Chapter 783: Bloodline (17)

“I don’t especially hate him, though.”

Hate or not, she didn’t exactly bear a grudge against the Son of Heaven.

Well... okay, she did have something of a grudge, but still. Whatever.

“When you collapsed, and every physician just shook their heads and withdrew... Her Majesty... yes. She was not in her right mind.”

There was no celebration in the Forbidden City then.

There couldn’t be any celebration.

Because the Empress’s eyes were glittering.

Just looking at the shape of her smiling mouth, you felt like she was about to slap someone across the face and shout, Beat that girl senseless, how dare she bare her teeth and grin when the princess is at death’s door, after everything Yeonsul has done for you ungrateful wretches.

Every palace servant fell silent and watched each other’s faces; the only proper word for the Empress’s behavior was “rampaging.”

Haryeon had not been an exception.

Your sister has collapsed and you’re just lounging around doing embroidery?

I don’t even expect you to wipe her bedsores. Can’t you at least pray, or join the rites, or wish for your sister’s safety?

How can a person be so heartless?

“Ah. Mm.”

It was the classic picture of a household collapsing under a family member’s serious illness.

Losing a loved one was bad enough; but certain kinds of loss were worse than others.

There was a reason people called some funerals “good funerals”—when the heart had had time to accept the separation in advance, to prepare, to put things in order, and send someone off properly, then even if it was sad, the wound healed quickly and didn’t hurt as much.

But the losses that weren’t like that—the sudden ones, and worst of all, the ones where a long illness dragged every relationship down into the mire—those were the truly catastrophic ones.

“To be honest, I’d be lying if I said I never resented you. It would almost have been better if you’d left quickly, instead of clinging to life so stubbornly and making it hard on you, on Mother, and on me... on all of us.”

“Mm. I can see that...”

“And on His Majesty as well.”

The Son of Heaven had never shown much reaction.

He’d summon whatever famous physician he could find, and when that man withdrew, he’d send for the next one. That was about it. In the Son of Heaven’s eyes, Yeonsul’s place in state affairs had been about that significant—a topic to receive a report on once a month.

So how must the Empress have felt, watching him?

Your daughter is dying and your face doesn’t even change color. You never liked her anyway, so you must be glad, right? When was the last time you even looked at Yeonsul’s face? What’s the point of being a father if that’s how you act? If you can’t even beat back a single illness, what good is being the Son of Heaven? What’s the point of the Heavenly Dynasty at all?

But the Son of Heaven only kept his silence and went about his daily duties as always...

“It was just... His Majesty couldn’t sleep. I don’t know exactly how he felt. But Mother already had several people to share her grief with. Father... did not.”

Watching her father grow thinner and thinner, like a skull, little Haryeon had decided someone had to be on his side.

And the little Haryeon knew the method of comfort, too.

The warmth of someone who had barged into her quarters and flopped down—I don’t want this, if you’re going to sleep go back to your own room, don’t talk to me, I’m sleepy—and yet, afterward, it had been a very warm memory.

When her father saw his young daughter sneaking into his quarters and ultimately found himself unable to send her away, she didn’t know if that was because the Son of Heaven himself had been driven into a corner, or because he simply couldn’t bring himself to reject that small heart.

“He would lay me down on the bed and sit in the Grand Tutor’s chair, just looking at me. He said that if he watched me sleeping peacefully, he’d get drowsy himself and fall asleep quickly. But do you know something? He’d tell me to lie down and sleep, and then he’d just keep talking and talking. Or maybe... he needed someone to listen, even if they couldn’t understand a word of what he was saying. I’d had no idea His Majesty could talk that much, not until then.”

Just like somebody else, Haryeon added, with a soft, stifled chuckle.

“Please don’t look that guilty. Honestly... Sister—that is, the fake one—yes, even if she was fake, I think it was okay. Mother became more gentle, and... in their own way, those two have always suited each other. To be honest, Mother’s temper is so fiery I think Father just handled her well.”

“Mm.”

