Chapter 12:
The Royal Chef (1)
Yeonsangun, gripping Ji-yeong’s wrist, gazed at her with the intensity of a hunter who had just captured rare prey.
And then, “You’re the one.”
This wasn’t some Pokémon game—what did he mean by choosing her? What was this psychopath planning to do?
As Ji-yeong’s eyes trembled with unease, Yeonsangun spoke slowly, his voice deliberate.
“Where are you from?”
“…Pardon?”
Examining her face as if inspecting a curious artifact, Yeonsangun continued, “This strange hairstyle, that awkward speech—you can’t possibly be from this kingdom. I’ve encountered women from all eight provinces of Joseon, but never one like you. And…” He fixed her with a look of utter disbelief. “You’ve prepared dishes I’ve never seen in my life. Who are you?”
Ji-yeong’s words caught in her throat. What was she supposed to say? That she was a chef from France who got into an accident and time-slipped to this era? Or that she was a citizen of the future democratic republic of South Korea? No matter what she said, she’d be branded a lunatic.
In this awkward, impossible situation, the words that slipped out of her mouth were utterly unexpected.
“…Does that matter?”
“What?”
“Where I’m from, who I am—does that really matter? Isn’t what I can do going forward more important?”
Those words were the same ones she’d flung at the dean of a culinary school in France when he rejected her admission on her first day there. They were her creed, in a way.
The problem was, why had those words come out now, in this moment, in front of the notorious Yeonsangun?
I must be insane.
Ji-yeong closed her eyes, wincing as she mentally slapped herself. If she upset this psychopath, it could spark a catastrophe.
But, astonishingly, Yeonsangun seemed to approve of her response.
“Well, well, that’s quite a clever thing to say.”
A peculiar smile curved his lips before he uttered something equally unexpected. “If you intend to stand by those words, come to Geunjeongjeon at the hour of Jin (7 a.m.) tomorrow morning.”
“…What?”
“I’m telling you to attend the Sangchamrye.”
“Sangchamrye…?”
Ji-yeong’s eyes widened. She wasn’t entirely sure what it meant, but it felt like things were spiraling into something much bigger.
…
And so, she found herself at this event.
The Sangchamrye.
A court assembly where officials of the sixth rank and above gathered in the main hall to pay their respects to the king and receive his decrees.
It was here, with Yeonsangun brandishing a gleaming sword, that he made his bombshell declaration.
And it was here, prostrated on the cold stone floor of the hall, trembling, that Ji-yeong finished her long recollection.
“…Thus, I have decided!” Yeonsangun, clad in a crimson gonryongpo, strode toward Ji-yeong, his sword flashing. “Effective immediately, I appoint this woman as the Daeryeong Suksui of the suragan.”
“From this day forward, you will cook for me without fail, every single day. But!” His voice sharpened. “If you ever serve the same dish twice, you will face execution. Let that be known.”
His words echoed in Ji-yeong’s mind, replaying like a haunting refrain. She wasn’t prostrated in the center of the hall—she felt like a castaway stranded in the middle of a desert.
The Daeryeong Suksui, just like that?
I’m… Yeonsangun’s personal chef?
Her head spun. She was now bound to this psychopathic king. And to serve a different dish every day? Even as a modern chef, creating new dishes daily with the limited ingredients of the Joseon era was no small feat. No, it wasn’t just difficult—it was downright impossible.
This is absurd. Completely impossible.
But did she have any choice but to obey?
Thankfully, it seemed Ji-yeong wasn’t the only one who found Yeonsangun’s impulsive decision troubling. Murmurs of discontent rippled through the assembled officials.
And then, a clear, resolute voice cut through the hall.
“Your Majesty!”
In a court where most cowered before the king, one man dared to speak boldly—a steadfast figure of integrity: Seong Hui-an, the Minister of Personnel.
“That is unacceptable, I submit.”
Yeonsangun’s eyes narrowed, but Seong Hui-an pressed on, undeterred.
“The Daeryeong Suksui is the head of all cooks in the Saongwon. The position has been hereditary for generations because its responsibilities are so weighty.”
“I’m well aware of its importance,” Yeonsangun snapped, his face contorting with irritation at the sight of Seong Hui-an’s unyielding expression.
But Seong Hui-an continued, unfazed. “Yet to appoint a mere palace maid, a newly arrived one at that, as Daeryeong Suksui is not only improper but unprecedented. I fear it would undermine the court’s dignity. I beseech Your Majesty to reconsider.”
“Reconsider, Your Majesty!” the other officials echoed in chorus, their voices rising in unison.
Yeonsangun’s expression darkened, the collective outcry clearly grating on his nerves. “Heredity, precedent—what do such things matter? It’s not about who someone is but what they can do moving forward.”
His words were Ji-yeong’s own from the night before, clearly having left an impression. Why else would he parrot them so precisely?
But Seong Hui-an stood his ground, matching the king’s intensity. “There must be soldiers for a general to lead, and subjects for a king to rule. Likewise, the suragan needs cooks for a Daeryeong Suksui to command. How can someone unqualified earn their respect and loyalty?”
“What did you say?” Yeonsangun’s voice was low, dangerous.
“I said, how can someone unqualified earn the loyalty of others?” Seong Hui-an repeated, his face betraying no hint of fear, even as the other officials lowered their heads in dread.
The king’s hand, gripping the sword, trembled slightly. “You dare… insult me?”
