Chapter 64: Inner Thoughts

Is this escaping the rice chest?

Or being trapped in it?

Just like that.

With the Qianlong Emperor’s suggestion that I come visit him every day, as if I were paying my respects to my grandfather, that was the last thing he said.

I ended up in a kind of Schrödinger’s rice chest state, half out of my mind, barely able to leave Gyeonghuigung.

“Agi-nim… Is this a good thing…?”

Kim Jo-sun, trudging along behind me, seemed just as dazed by this unexpected turn of events.

The fact that I had written those novels that bewitched the Qianlong Emperor—somehow, by the time I came to my senses, at least I’d managed to avoid being found out on the surface.

As a loyal retainer, he’d even resolved to kill himself to protect my secret.

Even though things had somehow worked out, it was only natural that his head was spinning.

In that state, I couldn’t even tell whether I’d ridden in a palanquin or walked home; somehow, I just barely made it back to Junghuidang.

It was only after gulping down the cold water Yi Deuk-wan brought me that I finally managed to pull myself together and recover my judgment.

“So… The Grand Emperor really doesn’t know yet, right?”

“Well, that is…”

Even though I thought I’d gotten my bearings back, neither Kim Jo-sun nor I could easily come to a conclusion.

If we went by what the Qianlong Emperor said, he hadn’t figured out the writer’s identity yet.

The problem was, the Emperor was still obsessively fixated on me, as if I were his own grandson.

Because of that, I couldn’t begin to guess what the Qianlong Emperor was actually thinking.

But then.

“Is… is that so?”

The chaos brought by the destroyer of art finally began to settle in my mind that evening.

It was thanks to something I heard when I met with my father, King Jeongjo, that night.

“He truly cherishes you from the bottom of his heart. Consider yourself lucky.”

“That person”…?

Jeongjo, whose Confucian-fundamentalist mindset ran deep, should by all rights still be crying out, “Sungjeong, Sungjeong!” and mourning the fallen Ming.

The only time Father had ever spoken respectfully about a Qing emperor was when he’d mentioned Kangxi—“The Emperor of a Thousand Ages”—praised as a monarch seen once in a millennium.

Yet, for some reason, respectful words for the Qianlong Emperor were now flowing from Jeongjo’s lips.

If certain old stick-in-the-muds who still had no qualms about calling the Qing “barbarians” heard this, they’d have a fit.

“But, Father…”

“Were you about to ask how I know this? That’s…”

At that moment.

My father’s dry lips, just about to say something, closed firmly.

I saw his mouth curve downward with an inscrutable emotion.

“It’s difficult to tell you right now. It’s something you would have trouble understanding.”

“But Father…”

“But there’s one thing I want you to know. The honored guest who came from three thousand ri away… turned out to be the one who understood me best, surprisingly enough…”

With that, Father gently ruffled my hair, telling me to trust him and treat the Qianlong Emperor like a grandfather.

What on earth had happened between the two of them to make Father treat a Qing emperor this way for the first time in his life?

Still, one thing I could never doubt, not even in death, was how deeply Father loved and cherished me.

If it wasn’t something related to the novel, Father would never exchange me or the country for anything in the world.

So, without even realizing it, I found myself nodding slightly at Jeongjo’s words.

Well, honestly, what’s the worst that could happen?

At worst, I’d just have to make a trip to Beijing, like all the other officials before me, and spend a bit of time with an old man whose days were numbered.

Maybe because Father had given me such a strong guarantee, the confusion that had tormented me all day vanished as if washed away.

Thanks to the conversation I’d just had, it felt like I’d steeled my resolve without even realizing it.

“Wonha, climb into the rice chest.”

“Fine. Let’s just give it a shot.”

If I summed up the conversation I’d just had, it would boil down to those two lines.

Still, some sliver of anxiety must have lingered inside me.

That night, I woke up several times, tormented by nightmares.

“The King of Joseon sold you!! Even your father was curious about your writing!!”

“Lies, it’s a lie!!”

“Heehee… Let’s see your new novel!!”

“Graaaah!!”

In my dreams, the Qianlong Emperor’s phantom hounded me for a new work, looming over my back.

The fact that I kept having such gruesome nightmares told me that, even with Father’s encouragement, I couldn’t feel completely at ease.

---

But contrary to my fears.

The lid of the golden rice chest from Qing didn’t pop open, and I didn’t find myself locked inside, comparing fates with the Emperor.

