Chapter 755: Forbidden City Journal

“Crown Prince, may you live a thousand years, a thousand years, ten thousand years!”

The booming shout rolled up from all four sides.

Well, of course—His Highness the Crown Prince had personally come out.

Naturally everyone had to drop to their knees, bow till their foreheads nearly touched the ground, and chant the long-life cry three times in unison.

Thanks to that, the spectators on all sides did not witness Qing’s disgrace.

Instead, Qing found herself thinking that usually, about the time everyone had shouted this much, the Crown Prince would give the order that it was enough already. Just how long were they supposed to keep yelling “a thousand years, a thousand years, ten thousand years” in perfect tempo?

Except the person who should have been gesturing for them to stop—the Crown Prince—was standing there with a deep crease between his brows, looking down at his guest with an expression of sheer displeasure.

From Qing’s point of view: What the hell is with this guy, scowling at me on first meeting? If you see someone’s face, aren’t you supposed to say something like “welcome” or “you’ve come a long way” or “I bid you welcome to the palace of the Central Plains”? Why are you crooked about it... wait, did he just click his tongue at me?

“Tsk.”

The Crown Prince clicked his tongue and tapped his own forehead, right above his bangs, with his fingertip.

Bangs? Qing’s hand went up to pat her own forehead without thinking and—ah. Her veil had flipped up. No wonder everything looked so bright.

While she’d been sleeping, the veil had soaked through where it touched the stone floor, and the dripping cloth had turned the world into a smeared, distorted picture. But anything below her feet was clear as day regardless, thanks to her airflow-sensing spatial awareness.

Only after Qing had straightened the veil again did the Crown Prince finally raise his arm, forearm bent at a right angle in formal command.

Only then did the cries of “a thousand years” finally cease.

As if nothing had happened, everyone closed their mouths, and in the hush where only the sound of falling rain remained, the Crown Prince opened his mouth.

“Young Hero Ximen Qing, I welcome you to the Forbidden Precinct of the Violet Palace.”

Huh. I enter where? Qing’s eyebrow twitched.

The Violet Palace was the heavenly palace where the master of the heavens, the Celestial Emperor, resided; the forbidden precinct was a prohibited domain, a sacred ground into which none but the Celestial Emperor could set foot.

Add the two together and you got Violet Forbidden—Zi-jin—the very origin of why the Forbidden City was called the Forbidden City.

“In this foul weather you must be weary. First, go in and make yourself ready in your quarters; put your body and mind in order. Attend here, guide Ximen Qing to—khm. Guide... this person to—khm.”

Suddenly the Crown Prince’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly once, and then again.

For some reason, he was filled with a powerful reluctance. Or rather than “reluctant,” it felt like he was losing something. Like it was doing something terrible to his pride.

But what choice did he have?

In the Central Plains, the Crown Prince did not actually hold any real power.

He had only the authority of absolute power in the future. In practice, his role was nothing more than to obey whatever the Son of Heaven ordered him to do.

“Guide Ximen Qing to Hilbang Hall.”

Hilbang Hall!

To the south of the East Palace section of the Forbidden City lay the South Palace, used as the Crown Prince’s residence. There, three grand halls stood together and were called the Southern Three Halls.

Among these Southern Three Halls, Hilbang Hall was the quarters where the Crown Prince’s consorts stayed.

Of course, what marriage in the Central Plains was ever decided according to the people’s own wishes?

You had to petition the elders of both clans, and it was a momentous great affair in which two houses were joined.

So the Crown Prince could not simply give away Hilbang Hall at his whim.

Put together, his words could only carry one meaning.

You please me very much.

Stay close to me.

An outright, one-sided come-on.

The Crown Prince ground his teeth.

Naturally, Qing knew none of this.

How many buildings were in the Forbidden City, what they were called, what they were used for—how on earth was she supposed to know any of that?

Besides, every time the Son of Heaven changed, they reshuffled the uses of the palaces according to the new emperor’s tastes and the affection he had for their current occupants. Unless you were a palace insider, it was only natural not to know.

The Crown Prince shuddered once, clenched his fist so hard his hand bulged, and spun his body around.

He felt as if he had rarely suffered such a crushing humiliation in his entire life.

Then he strode away with long, furious steps, flustered eunuchs scrambling after him.

From some distance away, Qing could just barely catch snatches of their voices.

“Your Highness, what are you saying, letting a woman of the martial world into the Southern Three Halls? Your Highness, please, you must reconsider. Your Highness, a woman’s beauty is but a fleeting instant, like a lamp passing by on horseback, so even if she has caught your eye—”

“Silence! What do you take me for? I have eyes, do I not?”

“But, Your Highness...”

It sounded like the Crown Prince had snapped and shouted at them.

If it weren’t raining, Qing could have focused all her attention and eavesdropped with her superhuman hearing.

But with the rain falling onto the stone pavement in a bright, PITTER-PATTER cascade, it wasn’t easy. And honestly, she had no special interest in eavesdropping on idle small talk anyway.

*****

If you threw a massive boulder into a lake, the waters surged in huge swells, currents whipped into a frenzy, the surface boiled into chaos, big and small waves exploding everywhere.

