“What is happening?”
“He’s frozen.”
“Was he intimidated by Ryeo Wang?”
“He’s been doing really well, though.”
“Well, I, too, would forget my lines if I were that close to the king of acting.”
“Zeno?” Daeshim PD said through the megaphone.
Zeno didn’t snap out of his daze and continued looking at Ryeo with a strange expression.
“Young man,” Ryeo said, finally snapping Zeno back to reality. But even then, he appeared pretty distracted.
“Are you alright?”
Zeno cleared his throat before nodding. Then he turned toward the crew and the other actors, especially Oska, who appeared quite satisfied. He bowed.
“My apologies,” he said. “I won’t get distracted again.”
Daeshim nodded, appearing concerned. He wasn’t angry because, frankly, Zeno had been doing well for the past few weeks, always fulfilling his part without much trouble.
Even Ryeo didn’t say anything and merely nodded for them to continue.
Oska clicked his tongue. The favoritism was apparent. Why was it that he was scolded when he appeared distracted? For the first time, Oska finally felt what actors with minor roles experienced whenever they were in his presence.
He was merely tasting his own medicine. But then again, the cocky man wasn’t aware of that at all.
“Let’s continue where you left off,” Daeshim said.
Zeno nodded and willed himself to focus once more. Ryeo still appeared suspicious, but as soon as the cameras started rolling, he was back in action.
“This is not your illness,” Hajin said. “Not the cancer that the court physicians diagnosed, although it seems that it aggravated it as your immune system is already low.”
“Immune system, what?” King Jum asked, momentarily forgetting about the pain when he heard the foreign word. It sounded foreign, and he was sure that Hajin never had the chance to be educated.
Perhaps he educated himself in his free time?
“Don’t sweat it,” Hajin muttered.
He placed the back of his hand gently against the king’s neck, then his forehead. “You’re not feverish,” he muttered.
King Jum clicked his tongue and slapped Hajin’s hand away. “Why are you still here?” he asked again, his tone more curious than demanding.
Hajin searched the storage shelves, scanning hastily until his eyes landed on a small clay jar tucked behind a tea set—the kind used for incense or filtering water.
He opened it, sniffed, and then pinched the fine black powder between his fingers. It had a distinct nutty smell that was pleasant.
Powdered charcoal made from coconut husks.
“Lie back,” Hajin said.
The king did not. “What are you doing? Are you going to poison me at this hour? Quite cunning, don’t you think?”
Hajin grabbed a porcelain cup, added water, and stirred the powder into it. He lifted it to his lips first and took a sip. Hajin grimaced, but he still swallowed. “We’ll die together, then,” he said before placing the porcelain cup on the king’s lips without meeting his eyes.
The king was hesitant but was definitely more open to the suggestion.
“You need it,” Hajin muttered.
The king stared up at him, searching Hajin’s face. He wore concern like an old cloak, one not meant for display. His eyes held something no nobleman’s son shouldn’t know.
The crew was silent as they watched Zeno’s expression on the small screen. For most of them, it felt like a ‘Eureka!’ moment. The look on his face was unmistakable, as if he truly cared for the king. It was a look that portrayed nothing but genuine concern.
Ryeo Wang was surprised in real time, not as his character, but as himself. How could this young man appear so genuinely concerned for him when they hadn’t talked at all throughout the filming? Ryeo was even set to leave tomorrow because all his scenes for the first half of the series were already done, thanks to his proficiency.
Hajin’s lips pressed into a firm line as he waited, watching the king drink.
“You are not trained,” the king said.
“No.”
“Yet, you care for me as if you’ve seen this before.”
“I have.”
Hajin wiped the rim of the cup and set it down. “You were poisoned. Not badly. Improperly stored meat, maybe. The signs were all there. You just needed to purge it. This will help absorb what’s left.”
The king’s breath grew steadier, little by little. The stiffness eased from his shoulders. Hajin shifted back, sitting on his heels, watching him with guarded intensity.
King Jum studied him. The boy’s expression was focused—too calm for his age, too worn for someone who should be young. There was no deference in him.
“You do not look like your father,” the king murmured.
Hajin’s gaze darkened, but he didn’t flinch. “I don’t know what he looked like.”
The silence between them stretched, but it felt different now—softer.
Almost reluctantly, the king shifted slightly, folding the edge of his robe over his chest. “Then you are your own man.”
Hajin blinked, surprised by the words.
“Go now,” the king said, not an ounce of bitterness in his voice.
Hajin sat for a while, hesitant to leave, but the king sighed once more. “Come back tomorrow to check on me again.”
Despite the onlookers being aware that they were just acting, they couldn’t help but smile. They rooted for Zeno as they watched him.
“Cut!” Daeshim PD exclaimed. “Let’s give a hand to the two of them—especially Sir Wang. It is his last scene for the first leg of our filming! He will be leaving tomorrow.”
The claps intensified after Daeshim’s announcement, and the old man merely pursed his lips while shaking his head.
“No celebrations,” he said to Daeshim.
Daeshim smiled. “Of course, sir. Just like you had asked.”
Daeshim said such words; however, in reality, the crew had prepared a feast. The actors and staff alike devoured the food like starved cavemen, forgetting about their responsibilities for the night.
They even had liquor, which some of the crew members received from the locals. It was handmade wine, but the alcohol content was through the roof, so most of them were already drunk even when the night was still early.
Zeno didn’t like the taste of alcohol, so he merely stayed to the side with a plate of various root crops. He appeared deep in thought, replaying a scene over and over in his mind.
Suddenly, he felt someone’s presence, accompanied by the subtle sound of wood hitting against each other. He frowned and turned around, only to be met with the king of acting, his hands hidden behind his back.
Zeno’s brows furrowed, and he quickly stood to bow to the older actor. Ryeo pursed his lips and walked toward Zeno with childish steps.
“Can I talk to you?”