Chapter 767: Bloodline (1)

A human being, after losing three times in a row, ought by rights to admit defeat.

If they even got taken out the same way all three times, then of course you’d start to wonder whether this was really a person at all and doubt their basic qualities.

And here we have someone who has lost three times.

“Your Highness, it is the Princess. It is Princess Yeonsul, whom Your Highness cherished so dearly and played with. The way you would laugh together, clacking those little sticks—this girl’s eyes still see it clear as day. Do you truly not remember?”

“Look, you. Yeonsul is the one you served, that one is Yeonsul, and ah, just how slyly must that con artist have wormed her way in with her sweet talk, for you to believe that swindler so unshakably like this.”

The Crown Prince let out a long sigh.

And he did not forget to tack on one more line.

“And furthermore, I swear in this body’s name that I have never cherished Yeonsul, nor played with her.”

The Crown Prince still refused to concede.

The Empress had said it, the nurse had said it, and now the playmate who had been stuck to his side ever since he’d run around with a snotty nose was saying it.

Heavenly Flower Sword is your little sister.

And yet, the Crown Prince could not agree.

Three times would be about the point where you’d start to admit it, but this was, in the literal sense, inhuman—a stance unworthy of a person.

But there was no problem.

Among the living beings of the Central Plains, there existed a race that was not “people,” but “Heaven.”

They were not human, but children of Heaven who had descended to earth for a time as divine beings in order to rule over people.

So you could hardly call it a fault that the Crown Prince behaved in ways that were not very human.

Whether this was the conviction of the one who would later rule the world, or the eruption of some vast, indescribable revulsion, he himself did not know.

The Crown Prince once again went out in search of someone on his side.

Someone who would deny the theory that Heavenly Flower Sword was Princess Yeonsul, and who also possessed the authority to judge her identity through a wealth of first-hand experience with Yeonsul’s behavior.

And there was still one such person left.

Hwanggeuk Hall’s Grand Guard, Beom Yakgong!

If a Grand Guard master who had served as bodyguard ever since Yeonsul first started toddling on her own were to see her, then surely—

And so, Hwanggeuk Hall.

“You are saying Heavenly Flower Sword is pretending to be Princess Yeonsul?”

Hwanggeuk Hall Grand Guard Beom Yakgong wore a thoroughly displeased expression.

After all, he had received the Crown Prince himself, who had come in person, only to hear something so utterly absurd it was hard to believe his ears.

“Your Highness. Heavenly Flower Sword is a martial artist at the absolute pinnacle. She is that young prodigy of whom it is said she reached that superlative pinnacle at the age of twenty.”

“And so?”

“If, as Your Highness says, Heavenly-Maiden Temple used ‘treatment’ as a pretext to swap out that noble jade body, and Heavenly Flower Sword is in truth the Princess—”

“It is not me saying that! That’s what that swindler of a woman, Heavenly Flower Sword, is claiming!”

The Crown Prince practically jumped, vehemently denying it.

At that, Beom Yakgong cleared his throat.

“In any case, Your Highness. The Central Plains are vast and its people are more numerous than grains of sand, so when one speaks of the absolute pinnacle, it may start to sound like that realm is a common thing. But even so, it is completely impossible for someone to go from third-rate to the absolute pinnacle with just a few short years of training.”

The Crown Prince’s expression brightened all at once at that.

“Is that so? So it is like that, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Even a child born with the greatest martial talent under Heaven, raised from birth on great internal arts to open their channels and meridians, and who then trains with fierce effort for twenty-some years from a very young age, will still struggle to reach the absolute pinnacle. That is what this realm is.”

Therefore, the single fact that Heavenly Flower Sword was a martial artist at the absolute pinnacle was, in and of itself, proof that she could not be Princess Yeonsul.

This was clear evidence presented by one of the greatest experts in the Forbidden City.

“That is exactly what I have been saying! And yet, even so, they fall for that sly woman’s words—why, my mo— ahem, even Lady Deokseong and Haeryu have already been bewitched, so I could just die of frustration. They claim that Yeonsul, after her illness, simply ‘matured,’ but how does that prove she’s the real one and not a fake, tsk.”

