Chapter 1
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: Possession
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In the brothels of the Central Plains, it was common to take in and raise children without parents.
This was a virtuous act stemming from the unique maternal instincts of the courtesans, but in truth, it was also a pragmatic way to secure benefits.
Girls could naturally be groomed into courtesans, while boys, if well-fed and grown strong, needed only a club to become reliable pillar husbands.
Having grown up in the brothel from a young age and forming deep attachments, treating them harshly still earned unwavering loyalty—they accepted it willingly.
Among the courtesans raised this way, some with exceptional beauty occasionally emerged.
These women were usually sold for hefty sums to become concubines of wealthy merchants or officials.
Even if the husband had significant flaws, for a mere courtesan to become the concubine of a powerful man was an opportunity not to be missed.
But what if the flaws were beyond the ordinary?
What if he delighted in abusing and torturing women, having turned all his previous concubines into corpses?
Still, they accepted it.
From the brothel's perspective, as long as they got paid, it didn't matter.
Who knew what harm might come from refusing?
It was regrettable for the courtesan heading off as a concubine, but what could be done?
Moreover...
Even if he was a wastrel, what if he bore the Zhu Clan surname and was a legitimate imperial scion with the blood of dragons?
Refusal wasn't an option from the start.
Yet the people of this place, Bright Mystery Pavilion, were truly extraordinary.
"It's obvious she'll die! How can you send my daughter off to marry into that place!? Tell them to fuck off!!"
Good heavens, while it was common for the Madam to call the children she raised her sons and daughters, to truly think of them as such and speak like this...
"That's right! We can't send our So-hyang there! Pack up! Let's flee to the next county! No, let's just bolt to Goryeo altogether!"
As the saying goes, birds of a feather flock together—the steward, who should have been reining in the Madam's outburst, was plotting to flee the entire brothel.
Against an imperial scion, no less!
What a display of righteousness. Rare paragons of virtue.
However, such matters rarely end well by nature.
Before they could even enact their escape plan, the imperial family's blades descended upon the brothel.
A youth, thoroughly drunk, kicked open the brothel's doors and swung his sword.
His swordsmanship was clumsy beyond measure, but it hardly mattered—
The soldiers guarding him were elite warriors assigned to protect the imperial scion, far too valuable for such a sordid task.
Their resistance was futile.
The Madam's head was severed and rolled across the floor, the steward pierced through the heart and collapsed.
The courtesans were rounded up en masse and sold off as military supplies.
The pillar husbands fought back only to be beaten to death, or slain while fleeing.
Even children who hadn't fully grown were trampled. Infants who couldn't yet speak were no exception!
Finally, Bright Mystery Pavilion was burned to the ground, the incident labeled official business and closed.
This was how the rebellion of the powerless typically ended.
Only the courtesan who had caught the imperial scion's eye was unharmed, wrapped gently in soft silk, and transported to his chambers.
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Steaming hot bathwater infused with herbs that clarified the skin and brought a healthy glow.
A small girl, appearing about ten years old, was soaking in it.
Just a few hours earlier, she had lost the home where she was born and raised.
"Please close your eyes for a moment."
Two maids assisted with the child's bath.
They washed her hair with fragrant jade combs and massaged her body with gentle hands.
Imperial maids were masters of beauty. Their touch was indescribably soft and skilled.
In terms of technique alone, it rivaled the sisters back at the brothel who had washed her hair, yet the child felt as if her scalp was being torn and her skin flayed.
Camellia oil for her hair, scented oils for her skin—all luxuries commoners couldn't afford after a full year's labor.
"His Highness the Prince of Affection is resting now, so we won't apply makeup."
In truth, such elaborate preparations weren't even necessary; the child's beauty was outstanding enough.
Her skin was naturally fair, her jet-black hair glossy like ebony, her features exquisitely sculpted.
Above all, she possessed an innate allure.
Long, slender lashes. Softly drooping eyes.
Plump lips tinged with pale rose.
If the pure white color of her eyes was a flaw, it was only that—but unlike a blind person's, her moist irises shimmered, drawing one in hypnotically.
Her chest was flat, her hips lacked curves—an immature figure, yet
it was seductive, sensual, bewitching, indescribably lascivious.
Enough to stir even an imperial scion who had no taste for childlike lust.
"...We shall escort you to the bedchamber."
Even maids accustomed to seeing noble maidens as daily fare forgot their words momentarily at this otherworldly beauty.
But did such appearance mean anything to the child?
The maids dragged her to the bedchamber and laid her down.
Then, fearing she might take her own life, they kept vigil over her without extinguishing the lamp.
They watched the lying child intently, taking turns like sentries—a terrifying ordeal for any child, yet...
The child felt no fear.
No, more accurately, there was no room in her heart for fear.
It was filled with pitch-black despair.
Once sorrow crossed a certain threshold, even tears ceased to flow.
There was no spark of light in the child's eyes; they were dead.
In truth, were only her eyes dead? Her heart had truly perished.
Bright Mystery Pavilion.
Her home. Her homeland. Her family.
The Madam, crude in speech but affectionate.
The stern steward who secretly slipped her frost candy.
The big, simpleminded big brother.
The sisters who teasingly washed her hair.
Friends she played with.
Little siblings whose wiggling fingers fascinated her.
