LLTEEFM 114

#114. That Proposal Was Truly Sincere

“Did you really do that, knowing that child harbored ambitions to bring down the Empire?”

His Majesty quietly looked into my face at my question.

“I just said a moment ago that we needed to talk, didn’t I?”

“Yes, Your Majesty, you did.”

“Then instead of probing me, you should simply ask. After all, you can’t be sure, can you? You only know of her deeds through written records.”

That was true.

I was not one to let suspicions remain mere suspicions. Yet even after more than ten years since reading Jin’s history, I still left my doubts about Yuhyeon unresolved. That was because a chronicle compresses everything into mere lines.

I believed that child was capable of more than that.

I thought her talents suited the role of a minister far better than that of a general.

There had been moments when it felt like there should have been better choices.

And less than a year after her death, her dearest friend—the one she cherished most in life—rose up in rebellion. I had always found that suspicious.

So I was caught by the doubt: what if her incompetence had been deliberate? And yet, I could never be certain.

Perhaps I had overestimated her, blinded by my subjectivity as her father. Perhaps she had her own reasons for choosing the sword over the council.

Perhaps there were circumstances not recorded in the histories that forced her hand.

Perhaps she truly had failed to discern a traitor.

The records of a thousand years past from another continent were too thin, so much so that even about my own flesh and blood, whom I raised myself, I could not hold certainty.

“I wasn’t testing you, Your Majesty,” I said calmly in defense.

“It’s just… this is a matter on which I cannot keep objectivity. I feared I was only using the lack of evidence as an excuse to delay reaching a conviction.”

In other words, I doubted myself—was I simply clinging to the excuse of ‘no proof’ because I wanted to keep believing in my daughter?

Although now, seeing His Majesty’s attitude, I could no longer deny the truth…

“But the way you speak of it means she really did act with impure intent.”

It must all have been planned. The Supreme Commander tightening his grip on power. The Emperor reduced to a figurehead. Her “dearest friend” sparking rebellion as soon as she died.

She would have known—after her death, there would be no one left in the Empire who could command that massive army.

Her friend’s rebellion would succeed, others emboldened would rise in revolt, the puppet emperor would be mocked, and one by one the provinces would break away.

Thus the Empire would collapse. She knew this, and still she closed her eyes.

“Your Majesty placed her on the path to high office, knowing all of this.”

Three years after my death, His Majesty passed away.

So perhaps, just as I died without knowing the road my daughter would take, he too had placed her on the path of power without knowing what would come.

After all, during his lifetime, Yuhyeon remained only a general.

Yet the hypothesis that she had simply lacked ability no longer stood.

His Majesty must have known. If my daughter, capable as she was, remained in the capital, she would eventually gather all military power into her hands. And with that, the balance of authority would shift.

For when incompetence sits upon the throne, loyal service from capable subordinates only makes the ruler slothful.

“You sound like you want to blame me.”

His Majesty gave a quiet laugh. I steadied my roiling chest with another sip of tea. The ice had nearly melted.

“I do not know.”

I did not think a vassal had the right to blame Heaven itself.

In the end, the one who acted was my daughter, so I had even less right to speak.

I knew this with my head. And yet, I could not suppress the feeling that demanded to spill out.

The Jin Empire—was the masterpiece of my life. Not mine alone, not built by me alone, but still, I poured most of my years into its making and perfection.

And to think that what I poured my life into unraveled faster than the years I devoted to it—it was unbearable. Someone had to be held accountable.

But whom?

My head spun.

“Perhaps… it might have been better if I had simply never been certain at all.”

After all, it was I who raised her wrong. I who drove her toward such a choice.

“Then blame me.”

His Majesty pressed down on my trembling hand with his own, stilling it. My emotions, sodden and heavy, spilled out at last.

“Your Majesty, you could have done something, anything!”

Even though I had submitted without resistance, His Majesty was the sort of man who could cut down a flawless right hand in an instant, and still have his ministers afraid of him.

To remove a child barely stepped into office, to suppress her ambition before it shook the Empire—it would have been nothing to him.

He could have bound her—not by killing, but simply by giving her all necessities while denying her power. Restraining a child is easier than twisting a wrist.

“I could have,” His Majesty admitted without resistance.

“But I saw no reason to.”

“Why not?”

“Because you were gone.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. I did not want to see his face as he said that.

“So blame me. I made a choice worthy of blame.”

His voice was flat and steady.

“Though I was ruler of a nation, once you were gone I could no longer bring myself to care about what happened after my death. That child was the last legacy you left me. —That is why.”

It was calm, almost indifferent. Yet it was that choice which left His Majesty branded in history as the root cause of the Empire’s fall.

Decades of achievement reduced to a footnote: “In his later years, he cut down loyal men in excessive suspicion, thereby weakening the state.”

As if the judgments of posterity meant nothing to him.

As if the Empire itself meant nothing to him.

“Did you not love Jin?”

I had to ask.

“Well… my feelings for that country are complicated. To explain it, I would have to start from the moment I became king.”

When I opened my eyes again, his expression matched his calm voice—flat, unreadable.

Yet it was not the usual composure, but rather the absence of knowing what expression to wear at all.

“If I must put it into words—it is more fitting to say that you were more important to me than the nation.”

I clenched my teacup tightly. It was not something I wanted to hear. Yet I could not stop it, either.

“Baekryeon.”

That old name, spoken again.

I regretted not discarding it long ago.

“You must have gravely misunderstood the depth of my affection.”

“I did?”

The question slipped out on its own. Could it be? Truly?

“Baekryeon.”

A bitter smile appeared on his otherwise expressionless face.

“That proposal was truly sincere.”

I had never doubted that. After all, one would have no reason to make such a proposal if it were not.

But as if that alone were not enough, His Majesty sighed and added words I had not expected at all.

“I truly never wished to take anyone else as my Empress but you.”

I blinked slowly.

Really? For such a reason?

Not taking an Empress had shackled him his entire life.

In truth, the vacant Crown Prince’s seat was the greater issue, which was why less fuss was made about it, but still—leaving the throne of the Empress empty was never a good thing.

The management of the Inner Palace suffered, too.

But I had thought even that was intentional.

Because the absence of an Empress meant the concubines fought amongst themselves, eroding their factions.

Because all hoped His Majesty would elevate their favored concubine, and so they vied for his favor.

I thought he sought division over stability to preserve authority.

Even after his proposal to me, I still thought so.

For the Emperor I knew—he was not one to let sentiment dictate politics.

Only now, hearing his words, did I truly realize: the “Emperor I thought I knew” might never have been real.

At last, I arrived at the same conclusion he must have, after months of contemplation in the cold northern winds.

“You cannot be serious.”

It was so hard to accept that I denied it without thinking.

“I am serious.”

His answer was short. And because it was short, it was all the more undeniable.