Chapter 49 – The Epic of Poetry

In the room Lenoa used, there was a small bookshelf with one book each from various fields: poetry collections, novels, history books, etiquette manuals, and even books on the art of kingship. After washing her face, Lenoa glanced between the poetry collections and novels before finally pulling out a single poetry book.

‘If I pick a novel, he might not sleep. Only if it’s interesting, though.’

Holding the poetry book with both hands, she turned away from the bookshelf, only for a realization to flood her mind like the words spilling from the pages of a book.

‘No matter how much I’m caring for a patient, reading a book? I’m not a nanny!’

Embarrassed, Lenoa gripped the innocent book tightly. Indeed, no matter how absurd others might be, no one could surpass Kairan. She had been adamantly against reading or singing lullabies, yet here she was, bringing a book herself.

‘Still, it’s better than a lullaby.’

She convinced herself that reading the book would serve as repayment for the countless gifts Kairan had given her. After all, Kairan had been a patient all day. If he hadn’t been, she would have refused no matter what.

Moreover, Lenoa herself wasn’t feeling particularly sleepy, and spending time with him before bed didn’t seem so bad.

With the book tucked under her arm, Lenoa was about to leave when a mischievous idea struck her. She returned to the bookshelf and pulled out a history book—a chronicle of the Kingdom of Celesta. She had read it before, without a doubt.

If he threw a tantrum like a child, she’d make sure he fell asleep. Smiling with satisfaction, Lenoa walked lightly toward Kairan’s room.

Kairan was lying down as before, but his upper body was raised, and he was staring at the door, clearly waiting for someone.

“Lie down properly. You must still be uncomfortable.”

The person he had been waiting for so earnestly was now carrying two books under her arm. Despite the weight, she helped him settle comfortably on the bed.

Seated in a chair, Lenoa placed one of the books on the drawer and opened the other.

‘What kind of book is this…? It looks familiar.’

Kairan, noticing the familiar cover, glanced curiously at the book on the drawer. However, the room was dim, and the book and its spine were placed upside down, making it impossible to identify.

“I’ll read you some poetry, so listen carefully and fall asleep.”

Borrowing the light of the candle, Lenoa spoke confidently. Kairan suppressed a laugh and simply nodded.

Soon, Lenoa’s beautiful and pure voice caressed the dim room like a ray of light.

“A boy’s yesterday is one, today is two, tomorrow is three. The day after tomorrow is two, and on the final day… zero.”

The first poem in the collection was an epic that used numbers to describe the life of a boy. In other words, he was one when he was born, two when he married, three when he had a child, two again when the child became independent, one when his wife passed away, and finally zero when he himself died.

At the bottom of the last page of the first poem, there was an explanation of the poem: “The Numerical Life of a Boy.” It felt like a postscript to a letter.

“This is the explanation. What do you think of the first poem?”

Having read even the explanation, Lenoa asked Kairan for his thoughts.

She felt that the poem was quite good for the first one in a collection she was reading for the first time. Describing the “one” life of a “boy” through numbers was truly remarkable.

However, unlike the poetry collections she had read before, this one uniquely featured the poet’s own commentary on their works.

Was it just this poem? 

As she turned the pages, she noticed that other poems also had small explanations attached.

‘The interpretation of literature should be left to the reader.’

During her literature lessons, all her teachers had emphasized this point as if it were a universal truth. It wasn’t just an offhand remark by one teacher.

It was such an important principle, so why was this poetry collection different? Of course, the explanations helped in understanding the poems, but strictly speaking, they weren’t necessary.

Poetry is literature, not non-fiction.

“It’s not bad.”

“Th-that’s all?”

Kairan’s tone matched his evaluation—neither bad nor particularly good. While she hadn’t expected a grand assessment, his response was utterly dry, devoid of emotion.

“But what’s with the ending?”

“Pardon?”

“That so-called explanation about marrying and dying. What does the poet know about living half a life?”

Kairan’s sarcastic remark about the poet almost made Lenoa burst out laughing.

When she checked the poet’s name, it was a common male name. The poet was likely a man, probably in his twenties at most.

While there was no rule that one needed to have lived a long life to write poetry, writing about a boy’s entire life seemed to lack depth in both narrative and description. Now that she thought about it, the poem’s flaws became apparent.

“Haha… You’re right.”

“For the next poem, please skip the unnecessary commentary.”

