Chapter 757: Forbidden City Journal (3)

The constant rotation of palace maids, the massages that never stopped—there was no luxury more luxurious than this. It was the most extreme pampering.

Qing was bored out of her mind. Desperately bored.

She was not allowed to leave the walls of Hilbang Hall.

And what little scenery there was to see was bleak.

A wall seven chi high surrounded the hall, and the ground was paved edge to edge with stone, leaving not a single grain of earth in sight. It was a desolate view.

It wasn’t just Hilbang Hall; most of the other palaces were the same.

The Forbidden City had been built to be desolate.

In truth, aside from a few deliberately placed gardens in far corners, the Forbidden City had no trees.

Trees were beloved by infiltrators.

And architecturally speaking, a structure from which all natural elements had been stripped could deliver that sense of artificial wonder and oppression.

In any case, thanks to all that, Qing was bored.

And Qing had always been especially weak to boredom.

Seriously, what is this? You drag me here and... sure, you’re treating me like a VIP guest, but at this point I honestly can’t tell if this is kindness or polite neglect. It’s such an awkward in-between.

Just then, an extremely elderly palace maid came in, exposing the smooth crown of her neatly combed head as she bowed and addressed her.

“My lady, among the girls who have attended you, has any one in particular caught your eye? They are all girls without a permanent mistress, and they would certainly serve you with boundless joy. If you would speak without reserve, we will make arrangements.”

Ah. So that’s how this system works.

No wonder they kept coming in, batting their lashes and acting coy for a while before swapping out. It had all been their “please pick me” self-promotion time.

So do they get some kind of overtime bonus if they’re assigned to a guest?

Or is palace work normally such a grind that waiting on a guest is the cushy assignment?

Otherwise, why would they be so fired up, laying on the flattery so thick, working their fingers and grip strength to the bone to give earnest, full-power massages?

Of course, from their perspective, this wasn’t guest service.

The only person who thought of herself as some sort of low-grade guest here was Qing. For the palace maids, she was already the highly likely future Crown Princess.

Whether she’d end up Crown Princess or only a Lady remained to be seen.

But this wasn’t a political marriage fixed between houses—this was the Crown Prince himself falling for her at first sight and giving her the bridal chamber.

So of course they assumed her favor would be extraordinary.

Palace maids were trained to treat keeping their mouths shut as a virtue, and the reason they’d been chattering information to Qing was precisely as part of this self-promotion.

“In that case, would Lady Gabiya be all right?”

“Gabiya... you mean that girl, my lady?”

The old maid’s expression clouded.

“Mm, my lady, Gabiya is a woman from India, and there are many ways in which she falls short of palace etiquette. She keeps to herself, her acquaintances are few, and as for her attitude in serving a mistress, there are parts where she does not fully understand the proper ways. Her reputation is not...”

In palace speech, that was about one notch short of a full-on screaming curse.

“Falls short of palace etiquette” → she causes trouble a lot.

“Keeps to herself” → she’s slow on the draw and has bad connections.

“Attitude in serving a mistress” → that girl is insufferably arrogant.

“Her reputation is not good” → her reputation is not good.

“Mm, even so, wouldn’t she be fine?”

But Qing was not a palace woman.

So the girl was a bit lacking in maid skills. So what? Since when had Qing lived with maids?

Besides, she was dying of boredom. How was she supposed to say no to the Classic of Love?

And so, Gabiya—the Indian girl, self-proclaimed master of the Classic of Love (Kama-sutra)—offered Qing a sly smile and bowed.

“Heehee, it is a blessing spanning three ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) lifetimes that you have summoned this humble girl again, my lady. For you to have called me can only mean you have an interest in the study of the Classic of Love, can it not?”

“I wouldn’t go as far as ‘interest.’ I’m just... curious?”

“Heehee, you may lower your words, my lady.”

She keeps giggling like that. Suspicious.

To other people, Gabiya would seem less “suspicious” and more “sensually alluring,” dripping with sultry charm.

But from Qing’s point of view—hm. This was a bit mean to think, but...

She is trying very hard to be deadly.

Qing had, after all, as her sworn sister, a woman who was eroticism incarnate.

A walking, talking demon of lust, built entirely of sex and seduction.

And her sister’s eroticism wasn’t something she worked at or put on—it spilled out without her noticing, part and parcel of who she was.

