Chapter 8…..
‘Seondeok, eighth year?’
Hong-ah furrowed her brows. The Ming dynasty’s era name—it wasn’t easy to calculate right away. She quickly rolled her eyes around, looking for another clue. She did know a fair number of Chinese characters, but reading whole sentences was still difficult.
“Ugh.”
Secretly skimming the contents behind the Crown Prince’s back, Hong-ah let out a small groan without realizing it as her head grew muddled. At that tiny sound, the Crown Prince turned his gaze and caught sight of his young daughter struggling with the characters in front of her.
“So, my Hong-ah has an interest in studying letters?”
He wasn’t the least bit displeased. In fact, he beamed proudly and hugged his daughter tightly.
“Yes, blood runs true. They say your grandfather loved books from a very young age as well. It seems you take after him.”
Smiling with satisfaction, he held Hong-ah close. After patting her a few times, he sat her upright on his lap.
“Your father will read it to you. Listen carefully to what is happening in the world.”
The Crown Prince read the bulletin in a calm voice.
Reports of the harvests across the eight provinces of Joseon. News of rain in certain regions. Notices of official appointments. Nothing particularly noteworthy. Just as Hong-ah’s face was starting to look disappointed—
“Ah, here it is.”
The Crown Prince’s voice brightened as he pointed to a small article at the end of the bulletin. The letters were so tiny that, to Hong-ah’s young eyes, it was nothing more than a smudge of ink.
“It says here that Jang Yeong-sil, who made the Jagyeokru, has been granted the position of Hogun.”
“Huh?”
Jagyeokru? Jang Yeong-sil? Hong-ah’s eyes sparkled at the familiar names. Seeing her interest, the Crown Prince continued his explanation.
“It’s a water clock. Though Jang Yeong-sil’s status is humble, his talent is extraordinary. That’s why His Majesty has decided to appoint him as Hogun.”
“Wow!”
“So you’re interested, I see. It’s at Borugak. Next time, let’s take a walk there together. It’ll be fascinating to see.”
But Hong-ah let his words slip past one ear as she racked her brain, trying to recall the year the Jagyeokru was made. I should’ve paid more attention in lectures! She couldn’t help resenting her past self.
“It is the greatest achievement in your grandfather’s fifteen years of reign,” the Crown Prince added casually, as though scratching an itch.
Hong-ah’s eyes widened as she stored away this valuable clue. Fifteenth year of King Sejong. It wasn’t the solar calendar, so the calculation was tricky, but she thought she could roughly work out the year by recalling key events.
The proclamation of Hangul was in 1443. That was Sejong’s twenty-fifth year!
She felt a flash of gratitude toward her professor, who had always mixed reign years and solar years on exams. She had cursed those tests and given the course a bad evaluation, but now it was paying off. Not that she could go back and amend her course evaluations from the Joseon dynasty.
Excited, Hong-ah began to calculate.
If this is Sejong’s fifteenth year, then it’s ten years before the creation of Hangul. In the solar calendar… 1433?
Her expression hardened.
It was known that Princess Gyeonghye and King Danjong were about six years apart in age. But that didn’t match the numbers.
If the current year was 1433, then Hong-ah would have been born in 1432. That would make her far older than the future Danjong.
Does this mean I’m not Princess Gyeonghye?
Until now, she had assumed she was Princess Gyeonghye. The Crown Prince was clearly the future King Munjong, and Lady Gwon Yang-won was certainly Queen Hyeondeok.
And the only surviving daughter of the two was Princess Gyeonghye. It had seemed obvious. But the age gap was far too wide. She couldn’t be Gyeonghye. It wasn’t even the right year yet for Gyeonghye’s birth.
There was another daughter of Queen Hyeondeok…
She remembered once coming across a record while doing an assignment—that before Princess Gyeonghye was born, there had been another daughter, who died in infancy before even turning one.
What could this mean?
Her heart grew heavy. She was living in the body of a child who, according to history, had died before her first birthday.
If I exist now as someone who wasn’t supposed to, does that mean I can change history?
The fates of Queen Hyeondeok’s children were grim. Danjong was dethroned, Princess Gyeonghye’s husband was executed, and Sejo went so far as to depose his sister-in-law, Queen Hyeondeok.
Knowing that terrible future, how could Hong-ah not want to change history?
If Sejo seized the throne again, she too would surely meet a tragic end.
She would likely live out her life, like her younger sister Gyeonghye, as neither princess nor slave, but something in between—looked down on by all, without husband, stripped of dignity. For Hong-ah, who dreamed of a golden-spoon future, that was unbearable.
Come to think of it, history already seems a little different.
In her memory, there had been no record of Consort Sun being confined anywhere. She had remained Crown Princess until she committed an unforgivable act and was deposed.
