Empress Jiang
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Prologue
Hanseong (Seoul), Joseon Kingdom
Third Month, Spring 1420
The messenger from Beijing arrived on the fifth day of the third month, his horse lathered from the hard ride north from the port at Jemulpo. He carried two items: a lacquered box containing ginseng root and dried persimmons—gifts from the Yongle Emperor—and a letter sealed with vermillion wax bearing the imperial dragon.
King Sejong received him in the outer hall, not the throne room. A careful distinction. Respectful, but not subservient.
The letter was brief. The Yongle Emperor, in his wisdom and benevolence, wished to strengthen the bonds between the great Ming Dynasty and its loyal tributary, Joseon. He proposed—the character used was 邀, “to invite,” though everyone knew invitations from the Son of Heaven were not declined—a renewal of the ancient practice of jinzhi.
Cultural exchange, the letter called it. An opportunity for the children of Joseon’s royal house to receive the finest education the Forbidden City could provide. To study alongside Ming princes. To learn the superior ways of Chinese civilization and return home as bridges between the two great nations.
“A gesture of friendship,” the final paragraph read, “and mutual trust in our shared future.”
King Sejong read it three times before summoning his council.
The deliberations lasted three days.
The First State Councilor spoke carefully, weighing each word as if lives depended on them—because they did. “The Emperor’s invitation is ... generous. But we must consider which of the royal children would benefit most from such education.”
No one missed the euphemism.
The Minister of Rites shuffled through records, his hands shaking slightly. “Precedent suggests children between four and seven years. Old enough to survive the journey. Young enough to ... adapt.”
“To be remade,” the Second State Councilor said quietly. “Let us not pretend otherwise. The children who return from Beijing speak Chinese in their dreams. They bow in Chinese fashion. They think in Chinese.”
“Which is precisely why we must send them,” the First State Councilor replied. “The Emperor does not make requests. He makes demands wrapped in silk. If we refuse, next year’s letter will not be an invitation.”
Silence filled the council chamber.
King Sejong set down the letter. “How many?”
“The precedent is two children initially. More if the Emperor is ... pleased.”
“Princes or princesses?”
The Minister of Rites consulted his records. “The Yongle Emperor’s court has received seventeen Korean children in the past eighteen years. Nine returned. Eight did not. Of those who returned, six were given positions in our government. Two were granted Chinese titles and remained in Beijing.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“Both, Your Majesty. Though princesses are ... preferred. Less politically complicated. They cannot inherit the throne, so Beijing sees them as less threatening. And when they return, they can be married into powerful families. Gentle influence rather than direct authority.”
The king’s jaw tightened. His own daughters. Four of them, ranging from eight years to eighteen months.
The Second State Councilor spoke carefully. “The Crown Prince’s children would be ... inappropriate. Too close to succession. The Emperor might interpret it as hostage-taking rather than cultural exchange.”
“And my daughters?”
“The eldest is nearly betrothed. To disrupt that would insult the Kim clan. The second daughter is being educated for a diplomatic marriage with the Jurchen tribes—breaking that preparation would weaken our northern border defenses.”
The king closed his eyes. “And the third?”
“Six years old. The daughter of Queen Consort Soheon. Removing her might be interpreted as an insult to the Queen’s family.”
The silence stretched.
The Minister of Rites turned a page. His voice was barely audible. “The fourth daughter. Born to Lady Choi, a secondary consort from Gyeongsang Province. Currently four years and seven months of age. Healthy. Intelligent, according to her tutors. She shows aptitude for—”
“Is she important?” the king interrupted.
The minister hesitated.
“I am asking,” Sejong continued, voice hard, “whether sending her to Beijing would destabilize the succession, insult a powerful family, or undermine a critical alliance. Is she politically important?”
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