Even without deliberately giggling “heehee” with a mysterious smile, or twisting her body as if to insist on being lethal, or meticulously crafting a “sexy” expression—

Qing’s sister was simply a perfect demoness of lust.

Against that standard, Gabiya’s level of erotic power was...

Mm. She’s trying so hard. It’s kind of... pitiful, honestly.

Oblivious to Qing’s assessment, Gabiya giggled “heehee” again and went on.

“My lady, there is no need to be so embarrassed about your interest in the Classic of Love. The Classic is not merely bedroom technique. It is a profound study in which one reaches nirvana through the process of cloud-and-rain pleasure—the journey of letting bliss rise all the way to the thousand-petaled wheel at the crown chakra, freely communing with the universe.”

“Ooh, that does sound legit.”

“However, handling such bliss is not simple. So today, I shall only present a brief introduction.”

“It doesn’t have to be brief.”

“Heehee, you must not be impatient, my lady. We have so much time.”

Gabiya’s alluring smile deepened.

Though, to Qing’s eyes, it was the smile of someone trying very hard to be fatal.

*****

To the south of the Western Six Palaces, around one massive central palace, lay a cluster of luxurious residences called the Janyeong Palace Complex.

North of that complex sat Suan Palace.

That was where the Crown Prince had gone.

When the Crown Prince entered Suan Palace, an elegant older lady greeted him with a respectful bow.

“Lady Deokseong, have you been well?”

“Yes, Your Highness. It has been too long.”

“I am sorry. I should have found more time to visit.”

“What could you possibly have to be sorry for? But what brings you here so suddenly?”

“Well—”

The Crown Prince had just opened his mouth when—

“Oh! Listen to me. His Highness has come, and I haven’t even had a tea tray brought in. Could you wait just a moment?”

“No, please, wait—”

She might have phrased it as a question, but Lady Deokseong popped right up and vanished down the corridor in a rapid little trot. “Could you wait?” was, in practice, “You will wait.”

The Crown Prince let his half-raised hand fall, looking awkward.

He had no idea how much time passed.

Then the doors slid open to either side and four palace maids came in, carrying a huge spread.

“My lady, you said just a tea tray...”

“How have you grown so thin? However great the weight upon the Crown Prince’s shoulders and however taxing helping to govern the realm may be, still, you must always eat your fill. Your cheeks are hollow. What in the world are those people in Dan’gyeong Hall doing? I should tell Her Majesty and have them all thoroughly scolded.”

“No, I’ve been eating just—mmph.”

“Come, come. Eat. Your face is half its proper size. I may be ignorant and know nothing of affairs of state, but I do know that whatever the task, you can only do it on a full stomach.”

The lady kept steadily stuffing food into the Crown Prince’s mouth.

And the Crown Prince kept dutifully chewing it down.

“My lady, why are you peeling fruit now?”

“Isn’t fruit supposed to aid digestion after a meal? Come, the peaches have ripened very nicely this year. Here, hold these plums for now.”

“No, I’m about to burst—”

“Oh, I should have cut the watermelon first. You can eat it like a cool drink to rinse your mouth.”

“It’s not like that was a full meal, so what’s with the ‘rinse my mouth’—”

“Attend me! Where is that punch? Are you still not done with it?”

In truth, no matter how old a woman might be, this was not behavior she could easily show the Crown Prince.

Yet the Crown Prince dared not resist in the slightest.

How could Lady Deokseong show such brazen familiarity?

“Come now, nurse.”

“Eat up. You have to eat to live.”

Because she was his nurse.

Born low and sold into the palace, she had now, in her later years, received a fine title personally from the Son of Heaven and a grand palace to herself within the Forbidden City.

She was, in short, the Central Plains’ own success story.

Thus, the Crown Prince’s belly had swelled enough that he’d loosened even his golden belt.

“Hoo... I can’t eat another bite.”

“With such a small appetite, how will you shoulder the harsh burdens of state? Ah, how I worry. Oh dear, what shall I do with you.”

“That’s enough. I came here today because I have something to discuss.”

“Oh, listen to me. For His Highness to come in person, of course you must have something important to say. So, what is it?”

“Well... nurse, you must have noticed too, haven’t you? Ever since Yeonsul fell ill... my mother has been somewhat... ahem... unstable.”

“What a dreadful thing to say.”

“I’m talking about Yeonsul. Yeonsul!”

At that, Lady Deokseong’s expression hardened.

After Princess Yeonsul had recovered from her plague, the Empress’s favor had not been what it once was.

