Chapter 3: The Junior Matriarch of the Sichuan Tang Clan
Four days before crossing the desert with King Jin, Seol Yoon clearly remembered the day she had reincarnated.
The 11th year of the Choryeong Era.
Summoned by the Empress Dowager, Seol Yoon entered the imperial palace, her face blooming with radiance. Wearing a deep pink baeja and a cross-knotted hairstyle, a golden hairpin—placed by the Empress Dowager just a moment ago—sparkled on her head.
“Is today already your thirty-second birthday?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. The girl has reached thirty years of age.”
Satisfied with Seol Yoon’s answer, the Empress Dowager smiled. Their gaze met in a way that seemed warmer than even a grandmother’s affection, as if the world itself paused to witness the tenderness between them.
“If Aega were still alive, how proud she would have been to see you so flourishing.”
The Empress Dowager’s warmth, akin to gazing at a cherished granddaughter, moved the palace attendants to blink back tears. Seol Yoon had lost her mother early and her father was bedridden and unwell. Her mouth twisted with a bitter taste at the kind words, yet the lotus-like purity of her demeanor prompted the Empress Dowager to smooth the wrinkles of her eyes with her fingertips.
“Aega and Jeong-a have been kindred spirits since the Tang family days. No one else made me laugh and cry as she did.”
The Empress Dowager’s tone carried a subtle lament, fingers lightly tapping the hogap-tu of her sleeve. Her gaze narrowed in recollection as she continued slowly.
“If only they had not left the world so soon… We could have visited the palace’s lake, seen the frost of the royal gardens, even soaked in the Hot Springs of Hojeong together.”
Her eyes glistened with emotion.
“All is fleeting. I hope Jeong-a comes to fetch me soon, so I may see the Buddha once more.”
With a sigh, the palace attendants and handmaidens knelt, bowing their heads.
“Please, Your Majesty, restrain your words.”
Seeing the eldest attendant’s anxious expression, the Empress Dowager waved the hand adorned with a golden hogap-tu engraved with peonies.
“To meet the Buddha, Your Majesty remains as youthful as a young girl.”
Seol Yoon’s voice, smooth as silk, echoed through the Cheonsimwon. Few could cater to the whims of the Empress Dowager, who had grown irritable and delicate with age. Her mood fluctuated frequently, and her pain complaints were more common. Luckily, Seol Yoon’s interjection improved the attendants’ pallor.
“Is that so? Is that what you think…?”
“Would the girl dare speak falsehood before Your Majesty? Your hands cradle all people like a mother, and your willow-like waist is unmatched across the capital. Women envious of your fair complexion visit me daily, begging to learn the secrets of Your Majesty’s cosmetics. Are you unaware of this?”
Seol Yoon’s affectionate praise left the attendants breathless. They froze, uncertain how the Empress Dowager would respond to such candid admiration.
“You insolent girl!”
The Empress Dowager’s scolding thundered through the hall.
As expected.
The attendants instinctively covered their heads with their sleeves, shivering at the thought of enduring the day ahead. If Seol Yoon, one of the few who could soothe the Empress Dowager, failed, Cheonsimwon might feel the storm of her wrath for days.
Seol Yoon bowed her head but wore a quiet smile. Counting internally, she saw the Empress Dowager break into a hearty laugh, eyes narrowing.
“The junior matriarch of the Sichuan Tang Clan teases Aega, does she?”
Success.
A soft exhale of relief escaped from the attendants. When the Empress Dowager gestured for Seol Yoon to come closer, her cheeks tinged with a delicate flush as she rose. Even as a noble daughter from a common family, her poise was impeccable. Trained personally in the intricate etiquette of the palace, Seol Yoon knew exactly how to temper the Empress Dowager’s mood.
“You could have been charged with treason for speaking so boldly about the imperial family.”
Seol Yoon pressed her cheek to the Empress Dowager’s knee, leaving only a small space between them. The Empress Dowager’s hogap-tu-clad hand swept through the black ink-like strands of her hair.
