Empress Jiang
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 5: The Weapon
The Forbidden City, Beijing. Spring, 1428 - Autumn, 1431
Age 12-15
At twelve, Zhao Lanying experienced her first bleeding.
Mei explained what was happening with gentle matter-of-factness, provided the necessary cloths, showed her how to manage the pain with hot compresses and herbal tea.
Madam Liu’s response was more clinical: “You are now of marriageable age in Chinese custom. This changes your position in the palace.”
“How?”
“You are no longer a child being educated. You are a young woman of breeding age, which means you’re now a potential political asset.” Madam Liu’s gaze was sharp. “The Empress Dowager will begin receiving inquiries about your availability. Officials with unmarried sons. Merchants seeking connections to the palace. Even minor princes looking for educated consorts.”
Zhao Lanying’s stomach twisted. She’d known, abstractly, that she would eventually be sent back to Korea for marriage. But the immediacy of it—the reality that her body’s changes made her valuable as a broodmare—struck her like a physical blow.
“When will I be sent back?”
“Not yet. The Empress Dowager values your education too highly to release you prematurely. You’ll remain here until sixteen, perhaps seventeen.” Madam Liu paused. “But you need to understand: from this moment forward, every action you take will be evaluated not just as a student’s behavior, but as a potential bride’s reputation.”
“So I have to be more careful?”
“You have to be perfect.” Madam Liu’s voice was iron. “One scandal—one whispered rumor about impropriety—and you become worthless. No respectable family will accept damaged goods. You’ll be married to some minor official in a provincial backwater, or kept in the palace as a servant.”
The message was clear: the freedom she’d had as a child—the ability to take risks, to test boundaries—was over.
She was a commodity now.
And commodities had to maintain their value.
That same year, the political landscape shifted dramatically.
The Xuande Emperor, young and reformist, began purging the old guard. Officials who’d served under his grandfather, the Yongle Emperor, suddenly found themselves accused of corruption, incompetence, or secret disloyalty.
Some accusations were true. Many were not.
It didn’t matter. The Emperor wanted his own people in power, and the old officials had to go.
The palace became a minefield.
Zhao Lanying watched from the Empress Dowager’s household as careers ended overnight. Men who’d held power for decades were stripped of their ranks, their properties confiscated, their families exiled.
The violence was bureaucratic rather than physical, but no less devastating.
And in the chaos, opportunities emerged.
Madam Liu summoned her one spring morning.
“The Empress Dowager has a problem. She needs it solved quietly. You’re going to help.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Minister Fang.” Madam Liu’s expression was grave. “He served the Yongle Emperor faithfully. He has the Empress Dowager’s favor. But the current Emperor sees him as a relic of the old regime and wants him gone.”
“So the Emperor will remove him?”
“The Emperor can’t remove him directly without appearing disrespectful to his grandmother. The Empress Dowager won’t abandon a loyal servant just because her grandson finds him inconvenient.” Madam Liu’s eyes met hers. “Which means Minister Fang needs to remove himself.”
Zhao Lanying understood immediately. “You want me to make him resign voluntarily.”
“I want you to create conditions where resignation appears to be his best option. No coercion. No obvious pressure. Just ... circumstances that lead him to conclude his time has passed.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re young, female, and beneath suspicion. No one will imagine a twelve-year-old girl orchestrating a minister’s downfall.” Madam Liu’s smile was thin. “Also because if you fail, the blame falls on you, not the Empress Dowager. You’re disposable. He isn’t.”
The honesty was brutal, but Zhao Lanying appreciated it. “What do I know about Minister Fang?”
“Everything you need is in this file.” Madam Liu handed her a folder. “Study it. Find his weakness. Exploit it. Make him want to leave.”
Zhao Lanying spent three days studying Minister Fang.
Age sixty-three. Three sons, all in minor government positions. Two daughters, both married to mid-level officials. Wife deceased ten years ago. No scandals, no obvious corruption, no secret vices.
