Chapter 753: Bound for Beijing (6)

The procession passed through Zhengzhou and then into Kaifeng.

The fact that they went straight through Kaifeng wasn’t just because the road ran well that way. It was also a kind of taunting jab aimed at the Martial Alliance, which had its seat there.

We’re taking your Ximen Qing and there’s nothing you can do, right? You just have to stand there and watch, right? This is the true power of the imperial palace. The Martial Alliance? Not all that, is it?

So the Martial Alliance figures stood and watched Ximen Qing’s procession with complicated, storm-dark faces.

“Young Hero Ximen Qing is on the march!”

“His Majesty bestows great praise—Ximen Qing goes to Beijing to climb the steps of the Son of Heaven!”

They called her “Young Hero Ximen Qing.”

Not Heavenly Flower Sword—Ximen Qing.

Their intention was so transparent it was almost see-through.

Not a hero of the martial world, but a hero of the Central Plains.

Not Heavenly Flower Sword the martial title, but the individual person, Ximen Qing.

Seeing Heavenly Flower Sword sitting there, pitifully getting drenched by rain, made their anger boil even hotter.

And seeing how, even then, a shy little smile tugged at her lips when she spotted familiar faces from the Alliance in the crowd—that flicker of warmth just made their anger spike higher.

So the young hero’s road to Beijing passed through Kaifeng, crossed the river, and headed toward Puyang.

But—

Human beings are animals that get numb to stimuli.

This shame of being displayed in the marketplace atop a Golden Carriage—this level of humiliation that should keep you kicking your blanket off at night, unable to sleep—

When you went through it day after day after day, something shifted.

All these escorts beating drums and blowing flutes, screaming “Young Hero Ximen Qing” at the top of their lungs for her alone, even throwing money onto the ground as they went...

Emotionally, she found it humiliating—but from the perspective of people in the Central Plains, wasn’t this actually a wildly honorable place to be?

At first, Qing had thought, Wow, they really mobilized this many people just to mess with me alone.

But even grouchy old Wi Baseon basically used honorific language and maintained a posture of respect.

And the soldiers and musicians in the escort—if she so much as met their eyes, they looked ready to drop to their knees on the spot.

What Qing didn’t know yet was that these were the Central Army, troops directly under the Son of Heaven. And their mission was crystal clear: they were escorting the future Crown Princess, not just “Young Hero Ximen Qing.”

Later, they might frame that Crown Princess for some crime and discard her, or force her to quit being a warrior and live as a woman only. In any case, it was a scheme that signaled the end of Ximen Qing the martial artist.

But who would ever imagine they’d offer up the position of Crown Princess just to get rid of one martial artist?

In terms from Qing’s homeland: it was like taking the other team’s top prospect and signing them at fifty times their salary, then leaving them on the bench as a backup until they retired.

It was a brilliantly nasty plan to steal away the martial world’s brightest rising star, the one touted as the next Number One Under Heaven and the greatest prodigy of the new generation, and in the process cut off her life as a fighter entirely.

The escort soldiers had no idea about that part.

They were just thinking, judging by beauty alone, this lady is absolutely going to be in favor, and not just in favor—down the line she might seize the West Palace and somehow, some way, become something like “Empress Dowager Ximen.” If she ever took against them, she could ruin their lives and their family lines in one stroke. Just making eye contact made their knees shake.

Qing was notoriously weak against kindness.

Being weak to kindness means you’re also hypersensitive to noticing it—that’s the pattern here.

The weather had just been bad; it didn’t actually seem like they were trying to humiliate her.

Even now, they’d scrambled to put together heating measures—crude by her homeland’s standards, but still.

Primitive ancient hand warmers: iron balls filled with charcoal, wrapped in cloth, or leather bladders filled with hot water and wrapped in fabric.

Qing didn’t actually feel cold just from a little rain, but when she set one on her lap, the gentle warmth seeped in and it felt... not bad.

So even her lifeless slump on the golden throne gradually regained some spark.

Ximen Surin-Style Hairstyle Pattern No. 5.

Push the bangs back and tie them, but don’t pull all of them away; leave a single thin strand to fall. When that strand sticks to a wet face, the allure will seize the world like that of the greatest seductress under Heaven.

Add to that a faintly troubled, embarrassed, awkward, sorrow-tinged smile, somewhere in that ambiguous space... and it blooms into a sensuality that pierces the exact center of a Central Plains man’s chest.

Then, top it off with the way silk clothes cling to wet skin, tracing those violently beautiful lines of the body—

So the men who’d come out into the rain to pick up Heavenly Grace Coins just stood there, mouths hanging open, staring up at the carriage in a vaguely hunched posture.

Coins bounced off their foreheads and they froze like wooden statues.

The only ones to snap out of it were the men who’d brought wives or lovers along.

After a vicious pinch or two, they came back to their senses and spent the rest of the time sneaking regretful glances whenever they thought they could get away with it.

Honestly, the women weren’t all that different.

