By morning the sky had finally cleared.

  The gray clouds drifted south, the air carried the first timid scent of greenery. Sparrows chirped livelily.

  The tribute carts were led out of the magistracy courtyard, filling the entire street all the way to the city gates, while inside the courtyard itself the embassy of Great Qing was being ceremonially sent on its way.

  The magistrate of Anju stood on the steps in formal robes, proclaiming blessings in a loud voice. Townspeople hungry for spectacle crowded closer to the stone walls. Envoy Zhao, surrounded by his retinue, listened to the empty words with a good-natured, drowsy smile. Both great princes were already dressed for travel and ready to escort the embassy on the final stretch of its journey to the Qing border.

  Yi Yun desperately fought against a yawn. He had barely slept that night and could not wait for the ceremonial part to finally end, for Prince Rui to announce the Crown Prince as promised the night before, and for them to seize the conspirators. White Banner soldiers secretly accompanying the regent and Joseon guards from the Wangwisa had already taken their positions, waiting only for the signal to arrest the criminals. For now, however, the trap refused to snap shut.

  They had managed to avert the assassination.

  After returning from their short walk, Prince Rui declared that he had to celebrate his brother’s birthday (neglecting to specify which one out of twenty) and held a drinking bout right in his own quarters, inviting even some of the bewildered, newly awakened drivers and servants. They were now yawning no less than Yi Yun himself. In such a noisy crowd the assassin would not have been able to approach unnoticed.

  In the end the regent persuaded the princes to go rest, but in the middle of the night Captain Chong’s condition worsened. He thrashed and moaned in delirium, and between preparing some documents for the morning Yi Yun was forced to change the wounded man’s bandages and wipe his brow instead of sleeping even on the floor.

  So now he waited patiently for the dull speeches to end, so that they could proceed with the arrests.

  “You all know that the Emperor has commanded me to appoint the Crown Prince of Joseon!” Prince Rui proclaimed. The people gathered in the courtyard fell silent. For the Joseon audience, a translator repeated the speech in Korean. “I observed Great Prince Seojin and Great Prince Dojun with utmost care, questioned them, and tested their intentions. The choice of a Crown Prince is the choice of the country’s future. Joseon and Great Qing are bound together, and therefore I was obliged to approach this matter with all diligence, to ensure both our lands long years of peace and prosperity!”

  The crowd buzzed again, voices rising in approval. It seemed that not only the royal court but the people themselves were uneasy about the absence of an heir. They, too, wanted certainty and clarity in what awaited them.

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  “Now I will inscribe the name of the Crown Prince into the edict with red ink. The Emperor has already affixed his seal, and no further confirmation is required.” Prince Rui gestured, and a servant ran up with a portable table bearing a brush and an inkstone. “And you will all bear witness that my choice accords with the laws and traditions of Great Qing.”

  He unrolled the scroll in his hand, dipped the brush in red, and wrote several characters on the thick paper.

  “Great Prince Dojun,” the regent, playing the role of envoy, turned to Hyun and beckoned him closer. “Will you read the decree to the people?”

  Yi Yun suppressed another yawn and looked at his younger brother. Hyun accepted the precious document with full ceremony, yet Yi Yun could see him shining as he touched it. Hyun unrolled the scroll — and his gaze froze.

  “Read it,” the regent reminded.

  Then Hyun smiled again and said:

  “From this day, by the will of the Son of Heaven, the Crown Prince of Joseon, to the joy of the king and the good of the people, shall be Great Prince Seojin, personal name Yi Yun!”

  He handed the decree to the eunuch beside him, extended his arms before his chest, and ceremonially bowed to the astonished Yi Yun.

  “Accept my congratulations, elder brother!”

  Yi Yun stared wide-eyed at Prince Rui. Had he not told him that night that he did not wish to see him as king? Had he not just declared that the Crown Prince must bring peace to their lands? This had to be a mistake! They needed gentle, outwardly compliant Hyun, not him.

  And yet pride flooded Yi Yun, as if he had suddenly won an archery tournament or passed the state examination first. As if he had walked all day through the mountains and at last drunk from a cold, fresh stream. He had been recognized as the best! Even his respected enemy could not ignore his worth.

  Only now did Yi Yun realize how important this praise from the regent of the Great Qing was to him.

  Then he remembered the ghost who had inhabited his body, its efforts to obtain this decree, and doubt returned.

  “I am honored, but you are making a mistake, esteemed Envoy Zhao,” he addressed Prince Rui. It was a pity they could not speak in private. “My younger brother, who was trained for this, is better suited to the role and would bring greater benefit to Joseon.”

  “I admit, at first I truly hesitated,” Prince Rui said, as if nodding to his own thoughts. “But the actions of Great Prince Seojin yesterday and today convinced me of the correctness of this choice. I know you possess the resolve and firmness to rule the people. And it pleases me to see unity among brothers and peace restored. Continue to support one another for the good of Joseon. A thousand years to the Crown Prince!”

  The crowd erupted in cheers, taking up the acclamation, and Yi Yun had no choice but to bow and accept the appointment. His soul sang with pride. Prince Rui had said “yesterday and today” — he truly had chosen Yi Yun, not the court-polished Yi Ho! It was incomprehensible and astonishing, yet the cunning Manchu had seen through all the masks and stratagems he and Hyun had worn and drawn the correct conclusion about his character.

  Did he know that Yi Yun was an assassin? Perhaps, if he had stopped him so confidently that night. And still he deemed it acceptable, deciding that Yi Yun was the one who could bring the greatest good to the people of Joseon. That this good outweighed his past errors. Was this the chance for atonement he had dreamed of without realizing it?

  The long-lost eight-year-old prince whom his father-king had once lifted laughing toward the sun had grown and returned, to share that warmth and light with his country!