No, maybe it just hadn’t happened “yet”—but anyway, while the Qianlong Emperor recovered from his journey and lazed about Gyeonghuigung, I was summoned every day…

“ᠰᠠᡳᠨ!! ᠰᠠᡳᠨ ᡴᠠᡳ!!”

Each time, the Qianlong Emperor would slap his knee and exclaim in Manchu, overflowing with admiration.

[To think you’ve mastered clerical script to this degree already! Amazing!]

[I’m ashamed. My skill is still terribly lacking.]

[Child, do you have any desire to learn another script from me? I can teach you as much as you’d like!]

Day by day, the time I spent offering up my “talents” as a promising greenhorn the Emperor had set his sights on grew longer.

And beyond these delightful study sessions, I had to entertain and converse with the Emperor as his companion.

Then, when the Qianlong Emperor had fully recovered after a good rest…

“ᠠᠮᠪᠠᠨ ᠰᠠᡳᠨ ᡩᠣᠪᠣᡵᠣᠨ ᡴᠠᡳ!! ᡝᡵᡨᡠᠨ ᠵᡳᠶᠠᠩ ᠴᡳ ᡤᡝᠯᡳ ᡤᡡᠸᠠ ᡥᠠᡶᡠ ᠪᡳ ᡴᠠᡳ!!”

“His Majesty says that although it’s different from the Yangtze, the view here is magnificent.”

This time, in order to entertain the Emperor who’d come from so far, countless boats were set afloat on the Han River for a boating excursion.

Naturally, now that I’d become the Emperor’s favorite “doll,” I was accompanying him as well.

“Is the Yangtze really that different from the Han River?”

“In breadth, the Han River can’t compare to the Yangtze… but the scenery mingled with the mountains is more beautiful here…”

“Is that so?”

“Look at this! This is a painting from my collection that depicts the Yangtze in all its glory!”

“Oooh…?”

So, stuck to the Qianlong Emperor’s side at the prow of a splendid royal barge, I had to be his conversation partner as we enjoyed the scenery.

I’d spent so much time by the Emperor’s side that I could now catch the meanings of the Manchu words he used most often.

For example, when the Emperor asked me about classics or taught me calligraphy, he’d often say “sain” (ᠰᠠᡳᠨ), which means “good.”

If he was especially pleased, he’d add the exclamation “~kai” (ᡴᠠᡳ) for emphasis: “Very good!!”

Wait a second.

If this keeps up, is it so strange that I might actually end up living in the Forbidden City speaking Manchu?

Aaagh.

But whether or not he noticed my complicated feelings, the Qianlong Emperor, having just put away the painting of the Yangtze, started pulling out new pieces from his collection one after another.

Ugh…

For my part in letting these national treasures slip away, I bow my head in apology to future generations…

“Ahh…! Comparing the artist’s unique style with the real landscape, the flavor truly comes alive…!!”

The boat carrying the Emperor and me was now slowly drifting past what would become a modern hotspot.

That place was the famous Apgujeong.

And the piece the Qianlong Emperor started sweeping up this time was a painting of this very view, rendered in Gyeomjae Jeong Seon’s signature style.

“Prepare the seal!”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

Thud.

To see a bright red imperial seal stamped like a brand on a Korean treasure that ought to be preserved for all generations…

If I’d committed any sins by being born in Joseon, this one would be the gravest.

But the Qianlong Emperor had committed such acts countless times during his many grand tours.

There was no way I could throw myself in front of him to stop this outrage.

And the Emperor’s terrifying collector’s zeal didn’t stop there.

“Good… Once I recover more, here as well…”

This time, the Qianlong Emperor’s eyes gleamed strangely as he picked up another of Jeong Seon’s landscapes.

This painting, which had not yet been branded by the Emperor’s “art-destroying” seal, was the real national treasure , depicting Mt. Geumgang.

Anyone who studied Korean history or art would have seen this masterpiece at least once.

Having collected this brilliant work, the Emperor was now fired up with the idea of making a pilgrimage to Mt. Geumgang itself.

And—

“Someone like me, a Chakravartin, cannot leave out a pilgrimage to the holy place where the Bodhisattva of the Law resides…!”

Apparently, Tibetan Buddhism was the official religion of the Qing imperial family.

And the Qianlong Emperor himself had used that religion to add religious authority on top of his imperial power.

Geumgangsan, along with Odaesan and Potasan, was a Buddhist holy site said to be where bodhisattvas dwelled.

