Empress Jiang
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 16: The Final Lesson
Hanseong (Seoul), Joseon Kingdom
Winter, 1452
Age 36
Zhao Lanying woke in darkness, unsure what day it was.
The pain was constant now. A dull, grinding ache in her abdomen that no amount of medicine could touch. Her body felt like it belonged to someone else—distant, unresponsive, failing.
She heard movement. Footsteps approaching her bed.
“Mi-sun?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“Yes, Your Majesty. I’m here.”
A lamp was lit. Soft light filled the chamber.
Mi-sun sat beside the bed, her face calm and composed. In her hands, she held a small cup—the evening tonic that Zhao Lanying had taken faithfully for two years.
“It’s time for your medicine.”
Zhao Lanying looked at the cup. Then at Mi-sun’s face. Something in her Shàngyí’s expression was different. Not quite concern. Not quite devotion.
Something colder.
“What day is it?” Zhao Lanying asked.
“The fifteenth day of the twelfth month. You’ve been sleeping most of the time now.” Mi-sun set down the cup. “Dr. Yoon says you have perhaps a week left. Maybe less.”
“I see.”
They sat in silence for a moment.
Then Mi-sun spoke again. Her voice was different now. Still calm, but with an edge Zhao Lanying had never heard before.
“You’re wondering why the medicine isn’t working.”
Zhao Lanying’s eyes sharpened slightly. Even through the fog of pain and exhaustion, something in that statement rang wrong.
“What?”
“The tonics. Dr. Yoon’s treatments. They’re not working because they were never meant to work.” Mi-sun picked up the cup again, holding it between her hands. “They were meant to do exactly what they’re doing. Kill you. Slowly. The same way we killed Munjong.”
The words hung in the air.
For a moment, Zhao Lanying couldn’t process them. Couldn’t make sense of what she was hearing.
Then understanding crashed through her like ice water.
“You.”
“Me.” Mi-sun’s voice was almost gentle. “The same method we perfected together. Small doses of poison, delivered daily through medicine you trusted. Gradual organ failure that looks completely natural. You taught me well.”
Zhao Lanying tried to sit up but couldn’t. Her body wouldn’t respond. She could only lie there, staring at the woman she’d trusted for sixteen years.
“Why?”
Mi-sun smiled—not warmly, but with something like respect. “You taught me to eliminate obstacles. You taught me that sentiment is weakness. You taught me that power requires sacrifice.” She paused. “You became an obstacle.”
“I made you Shàngyí. I gave you power—”
“You gave me service. There’s a difference.” Mi-sun set down the cup. “For sixteen years, I’ve been the instrument of your will. Your operational arm. Your enforcer. I helped you murder your son. Poison your husband. Frame an empress. Build an empire on corpses.”
“And I rewarded you—”
“With servitude. Comfortable, privileged servitude. But servitude nonetheless.” Mi-sun’s voice was calm, factual. “I’m as intelligent as you are. As ruthless. As capable. Why should I serve when I could rule?”
Zhao Lanying’s mind raced through her fog of pain. “Seong—”
“Is perfectly conditioned to accept guidance from authority figures. You made sure of that. You spent ten years training him to defer, to obey, to trust his advisors.” Mi-sun reached into her robes and produced a document. “And you made me regent.”
She unrolled the paper. Even in the lamplight, Zhao Lanying could see the imperial seal. Her seal.
“What is that?”
“A decree. Signed by you. Stamped with your official seal.” Mi-sun held it closer so Zhao Lanying could read:
“IMPERIAL DECREE: In the event of the Empress Dowager’s death prior to His Majesty reaching his twentieth year, Shàngyí Mi-sun shall serve as Regent and Chief Advisor to His Majesty, with full authority to govern until the completion of His Majesty’s education and assumption of full royal powers.”
Zhao Lanying’s eyes widened. “I never—”
“You stamped it. Fourteen months ago. I slipped it into the agricultural reform paperwork. You were so tired that day. Barely reading the documents.” Mi-sun smiled. “You trusted me to review them. So you stamped without looking.”
The memory surfaced slowly. A stack of documents. Mi-sun laying them out one by one. Stamp, stamp, stamp. She’d been exhausted. Had trusted Mi-sun’s preparation.
“You forged this.”
“I wrote it. You legalized it. The seal is genuine. The document is binding.” Mi-sun carefully rolled it up again. “When you die—any day now—I’ll produce this decree. The court will have no choice but to accept it. I become regent. I rule Korea through Seong until he’s twenty. By then, he’ll be so accustomed to my guidance that my influence will continue even after the regency ends.”
