“A… Divine Spirit?”

Yi Hon, the King of Joseon, stared at the imperial edict in bewilderment, his eyes scanning the characters over and over. Yet the two characters for ‘Divine Spirit’ (神靈) remained fixed on the paper, refusing to vanish.

A spirit has come? Here? When?

As the King tilted his head in confusion, Lee Yi-cheom let out a dry cough and spoke with measured caution. “Since the Son of Heaven keeps thaumaturges and Daoists close to his person, I dare to worry that their influence has seeped into the drafting of this imperial command.”

His words were a polite way of saying the Emperor was a madman obsessed with sorcery, rendering his diplomatic documents incapable of distinguishing between sense and nonsense. It was a treasonous observation, yet not a single official in the room raised an objection. It was simply too accurate to deny.

The implication, however, was far more dire than a mere eccentric hobby. No matter how many times Joseon might reply with a polite “Haha, there must be a misunderstanding,” an emperor who surrounded himself with mystics was bound to indulge in wild fantasies. If the Great Ming was currently in peril while a propitious spirit had supposedly appeared in a vassal state, refusing to deliver that spirit would be seen as an act of defiance. To a sorcery-obsessed monarch, failure to produce the ‘Divine Spirit’ could easily be framed as high treason.

It was public knowledge that the reigning Tianqi Emperor was a simpleton. Joseon had enough eyes and ears in Beijing to know that a eunuch named Wei Zhongxian handled the actual affairs of state, manipulating the Emperor through the very thaumaturges he planted. In such a climate, an edict demanding they ‘escort the spirit’ was a command that brooked no reality-based refusal.

Through the unique reality-bending power of a Middle Kingdom ruler, Joseon’s past had been effectively rewritten. In the Emperor’s eyes, the recent suppression of rebellion and Joseon’s sudden economic and military growth were all the work of this spirit. Consequently, the Joseon court was now in a position where they had to conjure a spirit out of thin air and march it all the way to Beijing.

“What are we to do then?” Yi Hon hissed, his voice trembling with a frustration that bordered on a string of curses. “How are we supposed to find a spirit, and how do we carry it like a common piece of cargo?” He found it utterly absurd that he had to suffer such a headache simply because he served a superior who had lost his mind.

A heavy silence fell over the gathered officials until one spoke up. “···Your Majesty.”

“Speak.”

“If we look closely at the wording of the Son of Heaven’s command, we can find a grain of truth within it. Is it not a fact that we suppressed the rebels with outside help and acquired a vast amount of treasure?”

“······.”

Yi Hon and his ministers fell into deep contemplation. They thought of the man who had helped the King crush the rebellion. The man who had brought a fortune so vast it would have overfilled hundreds of ships. The man who had provided the decisive aid needed to repel the Jin barbarians.

Could it be?

A chill ran down their spines as they realized the identity of the Emperor’s ‘Divine Spirit.’ Yi Hon let out a low, groaning whisper.

“······Oitotan!”

***

“So… they think the Divine Spirit is Oitotan?”

“It would seem so, Your Majesty,” the envoy replied, bowing low. “The Son of Heaven appears to be under a massive misunderstanding······”

“······.”

Thank God.

I felt a profound sense of relief. Neither Joseon nor Ming had truly figured me out. If Joseon still couldn’t grasp the true nature of the Continental Covenant, there was no way China—a nation that had never even directly contacted us—could pierce my identity.

I looked at Yun Seondo and the other delegates while Eleanor whispered in my ear, “Are you… actually going to China?”

Not a chance. I was far too busy managing the Covenant and preventing the war in Europe to waste several years wandering around China. Since the Joseon people didn’t even suspect I was the spirit, there was even less reason to leave.

But what if I sent the actual Oitotan?

“Heh… hehehe… I wonder what I could sell in China,” Oitotan muttered to himself, a greedy glint in his eye. “Ah, Nemo? Just give the word and I will march straight to China and kick their locked gates wide open—”

“No, thank you,” I cut him off.

I couldn’t risk it. If I sent Oitotan and the Chinese court realized he was just a man, they’d brand him a fake, and everything—including our trade—would be ruined. Besides, trade with China was already expanding sufficiently through Joseon.

The conclusion was clear from the start. “Regrettably, we cannot visit China in person. I am truly sorry to miss the honor of meeting the Chinese Emperor.”

I couldn’t see the envoys’ faces as they lay prostrate, but I imagined they had turned the color of ash.

“H-however…!”

“Surely your court doesn’t actually expect you to bring back a spirit,” I reasoned. “If one wishes to summon a god, they perform a sincere rite to Heaven and Earth. Why would they ask you?”

“······.”

“However,” I added, causing Yun Seondo and the others to flinch as if they might lift their heads. “I cannot let you return empty-handed. You have traveled a great distance, after all.”

These men were Nameless Sect members we had carefully cultivated in Joseon. I couldn’t leave them with a political weakness that might ruin them. I clapped my hands and looked at the table, where various refreshments were laid out. Staring at the sweets, I mentally calculated the logistics. Travel from the Covenant to China took roughly two or three months now. If we set up the proper facilities······

It might just work.

“I shall give you something that is practically a symbol of our Covenant. Present it to the Son of Heaven and deliver these words.” I spoke slowly and clearly, and the envoys’ faces brightened as they memorized every syllable.