“With you not having any memories, I felt like someone had to defend His Majesty. If all you had to go on was Mother’s stories, I thought His Majesty would be left as nothing but the man who hated you.”

The masters of the Hundred Schools all said it.

That a ruler must work for the sake of the people.

That a ruler must love the common folk, feel for them, pity them, and guide them with compassion.

But must a ruler act for the sake of the people?

If so, then how?

The ruler of the Central Plains was Heaven and earth and world.

If the world acts “for the people,” then who is it supposed to favor, and who is it supposed not to favor?

Whenever one person lives and gains something, it comes at someone else’s loss. If Heaven and earth move for the sake of one individual, then for another individual, the world is trampling them instead.

In that case, it would be better for the world to be indifferent.

If Heaven opened up for those it loved, and the earth rose or sank for the people it cherished, then someday the earth would collapse and Heaven would shatter.

And when that happened, tens of millions of lives would be spilled, and the realm would be drowned in blood.

So Heaven must simply be wide and high where it is, and the earth must simply be below, holding everything up.

That is how a ruler protects the people—and cannot play favorites or shield particular individuals.

That is why Heaven’s indifference is a blessing to humans, and why it is the law of Heaven.

Thus, in roughly three thousand five hundred years of Central Plains history, there had been some sixty-odd unified dynasties.

But of those, only four had lasted two hundred years.

No dynasty had ever passed three hundred.

Yet if the Zhou family’s reign continued, then in the near future, the current young generation would live to see, for the first time in that long history, a three-hundred-year national anniversary.

“To His Majesty, we can only ever be princesses. Someday, I too will probably be sent off as a gift to some distant barbarian land, and fulfill my duty as Heavenly Dynasty blood that way. Though, since I hated that prospect, I resorted to tricks, so I suppose I have no right to talk. I thought at least one of us should remain in the palace.”

“Tricks?”

“That’s a secret. But you’re not Yeonsul anymore, are you? I think His Majesty might actually be pleased about that. Of course, how could I presume to know what His Majesty truly thinks? It’s just my own guess.”

Then Haryeon tugged a cord to summon the palace maids, offering that elegant little hint that it was time for them to withdraw.

“The year you were granted the royal rank of princess, you had just turned ten. His Majesty said he would weigh down your flighty behavior with a weighty title. But how many times in history has a ruler not even of age been given the rank of princess?”

*****

Qing’s heart only grew heavier.

She was weak to affection, and the Son of Heaven’s cool, emotionless attitude had made things easier on her.

But what if it wasn’t what she’d thought?

A Son of Heaven who did not love the common folk.

Heaven, remaining Heaven, and earth remaining earth, and trying to destroy anyone who challenged that order—every time Heaven flashed and earth trembled, innocent blood flowed.

And yet, in the end, he was preventing catastrophic wars and full-scale collapse of the world.

The country was a mess—a Central Plains where just walking up to any government office, you could almost guarantee there’d be at least one commoner out front, crying injustice.

Officials were corrupt; bribes—no, here in the Central Plains, they didn’t bother to pretend, they handed “up-front money” over openly—oiled every filthy collusion.

Even if you ran your business honestly, if you were unlucky and lacked connections, you could end up a pauper overnight. And if all you lost was your fortune and you weren’t turned into a criminal, you could call that Heaven’s mercy.

So everybody sneered at diligent people as clueless fools who didn’t know how to live in the real world.

On top of that, martial artists—well, the orthodox side was less bad, but at the end of the day they were still private armed groups, holding territories and collecting “protection fees.”

And yet the country kept turning.

It was almost strange that it hadn’t already collapsed.

Still, she wasn’t convinced there was any real reason to keep one united Central Plains, one unified dynasty, at such cost.

If the land was too big to manage, just split it up.

But the Central Plains people’s obsession with “one Central Plains” verged on madness, like an instinct.

Once things were split, it always meant war, and then war again.

And war in the Central Plains was cruel.

Just looking at how they treated prisoners told you that; the default solution was to bury them in the ground.

