Chapter 129: Traveling Through the Middle Ages 129

Chapter 129: A Journey to the Middle Ages

For Louisa, being approached by clergy—whether part of a conspiracy or simply foolish—was just a minor incident in her days on West Island. Such obviously problematic encounters could be resolved once dealt with and were hardly worth worrying about. Instead, the matter weighing most heavily on her mind was her ultimate goal on West Island—her impending engagement to Prince Guillaume.

To say she was entirely opposed to it would be an exaggeration. If she had been, she would have objected long ago. After all, she had been engaged to Philip for years and had already gone through the necessary emotional preparation. Now, with Prince Guillaume replacing Philip, what difference did it make to her? At most, she had to consider the trajectory of fate—if Prince Guillaume were to die young, what would she do then?

If she had a child, she would have to support the young king and prepare for the regency’s power struggles, which would be anything but easy. But honestly, for a modern person like her, this path might even be preferable. The alternative—having no child—left her uncertain of the future. After all, the West Island Royal House coveted Brudo far too much.

If Louisa hadn’t been the heiress, things might have been simpler. She could have lived as a wealthy and carefree widow, enjoying status and riches without anyone troubling her. But as the heiress, everything changed. Many would seek to become her new husband, using her to claim Brudo’s sovereignty.

She could, of course, carefully navigate that delicate situation, striving to carve out a space for herself. But truthfully, she feared such a future. She doubted her ability to manage it—after all, in her past life, she had been just an ordinary girl, with no talent for political intrigue. Moreover, it was only natural to instinctively resist an unknown future.

Still, she occasionally encouraged herself—there would always be a way. Perhaps, when the time came, she would adapt surprisingly well.

The reason her engagement to Prince Guillaume weighed on her like a burden was much the same—she feared the unknown future, uncertain of what lay ahead, filled with trepidation.

Yet no matter how complex Louisa’s emotions were, the day of the crown princess selection drew ever closer… or rather, not the engagement itself, but the selection process. Though the term "selection" had never been openly mentioned, and there had been no formal process resembling a traditional "selection," subtle hints had leaked through the details.

For instance, on this day, a grand banquet was to be held at the palace, and all the young men and women invited to West Island were expected to attend in full splendor. When the palace messenger delivered Louisa’s invitation, he gave her enough hints to understand…

"...Don’t bring that gown with the long train. It’s beautiful, yes, but today at the palace, there will be dancing. That dress won’t do for dancing." Seeing Gina pull out an excessively formal gown, Louisa shook her head.

"I heard that today, Prince Guillaume will announce his chosen crown princess… Isn’t this just a selection after all?" Gina grumbled as she put the gown away. "They keep saying it’s not a selection, yet now it’s obvious. They even say whoever receives flowers from Prince Guillaume will be the crown princess..."

"Bear with it. This is still better… I’ve heard that in West Island’s old traditions, the young ladies of noble families had to change into identical clothes in a secret chamber. On the surface, it was to ensure fairness—same hairstyles, same dresses, so no one could stand out with luxurious clothes or hairstyles. But in reality, the ‘secret chamber’ was overseen by court ladies and noblewomen who would inspect the candidates’ health and ensure they had no flaws."

"What’s truly humiliating? That’s what’s truly humiliating!"

Louisa hadn’t known West Island’s past selection process was like this, but it didn’t surprise her. In her past life, she had enjoyed Russian historical dramas like *Ivan the Terrible* and *Catherine the Great*, which featured similar customs. Though ancient Russia might have adopted such practices under Mongol-Tatar influence, who could say for sure?

"It is indeed humiliating. But in China, their emperor holds immense power and can have many concubines. During their selection process, such ‘inspections’ are just the basics." Perhaps to lighten the mood, Louisa deliberately shifted the topic to China.

As expected, everyone was fascinated by tales from the distant East and eagerly asked for details.

