I Am This Murim’s Crazy Bitch
Chapter 762: Forbidden City Journal (8)
Among the harem, there were ranks—fixed layers from principal consorts down to side consorts.
But more important than those ceremonially codified ranks in the national law was the Son of Heaven’s favor.
Of course, the Empress—the Mother of the Nation—was an exception.
Unless the Emperor’s depravity had descended into complete anarchy, there were almost no cases where even the Empress was reduced to competing on the ladder of favor.
If the harem was like this, what then of the palace maids?
The pecking order among maids serving the same mistress was likewise decided by the degree of that mistress’s favor.
In that sense, Palace Maid Haeryu was a failure.
At some point, the maids in Princess Yeonsul’s residence had begun to change one by one.
It was not that the prior maids had vanished, of course; they all went out to act as managers or head attendants of empty buildings.
Light work, little responsibility, but excellent treatment—a cushy assignment, the very definition of a promotion.
Thanks to that, the only maid who had served Yeonsul since childhood and still remained was Haeryu herself.
In this situation, how was she treated?
She was a leftover maid who was difficult to deal with, who didn’t seem to be favored, and on top of that, didn’t act particularly warm or charming.
They couldn’t openly mess with her—she was too sensitive a figure to touch—but they quietly, or sometimes openly, froze her out.
Still, humans were social animals.
Even if there was no overt bullying, how easy could it be to live as an outcast, constantly ostracized like that?
Yet Haeryu stubbornly endured and continued her lonely struggle.
Yes—a struggle.
A struggle for what?
For the real Princess Yeonsul, of course.
She had to expose the identity of that vile fake.
That fraud, that dog-bitch, had dared to steal even their princess’s death.
She would raise a grave for their Princess Yeonsul, whose death had not even been properly known!
Anyone who overheard her would think, this girl’s completely lost her mind.
And in the palace, for a maid to doubt her own mistress and rave about some “fake bitch” was hardly just “mentally ill.”
It was a crime punishable by immediate beheading.
All the more so because that mistress was Princess Yeonsul, who had lost her memory.
Some would say it was only natural that Haeryu had lost the princess’s favor.
So how had this palace maid Haeryu ended up catching such a horrifically monstrous case of delusional paranoia?
It began with small feelings of wrongness she hadn’t even consciously registered at first.
My Lady only eats one bowl of rice...?
My Lady acts cute to His Highness the Crown Prince...?
Since when did My Lady have such poise...?
Since when is she so demure and feminine and even... elegant!
At first, those odd feelings were within a range Haeryu could accept.
She’d lost her memory, after all.
She’d gone to the brink of death with that horrific illness and returned.
She’d been left with great scars marring her once-beautiful face...
But when Haeryu saw the mole that had blurred in the bath, those three hidden moles beneath her generous flesh blurring and smearing together—
All the little suspicions that had piled up in Haeryu exploded at once.
This... this mole was drawn on. It’s smearing. A fake mole.
This bitch—no wonder—she’s a fake. A fake bitch!
So she had staked her life and gone to see the Empress,
daring to appear before Her Majesty as a lowly maid, without fear of the law of the land or the hierarchy of the Forbidden City.
The Empress, who had likewise had her own mountain of accumulated suspicions, exploded at this terrifying discovery as well.
The whole situation was akin to a chain psychosis, mental stability values breaking past their limits and triggering mass frenzy.
If others knew, they’d say: So she was the source of all evil! This girl was the carrier that transmitted this madness!
They’d be scandalized.
Thus the Empress gave her a special command.
“Girl, stop your wailing at once! It is precisely at times like this that you must not act rashly. You are to stay close by that fake and continue gathering proof. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Even at the cost of my life.”
From then on, only one final mission remained to Palace Maid Haeryu’s career:
to somehow, no matter what, find clear proof that that fake was a fake.
And now, today.
“Your Highness! I know that daring to raise such a plea is a capital crime for which I deserve to die! But my only wish is simply to serve Princess My Lady all my life. I beg of you, please, please take pity on me, and withdraw this order. That is all this girl dares to hope for.”
