Chapter 760: Forbidden City Journal (6)

Qing sat hunched on the sleeping mat with her bare soles together, propping her chin in her hand and staring blankly into empty air.

A beautiful face, pouting and full of stubbornness.

But her expression was inorganic, like something made of plastic—no emotion at all, just boredom, or maybe futility.

Because she was resting her chin in her hand, her eyes were slightly uneven, and in those mismatched pupils lay reflected a blue rectangle that no one else could see.

By now, simply looking at the status window wasn’t enough to send her into a seizure, but there was no helping the way her mood sank every time she stared at it.

“True bloodline,” my ass.

“Fake princess,” what the hell even is that supposed to be.

It was a screen she’d been putting off, looking away from, until now.

If there were a volunteer in her homeland who imitated a dead child to soothe a dementia patient, anyone would praise them in unison.

A heartwarming story. Sure. Anyone would call it that.

But what if that dementia patient were the wife of a huge conglomerate family, and she wanted to leave her assets to that volunteer?

From that point on, would that still be a heartwarming story?

And even before you got to that—

However good your intentions, could you really say it was “right” for the person in question to impersonate the dearly departed, just to comfort the other person’s loss?

And if she accepted that this body of hers was the body of that Princess Yeonsul—

Then according to Her Ladyship the Empress, Princess Yeonsul was already dead. In homeland terms, she’d have been in brain death.

There are miracle cases of brain-dead patients regaining consciousness. No matter how astronomically unlikely, it wasn’t impossible. In the old days.

But now, that could never happen.

Because Qing was here.

From Qing’s perspective:

Princess Yeonsul dies. Body is stolen. Does the body-thief really have no responsibility?

It had been a while since she’d slipped into homeland shitposting mode, but... it did nothing to improve her mood.

If baseball fans had any responsibility for the outcome of a game, she wasn’t sure—but here, it was obvious she bore responsibility.

She no longer doubted the status window to the point of suspecting it was trying to manipulate her.

But then what was this “fake princess” supposed to be, exactly?

Did those witchy Indian women literally go “oh dear, the resurrection failed” and stick a stand-in in place?

Or had they used some ritual method to move a soul around—there was qi flowing to spiritual roots and spiritual beasts and people flew around with spiritual power; she didn’t see how you could prove souls didn’t exist.

Even if the real Yeonsul’s soul had gone to the other side and lost its memories, if they’d moved that soul into a new body and sent her back—

What would the status window make of that?

She could still be “fake.”

Because the status line said true bloodline. No matter what, the body with that precious imperial blood was the one Qing was occupying.

But even if she thought it through...

What was she actually supposed to—

And that was when it happened.

—Your Ladyship. Are you hungry? I was thinking of having your supper brought in.

“Ah.”

The voice of Lady Deokseong, who had bolted out of here like a shot—and the contents were very welcome.

“Yes, please.”

—Yes, Your Ladyship.

And then TAP, TAP, TAP, TAP, a whole stack of doors slid open left and right in sequence, and maids came in straining under a massive supper table.

The wave of food aroma that washed over Qing, wow, wow.

She’d been getting hungry as it was, left alone like this, so hungry she’d literally ended up staring at a status window she hadn’t wanted to look at.

GROOOOWL.

Her stomach answered with a mighty roar.

The maids flinched in surprise, while Lady Deokseong’s eyes grew misty.

Yes, that sound! How had she forgotten it? Back in the day, if you missed mealtime by even a little, the Princess would roar so loudly it felt like the heavens and earth were shaking.

If Qing had heard any of this, she would’ve wanted to ask what sort of princess that was supposed to be, and why such a princess had ever existed.

But for now, she was just too hungry.

Even under normal circumstances, Qing needed to eat at least four meals a day.

Of course, that didn’t mean she only ate four.

Qing could eat all day long if she wanted.

Four was just the minimum. It used to be three, but thanks to the Fresh-Heart Formula and the Jinju-eon Clan Divine Art—an unprecedented, miraculous set of arts that literally increased her meal capacity—her minimum had gone up to four.

Qing swallowed hard.

She’d been caught in thoughts she didn’t even want to think.

Thoughts were like rebellious kids; if you tried not to think them, they rose up like clouds of dust and filled your head until it was impossible to think of anything else.

The only way to deal with them was to wrench your attention away in one go and forget them completely.

And for Qing, there was no more effective way to reset her brain than a meal.

Thus began a rousing feast.

Lady Deokseong, who had stayed behind saying she would attend upon her, ended up saying nothing at all—just staring, dazed, at Qing’s eating, as if the girl meant to chew the plates as well.

Strictly speaking, she wasn’t dazed; it was more of a deep, rich emotion, or nostalgia, or a flood of memories of the past.

Princess! Yes, that’s how the Princess was supposed to eat!