“If Your Majesty deems punishment necessary, the girl shall accept it willingly.”
“You think I would punish you? As Jeong-a’s granddaughter, the same care extends to Aega.”
Having achieved her goal, Seol Yoon smiled brightly. Her pear-blossom-like smile softened the atmosphere of Cheonsimwon.
Having lost her father, Seol Yoon became the junior matriarch of the Sichuan Tang Clan. When she assumed the role of heir as a woman, the Tang family elders resisted.
Only her stepmother, Lady Cho, and her half-brothers and half-sister stood firmly by her side. Without them, retaining the position of junior matriarch would have been nearly impossible.
The family had initially considered her half-brother for the role, but no one matched Seol Yoon’s expertise in poisons and memory arts. Eventually, the elders stipulated:
“If you maintain your duties as junior matriarch until your thirty-second birthday, we shall recognize you as the head of the Sichuan Tang Clan.”
But when constant scheming threatened her position, Seol Yoon decided to seek the protection of the Empress Dowager. In Cheonsimwon, the Empress Dowager officially recognized Seol Yoon as the head of the clan, not merely the junior matriarch.
Who could defy the Empress Dowager’s decree?
With the imperial backing of the Empress Dowager, Seol Yoon officially became the head of the Sichuan Tang Clan.
Returning with a carriage full of precious silk and porcelain from the Western regions, ink stones, and paperweights gifted by the Empress Dowager, Seol Yoon was greeted by her husband, Du Hanpyeong.
“I worried that the journey might be exhausting,” he said. He added that he had visited the ancestral shrine on her behalf, lighting incense and sweeping it clean.
“You should go inside quickly before the cold catches you. Ayoon, I’ve brewed your favorite lotus tea.”
Dressed in pure white silk with his hands clasped behind his back, Du Hanpyeong looked like an immortal descended from the celestial realm.
To prevent the secrets of poison and memory arts from leaking, the Tang family married only into the clan, never allowing outsiders. Du Hanpyeong, from a family of comparable prestige, with scholarly abilities to rival the Hall of Scholars and a fittingly handsome appearance, became Seol Yoon’s husband.
“Thank you,” she said.
Three years had passed since their arranged marriage, and they had kept each other at a respectful distance. Over time, however, Seol Yoon slowly warmed to Du Hanpyeong’s care and attentiveness.
“Go on,” he said, eyes sharp as a scholar’s, lightly nudging her back.
Could a day be more perfect?
A temporary peace had arrived in their perilous life, where Tang family members constantly found fault and complaints rose at every new poison or memory art she developed.
“The incense smells wonderful,” Seol Yoon said.
With a kind husband, peaceful days, and the joy of researching poisons and creating memory arts, it was a day to remember. Today, she was officially recognized as the head of the Sichuan Tang Clan.
“I can tell by your expression without hearing you. Congratulations, Ayoon.”
Seol Yoon sipped the lotus tea, sweet yet faintly bitter, and nodded.
“It’s thanks to your help. I won’t forget, Hanpyeong.”
“My wife, the head of the Sichuan Tang Clan…”
Du Hanpyeong rose with a sense of honor, moving behind her to massage her tense shoulders with his thumbs.
“Seems the journey was rough. Relax. I’ll knead it out all night if I must.”
“You intend to serve me personally?”
“Of course. When the head commands, it must be done.”
Once aloof and reserved, he now approached tenderly. Seol Yoon did not wish to break this moment.
“Very well.”
He pressed gently on her taeyang acupoints, moving downward. Seol Yoon tilted her head back, letting out a soft smile at the pleasant pressure. At times, the relief was so intense that an involuntary sigh escaped.
“You must be tired too… You can stop, ahhh—!”
Overcome, Seol Yoon coughed up blood, her delicate fingers covering her mouth. Drops fell, spreading across the floor like blooming crimson flowers, leaving behind a metallic scent.
