Born As The Daughter of a Lowly Concubine - Chapter 74

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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 as the daughter of a concubine of low rank.
Episode 74
In truth, soap was not entirely absent in this era.
In the palace and houses of means, people relied mainly on grain powder for washing their faces.
Because it was made by grinding grain, it was sometimes called Zao Dou, and from the idea of sweeping away filth, it was also known as Fei Lou.
Beyond that, rice water, bean water, and sweet flag water were used quite often as well.
Washing one’s hair with sweet flag water on the fifth day of the fifth month has become famous as a seasonal custom, has it not.
Ground mung beans or red beans made for good complexion and were environmentally friendly, but like natural beauty soaps they didn’t produce much lather, which meant one never felt quite refreshed afterwards.
Of course, that was only my perspective.
In truth, unlike the modern age with its severe pollution, the air here was clean enough that such strong cleansing power was not truly necessary when washing.
These things were naturally meant more for beauty purposes, but even when cleaning fine, delicate cloth, they used grain powders like mung beans.
And for laundry, one naturally used lye water, which people also say could be diluted for personal use.
Beyond that… even horse sweat could be used when doing laundry.
I was amazed when a horse would finish running and foam would form on its sweat, but I later discovered that people actually used it for washing.
‘Though honestly, the thought of washing oneself with that feels rather off.’
But making soap oneself wasn’t easy either. The first obstacle was that oil was scarce.
So few people ate meat that only those who could afford it did, and the fat from meat was used when painting houses.
The leftover waste oil? Some of it might come from a feast, but outside of that—this wasn’t a restaurant—there was no way much would be produced.
Still, it was possible to make soap from the oil that came out of the royal kitchen.
So at first, I made soap by mixing rice bran or grain powder into lye water and used that.
In China, they say they use wheat flour, but flour was too precious in Joseon.
But if I could promote chicken dishes, oil would come out in reasonable quantities, which suggested soap supply could be managed to some degree.
Ga-i, who had been with me since I first began making soap, made a puzzled face when she heard my suggestion to make soap from chicken fat.
“Princess, you are always… doing such curious things.”
“Mm… I find it curious too.”
Making lye water for laundry involved burning straw or wood, collecting the ash, and steeping it in rainwater—and this much more people understood better than I did, so it wasn’t difficult.
To make soap, one had to filter that lye water to draw out only the liquid, then over several days reduce the moisture over low heat, let it cure, mix it with fat or grain powder to make it thick, and age it again.
Since using the palace itself was not quite right, I had it made at a private house near Si-Young-won that I’d purchased earlier; of course, because the smoke produced during making was bad for the body, I had the work done in a well-ventilated place with workers covering their mouths and noses with cloth and rotating shifts.
‘If we did it in summer we’d surely die, so winter is really the right time.’
As long as we avoided summer, it should be manageable.
The soap we made that way was used in the palace, and in Si-Young-won and taverns as well, but we also decided to send some little by little to Hyemin-seo and the physicians.
Some time later, as I stood contentedly looking at the stacked soap, both Ga-i and Song Bi let out small sighs of resignation.
“Chicken fat alone will surely not be enough.”
“Princess, you seem to be putting considerable effort into soap production.”
“Cleanliness is wonderful!”
“Yes. It has been so since you were a child.”
The reality was that my obsessive cleanliness was accepted more readily than explaining the importance of hygiene itself.
Yet there were those who realized that, along with my somewhat neurotic obsessive cleanliness as others saw it, the hygiene standards of the entire palace had been raised by force, and the number of people suffering from minor ailments had decreased.
They were the physicians of Naeuiwon.
Naturally, I had not ranked them first in receiving soap—they were second priority, after the royal family itself.
Lately they had been making requests for soap.
‘I’d like to give them some, but the materials are insufficient….’
Plant-based oil was possible, but that seemed wasteful in its own way, the smell was too strong, and it often failed.
Of course, when it failed, it just became laundry soap anyway.
“So what I’m thinking is, once the tavern’s scale grows larger, I’d like to expand a bit into pig farming as well.”
“Pardon?”
Ga-i’s complexion turned pale at my words.
‘I should prepare some restorative medicine for Ga-i.’
I honestly felt bad about assigning her so much work.