She’d grown even heartier than before!

This was their Princess, her Yeonsul!

Love began to settle in Lady Deokseong’s eyes.

Her gaze was practically dripping honey.

Qing ate everything, not picky at all, but the top priority was always spicy, sweet, salty meat; next came sweet and salty meat.

For vegetables, she preferred crisp, watery ones, only lightly blanched; she didn’t eat a lot of hard foods and took less pleasure in very soft ones. (Not that she disliked them.)

And more than anything, those cheeks.

She liked stuffing her mouth so full she could barely close it, like a squirrel cramming its cheeks with seeds, then working through it with full, chomping bites.

And when something tasted good, her mood lifted and the corners of her mouth crept up without her noticing, and her eyes curved in a graceful arc.

Qing was in that state, completely absorbed in storm-devouring her food, when she suddenly came back to herself.

She’d been so hungry she might have lost her sanity for a bit.

She sneaked a look around and, with her left hand, quietly lowered the rib she’d been holding.

“Ahem.”

Ximen Surin-Style Beautiful-Dining, Beauty Mode.

Rice grains picked up in clumps no bigger than a bean—roughly forty grains was an appropriate amount.

When using chopsticks, the wrist turned in a full, elegant circle before the bite went into the mouth; when chewing, the jaw must not bob up and down too broadly, and it must never move side to side...

It was a perfectly executed beautiful woman’s meal.

It was just that, having already revealed her true form so thoroughly, it didn’t exactly help much to act demure now.

Then it was Lady Deokseong’s turn.

“Your Ladyship, have some grilled minced meat skewers. Here.”

“Uh, I can feed myself.”

“Come now. Ah.”

Jeok—grilled minced meat skewers—were made by finely chopping meat, mixing it with starch, forming it, and skewering and grilling it. A primordial boneless rib skewer.

Watching Lady Deokseong lean in and hold the skewer to her lips, Qing felt an extremely familiar sense of déjà vu.

Is this actually just Her Ladyship the Empress in disguise?

Her desperation to feed Qing and her refusal to listen to anything the other person said were exactly the same.

What happens if the two of them talk to each other?

They’d probably take turns talking over each other on completely different topics, both just plowing ahead with whatever they wanted to say.

Anyway, Qing was weak to kindness.

She opened her mouth and bit the meat off the skewer; Lady Deokseong’s face looked like that of a mother bird watching her chick accept food from her beak.

Mm. Uncomfortable. Also... mm. It’s tasty...

Qing munched away, being fed.

Without Qing having said a word, the last braised rib, which she had quietly been saving as the final bite, went into her mouth at just the right time.

You could call that a remarkable eye for things, or simply impressive skill.

“Your Ladyship, I’ll have another table laid.”

“Uh, I’m starting to get kind of full. Another full table is a bit much... but fruit or sweets would be...”

She did not say she couldn’t eat more; she said she was “starting” to feel full.

She did not say she couldn’t eat another table; she said a full table would be excessive and asked for fruit or sweets.

To anyone else, her performance so far would have looked like something you’d shout how are you even thinking of eating more?! at.

But Lady Deokseong answered in a deeply satisfied tone.

“Why, goodness, Your Ladyship. According to palace custom, those below you may only follow after their betters have eaten. Of course, the servants should not dare harbor such thoughts in their hearts, but when has human disappointment ever obeyed the heart? I would like to have another table laid so that those lowly ones may also partake—would that be acceptable?”

“Ah.”

The food Qing left behind went straight to the maids of Hilbang Hall.

In truth, the greatest joy for palace maids was handling the leftovers of these high-end dishes.

If Qing scraped everything clean, they had to swallow tears and eat cold rice with a dab of soy sauce.

So if she had another full table set and let them divide it up, that would win their hearts, would it not?

Qing’s expression tightened in guilt.

I’ve been scraping everything clean up to now...

No wonder the maids clearing the table had those gloomy faces.

There are few things more miserable than feeling resentful over food.

And so—

A warm wind finally blew through the Hilbang Hall kitchen.

They couldn’t dare make any noise, but before a dinner spread that was practically as good as new, the maids expressed their joy by silently dancing little jigs.

And that was when.

“What shameless foolishness is this? Hmph.”

The brown-skinned Indian maid, Gabiya, showed up and scolded them.

Because Gabiya served Qing directly, she outranked these palace maids who had yet to be assigned a personal mistress.

Then she quickly piled the best dishes she could onto her own plate and swept away with lofty airs.

The remaining maids saw her off by sticking out their index and middle fingers with the thumb extended between them.

No one knew exactly where this gesture originated, but astonishingly, nearly every culture in the world used it the same way.

Perhaps you could call it a miracle born of humanity’s collective unconscious—a shared understanding that bullshit is bullshit to everyone.

