Fabre in Sacheon’s Tang Novel - Chapter 144

Chapter 144
Upon hearing the princess’s declaration that something must be done, I clutched my head in bewilderment. What could she possibly mean?

After a moment’s thought, a suspicion formed in my mind.
Could it be?
Was this about some official protocol?
“Official business? Surely you don’t mean that tedious nonsense…?”
Anything involving the government usually meant preparing a report for a superior. And that, of course, came with endless paperwork and ceremonial formalities.
As the taesu—a provincial governor—he was essentially a high-ranking official of this era. That undoubtedly meant he needed some presentable evidence of his work to show those above him.

But if there was one thing I detested, in both my past life and current one, it was this sort of bureaucratic tedium.
It was all for show.
In my previous life, I’d endured enough when an absurd regulation was passed, compelling me to construct a completely impractical breeding facility just to comply.

I took a deep breath and addressed the princess:
“Wouldn’t our efforts be better spent calming the public’s fears instead of staging a performance? If we simply wait a few days, things will naturally return to normal. Shouldn’t reassuring the people be our priority?”
I carefully kept my tone respectful, leaving room for her to correct me without offense.
“However… it seems you do require some form of demonstration. Did you have a specific method in mind?”

At that, both the princess and the taesu started, then shared a look of surprise.
They appeared downright sheepish.
It seemed my guess was correct.
The two of them exchanged a silent, meaningful glance, likely communicating through a technique like sound transmission.
After a moment, their wordless conference concluded, and they both gave a nod. The princess finally spoke, her tone one of reluctant admission.
“My first impression was that you were just a young sohyeop, but you are considerably more perceptive than I anticipated. You are correct. As you said, I require something to present. How to explain this… I wonder if you would comprehend…”

And then, abruptly—
A low creak echoed through the reception hall.
That was odd.
Hadn’t the princess commanded everyone to leave?
Yet, the door was open just a crack, and the whine of its rusty hinge filled the space.
—Creeeeak…
“Who is there?! Did I not explicitly order that no one was to approach until we concluded?!”
The princess’s voice was like a sharpened blade.

I expected to hear a fumbling apology from the corridor.
Instead, what nudged its way through the slightly open door was—
Not a person, but a pair of venomous creatures.
It was none other than Cho and Bini.
—Tsrrt?
—Tsrrrrr?
They tilted their heads and peeked through the opening, their antennae twitching with curiosity.
“Dad, are you still talking?”
“Do we have to wait more? Why is that lady shouting?”
They had been waiting outside with Yohwa, but I’d instructed them to remain there until our discussion was over.
Patience was evidently not their virtue.
“My apologies, Princess,” I said swiftly. “The children became restless.”
“…Children?”
The princess’s bewildered expression made me nervous. I didn’t want them reprimanded, so I rushed to the door.
“Everyone, I asked you to wait, remember? Just a bit longer, alright? We’re nearly finished.”
—Tsrrrrr… “This is taking forever! It’s so dull!”
—Tsrrt. “Alright, Dad.”
Bini complained while Cho nodded agreeably.
Acting as the responsible older sibling, Cho coiled around Bini and gently tugged her away from the doorway.
I turned back to the princess and the taesu to find them utterly stunned.
Their faces were a picture of pure astonishment.
“…Did they truly understand you?” the princess gasped. “And… did you refer to them as your daughters?”
“…Ah.”
Right.
Until now, I had only allowed them to see Cho and Bini, maintaining a professional distance. I hadn’t actually revealed their cognitive abilities.
And I had just casually called them my daughters.
‘Maybe I should impress them a little? Well, why not. Consider it a gift for the royal family.’
Feeling magnanimous, I swung the reception hall doors open wide and called out.
“Bini, Cho, Yohwa—come here.”
—Tsrrt?
—Kssst?
The three of them promptly assembled at the entrance.
Then, I called to the others.
“Yeondu, Hyangi, Seoli, Bingi. And the baby. Moji and Soji as well. It’s past time for introductions. These are my family.”
From behind Hwa-eun’s skirt, Seoli and Bingi scurried out, balancing the baby on their heads as they hurried over.
Meanwhile, Moji and Soji, who had been resting on my shoulders like living ornaments, stirred at the sound of their names.
When Hyangi and Yeondu squirmed out from behind my neck, the princess and the taesu looked as if they might topple over in shock.
Hyangi nuzzled her cheeks against me.
Their eyes were so wide I feared they might fall out.
‘This is a sight usually reserved for a VIP exhibit at a venomous creature sanctuary, and I’m providing it free of charge. The princess ought to be appreciative.’
As that thought crossed my mind, the princess, still looking completely perplexed, finally found her voice.
“F-Family…? You mean they are truly your family?!”
“Indeed,” I replied offhandedly. “As is plain to see, I am a man devoted to venomous creatures. It is only natural that they are my family.”

