Chapter 65: Voice

The Emperor had walked a long and lonely road.

Yet that road had been a thorny path, along which he lost many precious things.

Perhaps because of this, the Emperor was lonely.

The Emperor did not have an heir for almost a full sixty-year cycle after his ascension.

Of course, not long ago, he made an unexpectedly early decision and passed the throne to the 15th Prince, Yongyan (顒琰).

In truth, during the reign of the Son of Heaven who marked the end of a robust and prosperous era, there was only ever one true Crown Prince.

“Yonglian (永璉), Yonglian…!!”

Once, the Emperor had an heir whom he swore would inherit his jade throne.

This was the legitimate son he had with his most beloved woman, a son as intelligent as if he were born to inherit the vessel of the Son of Heaven.

Because of this, the Emperor included the character “Lian (璉),” meaning “to continue,” in the legitimate heir’s name, subtly revealing his intentions to all.

Following the precedent set by his father, the Yongzheng Emperor, he even wrote a secret imperial decree early on, naming his cherished son as Crown Prince and successor of the empire.

But.

“Open your eyes, my child…!! Please!!”

“Your Majesty, Your Majesty…!! It is time to hold the funeral…”

“No!! Yonglian is merely sleeping!! You wretch!! Are you daring to deceive me!!”

The heavens were indeed heartless.

The son, whom the Emperor cherished beyond words, did not even reach the age of ten before succumbing to influenza and passing away young.

After that, the devastated Emperor did not designate a new Crown Prince to inherit his throne for nearly half a century.

No—there was one exception.

There was a time when the Emperor’s resolve wavered.

“A son is born on Buddha’s birthday!! Surely, this is the return of Yonglian!!”

The woman the Emperor loved most had long been unable to bear children, but in her mid-thirties, she finally gave birth to a legitimate heir to the empire.

At this miraculous event, the Emperor released criminals, showered treasures without restraint, and celebrated the birth of the new successor.

The child, born with the auspicious spring rain that ended a drought, was personally named by the Emperor with the character “Chong (琮),” meaning “to continue the imperial line,” and thus introduced to the world.

It seemed that the Emperor would thus put an end to the tragedies of the past.

Yet, this event became the beginning of an even crueler tragedy.

“Yongchong (永琮)… Yongchong…!! This cannot be!! How can heaven do this to me!!!”

He had believed, without doubt, that his legitimate heir had returned.

But the child did not even reach a year old before he caught smallpox and left the Emperor’s side.

Perhaps, stricken by the loss of yet another hard-won fruit of love, the woman the Emperor loved most also began to waste away from then on.

“Yes, yes!! We will embark on a royal tour to a place with good air and clean water!! Then the Empress’s health will return!!”

To comfort her and hoping for her recovery, the Emperor prepared a grand journey to Shandong, spending vast amounts of silver.

But his prayers went unanswered.

“Your Majesty… Please take another blessed and healthy consort… so that you may have a successor…”

“Empress…!!”

On the royal tour to Shandong, where at first her health seemed to improve, the Empress succumbed to a local disease and passed away.

She was not just a consort but the Emperor’s only true companion and sanctuary since his youth.

The moment when the Emperor, who had everything, lost everything.

“Move the Empress’s boat directly to Beijing!! This is an imperial command!!”

“Did you fail to express proper condolences before the Empress?? Even if you are ministers, I will not tolerate it!! You are dismissed!!”

“You brats!! You call yourselves princes, yet you do not mourn your mother’s death?? You are the worst kind of criminal offspring!!”

It was from this point that the Emperor began to change.

Those who did not express proper condolences before her, be they princes or ministers, were swept away by the Emperor’s fury.

The eldest prince and the third prince were stripped of their succession rights and fell out of the Emperor’s favor because of this incident.

The Emperor, who once sought to emulate his grandfather, also began to grow cruel and capricious.

Just seven years after losing his beloved, the Emperor raised a massive army to destroy the empire’s longstanding problem, the Dzungars.

A brutal war and massacre followed for three years, and the Dzungars lost 500,000 people—80% of their population—and vanished from the earth.

Several subsequent campaigns followed, and with the conquest of Nepal just a few years ago, the Emperor earned the fearsome title “The Perfect Old Man (十全老人).”

However.

[……Even if I should live long without you, there will be no joy.]

For the sixty years he sat upon the throne, she alone was the Emperor’s only Empress.

Even after more than half a century had passed since that day, the Emperor’s feelings for her never changed.

Qianlong composed more than a hundred poems yearning for the Empress up until the eve of his death.

Even the poem he quickly wrote on silk aboard a boat on the Han River was part of this longing.

