It Is Not Your Fault
“Mother. It is Yun.”
Stepping carefully into the bedchamber of Tongmyeongjeon, the residence of Queen Inhyeon, the Crown Prince announced his arrival in a hushed, reverent voice.
For months, the Queen had been unable to rise from her bed, stricken by a malignant outbreak of boils. With foul pus steadily weeping from her inflamed sores, a suffocating stench hung heavy in the air of the chamber.
“...Crown Prince, have you come?”
The Queen opened her eyes slowly. There was no light left in them. With an emaciated frame, an ashen complexion, and lips cracked and parched, she appeared more dead than alive. Her suffering was the same—a torment far too cruel for any living soul, steadily gnawing away at her fleeting youth. Though every renowned medicinal herb and acupuncture technique had been brought to bear, everyone in the palace harbored the same quiet dread: the end was not far off.
“Mother, how fares your illness today?”
“With every passing day, the pain only deepens. Yet you come to visit me with such devotion each morning—that alone is my sole solace.” The Queen blinked with agonizing effort. “How could a woman of such nature give birth to a soul as pure and good as you, Crown Prince...?”
“...”
The Crown Prince lowered his gaze. Resting against the cold floorboards, his knuckles turned stark white.
“Do not fret over this mother of yours. Rather, it is you I worry for. I can think of nothing else but whether you will suffer harm on account of your birth mother’s lack of virtue...” The Queen’s clouded eyes settled upon him with tender sorrow. “Do not think I say this to disparage the woman who bore you. It is all spoken out of deep affection and care for your well-being. Do you understand?”
“...Yes, Mother.” The Crown Prince’s voice trembled faintly.
Just then, a court lady announced the arrival of the royal physician. After paying his formal respects, the Crown Prince stepped out into the courtyard of the Queen’s palace and exhaled a long, ragged breath. Clenching his jaw, he began to walk, his hand rising unconsciously to thump against his aching chest in heavy, muffled thuds.
“Bong-bong! Run along and fetch Head Court Lady Han!”
“Yes!”
“Bong-bong! Call for the scullery maid while you’re out!”
“Yes!”
“Bong-bong, could you stop by the Seseugan and ask them to send over two jugs of clean water?”
“Yes, ma’am! Right away!”
From the morning after Suk-jeong’s unhinged visit, Chwiseondang was plunged into dizzying chaos. The Lunar New Year was right on their doorstep. Handcarts sent by the Royal Kitchen Bureau arrived one after another, brimming not only with butchered meat, fresh fish, and seasonal fruits, but also ornate rice cakes, sweet confections from the Saenggwabang, and fine ceremonial liquor. Nor did the deliveries end there; tribute gifts from high-ranking officials and influential noble clans poured in without pause.
This is proof that plenty of people still believe Jang Hui-bin will reclaim her former power.
That was my takeaway as I stared at the towering mounds of silk bundles piled before Hui-bin-jaga’s bedchamber. Regardless of the politics, preparing the festive banquet and organizing the endless inventory fell entirely upon the palace women. From the Sojubang, the rich, mouthwatering aromas of sizzling, boiling, and braising drifted on the winter air from dawn to dusk.
Being a small child granted no exemption from the bustle. Of course, since I couldn't cook over roaring fire pits or carry heavy crates, I was put in charge of running small errands.
“You’re worn out, aren't you, Bong-bong?” Seol-hyang slipped up beside me and gently wiped the sweat from my brow, her skirts trailing the fragrant, nutty scent of hot cooking oil. “Hang in there for just one more day. Once today passes, we can finally rest.”
Just as Seol-hyang said, the palace maintained its own system of welfare. Over major holidays, most palace servants were granted leave; government officials suspended public affairs, while court maids typically returned to their family homes to spend time with their kin. Of course, such privileges meant nothing to a destitute orphan like me who had nowhere to go.
