“They really went completely all out with their preparations for us!” one of the four Ming Envoys remarked, a young man with a finely trimmed white mustache, as he took a sip of the sweet, potent alcohol. Female dancers, dressed in flowing silks, swayed rhythmically before the distinguished guests.

  “They seem determined to keep up appearances, even after being struck so hard by the great famine,” another Envoy replied, running a finger along the faint scar that bisected his right eyebrow.

  “What does their treasury matter to us anyway?” the eldest of the four, a man whose age commanded respect, interjected. He accepted a fresh pour of drink from one of the attending Ladies-in-Waiting. “They have been severely slacking in their tribute deliveries.”

  The scar-browed Envoy finished his drink and addressed the eldest. “Once we return to Ming, I heard you were eyeing that Northern Warlord’s estate, Elder? How will you possibly conquer it and establish your garrison without securing Emperor Jiajing’s immediate, overwhelming favor?”

  “Sigh… I do not know,” the eldest admitted, a flicker of genuine frustration crossing his dignified face. “I took an oath to eradicate those dishonorable Northern Warlords who showed such blatant disrespect toward my daughter. I must fulfill it.”

  “If only you could bring His Imperial Majesty something that would truly satisfy his endless, consuming quest for immortality,” the man with the white mustache mused aloud, half-jokingly.

  “What a funny thing to suggest,” the eldest Envoy said, chuckling darkly. He lifted his cup. “You may be a great war hero, but suggesting that you could find something that would satisfy his Imperial Majesty, the Son of Heaven? Do not make me laugh in public.”

  The light mood was suddenly replaced by formality as the Chief Announcer’s voice rang out, proclaiming the arrival of a Prince. The women dancing immediately ceased their performance, bowing deeply and exiting the reception room as Crown Prince Yi-Joon made his measured entrance.

  “We greet your Royal Highness!” The four Envoys stated in unison switching to Haebang’s dialect language, executing respectful bows of welcome.

  Prince Yi-Joon offered them a warm, practiced smile and walked toward the main stage area, speaking with the measured confidence appropriate for the heir. “I take it you are enjoying your state visit, Elders?” he asked respectfully.

  “We are ever so grateful for Haebang’s truly warm and generous welcome,” the Envoys replied in perfect synchronization.

  “I see,” Prince Yi-Joon smiled and nodded, his gaze passing over the group. “Now then, allow me to ask you directly: would you be keen enough to indulge this young prince in a small favor?”

  “What is it, Your Highness? If the matter is within our limits, we will surely consider it. After all, you are esteemed neighbors and loyal tributaries of the Ming Dynasty!” the young man with the mustache replied, eager to curry favor.

  Prince Yi-Joon nodded, then spoke with a slightly lowered voice, implying a degree of confidentiality. “It is… as the Elders might know… I was recently given the responsibility of managing the Royal Scouting Crew by my Father.”

  The Envoys nodded politely. The King of Haebang often assigned divisions to the Crown Prince to build his administrative and leadership skills: a detail they already knew from their extensive information networks, but they played along as if hearing it for the first time.

  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

  “The scouting crew’s tasks range from charting our nation’s complex, mountainous terrain, discovering what rare creatures and medicinal plants thrive in the unexplored mountain forests, to attempting to find peace with the remote mountain tribes,” Prince Yi-Joon explained, providing all the known details.

  “So, while our crew was exploring the difficult southern unexplored regions, they happened to come across a small, secluded tribe that wished to part ways with a sacred creature they had possessed for generations,” Prince Yi-Joon said, introducing the topic with a touch of manufactured sadness.

  “They are no longer capable of maintaining this sacred creature due to their current desperate living conditions, and as such, they formally requested the Royal Palace to purchase it,” Prince Yi-Joon continued, sighing deeply for dramatic effect. “But the Minister of Finance, citing the palace’s urgent need to curb expenditures, has tragically refused, stating the royal palace has no immediate use for it.”

  Prince Yi-Joon concluded with a direct appeal. “So, I ask you, respected Elders, would you be interested in purchasing this sacred creature?”

  The Envoys paused, their hands moving to their chins as they considered the proposition. A sacred creature, potentially unique to Haebang's unexplored territories, could be a valuable diplomatic tool or a source of great wealth.

  The man with the scar broke the silence. “But… but Your Highness, what exactly is the creature?”

  Prince Yi-Joon inwardly allowed himself a triumphant, subtle smile. He looked the Envoys directly in the eye and delivered the words.

  “A Thousand-Year Tortoise.”

  The effect of the name was immediate and explosive. The Eldest Envoy, usually the picture of stately composure, sprang forward in a craze of haste. “A Thousand-Year Tortoise! Is this possible?! How large is the creature?! His Imperial Majesty has been trying to acquire one for years!”

  “We have tried every imaginable means to transport such a creature to the central plains from far-flung lands on His Imperial Majesty’s orders, but we were never successful!” the scar-browed Envoy admitted, his eyes wide and agitated. “I would absolutely purchase it, Your Highness! Name your price!”

  The other Envoys were equally invested, their faces alight with greedy, ambitious excitement.

  “Please follow me to the royal garden then, esteemed Elders,” Prince Yi-Joon said, his inner satisfaction complete. He led the way toward the palace grounds.

  They soon arrived at a secluded section of the royal garden. Near a small pond filled with colorful koi fish, a colossal tortoise rested. It was enormous, easily the size of a large dining table. Its carapace was not smooth and polished like common turtles. It was a dark, mossy green-black, deeply scarred and worn by immense age, with complex, ancient patterns etched into its surface that seemed to contain the very diagrams of the Bagua: the eight trigrams of the cosmos.

  “Oh, the heavens! It really is a Thousand-Year Tortoise!” the young Envoy with the white mustache breathed out, staring at the majestic creature in awe.

  Prince Yi-Joon clapped his hands gently, regaining their attention. “So, I take it you are all willing to purchase this sacred creature?”

  “Absolutely!” the four men declared in unison, their voices sharp with conviction.

  “How much is the Royal Scouting Crew selling it for, Your Highness?” the Elder Envoy asked, his brain already racing with logistics: not about the price, but about how he would successfully present the creature to the Emperor to gain the necessary favor for his conquest of the Northern Warlords.

  The other Envoys were about to interject to claim the right to purchase the creature themselves, but Prince Yi-Joon raised his hand, cutting them off smoothly. “Now, now, please calm yourselves. We are not selling it at a simple price that would be disrespectful to the mountain tribe’s sacred relic.”

  He adopted a solemn, serious expression. “The tribe had promised to ensure its holding would be transferred only through their traditional, honored process. The Royal Scouting Crew must maintain our newly established, fragile relationship with the mountain tribes and not violate their trust in us.”

  “Alright, alright,” the Eldest Envoy conceded, his impatience barely concealed. “So, what, precisely, is this ‘tradition’ of transfer?”

  Prince Yi-Joon smiled, his small triumph complete. “A Raffle.”