Chapter 325: Grace Is Easy to Forget, but Grudges Are Hard to Let Go (1)

From the beginning, Qing had always found it easier to deal with adults.

In Qing’s opinion, dealing with someone above her was far more comfortable than someone below her, and even more so than dealing with someone on equal footing. Elders—just smile sweetly and act friendly, and they’d melt open their hearts in no time. What could be easier than that?

But this time, her steps felt unbearably heavy.

This isn’t easy...

Biologically, she was definitely her mother.

This was primitive, undeveloped, ancient Zhongyuan—not like her hometown, where if you just sent in a few strands of hair, thirty seconds later, Dun-dun! This child is yours!, you’d get an answer. Nothing so convenient here.

Still, the mission window had clearly declared: Know your roots. So yes, this woman must be the one who gave birth to this body.

But so what? What the hell was she supposed to do about it?

What if souls really exist?

If she at least knew what kind of person Princess Yeonsul had been in life, she could judge somehow.

If the late princess had been a devoted daughter who died worrying about her mother, saying “Please take care of my mother,” then sure—Qing could honor her dying wish.

But what if it was the opposite?

What if she was the kind of person who ground her teeth and cursed, That bitch not only stole my body, but also deceived and tricked my mother?

And truthfully, Qing's own instincts leaned toward the latter.

What if the soul-merging ritual had actually worked?

And Qing’s interference had sent the real Princess Yeonsul off to the afterlife—heaven, hell, or just oblivion, with the neural signals of a unique personality simply erased?

So frankly, this whole fake-friendly act was deeply guilty and excruciatingly awkward from the start.

Even if she did pretend to be a daughter—what then, when things changed?

What if it turned out that the Princess in the Imperial Palace was the real one, and Qing was just the fake who happened to wander in? What if the real one had just fallen off a cliff or disappeared temporarily?

Then wouldn’t Qing be the only fraud? A criminal of treason against the Empress Dowager?

In moments like this, Qing usually ran away.

And what was so wrong with that?

If you couldn’t go forward or back, retreat was the only sane option.

But... this was her home now. Where the hell was she supposed to run to?

So, dragging her feet heavier and heavier, tak, tak, she finally reached the guest wing.

At the doorway stood a man in classic eunuch posture—hands tucked into opposite sleeves. A bit surreal to see a man in the Sect of Divine Maidens, but from the way he stood there so brazenly, it seemed eunuchs were treated as neither men nor women.

Hmm. So if you cut it off, you get access to both Shaolin and Emei Sect, huh?

Wow. Totally not jealous. Not jealous at all.

While thinking such rude thoughts, Qing tried to remember—what was his name again? That eunuch something-or-other.

Unaware of her musings, Eunuch Man Lihyung gave Qing a deep, slow bow.

So deep it looked like his neck might snap off—clearly full of respect and reverence.

Without saying a word, he simply smiled warmly, as if to say: Please, go on in.

Taking that cue, Qing took off her shoes and lightly stepped into the guesthouse, entering the corridor.

Even if the size varied, Zhongyuan-style guesthouses for nobles all had similar layouts: the largest room for the honored guest at the end of the hall, rooms for attendants on the right, and small servant quarters on the left.

Two palace maids stationed at the front turned their eyes toward the sound of the door, then suddenly widened them and began blinking furiously.

What was that in their gaze—fondness? Longing? A flood of emotions that only made Qing feel even more awkward.

“Your Grace, I am Ximen Qing, a disciple of the Sect of Divine Maidens. I have been appointed to serve you during the memorial rites and have come to pay my respects.”

—Is that so? Then we’ll be seeing much of each other. Come in now. Let’s share some tea.

“Then, I shall prepare tea.”

—Nonsense. How could a guest use the host’s hands to serve themselves? I’ve brought my personal attendants. You, disciple of the Sect of Divine Maidens, need not mind that and come in.

“Yes, ma’am.”

And so Qing entered the honored guest’s room.

She saw a noble lady reclining slightly on a wide seat, red cushions beneath her. Her elbows rested on her knees, chin propped on one hand.

Thinking of her last display of overwhelming maternal affection, Qing had half expected the woman to come running with open arms.

But surprisingly, even when she saw Qing, she remained aloof, showing no reaction at all.

Or so Qing thought.

