Empress Jiang
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 10:The Ascent
Hanseong (Seoul), Joseon Kingdom, Winter, 1435 - Summer, 1436
Age 20-21
The trial of the Empress was swift and private.
King Sejong convened a closed council—no public spectacle, no formal court proceedings. Just the King, his most trusted ministers, the Crown Prince, and the evidence laid out on a table like an accusation.
Sun-hee’s confession. The forged letters bearing the Empress’s seal. The gold found in the maid’s quarters. The guard’s testimony about seeing Sun-hee with a tea tray, coming from the direction of the Empress’s household.
The Empress stood in the center of the room, flanked by guards, her face composed but pale.
“These accusations are false,” she said. Her voice was steady. Dignified. “I did not order the death of my grandson. I would never harm a child of this family.”
“Yet the evidence—” one minister began.
“Can be fabricated.” The Empress’s eyes swept the room. “Letters can be forged. Gold can be planted. A terrified servant under torture will confess to anything her interrogators want to hear.”
King Sejong leaned forward. “Are you suggesting someone framed you?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. That is exactly what I’m suggesting.”
“Who?”
The question hung in the air.
The Empress opened her mouth. Looked at each face in the room. Saw the Crown Prince—her son—watching her with an expression she couldn’t read. Grief? Doubt? Anger?
She thought about naming Zhao Lanying. Accusing the Crown Princess.
But the words wouldn’t come.
Because how could she explain it? A mother murdering her own child to frame her mother-in-law? The idea was monstrous. Unbelievable. Insane.
And she had no proof. Nothing but intuition and the sick certainty that she’d been outmaneuvered by someone far more sophisticated than anyone expected.
“I don’t know,” she said finally. “But I am innocent.”
The King’s expression was grave. “The evidence suggests otherwise.”
“Then the evidence lies, Your Majesty.”
Silence.
One of the ministers cleared his throat. “Your Majesty, if I may ... the succession concerns are well known. The Empress’s grandson and the Crown Prince’s son—there was natural tension about primacy. The Empress had motive.”
“Motive is not proof of action,” the Empress said sharply.
“No. But combined with the maid’s confession, the letters, the gold—”
“All of which could be fabricated by someone who wanted me destroyed.”
“To what end?” another minister challenged. “Who benefits from your fall?”
Everyone in the room knew the answer to that, though no one said it aloud.
The Crown Princess benefits. The foreign wife who’d been perpetually secondary to the Empress’s power. Who’d just lost her son and now stood to rise in the vacuum the Empress’s fall would create.
But no one said it. Because saying it meant entertaining the impossible: that Zhao Lanying had orchestrated her own child’s murder.
The King rubbed his temples. He looked old suddenly. Tired.
“This is a nightmare,” he said quietly. “A royal infant murdered. An Empress accused. The dynasty in chaos.”
He looked at his son—Crown Prince Munjong. “What do you wish? She is your mother.”
Munjong’s face was torn. Anguished. “I wish my son was alive.”
“As do we all. But he’s not. And we must decide what justice requires.”
Munjong looked at his mother. At the woman who’d raised him, guided him, shaped him into a Crown Prince.
And he thought about his dead son. About Zhao Lanying’s grief. About the evidence that seemed so damning.
“I don’t know what to believe,” he said hoarsely. “But the evidence ... the confession ... how can we ignore it?”
The Empress’s face went very still. She’d just lost her son’s support.
King Sejong stood. “I will not execute the mother of the Crown Prince. That would be too much blood, too much shame for the dynasty.”
The Empress exhaled slightly. Not execution, then.
“But you cannot remain at court,” the King continued. “Your title is stripped. You will be confined to the monastery at Gangwha Island. You will live there in seclusion, removed from politics, removed from power.”
“Your Majesty—”
“This is mercy,” the King said firmly. “Be grateful it’s not the executioner’s blade.”
The Empress bowed her head. “I am innocent.”
“Perhaps. But the appearance of guilt is enough to require your removal.” The King’s voice softened slightly. “I pray you find peace in your seclusion. And I pray the truth, whatever it is, will eventually be known.”
The Empress was led away by guards.
As she passed her son, she stopped.
“Munjong,” she said quietly. “I did not do this. I swear on everything sacred, I did not kill your son.”
Munjong couldn’t meet her eyes. “I want to believe you.”
“But you don’t.”
He said nothing.
The Empress was escorted from the room.
Zhao Lanying was informed of the verdict that evening.
Lady Park delivered the news. “The Empress has been stripped of her title and exiled to Gangwha Island. She will live in the monastery there, in seclusion.”
Zhao Lanying was sitting by the window, staring out at nothing. She’d been doing that a lot lately—just sitting, silent, her face empty.
“Not executed?” Her voice was flat.
“No, Your Highness. The King showed mercy.”
“Mercy.” Zhao Lanying’s laugh was hollow. “For the woman who murdered my son.”