“Sure… Wait a moment, aren’t you sleepy yet?”

Lenoa, who had absentmindedly agreed, now questioned him sharply. Kairan’s eyes sparkled as he stubbornly refused to sleep.

“How can I sleep after just one poem?”

“My job is to be a  Queen, not a nanny.”

Lenoa scolded him with words that felt oddly familiar. Understanding her meaning, Kairan suddenly burst into loud laughter, startling her.

‘Why is he laughing like that? He scared me.’

Lenoa froze, her mouth slightly agape.

‘Still, it’s the first time I’ve seen him laugh out loud like this.’

Kairan, who rarely laughed, had certainly been laughing more frequently during the days he spent with Lenoa.

Though he never smiled for others, his laughter had already become a collection of memories for her. And this particular laugh would be especially memorable.

However, this laughter was born from his childish refusal to sleep—a bit annoying. Rising from her seat, Lenoa swapped the poetry book for the history book on the drawer. She had brought it precisely for moments like this.

“The Chronicles of Celesta… Why did you bring that?”

“I’m going to read this now. It’s boring enough to put you to sleep.”

Kairan’s expression turned visibly flustered. 

Serves him right. 

Smiling slyly, Lenoa opened the book and began reading from the preface.

“Celesta was founded approximately 300 years ago…”

“Wait, wait! I already know all this. Even hearing it in your voice doesn’t make it any better.”

Kairan covered his ears with the pillowcase and sighed deeply, clearly uninterested. His childish whining made Lenoa chuckle.

“Instead of that book, just read me another random poem from the earlier collection. Then I’ll sleep quietly.”

“Fine, fine.”

Switching the books again, Lenoa opened the poetry collection and began the second poem.

“The girl in her mother’s arms met the boy on her father’s back, each gazing in different directions…”

It was a poem with a similar feeling to the first one. 

Could it be part of a series?  

After reading it and checking the commentary, there was no direct connection to the first poem. It merely unraveled the narrative of “love and separation between two young lovers.”  

In truth, the poem depicted a girl who fell in love with a boy but eventually parted ways with him. Both the first and this poem carried a bleak tone, as if to say that, in the end, life is solitary.  

“How do you find this poem…? Oh?”  

Only then did Lenoa notice Kairan lying still with his eyes closed. Listening closely, she could hear his faint breathing. He had fallen asleep while listening to the poem.  

‘Will he remember the content when he wakes up? I should ask him tomorrow.’  

Lenoa smiled as she gathered the books but decided to leave them behind. It was like leaving behind the answer sheet after deciding to test someone. Still, she hoped he would find a poem that truly resonated with him when he woke up.  

She felt a mischievous urge to leave a history book behind, as Kairan had made her read aloud. Feeling like a child herself, Lenoa gently covered the sleeping Kairan with a blanket.  

“Sleep well, Kairan-oppa.”  

She whispered softly and sweetly before returning to her room.  

***

John had been working as a servant in the Celesta Royal Palace for nearly six months.  

His duties were cleaning and organizing the fourth floor of the palace—a janitorial task. The work of commoner servants in the palace was mostly menial chores.  

John’s possessions consisted of elderly parents, a house and belongings that were barely sufficient for three people, and his naturally robust physique.  

He had worked several times harder than others, whether it was fishing in the sea with the villagers or cultivating crops. Yet, his wages were meager.  

John had been a tenant of a notoriously greedy local lord who cared only about money. To make matters worse, the lives of others in the territory were slightly better compared to John’s family.  

In the end, John had no choice but to seek work that a commoner man could do. After much effort, he found that being a servant in a noble household paid the best.  

However, while the pay was good, the rumors were not.  

There were stories of women who became maids in noble households only to become targets of the masters’ wrath. Some men, after becoming servants, were said to serve noblewomen during the night…  

These chilling and even disgusting tales reached John’s ears.  

Still, John resolved to endure such dreadful rumors for the sake of money and decided to become a servant.  

Instead, he chose to serve not in a noble household but in the royal palace.  

“John, does it have to be the royal palace, even if the pay is high?”

“Yes, Mother.”

John’s mother tried to dissuade him, worried about the harsher work, the rare opportunities to return home, and the proximity to ‘royalty.’ But John had already made up his mind.  

“I’m healthy, aren’t I? Don’t worry, Mother. Please take care of Father.”

With that, John bid farewell to his parents and headed to the Celesta Royal Palace.