The prisoners dug the pits, the prisoners were buried in them, and covering the pits with dirt didn’t cost much labor. It was, in their eyes, an admirably efficient method.

These were people who had historically killed in units of millions, as if it were nothing.

Mm.

It would really be easier if there were just one evil bastard, one fucker I could blame everything on and hate with a clear conscience.

She could just say the Son of Heaven’s politics were dogshit and leave it at, Whatever, ten years from now is ten years from now, and kick that can down the road.

But Qing’s insides were too tangled for that, watching the Son of Heaven’s indifferent face through her veil.

The day of the audience had come again.

The previous audience had fallen apart because he’d tried to grant her a reward that was too much: the Crown Princess’s seat.

Then, after that dramatic back-and-forth, it had almost turned directly into an appointment-and-wedding ceremony making her a Lady.

But that, too, had been canceled when the Son of Heaven abruptly requested a “refund,” changing his mind.

The ministers, after all, had only reluctantly voted in favor of it in the first place, thinking the intent to keep the martial world in check was at least a decent excuse. They’d thought it suspicious, but tolerable. From their perspective, not doing it at all had always been the best option.

And the Son of Heaven’s new plan wasn’t bad either.

At last, Heaven’s voice rang out.

“Young Hero Ximen Qing is a mere wild woman. But a wild woman has repelled a mighty foe. She did so knowing full well her overwhelming disadvantage, all to face an irresistible enemy and act for the sake of the nation and the people. This is the spirit of a true knight-errant. Thus Heaven watched over her, and by a miracle, she achieved the merit of vanquishing that enemy. In recognition of this, We Ourselves shall bestow upon Young Hero Ximen Qing an honorific name.”

The eunuch beneath the Son of Heaven drew a scroll from his breast and snapped it open with a flourish.

Two characters were written there: Heavenly Flower.

Mm. Not exactly new.

If anything, it °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° would have been more of a problem if it had been something new.

“I am unworthy of such grace, Your Majesty.”

But it wasn’t over yet.

“Ximen Heavenly Flower hates corruption and pursues upright justice. This is the bearing of a great hero. She also disregards her own disadvantage and does not shrink back. This is the bearing of a brave warrior. Therefore We intend to employ Young Hero Ximen Qing in a way that benefits all under Heaven.”

Qing’s brows crushed together.

He was about to grant her an official post.

It had to be the very sort of post Chunbong had warned her so strenuously never to accept.

Wait, you just said you were giving me ten years, so why an official post? Isn’t this different from the deal?

The Son of Heaven’s proclamation continued.

“We shall grant Ximen Heavenly Flower the rank of Royal Censor of the Twelve Circuits, to watch over the nation’s corruption.”

Royal Censor of the Twelve Circuits?!

Uh, what is that supposed to be, why are you saying things only you people understand? “Censor” plus “royal inspector,” so... secret royal inspector? Something like that?

Either way, Qing had been advised in no uncertain terms that if they offered her an official position, she absolutely must not accept it.

So, taking a breath, she prepared to protest that she was unworthy and could not accept—

“Your Majesty! This must not be! I beg Your Majesty’s pardon for this interruption, but please hear out this old servant!”

A booming voice beat her to the punch.

Every head snapped toward it.

There, for once clad in full general’s armor, hero’s headband tied tight like he was ready to march straight onto a battlefield, stood an aged martial commander.

Qing, however, was still kneeling and looking up at the Son of Heaven.

Uh. Is this... one of those moments where I’m allowed to turn around, or not?

I never learned the proper etiquette for where you’re supposed to look when someone suddenly barges into the throne hall...

But I am curious...

Qing was right on the verge of demoting herself in her own head when a shocking statement forced her to snap her head around.

“Ximen Qing of the martial world—that girl is a monstrous traitor! I beg Your Majesty to grant me leave to cut down this horrific criminal at once!”

If she was about to become a rebel ringleader on the spot, there was no way she wouldn’t twist her torso around to look.

And there, she saw a familiar face.

Wait. Beom Yakgong?