Chapter 6: Lifeline
There definitely hadn’t been a wound like this before.
Seolyun lightly rubbed around the back of Duhanpyeong’s hand, deliberately stalling for time.
“Apply this to the affected area twice a day—during si hour (9–11 a.m.) and yu hour (5–7 p.m.).”
The ointment would seep in and prevent the wound from clotting. Just imagining the injury festering—pus forming, itching, and giving off a rotten stench—calmed her considerably. Like the tears she had shed, the discharge would overflow, and she found herself almost anticipating the day it would worsen.
“As expected.”
Duhanpyeong interlaced his fingers with Seolyun’s, saying the wound already felt cool. Smiling gently, his eyes curving like crescent moons, he praised her efforts.
“As expected of Ayun, who is skilled with poisons—your antidote has already taken away the pain.”
“Is that so?”
If he could, Duhanpyeong said, he would proclaim it to the world.
“There’s no one who worries about me as much as you do. I’ve truly married well.”
“That’s… a shame.”
Seolyun’s quiet murmur trailed off, never reaching him. Before anyone else could see, she gently urged him to leave and prepare. With visible reluctance, Duhanpyeong departed, looking as though lovers who had just shared an intimate moment were being forced apart.
Thud.
Seolyun clenched her fist and slammed it against the table, biting down on her lip. The artificial nails, crudely attached as if to extend her short ones, felt unbearably uncomfortable. She tore them off one by one—the glossy horn pieces that had been soaked in oil to give them a sheen. Having spent her life handling poisons and herbs, she had never been able to grow her nails. Wearing them now felt like putting on ill-fitting clothes—uncomfortable and repulsive.
“This pain… the suffering that blooms in front of Duhanpyeong—there’s no way it’s fake.”
Now that she knew for certain this wasn’t a dream but reality, there was only one thing left to do—repay everything. Her bitten lip swelled.
Fortunately, Seolyun remembered all the major events that would occur over the next three years. As the young mistress of the Sacheon Tang Clan—and to avoid the endless gossip of the Tang family—she had made a habit of remembering even the smallest details.
“In the 8th year of Emperor Choryeong’s reign, a severe drought drove the people into unrest. Though he appeared benevolent and tolerant, the emperor was weak and incompetent. Court officials refused to release emergency grain from their own stores, and most of those who starved to death were the elderly and children.”
Tap. Tap.
Tapping the table rhythmically with her index finger, Seolyun picked up her brush to jot down at least the major points she could recall. She pressed the paper down with a heavy jade turtle paperweight and began writing without hesitation.
“Despite the people’s fury, the emperor remained blind and deaf… In the 9th year, rebellions broke out everywhere. The most notable was led by General Hyeonghuju. How did his story end again?”
She didn’t know the finer details—such as why the Western Region’s Prince Jin’s private audience with the emperor had gone poorly. Still, she wrote down everything she could remember. When her thoughts reached the 11th year—the time just before her death—she hesitated briefly.
Placing a small hand over her chest, Seolyun took a deep breath. Even as her hand trembled and ink splattered across the page, she didn’t care. No one would see this anyway. And even if they did, no one would believe her. Simply claiming to know events three years into the future would only invite ridicule.
“Haah…”
She set aside the two densely filled sheets to dry and began writing on a new one.
[In the 11th year of Emperor Choryeong’s reign, the Prince Jin of the Western Regions entered Chang’an under the pretext of calming the raging public sentiment and declared war. As battles—both large and small—were fought, he encamped near the capital and stood on the brink of seizing the imperial palace.]
Seolyun set down her brush and bit her lip again, recalling the conversation she had shared with the Empress Dowager just an hour earlier in the palace. Even with Prince Jin right at their doorstep, the disloyal officials boasted confidently that they would negotiate him into submission instead of preparing any real countermeasures.
“It will end in the emperor’s defeat—he doesn’t even understand Prince Jin’s wealth, ability, or power.”
