Chapter 8:
The Royal Kitchen (1)
“What in the world is Nok-su up to now?!”
Upon hearing the hurried report from an eunuch who had been spying on the events unfolding in the royal kitchen, Im Sa-hong trembled with rage.
“We went through all the trouble of conducting the chae-hong, and now she’s trying to take charge as she pleases?”
“Calm yourself, Father. Once the women have set foot in the palace, isn’t it, however distasteful, under the jurisdiction of the Inner Court?” Im Sung-jae soothed his father in a low voice, though he himself was far from at ease.
The Inner Court (Naemyeongbu), the domain of the women residing in the palace, was akin to an extraterritorial zone within the palace walls. No matter how high-ranking a court official, palace law strictly prohibited interference in its affairs.
“But isn’t the head of the Inner Court none other than the Queen herself? With Her Majesty present, how dare a mere concubine like Jang Sukyong act so brazenly…?”
“Jang Sukyong holds His Majesty’s favor entirely. Even Her Majesty can only watch in silence, nursing her grievances.”
Im Sa-hong clicked his tongue in displeasure.
“That base courtesan who sold her body on the streets should never have been brought into the palace in the first place.”
“But Father, it was because His Majesty took an interest in that lowly woman that I was able to secure his complete trust, was it not?”
Im Sa-hong’s face soured, but he couldn’t deny the truth in his son’s words. The king’s unwavering trust in Sung-jae’s chae-hong selections had begun after Sung-jae had elevated Jang Nok-su, a mere street courtesan, into the palace by falsifying her background.
“And yet, that vixen Jang Sukyong, ungrateful for the favor of being brought into the palace, dares to use us? The audacity…”
“But Father, what if I were to find something even more intriguing for His Majesty than Nok-su?”
At that, Im Sa-hong looked at his son with a sudden realization.
“Then… could it be that you brought that strange kitchen woman instead of Governor Hong’s granddaughter…?”
Sung-jae nodded slowly.
“Bringing Governor Hong’s granddaughter was merely Nok-su’s scheme. Why should we play into her hands? Instead, I discovered something far more significant there.”
If Sung-jae’s eye deemed it so, it was likely true. Sung-jae and the king had been childhood friends, inseparable since their youth. No one in the kingdom knew the king’s tastes and habits as intimately as Im Sung-jae.
“Well, then…”
“If there’s a true treasure His Majesty desires, it’s the woman who prepared that meal.”
“So, that peculiar woman is the key to diverting His Majesty’s attention from Nok-su’s grasp.”
Im Sa-hong gazed at his son with newfound admiration, letting out a hearty laugh. Yet, Sung-jae still harbored a lingering unease.
“But we mustn’t forget that fox-like Jang Sukyong is far shrewder than we anticipated. She won’t go down easily.”
“Then…”
“I can’t just sit idly by.”
As if struck by a sudden idea, Sung-jae leapt to his feet and hurriedly headed somewhere.
“The dishes for the royal table must be completed within one gak (approximately 30 minutes). The bell at Heumgyeong Pavilion will signal the start, so begin then.”
Standing before the gathered women, Nok-su explained the rules of this bizarre and cruel selection process.
For a concubine of only third rank to decree execution within the palace was unthinkable under normal circumstances. But when the speaker was Nok-su, it was a different matter entirely.
This was the same ruthless woman who, for the mere offense of stepping on her skirt, had ordered the renowned courtesan Ok Ji-hwa’s head be severed and displayed to the palace maids. If Nok-su spoke of execution, it was no idle threat.
The women huddled in a corner of the suragan were already trembling with terror.
“The ingredients are laid out before you. Take what you can reach first—though I can’t guarantee there’s enough for everyone.”
As Nok-su finished speaking, the bell from Heumgyeong Pavilion rang out in the distance.
—Dang
Even hearing the bell, the women hesitated, still unable to grasp the reality, glancing nervously at one another.
Watching them, Nok-su’s lips curled into an eerie smile as she spoke softly.
“What are you waiting for? Run!”
Her words were like a trigger. The women surged forward, scrambling for the ingredients like ravenous beasts.
And watching this chaos unfold with amusement, as if it were a spectacle for her entertainment, was one person alone.
Nok-su, seated with one knee raised, merely smiled.
Ji-yeong felt her head spin as if the world were tilting.
Another cooking contest, here of all places.
It hadn’t been long since she narrowly escaped death, and now she was pushed to the edge of a cliff once more.
Since losing consciousness on a road outside Paris, not a single moment had offered her peace.
Why?
Why was this happening?
Was any of this even real?
Questions spiraled in her mind, but the sudden toll of the Heumgyeong Pavilion bell snapped her back to reality.
Time was passing, even now.
Every second that ticked by put her at a greater disadvantage.
As her dizzying thoughts gradually cleared, Ji-young began to piece things together.
From what I’ve heard, the woman called Lady Sukyong is Jang Nok-su. That means this is Joseon, during Yeonsangun’s reign.
Of all times, she had landed in the worst possible era—especially as a palace maid.
For now, the only way to survive was clear: cook with everything she had.
She had to accept that reality and do her best.
Ji-yeong belatedly rushed to the ingredients and examined them one by one.
Even in the suragan, where the finest delicacies from the eight provinces were gathered, this was still the Joseon era. The variety of ingredients available was laughably limited compared to the modern world.
