The Crown Prince and the Dried Persimmons
“Persimmon or crab?”
The Crown Prince stared down at me in mild bewilderment before letting out a soft sound of realization. “Ah, you crave persimmon. Let us see… Yes, as it happens, I have just the thing.”
He rummaged through the inner folds of his royal robe.
“A dried persimmon. I had tucked it away earlier, thinking to…”
“D-Dried persimmon…!”
The moment he held the confection out to me, my instincts short-circuited.
“No! Shoo! Bad, bad!”
It happened before my mind could intervene.
Swish!
Snatching the dried persimmon from his hand, I hurled it away with all the frantic might in my toddler arms, treating it like a live grenade. Only after hearing the sticky fruit roll along the paving stones did my senses finally snap back.
…What in the world did I just do?
Waking up in the body of a four-year-old had clearly fried whatever part of my brain controlled impulse regulation. Before me, the heir apparent to the kingdom of Joseon stood frozen, staring at me with a thoroughly dumbfounded expression.
How on earth was I supposed to talk my way out of this?
“M-Meaning… persimmons are evil, Your Highness!”
“Why would a persimmon be evil?” he asked, blinking down at me in confusion.
If there was any silver lining, it was that his gentle face showed neither anger nor offense.
“B-Because they just are! Haven’t you heard the stories? If you eat too many persimmons, you get a dreadful sickness where your tummy locks up and your poop turns hard as stone, and…”
Stop talking. Please, stop talking!
No matter how maturely my adult mind operated, the moment I opened my mouth, pure childish nonsense spilled out. Good grief. Perhaps the real evil in this palace was my own runaway fire mouth.
At the same time, a twinge of guilt pricked my chest. Persimmons and crab were the very foods rumored to have driven him to an early grave in the history books.
Should I warn him never to touch persimmons or soy-marinated crab again?
The thought flickered for an instant before I shoved it down. My own survival was already hanging by a thread; I had no room to play guardian angel to the royal family. I was hardly in a position to fret over a tragedy slated to happen two decades from now.
Stick to saving your own skin, Bong-bong. Stop meddling in things that don't concern you.
“Are you quite well, little one?”
The Crown Prince’s concerned voice pulled me back from my spiraling thoughts. To remain so magnanimous even after a child slapped his treat into the dirt—he truly was a man of boundless virtue. Realizing I must have looked absurdly grave for a toddler, I arranged my features into a bright, beamish grin. It was the "perfectly harmless toddler smile" I had honed through days of practice.
“Yes! I’m all better, Your Highness. But Court Lady Han might come looking for me, so I must take my leave!”
“Very well, go on. Ah, but what is your name?”
“Hwam Bom-bo…”
Curses. Foiled by baby teeth yet again.
“Hwang. Bong. Bong.”
“…That is a lovely name.”
The corners of the Crown Prince's lips twitched upward, clearly fighting off a smile.
“Until we meet again, Bong-bong.”
“Yes, Your Highness!”
I offered a clumsy bow and scuttled away, resolving to keep myself in his good graces. He was destined to be king, after all. Though, of course, living long enough to see his coronation depended entirely on whether I could survive the present.
The following morning, Jang Hui-bin did not turn me away at her threshold.
“Hui-bin-jaga. The aegi-nain Hwam Bom-bong greets you!”
I dropped into a deep court bow just as Seol-hyang had instructed, wobbling precariously. My foot nearly caught the hem of my skirt, but I managed to recover before face-planting onto the floorboards.
“Yes. I accept your morning greeting,” came the cool voice from above. “Mind Court Lady Han and the senior maids.”
“Yes, Hui-bin-jaga.”
Even as I answered, my eyes darted about the chamber. When I had scoured the western wing of Chwiseondang for the rumored altar on Ipchun, Jang Hui-bin’s bedchamber had been the only room I couldn't search. Now, sweeping my gaze across the interior, I saw nothing unusual. No effigies, no talismans, no incense burners.
Of course. Who in their right mind would stash a shamanic altar where the King frequents?
Relieved, I gathered my courage and carefully lifted my head.
“Hui-bin-jaga, I have something to…”
My grand plan had been to sweep her off her feet with a lavish poetic compliment rehearsed all night: Among the swaying blossoms, I caught the refined sandalwood scent of Your Ladyship.
Yet the moment I met her gaze, the words evaporated from my tongue.
She is breathtaking.
Flawless skin like white porcelain, upturned phoenix eyes that held a sharp, intoxicating allure, an aristocratic bridge of the nose, and lips painted in striking vermilion. She was an arresting, breathtaking ice queen.
“Speak,” she prompted.
“Um… the scent of flowers… it swayed, and then…”
What gibberish is coming out of my mouth?!
Jang Hui-bin observed my flustered babbling with detached disinterest before offering a single flat command.
“You may withdraw.”
That was it.
“…Yes, Jaga.”
Shoulders slumped, I trudged out of the bedchamber. While my pride took a hit, I refused to let it dampen my spirits. What mattered most was confirming that no cursed altar existed within her private quarters.
The worst-case scenario is off the table. Take it one step at a time.
With that mystery settled, it was time for the next objective.
Palace exploration!
I scampered over to Seol-hyang and tugged on her sleeve.
“Seol-hyang Hang-ah-nim!”
“What is it, little one?”
“May I go look outside Chwiseondang?”
“Outside? Hmm… You don't have any duties assigned this morning, so I suppose there's no harm. But do not wander far, understand? You will lose your way.”
“Yes! I’ll be very careful!”