But there was one detail that caught her attention: his eldest son had been passed over for promotion three times in the last two years.
She dug deeper.
The son—Fang Wei—was competent but unexceptional. His stagnation wasn’t due to incompetence but to lack of patronage. In the new Emperor’s court, old connections meant nothing. You needed new sponsors.
Which Fang Wei didn’t have.
Which his father couldn’t provide, because Minister Fang’s influence was itself waning.
This was the pressure point.
Her plan was simple but required patience.
First, she arranged—through Mei’s network of servants—for Fang Wei to “accidentally” learn that his latest promotion application had been rejected not due to merit, but because the new Minister of Personnel saw him as his father’s proxy.
“The Minister believes young Fang is only seeking position due to his father’s influence, not his own abilities.”
The rumor was partially true, which made it believable.
Second, she ensured that Minister Fang heard whispers that his continued presence at court was “making things difficult” for his son.
“Such a shame that talented young men suffer because of their fathers’ prominence. If only Minister Fang would retire gracefully, his son might finally be evaluated on his own merits.”
Third, she waited.
The brilliance of the strategy was that it required no lies.
Fang Wei really was being passed over. Minister Fang’s prominence really was complicating his son’s career. The new Emperor really did prefer officials without old-regime connections.
All Zhao Lanying did was ensure these facts came to Minister Fang’s attention in a way that suggested a solution: retire, and let your son succeed on his own.
Within a month, Minister Fang requested a private audience with the Empress Dowager.
Zhao Lanying, present as a tea-pourer—invisible as furniture—heard every word.
“Your Majesty, I have served the imperial family for forty years. It has been the honor of my life.”
“You have served with distinction,” the Empress Dowager replied warmly.
“But I find myself ... weary. The new Emperor brings fresh energy to the court. Perhaps it’s time for old men like myself to make way for younger talents.” He paused. “Including my own son, who deserves the chance to succeed without being shadowed by his father’s legacy.”
The Empress Dowager’s expression was carefully neutral. “You wish to retire?”
“With Your Majesty’s blessing, yes.”
“You have it, of course. Though the court will miss your wisdom.”
They discussed the details—a generous pension, a honorary title, formal recognition of his service. Everything arranged with dignity and respect.
Minister Fang left looking relieved.
The Empress Dowager dismissed her attendants except for Madam Liu and Zhao Lanying.
“Well?” she asked.
Madam Liu bowed slightly. “The young student executed the task flawlessly, Your Majesty.”
The Empress Dowager’s sharp eyes settled on Zhao Lanying. “You made him believe it was his idea.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Clever. Cruel, but clever.” The old woman’s expression was unreadable. “Minister Fang is a good man. He served loyally. And you manipulated him into abandoning his position to save his son’s career.”
Zhao Lanying felt the weight of judgment. “Yes, Your Majesty. I’m sorry if—”
“Don’t apologize. You did what was necessary.” The Empress Dowager’s voice hardened. “But remember this: Minister Fang will retire in honor, with a pension and respect. His son will likely receive a promotion now that the shadow of his father’s prominence is removed. You’ve actually helped them both, even as you served my interests.”
She paused.
“That’s the kind of power worth cultivating. The kind that serves multiple purposes. You eliminated a political problem while improving the lives of the people involved. That’s sophisticated.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“Don’t thank me. Learn from it.” The Empress Dowager gestured dismissal. “You have four more years here. Use them to refine your understanding of when to be ruthless and when to be kind. The difference determines whether you’re a tyrant or a ruler.”
At thirteen, Zhao Lanying made her first real enemy.
Her name was Qiu, and she was the adopted daughter of a powerful eunuch who served the Emperor directly. Eunuch Qiu had taken her in as an infant—a common practice among wealthy eunuchs who wanted heirs to manage their estates and care for them in old age. Qiu had been raised in the palace, educated alongside Zhao Lanying, and had always resented the foreign girl’s success.
