Chapter 71: Even If We Are Not Bound by Blood

"Tch. What a cantankerous old man, really..."

Meanwhile, some time earlier.

The Grand Eunuch, who had been guarding the entrance to the chamber, looked thoroughly displeased.

No, a person’s whims should at least be within reason for others to understand.

First, the Emperor touring Manchuria suddenly makes a wild turn and comes to Joseon.

Then, upon arriving in Hanyang, he orders people to collect artworks and stirs the place up, visits scenic spots near Hanyang, and goes sightseeing.

He calls the Crown Prince of Joseon his grandson, never letting him out of his sight as if he were a cherished doll.

And lately, after being presented with some novel, he’s holed up in his bedchamber and refuses to budge.

No wonder rumors spread that the Emperor had been possessed by a ghost from a Joseon talisman just the other day.

The Emperor had always been eccentric when it came to culture and the arts, but even for his subordinates, the Qianlong Emperor’s recent antics were beyond comprehension.

And today? After reading a novel that had been delivered via Giyun as always, the Emperor screamed, lost all control of his emotions, and demanded the writer be brought to him, throwing a fit.

Then, just as the Crown Prince of Joseon arrived, the Emperor received him, drove everyone else out, and became deathly silent.

Honestly, tending to a newborn child would have been less trouble than this.

But an eunuch’s fate was always to clean up the messes left by the palace’s exalted ones.

Thus, the Grand Eunuch muttered under his breath about the Qianlong Emperor and resigned himself to resume his duties.

But at that moment—

"Kiyaaah!!"

Breaking the heavy silence, a strange scream rang out from the bedchamber.

It was undoubtedly the Emperor’s voice.

"Y-Your Majesty!! What has happened?!"

Had something happened to the old Emperor’s imperial body?

The Qianlong Emperor’s visit to Joseon had been unprecedented from the start. What if, during such a journey, something befell him and they had to carry his body three thousand li back from a foreign land? There could be no task more complicated and troublesome than that.

So the Grand Eunuch, acting on instinct, slid the door open and rushed inside.

But—

"Get out!!"

He was immediately met with a thunderous rebuke.

The Emperor, his face red with emotion, looked perfectly healthy—save for the odd state he was in after letting out that strange scream.

"Y-Yes, Your Majesty...?"

"I said get out!! Did I not order that no one is to enter unless I command it?!"

The truth was, the Qianlong Emperor had lost his temper only because he didn’t want anyone to see the mess he’d become after finishing .

So, just as he was about to fulfill his duty, the Grand Eunuch received a tongue-lashing and was thrown out once more.

But then at least explain why you let out such a breathless scream, he thought resentfully as he returned to his original post outside the bedchamber.

"Wait... but why...?"

A question flashed through the Grand Eunuch’s mind.

"His Majesty caused such a ruckus... so how was the Crown Prince of Joseon able to remain so calm?"

The scream the Emperor had let out was so bizarre, it rivaled the cry of a dying animal.

Anyone would have been startled, yet the Crown Prince of Joseon hadn’t even flinched—he had remained in his seat, unperturbed.

Almost as if he himself was the cause of the Emperor’s shock.

"No, surely not..."

Of course, the Crown Prince of Joseon had always displayed a maturity far beyond his years. His intellect and learning were so impressive that even the Emperor’s praise felt well-deserved.

But even so...

How could a child not yet ten years old startle the Qianlong Emperor, ruler of the world and a man who’d seen everything in his eighty years? No matter what had happened inside, it just didn’t make sense to the Grand Eunuch.

***

"This is... this is simply impossible..."

So bewildered was he, the Qianlong Emperor had forgotten even to continue the written conversation and now muttered in Manchu.

Just moments ago, after shouting at the Grand Eunuch and regaining his composure, he stared blankly at the manuscript in his hand, lost in thought.

[There is... there is something I can feel in your handwriting, grandson! But...!!]

