The rain wouldn't stop.
It poured over the tiled rooftops of the estate once known for its laughter and lantern-lit nights. Now, the courtyards were silent. Empty. The red silk banners that used to flutter proudly from the gates were soaked and torn, hanging like lifeless limbs.
In the heart of the ancestral home, a young man knelt alone before the bloodstained stones of the main hall. His forehead pressed to the cold ground, eyes red and unblinking, fingers clenched tightly around the jade hairpin his mother once wore.
He didn't cry.
He couldn't, not because the grief wasn't unbearable, but because the moment he shed a tear, it would make everything real. The screams, the fire, the sword that cut down his parents and sisters. The glint of gold on the hands of those who betrayed them. His own cousins, laughing as they set his world on fire.
"Your name is a death sentence now," the old steward had whispered, dragging him through the secret passage in the middle of the night. "You must run, young master. Hide. Disappear."
He hadn't even gotten to bury them. The guards were already coming.
He had run, barefoot and blood-spattered, through the forest trails he used to ride horses through as a boy. That night, the woods were colder. Hungrier. Every snap of a branch made him flinch. Every shadow felt like a blade.
And in the weeks that followed, the young man who once wore embroidered robes and spoke poetry under moonlight became something else. A shadow among the commoners. A ghost of nobility.
He shed his name
He shed his identity.
Until one day, he stood before a brothel in the city, disguised in the garments of a woman, face powdered and voice quiet. The madam looked him over once, and said, "Too pretty to send to the streets. You'll serve in the inner quarters."
And that was how the last son of a fallen house came to serve the palace. Not as a noble. Not as a scholar.
But as a courtesan. beautiful, silent, and dangerous in his own right.
Yet beneath the silk and painted lashes, He still remembered.
Every smile he gave was calculated. Every touch rehearsed.
And every day, he waited, waited for the moment when he could take back what was stolen from him.
Or die trying.
---
They called it Hwayeon Palace... the Palace of Blossoming Fate.
From the outside, it looked like something pulled from a painter's dream. Graceful tiled rooftops curved like bird wings. Gardens bloomed even in the late chill of early spring. Perfumed breezes carried the scent of magnolias and plum blossoms across the wide stone courtyards.
But to Seo Yul, dressed in the powdered face and layered silks of a courtesan named Yeonhwa, it was nothing more than a cage gilded in gold.
The sedan chair swayed slightly as it was carried through the grand palace gates. He kept his head bowed, hands folded delicately over his lap, the way the madam had taught him. Even now, days into the act, the weight of his wig and hairpins made his neck ache.
The guard at the gate didn't spare him more than a glance. Another courtesan being brought in to serve the nobility. Another ornament for the palace.
Yul's fingers curled slightly in his sleeves.
"If only they knew."
He had been trained well. In voice, in movement, in the art of staying unseen. But no amount of painted rouge or graceful smiles could dull the sharpness in his gaze. Beneath the layers of silk, beneath the softness of "Yeonhwa," he was still Seo Yul, the son of a slaughtered noble house, the last remnant of a name struck from records and whispered like a curse.
The sedan chair came to a stop. A eunuch pulled back the curtain.
"This way," the man said, kindly.
Yul nodded and stepped down, bowing as he had practiced. Around him, the courtesan quarters of the inner court glowed with candlelight. Laughter drifted like perfume on the wind, soft, trained giggles and flirtatious tones meant to entertain the lonely officials or idle royals who passed through. It sickened him.
The madam met him at the entrance to the quarters.
"Yeonhwa," she said, loud enough for the others to hear. "You're assigned to Inner Pavilion Two. Behave. Speak little. Smile often. The Second Prince is known to favor the ones who don't try too hard."
Yul bowed his head low.
"The Second Prince… "
He had heard the whispers, Prince Dowon, the younger brother of the Crown Prince. A man of terror, ruthless and unforgiving. Who bathed in luxury and discarded people as easily as wine cups. He was everything Yul should have hated.
But he would play his part. Smile like the others...
---
The courtesan quarters of Hwayeon Palace looked beautiful at first glance.
Paper lanterns swayed gently from the wooden beams, their warm light casting soft glows on polished floors. Perfume hung in the air like mist, mixing with the scent of sweet rice cakes and ink. From a distance, it all felt like a dream.
But up close, the dream was thin.
Every smile was practiced. Every laugh had a cost. And every glance could be dangerous.
Seo Yul sat by the window of his assigned room, Inner Pavilion Two, watching the garden outside. Small white flowers bloomed along the stone path, delicate and quiet, just like him. Except he wasn't delicate. Not really.