“Wow. A flower blooming in the heart of fire. Is that... is that even human?”

Because women like beautiful people too.

Even in summer, it doesn’t rain constantly. When the rain let up, the whole thing turned into a frenzy.

If Qing so much as raised a hand, everyone would raise their voices—“Heavenly Flower Sword! Young Hero Ximen Qing!”—and then, for no reason at all, “Long live His Majesty!” and on and on, shouting until their throats went raw.

By the time they were properly into Hebei, the rainy season had more or less passed. Even when it did rain, the clouds were thin and the sun broke through.

Qing’s condition was excellent, having received cheers of “You’re so cool! You’re so beautiful! You’re amazing!” at every city they passed.

The procession didn’t skimp on food either.

So, surrounded by people favorably disposed toward her, Qing was eating delicious meals three times a day.

At first she’d nibble with a little self-restraint, but as time went on, her true colors—those of a terrifying binge-eating maniac—could no longer be hidden.

White-Braised Pork: slices of pale pork belly.

The “white pork” here was taken from the softest cut of the pig, with every tendon, membrane, fragment of bone, and large chunk of fat meticulously removed. It was a dish into which all the cook’s strength had been poured.

Then there was Clear-Stewed Ginseng Chicken—basically ginseng chicken soup.

Except, with no sticky rice inside, it felt like one tier lower than the real thing.

And above all, when you said Hebei, you had to mention Yellow Melon Banquet.

A fantasy twenty-course meal made from yellow melon. Incidentally, another name for yellow melon was cucumber.

A twenty-dish assortment made entirely from cucumber.

It didn’t taste bad, exactly, but... without meat, it just didn’t feel like a meal.

Hebei cuisine was... how to put it. Whenever anyone ranked regional cuisines of the Central Plains, Hebei never made the list. And faced with this as the “representative” of Hebei cooking, Qing now fully understood why.

Ugh. Without meat, no matter how much I eat, it doesn’t feel like I’ve eaten...

“Heavenly Flower Sword? How much more are you planning to eat?”

“But there’s no meat. This grass stuff is just side dishes at the end of the day.”

Wi Baseon stared, briefly speechless.

Partly because it was such an outrageous thing to say (for people of the Central Plains, vegetables were equal partners to meat as ingredients), but also because he remembered another princess who’d said almost the exact same thing.

She’d complained that without meat, a table wasn’t a proper table at all—that if you only set out “grass,” did they take her for some grazing animal, a cow or something?

Judging by her frame she had looked like a heifer, but in any case, she now seemed to have changed her tastes, these days delighting in vegetables.

“How is it appropriate for a patient to be gorging herself like this? Your digestion can’t be right. You should be resting to recuperate.”

“Eunuch, isn’t it exactly when you’re sick that you should eat well? To get better faster, I’m forcing the food down. Do you truly not understand the depth of my resolve, and my earnest heart in seeking out meat that’s good for the body?”

Wi Baseon looked at the stack of plates.

Not just plates—huge serving platters.

And this girl who’d been wolfing it down with shining eyes had the gall to say that. He was simply floored, his words stuck dead in his throat.

“What kind of half-baked—cough, half-finished nonsense is that supposed to be?”

“Oh my. That’s harsh. Eunuch, when you see someone showing they’re in pain, how do you feel? Don’t you ever think, If they really tried, they could push through and act fine. So why are they making a show of it? Don’t you find that annoying?”

“Where is this coming from all of a sudden?”

“But when someone clenches their teeth through the pain and pretends not to be hurting, and quietly endures their work despite their body screaming—don’t you find that truly praiseworthy?”

“Well, that is how a person’s heart tends to work, isn’t it?”

“But is that how the world’s logic works? If a sick person hides their pain, people assume they’re fine and treat them the same as always. So that sick person sits there alone, feeling wronged and building up resentment.”

Then Qing jabbed a thumb at herself.

I’m hurting, and I’m acting like I’m not. If you then say, “You’re not really sick, why are you eating so much?” of course I’m going to feel hurt, right? Are you really going to do me like that?

Wi Baseon pressed his lips tightly closed.

That damn sly tongue. If you just kept listening, before you knew it you’d start thinking she had a point. The only real winning move was not to listen at all.

And yet, once you heard it, it was too entertaining not to keep listening.

“So, Eunuch, could you order just two more dishes that are good for recovery? Heavy on the meat. I’ll gulp them down and get better in one go.”

“Are you seriously planning to eat more—haaa. Server!”

Whatever the situation, Qing always somehow ended up joking and messing around and getting along.

So while Qing was enjoying herself, the procession continued to cut across Hebei.

Beijing now lay just ahead.

*****

Forbidden City, Geoncheong Palace.

The Emperor’s bedchamber stood here—

The most secret place in the Central Plains, more hidden than any other corner of the land, the hardest inner chamber of the palace to set foot in.

At the heart of Geoncheong Palace, several people were sharing tea.

The Son of Heaven.

The Son of Heaven’s foremost partner, the Empress.

