Those Who Meet Must Part
After concluding her brief exchange with Ying Zheng, Bi had finally secured the permission he had so desperately sought. Yet his expression was far from purely joyful.
But before I leave, there is one last thing I wish to confirm.
Recalling the words Ying Zheng had left behind before returning to the house where Ji Dan resided, Bi found himself gripped by unease. She had said she would go, but her phrasing left just enough ambiguity to suggest it was not yet final.
Any scheming on my part… would be difficult.
Bi glanced upward toward the upper floor where he had last seen Ji Dan. This was no official Qin envoy, and Ji Dan had become too significant a figure for Bi to meddle with alone. From everything he had carefully observed thus far, touching Ji Dan would mean making an enemy of Lord Xinling who stood behind him.
Better not to overreach here. The wisest course is to follow the princess’s instructions to the letter.
Even if Ying Zheng changed her mind, nothing would truly change. Bi was resolved to bring her back to Qin by any means necessary. That had been Lu Buwei’s strict command.
The native aristocratic families of Qin—families tied by marriage to Ying Zichu—were backing the faction of his eldest son, Ying Chengjiao. To counter them, the emerging powers centered around Lu Buwei needed a focal point of equal weight. Ying Zheng, Ying Zichu’s eldest daughter, was essential.
Bi mentally organized every preparatory step, even accounting for the possibility that Ying Zheng might reverse her decision.
To finish all arrangements in time for the envoy’s arrival, I’ll need to move quickly.
Calamity always arrives in silence. Perhaps because everything had been unfolding exactly as I wished lately, I had grown far too complacent. I had forgotten that simple truth.
That morning began as ordinarily as any other. I shared a simple breakfast with Zheng, idly plucked at a few instruments, then prepared for work at an unhurried pace.
The new line of goods I was developing for the merchant guild centered on everyday items crafted from the Osuyu tree. As the name implied, this was a tree that grew primarily in the Wu region of Jiangnan—territory currently held by Chu—and nothing about it was wasted.
In modern Korea the “Wu” had been dropped and “Suyu” shortened to “Shu,” so it became known simply as the shu tree. Its fruit served as medicine: an effective vermifuge, while a decoction of the fruit suppressed skin fungi. Like all things, however, excess brought harm; overuse could cause neurological disruption.
The reason I knew the tree so intimately was that in my previous life my grandfather, a beekeeper, had cultivated it himself.
Beyond its medicinal fruit, the Osuyu tree possessed two other remarkable traits. The fruit contained so much oil that in the Gyeongsang region, where the trees grew abundantly, it was called the “lamp-lighting tree.” Its flowers produced nectar in such astonishing quantities that any beekeeper with an Osuyu tree nearby could rest easy—it was the finest honey tree imaginable.
In short, cultivating the Osuyu tree yielded medicine and oil from the fruit and honey from the flowers. The oil could be turned into soap, detergent, hair oil, or—most basically—lamp fuel. The applications were endless. Honey required no explanation.
If I could systematize the entire process of cultivation and product creation, I could offer everything at an excellent price. This was a venture that could hardly fail even if I tried.
At any rate, my work consisted of researching cultivation and commercialization based on the knowledge my grandfather had passed down, which was why I had to leave the house each day.
Only after I returned home having met my daily quota did I realize something was wrong.
“Zheng?”
Normally she would have come running the moment I stepped through the door. When I asked the household where she had gone, every answer was indifferent.
“Perhaps she went for a walk?”
“Maybe she’s sleeping…?”
“I’m afraid we don’t know.”
I felt a sting of disappointment but did not grow angry. I understood why they felt little attachment to her. To the household, Zheng had once been the cause of a painful period in their lives. I had asked them to treat her as they treated me, so they behaved with courtesy—nothing more. There was almost no emotional bond.
Unless Zheng reached out first, she made no effort to draw close to them either.
I began a vague, anxious wait, imagining the unease she must be feeling. As time passed without any sign of her, I gradually sensed that something was seriously amiss.
Should I send people to search for her?
No. It would be premature to escalate matters when I did not even know the situation. Yet I could not simply sit and wait. What if someone harboring a grudge against Qin decided to vent their anger on her?
I cannot say with certainty that no such person exists in Handan.
No matter how firmly Zhao had resolved to protect her, a person with a hardened will could accomplish almost anything. Once I realized the situation might be far graver than I imagined, I lost all patience for waiting.
