Chapter 924: A Strange Bitch, A Strange Guy, A Strange Guy (9)

The crisp, booming salute caught Qing off guard.

She hadn’t said it because she wanted to play the superior.

It was just—You’re not the only one with an official post, so don’t get cute and start acting like my lord and master, that was all.

In the first place, a Royal Censor was an official post of full seventh rank.

A Golden Guard position, depending on assignment, started at full seventh rank even at the lowest “Guard” tier, while squad leaders reached subordinate fifth rank, and unit leaders went as high as subordinate third rank.

So if you really wanted to nitpick hierarchy, they were equal at best—or Qing was actually lower.

There was no need to treat her like some terrifying veteran officer.

And from his attitude, it didn’t look like he was mistaking her for a princess, either.

Because, honestly, rank numbers were just numbers.

Real power came from whose line you were riding—how much power the person holding that line had—and whether you were barely clinging to the frayed end of it, or wrapped tight around the thick front rope until you were knotted in place.

And who was the one holding up the line for Seomun Cheonhwa?

A Royal Censor of the Twelve Circuits was, by nature, a post meant for the Son of Heaven’s loyal servants, since they could deliver direct reports to him.

And the Golden Guard were soldiers under the Son of Heaven’s direct command as well.

So of course they had no choice but to receive the new Royal Censor, Seomun Cheonhwa, as someone above them.

“No, you don’t have to be that tense—”

“Eek—what is all this commotion? If you’re going to enforce discipline, do it where no one can see you. What kind of shameless nonsense is it to enforce discipline here? What do you think the Jurchens are going to think? Honestly, the way you Golden Guard brutes behave—really. No dignity at all.”

That syrupy voice was the hallmark of a eunuch.

It was a little funny, hearing a eunuch talk about dignity, but the fact that eunuchs and the Golden Guard were sworn enemies was a tradition as old as dust.

“Hmm? And who might you be? Hey, Inspector Myeon. If you’re adding new personnel, you should say you’re adding new personnel. Are you running this operation by yourself? Even if we’re close, the parts that require coordination still require coordination, and—no, you too. If you’ve arrived, don’t start with discipline. Meet the person in charge and discuss it first. What is this, seriously.”

“I’m not with the Golden Guard—”

“Then what are you? An outsider? Inspector Myeon, did you call your lover over? Do you think an operation is a picnic in a field of flowers? You come onto Manchu land and this is what you do right away? Now then, miss, affairs of state are in progress, so no matter how spring makes your heart flutter, you simply can’t do this. Go back to the Central Plains.”

The eunuch peppered her with rapid-fire scolding in that saccharine voice.

Qing scratched her chin.

“That’s not it. I’m Seomun Cheong—”

CRASH!

Before Qing could even finish, the eunuch threw himself straight onto the floor.

It was the full-body prostration—arms and legs stretched forward, pressing the toes, knees, belly, elbows, and backs of the hands to the ground, the most extreme greeting imaginable.

“P-pr—no, Royal Censor, I greet you! Ten—no, a hundred years—no, that’s not—uh, ahm, uuh...”

He tried to rise while kneeling and lift both hands high, then changed his words and sprawled back down again, then panicked that he ought to be doing something and flung both arms up again—only to freeze, because “ten thousand years” wasn’t right, and “a hundred years” sounded insane, leaving him stuck between choices.

He flopped there like something had broken inside him, half-rising, waving his arms awkwardly.

Of course he broke.

The princess had suddenly popped out of nowhere!

Yeah. If he thought she was a princess, this was the reaction.

With a bitter smile, Qing helped the eunuch up.

“Ahh... to think you would even extend your hand to a lowly creature like me... truly, you are so kind...”

“I stopped by Changbai on business and I’m on my way back, but it looks like the inn is shutting down, so I was just about to leave. I’m not here as a Royal Censor, and I don’t even know what event is happening, so you really don’t need to go that far with the etiquette.”

“How could this lowly one dare? To meet you like this is the glory of three lifetimes...”

Watching, the Golden Guard inspector’s spine dampened with cold sweat.

So they weren’t joking about Seomun the Royal Censor being favored by the Empress—if even that stiff-necked palace eunuch was flailing and at a loss...