When Zhao Lanying was praised for her calligraphy, Qiu whispered that she’d probably copied it from her tutor.
When Zhao Lanying was invited to attend a court poetry competition, Qiu suggested she’d only been included to “add exotic flavor.”
When Zhao Lanying successfully managed Minister Fang’s resignation, Qiu began spreading rumors that she’d seduced the old man.
The last accusation was dangerous. Sexually scandalous rumors could destroy a young woman’s marriage prospects entirely.
Zhao Lanying reported the situation to Madam Liu.
“What do you want to do about it?” Madam Liu asked.
“Destroy her.”
“Good. How?”
Zhao Lanying had been thinking about this. “Qiu’s adoptive father is her only protection. She has no blood family, no independent status. If I can damage her father’s position, she becomes completely vulnerable.”
“True. But Eunuch Qiu serves the Emperor directly. He’s untouchable.”
“No one is untouchable. Everyone has weaknesses.”
Madam Liu’s smile was predatory. “Find his, then.”
Zhao Lanying spent two months researching Eunuch Qiu.
The man was ruthlessly efficient, politically astute, and fanatically loyal to the Emperor. He had no obvious vices. No financial corruption. No secret families or forbidden relationships.
But he had one vulnerability: pride.
Eunuch Qiu believed himself indispensable. Believed his intelligence was unmatched. Believed he could outsmart anyone.
Which meant he could be baited into overplaying his hand.
Zhao Lanying’s plan was delicate. She couldn’t attack Eunuch Qiu directly—she had neither the power nor the position. But she could create a situation where his pride destroyed him.
She began by feeding him false information.
Through a carefully constructed chain of servants and junior officials, she ensured that Eunuch Qiu learned that the Empress Dowager was concerned about the Emperor’s advisors undermining imperial authority.
The information was vague enough to be believable, specific enough to be actionable.
Eunuch Qiu, believing he’d uncovered a genuine concern, began investigating which advisors might be “undermining” the Emperor.
His investigation became increasingly aggressive. He questioned officials. Reviewed memorials for signs of disloyalty. Made accusations.
Which created exactly the kind of paranoid atmosphere that actually did undermine the Emperor’s relationship with his advisors.
The Emperor, who valued harmony in his court, became irritated with Qiu’s aggressive tactics.
“You’re creating problems where none exist,” he told the eunuch.
Qiu, convinced he was protecting the Emperor, doubled down. “Your Majesty, the Empress Dowager herself expressed concern—”
“The Empress Dowager expressed no such thing.” The Emperor’s patience snapped. “You’ve been chasing shadows and disturbing the court. I don’t need overzealous servants creating chaos in the name of loyalty.”
Eunuch Qiu was reassigned to a minor administrative role. Not fired—the Emperor wasn’t cruel—but effectively removed from power.
Which meant his adopted daughter Qiu lost her protection.
Zhao Lanying struck the moment Qiu was vulnerable.
She approached the girl in the garden one afternoon, when no one else was around.
“I heard about your father. I’m sorry.”
Qiu’s eyes flashed with hatred. “This was you. Somehow, this was you.”
“Me? I’m just a student. I have no power.”
“You did something. I don’t know how, but—”
“Your father destroyed himself,” Zhao Lanying said quietly. “He let his pride convince him that he knew better than the Emperor. That’s not my fault.”
“He’s not even my real father!” Qiu’s voice cracked. “He adopted me out of pity. Gave me everything—education, position, marriage prospects. And now you’ve destroyed it all!”
“I’ve destroyed nothing. Your father’s pride destroyed his own career. Which means...” Zhao Lanying stepped closer, “ ... you have nothing. No blood family. No position. No protection. You exist entirely at the palace’s mercy.”
The cruelty of this reality showed in Qiu’s face.
“But I won’t destroy you,” Zhao Lanying continued. “Because I’m not cruel. I’m just ... efficient.”
She turned to leave, then paused.
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