And into the Forbidden City, that boulder had now been thrown. The news that Young Hero Ximen Qing, come to receive the Son of Heaven’s favor, had been taken into Hilbang Hall spread throughout the palace in less than half a day.

One might ask why the Forbidden City’s security was like this. But rumor always spread at a speed proportional to population density.

And the Forbidden City was jam-packed with people.

There were some ninety palaces, and setting those aside, there were another nine hundred-odd buildings, just shy of a thousand structures gathered inside the great walls of the Forbidden City.

The total number of rooms in the Forbidden City reached nine thousand.

The people who owned those rooms, the ones who managed them, the eunuchs and palace maids who lived permanently inside the walls. High and low officials and their families, and the servants who resided on-site—who even knew how many people there were in all?

And besides, wasn’t this the kind of gossip one simply could not bear not to talk about?

They said His Highness the Crown Prince had run out to meet a woman of the martial world summoned by the Son of Heaven, and right then and there had ordered her taken straight into Hilbang Hall.

“You know that woman, right? Heavenly Flower Sword. That Flower in the Heart of Fire. They say she’s a top master, but more than that, they say she’s an absolute beauty.”

“That foxy bitch, to dare lay her hands on His Highness the Crown Prince...!”

“Foxy bitch, my foot. You never had a chance to begin with. Do you actually think that no matter how you flounce around, His Highness would spare you even a glance?”

“Hey, why are you talking like that? Maybe he’d look kindly on me for being unusual. He’s always surrounded by beauties, right? Maybe he’d think my looks are peculiar and distinctive and call me in.”

“You rotten thing, you’re even more of a bitch, you are.”

In truth, palace maids had only two dreams.

To catch the Son of Heaven’s eye and receive imperial favor.

Or to catch the Crown Prince’s eye and receive princely favor.

However, the women of the Son of Heaven lived under such a strict hierarchy, with such harsh discipline, and the palace maids’ daily reality was watching the tearful lives of concubines. Unless you had very, very grand ambitions, that path wasn’t actually all that popular.

Princes were best.

Once they became feudal princes and left the palace, you could escape this suffocating and dangerous den of demons that was the Forbidden City.

And as for His Highness the Crown Prince—no need to say more.

Even if it was only the rank of Lesser Wife, once he ascended the throne, the palaces of the Lesser Wives in the Eastern Six Palaces, starting from the second-best residence, were effectively reserved in order of precedence.

Why second-best? Because the very best spot in the Eastern Six Palaces went to the youngest First Wife, the Consort.

So for palace maids, jealousy made up eight parts out of ten of what they felt.

But at the same time, their sense of the currents also made up eight parts out of ten.

Could she possibly be destined to become Crown Princess?

If, at this opportunity, she were to take us on as her personal maids, wouldn’t our lives open up wide?

Incidentally, in the Central Plains there was actually no official position of “Imperial Crown Prince,” but there was the position of Crown Princess.

The next Son of Heaven was not the “Imperial Crown Prince,” but simply the Crown Prince.

However, the Crown Prince’s first wife was still called the Crown Princess.

“Is the Crown Princess the problem? His Highness has already fallen head over heels, so imagine how favored she’ll be. Don’t you know affection ranking matters more than official ranking?”

So the palace maids who had come out to receive the guest and the palace maids who managed the Southern Three Halls met right in front of Hilbang Hall and glared at one another with sharp eyes.

What are you lot doing here? This is the Southern Three Halls, you know.

Do you even know what’s where, and you rushed over saying you’d serve her? Honestly, what a joke.

Isn’t it only natural we should be the ones to attend a distinguished guest at table? What do you know about it?

We’re the true masters of reception, the pinnacle of reception service. Honestly, really now.

At the eye of that storm, at the black hole sucking in the entire Forbidden City’s attention, Qing was currently, for the first time in a while, being scrubbed and polished until she shone.

How many people did they send in here just to help me bathe?

How many hands are on me right now?

Head, shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes—this wasn’t some human-shaped barrier and it wasn’t some “touch this for health and a son” lucky statue; why were so many of them crowding around and making such a fuss?

“How is the water, my lady? Should we add more hot water?”

“Oh my, oh my, how is your skin this smooth? Why, it’s like white jade. No, it’s not that your skin is like white jade—white jade was surely carved to resemble your skin.”

“Ah! It tore—no, that’s not silk, that’s your hair, heavens, how can it be so soft? I thought I was touching the finest velvet.”

Mm, palace maids could lay it on thick, too.

Still, compared to the disciples of the priestess order back home, they were a bit lacking.

“My lord, this is a milk-scented fragrant oil. Since the heroic lady you always admired has come, I brought it specially from the Western Palace. Only a few bottles a year are presented. Doesn’t the scent of milk feel so wonderfully soft?”

One palace maid murmured in her ear as she rubbed a perfumed oil that carried the rich, creamy smell of milk into Qing’s skin.

Qing had no idea what the Western Palace was supposed to be, but wasn’t this just embezzlement? Was that really okay?

Still... it felt good.

Warm palms, heated by dipping in hot water, smoothed perfumed oil over her skin and gently kneaded every part of her body—and just how many people were doing that at once?