Zhao Lanying felt something she hadn’t felt in decades: genuine fear.
Not of death—that was inevitable now. But of this. Of being outmaneuvered. Outplayed. Destroyed by her own methods.
“You ... you’ve been planning this...”
“For three years. Since I realized you were teaching Seong to be a puppet king. Since I understood that your entire system was designed to concentrate power through control rather than direct rule.” Mi-sun leaned closer. “I just needed to replace you as the controller. The poison was easy—we’d already perfected the method. The decree took more care, but you made it simple by trusting me completely.”
“After everything I gave you—”
“You gave me nothing except the knowledge to take everything myself.” Mi-sun’s voice was still calm. Still factual. “You taught me that loyalty is transactional. That trust is vulnerability. That power requires eliminating anyone who might threaten it. I learned those lessons perfectly.”
Zhao Lanying’s breath came in short gasps. The pain in her abdomen was intensifying. Or perhaps it was just the weight of understanding crushing her.
“I made you,” she whispered.
“You did. I was a lady-in-waiting when you chose me. You shaped me. Taught me. Turned me into a sophisticated political operator capable of murder and manipulation.” Mi-sun’s eyes were cold. “You created exactly what you needed: someone as ruthless and intelligent as yourself. You just never imagined I might use those skills against you.”
“You’re ... you’re a monster.”
“I’m a mirror.” Mi-sun’s voice was quiet. Hard. “Everything I am, you made me. Every crime I’ve committed, you ordered or taught. I’m your creation. Your legacy. The perfect student who learned every lesson.”
They stared at each other across the lamplight. Teacher and student. Master and instrument. Two women who’d built an empire on corpses and lies.
“Does anyone else know?” Zhao Lanying’s voice was barely audible.
“Dr. Yoon knows he’s been administering poison instead of medicine. But he’s terrified of me. He’ll never speak. Mrs. Gam in the kitchen prepared the poisoned tonics, but she thinks they were legitimate medicine. The forged decree is hidden in the imperial archives where no one will find it until I choose to produce it.”
“So you’ve won.”
“Completely.” Mi-sun stood. “In a few days, you’ll die. The court will mourn the devoted Empress Dowager who sacrificed her health for Korea. I’ll produce the decree and become regent. Seong will rule under my guidance. Korea will continue exactly as you built it—just with me in control instead of you.”
“And Beijing?”
“I’ll maintain the intelligence arrangement exactly as you established it. Selective reporting. Careful management. Using Chinese approval as domestic leverage.” Mi-sun smiled slightly. “I learned from the master of playing both sides.”
Zhao Lanying closed her eyes. Every breath was agony now. Not just physical pain, but the crushing weight of complete defeat.
She’d won every game for thirty-two years. Eliminated every obstacle. Built absolute power.
And in the end, been destroyed by the very systems she’d created. By the woman she’d trained. By her own success in teaching someone to be exactly like her.
“Was any of it real?” she asked quietly. “The loyalty? The partnership? Or was it all ... calculation?”
Mi-sun was silent for a long moment.
“It was real,” she said finally. “For years, it was real. I was genuinely loyal. I believed in what we were building. I respected you. Perhaps even...” She paused. “But respect and loyalty aren’t the same as submission. Eventually, I realized I didn’t need to serve you. I could be you.”
“So when did you decide?”
“To kill you?” Mi-sun thought about it. “Three years ago, when I watched you train Seong. When I saw you building a system that would outlast you. I realized: why should that system benefit your legacy instead of mine? Why should I continue serving when I could rule?”
“And the poisoning?”
“Began two years ago. Gradual. Careful. Using every technique we perfected on Munjong. You never suspected because you trusted me completely. That was your final mistake.”
Zhao Lanying’s laugh was bitter. Weak. “I taught you ... that trust is vulnerability.”
“You did. And then you trusted me anyway. Because you were lonely. Because I was the only person who understood you. Because after thirty years of eliminating everyone, you had no one left except me.”
The truth of it was devastating.
Zhao Lanying had spent her entire life ensuring she needed no one. Had destroyed every attachment. Had built perfect isolation at the center of absolute power.
And in that isolation, had trusted the one person who could destroy her.
“What happens now?” Zhao Lanying asked.
“Now? You die. Peacefully. I’ll be beside you until the end—the devoted Shàngyí attending her beloved mistress. The court will see only my grief.” Mi-sun picked up the cup of poison again. “Would you like your final dose? It will ease the pain.”
Zhao Lanying looked at the cup. At the woman holding it. At the face of her own creation.
“Will you ... will you tell anyone? After I’m gone?”