Having barely regained his senses, the Qianlong Emperor managed to write these two lines before falling back into deep contemplation.

His intuition had not been mistaken.

Upon reading the manuscript of  and seeing the cursive script written in a single stroke, he had instinctively known it belonged to a boy prodigy.

Of course, there had never been such a young master calligrapher who could satisfy the Emperor’s discerning eye.

He had never imagined that a child not yet ten years old could possess such skill.

[It was the same feeling I had then. I thought it was just the common trait of budding geniuses showing promise at an early age!!]

In awe once again, the Emperor reached for a wooden box by his side.

Inside were the regular and clerical scripts written by the Crown Prince, neatly inscribed beside the Emperor.

The Qianlong Emperor already cherished the Prince’s handwriting as a treasure.

"Yes...!! The powerful, sweeping strokes! The unique play of thick and thin! The harmony and balance unthinkable for a child!"

Comparing the Prince’s previous works with the handwriting in the manuscript of , the Emperor slapped his knees and sighed repeatedly.

"I should have realized it sooner...!! I was too fixated on the idea that my grandson had no opportunity to write such tales...!!"

After all, by any ordinary standard, the Prince—too busy even to breathe—would have no time, let alone the means, to write novels.

Without knowing the secret circumstances, it was only natural to judge as the Emperor had.

His prejudices had kept him from connecting the calligrapher in his memories with the Crown Prince.

But now, with the Prince having revealed his identity and shattered those preconceptions, the Emperor finally admitted his belated realization.

[But how was this even possible...?]

One thing remained.

How had the cherished child managed the physically impossible feat of writing a novel under such circumstances?

That was the last question echoing in the Emperor’s mind.

[Surely, grandson, you...]

Indeed.

While  had become the sensation of the palace, and the Qianlong Emperor wept at the memories it evoked, the Prince seemed to have had no time to write a novel.

By day, the Emperor would call him over like a cherished doll, keeping him close.

Even then, King Jeongjo’s relentless lessons to strengthen his successor continued.

No matter how you looked at it, by ordinary standards, there was simply no time to write a novel.

[That’s...]

The Prince, too, found this explanation to be the most troublesome.

Who would believe the miraculous, impossible events that had happened to him?

But fortunately—

The Prince didn’t need to answer the Emperor’s question.

[No.]

After a while.

Withdrawing his gaze from the Prince, the Emperor shook his head.

[As with the great literary figures of old, it seems the blessings of Wenchang Dijun have descended upon you.]

Wenchang Dijun is the deity believed to preside over learning, officialdom, and literature.

In Qing China, annual rites honoring him were held by officials dispatched by the Emperor himself, so the Qianlong Emperor certainly knew of his existence.

[A poet once composed a profound verse in just seven steps. Another, in a fleeting moment, invented an anecdote about Yao and Gaotao so vivid it fooled even Ouyang Xiu.]

The Emperor’s examples were stories every literati of this era would know.

First, the Seven Steps Talent story of Cao Zhi, son of Cao Cao in the Three Kingdoms era.

And the tale of Su Dongpo, who fabricated a believable historical episode that even fooled Ouyang Xiu, one of the greatest writers of the age.

Throughout history, the geniuses whose names have endured have displayed talents that could make the Prince’s incredible writing speed seem plausible.

[And if it’s just a humble tale—one still lacking in polish—then a remarkable talent like yours might indeed be capable.]

Fortunately, in this era, fiction was regarded as a clearly inferior literary form.

Because stories and essays required far more effort, and novels were not considered painstaking works of literature, the Emperor, considering the Prince’s prodigious talent, found it believable.

At that moment, the Prince’s face, which had been shadowed with worry, brightened.

All his worries about explaining the impossible feat of writing seemed to have vanished.

In truth, from the Emperor’s perspective as an ardent reader, how the author wrote so quickly may not have been that important.

Even today, most readers are not particularly interested in the process so long as they can enjoy the story.

However—

[But, child.]