Ahh, she was melting.

Then they soaked her thoroughly in hot water.

Then it was back out, more scented oil, full-body massage from the top.

If she just lay still, they picked her up and set her down, washed and dried her, dressed her—by the time she came to her senses, she was leaning her chin on a soft, plush couch laid out like a bed, while her scalp was being massaged, her hair tended, and her fingernails and toenails all cared for at the same time.

One might say her fate at this moment was enviable indeed.

But Qing had reason to feel wronged.

Because aside from enjoying this luxury, she was not allowed to do anything.

Now that she’d entered the palace, she would have to spend at least three full days doing absolutely nothing and just basking in pampering like this.

The exact reason was that it was the process of purifying one’s body and spirit before meeting the Son of Heaven.

Ordinarily, when you visited another person’s home, the proper order was to greet the host first.

But the Son of Heaven was not someone you could simply go and visit because you wanted to see him.

You first had to calm your mind and body and cast off defilement.

So the massage was unlimited.

The palace maids, having won their turns through fierce competition, took shifts serving the “future lady” of the palace with all their might.

“Mm, I’m getting a bit peckish...”

“Oh no! This humble girl will immediately prepare something for you! Shall I bring you dried meats or skewers? Or sweets—or no, please pretend you didn’t hear that, I’ll bring everything at once!”

“No, you don’t have to go that far. But thank...”

Qing was not the type to refuse snacks.

In any case, as always with Qing, the moment she was placed in a friendly environment among friendly people, she just went all slack.

Munch munch—dried sweets, dried meat, dried fruit; pressed sweets, pressed meat, pressed fruit; fried sweets, fried meat, fried fruit—she chewed without rest as they cooed, “Are you comfortable?” “Oh, here? Your waist, is it? Oh my, how can it be so slim—truly a waist like a thread and skin like snow, that phrase must have been written for you!” and other such fawning nonsense, until she grew languid and drowsy.

Then, before she knew it, another palace maid would come in and take over for the next shift.

She’d startle for a moment at the snack table spread out all over the room, then only pause briefly before assuming a coy expression and voice to serve Qing. Such was the cycle of rotational service.

Some of them even made efforts to curry favor in their own ways.

The flattery was basic.

Some, despite what had to be meager wages, pressed “precious” little gifts on her.

Others disgorged information.

They told her the Empress was very, very, very strict, and that if you showed even the slightest lapse, if even a single hair stuck out of place, she would rain down thunder, so Qing must be careful.

Strict? Qing thought. She didn’t seem that way at all.

Others said that though the second imperial consort was ranked above the senior imperial consort, the senior imperial consort actually held more power, and if Qing wished, they could put in a word to arrange a formal visit.

Others said that lately, in the East Palace, the Lesser Wife in charge of the Crown Prince’s quarters and the favored consort were locked in a fierce power struggle.

Beyond such political forecasts, there were tidbits like the Crown Prince’s favorite foods being sweet, salty, and tender meats—

The Crown Prince knows how to eat. I’ll give him that, Qing thought.

—Or speculation on what colors he seemed to like; how he mainly read books for a hobby; what paths he usually took on walks, and where the sun would be if she wanted to “accidentally” meet him.

None of which she had asked, and none of which she had the slightest interest in.

And then, again—

Qing looked at the new palace maid who had just come in on shift.

In truth, the Central Plains was, somewhat surprisingly, quite a tolerant multiethnic society.

To be precise, everyone who wasn’t Han was called a barbarian, but they were treated equally as barbarians. The Central Plains cared more about community—village, city, fortress—than race, and aside from a few truly despised minorities, people mostly got along without distinction.

So a palace maid who looked like a beauty painted from an Indian scroll was nothing particularly strange. Except—

“My lady, there is a truly excellent study I could recommend to you.”

Of course, Qing was not yet any kind of lady of the palace.

But from Qing’s point of view, when several palace maids naturally kept addressing her as “my lady,” she figured, well, I guess that’s just how it is.

“A study?”

“Oh dear, how can I explain this... It’s something truly, truly good for a woman. So very good for a woman that I hardly know how to put it into words. It’s not really something I can describe directly...”

“When you say it like that, it just makes me more curious. What is it?”

“Um... Have you perhaps heard of the Classic of Love?”

“Classic of Love?”

“An Indian study. Truly wonderful.”

The palace maid added, with a subtle smile—a somehow very sly, foxlike smile.

The Classic of Love.

In Qing’s homeland, it was practically the byword for “that thing from India,” the very treatise everyone in the world knew—if you said “that study,” people thought of nothing else.

In the Indian tongue, it was pronounced “Kama-sutra.”

“As you can see, my lady, this humble girl was born in India. And the Girls’ Classic that palace women study is actually derived from just a few fragments of the Classic of Love. It doesn’t even reach one-tenth of the pleasures the Classic pursues. If you master it, you can bend any man in this world to your will. So if my lady should be interested...”

Bend a man? With what are you bending him?

Of course, Qing had no interest in that kind of thing.

...Of course, Qing was absolutely interested in that kind of thing.

Kama-sutra? How am I supposed to say no to that?