living corpse.
Cheonwi clicked his tongue. How could he enjoy a toy that intrigued him when it wilted like this?
Then—
"Is anyone there? The Noble Consort has arrived!"
A shrill shout tore through the Cold Palace's quiet. Cheonwi's brow furrowed. His grip tightened on the broom.
'Bad luck first thing in the morning.'
Rumble-thud. Amid clamor of footsteps, the creaky gates flew open. The narrow yard nearly burst as a lavish palanquin and dozens of maids and eunuchs poured in.
At the center descended a woman draped in gold and jewels, a walking treasure chest.
Baek Noble Consort.
The one who'd monopolized the emperor's favor, shoving Yeonhwa aside to become the true power in the inner palace. Her arrival flooded the air with cloying perfume.
Cheonwi retreated to the corner, head bowed. But his shadowed eyes gleamed like a predator eyeing prey.
Baek Noble Consort pinched her nose, frowning as she approached Yeonhwa.
"Oh my, Sister. Still alive... I mean, still moping around here?"
Yeonhwa slowly turned. A faint ripple stirred her vacant eyes.
"......Baek Noble Consort."
"Aigoo, my knees ache trying to curtsy. His Majesty wouldn't let me go all night."
Baek Noble Consort mimed a bow then stood crookedly with her maid's support. Overt mockery and insubordination. Yeonhwa bit her lip but said nothing. A deposed empress held no rank—practically a criminal.
"Didn't come empty-handed. Brought gifts."
At her glance, trailing eunuchs dumped silk bundles on the dirt. Dust rose, soiling Yeonhwa's hem.
"What's this?"
"Silk, as you see. Faded, outdated stuff I won't wear—but perfect for you. Rags or patches, up to you."
Baek Noble Consort tittered behind her fan. Her maids snickered too.
Yeonhwa's pale hands shook. Humiliation burned. This woman, who once couldn't meet her gaze as empress, now tossed discarded scraps like charity. She wanted to scream—but that risked her life. Alone against the pinnacle of power.
In the end, Yeonhwa bowed her head. Her lip bled from biting.
Cheonwi watched, his eyes icing over.
'How dare she.'
Cheonwi's lips twisted.
That expression was for his eyes only. That despair, that shame—meant to unfold solely in his grasp. And some backwater wench dares mar his toy?
Baek Noble Consort hummed, pleased with Yeonhwa's reaction.
"Take care, Sister. Wonder how long you'll last in this moldy hole."
Done with her business, she turned. Her ornate skirts swished, slapping Yeonhwa's knee. Perfect final insult.
"Let's go. Have bathwater ready. I'll reek."
As the Noble Consort strode arrogantly—
Cheonwi, tucked in the corner, twitched his broom-holding fingers ever so slightly.
Shhick.
From his sleeve shot an invisible, thread-thin strand no eye could catch—Dark Heaven Silk.
Slithering like a living serpent across the ground, it swiftly climbed her ankle. Targets precise: the sash knot securing layers of lavish skirts at her waist, and the straps binding her ample bosom in her inner robe.
Cheonwi mouthed silently.
"Farewell. Not far."
He snapped his fingers.
Pop.
A crisp burst echoed.