For now I’ll take only the trustworthy ones—Seok and Hyu.
After that I would mobilize the entire household and guild. If we still could not find her, I was prepared to ask even Lord Xinling for help. With that resolve I kicked hard against the threshold and strode out.
Ying Zheng watched every moment from the instant Ji Dan entered his residence until he emerged again. She observed as he issued orders, sending his people to scatter in search of her, then beginning his own solitary hunt. She missed nothing as he moved through the city looking for her.
Concealed beneath a cloth that hid her form, she followed secretly or rode in a carriage along the main roads. Every step was carried out in secrecy through the various means Bi had prepared in advance.
Dan…
Watching Ji Dan devote every ounce of his strength to finding her, the first emotion Ying Zheng felt was pure joy. The sight of him setting all else aside and placing her above everything else struck her with an overwhelming emotion she had never known before.
Only then did she clearly recognize the feeling she harbored toward him.
Love.
What filled her now was a love both profound and serene, admitting no doubt whatsoever.
Had she seen him merely as a benefactor, she would have felt guilt and pity at his distress rather than joy. Had she regarded him as a foster father in place of her own parents, she would have regretted her decision instantly and rushed out to stop him.
Yet Ying Zheng did none of those things. It was not that such thoughts never occurred to her. Of course she felt guilt when she looked at him. But the far greater joy and the clear, surging wave of realization held her so completely that she even forgot to move.
Still, she could not leave him like that forever. Her stillness did not last long. She handed the concealing cloth to Bi and walked toward where Ji Dan stood.
One step. Then another.
Though their bodies drew nearer, each step she took felt as though it carried her further from him. Perhaps this was what footsteps toward farewell felt like.
Yet she did not wish to leave without a word, without any farewell.
Perhaps it was intuition. Ji Dan turned and saw her approaching from behind.
The moment their eyes met, every word she had planned to say fled her mind. Her lips parted, but no sound emerged.
Their hearts, however, seemed already joined. Though she had spoken no words, Ji Dan answered as if he had heard everything.
“Ah……”
At those words, color began to return to the pure white void that had filled her mind. Only then did she realize how desperately she had wanted to hear them.
Even though she believed she had steeled her resolve, lingering attachment had remained. She had still hoped he would hold her back.
But it was already too late.
Ying Zheng had seen too many sides of him to be satisfied with simply remaining at his side. She had come to harbor far greater desires.
Had she confessed everything when Bi first came for her, or had Ji Dan stopped her then, she might have been content and let her growing longing die. Yet time had passed, and at the crossroads she had already taken a step forward.
Therefore the words she could offer him were already decided.
An apology, and the truth.
“…If you go, we may become enemies. You know that.”
Ji Dan would honor his promise to Lord Pingyuan—the vow to regard Zhao as a friend and protect it. That promise was, in essence, a commitment to stand against Qin alongside Zhao.
Ying Zheng understood this perfectly. In matters of international affairs she grasped the situation even more clearly than Ji Dan. Nevertheless she did not hesitate. This was something she had resolved long ago—from the moment she decided to become king and claim everything for herself.
At that declaration Ji Dan felt a shiver run from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes. The truth he had desperately tried to deny could no longer be ignored. Her words drove in like a wedge.
Ying Zheng was Qin Shi Huang. The innate talent he had witnessed would be more than enough for the world to offer her the throne even without any foundation. And with the vast base of Qin behind her, she would one day embrace the entire realm.
“If you… go to Qin.”
The seed I planted. The sprout I nurtured. It would grow into a tree so enormous that its wide, deep shadow would wither and kill every blade of grass beside it.
Knowing that future, Ji Dan spoke in a trembling voice.
Sadness flickered across Ying Zheng’s face. An expression too bitter for her young age touched her lips as they moved slightly.
Those were the last words the two of them exchanged that day.
Zheng departed for Qin, escorted by the guard unit sent by the King of Qin.
Wearing the black robes that symbolized Qin, she left Handan. To anyone who saw her, she was unmistakably the princess of Qin.
And before the year of her return to Qin had even ended, an envoy arrived from Yan.
After concluding their audience with the King of Zhao, they came to me.
“We have reached an agreement to replace the hostage to be sent to Zhao. My lord, it is time for you to return to your homeland.”
On that day, I became a free man.