Sohwa stared in horror.
But Hwayeong only sighed—like some tragic heroine out of a play.
“See? I’m just too kind for this world...”
This cursed kindness—always getting in her way.
With a dramatic turn, she walked off, and Sohwa followed carefully, making sure not to trip over the basin.
“Are you going to sleep now?”
“No. I need to darken the ink. It’s too pale.”
She opened the chest and pulled out another bottle, pouring it into the basin until the liquid nearly spilled over the brim.
Could anyone really call that kind?
Just as the thought crossed Sohwa’s mind, Hwayeong blurted out something utterly absurd.
“You know, cow dung would be perfect for this. Nothing ruins someone’s day quite like stepping in cow dung—between the smell and the look, it’s unbeatable.”
“...Unfortunately, there are no cows in the consorts’ quarters.”
“What about chicken blood?”
“...Also unavailable.”
“Glaze?”
“Who would bring glaze into the consorts’ wing?”