Louisa figured that, at this time, China should be under the Yuan Dynasty. But as a foreign-ruled dynasty, it had left little impression (unlike the Qing Dynasty, which lasted longer and had more surviving records, not to mention the influence of Qing Dynasty dramas). So when it came to the Yuan Dynasty’s consort selection, she truly didn’t know.

After some thought, she decided to describe the Song Dynasty’s system instead: "The current rulers of China are the Mongol outsiders, and I’m not too familiar with their ways. But just decades ago, the rulers were still of their native ethnicity, and their selection practices had remained unchanged for a long time."

Though she spoke of the Song Dynasty, many traditions had been inherited from the Han and Tang Dynasties, remaining largely the same for over a thousand years.

"Generally, there are two ways for a woman to become an imperial consort. The first is direct appointment as a consort, which is usually reserved for girls of higher birth. Their fathers are often the emperor’s high-ranking officials or relatives, so they enter the palace already as consorts—and high-ranking ones at that. Yes, the emperor’s concubines have different ranks."

It wasn’t hard for the others to grasp that the "empress" was distinct from other "concubines." After all, the West had also seen eras where rulers kept "concubines." Even when Catholicism was widespread, powerful men still maintained legal "concubines" alongside their wives. These concubines held lower status, but their children were legitimate and could inherit.

But nothing compared to the vast imperial harem of the Chinese emperors—with their three palaces, six courtyards, and seventy-two concubines—each with clearly defined ranks.

Louisa outlined the concubine hierarchies of the Han, Tang, and Song Dynasties (the Song largely followed the Tang’s system). Hearing about such a complex and stratified imperial harem, the maids couldn’t help but cross themselves.

It wasn’t the concubine system that shocked them—similar practices existed in the Near East—but the sheer scale of the emperor’s harem. They couldn’t fathom a palace housing tens of thousands, with maids alone numbering in the thousands. And to ensure no one trespassed upon his concubines (or potential concubines among the maids), the emperor employed vast numbers of eunuchs—castrated servants!

Eunuchs weren’t unique to China, but their large-scale use was indeed a defining feature of ancient Chinese courts.

"...The second path is selection as a palace maid. These women primarily serve as attendants and servants but are also potential concubines. Their birth requirements aren’t as strict, but they must still come from respectable families—not necessarily wealthy, but honorable enough to hold their heads high. China has a social outcast system, under which performers, courtesans, and the like are categorized..."

To keep the topic engaging, Louisa shared a Han Dynasty harem tale—the story of Wang Zhaojun.

"...Zhaojun was born into a farming family in the empire’s south and was selected to enter the palace as a maid. At the time, a court painter was commissioned to depict each new maid. Though Zhaojun was stunningly beautiful, she lacked the money to bribe the painter, so he portrayed her as plain. Thus, the emperor never knew such an unrivaled beauty resided in his harem—his palace was simply too vast!"

The tale of Zhaojun’s journey beyond the frontier was full of twists—from the frustration of her talent going unnoticed, to the triumphant moment she captivated everyone when she appeared. Louisa’s listeners were enthralled. Moreover, Wang Zhaojun’s humble origins and entry into the palace through the "respectable family selection" process made her a perfect example of pre-Ming Dynasty concubine selection (the Ming and Qing systems were far more structured and different).

"...After spending several uneventful years in the palace, until the nomadic Xiongnu tribe in the northern part of the empire—specifically, a chieftain from its southern faction—decided to submit to the empire and requested a marriage alliance. To commend such submission, the emperor decided to reward the chieftain with generous gifts."

"However, the marriage alliance was no longer like the Han Empire's past dealings with the Xiongnu. Even if the emperor wouldn’t marry off his own daughter, he would at least send a niece or cousin—a female relative of imperial blood. But now, even the imperial clan was unwilling to let their daughters suffer in the harsh northern steppes. So, under everyone’s 'suggestion,' the emperor decided to select a palace maid, bestow upon her the title of 'princess,' and send her to marry the Xiongnu chieftain."

