Born As The Daughter of a Lowly Concubine - Chapter 69

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Born the daughter of a lowborn concubine.
Episode 69
“I, I can—I can paint! I know how to paint.”
Ah, Painting. I hadn’t considered that.
“Genre Painting… and Portrait Painting as well?”
“Yes, it is possible!”
I’d been sitting quietly in the back, watching without comment, but the moment I spoke, I felt the mood shift around us.
‘That’s right. Capturing the landscape here, the daily life of the children—it would be good to preserve it in paint.’
I could summon painters from Dohwaseo to do the work, but they’d expect wages, and it would be tedious to call them out repeatedly. If we could manage it ourselves here, nothing would be better.
When Min Sang-gung and Ga-i took down the names of the first girl who’d spoken and the few others who raised their hands on my say-so, it seemed to embolden the rest—suddenly many more hands shot up.
“I can perform music, if it… if it’s acceptable?”
“Hmm. Musical Performance.”
Music was fine as an accomplishment, certainly, but what use was it in this era?
Would teaching the children music only invite suspicion that I was raising courtesans?
Musicians weren’t treated particularly well in this period anyway, and the highest path—Jangakwon—wasn’t open to just anyone.
‘So it’s true then, whether ancient times or now: arts and athletics make for difficult employment.’
While I was mulling this over, a small child I’d grown somewhat familiar with came running at me and cried out.
“I want to learn music!”
“Hey, hey, don’t butt in!”
The little leader, who must have been watching nearby, quickly grabbed the child in alarm.
“You’ve got your hands full.”
……
Seeing the pity in my gaze, she quietly gathered the small one and stepped back, which made me smile.
I decided to record it anyway—it might be useful later. Then something occurred to me.
“Does anyone know how to ride a horse?”
One person raised her hand.
That’s when my suspicion began to form.
She was the same person who’d raised her hand for everything except cooking.
“Really?”
“It is true.”
“Do you also know how to shoot a bow?”
“My skill is lacking, but yes.”
What is this? An overpowered character?
‘At this rate… wouldn’t she be the protagonist of another novel?’
I wonder if the author is writing something else in the same world.
While I was indulging these pointless thoughts, Min Sang-gung and the attendants finished their classification work efficiently.
In particular, they examined the proficiency of those who knew Classical Chinese and subdivided them accordingly.
It seemed they’d never conceived of using slaves in such a manner before. This is why prejudice is so dangerous.
Teaching the children was demanding work, and with so few hands to manage so many pupils, the fact that we’d gained extra helping hands seemed to buoy everyone’s spirits considerably.
Though their eyes sparkled with that energy, I noticed they looked a bit thinner than the last time I’d seen them.
‘I think I may have piled too much work on them. I feel sorry.’
Maybe I should give them some sort of gift.
As I was considering this, the attendants and concubines who’d been nearby withdrew, and the children came clustering around as if they’d been waiting for it.
“Why did so many people suddenly join us?”
“Well, it happened that way…”
I was reviewing the list of women literate in Classical Chinese that Min Sang-gung had left for me when the children gathered around, muttering and glancing at the paper. Some of them had learned a bit of reading and were sounding out the characters haltingly—it was quite endearing.
“Huh. Even as slaves, we still have surnames.”
“Hm? What… is that so?”
Just because someone became a slave didn’t mean they had to give up their surname, after all—though it was the sad truth of slavery that a master could rename you if they wished, and you couldn’t refuse.
But that wasn’t what these children were thinking about.
“Do you wish you had a surname?”
“No, no, that’s not it!”
“I want one.”
The small leader denied it, but the littlest one pushed past her and clung to me. This child had made clinging a habit by now.
“I don’t like my name now. I want a different one.”
“Your current name?”
“Don’t say it!”
The child cried out, but the others beside her didn’t stop.
“It’s Ayoung. Ayoung.”
“Ayoung?”
The little one, unable to silence the older siblings, pouted her lips in frustration.
