Chapter 775: Bloodline (9)

The Empress had been simply happy, every day lately.

Precisely because this was a child she’d once lost and gotten back again, every moment felt so precious that even watching time pass hurt and felt wasteful.

Though, yes, there was the strange business of the palace maids who handled her desk work starting to tremble just from making eye contact with her these days.

But wasn’t it natural for those below to fear their mistress?

Even now she was enjoying the luxury of those little hands massaging her shoulders—

Little like fiddlehead ferns.

(Enormous for fiddlehead ferns, but to a mother, her child was always tiny.)

It was just that the quality of the massage...

Did she study massage instead of martial arts? What is this?

Still, aside from the fact that the touch was oddly cool for a massage, those hands were as neat and sure as any well-trained palace maid’s.

If anything, the coolness felt good in the heat.

For a mother, anything was good as long as it was her child’s hands massaging her.

“This is good. Really good.”

The touch of her child’s hands kneading her shoulders—her child who was insisting she was all grown up now—felt so comfortable that the Empress’s eyes went red.

At the same time, a certain resolve settled in her chest.

She would have to send her child back out into the world.

Back into that ruthless martial world where savage storms raged.

If she wrapped the girl up in her skirts and held her tight, that would keep her safe.

But was that really what her child wanted?

Even as a little girl she’d been suffocatingly restless, always sprinting around the entire Forbidden City.

She had pestered the palace staff endlessly, desperate to hear stories about the outside world, and squeezed those stories out of them in the end.

Though honestly, how much did palace workers really know about life outside the Forbidden City?

From Qing’s homeland perspective, it was no different from boot-camp trainees asking their drill instructors about life in a regular unit.

Those drill instructors had only ever heard some random passing rumors from who-knew-where; of course they didn’t actually know.

In any case, this princess had been unusually obsessed with the outside world since she was small.

And now that child was all grown up and kneading her mother’s shoulders, talking about the things she’d gone through—tales of roaming under the wide open sky, traveling across the whole world.

“Oh, and I went to the Qinghai region too. There was this weird bald monk there—no, seriously, his sobriquet was literally ‘Mad Monk.’ He was a really weird bald monk. They painted all the walls white there, even though it’s not a hot region. Isn’t that strange? Oh, right, in hot regions they paint the walls white to keep it cool...”

The stories had no narrative structure and no coherent sequence, but the sheer amount she’d done was staggering.

From the southern edge of Liangguang beyond the desert of the Great Steppe, to the eastern end of the Shandong Peninsula, and all the way west to the Qinghai region.

In just a few short years she had run around the entire Central Plains.

Even if she’d lost her memories, the suffocating frustration of palace life must have dug deep into her chest.

How suffocating must it have been that—

“Oh, right. And I got myself a daughter.”

“Yes, yes, you even got yourself a... hmm? What? What did you get?”

The Empress practically jumped where she sat.

What was this? What did she mean, suddenly saying she had a daughter?!

“Her name is Jayeo. She’s a good, quiet kid. Her eyes are kind of rotten, but that’s cute in its own way. When she smiles she looks like an ordinary kid, all lit up, so it’s... reassuring, I guess?”

“Wh—what... what on earth are you saying.”

“Her eyes? Well, you can’t help it. She was still so young when—”

“No, no, before that. A daughter? Who—who the hell is the father?!”

“Oh, that. Hang on. Jayeo’s dad is, let’s see... so Jayeo’s dad is... um... this one, Jangmyeong, Moyong, Chunbong...”

Qing started folding and unfolding her fingers, counting.

The daughter she had finally reunited with had just told her she now had a daughter of her own.

When she asked who the father was, the girl muttered names the Empress had never heard before, counting on her fingers like she was trying to figure out which one it might be.

As if she were gauging who the father was.

The Empress’s head spun; the strength drained out of her body.

No, how could she—no matter how lax and shameless the customs of the outside world might be about men and women—no, my precious daughter, ugh...

“Oh. I got mixed up. Not father—mother. I’m the father—oh! Your Highness? Are you okay?”

“You—you wretch! You wretch! Head Court Lady Jo, bring the switch! The switch, right now—!”

“......”

No reply.

Head Court Lady Jo already seemed to have fainted.

The only reason the Empress was still upright at all was thanks to the extremely precious tonics Qing had been sending up to her.

