Sejong and Lee Hyang at Cheonchujeon (1) / Revised "Shinmi"
After the night watch drum sounded, Lee Hyang carried a bowl of ripe cherries and headed toward Cheonchujeon.
The cherry trees that brightened the Eastern Palace with pink blossoms each spring were a symbol of the Crown Prince's deep filial devotion.
They were trees Lee Hyang had personally planted and carefully tended for King Sejong, who especially loved cherries.
In a room cluttered with sheets of paper covered in unfamiliar symbols scattered among books, Sejong had recently shut himself inside Cheonchujeon under the pretense of illness, putting the final touches on the creation of a new script.
After savoring the cherries Lee Hyang had carefully selected, spitting the pits onto a tray, Sejong spoke warmly.
"Didn't your father throw out two things at once? Then, in order to oppose sitting facing south—even at the cost of their lives—they will willingly accept being called 'subjects.' Remember this, Hyang. Throw two things. If there is something you must push through, throw something even stronger alongside it."
After returning from Onyang Palace, Sejong had declared that he would hand over all royal authority—except military command and appointment powers—to the Crown Prince.
The decree ordered that the Crown Prince would sit facing south like a king to conduct state affairs, and that all officials should address him as "subject," just as they would the king.
Though it was a sincere intention to fully transfer authority to Lee Hyang, the officials—remembering how King Taejong had once used abdication as a pretext for purges—feared they might be struck down if they naïvely agreed. Thus, they submitted memorials daily in opposition.
"I need time to complete these letters. And you, too, need time to cultivate your own people. Are not my people and my era growing too old?"
Sejong said this while popping another handful of cherries into his mouth and picking up his brush.
He had misunderstood the Crown Prince's urgent request for a private audience the previous night, thinking it was about stepping back from the controversy over the "facing south" issue.
Believing he had already resolved all his son's concerns, Sejong wrote the consonant bieup (ㅂ), added ieung (ㅇ) beneath it, and moved his cherry-filled lips as if testing the sound.
Lee Hyang gazed quietly at his father, who wore only light everyday clothes and a thin robe, his long hair loosely tied behind him without even forming a proper topknot.
Even dressed as disheveled as a rogue, Father still carries the dignity of a sovereign.
Should I just leave?
If he turned back now, he could continue being the "filial Crown Prince Lee Hyang," as naturally as breathing.
He could embrace his fifteen talented younger brothers whom his father cherished, and thus become a wise ruler who successfully inherited the legacy of a sage king—
No. Gwon-ga said otherwise.
I die early. Hongwi is executed by his uncles. Half of Father's officials are swept away. In the end, only the cruel and greedy remain to lead Joseon.
Even if it might not come to pass, knowing of such a possible tragedy and failing to prepare would make him a sinner before the state.
"Your Majesty, I, Lee Hyang, Crown Prince of Joseon, have a request."
At that very moment, Sejong was forming the labial sound "beu" with his lips full of cherries.
Thus, he did not immediately register that Lee Hyang had addressed him not as "Father," but as a subject addressing his sovereign.
"Yes? Speak."
"It would be best to appoint the royal grandson as Crown Prince's heir early next year, Your Majesty."
"!"
Startled by the unexpected statement, Sejong spat out a cherry pit—still half-covered in flesh—to buy time to grasp his son's intent.
"…Isn't the heir usually appointed at eight years old, when he can read the Elementary Learning? Our Hongwi is only three…"
His son had always anticipated his thoughts and spoken accordingly.
So Sejong deliberately prolonged his words, expressing reluctance.
But today, Lee Hyang was nothing like the pleasing color of the ripe cherries.
"Is there a particular reason for requesting the appointment so early?"
In the end, Sejong asked first.
"I wish to strengthen the position of the royal grandson and secure the stability of the state."
"…!"
Sejong set down his brush and looked at his son.
The warm father from moments ago had instantly become the sovereign of Joseon, ruler of all under heaven—his gaze cold and absolute. Yet Lee Hyang did not waver.
"I will also move the royal grandson's residence to the Eastern Palace. If he remains outside, unnecessary conflicts will arise around his residence, and in turn, factions may grow to resent or oppose him."
"…You heard about what happened in the Queen's Palace. But Hyang, wasn't it merely a minor scuffle among boys? Even you, kind as you are, traded blows with Suyang and Anpyeong when you were young, and the two of you were scolded together by me."
Sejong now understood what had prompted this and tried to soothe his son.
But Lee Hyang remained firm.
"When he turns four next year, I wish to establish the Crown Prince's Heir Education Office, assign him the finest tutors, and select five or six sons from prestigious families to study alongside him."
"…."
It was still dawn, before the sun had fully risen.
Within Cheonchujeon, lit brightly by candles, the air grew tense.
A father who was still the reigning monarch, though he had handed over much power—
And a son who governed officials yet possessed nothing entirely his own.
In this space where only the present ruler and the future ruler stood face to face, a silent confrontation unfolded.
The rigid silence lasted for a long while.
Somewhere, a belated rooster crowed, announcing the coming day.
"This script… it is nearly complete. When do you think it should be proclaimed?"
The heavy silence was finally broken as Sejong lifted a sheet of paper.
"My hands tremble, and my eyesight is failing. What do you think?"
On the paper, the characters for "royal authority" were written shakily, distorted by his trembling hand.
The father who once seemed an insurmountable giant had grown so frail. Time had passed this far.
"…It is well written, Father."
Lee Hyang replied, his voice thick with emotion.
Hearing him struggle to hold back tears, Sejong frowned.