At that moment—
The princess sprang to her feet.
A broad smile illuminated her face.
“You are devoted to venomous creatures? Is that the truth?!”
“…Yes?” I answered, uncertain. “I suppose that is one way to put it.”
Why was she so suddenly delighted?
‘…What is this about?’
“My worries were for nothing!” she exclaimed joyfully. “Then I expect our discussion will proceed far more easily!”
“…Pardon?”
Before I could process this, she turned to her father.
“Father, I am convinced this sohyeop is the ideal person to assist me. May I speak with him in private?”
“…What?!”
Her father seemed just as confused as I was.
But the princess’s face was radiant with happiness.
‘…Why do I have an intensely foreboding feeling about this?’

***
Later, in a Private Audience with the Princess
Everyone else had been sent away.
Now, it was only the two of us.
And my instinct had been correct.
The princess lowered her voice, speaking in a hushed, grave tone.
“What I am going to tell you must remain a complete secret. If this were to leak out, your life could be at risk. Do you understand?”
‘Blast it. I knew this meant trouble…’
In every story I’d ever encountered, political secrets invariably led to disaster.
For a second, I wavered.
“…C-Could I choose not to hear it?”
The princess gave a sly grin.
“That is not an option. Hehe. If I do not tell you, you may not aid me properly. Furthermore, you need to comprehend my situation first.”
“I—I will assist you regardless, no explanation needed. Just tell me what you require.”
But she shook her head, her expression turning imperious.
Then, in a voice laden with authority, she declared:
“This is an imperial command. Listen well.”
“…”
She had invoked her royal status.
I was left with no choice but to comply.
As I sighed in defeat, the princess’s eyes sparkled with anticipation.
“It all started when I was six years old. That was the first time I laid eyes on the golden-threaded sword fastened to a royal guard’s waist…
And that…
That was the moment my fixation with swords began.”