The undefeated Prince Jin, mindful of the suffering war would bring to the people, had given the emperor time to decide. The difference between them lay in one thing—whether they cared for the people’s welfare.
If not for Prince Jin, the capital would have suffered irreparable damage. He had both the justification and a well-trained army. And yet, the Empress Dowager acted as though nothing was wrong, which had only further unsettled Seolyun.
The army she had seen while leaving the palace was not one that could be swayed.
“The outcome was already decided.”
As she passed by, the gleam in Prince Jin’s eyes had told her everything.
He would never be persuaded.
Like a beautiful yet cruel predator tightening its grip on prey—playing with it before the final kill.
That was the Prince Jin Seolyun had seen.
“Prince Jin… he’s my lifeline.”
The only way she could survive.
Digging through her memories, Seolyun recalled that he had attended her wedding as a guest.
Was this heaven’s will, urging her to meet him and find a way to live? It didn’t matter. Whatever the reason, she had to meet Prince Jin before the wedding began.
It was often said that a bride, overwhelmed with nerves on her wedding day, could seem like an entirely different person. So even when Seolyun behaved strangely, Yangyang tried to dismiss it as nothing more than the tension of the occasion.
But the moment Seolyun mentioned Juchang’s name, Yangyang nearly fainted.
“H-How could you possibly…”
“How do I know?”
Watching Yangyang’s face turn pale, Seolyun curled one corner of her lips upward. The memory of sending gold leaves and belongings to Yangyang’s family two years later—after mourning her death—tightened her chest.
“Do you truly believe there is no one but you who can serve as my ears and feet in the Sacheon Tang Clan?”
They said people couldn’t be changed.
Seolyun had always been someone who thought deeply before speaking. Even those who served closely by her side often couldn’t understand her thoughts, which had been frustrating. Perhaps it was because they had been together too long—Yangyang had begun to take Seolyun’s kindness for granted. Trusting her mistress, she neglected her duties, passing them off to others or pretending not to notice.
And when the time came for marriage, she turned her gaze outward—and chose Juchang.
“You’ve grown arrogant, Yangyang. It seems I’ve been too lenient with you.”
Juchang, a servant who handled chores in Madam Cho’s residence, was handsome but incompetent, with no savings to his name. So Yangyang decided to steal jewelry and valuables from Seolyun’s storage to fund their escape. They had planned to elope after a year.
“Did you think of me as a sister? It seems that was only my misunderstanding.”
At Seolyun’s bitter smile—clear and cold—Yangyang’s heart dropped.
How Seolyun had found out no longer mattered. Whether it was the missing jewelry or their plan to flee, Yangyang’s mind raced silently.
“M-Miss, I was wrong. I wasn’t trying to hide it—I was just ashamed. I was worried you might think I was neglecting my duties.”
Dropping to her knees, Yangyang slammed her forehead against the ground. A swelling quickly formed on her brow. More than guilt, she needed time to think. The elopement was known only to her and Juchang—no one else knew. That wouldn’t be a problem.
“…Is that so?”
Since Seolyun didn’t mention the stolen jewelry, Yangyang decided it would be best to return the items first and take them all at once later. She exhaled roughly.
Seolyun, however, saw through her attempt to take responsibility only for not reporting her meetings with Juchang.
“I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. I didn’t want to trouble you while you were preparing for the wedding. I was planning to tell you after it was over.”
Thud. Thud. Thud.
No matter how hard Yangyang struck her head against the floor, Seolyun merely let out a soft, unreadable hum.
This was strange. By now, the kind and gentle Seolyun should have stopped her, telling her to rise. At most, she should have scolded her lightly for the lack of honesty.
But instead—
Yangyang’s temples throbbed, her bruised forehead aching as she kept slamming it down. She didn’t know when to stop—yet she couldn’t stop either. Tears streamed down her face as she sobbed.
“Yangyang.”
Seolyun’s voice, sweet like fruit nectar, brushed against her ears. Yangyang snapped her head up and bit the inside of her cheek to force out tears.
