Palace Maidens: Destinies Bound to the Imperial Palace (6)

Bang Huiyeon's face flushed scarlet with fluster.

At a glance, it was a matter of life and death — and yet, somehow, it wasn't. Jin Myeong's rhetoric swung back and forth, the atmosphere around him shifting with every breath, and the combination dragged a thoroughly human reaction out of her. His lightly smiling face was strikingly handsome, of course, and he had drawn close enough that they were sharing each other's breath. That played its part as well.

A spark of complicated feeling kindled in Bang Huiyeon's heart. The telepathic voice that followed poured oil on the flame.

"If Noble Consort Wang had died today, every attending eunuch of Jangan Palace, every physician of the Imperial Academy of Medicine, and every palace maid would have been wiped from the earth. Had you blown yourself apart, the aftermath would have been beyond words. Of course, I don't imagine you infiltrated this place in complete ignorance."

"Do you know what he did? What he did to me?"

Bang Huiyeon clenched both fists until the knuckles threatened to split. Her eyelids squeezed shut, and her lashes trembled — a tremor that spoke of nothing but bottled fury.

"And who are you, miss? Hu Weiyong? Qi Tai? Huang Zicheng? The people who carry a blood grudge against the Zhu father and son are hardly one or two."

Yi Yugyeong was the blood of Li Shanchang, founding chancellor and Grand Preceptor. Nam Woo-jeong was likewise the blood of Nam Ok, founding meritorious official and Grand Tutor to the Crown Prince. Jin Myeong already knew those two. He had seen their faces.

Set Li Shanchang and Nam Ok aside, and the remaining heavyweights were Hu Weiyong, the Left Chancellor who had colluded with Li Shanchang in the Hongwu Emperor's reign; and Qi Tai and Huang Zicheng, who in the Jianwen Emperor's reign had championed the so-called reduction of the princedoms — the shrinking of the vassal princes' power. And then—

"Accession of the Yan Bandit."

Bang Huiyeon spat the words before Jin Myeong's transmitted voice had even finished, chewing each syllable as if it were poison.

Accession of the Yan Bandit. The bandit of Yan stole the imperial throne. It was the phrase that condemned the Yongle Emperor — then the Prince of Yan — for raising arms against his nephew, the Jianwen Emperor, and seizing the throne. In a world that now belonged to Yongle, it was a phrase that must never pass the lips and must never enter the ears.

It was the phrase that stood for the dead Fang Xiaoru. Seventeen years ago, the massacre of ten degrees of kinship — unprecedented in all of history — had begun the moment Fang Xiaoru uttered those words to the Yongle Emperor's face.

"…The Grand Academician Fang's line? Astonishing. Truly astonishing."

On the day eight hundred and forty-seven people died at once, one had lived? Then again, even the Jianwen Emperor had escaped with his life. If a man of three degrees of kinship could survive, why not nine? And yet Fang Xiaoru and his ten degrees of kin had been purged with such savage thoroughness that Bang Huiyeon's survival was a genuine surprise.

"He was my grandfather."

"I see. That explains it. The blood of Grand Academician Fang is more than enough."

Enough reason. Enough motive. Reason and motive sufficient to set her own life at nothing.

He had not been able to pinpoint her as Fang Xiaoru's blood, but he had expected her to be connected to someone who had died an innocent death. That expectation had stirred his pity. Fang Xiaoru, in particular, had not advocated the reduction of the princedoms as Qi Tai and Huang Zicheng had, nor had he plotted rebellion as Li Shanchang, Hu Weiyong, and Nam Ok had. He had been executed on the sheer offense of refusing to recognize the Yongle Emperor — and so the grain of his grudge ran differently from that of the others in Suchengye.

Yi Yugyeong and Nam Woo-jeong, after all, had only been exposed; they had schemed in the dark and never stepped forward themselves. In that sense, Yi Yugyeong and Bang Huiyeon were different to Jin Myeong from the very essence of their deeds. Yi Yugyeong had put a blade in someone else's hand and sent it after him — had used ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the Daoist Cheongjin, who had fallen to a hidden strike.

"This official has no intention of meddling in your life. A person lives their own life. Revenge? Of course you should take it. Naturally! But sacrificing people who know nothing — innocent commoners — along the way? That's not quite right, is it? You don't touch the common people."

"Don't you dare speak so freely. What would you know…!"

"I wonder whether Grand Academician Fang, that great Confucian, would approve of his granddaughter's present conduct. In certain respects, he was a man worthy of respect. Oh, yes. He was."

"…"

Those words shut Bang Huiyeon's mouth. They were not wrong.

