The unexpected outcome of the doljabi caused a brief moment of confusion among the guests, but it did little to disrupt the overall atmosphere of celebration. Laughter soon returned to the hall, accompanied by the steady flow of wine as servants moved busily between the tables.
"Hahaha! I never imagined I would feel this happy over a nephew."
The Crown Prince's voice rang out loudly, already tinged with alcohol. Choongnyeong responded with a modest smile, bowing his head slightly.
"My wife says he always smiles whenever he hears me read."
"Hahaha! Then there's no doubt about it. Father and son alike!"
The surrounding officials nodded in agreement, adding their own words of praise. Compliments flowed freely, just like the wine. To them, this was merely a joyful family gathering—nothing more.
Hyang, however, was barely aware of the celebration around him.
Cradled in the Crown Prince's arms, his consciousness drifted between sleep and thought. The warmth of the body holding him, the overlapping voices, and the unfamiliar scents blurred together into a hazy backdrop.
Hangul first… firearms later…
The thought surfaced clearly, then immediately dissolved. His eyelids grew heavier, his body betraying him once again.
Damn it… this weak body…
Before he could form another thought, exhaustion claimed him completely.
By the time the banquet drew to a close, the sun had long since dipped beyond the palace walls. One by one, the guests rose from their seats, offering farewells before departing. Yet the Crown Prince remained seated at the head of the hall.
"It's stuffy," he muttered, loosening the knot of his robes.
As he reached to undo his jeogori, Choongnyeong immediately stepped forward.
"Your Royal Highness, please maintain proper decorum."
The Crown Prince paused, then looked at his younger brother with mild irritation.
"What's wrong with being comfortable? We're family here."
"Even so, Your Royal Highness is the pillar of this nation," Choongnyeong replied calmly. "One must always remain mindful."
The Crown Prince let out a long sigh, the sound heavy with drink, but ultimately adjusted his clothing back into place.
"Tch… you're as rigid as ever."
Despite his complaint, his expression softened slightly. He poured himself another cup of wine before speaking again, his tone quieter than before.
"Choongnyeong."
"Yes, Your Royal Highness."
"You truly are extraordinary."
Choongnyeong blinked, momentarily caught off guard.
"You flatter me excessively."
"I mean it," the Crown Prince continued. "You've already surpassed scholars twice your age. Even I couldn't match you at that time."
"That is only because Your Royal Highness did not devote yourself to scripture," Choongnyeong replied. "With even a little effort—"
"Enough," the Crown Prince said, waving his hand. "Let me ask you something instead."
Choongnyeong straightened slightly.
"Do you believe that virtue alone can rule a nation?"
"That is the righteous path," Choongnyeong answered without hesitation.
The Crown Prince shook his head slowly.
"That is nothing more than a dream. This is an age ruled by force. Joseon survives because it knows when to bow—and when to bare its teeth."
Choongnyeong frowned.
"When I ascend the throne," the Crown Prince continued confidently, "I will reclaim the lands of ancient Samhan and make Joseon truly great."
Choongnyeong rose from his seat abruptly.
"That is impossible! Ming is far too powerful!"
The discussion rapidly escalated. What began as philosophical disagreement turned into a heated debate—armies, logistics, population surveys, private soldiers, Jurchens, Japanese pirates.
Voices grew louder.
Gestures sharper.
"You speak of force," Choongnyeong snapped, "but you ignore the reality of supply and administration!"
"You underestimate Joseon!" the Crown Prince shot back.
"And you overestimate ten years!" Choongnyeong replied. "Ten years is nothing against Ming's foundations!"
Finally, the Crown Prince slammed his cup down.
"You are intelligent," he said coldly, "but I am the Crown Prince."
The words cut cleanly through the air.
Silence followed.
Choongnyeong clenched his jaw, his fists trembling at his sides. He said nothing more.
From Hyoryeong's arms, Hyang watched the scene unfold, his small body pressed tightly against his uncle. His young eyes studied Choongnyeong's face carefully—and what he saw made his blood run cold.
There was reluctance there.
And resolve.
He doesn't want the throne… but he's being pushed.
This isn't fiction.
This is real history.
And I'm inside it.
For the first time, Hyang felt genuine fear.
The butterfly effect is already in motion.
In the months that followed, subtle changes rippled through the court.
Nam Jae openly praised Choongnyeong's learning, recounting stories of King Taejong's own youth. The words spread quickly, whispered from scholar to official.
When the report reached King Taejong, he merely laughed.
"That old man exaggerates."
But despite his laughter, the comparisons did not stop.
Whenever Yangnyeong faltered, Choongnyeong's name followed.
Supporters quietly gathered.
Warnings were issued.
And quietly ignored.
Shim On, after long deliberation, made his choice.
"Grand Prince Choongnyeong is Joseon's future."
It was a gamble made with his life on the line.
And Hyang—still barely able to walk, still bound by a child's fragile body—lay awake at night, listening to the distant echoes of adult voices beyond his room.
Politics.
Ambition.
Fate.
History is already changing.