Thud! The moment the maids closed the door, the Empress Dowager launched at her like a bullet.

Ah... should I go along with this? Qing figured it would become an emotional mother-daughter reunion, so she opened her arms, ready to embrace her.

“Huh?”

Qing flinched.

Instead of hugging her, the Empress Dowager grabbed her front lapels with rough hands, practically tearing them open—shoving aside the chest wrap and grabbing her bare breasts with both hands.

“Y-Your Grace, this is...”

“Ah... it’s not a dream. It’s not a dream. It’s really not a dream...”

Thankfully, it wasn’t something perverse like Tang Nana’s twisted intentions. She just wanted to confirm the two small birthmarks hidden under Qing’s chest.

After seeing them for herself, the Empress Dowager’s strength gave out and she nearly collapsed, forcing Qing to catch her in a hurry.

“My daughter. My little flower pig.”

“...Flower pig?”

Flower pig was apparently one of Zhongyuan’s most affectionate, albeit cloying, nicknames.

Maybe it came from doting on piglets only to eat them when they grew up. Or maybe it had once had a clear explanation, but that explanation had been burned away under the red banners of a new era.

Either way, the Empress Dowager began fondling Qing’s face now—stroking her cheeks, brushing aside her bangs to reveal her forehead, tracing the elegant line of her nose with her fingers.

Qing had no idea how to react to this outpouring of affection.

God. This is seriously intense. Like, way too much.

The color drained from Qing’s face.

Fortunately, her skin was always pale and clear, so it didn’t show. Had the Empress Dowager noticed, she would have been devastated.

Now Qing had to decide her stance.

Should she fake it? Act sweet and filial? Or...

“Your Grace. I am terribly sorry to say this, but I have no memories from before my illness. And now, as a disciple of the Sect, I’ve renounced the secular world. The Princess is already—”

Qing’s voice caught.

Already what? Dead? Gone? No longer of this world?

“How can you say such heartless things? No matter what anyone says, you are my daughter. Even if the entire world says otherwise, I know you are. The more I look, the more I see it. Memories can return—or not. It doesn’t matter. I’m still your mother.”

“But, Your Grace, in serving you, you’ll find me unfamiliar, like a stranger...”

“I recognized you the moment I saw your blooming beauty. How could I find you strange? Just seeing you fidget your lower lip like this in tough moments—I’d know it’s Sohal.”

That’s just a coincidence!

She’d had that habit long before she arrived here—and apparently, the body’s original owner did too. What were the odds?

But a princess is a princess. Qing was an outsider, her roots planted in an entirely different soil with a different way of life and values.

So Qing figured that by serving the Empress Dowager up close, she’d eventually come to see that Princess Yeonsul and Ximen Qing were two different people.

...Or so she thought?

Why? Why wasn’t that happening?

“What’s wrong? Is your stomach upset? Why are you only poking at your food like that? Look, I made these fried eggplants just for you. Your favorite! Come on, dig in.”

“Well, it is my favorite... but how did you know?”

“How did I know? What kind of mother wouldn’t know what her daughter likes to eat?”

Then she started listing dish after dish by name.

What... the hell?

Why do we have the exact same taste in food?

But Qing quickly found a logical explanation.

Back home, she hadn’t liked sweets at all—but ever since arriving here, she’d been like a ghost starved for sugar.

Taste was in the genes, they said. This was the body now, so her preferences must’ve changed with it.

“If you say I should dig in...”

“Your body was sturdy since you were a child, and that damned bastard of a father of yours always scolded you, saying a girl shouldn’t eat so much with such a long, bamboo-like body. So you learned to nibble instead of eating your fill. You think I wouldn’t recognize that?”

“No, it’s just... My Master taught me how a proper lady should eat...”

“Well, your lady Master is certainly skilled, but as for me—just watching you eat heartily is enough to fill my belly with joy. So don’t hold back. Eat as much as you want.”

“I’m afraid my eating style might appear crude to Your Grace...”

“How could a daughter’s way of eating ever be crude to her mother? Don’t be ashamed.”

After all that, how can I say no?

And anyway, trying to act delicate like a noble beauty was more fitting for someone like the real Princess.

Qing had already shown her real self. So what was the point?

She changed her posture and began eating for real—and at that, the Empress Dowager’s expression turned hazy with emotion, eyes brimming with tears.