Having mapped out Chwiseondang, it was high time I surveyed the wider world. Striding out through the courtyard gates, the authentic grandeur of the royal palace unfolded before me. It was Changgyeonggung, a place I had walked countless times in my former life, yet it looked entirely different from my modern memories.
Of course. So many pavilions and corridors were razed during the Japanese colonial era.
A sudden thrill coursed through me; I was truly standing in living history. My inner history nerd stirred, chest swelling with uncontrollable excitement. And why wouldn't it? Back when I was a sleep-deprived graduate student, the title of the thesis I had been slaving over night after night was none other than:
A Study on the Daily Life of Royal Women Through the Records of the Sukjong Era.
Just as I prepared to dash forward with glee, something caught my eye.
Wait. It’s those two from yesterday.
Down the path were the two child maids who had wrecked the spring couplets, their faces utterly sullen as they hauled heavy water yokes. Rumor had it they had been sentenced to grueling physical labor as punishment for desecrating the royal Chuncheopja. But as the breeze carried their hushed whispers, my ears pricked up.
“…We have to find physical proof soon…”
“…They promised a massive reward if we uncover the evidence…”
A chill shot through my veins. The two suspicious maids were murmuring about "proof" and "rewards."
Spies?!
My lingering suspicions instantly solidified into certainty. But before I could process the revelation, another problem presented itself.
…Why are they walking straight toward me?!
I desperately wanted to eavesdrop further, but the open corridor offered zero cover. Deciding that retreat was the better part of valor, I spun on my heels and bolted back around the corner.
Thud!
“Oof!”
Turning the corner at top speed, I crashed straight into an expanse of luxurious silk.
“F-Forgive me! Forgive me, My Lady!”
My heart leaped into my throat, but my academic reflexes kicked in immediately to assess the situation. The skirt billowing before my eyes wasn't the practical navy blue of a court maid or a Sang-gung. It was an exquisite, luminous pale pink silk.
A royal consort!
I scrambled to my feet and dropped into a ninety-degree bow, preparing to beg for mercy before the wrath of an imperial concubine descended upon me.
“Goodness gracious. It has been an age since I last saw such a tiny little maid. Are you all right, child? You aren't hurt, are you?”
The voice was astonishingly gentle, dripping with maternal warmth. Sensing that I wasn't about to be flogged within an inch of my life, I cautiously peeked up.
“Y-Yes. I am quite all right.”
“My, what an adorable face you have. But I have not seen you before. How long have you served in the palace?”
“Um… five days? Or maybe six…”
“Oh dear. Not even ten days? Why, you are scarcely more than a nursling.”
The woman possessed an air of understated elegance. Her gently drooping eyes and soft brow gave her an aura of harmless, innocent purity.
Who is she?
My mind rapidly rifled through the roster of King Sukjong's consorts active in this period. Aside from Queen Inhyeon and Jang Hui-bin, the inner palace was crowded with concubines: Suk-bin Choe, Gwi-in Kim, Suk-ui Bak, Suk-ui Yu…
Seriously, King Sukjong, take a cold bath once in a while.
Supplying a practiced, cherubic smile to hide my internal grumbling, I watched the consort closely. Suddenly, her eyes brightened.
“I have a wonderful idea, little one. I must take you to my quarters.”
…Pardon? Me? Right now?
Her gentle gaze swept over me from head to toe, suddenly carrying an uncanny sharpness beneath that meek exterior.
“Prince Yeoning is always so terribly lonely; he would surely cherish you like a little sister. Oh, I can already picture how delighted my son will be.”
My jaw dropped slack.
Did she just say… Prince Yeoning?!
Prince Yeoning was the princely title of the future King Yeongjo, one of Joseon's greatest monarchs. Which meant the gentle woman standing in front of me was…
Suk-bin Choe.
The biological mother of King Yeongjo, and Jang Hui-bin’s deadliest political rival. And she wanted to take me into her household?
Fireworks exploded in my head.
Wait… Does this mean I can jump ship and escape Chwiseondang?!
If I could just transfer to Suk-bin’s pavilion, my future was guaranteed! Following Queen Inhyeon's death, the political tempest that wiped out Jang Hui-bin and her entire faction didn't touch a single hair on Suk-bin's head. Of course it didn't—she was the very person who blew the whistle on the Tongmyeongjeon curse!
Pop culture always portrayed Suk-bin Choe as a sweet, fragile, Cinderella-like figure. But as a historian, I knew better. She was a brilliant, iron-willed strategist who navigated court purges and kept her son alive to inherit the throne.
In short: siding with Suk-bin meant absolute, unshakeable plot armor.
My heart hammered against my ribs. Freedom! Survival! A quiet, ordinary palace life far away from the execution block! Farewell deadly palace thriller, hello fluffy historical slice-of-life!
Suk-bin Choe was my golden ticket.
“Tell me, which pavilion are you assigned to?” she asked, smiling warmly. “I shall have the Chief Court Lady send you over to Bogyeongdang at once…”
Clack, clack, clack.
Rapid, purposeful footsteps echoed down the stone corridor. Along with the wind came an intoxicatingly rich floral perfume that I recognized all too well.
“Suk-bin.”
…Why is Jang Hui-bin here?!
“That child belongs to Chwiseondang.”
Jang Hui-bin’s voice dropped with arctic finality, sharp enough to draw blood.
“How dare you covet what is mine?”
A violent shudder ran straight up my spine, prickling all the way to my scalp.
Well, damn it all. Transfer denied.