On that day when the snow fell softly, I could feel it as I looked at the severed surface. I knew then that no matter what happened, this wound would never heal in this shameless life.

Once I realized that, I understood that the embrace of the mother who held me, a mere babe, was nothing more than guilt. For the first time, her clothes smelled of the brothel. I felt a surge of nausea.

When that babe, that ignorant babe, was having his legs forcibly split at the troupe without knowing why, you were the one who cleared the bricks from before my feet.

Everything—the nausea and the shame within me— you defined it all as one. From the moment I was defined within your mold, the obsession that clung to my body every time I dressed, the feeling that I could never wash away this shame, vanished in an instant.

To ensure my survival, you taught me two lessons. The first was to take the hand you reached out when the blood surged and I was driven to the edge of the cliff. The second was that from the moment I took that hand, you are the Hegemon King, and I am Consort Yu.