***
“Waaaaah!”
Princess Yu Ji-ryong’s earliest memory of a sword was filled with tears.
“What—what is the matter?! Why is the princess crying!?”
The Empress’s sharp reprimand cut through the air at the sound of Ji-ryong’s sobs.
Still weeping, Ji-ryong pointed at one of the imperial guards.
Born the sole legitimate heir of the Empress—the Emperor’s most favored consort—Ji-ryong had enjoyed the Emperor’s absolute affection from birth. Even as a princess, her tears alone could spell ruin for whoever caused them.
But, of course, six-year-old Ji-ryong was far too young to grasp such concepts.
The imperial guard, white as a sheet, immediately threw himself to the floor in a deep prostration.
“P-please have me executed, Your Majesty! The princess asked for my sword, but I was afraid she might harm herself, so I—”
“The sword?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Is this true, Princess?”
Still sniffling, Ji-ryong nodded in answer to the Empress’s question.
She had seen it—the sword adorned with golden thread shimmering in the light.
She had merely wanted to wear it at her hip.
“Swords are perilous. You cannot have one.”
The Empress’s words, delivered with finality, seemed to extinguish Ji-ryong’s desire.
Or so everyone believed.
A few days later, however, Ji-ryong accompanied the Emperor to observe the imperial guards’ training drills.
And that was when it occurred.
Her youthful eyes were enthralled by the guards’ dazzling formations.
It was captivating.
On the spot, she turned to the Emperor and made her appeal.
“I want to learn the sword!”
The Emperor looked surprised for a moment before bursting into hearty laughter.
“You wish to learn the sword? Well then, if the princess wishes it, she shall learn! I will assign you a skilled instructor.”
At that time, the Emperor didn’t give it much thought.
Perhaps he assumed it was merely a child’s passing fancy.
And so, he commanded the head of the imperial guards:
Teach her whatever she desires.
That was how her instruction began.
Her first lesson, however, was profoundly disappointing.
She had envisioned brandishing a gleaming sword, performing brilliant techniques with grace—just like the guards.
But what the commander presented her with was—
A wooden practice sword.
A small one at that—scarcely one and a half feet in length.
“A… wooden sword? It’s too small…”
“Princess, every warrior begins their training with a wooden sword,” the commander explained gently. “Were one to use a real blade from the outset and sustain an injury, it would be a catastrophe. Once you have developed sufficient skill, I will personally petition the Emperor to grant you a real sword. But first, you must grow accustomed to this one.”
“Truly!?”
“Of course. Now, let us begin with fundamental strikes—”
The commander seemed prepared to start with the basics.
But Ji-ryong wasn’t paying attention.
The instant her hand closed around the wooden sword, she shut her eyes.
Ignoring his instructions, she concentrated on remembering the movements she had witnessed the guards performing during their drills.
And then—
She began to move.
At first, her motions were clumsy. The weight and balance of the sword were unfamiliar.
But as she repeated the actions, they started to feel more natural.
When she finally ceased, pleased with herself, she looked up—
To find the commander staring at her, his eyes wide with amazement.
“M-martial prodigy…!”
“…Martial prodigy?”
Word of Ji-ryong’s talent swiftly reached the Emperor.
Hearing it, he was elated.
Even though she was a girl, the fact that she was a generational genius thrilled him immensely.
And so, the Emperor gifted her a real sword.
From that day forward, Ji-ryong was permitted to learn swordsmanship without restriction.
Yet, as time went on, she began to sense something… amiss.
The more she practiced, the more she felt—
This sword style… does not belong to me.
At the age of twelve, she asked the commander:
“Why does it feel as though the imperial swordsmanship is not my own?”
“Not your own, Princess?”
“Yes.”
The commander fell into deep thought, his face solemn.
After a long silence, he spoke carefully.
“Even among swords, they are not all alike. Every warrior has a blade that fits them best. Princess, I suspect the imperial killing sword style may not be suited to you. Instead, you may be more aligned with the Daoist or Buddhist sword arts.”
The imperial sword techniques were practical, efficient, and crafted for lethal ends.
But the commander had noticed something different in her movements.
Ji-ryong wielded the sword not to kill, but to seek comprehension.
Her path resonated more with the swordsmanship of Daoist adepts or Buddhist monks—those who pursued enlightenment over annihilation.
So she made a choice.
She would learn their methods.
She first delved into the imperial archives, studying texts on Daoist and Buddhist martial arts.
As she practiced, she found herself naturally drawn to Buddhist techniques.
It was a fortunate inclination.
The Daoist sects would certainly have refused to instruct a princess, citing their principle of having no connection to the imperial household.
But Buddhism…
Buddhism would not turn her away.
Because if she joined them, she would no longer be a princess.
Were she to renounce her worldly status and become a nun, not even the Emperor could intervene.
