Chapter 73
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 073
Chapter Title: Arthur Leigh, the Sinophile (4)
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Midnight.
Prince Chun returned home in a daze.
"Why does Your Highness look so troubled?"
"Do I?"
The one awaiting him was his principal wife, Yehe Nara Wanzhen.
The moment he laid eyes on her innocent face, Prince Chun felt as if the massive pile of burdens he carried in his chest came crashing down upon him all at once.
"This is no concern for a woman. It's late—go inside and rest."
"Though I am but a mere girl with little knowledge, I suspect Your Highness's worries stem from the chaos plaguing our times."
"......"
"If trouble befalls Your Highness, I too would find it hard to escape hardship. How could I refuse to do anything for you? If Your Highness insists on saying nothing, I shall obey. But if I can ease your burdens, I will do whatever it takes."
At her words, Prince Chun's eyes reddened, and he felt a surge rising in his throat.
He dismissed the attendants, leaving them alone, and slowly opened his mouth.
"Our lives hang by a thread."
"Prince Gong would never harm his brothers lightly."
"My brother might not! But how many in the Central Plains chew on his flesh with their teeth? Who do you think those opposing him would rally behind?"
We're dead.
No matter how I think about it, the end is treason.
In the end, he spilled everything he'd heard moments ago.
Produce a son.
Impregnate one of Emperor Xianfeng's consorts and shake the realm.
Wanzhen listened to the end of this vile plot—which disrupted not just loyalty but even the natural bonds of kinship—without so much as furrowing her brow.
"Do you remember how my father died?"
"...Of course."
Prince Chun's father-in-law, Yehe Nara Huizheng, had been smoothly advancing in his official career when he was posted to Jiangnan amid the raging Taiping Rebellion. There, he was tasked with managing military funds and provisions.
But disaster struck.
Before the Taiping forces arrived, the Anglo-French alliance appeared first.
The Qing army was crushed, and Huizheng fled.
As soon as the Qing troops shattered, the Taiping army advanced as if waiting, grinding the already broken Qing forces to dust.
Emperor Xianfeng, still vigorously handling state affairs from the capital before Beijing burned, flew into a rage. Nearly all who fled the battlefield without dying were executed.
Huizheng wasn't executed, but convinced the emperor would kill him soon, he trembled in fear until his mind broke, dying in his hideout. For a Manchu high official tied to the imperial family by marriage, it was a pathetic end.
"His Majesty might have wished to spare my father, but avoiding death would have been impossible. The sycophants around him would have urged the execution of the criminal."
"Y-Yes... you're right."
"So, struggling to survive is only natural."
She agreed.
She even pushed her hesitant husband's back.
"Meet with my sister."
"Concubine Yi?"
"She'll gladly join. Talent, guts, ambition—they all point to her."
I won't die a miserable death like my father-in-law.
I'll survive and reach the dragon throne's side.
In that moment, Huanyeom resolved himself.
In truth, this dilemma was no more complex than a simple equation.
To twenty-first-century folks in democratic societies, it might seem utterly bizarre and incomprehensible, but for those in absolute monarchies craving a taste of power near the honey pot, this was elementary school math. Those lacking this skill had all died out through natural selection. Even modern people could pick it up after a few rounds of a fun dynasty game—if you can't learn it, you deserve to die.
The traitorous Prince Gong, who sold the great Qing to the foreigners, allied with them to imprison his brother, and slaughtered the ministers.
How could such a man wield unchecked power?
Because under Qing clan law, he was the next in line for the throne.
Qing succession rules allowed only one emperor per generation.
Thus far, the throne had always passed from father to son—no lateral successions to brothers or nephews, common elsewhere.
Now, Emperor Xianfeng, Prince Gong, and Prince Chun were the lowest generation.
With none of them having sons, Prince Gong naturally became the next emperor.
Understand this flow, and the answer is obvious.
Emperor Xianfeng wasn't fit to sire heirs, and Prince Gong, of course, shunned women.
So Prince Chun just needs to produce a son!
Once Prince Chun has a son, Prince Gong drops from first to second in line, and Prince Chun himself becomes the emperor's father—gaining a position like the Daewongun in original history.
But Prince Chun's just a kid, right? Is that even possible?
Wrong.
He's young, so he's not under heavy scrutiny yet.
If Prince Chun had been born a bit earlier and thrown into the cutthroat battle royale for the throne, he'd have realized on his own to sire a son and change his fate—no advice needed. But Prince Gong would have cracked down harder too. He's being left alone because they don't see him as a player. If he were, he'd have been dealt with ages ago.
That's step one.
Isn't that it? Well, the advice wasn't just 'go make a baby with your wife'...
Exactly.
Think kids aged fifteen and fourteen can play house and produce a son? Easy in this era?
Child marriage has too low odds. Boy or girl is 50/50 at best, then survival to birth, then healthy growth—hit rate's abysmal.