The Emperor’s real question lay elsewhere.

[Why did you choose to confess this to me yourself?]

"……."

[No, more than that, why did you write  knowing all this?]

Though the words were written gently on the page, there was a subtle edge in the Emperor’s question.

[An ordinary person would have scrambled for meaningless favor or lain low until I left Joseon.]

"……."

[But you did neither. You revealed yourself as the author, neither seeking reward nor hiding.]

As he said, even in these circumstances, the Prince’s actions had been utterly unpredictable and exceptional.

This only deepened the Emperor’s curiosity.

[Were you not afraid of me?]

Moreover, the Emperor’s "child" had clearly witnessed the search parties dispatched to find the author.

And had also seen another writer be punished in the Prince’s stead.

Yet, why?

Why had a child not yet ten years old, with such resolve, come to the Emperor on his own?

To the Qianlong Emperor, this question was more important than "How did a child write such a great novel?"

He cared far more for this mystery than the mere mechanics of writing a good story.

[That’s...]

Whether it was the Emperor’s greedy gaze or not, the Prince’s brush, which had been moving smoothly, paused.

But then—

[First, as someone who tells stories, I believed this was the right thing to do.]

The Qianlong Emperor’s eyes widened at the mature, utterly unchildlike reply.

He looked as shocked as when the Prince’s identity as the author was first revealed.

[The right thing to do? Did someone teach you this?]

[I came to this conclusion myself.]

[How?]

[I once thought deeply about what lies at the heart of writing. And...]

Of course, this was the truth the Prince had arrived at through many years as a modern writer.

But that was not what mattered to the Emperor now.

[Writing cannot exist alone.]

[Cannot exist alone?]

[Though stories are born of what the writer wishes to convey, without a reader, writing cannot exist at all.]

A novel is only born through the hands of a writer, but without a reader, a novel is nothing.

Thus, while writing the story you want is important, giving readers the story they desire is also a duty of a professional writer.

The Prince’s words were a concise expression of that truth.

[That’s why, if a writer has a clear mind, they’ll value the readers of their work as much as the work itself.]

"Heh...!"

An involuntary exclamation slipped from the Emperor’s lips.

It was a sigh of awe, not unlike the one he let out reading the climax of .

[So, you didn’t want to deceive me, your most devoted reader, in the end? As a writer?]

[Yes. And also—]

But the Prince seemed not to notice the Emperor’s intense reaction.

His brush continued to flow across the page, relentless as ever.

[Because, Your Majesty, you are my grandfather.]

[Wh-What...?]

[You cared for me as your real grandson. Since I had the ability to write the story you so dearly wished for, I couldn’t ignore your wish.]

It was a declaration that he had written , even at the risk of his secret being exposed, for the Qianlong Emperor’s sake.

At that moment, a thick blood vessel rose in the whites of the Emperor’s eyes.

[Then, you really risked everything just for me...?]

[Yes. I believed it was something only I could do in this world.]

After the Prince’s answer, a long silence fell.

No longer was there the Emperor’s sighs, the sound of ink being ground, or the brush skimming across the paper.

And then, after some time, the silence was broken—

"What a miracle this is...!!"

The Qianlong Emperor’s voice rang through the entire Gyeonghuigung Palace.

Even then, his gaze never left the young Prince.

[Perhaps all the opposition I overcame to come to Joseon was for this day.]

[That is too much praise.]

[No, no. Even when I first saw you, I knew you were extraordinary... It seems I came all this way at the end of my life just to meet you.]

Blinking back tears, the Emperor mumbled the same words aloud as he wrote.

[I know that the King of Joseon abhors fiction. That’s why you had to hide your identity.]

[That’s correct.]

[I can understand the King’s feelings, but... this is a matter between father and son, not for me to interfere.]

The Prince already knew the Emperor and King Jeongjo had shared a deep conversation.

Perhaps, in their similar positions, the two rulers had spoken more frankly than expected.

Even so, the Emperor seemed moved that the Prince had revealed himself.

