Joseon's Area 51 (1)
The dawn air in Changdeok Palace was as chill as a block of ice. A thin layer of frost had settled over the stone pavement in the courtyard before Injeong Hall, but Yi Si-woo's footsteps toward the side hall past Donhwamun showed not a hint of hesitation.
In the arms of Man-seok, the bodyguard following behind him, rested a thick leather ledger chronicling every detail of those two years in Onseong, along with a paulownia wood box containing precision instruments crafted in the workshop. The gazes of the court officials filling the corridors gleamed with wariness and contempt.
The bizarre rumor of the iron-wheeled cart that had shaken the capital the day before had already spread deep into the palace, even to the maids' quarters and the high ministers' private chambers.
"Young master, their eyes look none too friendly. Seems like that eerie clanking last night kept everyone up."
Man-seok whispered low, glancing sideways at the ministers, but Yi Si-woo merely shook his head lightly without replying.
To him, those men were nothing more than the dark rust wedged between the gears of the massive machine that Joseon must become. They were targets to be removed or worn away by the power of technology.
"Hamgyong Province Onseong Magistrate Yi Si-woo, summoned by Your Highness, enters the palace!"
With the eunuch's cry, the heavy doors of the side hall swung open. The air inside hung even heavier than outside.
Seated high in the center, King Jeongjo stared piercingly not at the documents on his desk, but at Yi Si-woo striding in.
"You've had a hard journey coming here. The rumors from Onseong have reached even the capital. The ministers all say you've created strange contraptions to delude the people and stirred chaos in the realm with calculations unknown to our laws. Is it true?"
Jeongjo's voice was calm, yet laced with subtle anticipation and regal authority.
Yi Si-woo performed his bow impeccably according to etiquette, and at once, Chief State Councillor Sim Hwan-ji stepped forward as if waiting for the moment, raising his voice.
"Your Highness! Yi Si-woo has abandoned the Way of the Sages, sowing disorder among the people with his perverse ironworks and vulgar learning! Just look at that monstrous cart he dragged into the capital yesterday—proof of his demonic ways. How could such clanking be allowed in the sacred heart of Hanyang?"
No sooner had Sim Hwan-ji spoken than the Noron heavyweights chorused in unison, as if rehearsed.
"Your Highness, the Chief Councillor speaks true! Bringing a deceiver who beguiles the masses with baseless arts into the capital is unthinkable in a land of Neo-Confucianism!"
"Dismiss Yi Si-woo at once and exile him! We beseech Your Highness's wisdom!"
The pressure from dozens of ministers was enough to shake the hall's pillars.
Yi Si-woo watched the uproar as if it were a fire across the river—calm and detached. The louder their cries grew, the colder his eyes became.
Jeongjo raised a hand to quell the noise and asked again.
"Magistrate, answer with your own words. What is this steel cart that has the entire court in such an uproar?"
Yi Si-woo lifted his head and met Jeongjo's gaze squarely.
"Your Highness, better one sight than a hundred words. With your permission, I shall bring the cart from the guesthouse to the front courtyard and demonstrate that my designs and calculations are no falsehood."
Jeongjo's eyes flashed.
"Very well. Royal Guard, fetch that cart from the guesthouse to the courtyard at once!"
Moments later, a heavy metallic rumble shattered the silence of the hall's front yard. Even laden with cargo, the steel axle showed not the slightest bend, and the solid iron wheels gleamed under the sunlight. The ministers' faces drained to ashen shock.
Yi Si-woo reverently took the heavy leather ledger from Man-seok with both hands and placed it before Jeongjo's desk.
"Your Highness, this is the stark reality of Joseon, woven from the blood and sweat of Onseong's people over these two years."
The ledger's weight thudded onto the desk, its echo pressing down on the hall like a physical force.
"Rites and principles are the nation's roots, Your Highness. But if they fail to save even a single starving soul or block a single enemy arrow, they are mere dead letters. I have viewed the world not through words, but through living numbers."
Jeongjo began flipping through the ledger with evident interest. Each rustle of turning pages sent chills through the Noron ministers, as if a blade grazed their throats.
"What is this? No mere tax record, it seems."
"While Your Excellencies debated doctrine in empty discourse, this records in detail how starved Onseong's people were and how much they were plundered by corrupt officials. After I applied these calculations, tax revenues tripled, yet the people's actual burden lightened. Crime fell to one in eight, and not a single soul starved to death in Onseong these two years."
"Numbers, you say! How dare some petty official prattle such vulgar learning? Can people live by figures alone?"
Sim Hwan-ji raised an accusing finger but faltered under Jeongjo's gaze, though his ferocity lingered.
"Chief Councillor, do you know how that 'compassion' you speak of reaches the capital's people? I personally checked the market rice prices upon arrival. The official ledgers list one nyang per gam of rice, yet the people pay over seven nyang. Can Your Excellency truly claim ignorance of where those two nyang differences flow?"