And the Son of Heaven-to-be of the next generation, the Crown Prince.

You could say there was nothing particularly special about these three gathering at one tea table. The Son of Heaven or not, wasn’t it just a family’s peaceful moment?

“Do you know of a martial artist called Heavenly Flower Sword?”

At that, ripples flashed across the surface of the Empress’s teacup.

But the ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) ability of a palace woman to hide her inner thoughts was no trivial thing.

With a perfectly calm expression, she simply raised the cup to her lips. No one noticed the concentric circles spreading in the tea.

She just quietly swallowed her anxiety.

Why is he bringing up Heavenly Flower Sword now? I still haven’t found proof to expose the identity of that deceitful witch from the Western Lands, the false Yeonsul who is horrible even to think about...

Outwardly unruffled, the Crown Prince answered respectfully.

“I heard she is a mere wanderer of the martial world, Your Majesty.”

“So you have heard of her.”

“Her rumors are rather dazzling, are they not.”

“Yes. That they are.”

The Son of Heaven said that, and continued in the tone of someone remarking on a stray dog he’d passed on the road.

“Marry Heavenly Flower Sword.”

The Crown Prince froze.

Pardon me, what did you just say?

“Your Majesty?”

“Take note. I will grant Heavenly Flower Sword the status of a lady.”

That was when it happened.

A sharp intake of breath.

The corners of the Emperor’s eyes twitched; the corners of the Crown Prince’s eyes twitched, too. Father and son made exactly the same face, because they knew what loud sound was about to follow.

“Your Majesty! That is out of the question!”

The Empress’s voice rang out, bright and cutting.

“How can the matter of choosing the Crown Prince’s partner be spoken of so lightly! If Your Majesty wishes to choose the Crown Prince’s consort, you must first hold the First Selection and gather at least five thousand maidens of good family. This is the proper process of judging the quality of their parents, and their parents’ parents, and whether there are any who have behaved wickedly among their ancestors, or who are stained by accumulated sins! Only then may you hold the Second Selection and narrow them down to four thousand, thus excluding those whose bearing is crooked or whose nature is unsuited to the dignity required. This is a grave process that determines what kind of bearing the Heaven-sent bloodline, that will endure for a thousand, ten thousand years, shall show before the world. You must summon every eunuch of the palace, combine their examinations, and whittle the number down to four thousand—that is merely the beginning! And after that, in the Third Selection, you must judge their bearing and their voices...”

The expressions of the Son of Heaven and the Crown Prince soured.

Because the proper selection of a royal consort required eight full stages—eight rounds of examinations.

Surely she wasn’t planning to explain all of them, right.

And I already know them all, the Crown Prince wanted to say.

But she was.

This was the long, long eight-step consort selection system codified by the Grand Emperor.

The Empress practically flew into the air, unleashing a torrent of sound that felt like it might rip their eardrums. It was fury, yes, but it was also her way of steadying a heart that had just been shattered by shock.

What the hell kind of monstrosity is this?!

The child born of my body and the daughter born of my body, married together? Even beasts in the wild don’t rut like that. It is unspeakable, grotesque, enough to make the skin crawl just to form the thought!

“Ahem, we are not speaking of choosing the Principal Consort here. There is no need for such a grand examination for a mere lady’s rank...”

“Excuse me what?! You mean to say that as the Crown Prince’s partner you would install that—

That lowborn—

That gutter-dwelling—

That rolling-in-the-street—

That woman whose womb is used only to spawn, to carve up—

That butcher of people—that girl—that wretch! Someone like that into the imperial lineage! What will become of the throne then!”

The Empress kept tripping over her words, because no matter how much she was doing it for her daughter, saying these insults was painful in itself.

From the father and son’s side, it was more like: If the Empress, who has never uttered a harsh word in her life, is cursing like this, she must be truly, profoundly furious.

But the Son of Heaven’s intent was firm.

“Ahem, Empress, calm yourself. There is reason behind this. I do this for the sake of peace under Heaven. It is all for the greater good.”

“But, Your Majesty—”

“Ahem. That is all you need to know. And you as well, Crown Prince—know this, and prepare to greet Heavenly Flower Sword.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

The obedient son bowed his head meekly.

Which only prompted another shrill cry from the Empress.

“Your Majesty!”

“My lady, calm yourself. We will speak of this later. For now, you may withdraw. Crown Prince, you as well.”

The Empress’s fists trembled.

That damned stubbornness. Once he made up his mind, even if the sky cracked open, he had to do it. One way or another, he would have his way.

In the end, Geoncheong Palace was the Emperor’s residence.

Even a wife and son, when told to leave, could only leave. The two of them found themselves pushed out of Geoncheong Palace side by side.

The Empress’s residence was Changchun Hall in the West Palace; the Crown Prince’s was Dan’gyeong Hall in the South Palace. As the Crown Prince bowed to his mother and moved to take his leave—

The Empress spoke, her expression hard.

“Crown Prince, come to Changchun Hall. I have urgent words for you.”