He called the Prince over with a gesture and began gently patting his head.

[Do you truly think of me as your grandfather?]

[Yes.]

[Then...]

And, confirming the Prince’s feelings once more, a gentle smile spread across the Emperor’s face.

Before long, he had seated the Prince beside him in his own chair.

[A secret between grandfather and grandson is not a bad thing.]

[Grandfather?]

[Will you continue to think of me as your grandfather in the future?]

[Of course. If not, I wouldn’t have written those stories for you, would I?]

"Hahaha!! That’s right! Exactly!"

Perhaps the Prince’s answer was so pleasing.

Forgetting even the written exchange, the Emperor expressed his delight in Manchu.

[It’s a promise between men. I alone shall know your secret.]

[Truly? But...]

[I’ve solved all my doubts. And in any case, I was known as the most capricious emperor in the Forbidden City.]

So, he laughed, no one would find it odd if he suddenly withdrew his order to find the author.

[Besides, isn’t it fun that only I know the true identity of the writer who shook the Central Plains?]

[Is that so.]

[Though I am a bit annoyed that the envoy dared to deceive me...]

"Ah...!"

Meanwhile, the Emperor’s sharpness flickered at the thought of how long he’d been fooled by Kim Josun’s smokescreen.

[About that—when  first became popular in Joseon...]

At the Prince’s rapid-fire explanation of the circumstances, the Emperor’s slight irritation soon vanished.

He was told how Kim Josun had been mistaken for the author and sent as an envoy after being exonerated, as well as the secret background behind .

The story of how Kim Josun had suffered, all to protect the Prince, was more entertaining than most novels.

The Emperor’s hearty laughter echoed through the chamber.

[So, he dared deceive the Son of Heaven to protect you? How amusing. Utterly amusing!!]

[It’s true he committed a crime by deceiving the Emperor, but it was only because I forced him into it, so punish me instead—]

[Worry not! The fascinating tale you just shared has completely wiped away his offense!]

The Emperor laughed again, finding Kim Josun’s misadventures, all because of the Prince, to be more interesting than any novel.

Thus—

The Qianlong Emperor’s quest to find the author ended peacefully, thanks to the writer’s own voluntary appearance.

[But, there’s one condition for my promise to keep your secret.]

[What is it?]

[That you continue as before until the day I leave Joseon...]

[And, wherever you are, show me every story you write from now on, correct?]

[Ah, as always, my grandson is so astute!]

The Qianlong Emperor seemed even more enamored with his grandson after today’s events.

As the long conversation drew to a close, dusk was falling over Gyeonghuigung.

Sensing it was time to go, the Prince rose, promising to return the next day.

"Wait, child."

Just then, as the Prince bowed and stepped back to leave, the Emperor stopped him.

Their secret talk over, the eunuchs and interpreters were summoned back in.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"You said you were born in the Year of Byeong-o...?"

"Yes. That is correct."

For a moment, the old Emperor’s gaze quickly swept over the Prince’s body.

Then, his eyes flicked upward, as if seeing something—or someone—not present, superimposed over the Prince’s form.

"Byeong-o... Byeong-o year..."

"Does something about the Byeong-o year come to mind, Your Majesty?"

But, unlike before, the Emperor didn’t seem to hear his beloved grandson’s question, lost in deep thought.

It took a moment before he returned to his usual self.

"No. Go and rest well, child..."

"Then, I’ll see you again soon."

With that, the Prince bowed once more and left the chamber.

Yet even after the Prince had gone, the Emperor’s gaze remained fixed on the door where his grandson had disappeared.

"Grand Eunuch."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Then, an unexpected command came from the old Emperor.

"At first light tomorrow, I will send a letter to Yongyan (顒琰, the Jiaqing Emperor) in Beijing."

"Yes, Your Majesty. May I ask, what is this about...?"

"It is none of your concern."

It seemed the command was related to the person the Emperor had just been recalling.