He ran away as fast as he could, and Xiaobo had the momentary impulse to shout for someone to stop him, but the princess waved away her initiative. “How did Your Highness know?”
“My son told me, of course. He couldn’t bear to be part of your plan without alerting me that you were going to make a move in my name.”
“Did you have to tell the traitor that it was my doing?”
The princess saw her concern and grabbed her arms to reassure her. “Two reasons. Firstly, he may be a traitor, but he’s still a soldier. He has the right to know which enemy defeated him.”
“But now that he knows—”
“Secondly, early this morning, my brother signed a decree ordering the execution of the entire Zheng family. Guard, concubine, and pretender.” Xiaobo looked again in the direction Lady Zheng’s father had run, but he was nowhere in sight. “You can stop worrying. They must be arresting him as we speak.”
“Then it’s over,” said Xiaobo with relief. “All of the Emperor’s closest enemies are out of the way.”
“Don’t rush to conclusions. Now we need to discuss more important matters. As I said, you have my gratitude for saving my brother’s life. However, by focusing on one man, your actions have endangered all of China.”
“What do you mean?”
She led Xiaobo to another location farther from the square, almost hidden between two city blocks. “You know that our father never wanted him to rule. A decade was wasted in quarreling with legal scholars over the succession, until tradition, as always, prevailed. The result is that the usual provisions for ensuring a complete political education weren’t made in the case of my brother. He reached adulthood without the extensive preparation that every emperor needs to receive in his youth. He’s no statesman. He’s a drunkard and a lover of prostitutes. He has no discipline, no respect for decorum, and no idea of how to conduct government. That’s the man whom your noble services have kept on the throne of China.”
The echo of the voice of the Minister of Rites interrupted what Xiaobo was going to say, and they both agreed to rejoin the crowd to witness the proclamation.
“Subjects of the Great Ming,” said the minister. “Be it known that the Emperor Taichang has every wish for your prosperity and happiness. Under the generous protection of Heaven, His Majesty watches over his subjects with the loving care of a shepherd.” Xiaobo was certain she’d heard similar language before, and a bad feeling grew inside her about what could come next. “It is Emperor Taichang’s wish that all his subjects strive in blessed harmony to preserve and expand the greatness of the empire, and that all work together with one intention, with one aspiration, with one heart.” She started to feel suspicious at the amount of platitudes that were being spouted before the actual message.
Among the multitude she caught a glimpse of metal and her eyes were drawn toward the sword of Hasekura Tsunenaga, who was attending as an ordinary citizen instead of as the main reason for the celebration. The entire affair started feeling very strange to her. The Emperor’s personal preacher shouldn’t have been left out—if this was going to be a public profession of faith. She looked at the stage once again, growing more confused by the minute.
“The harmony of the empire was broken in the past by the unjust expulsion of the preachers of the Heavenly Lord, who with infinite mercy continues to watch over our Emperor. A first step toward restoration of that harmony was taken with the return of the preachers to the capital city, where they will be permitted to practice and teach their religion with no further restrictions.” Xiaobo heard murmurs of disapproval, but nothing too overt; they stood in the presence of the Emperor. People knew when to appear deferential. “However,” continued the minister, and she knew the hard part had to be next, “not enough reparation has been made to the Heavenly Lord, who wishes that every human being be subjected to the adoration of his only Son.”
This is it, she thought. The empire will turn Christian. This is not at all what I wanted. What did I do wrong?
The Emperor stepped forward and the Minister of Rites, evidently disgusted with what he was being made to do, said in an even louder voice, “All praise the Son of the Heavenly Lord,” while Xiaobo strained to hear both the speech and the complaints in the crowd, “Holy Emperor Taichang!”
A wave of gasps swept over the square. What did he say? Did he just declare himself the Son of God? But that thought was replaced by another, more urgent: Tsunenaga. I must talk to him. She thought he’d lost sight of him, but after dodging the movements of the crowd she found him again, and started to walk in his direction through the hundreds of people who were still trying to comprehend what was being demanded of them. As she got closer, she made the effort to keep the stage within her visual field at all times, to not lose track of what was happening, and saw that Taichang was being invested with a luxurious robe of a style she’d never seen. This can’t be good, she told herself, but I can’t yet think of a way to turn it back. When a crown with complicated moving parts was placed on the Emperor’s head, she finally understood. Its design was crafted to resemble thorns on the outside. Tsunenaga, you fool. You taught him the part about Jesus being lord and king, and of course he thought it had to mean him. At a signal from the minister, the crowd emitted reluctant cheers, and the noise so overwhelmed Xiaobo that she almost didn’t hear the tortured cry in the middle of it.
She looked around, trying to pick the single cry apart from the unanimous roar, and a commotion at the edge of the multitude drew her attention. At first she thought nothing of it; someone must be very displeased with Taichang’s hubris. Then she saw a robed figure and a metallic sparkle, and her heart sank.
“Tsunenaga! Wait!” She tried to reach him before he left the square, but the collective mood was intensifying and it was getting increasingly harder to move. She continued looking ahead, trying to not lose his track, but she was so fed up with trying to walk that she shifted into her fighting stance and resorted to using the gaps between people to move faster. “Tsunenaga! Where are you going?”
After endless effort, she exited the crowd, but he was gone. She tried to think. He doesn’t know the city. Where could he have— Then she ran toward an alley, headed for his house. She had to stop almost immediately, cursing the pain in her feet. They weren’t made for running. “Tsunenaga! What are you doing?” she cried out to no one. Holding back tears, she walked as fast as her broken and rebroken feet allowed, fearing the worst, knowing that every clumsy step put her farther from getting help. She didn’t even know whom she wanted to help anymore; she knew Tsunenaga must be shaken at his failure, but she had also lost much. When she finally arrived at his address, after what seemed like a full hour, she barely had any strength left to open the door and call out his name.
She was late.
In his private chambers lay Hasekura Tsunenaga, dressed in his ceremonial robes, the lower half of his body folded in the traditional sitting position, the upper half bent over with no life. He still held his sword in his hand, and from the middle of his body a torrent of blood was filling the room.