During the plague, she had disregarded the risk of contagion and cared for Yeonsul with desperate love, but once the princess recovered, the Empress no longer called for her, avoided even meeting her eyes.

When asked why, she would snap that Yeonsul no longer acted like Yeonsul, and ask nurse if she didn’t think something was strange.

But that was all in the past.

The Empress had gone on a long journey to offer prayers and, perhaps thanks to the Buddha’s spiritual aid, her mind had cleared.

Of course it had, Lady Deokseong thought. If the Buddha had seen Her Majesty’s devotion, how could he not care for her?

Now, it had been a long time since she had resumed occasionally calling Yeonsul in to drink tea or stroll through the gardens together.

The truth was that the Empress was only practicing the basic strategy of keeping your enemy closest.

But to those who didn’t know the circumstances, it was something to sigh in relief over.

“Lately, instead of getting better, her madness has grown worse.”

“Madness, Your Highness? How can you say such a thing?”

“It’s all because of that woman, Heavenly Flower Sword.”

“Pardon?”

Lady Deokseong blinked.

What did Heavenly Flower Sword have to do with anything?

What little she knew was that the Crown Prince had fallen for Heavenly Flower Sword at first sight and, despite continual opposition from the ministers, had hidden her deep within Hilbang Hall.

There had even been some quiet hope that, if things went well, she might soon be nursing a little imperial heir.

“Listen. Heavenly Flower Sword deceived my mother. She claimed to be Yeonsul, impersonated her, and muddled my mother’s judgment. That’s why my mother won’t believe Yeonsul is Yeonsul and insists Heavenly Flower Sword is the real Yeonsul. So I intend to use this opportunity to expose the truth in full and also punish this horrific crime...”

As the Crown Prince went on, Lady Deokseong was horrified.

Heaven help us. How could this be. This is impossible. It makes no sense at all.

The Crown Prince—madness?

She could not speak of bloodlines, not with her lowly birth, but in her heart, he was her son.

Her son, struck with madness.

Heaven was cruel.

How could the Crown Prince so firmly believe such absurd delusions?

To anyone who heard it, it was the raving of a madman.

What mother in this world would blithely believe a stranger who claimed to be her daughter?

On top of that, Yeonsul’s beauty and form were extraordinary. Where would you find another woman so like her?

And when, where, could Her Majesty possibly have met Heavenly Flower Sword—a martial woman of the Central Plains, some terrifying lowly butcher of men—and been tricked by her?

How would a mere martial woman, Heavenly Flower Sword, know the palace’s inner circumstances well enough to orchestrate such a convenient con?

Even the most foolish person would balk at committing a crime that violated such a sacred bond, daring to direct it against the imperial house itself.

It was nonsense. Utter nonsense.

“My lady? I am perfectly sane. Please don’t look at me with such pity.”

“Do not worry. Even if you are expelled from the palace, this humble woman will go with you and serve you. Even if you go to Yunnan or Qinghai... no, even if you go all the way to India or the Western Lands, I will follow.”

“Nurse, listen to me.”

“Oh, my poor boy. If it was so hard, why did you not come to me sooner? I have been negligent. If you would not come, I should have gone to you. How careless of me, how careless.”

“Oh, come on!”

And so the Crown Prince began his explanation all over again, step by step.

So, nurse, you must take a look at Heavenly Flower Sword.

To my mother’s eyes, I will always be the bad brother forever fighting with Yeonsul and getting along poorly with her, so she will only say, “What do you know?” and refuse to listen.

Your Highness, you must be accurate. ‘Fighting’? You were always the one getting beaten. A fight, in principle, requires both sides to be—

I let her win! Was I supposed to go all out against a girl younger than me?

Even then, the princess was already the sturdier of the two—

Enough! If she’d been any sturdier, we’d have had a legendary strongman on our hands!

Ahem. In any case.

So.

Nurse, you must see for yourself.

You nursed Yeonsul on your breast from the time she was a newborn. How could you not be able to tell real from fake?

And then, if you explain matters to my mother, she will listen. Once doubt is planted, she will soon realize she has been deceived, will she not?

“If His Highness puts it that way, I suppose I shall have to attend the new lady myself.”

The pity in the way she looked at the Crown Prince didn’t change much.

But behind it, a far more dangerous killing intent coiled.

“If it is true, it is a crime that deserves extermination of the clan, the ancestors’ tombs dug up, and the culprit’s head cut off and hung in the marketplace.”