The silk hanbok he wore felt too smooth, too soft for someone like him. It was meant to fool people. And so far, it had.
No one questioned the courtesan named Yeonhwa. She was new, shy, and quiet. Pretty enough to be noticed, but never too bold. Exactly what the madam wanted.
He was blending in perfectly.
A knock came at the door.
"Yeonhwa," a voice called sweetly, "come join us. You're not going to just sit there all night, are you?"
It was one of the other courtesans, Minari. The boldest of them all.
Yul turned from the window, hiding his real thoughts behind a gentle smile. "I'll be right there."
He stepped out into the common room where the others were gathered. Minari was pouring plum wine into tiny cups, her red silk sleeves sliding gracefully down her arms.
"There she is," Minari said with a wink. "Our quiet little flower."
Another courtesan, Hayeon, giggled. "She's too pretty to be so quiet. I bet one of the princes will take her in a heartbeat."
Yul smiled politely, lowering his gaze. He hated this part, the pretending. But he had to play along.
"Has anyone met the Second Prince before?" he asked softly.
Minari rolled her eyes dramatically. "Prince Dowon? Oh, It's impossible. But I heard he's quiet Handsome, yes, but he treats everything like a game, he's ruthless, no one dares to oppose him."
The girls filled with terror but Minari's smile didn't reach her eyes.
"He forgets your name the next day," she added. "If you're lucky."
"Still," Hayeon said, "better him than the Crown Prince. He's cold as ice. I heard he caught a girl smiling at him during tea and had her flogged"
Yul said nothing. He already knew the type. Men who wore their dignity like armor and looked down on anything soft.
He sipped the plum wine slowly, letting the warmth ease into him.
Inside, he was alert. Watching. Listening.
The palace was full of small openings. Secrets carried in whispers. Gossip traded like currency.
And if he played his role well, he could find a way to get close. Not just to the princes but to the ones who had taken his family from him.
For now, he would stay still.
Like a blade hidden in silk.
---
[Yeonhwa's room]
Seo Yul sat alone in his small pavilion room, listening to the chirping of night insects in the gardens, the cold blowing wind and the soft steps of a passing eunuch. But compared to the noise of the day, laughter, music, gossip, it was a different world.
The candles burned low, casting soft shadows across the floor. He had already wiped the paint from his face. No more rouge, no more powdered cheeks or drawn-on beauty.
Just his face. His real one.
His reflection in the bronze mirror looked unfamiliar. Not quite the noble son he once was. Not quite the courtesan he was pretending to be. Something in-between. A ghost caught between two names.
He dipped the cloth in the bowl of water again, wiping slowly at the corner of his mouth. The faint taste of plum wine still lingered.
Yeonhwa. That was the name the palace knew.
But under that name, under the silk and false lashes, Seo Yul still breathed.
He reached beneath the floorboard where he had hidden the only thing that truly belonged to him now—a small, jade hairpin. His mother's.
It wasn't worth much. The jade was old, the design simple. But she used to wear it every day. Even when she was angry, even when she cried. He remembered how her hand would always touch it when she was thinking.
He held it now, letting the weight of it settle in his palm.
"I'm still here, Mother," he thought. "I'm still alive. Even if I have to lie to do it."
He hadn't spoken his real name aloud in weeks. It sat heavy on his tongue, like something forbidden.
There were days when he wondered if he was disappearing. If pretending to be Yeonhwa would one day become real. If the softness in his voice would never go back. If the way people looked at him now would erase who he used to be.
He hated that fear more than anything.
But he also knew he couldn't stop now.
He looked up at the ceiling, listening to the faint sound of music from another wing. Probably another late-night gathering. Laughter echoed faintly, followed by the distinct hum of a man's voice, light and teasing.
It had to be those lonely Ministers.
Yul had never seen them up close. Only from behind the silk screens and corridors, always surrounded by his followers, always smiling. The kind of men who walked into a room and expected the world to spin a little faster just for him.
Yul didn't like men like that.
But he would smile for them. Bow for them. Let them think Yeonhwa was just another pretty thing in the palace.
And when the time came, when the right names whispered through the right doors...
He would stop pretending.
He placed the jade pin back under the floorboard and pulled the blanket around his shoulders.
If there was one thing Seo Yul hated, it was noise at night.
And yet, just past midnight, when the world should've been still, something crashed loudly into the quiet.
Thud.
Then... a grunt.
Then, worst of all: footsteps on the roof.
Yul froze.
He was in the middle of drifting to sleep, dressed in a pale silk robe. The window was half open to let in the breeze. The courtesan quarters were supposed to be peaceful, he'd chosen this pavilion because it was away from the loud ones like Minari.
