Chapter 754: Bound for Beijing (7)

The design purpose of the Forbidden City is simple: to crush your spirit.

The South Gate of the Forbidden City sits at the center of a sunken wall shaped like the character for “enclosure,” a standard defensive design that lets you hit any enemy trying to break through the gate from three sides.

And what sits outside that South Gate?

The very first outer gate of the Forbidden City, Tiananmen—the everlasting, eternal, totally peaceful gate where nothing is ever supposed to happen.

In front and on both sides, huge walls rise four zhang high; behind, the even taller main gate of Tiananmen looms.

So the moment you step into the space before the South Gate, you’re in a completely enclosed box, shaped like a mouth—no open side at all. Unless you crank your head all the way back, you can’t see the sky. It turns into a fully closed space.

And what emotion do people feel in a place like that?

Awe—and fear.

“Wow. They built this well...”

Granted, people of the Central Plains feel that way.

Qing’s homeland people had long since grown used to skyscrapers stabbing up into the sky and fully enclosed spaces. High-density complexes with brutal floor-area ratios pressed on you way harder than this.

So for Qing, it just felt like she’d come to a tourist attraction.

Still, these people of the Central Plains really did know how to slap up a good city wall.

Look at the Great Wall alone. Who in their right mind builds a wall that long?

For reference, the real length of the Great Wall is about fifty-four thousand li. So strictly speaking it should be the Fifty-Four-Thousand-Li Wall, not the Ten-Thousand-Li Wall.

But in Central Plains numerology, ten thousand is the symbolically highest number, so “Ten-Thousand-Li” it is.

Visitors to the Forbidden City are normally kept waiting in front of the South Gate anywhere from an hour to as long as three days.

That’s the building’s original purpose—to break morale.

Kneeling in that box before the gate, how many arrows are aimed at you from all directions? How many cannons?

You sit there with the feeling that a rain of arrows could come at any second, and there is literally nothing you can do but wait for the door to open.

From your side, it’s a string of awful moments that dry your blood and twist your guts.

But that, frankly, is your problem.

Qing knelt and kept turning her head, scanning in all directions.

It was a rainy day. Despite the foul weather, soldiers in tight formation crammed the wall tops, staring down at her.

A veiled woman had arrived, knelt, and—with no fear at all—kept whipping her head around left and right, taking everything in with enthusiastic curiosity.

The soldiers were dying of curiosity themselves.

If this was Ximen Qing, then she was Heavenly Flower Sword—

The one counted among the Three Great Beauties, the One Who Makes Men Lose Their Minds, the Flower in the Heart of Fire, the peerless beauty chosen as the Number One Beauty Under Heaven.

Holy shit, so this is one of the Three Great Beauties. I’m dead. I’m actually dead. But if she’s one of the three, why can’t we see her face—how about lifting that veil for us, just once...

From this point on, Qing had been told, she had to wear a veil.

Because this was the formal entry of the woman designated as the Crown Prince’s lady.

While they were hyping her as the Young Hero, they’d loudly advertised that she was entering the palace.

But once she passed through the gate, as the future Crown Princess she couldn’t go around showing her precious face casually.

Qing didn’t know the reasoning in that much detail, but they told her to wear the veil, so she wore it.

Frankly, in this heat, not having to manage her facial expressions sounded great.

About a quarter of an hour passed.

In this primitive era where everything from one to ten was built by hand, these towering, imposing walls really were impressive.

Armored soldiers in full gear, halberds with red tassels strapped to their backs, standing on the parapets—plenty of eye candy.

But how long was she supposed to just keep looking?

“Elder, so... when does the gate open?”

Wi Baseon felt his insides explode.

There were limits even to courage. How could she show not a speck of intimidation in a place this grave, just casually spinning her head around, sightseeing?

“Just... wait. Do you think the gates of the Son of Heaven’s purple palace are going to fling open the moment a guest arrives, like some tavern door?”

“They invited me here and they’re not even opening the door. What kind of hospitality is this...”

Wi Baseon flinched and whispered frantically.

“Please, for the love of all that’s holy, shut that mouth.”

“Did I say something wrong? If you invite a guest, you should open the door and welcome them riight aw—”

“HWAAAAAAH!!!”

Wi Baseon let out a strangled scream and slapped a hand over Qing’s mouth.

Even with that, Heavenly Flower Sword kept mumbling on through his palm—mmmfff mmmf—so it was hard to tell if she was brave beyond belief or just completely ignorant of how the world worked.

Under the veil, Qing scowled and sat there.