"You… trying to cry again? Stop it. Enough. You have Hongwi now—how long will you keep bursting into tears? Because your heart is so soft, isn't that why people treat Hongwi lightly?"
Scolding him, Sejong had already returned to being a gentle father once more.
"Who do you think I learned it from? Watching how you endlessly protected Uncle Yangnyeong."
Though they reproached each other for their softness, both father and son bore deep चिंता.
If Hongwi were formally appointed heir, all the tensions and conflicts long buried would inevitably surface.
In the royal family, having many descendants was both a great blessing—and a great misfortune.
Sejong, who had spent his life resisting pressure to eliminate his elder brother Yangnyeong, understood all too well the burden his son would have to bear.
Moreover, the Crown Prince's brothers were all exceptionally capable.
Aside from Prince Imyeong—who had already been stripped of his title twice for assaulting palace maids—whether Suyang or Anpyeong, any of them would be worthy of becoming Crown Prince.
Unlike Sejong's own situation—where one brother had been deposed for misconduct and another had turned to Buddhism early—Lee Hyang had too many capable brothers, which was both a joy for a father and a threat to royal authority.
And yet, one was a father, and the other a son. Their positions could not be the same.
Thus, unable to speak plainly, King Sejong avoided the sharp conflict by shifting the topic to the new script and gave his answer to his son.
"Establish an office for the Crown Prince's Heir Investiture and proceed. Is this not the first time since the founding of Joseon that a royal grandson is being appointed as heir? Take this opportunity to lay out the procedures in detail."
"Whom shall we appoint as Chief Director of the office?"
"Whom… do you wish to appoint?"
The Chief Director who would lead the investiture office held both symbolic and practical importance.
From overseeing the investiture ceremony, to selecting the heir's tutors, to choosing the young companions from noble families who would study alongside him and form bonds of loyalty—it was a role deeply involved in shaping the future ruler.
Moreover, in times of crisis, this person would be responsible for protecting the heir. Appointing someone to this role was, in effect, a declaration of which individual and which faction the royal family trusted to safeguard the future monarch.
Yet such power came with grave risks. Should that person turn, they might rule in the young king's name—or worse, become like Wang Mang, Dong Zhuo, Cao Cao, or Sima Yi, bringing ruin to the state.
Thus, the decision required extreme caution.
Lee Hyang was about to name Chief State Councillor Hwang Hui, but suddenly stopped and closed his lips.
—"Your Highness dies early, and when the young prince ascends the throne, the grand princes covet royal power and rebel!"
The warning of Lady Gwon echoed loudly in his ears.
Lord Hwang Hui is too old. He serves only the sovereign without forming factions, but he will not live long enough to protect Hongwi.
I must protect my son. From my own brilliant brothers.
Lee Hyang's hand slowly clenched the cushion beneath him.
Even with dimming eyesight, Sejong did not miss that small movement.
So it cannot be avoided after all…
A sigh escaped him, his chest tightening.
Understanding his father's feelings, Lee Hyang chose his words carefully.
"I will observe for a few days and report my decision."
"Yes. For Hongwi, and for all—be cautious."
"Yes, Father. And… about those letters."
After a moment of hesitation, Lee Hyang finally asked,
"Have you, by any chance, taught them to Lady Gwon?"
"Lady Gwon? You mean that bold nursemaid who fiercely stood up to Suyang's wife for Hongwi the other day?"
"Yes, Father. However…"
Lee Hyang hesitated, then spoke quickly.
"That child knows the script, Father. And she knows it very well—better than I do."
"That child?"
Sejong looked surprised, then, as he retraced his memory, nodded.
"Ah… she must have had contact with Jeong-ui. Yeodal was always running about everywhere, wasn't he? He used to play with Hongwi often."
The creation of the new script had involved not only the Crown Prince and the grand princes, but also Princess Jeong-ui, who was skilled in mathematics.
Her eldest son, An Yeodal, was known for being so restless that he roamed all over the palace.
Sejong recalled the court lady who had bravely stepped forward for Hongwi.
"That child said something quite interesting. That the ability to tell lies differs by age. She called it 'age-based cognitive ability.'"
He felt a strong curiosity about what other knowledge might be hidden inside that unusual mind.
"She also told me, 'The skin must be given time to breathe.' That if one wears too many layers, the skin cannot breathe and is prone to boils."
He did not mention that she had predicted such boils could lead to sudden death.
Whenever he thought of Lady Gwon, he recalled her vivid, piercing eyes—and with it came a growing urgency, almost like thirst, along with a sense of impending crisis: the need to prevent an untimely death and the tragedy that would follow.
"I should summon her soon. Perhaps I should call Hongwi as well and have him learn these letters? Was not our goal to create a script that even a three-year-old could easily learn?"
"I hear Hongwi has nearly memorized the Thousand Character Classic. Even the proud Seong Sam-mun praised him as more gifted in learning than himself. He would likely master this script within days."
At the mention of his son, Lee Hyang's face brightened. Sejong watched him quietly, then muttered,
"You doting fool."
"Ah… I apologize, Father."
Seeing his son hurriedly apologize, Sejong's expression grew complicated.
He feared that such deep love for one child might lead to estrangement among brothers.
And that concern was confirmed in what followed.
"Your Majesty, the famine is severe. We must soon perform a rain ritual. Moreover, many people, exhausted by hunger, are abandoning their homes and wandering across the provinces. I propose we greatly reduce the tributes required from all eight provinces for the time being."
Not a single word spoken by a ruler was without intent.
Silence fell again.
Sejong did not speak—and Lee Hyang endured the heavy silence with equal resolve.