Plus, this isn't some chaebol heir—it's the imperial succession in an absolute monarchy. Poison in the pregnant consort's food or tea? Far from zero risk.
Summary:
Odds of a healthy son born safely, raised well, and protected from Prince Gong?
Zero.
The green Prince Chun would hand over the kid if Prince Gong said 'give it here'—'Y-Yes, right away!' Obvious.
Thus, step two.
Someone other than Prince Chun's wife bears the son.
What the— that's scary.
Don't freak out. Has nothing like this happened in thousands of years of Chinese history?
If one of Emperor Xianfeng's consorts gets pregnant instead of the fourteen-year-old Prince Chun consort, huge advantages emerge.
Older age favors conception.
Harder for Prince Gong to target a pregnant imperial consort.
Most crucially: Prince Gong can't steal the child.
But a fifteen-year-old kid making a baby is the issue, right?
That's for them to figure out.
I've laid it out—they should solve the rest. If Prince Chun can't do it, find someone who looks like Emperor Xianfeng and make one on the street.
The wise plan, the foolish execute.
I've done my part; those who want to live will handle it.
Probably.
The meeting with the Qing's absolute powerholder, Prince Gong, took place at Prince Gong's residence—his home.
Calling me privately isn't good, is it?
No.
It means he won't recognize me as an official envoy.
Prince Gong Yixin.
Not yet thirty, he'd seized control of the world's largest empire, Qing.
Come to think of it, King Heonjong was young too, Emperor Xianfeng on his deathbed was relatively young, even Japan's shogun was a kid. What omen is this?
You're young yourself—quit nitpicking age.
Ahem. Judge me by mental age, not body.
"Your servant Arthur Leigh, here by Your Highness's command."
"Sit."
I figured no chair without bowing groveling, but surprisingly, he invited me to sit across the table.
Exquisite teacups screaming "This is Qing imperial!" served fragrant tea. After a sip,
"So, you met my brother?"
Prince Gong fired straight from the gate. Can't we icebreak first?
"Yes."
"No denial."
"He came to me, not the other way around—how could I refuse?"
"What advice did my brother seek?"
"He begged to live."
Prince Gong's weary eyes narrowed further.
"To live, eh."
"Believing Your Highness would surely kill him, I showed a path to survival."
"What nonsense did you spout?"
"I said if he serves Your Highness with loyalty and brotherly love, you'd reward him."
"Some British joke I don't know?"
Not buying it.
"With foes of Your Highness's Westernization Reforms filling the land, I told him to embrace them, lead the faction—making it hard for you to kill him easily."
"You're saying, to my face, you incited him to rally my opponents?"
"I can't lie to Your Highness."
This bastard's spouting lies without flinching.
But plausible, right?
"They're irreconcilable with Your Highness anyway. Better an imperial kin controls them. Isn't it?"
"......No need to tell you."
Long accepted he sees me as enemy—won't listen.
So, spin plausible tales.
To hide the 'cuckoo project,' babble a more plausible 'opposition party project' to divert his gaze from the consorts.
And sure enough,
Prince Gong dropped it, moving on.
"Now, relay King Joseon's message."
"...There is none."
"Joking? Didn't he send you as envoy?"
"I'm no envoy—just a merchant."
"A mere merchant scattering gold and jewels to all Qing officials? You expect me to believe that drivel?"
"It aids my trade—"
"One more word game, and I end this now."
Tough.
Still young.
This fresh green scent.
Smells like a second-gen CEO who snatched daddy's empire just by being son—shoulders to the sky, but subtly pressured to perform well. Tickles my nose.
But I won't underestimate.
Youth lacks polish but has vigor and boldness.
Gun's a gun even in green hands. Mock the newbie without gauge, and boom—dead. Once is enough.
"King Joseon's reign-name Heon fears above all war with Great Qing in his lifetime, endangering ancestral shrines. If it shields the land from Britain's wrath, he's prepared for anything."
"......"
Prince Gong fell silent.
As I sipped two or three more cups, he spoke.
"As with the foreigners. Are you implying Great Qing failed its suzerain duty?"
"Circumstances were dire, British troops at the capital's gates—no choice. I ask understanding. Mocking the suzerain is not King Joseon's intent."
Translation:
[Country nearly fell, bowed to Brits temporarily—what's the big deal?]
[Calling us out for not protecting? Scared of Brits, not us?]
"King Joseon now knows Britain's aims are mere profit, not conquest. In time, he'll bow again."
"Bowing if we strengthen, biting if weak—quaintly put. Arrogant fools."
He scoffed. Felt the will to revive Qing.
"If Joseon truly upholds tributary loyalty, show it now."
"I shall convey it."
"And you—Arthur, was it?"
Prince Gong pointed at me. Felt like a sparrow. If he says 'you're harmful' and finger-feng shoots—
Time for nonsense thoughts now?!
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Few understand the West deeply, even as we refine Westernization to import machines and systems. I offer you an official post—will you aid me in Qing's revival?"
Wait, a scout offer here?