Sightseeing was sightseeing, but watching the rain and walls forever wasn’t exactly thrilling, either. What kind of bullshit was this, summoning her and then making her kneel in front of a wall?

“Elder, since we’re at it, is it okay if I offer a full formal bow?”

“...You do not intend to sleep, do you?”

“Of course not. It’s just, since His Majesty has summoned me like this, even keeping my back straight on my knees feels disrespectful.”

“You must not sleep.”

“I told you, I’m not going to sle—yawn...”

“Every time you say that, you fall sound asleep.”

“Elder, come on. When have I ever—sure, I dozed off a few times in the palanquin, but that was just because it was sunny for once and I’d just had lunch.”

“No, I’m talking about how you fell asleep right in front of the Central—”

Wi Baseon suddenly snapped his mouth shut.

Qing immediately sprawled forward.

What do you mean “you must not”? If anything, what doesn’t make sense is calling someone here and then making them kneel at the gate.

Qing lay flat and offered a full kowtow.

Ugh. The stone floor was wet and the water seeped through—only a little slimy, or rather, a lot slimy and unpleasant.

She let the strength drain out of her eyelids.

*****

“Your Highness, we will open the gate now.”

“...”

“...Your Highness?”

“Ah. Yes. Open it.”

The Crown Prince snapped back to himself and answered the eunuch with appropriate gravitas.

Since this was the woman he would receive as his lady, it was proper for the Crown Prince to go personally to greet her.

By the Emperor’s own order, he had come all the way to the South Gate in this rain.

GRRRRRRRRRRR—

The South Gate let out a huge scream.

How could a gate three zhang high open silently, or flip open with a silly little fling?

Even when they hauled on the ropes with all their strength from both sides, it barely pretended to move. Just getting it fully open took a full quarter hour.

Behind the slowly yawning gate, the Crown Prince drifted back into thought.

...

......

.........

“Your Highness, do you truly intend to obey His Majesty’s monstrous command?”

“I’m as shocked as you are, Mother. But she is only a lady, after all. It’s not as if His Majesty has ordered me to favor her...”

The Crown Prince’s lady was the lowest-ranked principal wife, the youngest rung among the formal wives.

Once he ascended the throne, that lady would be elevated to a consort. Which meant that among the palace women, consorts were in many ways the most awkward rank of all.

They were “formal wives,” but their rank was so far down the line that they rarely held real power.

Most consorts were essentially political hostages, married for reasons of state.

In serious cases, there had been consorts who lived and died without once seeing the Son of Heaven’s face.

Above them, they were crushed by the principal consorts and senior wives.

In the vicious hidden battles of the palace, consorts were the perfect punching bags for built-up resentment.

Below them, they were pressed down by lesser wives and concubines.

Concubines were often those the Son of Heaven actually favored. Those favorites sometimes had more clout than all but the most powerful principal wives.

Consorts were easily stepped on and pulverized.

“No. It is out of the question. How can the Crown Prince, who will sit the throne, take that—

That kind of woman—as his companion. Oh heavens, how monstrous. Lady or not, there are things that must never be allowed. As your mother, I oppose this. Absolutely not.”

“But His Majesty has already steeled himself. Whatever I say, he won’t easily change his mind...”

“Then this time you must oppose him, Crown Prince. If you say you don’t want such a partner in marriage—and I will oppose it with you—

And if he insists on bringing in such, such a woman, do you think the ministers will stay quiet? If everyone kneels together and petitions as one, even His Majesty will have to back down this time.”

The Crown Prince suddenly realized something.

His mother kept saying “that kind of woman.” If she meant a lowborn, she could just say lowborn. If Heavenly Flower Sword was a killer of the martial world, she could just say killer. Why was she getting stuck on that part?

“His Majesty must have his reasons as well, must he not? The ministers’ opposition will be loud enough as it is. As a son, shouldn’t I help shoulder—”

“You child! Am I not your mother? Is His Majesty your only parent and I just some lowly servant girl? I bore you in pain and raised you and this is how you—oh, oh heavens, in all my years I never thought my life would be this twisted. How can such a thing even be? There is no such law in this world, no such law!”

The Empress actually started to cry.

The Crown Prince panicked.

“Mother, please don’t—if you hate that woman so much, I’ll just lock her in some storeroom in the corner of the West Palace so you’ll never have to see her—”

That was when the Empress seized his hand.

She fixed him with sorrowful eyes, gulped, and forced out the words.

“My son. That woman is Yeonsul. Your sister. Princess Yeonsul.”

“...What?”

“The girl in the palace now is the fake. Heavenly Flower Sword is the real Yeonsul. The child, your sister.”