And so, she formulated a scheme.
She masked her true intention as pious devotion, journeying to temples throughout the Central Plains under the guise of making offerings.
But her actual target was the Emei Sect (Ami-pa).
Yet, when she arrived at Emei—
She was turned away.
The nuns were fearful of angering the imperial family.
“Has His Majesty granted you permission to take the vows?” they inquired.
When Ji-ryong hesitated to reply, they promptly refused her.
And so, disheartened, she had no option but to return to the palace.
Until—
Fate took a hand.
On her journey back, she paused at a remote hermitage.
That night, agitated and disheartened, she slipped away from her attendants, climbed the mountain behind the hermitage, and drew her sword.
She simply wished to swing her sword to settle her thoughts.
And then—
Shing.
Shing.
The clear, unmistakable ring of a sword being unsheathed.
She instinctively followed the sound—
And what she saw took her breath away.
A woman.
Dressed in Buddhist robes, yet with long, unbound hair.
A sword dance under the moonlight.
Blades cutting through the darkness.
Leaves, caught in the wake of the sword’s motion, spiraled around the woman before softly drifting to the ground.
Ji-ryong stood motionless, captivated.
This was what she had been searching for.
Then—
The woman’s sharp voice pierced the night.
“It is discourteous to observe another’s practice without asking! What master do you serve, that you are ignorant of such a fundamental courtesy?!”
Startled, Ji-ryong bowed her head.
She had never been taught such a rule—
But more than that, she yearned to learn from this woman.
“I—I have no master. That is why I am lacking such teachings. I apologize.”
“…No master?”
“I was spellbound by your sword. Please, I implore you—instruct me!”
Ji-ryong performed a martial artist’s salute, her form impeccable, just as the commander of the imperial guards had taught her. She had hoped to join Emei Sect, and displaying proper respect was crucial.
The woman examined her closely before allowing a faint smile.
“You seek instruction without even knowing my identity?” she remarked. “Very well. Draw your sword and attack me. It is always worthwhile to nurture the young.”
What followed was like a dream.
In the imperial palace, there had never been anyone with whom she could truly cross blades. Even during sparring matches, her opponents never retaliated with genuine intent. It had been tedious—much too safe.
But here, her adversary did not show restraint.
The first time her robe was cut—when the chill of the woman’s steel grazed her cheek and drew blood—Ji-ryong felt an electric thrill course down her spine.
A fight where her life was genuinely at stake.
This was precisely what she had been seeking.
Clang! Clash!
“You blocked that? Then try blocking this—Great Compassion Thousand-Hand Sword!”
Changg! Crack!
After scores of exchanges, Ji-ryong’s sword—the very one given to her by the Emperor—splintered in two.
She stood there, shaking from the force, her fingers still gripping the broken hilt.
Then, the woman’s voice reached her.
“Give me your wrist.”
Ji-ryong complied, offering her wrist as if in a trance.
The woman held it lightly, checking something before nodding with approval.
“Just as I suspected! You possess remarkable talent. Your internal energy is pure and well-cultivated. There remains a trace of lethal intent in your technique, but that is likely a remnant of your previous training.”
She paused, observing Ji-ryong with a penetrating gaze.
“You stated you had no master. Was that truthful?”
Ji-ryong, still reeling, nodded without a second thought.
At that, the woman smiled.
“Is that so? Then, tell me—would you like to become my disciple?”
Ji-ryong’s breath caught in her throat.
The woman continued, her voice firm.
“I am Lotus of the Sword Pavilion, the Eleventh Sword Queen of Botaram in the Southern Sea.”
Ji-ryong’s eyes widened in astonishment.
“S-Sword Queen!?”
She had, naturally, heard of Botaram before.
But she had focused on Emei Sect because she believed Botaram was far too reclusive, accepting disciples only under the most exceptional circumstances.
She had abandoned that hope long ago.
Yet now, standing before her, was the master of Botaram’s Sword Pavilion herself.
There was no doubt.
Ji-ryong dropped to her knees, pressing her forehead to the earth in the most profound bow of gratitude.
For the first time in her life, she had found what she was seeking.
“Th-thank you! Thank you, Master!”
The woman gave a soft laugh.
“Then, as my disciple, you must perform the proper grand kowtow.”
“Yes, certainly! Master, please accept my bow!”
She carried out the full ceremony, bowing deeply in the traditional manner.
It was only after she finished that her new master spoke again.
“Good. Then, at dawn, we must inform your parents that you have become my disciple. Tell me, where is your home?”
Ji-ryong hesitated, her eyes shifting as if searching for an answer.
Then, with reluctance, she confessed:
“…The imperial palace.”
“…?”
Her master blinked.
After a short silence, she seemed to collect herself and asked, “Ah, so your parents are employed at the palace? What are their positions?”
Ji-ryong fidgeted slightly before finally murmuring her reply.
“…The Emperor.”
Her master’s eyes opened wide in disbelief.