“See? How could anyone say you’re not her?”

Apparently, the real Princess Yeonsul used to stuff her cheeks until they puffed like balloons, chewing with her whole face full of food.

And then—

“Well, now that you’ve eaten, it’s time to lie down, isn’t it? Come here.”

“Wait... The Princess used to lie down after eating?”

“Of course! How else do you think she grew up so well? Because of our little flower pig, half the palace maids tore their skirts trying to follow her lead. They thought if they ate and napped like her, they’d grow as voluptuous too.”

And thus, while serving the Empress Dowager, Qing learned more and more about this Princess Yeonsul—

Wait a damn minute. That’s just... me?

How the hell was a princess’s manner so vulgar, roguish, and shameless—acting like some street thug, all boisterous and crude?

And apparently, she had a gift for music too. Whether it was zither or flute, she could remember any melody after hearing it once and play it perfectly.

So far, the only difference Qing had discovered between them... was handwriting.

And so, Qing came to a conclusion.

Her Majesty the Empress Dowager... isn’t quite in her right mind.

Not just a little—a lot.

I mean, how could it make any sense that even Qing’s bad habits from her hometown were the same?

What kind of princess yanks off her undergarments just because they’re riding up?

Clearly, the Empress Dowager had missed her daughter so badly that at this point, no matter what Qing did, she only saw her as her precious child.

And frankly, it was understandable.

Ever since the fake Princess Yeonsul returned, the Empress Dowager had grown gaunt {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} and sharp-edged, living off nothing but the gut instinct that that wasn’t her daughter. And for over four years—now entering the fifth—she’d carried that suspicion alone, burning herself up inside while outwardly pretending everything was fine.

Back in Qing’s hometown, they would’ve just diagnosed her with paranoid delusions and recorded it as a psychiatric disorder.

So yes, the Empress Dowager was mentally unwell...

Which, if anything, made it even more disturbing.

Wouldn’t Qing be nothing more than a fraud, playing the part of a daughter to someone mentally compromised?

Even for the real Princess Yeonsul’s sake, she couldn’t bring herself to keep doing this.

So she decided: she would keep her distance.

She would make it clear—Princess Yeonsul no longer existed in this world. Here stood only Ximen Qing, a complete stranger.

Qing hardened her heart.

And then a month and a half passed.

And in the end, sincerity always gets through.

Short, maybe—but when you’re together constantly, the accumulated time starts to feel long. With effort piling up day by day, sincerity eventually breaks through.

So what could Qing do?

She had no choice but to accept it.

And so, Qing surrendered.

To someone starved for affection, the Empress Dowager’s love was enormous, warm, and boundless—a kind of love that wrapped around her from all sides. There was simply no avoiding it.

“Ah.”

Lying with her head on the Empress Dowager’s thigh, Qing opened her mouth as the Empress Dowager popped a grape into it.

While she chewed, the Empress Dowager’s palm gently stroked Qing’s cheek, then cupped under her chin.

A grape skin slipped from Qing’s lips and landed in the Empress Dowager’s waiting hand.

To an outsider, this might’ve looked like a scene of unspeakable impropriety.

Even if it weren’t the Empress Dowager—if it were just any ordinary mother—it would still be a sight that would make people cry out: What sort of degenerate behavior is this?!

But so what?

It’s what Her Majesty wants.

I’m not doing this for my own comfort—see? Just look at that beaming smile.

If a little sacrifice on my part can bring her peace of mind, isn’t that a good thing?

Surely even the late Princess Yeonsul would understand, seeing that expression.

From what she’d heard, before falling ill, the princess had been a beloved figure with a heart as soft as silk—practically a fairy. Just... with some severe behavioral issues.

After she became ill, her behavior mellowed out simply because she was bedridden. But her once-gentle heart, it seemed, had suffered.

Still, she’d been so kind before that people pitied her, saying, Well, no wonder she’s like this now. She must be really sick.

Of course, that was the Empress Dowager’s own account, so Qing figured it was best taken with a grain of salt.

Still, Princess Yeonsul would surely understand...

It’s not like Qing felt comfortable being babied like some snot-nosed four-year-old—especially not by the most noble woman in all the land.

But... to be honest...

Just a little...

It was actually kinda... nice.