Chapter 769: Bloodline (3)

It was a heartfelt remonstration, packed with anger and just as much resolve from an old retainer.

The Crown Prince’s expression was sour.

“Ahem, mm. We can’t go that far...”

“Your Highness, she is a criminal who dares to toy with the Heavenly Dynasty! How can you hesitate to condemn her to an immediate death sentence?”

“It’s, mm, right. You’re going to find out anyway, so I may as well tell you in advance. Heavenly Flower Sword is to be my cons— khk, the woman who will become my consort, and—”

Beom Yakgong’s expression turned markedly serious.

“Your Highness, a woman’s beauty lasts but a moment. I understand that you have been ensnared by that impostor’s dazzling looks, but once time has passed, it is like a loosed arrow, gone in a blink. No matter what beauty she may be, as the years flow by she will wither like a fading flower. This humble subject dares to say: if you feel romantic affection based solely on a woman’s outward appearance—”

“Romantic affection?! What nonsense is that?!”

The Crown Prince snapped.

Then, goosebumps rising, he scrubbed furiously at his forearms in pure disgust.

“Don’t you dare say such revolting things!”

Watching the Crown Prince bark back like that, Beom Yakgong’s expression now turned sour.

No, His Highness had personally said he would take her as consort, so why was he getting angry now?

“Then why speak of making her Crown Princess?”

“Ahem, ahem. His Majesty, in governing all under Heaven, grew concerned about those uncouth ruffians, those thuggish troublemakers who call themselves the martial world. And yet, instead of cutting them down with blades and spilling blood, he wishes to enfold them with virtue and love, to show mercy. So he plans to take the most famous woman in the current martial world as Crown Princess, to let all people know that Heaven’s love embraces all beneath Heaven.”

It sounded nice on the surface, and at a glance it sounded like the imperial house was reaching out a hand of reconciliation, saying it wanted to get along with the martial world.

However, there was not a single official in the bureaucracy who didn’t know of the Son of Heaven’s hatred for the martial world.

Because any official so dense—or so poorly connected—that he didn’t know had already disappeared.

For Beom Yakgong in particular, who knew that palace folk were forbidden from casually training martial arts, the meaning was clear the moment he heard it.

He would steal away the martial world’s number-one rising star.

“Ah. But how can we possibly take as Crown Princess a criminal who has dared impersonate Heaven’s blood? When Your Highness ascends to Heaven upon enthronement, if such a woman becomes Mother of the Nation—already she is a lawless bitch who impersonates Heaven’s blood; if she holds power, what do you think will happen?”

“Ascend to Heaven” meant literally “to go up to Heaven”—the term used for a Crown Prince taking the Son of Heaven’s place.

The transfer of a king’s seat was called ascending the throne or enthronement; “ascension to Heaven” was a word only the Crown Prince could use.

“That is why I tried to send people to gather proof of her impersonation, but somehow they haven’t performed as hoped. Ahem. So what am I to do? It’s not as if the palace is short on chaste consorts.”

Chaste consorts.

Among the women from foreign lands presented to the Son of Heaven for political marriages, there were quite a few who grew old and died without ever seeing his face even once.

Heavenly Flower Sword too, he would simply marry her and then bury her away forever somewhere in the Western Palaces.

Beom Yakgong stroked his beard for a long time, his posture restless, unable to calm himself.

Apparently the situation of a grossly lawless impersonator sitting in the Crown Princess’s seat was that serious.

At last, finally, Beom Yakgong opened his mouth.

“In that case, this lowly one will attempt to gather proof of her impersonation. If we secure clear evidence, then we can punish that vile capital crime.”

But for some reason the Crown Prince’s attitude was lukewarm.

“Well, His Majesty has said he will summon Heavenly Flower Sword soon anyway, so even if it all comes to light now, we can’t exactly delay the wedding at this point. We can just stash her away in some corner where no one can see her...”

“Your Highness, she is a traitor who has desecrated the Heavenly Dynasty.”

“What, if she takes a palace in the Western Palaces she’ll wear herself out on her own. There’s no need to spill blood over it...”

“Your Highness. Precisely at times like this you must steel your heart and display Heaven’s majesty. Do not let yourself be entangled by private feelings.”

The Crown Prince answered with a face that clearly said he didn’t like this.

“If truly clear proof is found... If it is truly the Grand Captain of Hwanggeuk Hall’s wish, then do your best once.”

*****

“Have you been in good health, my lady?”

Wi Baseon showed his face for the first time in a while.

Qing greeted him warmly in return and asked if he would come in and have a cup of tea.

But Wi Baseon shook his head.

“No. It is time.”

“Time? For what—ah. Could it be?”

“Yes. It is time to pay respects to the Son of Heaven.”

“Oh, so they finally set a schedule.”