A mere palace maid was openly resisting the Crown Prince, the future sum total of political power.
In truth, maids changing posts was common.
In the chessboard of palace women’s politics within the Forbidden City, when a consort’s influence grew too great, it was everyday practice to tear off her arms and legs by scattering her personal maids.
And the futures of those maids whose mistress had thus changed were, of course, “end of happiness, beginning of suffering.”
Existing maids would haze them, and usually they were assigned to mistresses who didn’t get along with their former mistress.
Even so, almost no one flat-out refused to go.
Because of the Forbidden City’s reasonable method of answering such pleas.
If they told a maid, “From now on, you belong to that palace,” and that maid tried to appeal—
Bad answer:
Wish: I have sworn all my life to serve my current mistress with all my heart, so I cannot serve another.
Reply: Explanation of the reasons you must serve another mistress in progress...
Good answer:
Wish: I have sworn all my life to serve my current mistress with all my heart, so I cannot serve another.
Reply: Then die.
Thus Haeryu’s petition really was a plea that had put her life on the line—she was practically declaring she’d risk death itself.
If the Crown Prince had been in even a slightly worse mood, her head would have gone flying immediately.
You dare disobey me, you little nothing?
Fortunately, the Crown Prince was pleased.
Yeonsul, for all her faults, has some luck with people.
For someone like her, she managed to get a good maid.
If someone was willing to risk her life for Yeonsul, then she was a bit stupid, but also the perfect person for this job.
The Crown Prince lowered his voice.
“Listen carefully. The reason I’m using you is for Yeonsul’s sake. Right now, there is someone in the palace who dares to impersonate Yeonsul—yes, a fake who dares claim Heaven’s bloodline as her own.”
“Ah!”
Haeryu could not hide her shock.
“Y-Your Highness, you knew? You knew!”
“Of course. How could I not? Do you think there’s anyone in this world so witless he can’t recognize his own blood? I knew at a single glance.”
“Ah... what a relief. Truly...”
“I called you for this very reason. I want you to help reveal the identity of that vile fake.”
“Your Highness! Your grace is beyond measure! What—what must this girl do? If you order me to carry kindling on my back and throw myself into a fire pit, I will! Just give the command!”
Kindling meant firewood used as tinder to start a fire—the very symbol of something that caught fire easily.
If you jumped into a fire pit carrying such kindling, even a tiny spark would turn into a great blaze.
The Crown Prince nodded in satisfaction.
“I will assign you as Heavenly Flower Sword’s maid. Under Heavenly Flower Sword, you will find proof that she has dared to impersonate a princess of the august imperial bloodline. Can you do it?”
“I can! Please let me!”
Haeryu answered with full force.
What was there to fear if it was for her princess?
Though why all of a sudden, and why specifically under Heavenly Flower Sword?
She didn’t know, but His Highness surely had his reasons!
And so, this time with Haeryu trailing behind him, the Crown Prince crossed the front courtyard of the Southern Three Halls.
Naturally, the courtyard was still full of ministers lying sprawled on the ground.
The servants of the state recognized Haeryu.
The number-one palace maid of a royal’s household was essentially the herald who appeared first, signaling that person’s arrival. Of course you had to memorize her face.
So the ministers were even more shocked.
Was sending in the nurse not enough? Now he was going to attach the princess’s maid as well?
The very maid Princess Yeonsul cherished like a sister!
“This must not be!!! Your Highness!!!”
“Please enlighten us with your grace!!!”
“Gyaaah! Enlighten uuuus!!! Your Highneeeess!!”
For reference, “enlighten” literally meant “candlelight.”
Just as one lit a candle to see into the dark, they were begging him to light a candle to clearly illuminate the hearts of his subordinates and see them truly—please enlighten us!
But the Crown Prince had no intention of enlightening anyone.
The only mission in his mind was to somehow expose and stop that vile fake’s schemes.
*****
Mm. How should she put it. Heemae. Heemae was calling to her.
