Empress Jiang
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 12: The Poison
Hanseong (Seoul), Joseon Kingdom, Spring, 1442 - Winter, 1443
Age 26-27
The decision to kill Munjong was not made in anger or haste.
It was made carefully, over months of consideration, during the evening meetings between Empress and Shàngyí.
Zhao Lanying was twenty-six years old. She’d been Empress for three years. Prince Seong was seven—old enough to be proclaimed Crown Prince, young enough to need a regent if his father died.
The timing was perfect.
“His Majesty has been complaining of fatigue,” Mi-sun reported one evening. “The royal physician attributes it to stress and recommends more rest.”
Zhao Lanying looked up from the document she was reading. “How long has this been happening?”
“Three months. It started as occasional tiredness. Now it’s nearly constant. He struggles to complete a full day of audiences.”
“Is it natural?”
“The physician believes so. His Majesty is thirty-three. Not old, but the responsibilities of kingship are draining.” Mi-sun paused. “Of course, fatigue can have many causes.”
The implication hung in the air.
Zhao Lanying set down her document. “If we were to ... accelerate his decline ... how would we do it?”
“Gradually. Very gradually. Something that mimics natural illness. Worsening fatigue, digestive troubles, eventual organ failure. Spread over months so no single symptom appears suspicious.”
“What would cause such symptoms?”
“Several substances. Arsenic in very small doses. Mercury compounds. Aconite, carefully measured.” Mi-sun’s voice was clinical. Professional. “The key is consistency and patience. Daily exposure to small amounts that accumulate in the body over time.”
“How long?”
“Six months minimum for a natural-looking decline. Twelve months would be safer—gives the illness time to develop believably.”
Zhao Lanying was quiet for a long moment.
This was it. The final obstacle. The last person standing between her and absolute power.
She thought about Munjong. Her husband of ten years. Father of her child. The man who’d never been cruel, never been suspicious, never truly seen her for what she was.
She felt nothing.
No guilt. No hesitation. No attachment.
Just cold calculation.
“Begin preparations,” she said quietly. “But not implementation. Not yet. I want everything ready—the substances sourced, the delivery methods established, the physician’s records positioned for alteration. When I give the word, it should proceed smoothly.”
“Understood. How long before you give the word?”
“Three months. I want to be certain of the timing. Seong needs to be formally proclaimed Crown Prince first. The succession must be unquestionable before His Majesty ... declines.”
Mi-sun nodded. “I’ll prepare everything.”
The preparations took two months.
Mi-sun worked with the efficiency she’d perfected over seven years of serving as Zhao Lanying’s operational arm.
The physician was the first piece.
The King’s current physician was old, competent, and incorruptible. He’d served King Sejong and now served Munjong with the same meticulous attention.
He had to go.
Not killed—that would be suspicious. Just ... retired.
Mi-sun arranged for the physician’s elderly mother to fall ill in a distant province. The man requested leave to attend her. The request was immediately granted—of course the Empress would show compassion for family devotion.
“Take all the time you need,” Zhao Lanying told him personally. “Your mother’s health is more important than your duties here. We’ll manage.”
The physician left, grateful for her understanding.
His replacement arrived two weeks later: a younger physician named Dr. Yoon. Highly recommended. Well-trained. And, crucially, someone Mi-sun had cultivated for the past year.
Dr. Yoon’s daughter had married well thanks to Mi-sun’s arrangement. His elderly father received expensive medicine thanks to Mi-sun’s generosity. He was grateful, loyal, and willing to be ... flexible about his observations.
When Dr. Yoon was appointed Royal Physician, he understood perfectly what was expected:
Treat the King’s illnesses diligently. Keep detailed records. But if certain symptoms needed to be ... reinterpreted ... or if certain substances in the King’s food went unmentioned ... well, loyalty to one’s benefactors was a virtue.
The cook was already in place.
The head of the royal kitchen—a woman named Mrs. Gam—had been part of Mi-sun’s network for five years. Her loyalty was absolute. Her discretion was perfect.
When Mi-sun approached her about “special medicinal preparations” for His Majesty, Mrs. Gam asked no questions.
“How should they be administered?”
“Varied delivery. Sometimes in his morning tea. Sometimes in his evening soup. Sometimes in the rice wine he drinks before bed. Never the same method twice in a row. And always in amounts small enough that tasting wouldn’t detect anything unusual.”
“How long will this treatment continue?”
“Six to twelve months, depending on how he responds.”
Mrs. Gam understood. This wasn’t medicine. This was murder.
But she’d been paid well for five years. Her family had prospered under Mi-sun’s patronage. And she knew better than to ask questions that might get uncomfortable answers.
“It will be done exactly as you specify,” she said quietly.
The substances were sourced carefully.
Not all at once. Not from a single supplier. Not in suspicious quantities.
Mi-sun used the forger’s network—the same connections that had created the documents framing the old Empress. Through a series of intermediaries and dead drops, small amounts of various poisons were acquired:
Arsenic, disguised as rat poison for the palace stores.
Mercury compounds, legitimately purchased for medicinal use.
Aconite, obtained as an herbal remedy for pain.
Each substance purchased separately, through different channels, impossible to trace back.
All delivered to Mrs. Gam, who stored them in the locked medicine cabinet in the royal kitchen.
Everything was ready.
Now they just had to wait for the right moment.
Prince Seong was proclaimed Crown Prince in the fifth month of summer.
The ceremony was elaborate. The entire court attended. Officials came from across Korea to witness the seven-year-old boy formally named as heir to the throne.
Seong wore miniature royal robes and performed his bows perfectly. He recited the oath of succession without stumbling. He looked every inch a future king.
Munjong stood beside him, proud and beaming. “My son. My heir. The future of our dynasty.”
Zhao Lanying watched from her position of honor, hands folded, expression serene.
Your son. For now. Soon to be mine alone to control.
After the ceremony, she met with Mi-sun in their usual evening session.
“The succession is now official,” Zhao Lanying said. “Crown Prince Seong. If anything were to happen to His Majesty, the transition would be automatic.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Everything is in place.”
Zhao Lanying looked at her Shàngyí. The woman who’d helped her murder her own child. Who’d built an intelligence empire. Who was about to help her kill her husband.
“Begin,” she said quietly. “Slowly. Carefully. Make it look like natural illness developing over time.”
Mi-sun bowed. “It will be done.”
The poisoning began the next morning.
A small amount of arsenic in the King’s morning tea. So little that he wouldn’t taste it. So little that a single dose would cause no symptoms.
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