Then a mere Golden Guard squad leader like him could be snuffed out with nothing but her breath.

The inspector’s back snapped even straighter.

An unexpected assault by an imperial scion!

They’d been told the imperial scion was traveling, so it was possible to run into her.

But forcing an imperial scion—no, a direct descendant—to leave her lodging was an act so insolent it crossed into outright criminal outrageousness.

Of course, Qing had no intention of being that sensitive, and no reason to be.

When she said she had no intention of making an issue of it, the elderly eunuch visibly relaxed and explained the situation.

“Ah... a marriage-alliance procession...”

The true identity of the Central Plains–Jurchen joint event was Princess Yeonsul being sent off to marry—officially, a Marriage-Alliance Procession.

And then something occurred to Qing.

“Wait. Then what about Clan Leader Moyong? Wasn’t he drafted into the Marriage-Alliance Procession?”

“We sent Clan Leader Moyong back long ago. What good would it do to bring a Moyong into Jurchen land—what nice words do you think we’d hear? In the first place, the Central Plains escort doesn’t enter Jurchen land. Our own troops already completed the handoff with the Eight Banners and returned as well. Isn’t the responsibility for escorting on Jurchen land entirely with the Jurchens?”

From Manchu land onward, the Central Plains soldiers withdrew and the Jurchen soldiers took over escort duty.

At a glance, it looked like petty scheming—This is your land; anything that happens here isn’t our responsibility, so you handle the escort too—

But it wasn’t shirking or dumping responsibility. It was consideration, to avoid mutual discomfort.

Back when the Central Plains had fractured into chaos, it had been common for troops to enter deep under the excuse of “escort duty” for a Marriage-Alliance Procession, then suddenly launch an attack.

It was a story from a very old age—when law and morality were absent, and even telling people to live kindly took courage.

Even aside from that, no country liked foreign armies or masters marching right up to its royal city.

So these marriage alliances and envoy visits always swapped escorts at the border.

That meant the original escort had all been sent back, and what remained was Yeonsul and two attendants.

Plus a palace eunuch from the Inner Palace Bureau, personally dispatched to bear the edict.

And two Golden Guard inspectors guarding him.

Six people total—the entire Marriage-Alliance Procession.

“An edict?”

“Ah, yes. We intend to confer upon the Imperial Son-in-Law the rank of Eastern-Pacification Grand General.”

Anyone with real political sense wouldn’t let that pass as idle chatter.

To grant a barbarian leader the post of Grand General meant assigning them charge over one portion of the frontier.

Why entrust the frontier to outsiders?

Because you want to pull your own troops out for use elsewhere.

To invade somewhere... or because it looks like someone is about to invade you.

But Qing’s level of political sense?

After hearing that “high-level information,” the only thought that formed was:

Huh. Grand General. Grand General just sounds... really cool. It has a nice ring to it.

“In my heart, I wish to personally attend you, Your Highness, but I am a body bearing an edict. Still, please remember that my heart remains with you. Heehee. Now then, rest a while, and later I shall present your midday meal...”

No matter what, hearing an old man make that nasal, coquettish little laugh sent a chill up Qing’s spine.

The eunuch’s manner of speech was built for that exact purpose—designed to make palace ladies recoil and lose affection in an instant.

After sending him away, Qing threw herself back onto the bed again.

Truthfully, she’d planned to just leave.

She’d declared proudly that she would live as Seomun Cheong the martial artist, not as a princess—and barging into official matters felt shameless.

Sure, Qing was the type who wouldn’t hesitate to whip out her censor seal when she needed it, but she had every right to feel a little wronged.

When had she ever used it just to live fat and happy for herself, to satisfy her private greed? She used it for good causes.

Anyway, this time she truly, genuinely meant to just go.

But the elderly eunuch had burst into tears—actual tears, not just words—and clutched Qing’s trouser hem, begging her not to make him into a monstrous traitor who had dared to drive off an imperial—no, a direct heavenly descendant.

When you heard it like that, he was right.

It was persuasive in a way you couldn’t refute logically.

It definitely wasn’t because the banquet would be served by the Jurchens’ finest chef.