In Qing’s homeland there was a saying about “giving the sickness and then giving the medicine,” and this was exactly that.

In Central Plains phrasing, this was “slapping a cheek once and then hugging three times afterward.”

In any case.

The misunderstanding cleared up quickly enough.

“So, she’s your foster daughter.”

“Yes.”

“Girl, you haven’t even had your own wedding yet. No—before that, what is a child doing taking in a child? What ridiculous talk is this?”

“Heh heh. I know I’m lacking, so I keep making myself more moms, and I also wanted to take responsibility. There was no one else who could.”

Before Qing took her in, Jayeo had been nothing more than an evil tool in the Blood Cult’s formations.

Even Shaolin’s Grandmaster of Martial Arts, for all that Shaolin was a pseudo-Buddhism obsessed with martial arts, had insisted she be locked in the Chamber of Repentance forever.

But this wasn’t about duty.

At first that expressionless little girl had watched her awkwardly from a distance, desperate not to be left behind.

Now she smiled easily and flung herself into Qing’s arms without a second thought.

If she grew any more, puberty might hit and she might turn into a bristling, hateful teenage daughter—but no way, our Jayeo wouldn’t, right?

...Right?

Watching Qing fidget anxiously, the Empress caught herself.

She was making a mother introducing her child feel that nervous.

Her own daughter had been precious to her; would this girl not feel the same about her daughter?

“Ahem. I’d love to see her face. Can’t even look at my granddaughter’s face. I suppose I’ll have to wait until the next time I go to Priestess Order Temple for rites.”

For now, this Jayeo girl did not sit well with the Empress.

But the way old folks doted on grandchildren was practically hardcoded into their genes.

Once she actually had the girl in front of her, there was no telling whether she’d still feel so disapproving...

...Yeah, right.

She was still in the bloom of life, and she was already a mother with a kid in tow—how was her future marriage supposed to work now?

Her own mother was calling the child’s eyes “dirty,” so clearly this was a girl with a very brash gaze.

No doubt a tiny thing who would stare at you wide-eyed and unblinking, glaring up with her eyes all popped open.

If a little thing like that was already doing that kind of act—

Well, if she was already like that, she’d obviously be as adorable as a little colt with horns sprouting out of its head...

No. No.

How could this thoughtless brat just up and take in a child, and now granddaughter? I’m going to be a grandmother? A grandmother.

Mmm. Grandmother. And granddaughter. My granddaughter.

Lying in bed after Qing left, the Empress’s heart was already pounding and thundering.

Yes. Yeonsul really is a dutiful child.

A girl calling herself the father was bizarre beyond belief, but what did that matter? She had a granddaughter.

A granddaughter!

She had never even imagined it.

The Crown Prince had no interest whatsoever in women, and in the palace they still had no intention of bringing in any consorts, so the day she would see a Crown Grandson felt infinitely far away.

Princesses, once they married, went so far, so very far away.

They were beings who disappeared into some barbarian land a world away, people she might see once or twice more in her remaining years, if that.

But now—a granddaughter?

This infuriating Yeonsul. How could she not have said a word to her mother all this time? If she’d sent word sooner, the Empress would have pushed herself to the limit to go offer rites at Priestess Order Temple just to see that face once.

Already the urge to confirm her granddaughter’s face was so strong that the Empress could hardly sleep.

So the next morning she rose with a pale, exhausted complexion and went in late to Gonyeong Palace.

There she handled the imperial household’s internal management.

As Empress, she was in charge of the Twenty-Four Offices of the eunuch organization that ran the Forbidden City—she was the mistress of the imperial house.

And yet—

The state of the reports that had come up for her signature?

The Imperial Works Office was submitting proposals for new screens and furniture, listing ivory, quince wood, and red sandalwood.

The Drapery Office was requesting to make a new bed-curtain canopy for the bedchamber.

The Banquet Office was already asking her to issue an edict allowing them to gather regional specialties from all over for a grand feast.

The Titles & Seals Office was requesting permission to access the Inner Treasury so they could make new jade plaques to bestow titles on a new branch of the imperial family.

The Wardrobe Office was sending up booklets asking her to review various brocade patterns in weft-patterned gold silk to be used for new ceremonial robes.

All of this work converged in a single direction.