At least this is an age after the Direct Seeding Method was introduced, which is fortunate. Otherwise I wouldn’t have dared attempt such things.
‘I’d like to improve agricultural production further, but I was never that interested in farming methods.’
Since I only knew things like duck farming, I spoke to the farmers about it, and they said it might be possible if we timed it right, so I decided to try it out.
I also announced that I would reward the peasants farming my land if they thought up improved farming methods.
Whether it will be effective, I’m not certain.
***
As time passed, the tavern did much better business than expected, so we decided to open a separate restaurant.
Here we adopted a premium strategy from the start, having the original holders of the cooking recipes oversee the kitchen, and the restaurant did even better business than expected because it brought out high-end dishes that hadn’t been served at the tavern.
As the scale grew in this way, the time had come to set our sights on pork as well.
I decided to establish a pig farm with the money I had earned, and paid an operator who had worked in the palace to pass on his expertise to us.
Of course, I had received permission from the king for this as well.
They said it was because of the soap, but the truth remained: pork was delicious, and my mind had wandered elsewhere entirely.
‘Pork belly! Pork belly! Pork belly!’
Grilled on a pot lid, too.
I’d eaten it before, certainly, but if I could sell something delicious to people for coin, that was the real business.
Once humans taste something they truly like, they never forget that flavor.
Beef has its own taste, chicken has its own, and pork has its own—that’s simply how it works.
Naturally, once I started selling it, it moved well.
On top of that, I decided to expand the soap business.
I set up a workshop on suitable land, paid careful attention to safety management, and increased soap production.
I arranged for it to be used in the palace and sent to Hyemin-seo and Hwalin-seo as well.
Physicians naturally wash frequently with herbal waters and are relatively clean, but using soap was certainly more reliable. Patient hygiene was important too.
When I offered to supply soap through the Naeuiwon, the response was welcoming.
In exchange for providing soap, I designated one group to use it and another not to, and had them record disease progression, transmission rates, and such.
I also subtly conveyed to both Hyemin-seo and Hwalin-seo the necessity of internal audits to ensure they were treating commoners properly.
‘I remember the days when I was turned away at the gates.’
Now they say that when someone comes from Si-Young-won, they’re not pushed away like before—but one could never be certain.
Managing all these various matters, the busiest people were Ga-i, the palace maid handling all my business operations, and Min, who had somehow become director of Si-Young-won.
Both of them suffered headaches from the ever-increasing paperwork, and both received generous salaries from me.
Incidentally, Min’s brother had tried several times to enter Si-Young-won, but was apparently chased away by former Chae-tam-in agents I’d tipped off beforehand.
Min rarely ventured outside Si-Young-won’s walls anymore, but as director now, she never traveled alone.
Over the years as I expanded my operations, watching one by one the people at Si-Young-won find employment, the children there grasped one simple truth.
First, that one needed to meet a certain basic educational standard to rise into administrative positions and earn higher wages, and second, that regardless of salary, administrative work somehow looked cooler.
I, naturally, made no distinction based on gender—I assigned work according to performance and aptitude, so gender became irrelevant among the children.
Of course, those who still preferred physical labor got work suited to them. What could I do about it?
Manual labor was always necessary; there was nothing wrong with it.
There were wage differences, but I didn’t make them too large.
‘Still, they should study so they don’t get cheated at least.’
In this harsh world, knowing even one more thing meant less ridicule and fewer losses.
But there was no way the children could understand such deep adult intentions.
I simply wanted to provide them with basic education, even if they hated studying with a passion.
To increase their eagerness for learning, I had no choice but to bring out other means.
Unofficial Historical Fiction.
In modern terms: martial arts novels, fantasy, romance.
When I mentioned this to the Crown Prince, he found it quite interesting.
“Does that actually work?”
“I read the opening section aloud, then give them the book to read the rest themselves. I make sure to tell people not to read it aloud to those who can already read.”
Those who cannot read characters will never know what comes next.
The drawback of this method was that it required many books.
“So I’ve acquired a Book Rental Shop on Unjong-ga—the busy market district nowadays.”
“Did you just say something?”
“The bookshop appeared, so tell me if there are any books you want to read.”
Family privilege—I’d set them aside for him beforehand.