“Lady Deokseong, Your Highness? And Haeryu as well?”

Wrinkles formed on Beom Yakgong’s brow.

Were there any other group in the palace who had been so close in those days?

Even if one was a noble personage, it was only natural to be close with the nurse who was like one’s own mother, and with the boy attendant one had grown up with.

Yet Princess Yeonsul, unlike other imperial grandchildren, had possessed such deep affection that she was clearly distinct from them; she had never treated her servants with the attitude of a master toward underlings.

It had been a bond so strong that one would say even a birth mother and birth sister could hardly be so close—so how had those two come to such a conclusion?

“Come to think of it, I believe I heard that Heavenly Flower Sword’s signature sword art was Moon-Maiden Sword.”

“Mm? Does this Moon-Maiden Sword have some method of befuddling people?”

“No, not at all. The thought merely occurred to me.”

Beom Yakgong stroked his beard.

Moon-Maiden Sword. Moon-Maiden Sword... could it be?

“Why, is there something tugging at your mind?”

“No. If all this is as you say, then she is an unforgivable criminal who has committed a sin that cries out to Heaven. How may this humble subject be of assistance?”

The Crown Prince gently broached his main request.

“That being so, could Grand Guard Beom perhaps go and have a look at Heavenly Flower Sword? You, Grand Guard, have guarded Yeonsul since she first began to walk. Surely you could tell genuine from fake at a single glance.”

Beom Yakgong’s eyebrows rose sharply once.

For the Crown Prince’s words were strange, were they not?

Leaving aside Heavenly Flower Sword’s absurd claim to be the real Princess when the Princess was already here in the palace—if that were the case, she should have been immediately arrested as a traitor guilty of mocking the throne and summarily executed as a capital criminal.

Yet instead of ordering her arrest, His Highness was telling him to go and see whether she was real or not?

It would be fair to say that the Crown Prince’s heart had already begun to lean toward that ridiculous assertion—that Heavenly Flower Sword was in fact the real Princess Yeonsul.

And if so? Could it be?

Beom Yakgong quietly shifted his stance.

“Ahem. In that case, this humble subject will go and observe her in secret.”

Even for the Crown Prince, it was not a simple matter to reassign the Hwanggeuk Hall Grand Guard at will.

The Hwanggeuk Hall Grand Guard commanded the security of the Three Halls and Three Terraces, the most crucial sector of the Forbidden City, and was the bodyguard corps directly under the Son of Heaven.

Thus, even with the Crown Prince’s order, he could not simply leave his post during duty hours.

If time was to be made, it would have to be after the officials had left court and the outer palace had emptied—namely, in the evening, after the moon had risen. That was when he meant to slip away.

“I must ask this favor of you.”

The Crown Prince clasped Beom Yakgong’s hand tightly.

*****

Qing grumbled inwardly.

Just how long were they planning to leave a person sitting here after summoning her?

Even if you were the Son of Heaven, was there really any call to act like this?

Dragging a busy person over here and then—ugh.

At least give me a tour of the Forbidden City or something.

Of course, there was such a call.

The procedures for an audience with the Son of Heaven were fixed by national law as formal rites, and by that palace law, one had to remain in quasi-confinement, waiting indefinitely until one had shed the dust of the secular world and one’s body and mind were purified.

This kind of endless waiting-confinement was also a political tool to crush the other party’s spirit and torment them with anxiety.

Fortunately, she had Gabiya, so she wasn’t bored to the point of death—misfortune within good fortune, perhaps.

For one thing, she could spectate the sixty-four different positions listed in the Classic of Love.

And in the evenings she had a new daily activity: the perfumed-oil massage method, hands-on practice.

The reason her schedule had shifted from simply experiencing the perfumed-oil method to actually practicing the perfumed-oil massage was simple.

“Lady, shall I prepare the perfumed-oil massage for you?”