“I have to get back before they notice I'm gone. Keep up the good work, our little bokdeongi.” After a quick glance around to make sure no senior court lady was looking, Seol-hyang popped a warm, freshly fried morsel of fish pancake straight into my mouth.
“Hot-hot-hot!”
“Oh dear, are you alright?”
“I-It’s burning, but it tastes so good! Hehe... Okay, I’m off to finish the errands!”
From the Seseugan to the Sojubang, then off to the Saenggwabang, and right back to the Sojubang again...
Aigoo, my poor legs.
By the time our daily chores wound down, twilight had already settled across the compound. I was sitting on the wooden veranda, thumping my aching calves with my tiny fists, when Court Lady Han’s voice called out from the doorway.
“Bong-bong.”
“Yes, Mamanim.”
“I have one final errand for you. Head over to the Eastern Palace and bid Eunuch Mun to step across to our quarters for a brief moment.”
“The Eastern Palace... you mean Jeoseungjeon?”
“You have already committed the palace hall’s name to memory? How remarkably bright you are.” Court Lady Han patted my head with fond approval. “Once you return from Jeoseungjeon, you may retire straight to your room and rest.”
“Yes, Mamanim! I shall be back shortly!”
I marched out of Chwiseondang with brisk, determined strides. Although scurrying about all day had left me utterly exhausted, an eager bounce returned to my step.
To think I get to see Jeoseungjeon with my own eyes. What an unexpected windfall!
Despite sounding eerily like the word for the underworld, the name Jeoseungjeon actually meant 'the hall for inheriting the royal throne'—the official seat of the Crown Prince. It had burned to the ground during King Yeongjo’s reign, surviving in the modern era only through dry historical records.
I wonder what the Crown Prince's residence looks like in person?
Full of curiosity, I peeked through the entrance of Jeoseungjeon, only to blink in surprise. There was not a single court attendant in sight. The compound was enveloped in an unnerving, absolute silence. Treading softly on tiptoe, I crept into the inner courtyard.
...The Crown Prince?
Seated alone inside a quiet pavilion was a slender silhouette clad in a blue dragon robe. His shoulders hung low, weighed down by some invisible burden, and as I watched closely, his frame shuddered with faint, rhythmic tremors.
Is he... crying?
It was a back far too desolate and weary for a twelve-year-old boy. Watching him, the tragic trajectory of his life flashed through my mind.
You'd be hard-pressed to find anyone in history who suffered as much heartbreak as this Crown Prince.
King Gyeongjong, Yi Yun, was remembered as a tragic monarch not merely because he died young. He was, in essence, the ultimate troubled child who had grown up in an emotional war zone. To frame it in modern terms, imagine your father acting like he was caught in the romance of the century with your mother, only to abruptly reconcile with his ex-wife while keeping your mother around as a concubine. And then, in the end, that same father executes your mother.
When Sukjong finally handed down the decree ordering Jang Hui-bin to drink poison, didn't the Prince beg his father to execute him alongside her?
I couldn't begin to fathom what agony must have torn through a fourteen-year-old boy's heart to make him utter such desperate words. Without thinking, I took a step toward the pavilion.
I had closed the distance to within a few paces when his voice rang out.
“Did I not bid you all to withdraw? I wish to be left alone.”
He spoke without turning around. His tone was stiff and cold, unrecognizably distant from the gentle warmth he had shown during our first meeting, yet beneath the stern command lay a faint, brittle tremor.
“Forgive me, Your Highness... I was looking for Eunuch Mun...”
At my childish squeak, the Crown Prince turned his head.
“...Ah. It is you.”
“Yes, Your Highness. It is me.”
“Was your name... Bong-bong?”
“Yes, Your Highness. I am Bom-bomi.”
A flicker of light seemed to return to his shadowed face, softening his somber expression.
“Eunuch Mun is away from his post at present. What brings you to seek him?”
“Court Lady Han sent me to fetch him.”