Why was it that, on that night, the Qianlong Emperor could not contain his emotions upon hearing Jeongjo’s story?

And why was it that, after that night, Jeongjo did not guard himself against the Qianlong Emperor approaching his son?

All of these reasons were contained in the small, worn pouch held in the Emperor’s hand.

That old flint pouch, which every Manchu man was said to keep at least one of on his person…

‘You spoke of our tradition of embroidering with deer tail hair last time, didn’t you? Here…’

‘No, Empress. Don’t tell me you made this yourself…?’

‘Yes. Since it’s something Your Majesty will always keep close to your heart, I must make it myself.’

‘Empress…!!’

It was the final gift left by the woman the Emperor had to let go nearly fifty years ago.

Since then, not for a single moment had the Emperor parted from her last gift.

* * *

‘That is why this old man needs a literary master with exceptional skill.’

‘Could it be, to record memories of her…’

‘Yes. If her virtues and character live on in everyone’s memory, won’t they be passed down for centuries to come?’

The true reason the Emperor had come to Joseon.

And the reason he had endured such a long journey, as if dropping by the neighboring country just to find a mere novelist.

From the moment I heard this heavy confession from Qianlong, it was only natural that I no longer noticed the scenery of the Han River.

But then.

[Young Master Yuan. May I presume upon you for a moment?]

That day, after returning to the palace from the boat ride.

A stranger from the Qing court visited my residence at Junghui Hall.

A man who introduced himself as Giyun.

He was a high official in the Qing court, holding the ministerial post of Minister of Personnel.

Well, from his explanation, it was a bit funny—the only reason such a high official was dragged to Joseon, regardless of actual duties, was just to be Qianlong’s translation shuttle.

[Even those who have served His Majesty for a long time could not predict this. No one imagined that a story he had cherished for so long would be the cause of his sudden tour to Joseon.]

And in that written conversation with him, I realized anew that I had truly been given special treatment by Qianlong.

For no one in Qing knew the grave reason behind the Emperor’s journey.

Qianlong wished to preserve the stories of those he had to let go in a book, to be passed down for generations.

[Still, now that I think about it, I can somewhat understand His Majesty’s feelings.]

[Why is that?]

[Just before leaving Beijing,  became all the rage, and people began praising the Emperor, likening him to his illustrious ancestor.]

At the same time, thanks to the popularity of  in the Qing publishing world, the relationship between Kangxi and Qianlong, grandfather and grandson, was suddenly in the spotlight again after decades, with warm rumors sweeping through Beijing.

Could it be that these rumors had reached the Forbidden City and made Qianlong restless?

[No, His Majesty most likely heard it directly on the streets. He’s always been fond of traveling incognito.]

[Incognito?]

Even so, when I heard the Emperor also liked to sneak out to the streets, the famously irritable person in Heejeong Hall came to mind, but I forced myself to push the thought away.

[Whenever a minister is newly appointed, His Majesty enjoys appearing at his residence in disguise a few days later and startling the host.]

[I see. That must be tough.]

[There are other areas in which I suffer as well, no, please forget I said that.]

Still, somewhere in the conversation, the translation shuttle—who had clearly suffered quite a bit under Qianlong—couldn’t help venting his frustration.

[In any case, I was surprised. That His Majesty would reveal such a long-hidden feeling to the Joseon prince.]

[I was surprised as well.]

[Perhaps His Majesty—though this may be disloyal to say—may be overlapping the image of the sons he had to part with onto you, Your Highness.]

[Me??]

[The late princes were similar. Not even ten years old, but extraordinarily clever and gifted in learning and calligraphy, resembling His Majesty more than anyone…]

Anyway, after Giyun visited and shared Qianlong’s detailed story with me.

Only then did I fully understand why a stranger of an emperor would treat me as close as his own blood after just a few encounters over brush and ink.

[And, this is something I hesitate to say to a noble of Joseon…]

Moreover, this was apparently the first time Qianlong had ever acted this way during his entire reign.

Giyun, explaining with great caution, even bowed his head to a child not yet ten years old as he made his request.

[It may be a heavy burden, but please take care of His Majesty.]

[Minister of Personnel, do you mean… truly as if we were grandfather and grandson?]

[Yes. In truth, even just seeing His Majesty regain his motivation after seeming to have lost all joy in life for so long is a wonder to us.]

According to Giyun, Qianlong had been a lazy emperor who left everything to his favorite official, Heshen, and retired to the background.

But such a man had regained his vigor to push forward the tour to Joseon, showing a passion unseen in the last ten years, to the great astonishment of the Qing officials.

[Still, disloyal as it may be, we could not fathom the depths of His Majesty’s heart. Had Your Highness not opened his heart, perhaps we would never have known.]