Seong Hui-an’s words, questioning the qualifications of the Daeryeong Suksui while invoking generals and kings, could be interpreted as challenging Yeonsangun’s own legitimacy. To a king hypersensitive to any hint of disrespect—neungsangjipung, the culture of insulting the sovereign—such words were intolerable.
“You dare mock me?” Yeonsangun growled, his fiery gaze fixed on Seong Hui-an as he caressed the hilt of his sword and advanced.
But then, another voice rang out.
“Your Majesty!”
In this tense, precarious moment, it was none other than Im Sung-jae, the Chief State Councilor, who intervened.
“I beseech Your Majesty’s indulgence. The Minister of Personnel speaks only of principle—how could he dare insult Your Majesty?”
Im Sung-jae turned to address the other officials in the hall. “As His Majesty says, nothing in the Gyeongguk Daejeon, compiled by the late king, forbids a palace maid from becoming Daeryeong Suksui. Though it lacks precedent, every tradition begins somewhere. A new beginning creates its own precedent.”
Known for his flattery, Im Sung-jae deftly supported Yeonsangun’s whim. Yet he couldn’t entirely dismiss Seong Hui-an’s concerns, which likely echoed the sentiments of many in the court.
“However,” Im Sung-jae continued, “as the Minister of Personnel rightly notes, whether the proud cooks of the suragan will truly follow this woman remains uncertain.” His eyes gleamed with a cunning light, signaling he had a plan to navigate this impasse. “Thus, I humbly propose that this woman and the current Daeryeong Suksui hold a culinary contest before all.”
“A culinary… contest?” Yeonsangun echoed.
“Indeed, Your Majesty. Would that not resolve everything clearly?”
A culinary contest. That was Im Sung-jae’s gambit.
If Ji-yeong defeated the Daeryeong Suksui in a cooking duel, even the rigid Seong Hui-an would have no grounds to object. Moreover, elevating a foreign woman to such a high position required something to convince the suragan’s cooks. A royal decree alone wouldn’t suffice.
The solution was clear: Ji-yeong had to face the current Daeryeong Suksui, the head of the suragan, in a culinary contest and emerge victorious.
“There is merit in that,” Yeonsangun said after a moment’s thought.
Im Sung-jae’s proposal offered a way to settle the matter without messy conflict. Of course, there was a chance Ji-yeong might lose. But if she did, it would only prove she wasn’t fit for the role.
I won’t ask who you are. Just show me what you can do.
Yeonsangun gazed at Ji-yeong, prostrated in the center of the hall, silently repeating those words to himself.
“Issue a decree to the Saongwon at once to prepare for a culinary contest!” he commanded.
“I, Im Sung-jae, accept Your Majesty’s command,” Im Sung-jae replied, bowing deeply.
Beyond him, Seong Hui-an’s sharp, disapproving glare pierced through the air.
…
In the suragan, Ji-yeong’s head began to spin again. From the desperate banquet at the Gyeonggi Provincial Office to Jang Nok-su’s cruel cooking contest, and now serving Yeonsangun’s sura, she had cooked for her life countless times since crash-landing in this unfamiliar era.
And now, her opponent was the Daeryeong Suksui—the head chef of the suragan. In other words, she had to face off against the greatest cook in Joseon.
One mountain after another…
Ji-yeong rubbed her temples, feeling a wave of dizziness. “Don’t worry,” Im Sung-jae’s voice came from behind her. He had followed her to the suragan. “I see a clear chance of victory.”
This was undoubtedly a gamble for him too, betting on a stranger to secure a foothold close to the king. But the greatest risk fell squarely on Ji-yeong.
“What happens if I lose?” she asked.
“You probably won’t survive,” Im Sung-jae replied with chilling nonchalance. “So if you want to live, you must win.”
To say something so grim with such a casual expression—truly a heartless man.
Just then, Ji-yeong’s eyes fell on a robust man in the corner of the suragan, his sleeves rolled up as he inspected ingredients. The Daeryeong Suksui. Until yesterday, he had helped prepare Yeonsangun’s sura. His kindly appearance belied the fact that he was surely the finest chef in the land, proven by his ability to thrive under Yeonsangun’s rule.
But something else nagged at Ji-yeong’s mind.
“Um… what’s his name again?” she asked.
“The Daeryeong Suksui? He’s Jeon Se-ho, a sixth-rank Jaebu,” Im Sung-jae replied curtly, as if it were a trivial question. “Why ask that now? It’s hardly the point.”
But as she heard the name, a vague thought in Ji-yeong’s mind began to take shape.
“Didn’t you say the Daeryeong Suksui position is hereditary?”
“Indeed.”
“So… was his predecessor also a Daeryeong Suksui?”
“Of course. His grandfather, Jeon Sun-ui, was not only a Daeryeong Suksui but also a royal physician who served in the Naeuiwon.”
“…What?”
Jeon Sun-ui.
At that name, Ji-yeong’s eyes widened. As someone who had studied historical cookbooks, how could she not know it? Jeon Sun-ui was the author of Sangayorok and Sikryo Chanyo, considered Korea’s earliest cookbooks. Ji-yeong had pored over their recipes countless times.
So… I have to compete against the grandson of Jeon Sun-ui, the man who wrote Korea’s first cookbook?
Ji-yeong swallowed hard, her throat dry.
…
Author’s Note
Jeon Sun-ui (1400?–1468?) was a royal physician during King Sejong’s reign and the author of Korea’s earliest known cookbooks. His grandson, Jeon Se-ho, is portrayed here as the Daeryeong Suksui during Yeonsangun’s era, based on the genealogy of the Jinan Jeon clan.