The hall froze in an instant.
Yi Si-woo's revelations pressed on.
"The military rations issued to the Training Command soldiers also mismatch the ledger measurements by 0.2 cheok. That tiny discrepancy fills someone's warehouse and leaves soldiers shivering in the cold. I have merely exposed those discrepancies in records."
Sim Hwan-ji's face turned the color of dirt.
Yi Si-woo pressed his advantage, drawing a palm-sized steel plate from the box. He bowed politely to a nearby Royal Guard.
"I beseech this Royal Guard: with your sword that protects His Highness, strike this iron as hard as you can. Fear not breaking it—put your full strength into it."
The guard glanced uncertainly at Jeongjo, who nodded. The man steadied his breath, raised his sword high, and brought it down vertically on the steel plate Yi Si-woo had placed on the floor.
Hah!
A sharp whoosh echoed off the hall's ceiling as the blade slammed down—crack!
The finely forged steel sword, guardian of the king, crumpled uselessly. Shards of the broken blade scattered across the cold stone with a piercing metallic ring.
In the stunned silence, the guard's wrist trembled from the recoil. Yet Yi Si-woo's steel plate gleamed unscratched.
"This... impossible."
The guard stared blankly at his gap-toothed sword.
"It is not a lack of your skill, guardsman. Merely that the new Joseon's forging surpasses the old. This steel is born not of guesswork, but precise quantification of materials and temperatures. Arm our entire army with it, and neither northern barbarians nor western ironclads will dare cross Joseon's threshold."
Jeongjo rose and took the steel piece in hand. Its cold, heavy heft was the strong Joseon he had dreamed of all his life.
His gaze met Yi Si-woo's.
"Magistrate, numbers indeed speak no lies. But Hanyang's winds cut sharper than the north's chill. Its stone paths are rougher than your cart's wheels. Have no fear of shattered wheels or bent axles?"
Jeongjo's question was the final test: could he withstand the Noron wall?
Yi Si-woo stood firm.
"Your Highness, if wheels cannot conquer rough roads, repave them. If axles bend, forge stronger steel. I ask not one mun more from the treasury."
Jeongjo stared piercingly and pressed.
"Without funds? Joseon's wealth flows in fixed channels, guarded by those who hold the laws. How will you breach that fortress without treasury aid?"
Yi Si-woo replied unflinchingly.
"Wealth springs not from power, but precise accounting that wastes nothing. I shall not beg reforms. Instead, I will prove with numbers how impotent Your Excellencies' outdated ways are before my techniques. I will reassemble Hanyang into a grand mechanism of measurements and laws interlocked."
Silence fell.
In the hush where even the Noron ministers held their breath, Jeongjo closed the ledger and declared calmly to the hall.
"I know the Chief Councillor's concerns stem from love of country. Yet this magistrate's steel and Onseong's calculations are talents indispensable for Joseon's prosperity and strength. I shall govern them within the system."
His gaze lingered on Yi Si-woo.
"From this day, establish the Gigi-cheong on the Musu-mak site along the Han River south of Gwangho. Your achievements in Onseong overflow the rank of Junior 6th. I appoint you Junior 4th Gigi-cheong Special Aide. Aid the Ministry of Works in repairing farmers' tools and soldiers' arms, laying the foundation."
A collective sigh of relief escaped the ministers at the decree. They saw it as exile to the outskirts, a slum of lowly smiths.
But Yi Si-woo's eyes gleamed cold.
Musu-mak... land of artisan families with ironworking traditions, strategic nexus where the swift currents of Jungnang Stream meet the Han—power source supreme.
He bowed, a faint smile on his lips.
The place the ministers mocked as a fringe forge was primed to become Joseon's grandest water-powered mechanized factory.
Junior 6th to Junior 4th... a leap, but still a menial post.
Sim Hwan-ji hid a smug sneer, bowing. A two-grade promotion, yet far from the Executive State's core or the king's inner council like the Royal Secretariat. Heading dusty smiths on the Han's edge posed no threat to Noron ambitions.
The other ministers inwardly tsked.
His Highness merely spared the talent, sending him to a backwater. Those cart wheels will till palace gardens at best.
They deemed it a dead-end post akin to exile.
But Yi Si-woo saw the unmistakable trust and weighty expectation in Jeongjo's issuing eyes.
Their complacency would be his strongest shield for secrecy.
"Your unerring numbers are my trust, and your arts shall form Joseon's backbone. Go now and fulfill your duty."
Yi Si-woo bowed deeply, swallowing a victorious smile. He sensed the secret blueprint to reshape Joseon's fate hidden behind the mundane office name.
As he exited the hall, Man-seok followed with the box. Stinging glares bored into his back, but Yi Si-woo did not turn.
"Man-seok, gather the tools. The real work begins now."
His quiet voice carried beyond Changdeok Palace's walls, toward the Han River workshop soon to belch vast smoke and clamor.