So, since he was in Joseon, the Emperor was set on combining his art collecting with a tour of legendary scenery—he was determined to visit Mt. Geumgang.

His age, over eighty, was just a number to the Qianlong Emperor.

Yet, because of this, another priceless painting was destined to bear that glaring red monstrosity.

All I could do was silently apologize to the great artist of the Gyejangwang era.

But then.

From the Qianlong Emperor, who had been exclaiming with joy just a moment ago, came a single heavy word—so different from before.

“……ᠰᡳ ᡝᠮᡤᡳ ᡝᡵᡝ ᠪᠠᡩᡝ ᠪᡳᡥᡝ ᡩᡝᡵᡝ, ᠰᠠᡳᠨ ᠣᡴᡳᠨᡳᡥᡝ ᡴᠠᡳ…….”

A moment ago, the Emperor had treated Jeong Seon’s  as though he couldn’t live without it.

Now, the painting fluttered forlornly in the river breeze, like a mere fallen leaf in his grasp.

That wasn’t the only thing that changed.

The interpreter, who had been translating every word so far, suddenly clamped his mouth shut.

But maybe because I’d spent so much time with the Emperor, my ear was starting to catch on.

Let’s see…

It was something like… “If only you and I could be here together…”

The words were simple enough that, while I couldn’t be sure, I got the general meaning.

Still, I had no idea why the Qianlong Emperor’s face was suddenly shrouded in regret.

Maybe he’d left family behind in Beijing to travel alone?

“…Grandchild.”

At that moment.

The old Emperor, his hand slipped into the folds of his splendid robes, spoke to me.

Through his fingers, I glimpsed a small, black, worn pouch embroidered with a modest flower pattern.

“Did this grandfather ever tell you why he made the journey to Joseon…?”

Surely, it was to find the author of the novels that had shaken his heart.

And that criminal, as if to prove the saying “darkest under the lamp,” was standing right in front of the Emperor, deceiving the supreme ruler.

But, to my response—which I’d thought was surely the right answer…

“No, that’s not the whole reason…”

The Qianlong Emperor shook his head, looking forlorn.

“There’s a rumor going around Joseon… That the Emperor plans to find the writer of a favorite novel and take him to Beijing…”

Of course, that rumor was probably true.

No matter how much he left everything to his favorites and lived idly, he wouldn’t have thrown away the throne and come to Joseon otherwise.

And from what Father had said, after reading , the Emperor had been so moved, recalling his own grandfather Kangxi, that he’d come to Joseon to find the writer.

“Of course, I do have some intention of doing that… It’s true I’d like to keep such a talented scholar close and ask him for this and that…”

Did he mean to stuff the writer into a can and commission personalized works to suit his taste?

Come to think of it, I’d heard of nobles in Europe who supported artists for similar reasons.

But the Qianlong Emperor’s true intent seemed to be something else.

Not just locking me up in a golden rice chest…

“But if there’s one thing I truly want to ask of him…”

Abruptly, the Emperor fell silent, and with a gesture, summoned an attendant and gave some instructions.

A familiar travel set of paper, brush, and ink was laid out before the Emperor along with a portable desk.

Perhaps, as someone who was said to have composed some forty thousand poems, the Qianlong Emperor was about to express his specialty, inspired by the scenery of the Han River.

But contrary to my guess, there was not a hint of playfulness or joy on the Emperor’s face.

“Watch, child.”

Perhaps I was now the only person in the world privy to the Qianlong Emperor’s true inner thoughts.

The Emperor’s wrinkled hand began to trace elegant curves.

Soon, beautiful calligraphy appeared on the pale silk, forming a splendid poem.

It was a side of the legendary poet-Emperor, so often the subject of memes, that I’d never seen before.

[Twenty years, hearts as one, now gone with the waters; Blood and tears from both eyes scatter on the eastern wind.

Had I known I’d lose my son and his mother as well, Why would I ever have dreamed of fatherhood?

Still I remember, the pouch offered deep within the palace; Of the careful embroidery, only colored threads remain.

Why does this relic now bring sudden sorrow? Your voice and face fill my eyes, and the tears will not cease.]



※Author's Note

I am attaching Gyeomjae Jeong Seon's  and , which so impressed the Qianlong Emperor.

I hope this helps readers’ understanding.

*The poem at the end of this episode is an actual poem written by the Qianlong Emperor.

Source: Jeong Seon’s Geumgang Jeondo (Leeum Museum of Art), Jeong Seon’s Apgujeongdo (Gansong Art Museum).