“Your Highness, if you wish to petition the King for harsher punishment—”
“No.” Zhao Lanying turned to look at Lady Park. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying but surprisingly calm. “The King is wise. Execution would be ... too much. The dynasty has suffered enough scandal.”
Lady Park blinked, surprised. “You’re satisfied with exile?”
“I’m not satisfied with anything. My son is dead.” Zhao Lanying’s voice cracked slightly. “But I understand the King’s decision. The dynasty must appear stable. Merciful. Above petty vengeance.”
She turned back to the window.
“Let her live in her monastery. Let her think about what she did. That’s punishment enough.”
Lady Park bowed. “You are very wise, Your Highness. And very generous.”
After Lady Park left, Zhao Lanying sat alone in the darkness.
Generous. Wise.
She was neither.
She was a woman who’d just removed the primary obstacle to her power while appearing to be the gracious victim.
The Empress was neutralized. Exiled. Powerless.
And Zhao Lanying had done it without anyone suspecting her involvement.
Perfect.
She touched her flat belly. Empty now. But it wouldn’t stay empty.
She’d have another son. One untainted by the tragedy. One who would inherit everything Yong’s death had purchased.
That’s what she told herself as she sat in the darkness.
That’s how she justified it.
For the dynasty. For stability. For something larger than myself.
She repeated it like a prayer.
And almost believed it.
Sun-hee was executed three days later.
Public execution in the main courtyard. Not beheading—too honorable for a child-murderer.
Strangulation. Slow. Humiliating.
The entire court was required to attend. A message about the price of betraying the royal family.
Zhao Lanying watched from her position of honor near the King.
She wore white mourning robes. Her face was composed but sorrowful. The grieving mother forced to witness justice for her murdered son.
Sun-hee was brought out in chains. Her face was bruised from interrogation. Her body broken.
When she saw Zhao Lanying in the crowd, their eyes met for just a moment.
Sun-hee knew. Zhao Lanying could see it in her expression. The maid understood exactly what had happened. How she’d been used. How perfectly she’d been played.
But she said nothing. What could she say? Who would believe her?
The executioner placed the cord around her neck.
Sun-hee’s final words were barely audible: “I was loyal. I thought I was loyal.”
Then the cord tightened.
Zhao Lanying watched until it was over. Until Sun-hee’s body hung limp and lifeless.
Another piece sacrificed. Another innocent destroyed.
All for the plan. All for power.
All necessary, she told herself.
That night, she dreamed of Sun-hee’s face. Of Yong’s small body. Of the wet nurse’s screams during her whipping.
She woke gasping, covered in sweat.
Then she steadied herself. Controlled her breathing.
For the dynasty. For stability. For something that matters.
The mantra that let her function.
The lie she needed to believe.
The Crown Prince came to her chambers two weeks after the Empress’s exile.
Zhao Lanying was sitting by the window again—her habitual position lately. Staring at nothing.
“Lanying,” Munjong said quietly.
She turned. Looked at him with eyes that were too calm. Too empty.
“Your Highness.”
“Don’t. Not when we’re alone.” He sat beside her. “How are you?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice was honest for once. “I feel ... hollow. Like someone carved out everything inside me and left just a shell.”
“I feel the same.”
They sat in silence for a moment.
“Do you believe she did it?” Zhao Lanying asked finally. “Your mother. Do you believe she ordered Yong’s murder?”
Munjong was quiet for a long time. “I don’t want to believe it. She’s my mother. She raised me, shaped me, loved me.”
“But?”
“But the evidence. The confession. The motive.” He rubbed his face. “I don’t know what to believe. Part of me thinks she’s innocent, framed by someone we haven’t identified. Part of me thinks ... thinks she did exactly what the evidence shows.”
“And if she’s innocent?” Zhao Lanying’s voice was soft. “If someone else orchestrated this?”
“Then they’re brilliant. And monstrous. And we’ll probably never know.” Munjong looked at her. “Do you think she’s innocent?”
Zhao Lanying met his eyes. Let him see the grief, the confusion, the pain.
All real. All genuine.
Just not for the reasons he thought.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I want justice for Yong. But I also want the dynasty to survive this. To be strong.” She paused. “Your father was right to show mercy. Execution would have been too much.”
Munjong looked surprised. “You’re not angry about that?”
“I’m angry about everything. But I understand the necessity of appearing stable. Of not tearing the dynasty apart with blood and vengeance.” She took his hand. “We have to think about the future now. About healing. About making Yong’s death mean something.”
“How do we do that?”
“By being strong. By ruling well when our time comes. By having more children who will carry on what he should have been.” Her voice caught. “By not letting his death be meaningless.”
Munjong squeezed her hand. “You’re stronger than I am.”
“No. I’m just better at pretending.”
He pulled her close. She let herself be held, her face against his shoulder.
And she thought about the future.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.