“Send him to me now!” the Prince shouted. “Don’t you understand? It may be the last I see of him!”
Lady Hong then bent her head in grief and left to delay the Royal Grandson as long as she could.
She was helped in this regard by a message that had come from the King. He announced that instead of coming to thePrince’s residence, the Prince should come to him at Hwinyong-jon Shrine. One would have expected the Prince to forestall, but he did not. He gave in and immediately set off.
I cannot adequately relate the deep anxiety and dread that we in the palace felt. From the top ministers down to the lowliest of palace workers, none were immune from constant agitation. Now it had reached such a state that King Yongjo and Prince Sado could not both remain alive. And yet, how was it to resolve itself? By law and tradition, a royal body could not be injured even by the King himself.
I accompanied the Prince to the shrine, walking beside his palanquin, wondering at the fate that caused father and son to act like enemies. What would others who lived after we had died, what would they make of our actions? Would they have pity for us or would they blame us for our cowardice?
Even before we came through the gate to Hwinyong-jon Shrine, we could hear the King thundering. He sat on a high seat, a sword in his hand. Meekly, Prince Sado exited the palanquin and knelt before the King.
“You are a disgrace!” the King bellowed. He struck the point of his sword down.
“Father, Father, forgive me,” the Prince said. “I have done wrong. I know it. I will change. From this time forward, I will work harder, I will obey you in everything.”
The shrine was empty except for the four of us: King Yongjo, Prince Sado, Lord Munno—the King’s chief annalist—and myself. Because there were usually many more people about, it felt eerily quiet and peaceful. A flock of magpies suddenly flew up from the wall, all crying out at once. Lord Munno and I looked at each other in terror.
King Yongjo struck his sword down again. With a mighty face, he said, “You are no longer the Crown Prince. You are a commoner. Take off your robe.”
Prince Sado turned white and appealed to the King once more. “Father, please, give me one more chance. I beg you.”
But the King’s face did not change.
“Don’t do this to me!” the Prince cried.
“Will you take off your robe or must I call the royal guards?” the King asked.
The Prince stood up awkwardly, nearly falling over so that I wanted to rush over to him. But one look from the King stopped me. The Prince first took off his hat with the jade strings, placing it on the ground, and then disrobed slowly, afterward folding the robe neatly and placing it next to his hat. Underneath he was wearing a suit of unbleached cloth, normally worn in mourning. Upon seeing this, fury overtook the King again, and he said, “See? You are hoping to mourn me.”
It was just another misunderstanding among a multitude of misunderstandings between father and son. We who knew intimately about the Prince’s clothing phobias knew that only unbleached cotton kept the Prince from the rashes that tormented him. But there was no way for the King to know this. Ah, what a fate is this!
“You leave me no choice,” the King said. “I need to see no further signs of your disobedience.” And he called for a rice chest to be brought to the shrine.
The three of us wondered why the King wanted a rice chest at this moment, but of course we could not ask. Prince Sado hung his head and swayed, an utterly defeated boy. The King stood up and paced back and forth, not saying anything further. It was the middle of summer and the heat was extreme. I felt it as a visible presence pushing me down. My throat felt raw with thirst.
In a short time, a rice chest was brought into the courtyard of the shrine. The King told the Prince to climb inside it.
Surprised, the Prince looked up at his father and said, “No, Father, no. Please, don’t do this.”
“Get in!” the King thundered, striking his sword once more.
One would have expected the Prince to object further, or run away, or fall prostrate on the ground, but he did none of these things. Perhaps he thought it would only be for a short time, that if he showed the King his obedience now, he would be forgiven. But I do not know what truly went through his mind. He simply stepped into the rice chest and sat with his knees up and his head down. The servant who had brought the rice chest then lowered the top. I knew that ever since he was a boy the Prince was afraid of the dark, burning candles all night long. Thus, it must have been terrifying for him to be enclosed in this way. From inside, he continued pleading with the King to be let out, not in an angry, impetuous way, but calmly and beseechingly. It hurt my heart to hear him.
At this moment, the Royal Grandson appeared at the outer gate, crying, “Sire, Sire, please forgive my father! Please spare my father!” He was on his knees, crying very loudly and striking his head on the ground.
“Go away!” the King bellowed. “Leave here immediately!”
The Royal Grandson struggled, but he was taken away by members of the royal guard.
The King then ordered that everyone leave the shrine, and so we left without the Prince, who remained in the confines of the rice chest.
One day passed, then two, then three. From beyond the wall, we could hear the Prince crying out for the King’s forgiveness, and then food, and then water. Nothing was brought in.
We were in the middle of a drought, and even in the
