Fabre in Sacheon’s Tang Novel - Chapter 145

Chapter 145
The Sword Queen quickly concealed her surprise, her sharp eyes studying Ji-ryong intently. Her gaze traveled from Ji-ryong’s footwear to her training attire, then to the plain ribbon holding back her hair, and finally came to rest on the shattered sword in her grip. She was clearly evaluating the truth of Ji-ryong’s claim. Her shoes and robes offered no hint of royal lineage, chosen specifically for practice. Her hair was tied in a simple, unadorned style that revealed nothing. But then her master’s focus settled on the broken sword’s hilt. The instant she noticed the multitude of jewels set into it, Ji-ryong heard a distinct, dry swallow.

*Gulp.*

After a prolonged silence, her master finally found her voice. “Can this be… truly? Is it actually so?” She appeared deeply unsettled. Ji-ryong had been her disciple for less than a day. What if her master reversed her decision? What if she was dismissed before her training had even started? A wave of panic crashed over her. Driven by desperation, Ji-ryong snatched up the broken blade and held its edge to her own throat. “If you mean to withdraw your acceptance or forsake me, I—I will end my life right now!”

However, her master was no common swordfighter. She was the Grandmaster of Botaram, the head of the Sword Pavilion, a woman celebrated for achieving the zenith of swordsmanship.

*Clang!*

Before Ji-ryong could even process the movement, a mere flick of her master’s weapon sent the broken sword skittering from her hand. For a heartbeat, she felt hope itself desert her. She yearned to learn the sword. She needed to master the transcendent sword arts that were her destiny. She ached to cleave the dusk, the shadows, the moonbeams—precisely as her master did. But now, that aspiration seemed to be vanishing. Tears pooled in her eyes. “I… I simply wish to learn the sword… more than anything…” If only she were not a princess. Then, she could learn without restraint. Ji-ryong could no longer hold back the sobs that wracked her body. She wept without control.

For a time, her master remained silent, simply observing. Then, she asked in a soft tone, “Why is your desire to learn the sword so consuming?” “…I cannot explain it,” Ji-ryong whispered, her voice quivering. “From the time I first held a sword at six years old… it became my entire world.” There was no profound justification. Since that initial moment she had gripped a sword, it had dominated her every thought. Could anything bring more joy than practicing forms from dawn till dusk? Her master gave a slight nod. “In that case, I wish to hear your story.”

It was not a refusal. It was not abandonment. She was not being sent away. Ji-ryong’s eyes grew wide, and she immediately began recounting her tale. She started at the very beginning—how everything commenced when she first saw the blades worn by the imperial guards. By the time her story concluded, the night had faded and the early sun was ascending. Her master looked toward the dawn, then slowly unsheathed her own sword and laid its flat upon Ji-ryong’s shoulder. “It may be that this, as well, is destiny.” She released a heavy sigh before declaring her verdict. “Very well. When I first saw you, I wondered if the Buddha had sent you to me as an heir. Instead, I will accept you as my secular disciple.”

Ji-ryong shuddered. Botaram did not accept disciples from outside the Buddhist order. Yet, her master had created an exception. “Botaram maintains no secular disciples, but I will make an allowance for you. While we refrain from worldly martial affairs, your position as a princess will inevitably cause difficulties… But I will find a way to address them. You, however, must manage your imperial family on your own.” She was being welcomed. Ji-ryong could scarcely control her feelings. “Th-thank you! Thank you immensely!” And so, under the guise of observing a hundred-day prayer retreat, she stayed at the hermitage, training in secret with her master each night.

The hundred days elapsed in what felt like an instant. On their final day together, her master addressed her. “You are swift—swifter than I anticipated. You have learned the patterns and core principles of the One Hundred and Eight Temple Sword, the Prajna Bodhi Sword, the Great Compassion Thousand-Hand Sword, the Great Compassion Thousand-Mile Sword, and even the Seven Absolute Demon-Subduing Sword in a mere hundred days.” “It is only due to your excellent instruction, Master.” “No.” Her master shook her head. “It is because you are gifted. My sole regret is that, as you are a secular disciple, I cannot impart the Sword Pavilion’s supreme technique—the Eighty-Four Thousand Bodhi Demon-Subduing Sword. This is most regrettable.” Ji-ryong’s breath hitched. She had already acquired so many incredible techniques, and now she was learning of the greatest one, reserved solely for the Sword Pavilion’s legitimate heir. As she journeyed back to the palace, only two thoughts occupied her mind. She must continue her training under her master. And by any means necessary, she would become her master’s successor.