"This official is no admirer of the Zhu father and son either. They spilled far too much innocent blood. People like you exist because of it. The Demonic Cult, Suchengye — all of it is the Zhu father and son's karma. Karma. Tch."

The transmitted voice went on.

"But the present Emperor is the Emperor, is he not? A Son of Heaven who has already reigned seventeen years. The river has flowed to the sea. It cannot be turned back."

Assassinating the Yongle Emperor was the sort of act that would plunge the entire realm into ruin. Immediately after the usurpation, perhaps it would have been a different matter. But now, seventeen years on — what could anyone gain by piling corpses into mountains and running rivers of blood across the world? Would it not be the common people's lives that grew harder, and nothing else?

Scritch, scritch.

Jin Myeong finished trimming his nails once more and blew on his fingertips.

"Who was it that drove the Northern Yuan completely from this land? The Zhu father and son, was it not? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠You know well enough what persecution we Han people suffered before the Great Ming rose. One way or another, the lives of tens of millions of commoners have improved."

Jin Myeong's transmitted words, together with the betrayal of the Golden Thread Bewitching Needle that Suchengye had secretly planted in her, woke Bang Huiyeon's conscience. She, more than anyone, knew how her grandfather Fang Xiaoru's blood kin and companions had died. She knew it in her bones.

Innocent commoners…

As the Golden Thread Bewitching Needle that had oppressed her mind fell away, her faith in Suchengye fell with it, and betrayal and reason rushed in to fill the vacancy. And then, at last, she could see. It was a mercy that the poisoning of Noble Consort Wang and her own death by explosion had both failed.

If the Brocade Guards moved and launched a sweeping investigation under the pretext of hunting Suchengye, it was obvious how many people would be dragged in. Had she already been dead, it might have been another matter. But to watch, still alive, the catastrophe she herself had created — she did not think she could bear it. If someone who had suffered such a thing then brought the same suffering down on others for the sake of her own cause, how would she be any different from the Zhu father and son?

"…What happens to me now?"

It was precisely the reaction Song Jeon, Grand Preceptor of Suchengye, had predicted. Fang Xiaoru's blood could endure any amount of her own pain — but she would not be able to endure the pain of other innocents. That was exactly why Song Jeon had planted the Golden Thread Bewitching Needle in her mind.

"You've admitted it, so of course I'll let you live."

Whatever the process, the result was that Bang Huiyeon's plan had failed. Noble Consort Wang was included among the living; no one had died. And since the Consort had survived, even if the fact that Ladies Yeo and Eo had carried on illicit relations with eunuchs came to light, the Yongle Emperor's wrath would not fall. On the contrary, exposing Bang Huiyeon's identity and her plot in the present circumstances would be the thing that called down blood. They would start wringing the Imperial Academy of Medicine and the palace maids in search of her accomplices.

"…You'll let me live? Wouldn't the opposite be the normal course?"

"If you deny Suchengye, that means you still intend to return to them somehow. Which also means you intend to keep attempting the Emperor's assassination."

"And if I admit it?"

"If you admit it, then there's hope. The hope that you might break with Suchengye. If you can give this side information on them, so much the better. Killing you wouldn't deal Suchengye any great blow anyway. That's about the extent of your value right now."

The fact that Bang Huiyeon was the blood of the dead Fang Xiaoru would be reported to Zheng He in any case, and it did not matter if she refused to yield information on Suchengye for the moment. Quietly. Discreetly. They would begin by investigating her guarantors.

"Is it really over, just like this?"

"Let's go, for now."

"Go where…?"

"Where do you think? To the Grand Director. You can deceive everyone else's eyes and ears. Not his."

A short while later, in Zheng He's residence.

Only Jin Myeong, Bang Huiyeon, and Zheng He were present. Jin Myeong laid out everything in careful detail, including the parts Zheng He had missed — Zheng He had come to Jangan Palace only to leave again in the Yongle Emperor's train, and so had not heard the rest.

Bang Huiyeon, who had accompanied Jin Myeong to Zheng He's residence, was flustered, dazed, and, all in all, astonished. Zheng He — the Yongle Emperor's closest confidant, the supreme head of the eunuchs — had simply nodded at Jin Myeong's suggestion that they spare her. Jin Myeong was one thing. But Zheng He as well? To decline a chance at great merit and simply let her live — that, and nothing more? What manner of creatures were these, that she could not understand them at all?

From that point, the conversation belonged mainly to Zheng He and Bang Huiyeon.

"O-hong-hong-hong!"

The laugh that had been rattling the residence cut off as if severed.

Zheng He's gaze, and the ghost of that laugh, were fixed on Bang Huiyeon.