[I don’t think I’ve done anything at all.]

[No, Your Highness has accomplished what no one else could.]

Thanks to me, they said, they were grateful that they would not have to witness the Emperor wither away in apathy through his final years.

The Minister of Personnel, with his head full of white hair, bowed deeply to a mere child.

[I don’t know if I’ll be of any help, but if there’s ever anything I can assist with, please let me know.]

[I’m not sure it’s right for me to ask such favors of a high official of Qing…]

[No, while I am in Joseon—or even after returning to Beijing—I, Giyun, will do my utmost to help Your Highness with anything you request.]

Though this man always complained about being worked to death by Qianlong, he was, after all, a loyal subject to his Emperor.

After leaving a Western-imported alarm clock as a gift, Giyun exited my chambers.

Judging from the note he left saying he would go visit Park Jega, it seemed only after Qianlong quieted down for once did he have time to meet his old friend.

That night.

Sitting in the extradimensional rice chest library, I was lost in deep thought.

The story I had heard directly from Qianlong, and from Giyun, weighed heavily on me.

“Haa…”

A deep sigh escaped before I realized it.

On the motion desk now sat manuscript paper in “Kyŏngpan” format, always prepared for novel writing.

Even as the Qing Emperor’s golden rice chest approached before my eyes, I found myself fidgeting with manuscript paper instead of thinking to rest.

Was it perhaps because of the writer’s blood running through my veins?

‘Hoo… This is wonderful!! I must add it to my collection at once!!’

‘Disqualified, disqualified, most thoroughly disqualified!! Remove this subpar piece from my sight at once!!’

Having spent several days with Qianlong, I had come to understand the Emperor’s standards perfectly.

I had seen with my own eyes the “seal unmatched” that I had only heard about through the testimonies of Kim Josun and Jeong Yak-yong.

What I realized from this was that Qianlong’s eye for art was as lofty as Mount Baekdu.

The paintings and calligraphy that, unfortunately, entered his collection all had an inexplicable power even I could sense—they were masterpieces.

Some were clearly destined to become national treasures or cultural assets in the future, ones I had seen somewhere in the modern world.

‘To think I’ve come all the way to Joseon, yet the level of entertainment is hardly any different…!!’

‘I apologize!! I will go out into the streets of Hansung and find other entertainers!!’

‘Enough… I have told the Joseon King to have a certain Park Ji-won devote himself to imperial command, so until I find “that person,” he will suffice…’

Qianlong’s taste in novels was also terrifyingly high.

Even Park Ji-won, a great writer who had advanced one step further under my influence, was treated as merely a temporary relief for his thirst.

And meanwhile, perhaps Park Ji-won truly intended to be my shield, as he seemed to have hidden himself in the rice chest rather than working in the Office of Works.

Yet, even in this situation—where the real author was stuck in the can, so to speak—the reason I kept picking up and putting down my brush in deep agony.

It was because I instinctively knew that the only person in the world capable of unraveling Qianlong’s long-buried, painful memories was me alone.

No, this wasn’t about skill with words or the speed of writing.

Nor was it about having the right experiences to weave into a novel, or the ability to move people’s hearts with prose.

For some reason, I was suffused with the vague feeling that only I could properly lay this sad tale across the pages of a book.

As if the blood within me was urging me to help Qianlong.

And then, at that moment—

‘That’s right. Only you.’

Suddenly, a faint voice pierced my ears.

Yet as soon as I jumped up from my seat, only the familiar silence of the library lingered as before.

“Wh-what…?”

There was no way anyone but me could be in this extradimensional study.

Was it a hallucination, then?

No—the voice I’d just heard had been far too vivid, and, though it made no sense, felt familiar.

“No way. That’s impossible…”

Logically, the chance that the voice I’d just heard was real was zero.

But, strangely.

After shaking off the voice and settling back into my plush, modern chair…

“D-damn it…!!”

From that moment on, I found myself unconsciously sliding the elegantly held brush across the manuscript paper.

The distinctive, feminine script traced black curves along the grain of the hanji.

Ah, whatever.

Somehow, it will all work out.

※ Author’s Note

Qianlong’s flint pouch is an actual historical artifact. Judging from the traces of real use and burn marks, it’s clear it wasn’t just kept as a keepsake.

Moreover, all the anecdotes depicted in the story—and those involving the flint pouch—are true.

If you ever happen to visit the National Palace Museum in Taiwan and the artifact is on display, you may be able to see it with your own eyes.

Source: Embroidered floral flint pouch of Empress Xiaoxianchun (孝賢純皇后) — National Palace Museum, Taiwan.