Moreover, the rare and expensive ingredients had already been snatched up by the quicker women, leaving only the ordinary ones behind.
Ji-yeong opened the lids of a few gourds tucked in a corner, sniffing their contents.
In that moment, a recipe flashed through her mind.
Human taste buds are fundamentally the same. What worked where I came from should work here too.
The first ingredient Ji-young chose was a cleaned chicken.
As the saying “chicken instead of pheasant” suggests, in Joseon, pheasant was far more prized than chicken. Chicken was, quite literally, a substitute for the more valued bird, making it relatively easy to secure.
In addition, Ji-yeong grabbed a few eggs, vinegar, a pinch of salt, sticky rice flour, and a bit of wheat flour. She also took an entire gourd she’d been eyeing.
My guess was right. This is rapeseed oil.
Ji-yeong selected the smallest cast-iron pot and poured a generous amount of rapeseed oil into it.
The suragan cooks, unaccustomed to seeing so much oil used, stared wide-eyed, but Ji-yeong paid them no mind.
The key is speed. Can I finish in time?
While the oil heated over the fire, Ji-yeong cracked the eggs, separating the yolks and placing them in a small bowl. She added salt and vinegar, then began slowly pouring in oil while whisking with a spoon.
Nok-su observed the bizarre cooking contest unfolding in the suragan with a piercing gaze.
Her eyes soon fixed on one spot.
The chief overseer quietly approached her side.
“…How will the dishes for the royal table be judged?”
“They must be satisfying to His Majesty. Who would know that better than the one who attends him in his chambers every day?”
“You mean…”
“I will decide what goes on the royal table.”
“…Do you have someone in mind, then?”
A strange smile flickered across Nok-su’s face as she stared intently at something.
“How could I decide who lives before tasting the food?”
Her gaze was locked on Ji-yeong, diligently whisking a bowl with a wooden spoon.
“But I think I know who needs to die.”
Ji-yeong paused her vigorous whisking and peered into the bowl.
A thick, creamy white mixture.
When lifted with the spoon, the dense blend formed a horn-like peak.
This texture is perfect.
Ji-yeong dipped a finger into the mixture and tasted it.
A rich, savory flavor spread through her mouth.
A unique sauce, made by emulsifying eggs with oil and vinegar to create an airy texture.
Mayonnaise was complete.
To modern people, it was a familiar sauce, but in this era, its texture and flavor would be entirely new.
But this was just the beginning. The real cooking was yet to come.
With swift movements, Ji-yeong mixed the sticky rice flour and wheat flour with water. Scooping it with a spoon, she confirmed the batter was appropriately thin and smooth.
This consistency is good enough.
The Heumgyeong Pavilion bell tolled again. A gak had already passed.
Shaking off the dizziness, Ji-yeong steeled herself.
Hesitate even a little, and I’ll fail.
She dipped a chopstick into the freshly made batter and let a drop fall into the hot oil. The batter quickly formed a round lump, sinking to the middle of the pot before rising to the surface.
The speed at which the batter rises indicates the oil’s temperature. This is hot enough to try.
Ji-yeong took the salted, pre-cut chicken pieces and poured them into the bowl of batter. Stirring with chopsticks to coat them evenly, she carefully placed each piece into the scalding oil.
—Sizzle
The kitchen filled with the sound of sizzling oil and rising smoke.
The Heumgyeong Pavilion bell rang once more.
“Stop!”
Nok-su’s sharp voice cut through before the bell’s echo faded.
The suragan, littered with scattered ingredients from the frantic cooking, looked like a battlefield ravaged by war.
The only one with a composed expression was Nok-su, strolling leisurely through the chaos.
“Now, shall we taste the dishes? Since they’re for His Majesty’s table, I’ll inspect them myself.”
As she spoke, Chu-wol, the supervising palace lady, presented a pair of silver chopsticks wrapped in silk.
Nok-su took them and slowly approached the prepared dishes.
Ji-yeong watched with bated breath.
Was it her imagination?
For a brief moment, as Nok-su’s gaze met hers, she thought she saw a strange smile.
No way…
A chilling sensation gripped her heart.
What if Nok-su had been targeting her from the start?
No matter how well she cooked, if Nok-su deemed it unsatisfactory, that would be the end of it.
This so-called cooking contest was nothing but a trap in disguise.
That can’t be…
Just as Nok-su’s silver chopsticks reached for the first dish, a loud, resonant voice echoed through the suragan.
“His Majesty arrives!”
It wasn’t the voice of the chief eunuch who always accompanied the king.
But to Ji-young, it wasn’t entirely unfamiliar.
The one most startled was Nok-su. Her pale face contorted with irritation as she turned sharply.
There stood Im Sung-jae, the Chief State Councilor.
“How could His Majesty miss such an entertaining event?”
As if in agreement, a figure nodded and slowly emerged, clad in a crimson gonryongpo.
“Who could argue with that! To think such a fascinating spectacle awaited here.”
Seeing him with her own eyes, Nok-su’s red lips twitched faintly.
The king, Yeonsangun, had entered the suragan.
…
Author’s Note:
Jang Nok-su (1472?–1506) is renowned as a femme fatale of Yeonsangun’s era. It is said that even past thirty, she looked as youthful as a sixteen-year-old. There is no historical record of her being a courtesan; this is a fictional addition.