“I didn’t make it up!”
“Of course not. You’re right.”
I’d heard that some of these children were abandoned, others had lost their parents, but they were still too young to choose their own names.
The little girl’s eyes sparkled as she clutched at my skirt.
“You know what? Sister, couldn’t you give me a new name? Please? A pretty one?”
“Me? Well… why don’t you ask Lady Min, the senior attendant?”
“No! I want you to!”
I sighed.
The child shook her head firmly—it had to be me or no one.
‘Well, a name does matter…’
After all, I’d chosen my own name precisely to avoid an odd one.
Seeing that her plea was working, the other children came rushing over, shouting “Name! Name!” until I had no choice but to promise I would give each of them a proper name.
The first, naturally, was the little one who’d spoken up first. This must be what they meant by giving an extra rice cake to the crying child.
“I want a cute and pretty name!”
“Hmm. What about Ayoung?”
“Ayoung! I like it! Is that a Sino-Korean word too? What does it mean?”
“Well…”
Right. I’d need to choose the characters as well.
As I deliberated and spoke the characters aloud, one of the attendants waiting beside me wrote down each name for the children.
The attendants seemed to know the children’s original names.
Once I’d given them their names, the children were largely satisfied and ran off shouting their new names.
‘They’ll probably get confused with each other anyway.’
But that’s why the attendant was writing everything down—it would be fine.
As I went through naming the children one by one, I felt a sharp gaze from beside me.
It was the little leader.
“…Would you like me to give you a name too?”
“W-Who! No!”
We’d known each other for quite some time, yet they’d never mentioned their names—so this was why.
‘Though I never asked either.’
But if these children were to carelessly use the name of someone as clearly yangban as myself, I had no idea what trouble might come of it.
“It’s all right. What kind of name would you like?”
The children’s preferences were generally for names that were cute, cool, or impressive-sounding.
It was a shame they rejected Korean names, preferring Sino-Korean ones, but if that’s what they wanted, what could I do?
In the role of naming master—a fate I’d never asked for—I found myself dredging up names of celebrities, politicians, and acquaintances I’d remembered over the years.
Shouldn’t there be some novel characters’ names I could use?
But in the end, the child who had sat quietly beside me without saying a word while I named all the others simply rose and left in silence.
‘That one.’
From what I’d heard, they were clever—quick to learn letters—so surely they could choose their own name?
‘At least they could have told me their name before leaving.’
After giving a name to every single child lined up before me, I finally collapsed in exhaustion from my naming ordeal, and the attendants quickly brought me tea.
Hmm. Surely the yangban-born servants hadn’t failed to notice who I really was? Though if they had that much discernment, they likely wouldn’t spread rumors about it anyway.
“But why did they all want me to name them?”
I could understand the children I already knew, but even those I barely recognized came rushing over, lining up to ask for names, and I’d spent considerable thought naming each one.
The attendant beside me, busily writing down the children’s names to remember them, offered an answer with a smile.
“It’s because those children understand that you are a ‘person of higher standing,’ miss.”
“Is a name better if it comes from someone of higher standing?”
“Of course—wouldn’t they naturally believe a name given by a noblewoman is more precious? Moreover, miss, you gave such careful thought to each name.”
“I did think carefully, but even I’m getting confused. There aren’t any duplicates, are there?”
“No, miss.”
I wasn’t sure if these names suited this era or not, but I’d given out so many based on the children’s wishes that I was exhausted.
“Will they be all right?”
The attendants answered readily to a question that had neither subject nor object.
“They should manage fine. Women and children adapt quickly, you know.”
From the perspective of the Inner Court Attendants who entered the palace at such a young age, that would be true.
Their status was now lowborn, but they were my servants.
‘It’s sad, but a private slave of a great house is better off than a poor commoner.’
And while public slaves are usually said to have better circumstances than private slaves, if one is a woman, being a Princess’s private slave might actually be preferable.