“Is that so? Then I shall deliver the word to him myself upon his return.”
“Yes, Your Highness. I am deeply grateful.”
I lingered awkwardly on the stone path. I knew royal decorum dictated that I bow and take my leave, but my feet refused to move. Leaving him alone in that quiet pavilion simply weighed too heavily on my conscience. As I stood blinking up at him, the Crown Prince gestured toward the raised wooden floor.
“Do not remain standing there in the cold. Come, sit.”
“May I really?”
“Of course you may.”
“Thank you, Your Highness!”
Heave-ho. Clambering up onto the pavilion proved to be an ordeal for my stubby toddler limbs, and watching me struggle and puff, a faint smile finally grazed the Prince’s lips.
...Hey, don't just stand there smiling, give a girl a hand!
I shot him a brief mental grumble, but managed to scramble safely onto the polished boards nonetheless.
“...”
Sneaking a sideways glance at him, I noticed the rims of his eyes were faintly rimmed with red. He looked utterly drained, hollowed out by grief.
“Your Highness...”
“Yes?”
“Did... something bad happen to you today?”
Caught off guard by my blunt question, the Prince blinked in surprise before letting out an awkward, self-deprecating chuckle.
“Haha. It appears so. And what of you, Bong-bong? How was your day?”
“It wasn't an easy day for me either.”
“Is that so?” The Prince nodded slowly, his voice dipping low and faint. “Then it seems today was a difficult day for both of us.”
Swinging my little legs, which dangled well above the floor, I looked up at his melancholic profile.
“Your Highness, why is today so hard for you?”
“...And what about you?”
“For me... well, just living is hard.”
The Prince let out a quiet, breathy laugh, though the gloom clinging to his features did not lift in the slightest.
“Truth be told...” he murmured softly, “it is the very same for me.”
A heavy stillness settled over the pavilion. Neither of us spoke for a long time. In the silence, I thought of the crushing weight this twelve-year-old boy already bore upon his shoulders, and the monstrous grief that would only grow larger to suffocate him in the years to come. Pity welled up deep within my chest—an absurd emotion for someone in my lowly station to feel toward the future ruler of the realm, yet it was undeniably real.
At last, the Crown Prince broke the silence.
“Bong-bong. Sometimes, I find myself thinking...”
“Thinking about what?”
“That perhaps... I am the seed of all this misfortune.”
My breath caught in my throat. Yet the Prince merely kept staring into the empty courtyard, evidently believing that an infant child could never grasp the true weight of his words.
“Had I never been born, perhaps this palace would be a far more peaceful place. No... surely, it would have been much better.” His slender shoulders drooped, sagging under an invisible shroud. “Because of me, so many people have lost their lives. And even now, far too many continue to bleed from the mere fact that I exist.”
I bit my lower lip hard, staring up at his trembling frame. He was drowning in guilt. He genuinely believed that if he had never come into this world, the bloody purges surrounding the investiture of the firstborn prince would never have transpired; that his mother would never have displaced Queen Inhyeon only to be cast down in disgrace, and that the vicious, unending cycle of vengeance would never have taken root.
I gazed silently at the young heir. He possessed a dignified, mature countenance, but strip away the royal vestments, and he was only twelve years old. Nothing more than a child.
“Your Highness.”
I spoke in a calm, clear voice, praying with all my heart that the words tumbling from this tiny mouth might offer him some small measure of comfort.
“It isn't Your Highness's fault.”
The Crown Prince turned, staring at me blankly.
“It really isn't your fault, Your Highness. It was the grown-ups... The grown-ups are the ones who did wrong.”
Reaching out with my small hand, I gently patted his slumped shoulder with steady, rhythmic taps. The Crown Prince drew in a sharp, shuddering breath, his lips quivering uncontrollably.
Drip.
A dark droplet struck the brilliant blue silk of his dragon robe, blossoming into a damp ring. I simply looked away, pretending I hadn't seen a thing.