"Go quickly, and summon His Majesty here!" the physician commanded.
The court lady bowed deeply. "Yes, Doctor."
Silence fell across the palace. Only the faint echo of her footsteps carried through the marble corridors, spreading like whispers in the still air.
She moved swiftly, her pace urgent yet graceful, until suddenly she halted. Before her stood the shrine room — the sacred chamber where the King often knelt in worship before the Buddha. The flickering lanterns cast long shadows across the golden statue, and the air was heavy with incense and unspoken prayers.
The King spoke, his voice rich and beautiful, filling the chamber with a sudden energy. Without turning his head, he asked calmly, "What is the matter?"
The Queen lifted her hand, granting permission for the court lady to lower herself and raise her eyes. With a troubled voice, the court lady finally spoke: "Doctor has called for you urgently, Majesty. The King wishes to see you at once."
Suddenly, the King bowed before the Buddha, his movements solemn yet steady. He rose and began walking toward the grand royal chambers. Along the way, he already knew what awaited him next, yet his demeanor betrayed no sadness, no trouble. His face remained calm, his steps unwavering.
But the Queen understood. She could see through the silence, knowing exactly how the King felt within. Without a word, she carried the weight of his hidden sorrow in her heart. And so, the King continued on his path.
The King entered the chamber and gently clasped his father's hand with sympathy. The old King's weary face lit up with joy at the sight of his only son.
Memories stirred within him — the day his son was born, when he was named Han Zhen, a name chosen to symbolize royalty, kindness, and dignity. He recalled every moment of his son's life, from the laughter of childhood to the lessons of youth. Father and son shared the sweetest memories, a bond woven through time and love.
The chamber, though silent, was filled with the warmth of those cherished recollections.
Suddenly, the Grand King commanded silence and solitude. All the court ladies and doctors quietly left the chamber. The Queen too departed, but before leaving, she offered her husband a gentle smile — a silent gesture of sympathy. The heavy doors closed, sealing the chamber in stillness.
In a trembling voice, the father spoke: "I may be an intelligent and kind king… but not like you. You are incomparable in this world. No one could ever be like you. You are priceless."
The King could no longer control his feelings. From his eyes, tears fell like pearls, shimmering in the silence.
"It is nothing about me," he whispered. "It is all about you. You gave me everything — my nature, my joy, my dignity. All of it comes from you, Father."
The Grand King smiled faintly. "No… you are not me. You are greater. But I am the culprit
In grief, the father's voice trembled: "I am the culprit… I am guilty. A husband who could not save his wife, who lost the mother of a child. That burden is mine."
The chamber grew heavy with sorrow, as father and son shared their pain in silence.
The father's voice trembled as he spoke: "Han Zhen… my time is coming."
The King wept, his tears falling freely. "No, Father… this cannot happen."
But the Grand King shook his head. "No, my son. This is destiny. Whoever is born must also face death. It is the rule of nature, and you cannot change it. Yet… this is not the right time."
The King cried out:
The father's voice trembled: "I am the culprit. I have committed sins, and this is the weight I carry."
The son cried out: "No, Father… you have done no sins. You are pure."
But the old King replied with sorrow: "No… this is all because of me, all my sins, all my deeds."
The son's grief deepened: "No, Father… you are not the culprit."
The father's eyes glistened as he whispered: "I am the culprit. But at this moment, I want to ask you something. After my death, will you do one thing for me — something that will ease my heart? Can you promise me this?"
The chamber fell silent, the question hanging heavy in the air, as if the walls themselves waited for the King's reply. The son cried out, his voice breaking: "Yes, Father… why would I not do it? Of course I will. Just tell me once — what is this thing? Tell me."
The father's voice grew heavy, trembling with confession: "It is your mother… Can you give her freedom? Can you release her soul?"
The son's eyes widened in shock. "But Mother died many years ago. How can I free her now?"
The old King shook his head slowly, his words cutting through the silence: "No… your mother is alive. Her death was a myth, a story I created. She still lives, waiting for her freedom."
The son cried out in desperation: "If she is alive, then where is she now? Tell me, Father! Why have you hidden this truth from us?"
The old King's breath grew shallow, his voice trembling: "I have not had enough time to tell you the whole story. But now I will tell you only this — the freedom of your mother lies where you will find the purest, holiest ghost. His name is Bai Zhen. He knows everything."
His breathing slowed, each word heavy with finality. The young King held his father tightly, grief consuming him. "But where will I find him?" he pleaded.
The father whispered: "All things… near your mother. Near your mother…"
Then, with a final sigh, the Grand King closed his eyes forever.
The son embraced his father's lifeless body, tears streaming down his face. "You cannot leave me, Father… why has this happened? Why?"
The chamber echoed with his grief, as destiny began to unfold.
Hearing the sound of grief, the Queen entered the chamber. She held her husband gently, offering silent sympathy. The doctors rushed forward and checked the Grand King once more, but the ray of his life had already faded. He would never return to them again.
The chamber fell into silence, heavy with sorrow. Now, the burden of mystery lay upon the young King — how would he solve it? The answer awaited in the next chapter…