“In the palace, everyone knows that the Princess is generous to her subordinates.”
“Was I…?”
“The servants who come to Siyoungwon are mostly mothers and children together, and that alone is something to be grateful for.”
It was no small kindness, the way she kept families intact whenever possible, letting them live together rather than tearing them apart.
Though fathers were often absent.
‘Looking at their bearing, most seem to be yangban stock—they were probably executed.’
It wasn’t my concern, yet seeing their faces troubled me all the same.
Besides, had the coup succeeded, my own position might have reversed—or at least become considerably more difficult. I had no business worrying about others.
‘Come to think of it, what became of the deposed king’s daughters?’
Demoted to commoner status, perhaps.
True, that was a far better fate than confinement—the usual sentence for a king and crown prince deposed by coup—but it couldn’t have been an easy life regardless.
I finished my discussion with the Chief Court Lady Min about Siyoungwon’s operations and the servants, then rose to return to the palace.
“I’ll check in from time to time. Care for them well. They lost their families and became servants all at once—we should pity them for that.”
“Your Highness is truly merciful.”
“That’s not it at all. I’m only generous because I know they can’t harm me.”
The Chief Court Lady Min hesitated, as if remembering something, then opened her mouth.
“But how could anyone harm Your Highness now? Even that former commoner is no more.”
“Yes. The one who could have harmed me is dead. The one who tried to harm me, who harmed my mother, who tried to harm my brother.”
“Your Highness.”
“Even though he was my blood relation. I feel no sorrow whatsoever. Rather…… I feel relieved.”
“That is only natural, Your Highness. How could such resentment ever be forgotten?”
“Is that so.”
“Indeed. And in truth…….”
“……?”
“When we confirmed the news, we put the children to bed that night and gathered in secret to raise our cups in celebration.”
“……You, Chief Court Lady Min?”
I had always thought of her as someone who kept to principle and held herself to the strictest standards.
This woman drinking over good news? Over word of a man’s death, no less?
“Yes. Was he not our enemy as well? How could we not rejoice at our enemy’s death?”
“…….”
“Your Highness, do not burden yourself over him. They were those who dared undermine the State Foundation itself. His Majesty made the right decision, for the sake of the Crown Prince as well. Was it not so?”
“…… Hearing you say it eases my heart a little. Thank you, Chief Court Lady Min.”
“I am grateful my humble words did not offend Your Highness’s ears.”
With that, the Chief Court Lady Min lowered herself and met my gaze evenly.
“Should you ever need relief from the weight of things, you are always welcome here, though those who serve Your Highness worry endlessly. Do not trouble Ga-i and Song Bi too much.”
“I’ll be lenient.”
At that, the Chief Court Lady Min smiled faintly.
“How could we ever turn aside Your Highness’s wishes? Only, please always guard your health.”
“I will.”
As I stepped out the door with the Chief Court Lady Min, Ga-i—who had been discussing the budget with the attendants of Siyoungwon—looked our way.
“Let’s go home.”
“Yes, miss.”
I waved to the Chief Court Lady Min, who had come to see us off at the entrance, and let out a small sigh where Ga-i couldn’t hear.
‘Hmm. The chief court ladies truly are different.’
I hadn’t expected her to speak of it as a good thing at all.
Was this what they called experience?
‘When the Crown Prince comes back later…… it might not be a bad idea to have the Chief Court Lady Min serve as an inner court attendant.’
By then Siyoungwon’s operations would be stable, so the Chief Court Lady Min wouldn’t need to continue managing it the way she does now. And surely it was wisest to keep trustworthy people close?
Though it was a distant prospect, I sketched out a bigger picture for myself.
Of course, what the Crown Prince would think mattered most.
‘But where are those children? They’ve disappeared completely.’
They’d been so delighted to receive their names that they rushed off, and not a trace of them when I came out.
Never mind the smaller ones—even the little captain was nowhere to be found.
And yet, the moment I started feeling lonely, there they’d be.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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