“No, my lady, why does that woman call you ‘my lady’ in such a creepy way? That fox-faced bitch—”

“Come on, she can act cutesy a little, what’s the big deal. Mm, but as for the perfumed-oil massage, you don’t need to prepare it anymore. It turns out I’m better suited to Central Plains-style manual therapy.”

The pressure of Haeryu’s massages hit her aches just right. That was how massage was supposed to be.

“See that? That’s the difference between you and me. How dare some rookie who hasn’t even spent a few years in the palace get uppity with us?”

“Ghh.”

Haeryu’s nose went up, and Gabiya clenched her teeth in vexation.

But only for a moment.

“In that case, my lady, would you perhaps care to learn the perfumed-oil massage method? If you master it, you will have many occasions to put it to good use later.”

At that, Qing’s ears perked straight up.

But the expression on Haeryu’s face blocked her.

“You. How dare you try to shove that kind of obscene technique on my lady?”

“Obscene? The perfumed-oil massage method is a health-promoting procedure refined over six thousand years, and in Central Plains medicine as well, techniques that raise body temperature and accelerate blood flow are considered the very best form of tonic care.”

“Kh.”

This time Haeryu shut her mouth.

A direct maid to an imperial grandchild was required to master basic medical knowledge, so it was hard to refute what Gabiya was saying.

And besides, Qing was already interested.

She could deploy it later as a last-resort technique to defeat Eon Yeonyeong, and if she swapped out the perfumed oil laced with aphrodisiac for ordinary perfume oil, it would be a nice health massage method to use on her friends as well.

And so, in the evenings, she now spent her time attending perfumed-oil massage classes in which Gabiya used Haeryu as a teaching aid, and even got hands-on practice herself in these “participatory lessons.”

Having once again completed a full and fulfilling day of study, Qing now lay down on the bed with the two palace maids who squabbled dozens of times a day tucked in on either side.

She no longer tossed and turned, pierced by the biting loneliness that came from trying to sleep alone as she had in the past; having someone at her side simply made her heart feel warmer, more at ease.

Listening to the breaths on either side of her, she slipped off to dreamland with a soft drrr in no time at all.

Then suddenly, Qing’s eyes flew open.

Because of the enormous presence she felt outside the building.

If one were to add a sound effect, it would be a long WOOOOO as pitch-black fog rolled in thick and ominous.

Qing rolled her eyes to check left and right.

Haeryu and Gabiya were fast asleep.

So as not to wake them, Qing slid down from the bed with the silent, serpentine movement of a would-be divine thief, causing neither sound nor even the faintest ripple of the mattress, and picked up her clothes to put them on.

When she carefully stepped outside the building, she saw someone standing bold and proud in the middle of the courtyard.

He was somewhere between middle-aged and old—a vague range that, back in Qing’s homeland, would have been called “grandpa.”

His hair, however, was entirely white, neatly twisted up and bound with a round cloth cap, and his long mustache extended left and right with a still longer beard trailing down between them, giving him the appearance of an immortal.

And yet, karmic debt... one hundred and seventy...

Qing swallowed hard.

A guy with a bright red number like that—and one who clearly didn’t look ordinary at all—had come visiting in the middle of the night wearing a sword at his hip. Ah, hell, Moon-Light Sword had been confiscated, too.

Which, of course, was only natural; they did not permit weapons inside the Forbidden City.

Qing was watching him warily, sizing him up.

The man opened his mouth at once and asked,

“Do you recognize this humble subject?”

“Uh... no? Am I supposed to recognize you?”

The visitor’s expression shifted subtly.

“This humble subject is called Beom Yakgong, and in the past I served as Princess Yeonsul’s bodyguard. Even so, do you not recognize me?”

Qing’s stiff expression loosened slightly at that.

Somehow, she’d figured it would go like this.

One after another, Princess Yeonsul’s old connections had been coming to see her; she’d thought that, after the Grand Guard’s conversation with the Crown Prince, it wouldn’t be long before she saw his face as well.

Except, well, an old connection was still an old connection, but his karmic debt was... so how exactly was she supposed to treat him?

