Born As The Daughter of a Lowly Concubine - Chapter 88

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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 lowborn concubine.
Episode 88
When Maehyang’s song ended and she left the stage with a smile, she had already drifted back to my side.
Not that having Maehyang beside me was unwelcome—it’s just that all the attention pools in one place, and it grows tedious.
“You seem to have grown quite close to the children rather quickly. Do you like them?”
“I harbor no dislike for them. Thanks to them, I’ve managed to bring the composition to a certain level of completion.”
I don’t know that song, I don’t know that song—I muttered this self-suggestion like a mantra, steering the conversation elsewhere.
“When so many children crowd around like that, surely you must grow exhausted.”
“Compared to wealthy patrons, it’s nothing at all. At least children have the charm of innocence, do they not?”
A matter of propriety, perhaps.
I haven’t the energy to play with them for long, truth be told—but with so many small faces gathered around us now, I couldn’t very well say so aloud.
Since I’m already coming and going from Siyeongwon, it’s not such a bad thing to spend time with the children. Their numbers have grown so large that keeping them all properly occupied requires no small amount of effort. Perhaps I’ve been overprotective of them.
“And thanks to them, I’ve also heard much from the children about what sort of person the young mistress truly is.”
“Me?”
“Yes. They say you are a good person.”
“Anyone who feeds you seems like a good person to a child.”
At my words, Maehyang and the cluster of children around her erupted in simultaneous giggles.
“By the way, how much longer do you plan to visit Siyeongwon? Ah, now that you’ve finished perfecting the song, I suppose you won’t be coming anymore.”
“I am not so heartless a person. Why would you speak to me with such disappointment?”
“It’s just that the children will only grow attached, and there’s no good in that.”
I had no right to say such things—I who came only now and then to play with them before vanishing—but I could already foresee it: once affection had taken root, silence would bring nothing but deeper dejection.
When their need was pressing, she would visit often enough. But the moment her business was done, she would be consumed by her own life and forget them entirely.
It wasn’t that Maehyang was a cruel woman—it was simply what happened when people lived their lives. Unless one harbored a special, deliberate affection for another.
And at my words, the children who had already grown fond of Maehyang clung even more desperately to her skirts.
Oh, dear children. Do you know what fine, expensive fabric that skirt is made from? Can you not see the embroidery work?
“So… you won’t come anymore after this, Maehyang?”
“Now that my business is finished, who can say?”
“I shall visit often, so think nothing of such words, young mistress.”
Perhaps it would be better to pin down a concrete arrangement.
“If you have so much free time, come teach the children their letters instead.”
“But they already said there are plenty of people to teach them their letters and they have no need.”
So she’d already probed the matter, then.
‘Hmm. There are certainly many who can teach letters, but those with genuine literary refinement are rather scarce.’
Gisaeng are raised as companions for the romantic pursuits of yangban men, so they naturally acquire a certain level of cultivation in poetry, calligraphy, and painting. Especially one with Maehyang’s reputation—there was no question of her abilities.
‘I suspect Lady Min was the one who objected to having a gisaeng teach the children.’
But surely Maehyang herself understood this well enough.
In any case, I had no intention of overturning what Lady Min had decided.
“Then how about teaching the children singing and dancing instead?”
“Pardon?”
“Really?”
“Am I truly permitted to do such a thing?”
“Would I suggest it if it weren’t allowed?”
The contrast between Maehyang’s bewildered expression and the children’s suddenly radiant faces held a certain amusement.
Of course, my proposal wasn’t born from mere fancy. A thought had struck me.
“When I think about it, if the children learn to sing well, I might later arrange for them to become the personal singers of… the Princess in her own right, which wouldn’t be out of the question.”
“…!”
The moment those words left my lips, the light in the children’s eyes transformed entirely.
The resistance to teaching the children music and dance stemmed from fear that these children, who were living as commoners, might slip into the paths of street performers or gisaeng.
Of course, being skilled at singing alone wouldn’t automatically condemn one to such a fate. But in this era, entertainers occupied a precarious place in society—technically below the ranks of Scholar-Farmer-Artisan-Merchant.
However, if they were my personal singers, such concerns would vanish.
The children bounced with excitement at my words.
“Me! Me! I want to do it!”
“Me too! Pick me!”
“But I’m the best singer here!”
“My dancing is better than anyone’s!”
And so I thrust the cold reality before these children, whose talents were roughly on par with one another—like asking to distinguish between fifty and one hundred steps of equal mediocrity.
“But I’ll only accept someone who’s an absolutely exceptional singer.”
“Why? Is singing that hard?”
“It’s plenty hard.”
At my words, the gisaeng who had been watching from a distance like detached onlookers began to laugh.
“Mastery in any single discipline is hard-won, you know.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. And fundamentally, one must know how to read and write. Come now, Ayoung—off to your studies.”
“Ugh.”
Ayoung, the first to volunteer so eagerly, shuddered at the word “studies.”
Really, she played the elder sister well enough—until moments like these, when she was still very much a child.
“And if the Princess is to enter a household one day, she’ll need to master Etiquette and Propriety as well, won’t she? Singing alone isn’t everything.”
“Oh, but I don’t like that.”
“Don’t like it? You’ll learn anyway.”
As if singing and dancing looked so easy?
It was unfortunate, really—as someone from the modern Korean era with little interest in idol culture, having only occasionally glimpsed top idol performances, I had unnecessarily high standards.
And it was worse when it came to Korean traditional music; an ordinary person like me had scarcely heard anything outside of the nationally certified masters one saw on television.