Nope.

Swallow.

Definitely not.

It was purely to protect the heart of a eunuch who had lived his whole life proud of the loyalty he’d offered.

...Though, speaking of which, what would lunch be?

So she would depart at night as originally planned.

Of course, if they served lunch, she’d eat lunch, and if they served dinner, she’d eat dinner—she’d intended to eat at the inn anyway.

It was all according to plan.

Of course, how often had Qing ever planned something and had it go according to plan?

Waiting until lunch felt awkward, but staying awake felt exhausting, so she asked them to heat bathwater and baked herself thoroughly.

Then, with her body melted into a pleasant sluggishness, she figured if she slept now, she’d miss the banquet entirely—so she opened the Black Warrior Dance secret manual, thought about its profound world of water torture—no, about becoming intimate with water—and dozed off and on to kill time.

And then, the long-awaited banquet.

They’d said they’d bring it up to her room—and the innkeeper and the attendant came straining and grunting as they hauled up an enormous table, heave-ho, barely managing it.

A spread of meats—steamed meats, fish, chicken, duck, pheasant—and greens?

Do Jurchens eat greens?

The taste was oddly familiar, which made her like it even more.

Normally, even if she ate alone, the attendant would explain the dishes as she ate, but since they were busy with the Marriage-Alliance Procession banquet, she had no choice but to eat whatever they put down without knowing what it was.

Still—good food was good food, even when you ate it blind.

So they really were the Jurchens’ finest chef.

I acknowledge they have the qualifications to represent an entire people. Bang. Bang. Bang.

Maybe they’d heard about Qing’s appetite, because they’d served plenty.

After stuffing herself, Qing launched herself straight onto the bed.

How could anyone even describe the satisfaction of lying there with a belly full to the brim?

Up to that point, it had gone exactly according to plan—

Knock, knock. A sound at the door.

Qing answered, and a stranger in yellow armor entered with a light bow.

Then he flinched when he saw the cleanly emptied plates stacked across the massive banquet table.

If Qing knew the Eight Banners, she could have inferred the man’s status from the color scheme of his armor—gold silk trimmed in red cloth.

It was the symbol of the Plain Yellow Banner, one of the Eight Banners: the great chieftain’s personal guard, the elite among elites.

But Qing, who knew nothing about the Jurchens, just thought, Wow, they’re really colorful. Do they pick armor color based on whatever they like?

“I am Pori, the captain of the escort guard.”

“Oh—are you Lord Po?”

“Pori is my name. In the Central Plains way of ‘surname,’ I would be Aisin Gioro Pori, but it is not quite the same as a surname. I may call myself Aisin Gioro Pori, but if others use it, it is rude unless they are a chieftain or a priest. It is disrespectful to the tribe—disloyal? Not loyal enough? I am not sure the expression is correct, but... you must call me Pori.”

“Ah, okay. I’m Seomun Cheong. Um... so, what brings you here?”

“I heard that you are a very close confidant of His Majesty. Is that true?”

Qing had already heard they would explain it that way to the Jurchen escort side.

It was to avoid a diplomatic discourtesy.

No matter how strong a Royal Censor’s practical authority was, she was still—on paper—a low-ranking official. If she barged into another country’s escort arrangements as she pleased, the picture became bizarre.

But they also couldn’t say, She’s a princess. More precisely: She’s the real princess.

So instead: She’s a close confidant of the Son of Heaven, the closest of confidants, and even if we ran into her by accident, we absolutely cannot slight her, that kind of excuse.

Qing had said she would just leave instead—only for the eunuch to clutch her trouser hem while weeping.

“Uh... I mean. That’s... not entirely wrong?”

“And I also heard you intended to depart quietly. That you merely came touring Manchu land, and simply happened to cross paths with us.”

“Yes. I went to Changbai Mountain.”

“Ah, Changbai Mountain! Changbai Mountain is good. In truth, I came to tell you that you do not need to leave. The dignity of our escort? Discourtesy? Um—yes, those things. We are grateful that you considered them, and you are a precious guest, so we wish to invite you formally as a guest to the wedding.”

The atmosphere suddenly turned into...

A wedding invitation delivery.