Empress Jiang
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 6: The Revelation
The Forbidden City, Beijing, Winter, 1431 - Autumn, 1432
Age 15-16
The summons came on the first day of the new year.
Zhao Lanying was practicing calligraphy when Mei entered, her face carefully neutral in the way that meant something significant had happened.
“Madam Liu requests your presence. Immediately.”
Zhao Lanying set down her brush, noting the slight tremor in Mei’s hands. In eight years, she’d learned to read her attendant’s micro-expressions like a text. This wasn’t routine.
She found Madam Liu in her private chambers, a sealed letter on the table between them. The wax bore the royal seal of Joseon.
“Sit,” Madam Liu said.
Zhao Lanying sat, her stomach tight.
“The Korean court has formally requested your return. King Sejong has arranged your marriage to Crown Prince Munjong.” Madam Liu’s voice was matter-of-fact, but her eyes were watchful. “You’ll depart in the eighth month. That gives you seven months to prepare.”
Seven months.
After twelve years in the Forbidden City, she had seven months before being sent to a country she couldn’t remember, to marry a man she’d never met, to become Crown Princess of a kingdom that would see her as fundamentally foreign.
“When was this decided?” Zhao Lanying kept her voice steady.
“The negotiations have been ongoing for two years. The Empress Dowager delayed as long as politically feasible—you’re valuable here, and she was reluctant to lose you. But King Sejong has been insistent, and the Emperor agreed that maintaining good relations with Joseon requires honoring their request.”
“So I’m a diplomatic gesture.”
“You’re a diplomatic investment.” Madam Liu’s correction was sharp. “Joseon sent us a four-year-old child. We’re returning a sixteen-year-old woman educated in the finest traditions of Chinese statecraft, fluent in classical literature, trained in court politics, and skilled in the arts of power. You’re worth infinitely more than what they sent.”
“To them or to China?”
“To yourself, if you’re smart enough to use what you’ve learned.”
Zhao Lanying looked at the letter. Twelve years ago, that seal had been the last thing she’d seen of her homeland. Now it was summoning her back.
“Do I have a choice?”
“No. But you have agency in how you respond.” Madam Liu poured tea with deliberate precision. “You can go to Korea as a victim—a girl torn from her homeland, forced into a foreign education, returned as a stranger. You’ll be pitied, resented, and ultimately powerless.”
She set down the pot.
“Or you can go as a weapon. Someone who was given an education most Korean women will never receive. Someone who understands power at a level the Korean court can barely imagine. Someone who can shape the next generation of Korean governance.”
“The Empress Dowager said something similar. That I could shape Korea’s future.”
“She’s right. The Crown Prince’s wife has significant influence over succession, policy, court appointments. If you play the role correctly, you’ll have more real power than most of the ministers.” Madam Liu’s eyes glinted. “The question is: what will you do with it?”
Zhao Lanying thought about Zhou’s book. About the passage asking which battle she was really fighting.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Then you have seven months to figure it out.”
The next weeks were a strange suspension between two worlds.
Zhao Lanying continued her studies—Madam Liu insisted there was still much to learn. But now every lesson carried a different weight. She wasn’t just learning Chinese statecraft for its own sake. She was learning it to apply in Korea.
“Korean court politics will be different from Chinese,” Madam Liu explained during one session. “Smaller scale. More personal. Family connections matter more than imperial appointments. The Confucian orthodoxy is stricter—women are expected to be more submissive, more invisible.”
“Then how am I supposed to have influence?”
“The same way Chinese empresses and empress dowagers have always wielded power: indirectly. Through your son, if you have one. Through your husband’s favor. Through careful alliances with ministers who need your support.” Madam Liu’s smile was thin. “The rules say women should be powerless. The reality is that smart women have always found ways around the rules.”
“By pretending to be powerless while actually controlling things?”
“Exactly. The appearance of submission. The reality of control.” Madam Liu leaned forward. “This is crucial, Lanying. In China, you’ve been able to be relatively direct because you’re young and still learning. In Korea, you’ll need to be far more subtle. The Korean court will be watching for signs that you’ve been ‘contaminated’ by Chinese ways. If you appear too bold, too educated, too unwomanly, they’ll isolate you.”
“So I have to hide everything you’ve taught me?”
“You have to deploy it carefully. Use your intelligence but let men believe the ideas were theirs. Exercise power but make it appear you’re merely supporting your husband’s decisions. Destroy enemies but ensure they destroy themselves so publicly that no one suspects your involvement.” Madam Liu’s expression was serious. “Everything you’ve learned here—you’ll use it. But the Korean court must never fully realize you’re using it.”
Zhao Lanying absorbed this. Twelve years learning to be powerful. Now she’d have to learn to be powerfully invisible.
“What about the Crown Prince? What do I know about him?”
Madam Liu produced a file—thinner than she’d hoped.