Heemae, with those huge, huge boobs. When was the last time Qing had even seen Heemae, anyway—ugh, ughhh.
Qing clenched her hands into fists, then opened them. Again and again.
If not Heemae, then Chunbong.
Mm, or even Guneong.
What the hell is wrong with me?
A perfectly reasonable desire to grope boobs was, of course, something anyone might have.
Because that was human instinct, right?
If she had to rationalize it, it was the pursuit of maternal comfort, or something like that.
But for some reason, today of all days, she’d suddenly been hit with this intolerable feeling. Why?
Was it because she’d dreamed about Heemae last night?
She felt... restless.
Once the thought had surfaced, it wouldn’t leave her head.
Even when she tried to force her mind onto something else, all she could think was, mm, I want to squish them...
Which was why she hadn’t been able to focus since morning.
If she had something to do, she could at least throw herself into it to forget.
But she couldn’t even leave the walls of Hilbang Hall.
She thought of at least swinging her body around a bit, but the venerable Chief Eunuch of Brush-and-Seal had repeatedly warned her not to cultivate martial arts just because she was bored.
Among the things she could do, the only productive activity was internal cultivation.
But the moment she sat cross-legged, put her hands together, and closed her eyes—
Wow. Did I really love fleshy bodies this much?
She couldn’t calm down at all.
If Gabiya had been here, Qing could have at least watched more Classic of Love demonstrations and studied India’s amazing “new technology.”
But the palace maids from India had gone to perform rites at a Heavenly-Maiden Temple event.
It was a supreme privilege, personally permitted by His Majesty, that no one could obstruct.
Of course, even if they could, Qing wouldn’t have stopped them.
Religious freedom had to be protected, obviously.
She could’ve asked for a massage instead.
But unless the maids offered on their own, she felt weird calling someone in like, Hey, I’m a great lady now, come give me a massage.
Massage was hard labor.
Come to think of it, Gabiya’s Indian-style massage hadn’t been that great.
It felt a bit ungrateful to say that after enjoying it, but what kind of massage just spread oil on and lightly scratched at her with fingertips?
On her front, no less, not her back.
A proper massage should knead her muscles hard enough to pulp them and yank and shove her bones until they practically bent.
Still, she couldn’t say anything harsh out of consideration for the effort.
Qing became a total shrimp in front of goodwill.
And the whole time Gabiya was giving her that Indian-style massage, she’d kept asking, after rubbing three times,
How is it? My Lady, how does it feel here? Do you sense... something? If a sound naturally wants to come out, don’t hold it in, all right? It’s bad if you hold back. My Lady? Are you all right? Feeling good? How about here? And here? And here? Oh dear, where was that spot again? How’s this? My Lady, doesn’t it feel like heat rising from within, your breath growing short, like your voice might slip out? ...Oh. It doesn’t. I see. Right...
As the saying went, you couldn’t spit at a smiling face.
Gabiya was working so hard at it that Qing just couldn’t bring herself to say, could you please just go full Central-Plains barbarian chuna and really pound the shit out of my muscles instead?
Still, it was supposed to be a massage with six thousand years of history.
Maybe the problem wasn’t Central-Plains-style versus Indian-style, but the practitioner’s level of skill.
Thinking back now, all that How’s this spot? What do you feel here? Isn’t your breath quickening, your body getting hot, like your voice might slip out on its own?
It really did make Gabiya seem like a total beginner at Indian-style massage.
But then again, nobody starts out perfect, and at least she was trying...
And to be fair, there had been a kind of ticklish, not-quite-not-quite tingly pleasure in it.
But now that she was remembering the massage, everything felt a bit itchy. The room felt hot.
Even wrapped in Cold-Heart Art’s chill air, it felt like her skin was heating from underneath. Mm.
Ah! Maybe this is the effect of the perfumed oil?
Maybe Indian massage took half a day for the effects to kick in.
At that moment, a strange voice came from outside.
—My Lady, this girl is Haeryu, who will be serving you from today onward. My Lady, may this girl be permitted to offer you her greetings?
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