"Did you dare presume to fathom a eunuch's mind? It is well for you that you are a woman of the palace. Had you been a man, I would have struck you dead with a single palm."

Zheng He wore a look of genuine anger. Moments before, Bang Huiyeon had demanded to know their true intent — had said she could not understand why they would simply let her live, and had warned them never even to dream of using her to persecute innocents. To Zheng He and Jin Myeong, the accusation was beneath contempt.

"Intact men, daring to guess at our kind's thoughts — tch! The only ones who can fathom an inner attendant's heart are other inner attendants. Or a woman with whom one has shared affection."

Zheng He had lived as a eunuch for long years, and he was sick to death of people who knew nothing of eunuchs and still ran their mouths.

"Truly, it is insufferable. Telling our kind to do this and do that, measuring us and judging us as they please without knowing a thing. Is it not so, Jin Myeong?"

"Yes! Precisely as you say, Gonggong. This humble servant, too, is weary of those who step forward claiming to understand our kind, those who imagine they live inside our heads, those who judge us by their own measure. What would they know?"

Zheng He nodded. The face before him was the very image of his own — Jin Myeong, features set hard, reciting his anger in a low voice.

"Those abandoned by the world, by parents and brothers. Those who despaired under hunger and abuse. Sold for a few taels of silver, castrated by others or by their own hand, enduring a hundred days of deathly agony to become ghosts of the palace. How could anyone who does not know that story understand the conduct of our kind?"

Zheng He's words compressed into a single stroke the origin of the eunuchs' temperament — that eccentric, bizarre, uncanny, unpredictable nature, and the deeds that sprang from it.

Tock. Tock. Tock.

Zheng He's long nails tapped the arm of his chair, and the sound filled the silence of the Hall of Mental Cultivation. After a moment he pointed to Jin Myeong, standing at his side.

"Look at the Jeonbu. So young, so fine of face. What wretched story lies behind his becoming a eunuch, I wonder. And so — unless one is of our kind, who would dare claim to understand what the Jeonbu intends? It is beyond all reason."

Zheng He rose from his seat. He looked across the long table at Bang Huiyeon.

"You have not, in this moment, insulted our kind, nor have you struck at us. Whether we spare you or kill you is all the same to me."

His footsteps carried him slowly toward her. Jin Myeong fell in at his side. Zheng He's quiet voice continued.

"Reasons to kill you? Beyond counting."

At those words, sword-qi gathered on the right hand he raised beside his face —

"Reasons to spare you? You have no feud with our kind. You, too, are a woman abandoned by the world."

— and at those words, it vanished.

"A medical maid of the Imperial Academy of Medicine, you said? This official will ask you one thing. Have you ever laid hands on a eunuch's body?"

"…I am a medical maid. Of course I have."

Bang Huiyeon was overwhelmed — by the dignity Zheng He carried as the head of the eunuch kind, and by the dignity he carried as a martial master.

"Those inner attendants who have trained in the martial arts fare somewhat better. But the body of an inner attendant who has not begins early to sag, to wrinkle, to fall apart. This official asked a medical maid of the Imperial Academy of Medicine whether she had laid hands on a eunuch's body. Of course you have."

The words carried a thread of self-mockery, but no such shade showed on Zheng He's face, nor on Jin Myeong's.

They stopped one step in front of her.

The voice that had begun so quietly swelled until it filled the Hall of Mental Cultivation, echoing off every wall.

Zheng He's anger-edged voice carried the very identity of the eunuch kind. That was the whole of why Jin Myeong and Zheng He were sparing Bang Huiyeon.

An ordinary person would have raised a storm — how could one spare a traitor, how could those who hunted power do such a thing? For a eunuch, that reason alone was enough. To choose the reason to kill or the reason to spare ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was a eunuch's own heart.

Zheng He was the Yongle Emperor's closest confidant, yes — but he had been taken prisoner at the age of twelve and forcibly castrated. Which meant Zheng He was by no means a man who believed that everything the Yongle Emperor had done was right, or would be right. To such a Zheng He, Bang Huiyeon was simply a woman who had tried to avenge kinsmen unjustly exterminated, and had failed.

A pitiable woman. Had she succeeded, it would have been another matter. She had failed, and that was all. What did it matter that the object of her revenge was the Yongle Emperor? His lord had made countless enemies in the course of living, and so it had come to this. A grudge must be repaid. That was all.

Zheng He and Jin Myeong, the impassioned exchange complete, looked at each other and smiled faintly.

"This official and the Jeonbu have answered the question of Bang Huiyeon, subject of the Great Ming. Is that answer enough?"