All of it—dead, shattered, burned.
It was her fault. Her cursed face.
Despair was crushing the child's soul.
A normal child would simply writhe in agony.
But the child harbored a talent as extraordinary as her beauty.
A talent that wouldn't have surfaced had she been raised in the brothel learning music, dance, poetry, and etiquette.
A talent undiscoverable in ordinary lives like farming or trading.
The talent of the spirit.
Her soul crumbled under the cruel heart demon, her crown acupoint burst open, and her upper dantian flared wide.
A venomously intense longing pierced through time and space—
summoning the child's past life.
"...Grandfather?"
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Suddenly, a figure appeared in the child's inner world.
Long hair neatly tied back, snow-white with age, dressed in unfamiliar clothes—an old man.
Age spots dotted his skin, wrinkles etched deep.
His frame suggested natural robustness, but time had withered his muscles to bone, leaving him gaunt.
Yet those eyes.
Calm and settled, unlike the cloudy gazes of the elders the child knew.
In her mind, the old man rolled those calm eyes toward her.
The child looked back at the old man.
Though neither knew the reason or principle, they recognized each other as one and the same.
A certainty felt instinctively, like knowing imbalance leads to falling.
They were each other, so gazing into eyes revealed each other's lives.
The old man saw the child's short life; the child saw the old man's long one.
Skyscrapers piercing the heavens.
Silent carriages racing by.
Iron rods thundering like lightning.
Unfamiliar clothes and customs.
None of that mattered.
What mattered was that the old man was a warrior who had lived his life wielding a sword.
The old man had power.
Unlike her.
"Help me."
[...How?]
"You know, Grandfather. Take my body. It's yours."
Having seen her life, the old man understood the reason.
"Use my body to kill that bastard."
[Don't do it. You're still young, full of countless possibilities.]
The child was young, with myriad opportunities and choices ahead.
She faced rape and torment leading to death tomorrow at the imperial scion's hands, but with the old man's aid, escape wasn't impossible.
[Force isn't the only answer. Even if you crave revenge, there's no need for it to be now.]
With her innate charm, she could amass wealth and power to crush the imperial scion.
Or learn martial arts to build strength.
"It has to be now."
Bloodshot veins filled the child's eyes.
A softly uttered phrase, yet a scream tearing at her throat.
"Kill that fucking bastard now."
The old man had much to say.
Escape your rage. It's a choice swept by emotion.
Your slain family would want you to live happily, not avenge and die...
"...It's already too late."
This encounter stemmed from her soul being crushed by bitter resentment.
Summoning a spirit was a miracle beyond her budding talent's capacity.
Especially one of the old man's high caliber...
She knew even fleeing now wouldn't let her live long.
She didn't want to anyway.
"Even if I could live, I don't want to."
The child's heart was broken. Shattered.
She had lost the will to live.
Thus, she wished for death.
Her own or the loathsome imperial scion's—it no longer mattered.
[...Are you sure?]
"Yes. Please, I beg you."
Occupy her body and live again.
The old man wasn't unwilling to live.
[Think again, child.]
The old man stepped toward the child.
He knelt to meet her eye level.
[There must be a way for you to survive.]
"This is what I want. Truly."
The old man closed his eyes briefly, then embraced her.
[It won't hurt. Think of it as falling asleep.]
The old man tightened his embrace.
Gently, firmly, swiftly.
A technique honed over a lifetime, masterful execution without a blade.
"...Grandfather? I just feel... sleepy... is it working...?"
This was a mental space, devoid of blood, flesh, or bone.
Yet the mindset etched into the soul was as real as any.
No pain for the child meant the old man had been that skilled a killer in life.
"Thank you..."
The child's face relaxed into a drowsy smile, her complexion unchanged—neither flushed nor pale.
And then, softly.
Her consciousness slipped into sleep, her arms fell, her breath stopped.
The death of the soul mirrored the flesh.
The child's true body on the bed outside quietly ceased breathing.
"...Sigh."
Then, she inhaled again.
Her closed eyes slowly opened.
The child blinked her large eyes, slowly surveying her surroundings.
She smashed the bedside flower vase to the floor with a crash.
The maid, bored from watching her, widened her eyes, then sighed and approached.
"What are you doing? If your body is harmed, it will trouble His High—"
The maid couldn't finish.
A small porcelain shard protruded from her throat.
"Guh, ack..."
It precisely pierced her windpipe and artery—no scream possible.
She clutched at the child's throat in agony, but a body starved of blood and air held no strength.
Soon, focus faded from her eyes, her body slumped, and she collapsed onto the bed with a thud.
The child indifferently observed, then rummaged through the maid's clothes for something useful.
"A makeup knife."
Bamboo handle and sheath. Short blade.
Often mistakenly called a suicide tool, it was closer to a versatile everyday implement.
The child peered intently at her reflection in the blade.
Not the bright eyes of the playful, spoiled child.
Not the faded eyes drowned in despair over lost family.
The deeply sunken eyes of the old man.
The calm, blood-soaked eyes of a madman.
Possession, reincarnation. Whatever it was called.
It didn't matter.
The old man fully accepted this miracle he never imagined in life.
"So-hyang... A fine name."
True to the promise, the old man became the child and took her name.
"First, I'll crush that loathsome bastard."