"After all, it was now the Xiongnu submitting to the Han Empire, wasn’t it?"

"The emperor happily adopted this suggestion and ordered his officials to choose a suitable palace maid. When Zhaojun heard of this, while other maids avoided the matter, she volunteered—becoming the wife of a Xiongnu chieftain seemed preferable to lifelong servitude? But the palace maids of the Han Empire didn’t see it that way."

"Far from home, struggling with the unfamiliar climate, food, customs, and language... princesses sent to marry the Xiongnu rarely lived long. Even if they lived a life of luxury among the Xiongnu, they often succumbed within years. The palace maids were terrified of such a fate."

Louisa explained this, and those around her finally understood the logic. Otherwise, by their reasoning, even if a submissive barbarian tribe came to the royal palace seeking marriage with an attendant maid (not even a lowly servant, but an attendant maid), the maid and her family would likely be willing.

"Zhaojun was brave. She realized staying in the Han palace would lead to obscurity and a lonely death, so she chose to take this step. A simple sense of duty also drove her—she was willing to contribute to peace between the Han Empire and the Xiongnu."

"...When the Han emperor hosted a banquet for the visiting Xiongnu chieftain, Zhaojun appeared in ceremonial princess attire. According to the records of the palace historians who witnessed the scene, her radiance illuminated the hall, captivating everyone present."

"The emperor must have deeply regretted it!" Gina couldn’t help but exclaim.

Louisa nodded. "He did, but it was too late to change anything. Later, poets and playwrights spun tales of the emperor’s desperate attempts to keep Zhaojun. Some even fabricated a story about Zhaojun having a twin sister back home, whom the emperor brought into the palace as if to make up for his regret."

"Alright, the story’s over. Quit dawdling—we still have work to do!" Seeing Gina eager to ask more, Madam Hugo shot her a sharp look.

Gina had always been fascinated by stories, and Louisa’s tale of the Far East had completely enthralled her. But she knew Madam Hugo was right—Louisa had to leave for the palace soon, and they needed to finish dressing her.

With the combined efforts of the maids and ladies-in-waiting, Louisa was ready just in time. She wore a lilac-colored silk gown embroidered with silver and pale red flowers, its sleeves cut unusually—her arms slipped through large openings at the elbows, leaving the lower sleeves to drape like decorative ribbons.

The underdress, specially tailored, bore simple silver and pale red embroidery, complementing the gown perfectly.

Louisa stood straight as her maid adjusted the dress. Beyond the sleeves, the gown seemed ordinary—but it wasn’t. The silk was imported from the East, likely of the finest quality, its luster exceptionally delicate. When first held, it had felt like moonlight pooled in her hands.

The silk alone would make her the cynosure! Such fabric was nearly impossible to find in the Western world. And with Louisa’s design, it was used to its fullest—paired with silver, white, and pale red, creating an ethereal effect.

The silver and pale red were thread colors; the white came from pearls. Tiny pearl buttons fastened with silver-thread loops adorned the gown’s front and sleeves—small enough not to overshadow the dress, yet adding subtle sophistication.

To match, Louisa’s jewelry was made of pearls, amethyst, and pale red coral, with silver settings. It wasn’t conventional or mundane—more like something out of legend, evoking images of celestial beings or enchanted courts.

It was akin to ancient people dressing as depicted in divine paintings. Later generations might see little difference—after all, gods were shaped by mortals, so divine attire naturally resembled human fashion. But to contemporaries, the distinction was clear, creating a subtle unnaturalness.

Yet, like high fashion—deemed unwearable in daily life—some still wore it flawlessly, turning heads. Louisa carried this gown with the same grace, transforming its otherworldly strangeness into effortless transcendence. Unlike those donning ethereal robes and flower crowns for costume parties (which often felt affected unless playful), her style felt organic.