If you translated their phrasing into the eunuchs’ usual way of talking, it basically meant:

We’re making furniture for the bridal chamber.

We’re building a new bed for the newlyweds. Soundproofed, not see-through.

We’ll handle the wedding feast thoroughly.

We’re making identity plaques for a new member of the imperial family, can we use the warehouse?

Please check if the wedding robes’ fabrics are pretty.

“What... what is this? What on earth is going on? Tell me. Is there some great imperial event I don’t know about? This looks like they’re about to hold a heavenly marriage or something!”

At that, the highest-ranking eunuch, Senior Eunuch Sa-rye, looked startled and asked back:

“Pardon? Your Majesty, isn’t this for His Highness the Crown Prince’s wedding preparations? We were ordered to move as quickly as possible, as the auspicious date will be chosen soon and the schedule is tight.”

“That’s impossible! No matter that he is the Son of Heaven, even he cannot decide a state marriage entirely alone! Every official of the palace expressed concern as one—how can he just ram through something like this...!”

“Your Majesty. Well... the Ministers of the Six Ministries have already declared they will follow the edict. The seating arrangements are already in chaos...”

Seating charts for ceremonies were the work eunuchs dreaded most.

Good seats were limited, and everyone fought to claim the good ones.

In other words, the ministers had already agreed, and under the surface a fierce battle for seating had already begun.

“How—how could he! Your Majesty! Your Majestyyyy!”

And so, the Empress exploded in fury.

The Empress in wrath—deploy!

“Your Majesty! What is the meaning of this? How can you—without even asking the mother’s opinion—how can you do this? How could you!”

The Son of Heaven sipped his fruit tea with forced nonchalance.

“The heat is terrible, but this tea is wonderfully refreshing. Would you care for a cup, Empress?”

Only his voice trembled slightly, and the hand holding the teacup shook minutely.

He was clearly trying hard to act calm and was, in fact, rattled.

Naturally so.

The Empress was the daughter of a storied general’s house that had held high office in the Ministry of War for generations and produced countless famed commanders.

She had a fierce temperament and a very heavy hand.

“How can that fruit tea even go down right now! You’re giving the Crown Prince to that woman—no, that—that bitch—yes, that bitch! That filthy little stray tramp from who knows where!”

The Empress struggled desperately to get the harsh words out; they just wouldn’t come.

To the Son of Heaven, it sounded like her anger was shaking her so badly she could barely speak, and the fruit tea in his cup sloshed all the harder.

“Ahem, Empress. The Ministers of the Six Ministries and all the officials have already agreed to carry out this wedding. No matter that we are the Heavenly Dynasty, how can we ignore the loyal devotion of our officials? You know this.”

The Son of Heaven sounded proud.

No matter that he was the Son of Heaven, he could not ram through a state ceremony on his personal will alone.

The Empress had assumed his attempt to push this marriage through would ultimately collapse, and that she needn’t worry about such a reckless effort.

Right now, the situation was the reverse.

All the officials had stepped forward in support.

No matter how fiercely the Empress opposed it, she could not cancel a national ceremony on her own will.

And it wasn’t as if she didn’t know that.

Her vision went dark.

How—how had it come to this?

Suddenly her chest clenched tight, her head spun, and she felt dizzy and faint.

It was as if she could hear the blood draining from her entire body, her veins tightening and the color washing away.

Her heart pounded, her rage surged, but her throat felt sewn shut and no sound would come out.

At last, in a choked, strangled voice, the Empress squeezed out her words.

“Why... why are you going this far? Why? Your Majesty, please... this... this is my wish. All this time I have always stood with Your Majesty’s will, always helped you. Just this once, this one time, can you not step back? Your Majesty.”

“Ha! If anyone should be saying that, it’s me! Didn’t I explain it all nicely already? Didn’t I promise she would never so much as come into the Crown Prince’s line of sight? What more do you want from me when I’ve gone that far? What else am I supposed to do here? Ha!”

The Son of Heaven shouted back and, as if his throat were parched with frustration, gulped down his cold fruit tea in big swallows.

“Ximen Qing is your daughter. Ximen Qing is Yeonsul. Our daughter. So-hal.”

The Son of Heaven’s eyes flew wide.

His whole body froze, and the fruit tea that had already entered his mouth trickled back out in a thin waterfall.