Maehyang watched me shepherd the children away, disabusing them of their fancies, and then asked abruptly.
“Does the young lady find Gisaeng distasteful?”
“Not particularly. I haven’t given it much thought.”
“Don’t all women despise Gisaeng?”
Why was she asking a child such a thing?
“I suppose it’s not so much that women hate Gisaeng, but that they hate the men who seek them out. But since those men are their own husbands, fathers-in-law, or sons—men they can’t curse without committing Breach of Filial Piety—they take their anger out on whoever is most defenseless.”
In a world where such words would condemn you for that very breach.
Rather like Hera in Greek and Roman mythology, I suppose.
Though it was men who created such a world in the first place.
“Since Gisaeng are Cheonmin, they are indeed defenseless.”
“Yes. And I’m sorry to say it, but their treatment is poor. If any of them were to become Gisaeng, I’d want to dissuade them. Besides, truly talented and capable people are rare.”
“My, my. Hehe.”
“What is it? Is there a child among them with talent worth noting?”
“If there were, what would you do?”
“Didn’t I say so? If their skills prove worthwhile, the Princess might take them in.”
“The Princess might, indeed.”
Maehyang looked at me as if she’d just realized something, a knowing smile playing on her lips, her eyes suddenly bright.
Why did she have to look so unsettling?
“Hehehehe.”
“Why are you laughing like that?”
“This one has grown quite fond of the young lady.”
“What good does my being liked do…”
Back at the palace, there’s a whole truckload of attendants who claim to like me.
Truthfully, I suspect most of them are after the bread and pastries I make, not me at all.
The children scattered at the mention of studying, and the area around Maehyang and me grew reasonably quiet. The courtyard remained lively, though—the children still brimmed with energy, singing along with one another, mimicking the dance steps, running about in carefree chaos.
Maehyang, her smile still in place, asked in a somewhat more serious tone.
“Might this one also enter the Princess’s household?”
“If the Princess were to take you in, you would stay at her Private Residence, but the Princess hasn’t yet had her Marriage Ceremony, so that residence remains empty for now. How could you enter when even the Princess herself is not there?”
These children were still so very young.
“But why do you speak such thrilling words? Those children were listening too, and they were more excited than I.”
“It’s… just something that came to mind. Nothing definite.”
Ah. It was true that many Gisaeng were taken as concubines and granted Myeoncheon, but one might suppose that as a Princess, I could extract someone without resort to such measures.
That would likely be possible if one found a way, but Myeoncheon for Gisaeng traditionally worked by placing another child in their stead.
One might think the person taking the Gisaeng simply paid money, but in fact that money was used to purchase another child to fill the vacancy. Even if I were to take Gisaeng into my Private Gisaeng household, I’d have to use similar methods, and the thought of it left me uneasy.
In truth, my sudden mention of such things arose from purely personal desire.
And it had something to do with Maehyang.
‘If I took children who could sing well into my residence… with a prohibition on outside performance, I could teach them songs from my past life and have them perform live.’
That would certainly be possible.
My residence was vast enough that, with proper control over the servants, it should be easy to keep the sound from leaking out.
‘Wait, if I did this well, couldn’t I create my own exclusive girl group—or band, rather?’
Was this the true taste of power?
If I could remember girl group choreography, I’d teach it! But the dances of that era seemed far too risqué by modern standards, so the idea was rejected the moment it surfaced.
Thus I cultivated my modest ambitions.
Of course, I’d like to cultivate a boy group too, but if word got out wrong, I might end up in actual confinement. Better to shelve that for now.
‘Though I did notice the boys listening earlier seemed to have stars in their eyes too.’
Maybe I could form a mixed group—something nearly extinct in the modern age—but that would probably cause an uproar about impropriety. Ugh, this is exhausting just thinking about it.
While I churned through my modest ambitions, Maehyang was churning through something else entirely.
“Does the Princess have need of any other… uses for them?”
“What use would that be?”
“Even those of us humble folk know that Your Highness accomplishes much. Someone of your stature needs eyes and ears.”
“You’re volunteering? That’s dangerous.”
No, I have no intention of cultivating any shadow network.
Of course, thinking about the future, I sometimes believe it would be necessary. But whenever I see such organizations in historical dramas, the field operatives always seem to die young.
A civilian position is far safer.
I didn’t want to put anyone in danger just to save my own skin.
……I wish the Crown Prince didn’t think differently about this. And I don’t even want to ask.
“Oh, what a pity.”
“You ought to abandon such dangerous thoughts. You have many people following you as it is.”
“But being at Miss’s side seems far better than being among those filthy men who seek out Gisaeng.”
She tilts her head toward me as she speaks, her eyes glimmering.
No. Good heavens—is she seducing me right now?
Had I not been half-trained by accident through all the celebrity faces I’d seen on television in my past life, I would have fallen utterly. No wonder the Gisaeng had complained so much about Maehyang’s absence.
Maehyang smiled brightly and bowed to me with formal courtesy before withdrawing.
“Should you ever need anything at all, please call upon me, Miss.”
“Why does a performer keep speaking like a spy?”
“Yes, I am a performer, after all.”
I’m just a benevolent silver-spoon heiress who dabbles in charity and medical ventures—yet somehow I’m being misunderstood.
‘Hmm. Did she catch on?’
It felt as though I’d made a slip of the tongue somewhere.
Lady Min seemed to be working hard to keep the children’s mouths shut, but at this rate, her efforts were meaningless.
And not long after, the events of that day surfaced as gossip in an unexpected quarter.

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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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