Did that mean history could truly be changed? The Crown Prince’s hand patting her head was real, but the path forward was so uncertain.
Still, her resolve was firm.
She would survive—quietly, steadily—and enjoy everything life had to offer. If there were things she had to protect along the way, then she would protect them. Especially the family who showered her with such affection.
Hong-ah steeled herself, feeling the storm that lay ahead.
Time passed quickly. During that time, Hong-ah grew diligently.
Whenever she tried to think too hard, she just grew sleepy, so she gave up on scheming too much and focused on growing up. Thanks to that, her short, stubby limbs finally stretched out a little.
Gone were the days when even rolling over was difficult—now she could walk wherever she pleased. Her hair had grown long too, and the palace maids found joy in styling her.
Loved and cherished, she grew healthy and strong. Unlike the historical record, which said the child had died before turning one, Hong-ah never even caught so much as a cold.
The once tiny infant was now four years old. After living here for thirty-six months, she found herself gradually melting into this world. She worried sometimes that she had too many people she cared about.
A warm summer breeze tickled her forehead, lifting a stray lock of hair. Her mother gently tucked it back into place.
Hong-ah smiled instinctively, and mother and daughter exchanged laughter. The days were happy and leisurely—but anxiety always lingered in one corner of her heart.
The atmosphere in the Crown Prince’s palace was icy, despite the season.
At the end of this month, the Crown Princess would return from Hyunsimgak. Nearly two years of confinement there for discipline had come to an end with a royal command for her return.
The palace was filled with tension. At the center of it stood Lady Gwon of Yangwon.
“Poor Lady Yangwon, what will become of her?”
“The palace has been so peaceful these past years.”
“Once Consort Sun returns, thunder will surely strike.”
Everyone worried for Lady Gwon’s safety. For two years, she had served as the gracious mistress of the palace without issue.
The palace maids, who had once suffered beatings from Consort Sun when they incurred her wrath, had welcomed Gwon’s gentle presence. It had been the peace and happiness they longed for.
But soon, Consort Sun would return. To reassert authority, she would surely harm Gwon. No one believed a few readings of the Yeolnyeojeon (Lives of Virtuous Women) could change her temper.
“My lady, you don’t look well.”
“It’s only that I worry too much. Don’t trouble yourself as well.”
Lady Gwon’s complexion worsened daily. To Hong-ah’s eyes, her mother looked like a frightened woman. She had briefly been mistress of the palace, but in truth she was still a concubine, and by nature a gentle, timid soul.
“Mother?”
“My darling child.”
Still, when Hong-ah was by her side, her mother could smile.
Hong-ah was the Crown Prince’s only child and a precious jewel of the palace. Even if her mother could never rival the Crown Princess, Hong-ah wanted to protect Lady Gwon with all her might. It was guilt, pity, and love all at once.
She reached out her short arms and touched her mother’s cheek. Once plump with baby fat, her face had grown gaunt from worry and hardship.
“Is my little one worrying about her mother? How precious you are.”
Hong-ah was her mother’s only lifeline. And Hong-ah vowed to be that lifeline.
She had long since given up hope in her father. He was a good father, yes, but not a good husband. He had indeed wished to depose Consort Sun, but he never truly empowered Lady Gwon.
Once Hong-ah had learned to speak, she sometimes whined openly to him, but his attitude toward her mother never changed.
His gaze at Lady Gwon was both a man’s and a king’s—the piercing eyes of a ruler, capable of subduing others with a look. He was born to be king.
That was why he never openly took sides. He gave affection, but never his all.
His most favored consort was Lady Hong Seunghui, yet he never allowed her to surpass Lady Gwon, the mother of his daughter.
While Consort Sun was confined, he gave Lady Gwon authority to manage the inner court, but with the Crown Princess’s return approaching, he withdrew that support.
He neither let his dislike of Consort Sun nor his favoritism toward a concubine upset the balance of the court. It was the natural judgment of a future king.
Reading this detached neutrality, Hong-ah decided not to expect much from him. She realized that the little authority Lady Gwon had was only because she herself was the Crown Prince’s daughter. And she also realized that she could expect no more.
Unless it directly concerned his own authority or Hong-ah’s safety, he would lend his power to no one.
“It seems our little lady worries as well. I’ve never seen you so pale. My lady, you should summon a physician.”
“Would a physician solve this?”
At her mother’s bitter words, the nanny hesitated. It was true—a sickness of the heart could not be cured by a physician.
“Even so, you cannot neglect it. They say heartache becomes illness of the body.”
“I know your concern.”
Though Lady Gwon brushed it off lightly, her attendants could not take it so lightly.
By their urging, she finally allowed a physician to see her—and from him, she heard unexpected news.
News that would serve as her shield and strength. News that spread quickly, whispered from mouth to mouth, until it even reached Jaseondang.