At last!

It had been a long period of waiting.

She’d come because the Son of Heaven said he would give her a reward, and then he’d kept her shut in the palace without another word.

Of course, every guest residence Qing had ever visited before this couldn’t compare in facilities, treatment, or meals.

This level of facility and treatment was, what, about equal to some “Supreme Sovereign Suite” at Seol Trading Company, one of those obscenely high-class guest rooms?

Mm, come to think of it, that Seol Trading Company VIP room had really been something. How was it that it didn’t lose out even compared to the Forbidden City?

Thrilled by the good news, Qing asked again to be sure.

“Then, when am I going to see him?”

Wi Baseon smiled and answered,

“Right now. Let us go.”

“...Huh?”

“That is how palace ceremonies are. His Majesty is busy with affairs of state; who can guarantee when he will next be able to spare time?”

It sounded reasonable enough.

But this was originally how the Forbidden City treated envoys.

Indefinite neglect, followed by a surprise summons.

On the way over, she was given a quick crash course in the etiquette, and fortunately there was nothing particularly difficult the visitor had to do.

And so, Hwanggeuk Hall—the center of the Forbidden City.

Hwanggeuk Hall was the building at the very heart of the Forbidden City where the vast Central Plains’ affairs of state were conducted.

It was also the largest single building in the Central Plains.

Twenty zhang from side to side, eleven zhang in width.

And that vast expanse within a single building.

Expressed in the most scientific and economical system of units unique to “her people,” the kind anyone from Qing’s homeland could instantly visualize upon hearing it?

A whopping twenty-five thousand six hundred square feet of exclusive floor area!

And its height was a full eleven zhang.

Roughly the height of a twelve-story residential building in Qing’s homeland—and taller even than the Forbidden City’s walls—the highest structure within the Forbidden City.

On top of that, this enormous hall didn’t simply stand on bare earth.

It had been set atop a gigantic marble platform three stories high, each story a full three zhang.

A three-story base was a symbol of authority allowed only to the Emperor’s buildings in the Central Plains.

In other words, it was like a colossal hall rearing up on top of a towering wall.

When a lone human being stood before this majestic height, this colossal miracle, how pitiful a creature did that human become!

Particularly for the “primitives” of a proto–ancient era, a civilization before the development of electronic communication—who had never seen such things.

So when all under Heaven, and even the barbarians beyond the borders, passed through Hwanggeuk Gate and stepped into the vast Hwanggeuk Hall plaza, what did they see?

They beheld this overwhelming spectacle, and in that instant they could understand, without being told, that the Son of Heaven was truly the child of Heaven, and how enormous the authority of that Heaven-born bloodline was.

Overwhelming!

The majesty of the Heavenly Dynasty that crushed the soul.

And when Qing passed through Hwanggeuk Gate and first faced the wonder of the greatest hall in the world, that vast structure—what she felt was:

Wow! Is that roof actually real gold?

If that much of it is gold, just how much is it all worth?

Qing was not impressed by mere architecture.

Because Qing was not a primitive—and because in her homeland, gigantic buildings were not exactly hard to find.

So it just felt like she’d come to a tourist spot.

Ooh, she thought, looking up at the glittering golden roof tiles (not gold), estimating how many pounds of gold that would be.

Watching Qing like that, Wi Baseon let out a faintly smug smile.

Whatever she was thinking inside, outwardly her reaction didn’t look much different from that of someone overwhelmed.

Then Wi Baseon shouted, loud and clear,

“Young Hero Ximen Qing ascends Heaven’s steps at the Son of Heaven’s summons! You shall now give thanks for this Heavenly grace!”

“Ten thousand years! Ten thousand years! Ten thousand times ten thousand years! Ten thousand years! Ten thousand years! Ten thousand times ten thousand years! Ten thousand years! Ten thousand years! Ten thousand times ten thousand years!”

Just as she’d been briefed in advance, she cried the long-life formula three times, and right on cue, music of the Central Plains began to play.

Musicians in splendid costumes, drenched in sweat, played flutes and such to either side, while on a higher platform they beat drums and struck long-hanging metal pieces to add to the sound.

On this hot summer day, in the Hwanggeuk Hall plaza where there wasn’t so much as a tree or a single blade of grass, an overwhelming welcome ceremony unfolded, thick with the smell of sweat.

Next, Qing stepped onto the left stone path of the three straight paths leading to Hwanggeuk Hall.

Who could use which stone path in the Forbidden City depended on their status.

The central jade path, paved with jade, was a route only the Son of Heaven himself was allowed to use, the path on the right could only be used by Heaven’s blood and their spouses.

Everyone else had to walk on the left.

No wonder this side was so worn down.