***

“And then…”

*Creeeeak.*

*Tsrrt?*

“Dad?”

Just as the princess was approaching the most critical part of her narrative, the noise of the door swinging inward cut her off. Bini’s inquisitive voice came next. Even with Hwa-eun outside keeping them company, the children had evidently become restless. I turned to the princess and ventured a careful question. “I suspect the interruptions will continue. Would it be acceptable for them to remain inside? I can adjust the seating to clear a space.” She studied them briefly before agreeing. “These little beings certainly heed you well. Very well, do as you see fit. It is not as though they will gossip about my tale.” With that, I rearranged the area so Bini, Cho, and Yohwa could sit close to me. The moment the three of them nestled against me, the princess gave a light laugh and resumed. “Now, where had I gotten to?” “You had just resolved to become your master’s successor,” I prompted. “Ah, correct. So, after returning to the palace, my initial action was to directly inform the Emperor that I had been accepted as a secular disciple of Botaram.” I struggled to maintain a neutral expression. Wait… she simply told him directly? Most individuals would have wrestled with how to conceal it or devise a circumspect method. But she had approached the Emperor and stated it plainly. This princess was formidable. She continued as if it were utterly normal. “Initially, the Emperor was somewhat confused when I stated I had become a secular disciple to study the sword. But after conferring with the commander of the imperial guards and seeing my ability for himself, he was tremendously pleased…”

***

“Therefore, if the princess is now a secular disciple of Botaram, it signifies that her prodigious talent has been formally acknowledged by the martial arts community.” “That is accurate, Your Majesty. The Nine Great Sects and other martial orders do not accept disciples unless they are truly extraordinary. Moreover, Botaram is renowned as a secluded sect that does not take secular disciples. Yet they have breached their own regulations to accept the princess. That fact alone demonstrates how phenomenal she must be.” The Emperor laughed robustly. “Hah! Then I shall bestow a reward upon Botaram for accepting my daughter! I will send a golden crown, a thousand sacks of rice, and silk—no, as it is a monastery, I shall donate one thousand bolts of broadcloth so the monks may fashion their robes.” Ji-ryong felt a surge of relief. She had, at least, found a way to partially repay her master. With the imperial court handled, she proceeded to her next objective.

The next morning, she asked the commander of the imperial guards to join her for tea. “Commander, there is a matter of significance I must discuss with you today.” “With me, Princess?” “Indeed. It concerns Botaram.” “Ah, I understand.” Her master might have believed she lacked a teacher, but in reality, the commander of the imperial guards had been her guide since she was six. He was the sole person she could truly trust. “The truth is, my master desires to name me her successor.” “…Successor!?” The commander’s eyes widened in astonishment. As a former member of the martial world, he comprehended the immense significance of being named the heir to Botaram. “I remain a secular disciple, for now,” Ji-ryong clarified. “But my master laments that I am a princess. If not for that, she would designate me her successor without a second thought.” “…I see. That must be deeply aggravating for you.” Ji-ryong nodded. Aggravating was an understatement. Her fixation on the sword transcended mere frustration. “But to become the successor, I would need to take vows. And the Emperor would never permit that.” Botaram did not compel monks to shave their heads, nor did it prohibit marriage. Even so, it was still considered a monastic path. And the Emperor would never allow his cherished daughter to become a monastic. Ji-ryong, however, had already devised a solution. She smiled with cunning. “Yes. But instead of 出家 (leaving the household; becoming a monk), I will 出嫁 (leave to be married; get married).” “Wha— Cough! Cough!” The commander choked, almost spraying out his tea. He wiped his beard, looking completely confounded. “I—I beg your pardon, Princess. But what is your scheme!? You know the Emperor would never consent to you taking vows! And if this goes awry, it could provoke trouble for Botaram as well. It could bring shame upon the master to whom you have sworn loyalty!” He was plainly concerned that the Emperor’s fury would be turned against Botaram. But Ji-ryong was not speaking of becoming a nun. “When did I mention becoming a monk? I said I would marry.” “…Pardon? Marriage?” That was correct. Ji-ryong had no plan to take monastic vows. She planned to wed. There was logic behind this scheme. Botaram was situated on Mount Putuo (普陀山) within the Zhoushan Archipelago (舟山群島), in Zhejiang Province (浙江省). To reach it, one needed to board a ship from Hangzhou (杭州). Her idea was straightforward. She would marry a man posted to Zhejiang Province, often travel to Mount Putuo under the pretense of visiting her husband, and after his death, she would officially enter the Buddhist order. There was historical precedent—numerous princesses had embraced Buddhism after becoming widows. “A marriage of political convenience, then? A sham?” Ji-ryong nodded. “That is precisely why I require your assistance. Can you locate a man who is not long for this world? Someone suffering from a terminal illness, perhaps?” The commander’s white hair seemed to bleach even whiter.