What I told them was this:

***

“‘Heaven bestows propitious signs not merely to bless a peaceful reign, but to command that the imperial legacy be maintained with virtue and that mercy be spread across the world to stabilize the nation. It was for this purpose that I appeared before the people of the Kingdom of Scholars in days past. Today, I bestow this fruit upon your sovereign.’ ······Those were His words.”

As the Chief Envoy from Joseon finished speaking, the imperial box was opened. Just as he had claimed, the contents were incredibly fresh. Everyone in the room flinched, their faces reflecting the shock of seeing something that simply shouldn’t exist.

Before them lay grapes as large as human eyeballs, a brilliant, translucent yellowish-green like carved jade. They looked as though they had been picked moments ago.

It was currently March.

Grape harvests typically occur in summer or autumn. Even if these men had traveled from the far east by ship, the journey would have taken months. Whether the fruit had come from the land of gods or simply from Joseon, it was physically impossible for it to remain this fresh. The mere presence of such perfect fruit was undeniable proof of divine harmony. As the gathered officials stared with their mouths agape, the Emperor spoke.

“Uh… how does it taste?” Zhu Youjiao asked, tilting his head.

The officials moved to stop him, horrified that he might consume a divine omen, but they fell silent when Wei Zhongxian glared them down. The Chief Envoy turned to Yun Seondo, who had actually visited the Covenant. Yun stepped forward and prostrated himself.

“The Celestial Deity offered them to me, but I did not dare touch them. How could a subject taste such a treasure before his King?”

It was the perfect answer. Wei Zhongxian’s eyes crinkled with satisfaction, and Yun Seondo let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“Then I shall be the first!” Zhu Youjiao declared, ignoring the gravity of the situation as he salivated. As the grapes were placed before him, Yun Seondo continued his explanation.

“The Deity called these ‘Sunlight Roses’ (Shine Muscat). He said they are also excellent when coated in melted sugar and hardened······”

“Oh… Ohhh! Truly! This is a food fit for the spirits of Heaven and Earth! This sweet aroma······!”

Watching the Emperor’s ecstatic reaction, Yun Seondo felt a twinge of regret. Perhaps he should have taken a bite himself, regardless of the political risk. While Yun swallowed his disappointment, the Emperor turned with sparkling eyes to Wei Zhongxian.

“You there, Director! Have a taste! Is this not a propitious food sent by God?”

Wei Zhongxian frowned slightly, annoyed at having to break decorum in front of a vassal envoy. But since it was an imperial command, he bowed his head and cautiously popped a grape into his mouth.

“······.”

He then reached out, grabbed several more, and stuffed them into his sleeve. The entire court was stunned. It had actually happened. The envoy sent to Joseon had returned with fruit bestowed by a god for the Emperor. No one understood how it was possible. Had they literally ascended to heaven and back?

The officials who had been preparing memorials to purge the ‘treacherous Wei Zhongxian’ and his ‘puppet sorcerer’ looked as if they were about to foam at the mouth. This wasn’t the Bronze Age; how could such a miracle occur? No one could believe it.

“······.”

Actually, Zhang couldn’t believe it either. Stunned by the admiring gazes fixed upon him, he cast his eyes downward. This prompted whispers of “Oh, look how that thaumaturge is both gifted and humble······.”

Since a deity had actually bestowed fruit, the Ming Empire now had to enter a golden age of peace. If it didn’t, Zhang would be held responsible for conspiring with Joseon to commit a divine fraud. He would be executed. But until that happened······

“Summon the sorcerer! I shall bestow a great reward upon him!”

“Y-your Majesty’s grace is… boundless······”

He was a national hero. The center of the empire. Zhang was now the Emperor’s closest confidant.

Turning his head, he saw Wei Zhongxian smiling at him with an intensity that promised death if he failed. The Emperor, meanwhile, was busy devouring the grapes, only occasionally looking up at him. Zhang broke into a cold sweat and waited for the formalities to end. The moment he could, he rushed toward the young Joseon envoy who had supposedly met the spirit.

“You there! Did you truly see the spirit, just as I prophesied?” Zhang asked, making sure to emphasize his own role.

Yun Seondo couldn’t exactly tell a sorcerer to buzz off. He also couldn’t say, “No? I’m a Christian, I don’t believe in that junk.” He recited a quiet Lord’s Prayer in his head and spoke.

“······I traveled to the far east. It was there I obtained that fruit.”

It wasn’t a lie. He had gone east, and he had gotten the grapes.

Zhang wiped the sweat from his brow, his words becoming a rambling mess. “The far east? Ah! So the Three Divine Mountains that Xu Fu sought on Qin Shi Huang’s orders were truly in the east! Tell me, did you see the Herb of Eternal Youth and the ageless immortals?”

Yun Seondo scoffed inwardly. He had wondered what kind of man the Emperor favored, but he was just another fool like Xu Fu. He was about to stifle a laugh when a thought struck him.

“······.”

“···What is it? Why do you look like that?” Zhang asked.

Wait. Ageless?

“You there? Answer me!”

What had the Prince of the Continental Covenant looked like eight years ago?

Wait…

Huh?

“Wake up! What is wrong with you!”

Yun Seondo collapsed right where he stood.

“Did you… did you already know?” Yun whispered to Zhang. Zhang remained silent.

Yun Seondo had realized the ‘truth.’