Yi returned late from the training camp, his heavy steps echoing through the lantern-lit corridors.
The concubine awaited him, dressed in a radiant gown, her hair adorned with jewels. She bowed deeply, eyes gleaming, and whispered:
— "My Lord… allow me to serve you tonight."
Yi stopped, his dark gaze falling upon her.
— "Return to your quarters."
His voice was cold, final. He walked on, leaving her frozen, her hands clutching the fabric of her dress. Her eyes welled with humiliation, yet she did not move.
Behind a screen, his wife had witnessed the scene. She stood still, impassive, though her eyes glistened with tears she barely held back.
— "Even his refusal hurts me… for it wounds another in my place."
Days later, Yi worked alone in his chamber, scrolls of strategy spread before him, when a soft knock echoed.
— "Enter."
The concubine stepped in, clothed in pale silk, carrying a jar of wine and two cups. She approached, knelt, and poured the wine with slow, deliberate grace. Her sleeves brushed his hand intentionally as she raised a cup toward him.
— "General… the weight of battle deserves comfort. Allow me to share this wine with you."
Yi replied curtly, without even lifting his gaze:
— "Wine clouds the mind. I must keep mine clear."
Still, she insisted, her lips curving into the faintest of smiles.
— "Even the greatest of men deserves a moment of softness."
Her fingers brushed his deliberately. Only then did Yi raise his head. His iron gaze pierced through her.
— "If you seek to disturb my household, you will find only your own silence."
The concubine lowered her eyes, trembling, yet whispered once more:
— "Would it be so heavy… to share just one night?"
He rose abruptly, his towering frame casting a threatening shadow.
— "I have a wife. I need not a night, but an ordered home. You are nothing more than a shadow imposed upon it."
He opened the door with a sharp motion. The concubine clutched the jar to her chest and bowed, humiliated, before disappearing into the corridor. Yi closed the door without a word, his face impassive.
Yet his fists clenched against the table — the only sign of the battle he fought in silence.