“So, you are saying the commander actually discovered a man who was both dying and—allow me to confirm—also rather eunuch-like in nature?” “I did not suggest that second part!” Ji-ryong exclaimed, flustered. “The commander insisted! He claimed it would protect my chastity in everyone’s eyes, should anything go awry…!” I barely stifled a laugh. “…But then why are you here in Akyang and not in Hangzhou? I thought you wished to go to Zhejiang?” “Ah! This is where the crucial detail emerges!” As she went on, I understood that Ji-ryong was utterly fanatical regarding swordsmanship. She had orchestrated a false marriage solely to continue her training. No wonder the Governor had been so hesitant to speak of her “husband.” While I shook my head in amazement, she continued. “I petitioned the Emperor to appoint my husband as the governor of Zhejiang, but for the first time, he denied my request.” I lifted an eyebrow. “Why?” “Because Zhejiang is a central hub of commerce. Vast sums of money pass through Hangzhou, and the court ministers vehemently opposed installing an untested man like Binak as governor.” It was reasonable. Zhejiang was too vital to be entrusted to an obscure nobleman lacking experience. “But the Emperor could not entirely disregard my appeal, so he proposed a bargain. If my husband demonstrates his competence here in Akyang, then despite ministerial objections, he will honor my request.” Ji-ryong sighed. “So now, I am trapped here for two or three years, awaiting his proof of worth. That means I cannot visit my master in the interim. That is why I must act. And the finest chance I have is resolving this ‘black bug’ crisis. If I succeed here, I can appeal to the Emperor again to have my husband transferred to Zhejiang.” Now I comprehended. The princess was married, but her husband was a mortally ill man with little time left. She needed to reach Hangzhou to see her master urgently, but that necessitated a significant achievement first. The black bug plague presented the ideal opportunity. “You will assist me, will you not?” she asked, smiling. “You are consumed by venomous creatures, and I am consumed by swordsmanship. Surely, we comprehend one another?” I almost choked. Comprehend one another? Hardly. As I labored to digest the sheer madness of her plan, Ji-ryong suddenly clapped her hands. “Oh! I nearly forgot! Are you solely interested in venomous creatures, or does your interest extend to spiritual beasts as well?” “…Spiritual beasts?” “Yes! If you aid me, I may be able to procure one for you.” “What manner of spiritual beast?” My curiosity was aroused. Ji-ryong grinned. “It is said to be a Huali. But I have not seen it personally. My master referred to it in a letter.” “A Huali?” *Shaaa!* Before I could respond, Yeondu emerged from my clothing, his eyes wide with anticipation. Naturally. Yeondu did not consume Huali merely for nourishment—he ate them out of ingrained habit. It was conceivable that he had once been a Divine Mystic Serpent before his form was diminished. If he could recover his power, he might restore his original self. I smiled. “Princess, you were correct. We do understand one another perfectly.” Ji-ryong radiated delight. “I knew it! So, what is our first step?” “Feed the Governor.” “…I beg your pardon?” “I recall reading a story of a king who consumed a plague of locusts to spare his people from suffering. So, let us do that.” “…Have you lost your senses?” I scratched my chin. “Who was that king, I wonder? Solomon?” My grasp of history was somewhat unreliable.