But now someone was on the roof. And by the sound of it, someone who had no idea how rooftops worked.
Then...
"AHHH—!"
Crash.
Right through the paper screen window, a body tumbled in and landed flat on the floor in front of him.
Yul leapt to his feet, quickly grabbing his comb with a clatter.
The man on the floor groaned, rolled over, and blinked up at him.
"…Ow."
He looked ridiculous. Winded. Half-covered in dust. A thin scratch along his cheek, his outer robe ripped at the shoulder. And his hat, the kind worn by scholars and city nobles was lying beside him, completely crushed.
Yul stared in disbelief.
"…Who the hell are you?" he whispered sharply.
The man sat up slowly, winced, and put a finger to his lips.
"Ssh. Don't yell. They're still out there."
"Who..."
"Guards."
Yul stiffened. "Palace guards?"
"No. The tavern ones," he muttered. "I ran out without paying. Long story."
Yul blinked. "You… what?"
The man didn't answer. He got to his feet, limping a little, and peeked out the broken window. "They didn't follow me over the wall. Thank the gods."
"You climbed into the palace?"
"Well, I didn't know it was a palace wall, did I? I just saw a tall wall and thought, 'Perfect escape route.' How was I supposed to know I'd land in a courtesan's room?"
He turned back around, finally getting a proper look at Yul.
Yul had let his wig down, and his face was clean of makeup. Still dressed in pale robes, loose and simple, but he looked delicate under the moonlight.
The man tilted his head.
Yul felt the man's eyes pause, just for a second too long. She quickly covered herself with a dark robe.
"…You're pretty," the man said.
Yul narrowed his eyes. "And you're trespassing."
"Fair."
Yul folded his arms. "You're drunk."
The man smiled lazily. "Only a little."
Yul wasn't sure what to do. He could scream. He could alert the guards. But something about the man was strangely unthreatening.
In fact, he looked like he was having fun.
Yul's eyes drifted to the crushed hat, the expensive shoes, the quality of the ripped robe. This wasn't some lowborn gambler. No… his posture, the way he carried himself, it was too controlled.
"You're not just a drunk noble, are you?" Yul said quietly. "Who are you really?"
The man tilted his head, amused. "Would you believe me if I said I was a wandering poet?"
"No."
He grinned. "Then let's say I'm no one."
There was a loud knock from the far side of the corridor.
"Yeonhwa? Everything alright in there?" Minari's voice, suspicious.
Yul shot the man a glare.
Without missing a beat, the man lunged forward, threw his arms around Yul's waist, and pulled him into a ridiculous, messy embrace just as the door opened.
Minari peeked in.
Yul blinked in panic.
"W-We're fine!" Yul stammered quickly. "Just… entertaining a guest."
Minari raised an eyebrow at the broken screen and the disheveled man gripping Yul like he was about to faint.
"…Alright," she said slowly, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. "Didn't know you moved that fast, little flower."
She closed the door.
Silence..
The man pulled back, laughing softly. "That was close."
Yul shoved him away. "You're insane."
"You're welcome," the man replied with a wink.
Yul wanted to hit him. Or shove him out the window. Or both.
But instead, he sighed.
"…What's your name?" Yul asked.
The man smirked. "I'm Han... Han Jae, nice to meet you, Yeonhwa."
Yul flinched slightly at the name.
"And you?" the man asked. "What's a flower like you doing all alone in this big, quiet palace?"
Yul said nothing.
Just smiled.
And for the first time, it wasn't the practiced courtesan smile.
It was the smile of someone who saw through him, and who had just met someone else who seemed to have a hidden dark side.
At first, he was ready to grab the wooden comb and stab it into this man's eye if needed.
The man brushed dust off his sleeves. "You always this jumpy with guests?"
"You crashed through my window."
Silence.
"I like honesty," the man said, sitting cross-legged on the floor like he owned the room. "Honesty gets you into trouble. The fun kind."
Yul gave him a look. "Get out."
"I would, but there are still guards out there. I'd rather not get beaten over three cups of rice wine."
"Then hide somewhere else."
He gave a dramatic sigh. "Fine, fine. I'll go." He stood up slowly, brushing off his robes. "You have any idea how steep your roof is?"
"It's not my roof. It's the palace's."
"Same thing. Very slippery."
Yul looked at the stranger sternly. He was seriously considering murder.
He walked to the window, looked out. "Clear. They're gone."
He pulled himself back onto the ledge.
Just before jumping out, he turned.
Winked and with that, he was gone.
Yul stared at the broken window, chest rising and falling.
"…Idiot."