“Munjong. Age eighteen. Educated in Confucian classics. By all accounts intelligent but cautious. He’s been groomed for rulership his entire life, which means he’s politically careful. No major scandals, no obvious vices.” She paused. “Also no obvious strengths. He’s competent but not exceptional.”
“Will he resent me? A Chinese-educated wife?”
“Possibly. But he’s also politically sophisticated enough to recognize your value. A wife with connections to the Ming court, educated in Chinese statecraft, fluent in Mandarin—these are diplomatic assets. Whether he sees you as a partner or a tool will depend on how you present yourself.”
“And if he sees me as a threat?”
“Then you’ll have to neutralize that perception before it becomes dangerous.” Madam Liu’s voice was cold. “This is why the first year of your marriage is crucial. You need to establish yourself as valuable, loyal, and non-threatening. Once you have his trust—or at least his dependence—you can begin operating more freely.”
Zhao Lanying thought about spending years pretending to be less than she was. The idea was suffocating.
“What if I can’t do it? What if I can’t pretend to be meek and submissive?”
“Then you’ll be isolated, possibly imprisoned, and eventually eliminated.” Madam Liu’s honesty was brutal. “The Korean court has no use for rebellious Chinese-educated women. They want someone who enhances their prestige through connections to Beijing while remaining appropriately Korean in behavior. If you can’t perform that role, you’re worthless to them.”
The weight of it settled on Zhao Lanying’s shoulders. She’d spent twelve years becoming a sophisticated political operator. Now she’d have to spend years hiding it.
“I understand,” she said quietly.
“I hope you do. Because everything depends on you understanding this: power in Korea will require more patience, more subtlety, and more self-control than anything you’ve done here.” Madam Liu’s eyes were hard. “Can you do it?”
Zhao Lanying thought about the girl who’d been beaten for stealing food. Who’d spent months orchestrating Minister Fang’s retirement. Who’d destroyed Eunuch Qiu through pure information manipulation.
She’d learned patience. She’d learned subtlety. She’d learned control.
“Yes,” she said. “I can do it.”
In the third month, the Empress Dowager summoned her for a private audience.
The old woman looked frailer than Zhao Lanying remembered—she was nearing seventy now, her body betraying the will that had kept her powerful for so long.
“I’m dying,” the Empress Dowager said without preamble. “Not today. Perhaps not this year. But soon. I wanted to speak with you before you leave.”
Zhao Lanying bowed her head. “Your Majesty does me great honor.”
“Stop. We’re past formality.” The Empress Dowager gestured impatiently. “I’ve watched you for twelve years. Watched you transform from a terrified child into something remarkable. You have intelligence, discipline, and—most importantly—the capacity for ruthlessness tempered by conscience.”
She paused, breathing carefully.
“I see myself in you. Not as I am now, but as I was at your age. Ambitious. Calculating. Willing to do whatever was necessary to survive and thrive.” Her eyes grew distant. “I’ve accumulated more power than most women in Chinese history. I’ve outlasted three emperors. I’ve shaped policy, eliminated enemies, and maintained influence for four decades.”
“You’re an inspiration, Your Majesty.”
“I’m a warning.” The Empress Dowager’s voice cracked like a whip. “I told you before: power without purpose is hollow. I accumulated power for its own sake. I won every game. And now, at the end, I ask myself: what did I actually accomplish?”
She leaned forward with effort.
“Don’t make my mistake, child. You’re going to Korea with skills that will allow you to accumulate immense power. The question is: what will you use that power to achieve? If it’s just survival and dominance, you’ll end up like me—successful, feared, and ultimately empty.”
“What should I use it for?”
“That’s for you to decide. But decide something. Find a cause. A principle. A vision of what Korea could become. Something larger than your own advancement.” The Empress Dowager’s expression softened slightly. “Otherwise, when you’re my age, you’ll look back and realize you spent your life winning games that didn’t matter.”
Zhao Lanying felt the weight of the old woman’s regret like a physical thing.
“I’ll try, Your Majesty.”
“Don’t try. Do.” The Empress Dowager settled back in her chair, exhausted by the effort of speaking so directly. “You’re the most sophisticated product of Chinese palace education I’ve seen in decades. Don’t waste that on petty court intrigue. Use it to actually improve something.”
She waved a dismissal.
Zhao Lanying rose, bowed, and turned to leave.
“Lanying.”
She stopped.
“I’ve shaped many students. You’re the only one I believe might actually become something more than just another palace viper.” The Empress Dowager’s voice was barely audible. “Prove me right.”
In the fifth month, Zhao Lanying began the ritual preparation for departure.
There were ceremonies. Gifts to distribute. Formal farewells to officials she’d barely known. The entire process was designed to mark her transition from Chinese court lady to Korean Crown Princess.
But the most difficult farewell was to Mei.
Her attendant had served her for twelve years—longer than anyone else in her life. Mei had taught her Chinese when she couldn’t speak a word. Had comforted her through beatings and loneliness. Had enabled her schemes and kept her secrets.
“You can’t come with me,” Zhao Lanying said. It wasn’t a question—she already knew the answer.
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