Finally, her maid handed her a rosary, and Louisa boarded the carriage to the palace. Along the way, she toyed with the rosary’s pendant—a tapered amethyst vial filled with perfume.

It functioned like a censer, as some carried small incense burners for decoration. But this vial held perfume—a decanted sample of the luxury perfume *Vol de Nuit*.

Louisa adored this scent! Though the parfum extract was exorbitant, its closeness to the 1933 original (which she’d once sampled from a wealthy mentor who shared her love of perfume) made it worth the splurge.

She struggled to describe *Vol de Nuit*, knowing only that its inspiration came from *Night Flight*, another work by *The Little Prince*’s author, capturing the solitude and daring of nocturnal aviation. Translating such abstract states into scent was incredibly difficult.

Many storytelling fragrances claimed to achieve this through poetic descriptions, but reality fell short. Often, interpretations were shaped by branding, names, and narratives—not the scent itself.

Yet *Vol de Nuit* truly captured its theme: the liminal space between clear and obscure night, a pilot’s solitary flight through cold, mist-laden skies. Galbanum and narcissus created an airy, icy sharpness, evoking high-altitude isolation, while aldehydes amplified the chill and detachment. Iris softened the edges, adding dreamlike warmth, and paired with oakmoss, enhanced the foggy, damp night air.

Louisa chose it today because her gown resembled something steeped in the mystery of night—fitting for a perfume shrouded in nocturnal enchantment.

Indeed, when Louisa arrived at the palace, nearly everyone noticed her perfume.

"No surprise, Princess Balzac is the center of attention... and not just because Prince Guillaume is about to choose her." Lady Marie watched from afar as the crowd automatically parted to make way for Louisa, smiling faintly. "She's captivating, don't you think?"

Princess Catherine pursed her lips before speaking. "Are you so certain it will be Princess Balzac? Nothing has been announced yet." It wasn’t that she truly believed Prince Guillaume would suddenly change his mind at the last moment and choose someone else as his wife. She was simply displeased—when one is in a bad mood, they seldom wish to witness others' 'good fortune.'

She even felt a pang of self-pity. Just two or three years ago, she had been the one with such extraordinary joy! Back then, she had come to Vason as Princess Gondolan to marry the Crown Prince and become the Crown Princess... Yet in just two or three years, everything had changed. She was now about to return to Gondolan in humiliation, while another woman would take her place as Crown Princess.

She had no idea what her next marriage would entail—whether she would wed a minor king, an heir, or a powerful noble from a major kingdom. Or perhaps she might marry a high-ranking minister within the realm—that wasn’t impossible either... But no matter the outcome, it would fall short of the crown of Vason she had once dreamed of!

"Yes, there’s no other possibility. Prince Guillaume has always been set in his ways—ever since I first met him as a child." Lady Marie wore a faraway look. At this moment, her memories aligned with Princess Catherine’s, as both recalled their days as Crown Princesses.

"At any rate, I must go now. Will you accompany me?" Quickly snapping back to reality, Lady Marie turned to Princess Catherine and added, "I promised Prince Guillaume I would look after Princess Balzac."

Understanding the implicit meaning behind her words, Princess Catherine raised an eyebrow. "I thought you wouldn’t step into this whirlpool. You’ve always known how to play it safe, haven’t you?"

The crux wasn’t Lady Marie’s care for Louisa—it was the political statement behind the act! It practically signaled her alignment with Prince Guillaume in his conflict with Queen Anna.

"If it were just me, of course I could play it safe—content to be a dignified noblewoman of the royal house. But what about Amandine and Charlotte?" Lady Marie sighed. "I must consider my children’s futures. Whether a royal daughter is favored by His Majesty the King or not makes a world of difference in her prospects."

Amandine and Charlotte were Lady Marie’s two daughters with Crown Prince Pierre. Had Crown Prince Pierre not died young and instead ascended the throne, they would now be princesses of Vason. But there were no 'what-ifs' in this world—so they remained just another pair of noble girls.