To left and right of the stone path, Golden Guard bodyguards in splendid golden uniforms held crescent-moon blades and displayed ceremonial drill so still it was practically a circus trick.

They couldn’t help sweating in the heat; beads formed on their jaws and dripped.

Those drops must have gotten into their eyes, yet their eyes did not even twitch—proof of just how elite they were.

At last, when they reached the soaring steps in front of Hwanggeuk Hall, Wi Baseon called out again.

“Young Hero Ximen Qing, pay respects to the Heavenly Dynasty!”

“Young Hero Ximen Qing pays respects to the Heavenly Dynasty!”

She bowed toward Hwanggeuk Hall at the foot of the stairs.

Then she climbed the first level and bowed again.

Climbed the second level and, in front of the third, bowed one last time.

Only after offering three bows in total could she finally climb all three platforms and stand before Hwanggeuk Hall.

And then, by palace etiquette, from that point on she had to keep her head lowered and look only at her own toes as she walked.

I mean, seriously, what is all this.

But this was roughly how those in power always raised their own authority.

Thanks to that, not just in the East but in every civilization, you saw similar patterns—where even looking at a noble person required permission.

With her gaze lowered to her own toes beneath the softly drooping veil—though thanks to a certain anatomical protrusion she actually couldn’t see her toes at all—Qing walked forward in a demure manner.

The carpet underfoot was soft and springy; she could tell it was no ordinary luxury.

Luckily, gold thread lines had been stitched across the floor to mark the exact point where she had to stop, so Qing halted there and knelt.

Within the range that her Spatial-Occupancy Awakening could read clearly, only Wi Baseon and a handful of guards were present, but just because she couldn’t read beyond that didn’t mean she knew nothing—she could still sense presence as hazy lumps of existence.

Just how many people had been gathered in this infinitely broad hall open to the wind?

And up ahead, built atop another set of steep steps, clustered around that big lump—would be the Emperor and his jade throne.

Only now did it feel real that she was standing before the Emperor of the Central Plains, the Son of Heaven.

Up to this point, she’d honestly been living easy.

Even if she was “in the palace,” Qing had been surrounded by three extremely devoted followers and enjoying nothing but luxury.

She hadn’t even had to pretend to be a gravely injured patient as she was supposed to—and, in truth, she’d completely forgotten about it.

What sort of person would the Son of Heaven be?

A man with fanatical hostility toward the martial world, determined to destroy it.

A ruthless man who had tried to kill his own brother and use him to that end.

When that brother rebelled to survive, he’d been so dogged and cruel that he’d summoned firestorms to kill him even at the cost of making tens of thousands of commoners suffer.

As the assassination chaos had made painfully clear, he was a ruler who seemed not to count the people as people at all, but to care only for himself—the embodiment of cold, cowardly power...

And was he, at least, a proper monarch?

In a country where no one trusted the bureaucracy, what kind of role did the head of that bureaucracy actually play?

“Young Hero Ximen Qing will raise her head.”

Qing swallowed hard.

She had seen many evil men.

The number of dead and the number who had suffered because of them—that was how big the blood-red number of karmic debt grew.

So karmic debt had to be red.

Because the blood spilled and the tears of blood shed were red.

Then what of the Emperor’s karmic debt?

If he was a monstrous villain like none she had ever seen before, then I—

Hmm? What’s that got to do with me?

All at once, Qing felt her heart get lighter.

So what if the Emperor was an evil man?

What was she supposed to do about it?

It wasn’t as if she had the knightly spirit of Jing Ke rushing the First Emperor, the sort of chivalry that demanded slaying the greatest evil in the world.

Sure, looking at the Crown Prince’s state, he could turn out to be a good Son of Heaven someday—but again, what did that have to do with her?

She just had to protect herself, her friends, and the people precious to her.

Killing bad guys was a hobby, nothing more.

When a bad guy died, it felt good—but was she going to throw away her life for that? Would it end with just her dying? It’d be a mass slaughter.

Once she thought that, Qing’s tension melted away.

Come to think of it—yeah.

There was no need to be worrying about this at all, was there?

Only, she was curious.

Just how spectacular would his karmic debt be?

Maybe the digits would stretch out so long left and right they’d run from wall to wall, or maybe she’d finally see the limit where it went nine-nine-nine-nine-nine and then stopped.

And so Qing slowly raised her head.

Seven steps that symbolized the Son of Heaven.

On a vast jade throne big enough for three people to sit comfortably, a lone middle-aged man sat, and the loneliness made him look all the more pitiful.

And above his head—

Qing’s eyes flew wide.

A number she hadn’t even imagined. Had she seen it wrong?

She blinked and, before she knew it, raised a hand to rub her eyes, but the number did not change.

Above the Son of Heaven’s head.

In a numerical notation not yet used in the Central Plains—

“0”