“I heard about you from Haeryu. Um, hello?”

Qing bowed her head.

Beom Yakgong’s expression grew even more subtle.

“Are you, perhaps, Princess Yeonsul?”

“Uh... no?”

Beom Yakgong’s eyebrows twitched hard.

She said she was not, but that endlessly awkward expression, which overlapped perfectly and exactly with someone he knew, was right there at a glance.

“I was told that you yourself claimed to be Princess Yeonsul.”

“Ah. That wasn’t me claiming it. Everyone just keeps saying that, and, um, I don’t really know. Because I don’t have any memories of the past, um. But even so, I don’t intend to live as Princess Yeonsul. I am Qing of the martial world, and I will remain so from here on as well.”

Beom Yakgong let out a heavy, low groan.

The Crown Prince had claimed that Ximen Qing was impersonating Yeonsul and deceiving people, but what the woman herself was saying was completely different, wasn’t it?

On top of that—

“I heard you were a master at the absolute pinnacle. It seems one should not put too much stock in rumors. A martial artist whose body and qi have fused in perfect harmony... if I had not seen it with my own eyes, I could never have believed it.”

“Ah.”

Saying that he could recognize a harmonized master at a glance meant, in other words, that the opponent was an expert of an even higher realm—a man who had stepped into some profound stage.

Strictly speaking, he could see up to the absolute pinnacle clearly, and anything beyond that he could not gauge—but he would never think that the young, so very young, Qing standing before him was already in some higher, mysterious realm.

At that, Qing’s heart dropped.

Why hadn’t she thought of this?

Of course there could be masters of the profound realm even in the imperial palace.

She knew, she had heard: the Central Plains were vast, and there were many unknown masters.

And if anywhere, then certainly in the imperial palace, which possessed all manner of wealth and the divine arts of every sect, there would be such masters.

Qing’s characteristic was strong-against-the-weak, weak-against-the-strong.

She shrank right down in front of a master of the profound realm.

Even so, Beom Yakgong maintained the same courteous demeanor as he continued,

“Could I perhaps be permitted to see the Moon-Maiden Sword which you have mastered?”

“Uh, why that?”

“There is something I must confirm. Please. I humbly ask this of you.”

Beom Yakgong drew the sword from his waist and set it down in midair.

It was a strange phrase, “set it down in midair,” but this was the basic level of sword-controlling arts a profound-realm master could employ.

The sword hovered as he offered it hilt-first; it floated slowly toward Qing as if swimming through the air.

Mm. So his sword-controlling arts weren’t polished enough for actual combat—early profound realm. Not yet the mid stage.

Qing grasped the sword.

In truth, it wasn’t a difficult question, even for someone as slow on the uptake as she could be, why he wanted her to display the Moon-Maiden Sword.

As the one who had taught Princess Yeonsul, he meant to verify for himself whether she was the real one. Mm. Was it okay to just go for it?

In martial arts, a person’s habits inevitably showed through, so if it was a teacher who had instructed a student over many years, they would often recognize them easily.

But that was Princess Yeonsul—and she was her.

The Princess’s habits and her own would hardly match.

Still, if a profound-realm master told you to kneel, you knelt.

There was nothing to be gained by resisting him here and now.

Qing obediently began to unfold the opening movements of the Moon-Maiden Sword.

First form, Reeds Swept by the Wind.

Second form, Selfless Leisure.

Third form—

It was in that moment.

“That will be quite enough. Someone might see, so please set the sword down now.”

Qing glanced at Beom Yakgong and flinched.

He was smiling broadly, but there was something eerie about that expression.

Great joy, and an equally great surge of delight.

But underneath, something that snagged at the heart—a sense of wrongness.

Why? Was it just her imagination? Or was it because of his karmic debt?

No, it wasn’t that. It was something... something she almost understood, but not quite—

In that moment—

THUD. Beom Yakgong dropped one knee to the ground and bowed his head low.

“It has been too long, my lady. Forgive this humble subject, who has grown old and dim of eye and failed to recognize you at once.”