Meanwhile, in the main Hilbang Hall room, a very familiar scene was unfolding.

Qing lay with her head resting squarely on Lady Deokseong’s thigh.

“But Your Ladyship, you must beware that wretched Indian witch.”

“Do you mean Gabiya?”

At that, Lady Deokseong ground her teeth.

Mm. Scary.

“Yes, that one. I do not know what purpose she has in approaching Your Ladyship, but she’s undoubtedly plotting some wicked scheme. I do not know by what trick she appeared in the position of serving Your Ladyship, but surely it was by some evil Indian sorcery. Some filthy woman must have schemed to stick such a monster at Your Ladyship’s side. If I ever find out who—”

GRR-IND.

Qing carefully raised her hand.

“Uh, I picked her. I wanted to take a look at the Classic of Love...”

“That cursed girl must have enticed innocent Your Ladyship. She knew perfectly well that such spectacles are Your Ladyship’s weak point and used it to her advantage.”

Lady Deokseong was very skilled at changing her tune mid-sentence.

Instead of arguing, Qing cautiously lobbed out the question she’d been curious about.

“By the way, Her Ladyship the Empress says it too, but... what exactly do you mean by ‘Indian witches’?”

“They claim to be monks of Heavenly-Maiden Temple in India, but they’ve actually opened a Buddhist hall in the Eastern Six Palaces and settled in there. Haah, why on earth was such a witchy temple allowed to establish itself inside the Forbidden City?”

For reference, in Lady Deokseong’s quarters there was a female Buddha statue she had received from that same “witchy” Heavenly-Maiden Temple, and she made offerings before it morning and night.

At least, that had been the case before she met Qing—right up until this morning’s prayers, in fact.

Up until then, Heavenly-Maiden Temple had been a temple of most miraculous Indian monks who had saved Princess Yeonsul’s life.

And now?

Those things. They dared deceive me...!

When it came to erasing inconvenient memories, no one was faster than Lady Deokseong.

In any case, she began to share what she knew for the sake of the Princess with lost memories.

The Princess had fallen ill; even the Imperial Physicians had shaken their heads and declared that all things in this world were in vain, that her life was hanging by a thread.

At that time, some women came to the palace, saying they would cure the Princess.

They called themselves monks of Heavenly-Maiden Temple in India.

The unconscious Princess was carried out by the monks, and when she returned, she walked back in on her own feet.

So His Majesty had asked what they wanted in return, and their leader, Ashiya, answered:

Our order has been persecuted in India and driven out; we have drifted into the lands of the Central Plains and yet found no safe place here either. In this world, there is but one fortress that is truly safe, that no one may intrude upon—the imperial citadel. We humbly beg leave to seek refuge in the Forbidden City’s sacred prohibition.

If Your Majesty will accept us, we in turn will repay your kindness by spending our lives as palace women, following the laws and customs of the palace.

At that, His Majesty had granted them a plaque over one hall in the Eastern Six Palaces and bestowed the post of “Dharma Master” upon that sorceress, Ashiya.

They had kept their word and taken service in the palace as maids of the Forbidden City (not that they could have refused), and now they had spread like poisonous mushrooms throughout the Forbidden City, clearly scheming something in every corner.

The latter half of this story was heavily seasoned with grievance.

But the broad outline was as above.

So the leader of the Indian witches was Ashiya, whose name in Indian was Ashara.

And she was also the person who could answer the question Qing had been worrying over before dinner—the question about the status window.

[Lineage Quest – Root]

[You have come face-to-face with your true bloodline.]

Drive out the fake princess and reclaim your rightful station.

Here, “rightful station” meant the princess’s rank.

It wasn’t telling her to sit on some high throne and formally ascend as ruler of the realm.

Even Qing understood that much. She wasn’t looking for some blazing path to imperial filial piety, or anything like that. For now she simply wanted to understand what was going on.

And if there was someone connected to that...

Right then.

As the saying went: speak of the tiger and the tiger appears; speak of Cao Cao and Cao Cao comes; speak of ghosts and ghosts show up.

At a perfectly absurd moment, a voice sounded.

—Your Ladyship...

A small, thoroughly cowed voice drifted in from beyond the door.

—Um... is Lady Deokseong inside...?

Is she really that scared of Deokseong?

Well. She was a little scary.

“Looks like the Lady had some urgent business.”

—Ah. I see! Your Ladyship, may this humble girl come in?

“Sure.”

“Heehee, Your Ladyship.”

The door slid open and Gabiya came in, hips swaying, striking her usual deadly-alluring pose.

Then, following Qing’s gaze upward, she glanced above her own head and, puzzled, asked:

“Your Ladyship?”

Qing waved a hand.

“Ah. There was a gnat. Ignore it.”