"I have no regrets," Jang Ok Jung whispered, her voice thin as a spider's thread, "my only wish… is for my son… to be protected." The chill of the approaching dawn seeped into the roughspun fabric of her bedding, mirroring the icy grip of death tightening around her.
The year was 1659. A thin, reedy cry pierced the pre-dawn quiet of a small, mud-walled home nestled in the outskirts of a bustling Joseon village. It was the cry of Jang Ok Jung, a name that held the promise of purity and virtue, a stark contrast to the harsh reality of her birth. Her parents, Jang Hyeong and Lady Yun, were commoners, their lives a relentless struggle against poverty. They were but shadows in the vast, opulent landscape of the Joseon Dynasty, a land steeped in rigid social hierarchies and simmering political tensions.
"Another daughter," Lady Yun sighed, her voice heavy with weariness, as she gazed down at the tiny, swaddled form. Jang Hyeong, his face etched with the lines of worry and toil, placed a calloused hand on his wife's shoulder. "She will be strong," he murmured, his voice thick with hope, a hope that felt as fragile as the newborn in his wife's arms. But even as he spoke, a shadow of doubt flickered in his eyes. Their world offered little room for hope, especially for a girl born into their station.
Jang Ok Jung's childhood was a tapestry woven with threads of hardship. While daughters of noble families learned classical literature and courtly etiquette, her education was haphazard, gleaned from overheard conversations, scraps of discarded books, and the keen observation of a mind hungry for knowledge. The early death of her father cast a deeper shadow over their already precarious existence. The weight of poverty pressed down on them, their low social standing a constant reminder of their insignificance in a society that valued lineage and wealth above all else. One day, a cruel merchant refused to extend credit, his words dripping with contempt. "Commoners like you," he sneered, "are nothing but dust beneath my feet." The sting of his words burned in young Jang Ok Jung's heart, fueling a fire of resentment and ambition.
"Mother," she asked one evening, her eyes wide with a determination that belied her years, "why are we so poor? Why do people treat us like we are nothing?" Lady Yun pulled her close, her embrace offering little comfort against the harsh realities of their lives. "It is the way of the world, my child," she whispered, her voice a mixture of sorrow and resignation, "but you... you are different. You have fire in your heart, a strength that will carry you far."
This fire, this fierce determination, would shape Jang Ok Jung's life. It wasn't a desire for riches, but for power, a power to shield herself and her family from the contempt and hardship they had endured. Her gaze was fixed on the palace, a distant, glittering beacon of hope, a symbol of the power she yearned to possess. It was a calculated risk, a dangerous game, but for Jang Ok Jung, the stakes were too high to refuse. Her path to the palace was not one of privilege or birthright, but a deliberate, carefully planned ascent, one step at a time. Her arrival as a maid within the inner court (naemyongbu) was not an accident, but a strategic move in a game where the only rules were survival and ambition.