Abruptly, the mood flipped into a prime-time soap opera.

The Crown Prince, hearing this shocking secret of birth, froze solid.

Heavenly Flower Sword was Princess Yeonsul?

And the Yeonsul Princess currently in the palace was a fake—

While the greatest prodigy of the martial world, the one touted as the next Number One Under Heaven, was actually his little sister?!

“The wicked witches from the Western Lands switched them. They took Yeonsul away saying they would save her, then left her to die somewhere and brought back some replacement.

And yet somehow Yeonsul survived and grew up so bravely out there. I have thanked the heavens for that every day. But now you and she are to be engaged? How can such a thing exist in this world?”

The Empress beat at her chest as she spoke, and the Crown Prince’s heart plummeted.

His heart dropped clean out of his body, leaving him dizzy.

This can’t be. How can this be...

Madness.

My mother has fallen into madness.

She’s still so young and strong—how can her mind already be breaking? This can’t be allowed.

From the Crown Prince’s perspective, that reaction was only natural.

In Qing’s homeland terms, anyone could understand the situation.

A conglomerate family. The chairman pressuring his son to marry.

The madam opposing it: You will not marry some entertainer. I would rather die with dirt in my eyes. Step over your mother’s corpse if you must! Step and step again over your mother’s dead body as you go forward!

Then comes the shocking revelation.

Actually, a cleaning lady switched the babies. That woman—that actress who’s the most beloved in the country and extremely beautiful—she’s your true sister.

The girl you’ve grown up with? She’s the fake.

Even if Heavenly Flower Sword really had been some nameless, faceless wanderer of the martial world, that story would barely scrape the edge of plausibility.

But a top young master famous as the brightest prodigy and future Number One Under Heaven—

And she was suddenly Princess Yeonsul?

“Mother, please. I’ve said this before. Yeonsul is in the palace. My sister, your daughter is alive and well.”

And this wasn’t a first offense, either.

From the start, the Empress had said something was wrong—that this could not be her daughter.

She’d once cherished Yeonsul like a jewel, holding her close with layers of skirt wrapped around her, but after the illness and recovery she’d begun to neglect her, refusing to see her even if the Crown Prince brought her over.

He remembered the Empress turning her head sharply away, pretending not to see them at all.

Only recently had she grown more affectionate again, eating with Yeonsul and accepting her daily greetings. He’d thought she was getting better.

“That girl is a fake, my son. Think back. Even if someone ‘dies and comes back,’ how can they become so completely like a stranger?

Was the Yeonsul you knew ever like that? When you look, don’t you see how strange this girl is, pretending to be Yeonsul?”

“She lost her memory. That’s all it is. Please, Mother, please...”

The Crown Prince’s eyes reddened.

For now, he said he understood.

He had to soothe his mother, weeping in helpless frustration, so he bowed his head and said, Yes, I understand, then withdrew.

Inside, his sorrow was bottomless.

What am I supposed to do?

His little sister Yeonsul’s fate was tragic, and his mother’s madness was tragic too.

She couldn’t escape this delusion; she searched for a daughter while her real daughter was right there, suffering coldness instead of love.

How could something this horrible exist in the world?

The heavens are truly indifferent...

.........

......

...

The gate finished opening, and the Crown Prince walked out.

“His Highness the Crown Prince approaches!!!”

The Crown Prince’s brows arched, pressing down toward the center of his eyes.

What...

What was this very, very familiar sight?

That lavish figure with head planted toward the floor, that richly humiliating posture, that extremely, extremely familiar crown of a head?

Chief Brush-and-Seal Eunuch jabbed someone in the side with his ceremonial tablet—a slightly curved, supposedly important stick used by officials for no one knew what.

Like a drenched cat springing up, the woman’s body snapped upright.

At that snap, the veil strung from the beads atop her head flipped with a glorious arc—SPLAT!—and plastered itself to the crown of her skull.

Her face was suddenly laid bare—

The Crown Prince sucked in a breath.

Whether she noticed or not, the woman blinked her big eyes, then—oh—wiped at the corner of her mouth with her sleeve.

She dropped into another full kowtow. Only, this time it was a man’s bow.

Chief Brush-and-Seal Eunuch poked her side again and she squeaked, “Ah!” then finally offered a proper woman’s bow.

“Gyaaah—! Hah—ah, Your Highness? I greet Your Highness.”

The Crown Prince’s pupils shook uncontrollably.

What—what even was this.

This incredibly familiar, desperately missed—

And at the same time so pathetic it was painful to watch—spectacle.