“Do I look leisured enough to read unofficial fiction?”
“People should have hobbies. Reading only sacred texts dulls your sensibilities—it won’t do.”
The Crown Prince didn’t say much directly, but he clearly knew my ventures were thriving. Yet whenever I said things like this, he’d look at me as if I were a strange person.
“How did your business become so large?”
“I needed money to run Si-Young-won, so I tried this and that, and before I knew it, here we are.”
“You could simply ask me or Mother for money if you need it.”
“Constantly receiving and spending isn’t good. Don’t worry. I’m not taking bribes. I’m doing honest, modest business.”
At least for now it’s modest—by royal standards, anyway.
In business, there were always those who demanded bribes, but having royal backing meant there were far more people offering bribes than asking for them—a real headache.
Thanks to that, Ga-i and Min were facing such difficulty that all manner of enterprises were booming.
I hadn’t expected it to go this well, either.
If there was a problem, it was that so many people wanted to enter Si-Young-won that it was overwhelming.
Originally it was meant to take in mainly homeless orphans, so I couldn’t accept everyone. I was considering just building something resembling a school instead.
‘So this is what silver-spoon business looks like.’
Even if it failed, I’d just tighten my belt a bit—a privilege I could attempt with a light heart.
I could never have imagined it as a common person.
I couldn’t have thought so easily then.
‘It’s a bit hollow, though.’
And those around me watched me with worry.
“I know you’re doing good work, but I wonder if you’re pushing too hard.”
“It’s not me who’s overexerting herself—it’s Ga-i.”
“Do you think I wouldn’t notice you sneaking out of the palace?”
The longer the tail, the easier to catch. I’ve certainly been busy lately.
“Does Mother know?”
“Well. She’s not exactly idle, is she.”
So she doesn’t know.
“Whatever you do, your health must come first. Do you understand?”
“I’ll be careful.”
As I ate the snack Song Bi had brought—patties of minced meat and vegetables nestled between baked bread—I realized that Mistress Mun hadn’t summoned me this time to feed the Crown Prince, but rather at his command to see me.
When I returned to my Residence after the conversation, Ga-i, who had been venturing out on errands because of me and had just come back, echoed much the same concern.
“Young mistress, I fear you may be overtaxing yourself of late.”
“So you see it that way too? Now that you mention it, I think I have been living rather frantically these days.”
…….
This was troubling. Ga-i was looking at me as if wondering what on earth to do with me.
But the thing is, work demands momentum. For some reason everything I undertake flows forward smoothly, and I couldn’t bring myself to stop, for fear that pausing would break the current.
“Please rest now. This one will handle everything herself.”
“But why?”
“You must eat more, rest your mind, and sleep deeply.”
“Yes, yes. All right.”
I understood well enough why she was fretting, but I could only laugh.
I grasped too why the Crown Prince worried.
Nor was it Ga-i’s fault.
Quite simply, many years had passed.
Even Gyeong-eon’s death had grown dim to me now.
And as time thus flowed, Taebee passed away.
After Gyeong-eon received the Poisoned Wine and died, Taebee never rose from her bed again.
There had been a moment when she seemed to improve slightly, and we all harbored a flicker of hope, but as is often the case with the elderly, those who collapse rarely recover.
After several years had passed in this way, even those around her spoke of her swift recovery while bearing an air of quiet resignation—everyone had quietly made their peace with the inevitable.
During Taebee’s illness, the Crown Prince could not hold his wedding, so he had not yet undergone the selection of a Crown Princess.
One might have expected Taebee to insist on seeing her son wed before her death, but it seemed that Gyeong-eon’s fate weighed too heavily on her heart; she did not wish to hear talk of the Crown Prince’s marriage.
And so the Crown Prince’s wedding was postponed once more.
I was eleven then, and the Crown Prince was seventeen.
As we were in the Mourning Period, there would likely be no Crown Princess selection for the next three years.
It would be strange to call it a blessing, yet because of this circumstance, the nameless girl who might have become the next candidate for Crown Princess was spared.
‘I’m grateful no one else was made to suffer a fate like mine.’
Time moved—brief to adults, but long for a child.
My hands remained small.
From the day I swallowed the poison, I ceased to grow at all.

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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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