Gyujanggak (2)
The wind along the Han River was chilling. In front of the hastily erected battery on the sandy riverbank, the military officers buzzed with murmurs. At King Jeongjo's command, an alloy steel barrel hauled from the Kumho-dong workshop was being mounted. One of the porters staggered under its dense weight, dropping to his knees before barely standing again. It was a cold bluish-white behemoth, fundamentally different from traditional bronze or cast-iron cannons.
"Your Highness, that monstrosity has never been tested in actual combat! If it can't withstand the powder's force and the barrel bursts, the fragments could endanger Your sacred person. I cannot permit this reckless demonstration!"
"Then let's fire it right now."
Jeongjo gazed across the river, not even glancing at Kim Gwi-ju.
"Your Highness, that is..."
"Governor Kim. I am not asking after your well-being. I am ordering you to witness the path forward for Joseon's national defense. If you truly care for me, shut your mouth and watch what that barrel pierces."
Kim Gwi-ju's mouth clamped shut against his will. The Noron ministers behind him lowered their eyes to the ground, cowed by the king's fierce aura.
Five hundred paces across the river. At the edge of the reed beds, a red flag marked the target. Military officers had walked there themselves to confirm—it was a distance beyond the reach of Joseon's conventional artillery wisdom. To send a shot that far, beyond the range of a standard breech-loader, would require double the powder, and the barrel would tear apart like rags.
Two officers muttered under their breath.
"At that range... it's impossible."
"Look at the elevation. Aimed that high, the shot'll either splash into the river or fly off into the sky."
"We should call it off now..."
Yi Si-woo didn't respond. Kneeling, he scribbled equations on paper spread across the sand. Wind speed and direction, powder burn rate adjusted for air temperature, barrel elevation angle. The numbers aligned in precise rows. His brush never hesitated.
"My lord Star Supervisor, at that angle, it's hopeless. I've studied gunnery for over ten years—it's absolutely impossible. This is too much of a gamble."
Si-woo replied without pausing his writing.
"This isn't a gamble. It's mathematics."
He set down the brush and slowly raised his head. There was no rudeness, but his eyes held unassailable conviction.
"Your decade of hard-earned experience is valuable, but a single line of figures on this paper is even more precise. Experience can deceive us sometimes, but numbers never lie."
The officer fell silent in stunned agreement. Si-woo stood and approached the gunner, instructing the powder charge. The gunner's hands visibly trembled.
"Th-that amount will burst the barrel."
"It won't. My design says so, and that steel will prove it."
"My lord, if there's an accident, I..."
"I'll take responsibility. So stop shaking and light the fuse."
He spoke curtly and positioned himself beside the cannon. The wind swept across the river. Si-woo raised his hand to gauge its direction, closed his eyes, then opened them. He double-checked the angle one last time.
"Fire."
Boom—
The thunderous roar shook the Han River. Muzzle smoke billowed. Officers reflexively covered their ears and crouched. One porter collapsed on the spot. All eyes turned across the river.
Five hundred paces away, at the reed bed's edge. The target lay in splintered ruins. Fragments scattered on the river breeze, black smoke rising from one side of the reeds.
Someone gulped dryly. The officers who had sneered moments ago stood frozen, mouths agape. Even Kim Gwi-ju was speechless. They had braced for an explosion, but the barrel held firm. They had expected a miss, but the target was gone.
Something crumbled in Kim Gwi-ju's mind, piece by piece. He searched for a retort, but his mouth wouldn't open. His fingertips trembled.
Jeongjo remained silent until the smoke cleared. Only when the river wind dispersed it did he slowly walk toward Si-woo.
"Star Supervisor."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Gigi-so is no longer under the Ministry of Military Affairs. It answers to no department's interference or control."
The air around them rippled.
"It falls directly under the king. Budget, personnel—all follow my command alone."
"Your Highness! This shakes the foundations of the state from the roots!"
Sim Hwan-ji stepped forward, veins bulging, but Jeongjo merely turned to him.
"Prime Minister."
A low word. Sim Hwan-ji swallowed hard and fell silent. The king's gaze had already pierced the old era, fixed on the future Si-woo had flung open.
"Furthermore, I rename Gigi-so. From today, it is elevated to Gigi-cheong. It is not a ministry appendage but an independent office receiving only my orders."
The assembly stirred.
"Gigi-cheong Director Yi Si-woo."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"From now on, ignore the bureaucrats' glances. Prove Joseon's might with your designs alone. Everything from Gigi-cheong reports directly to me, bypassing court approval."
Jeongjo paused, then added,
"One more thing. Leading Gigi-cheong as a junior rank-4 Star Supervisor doesn't suit. I promote Yi Si-woo to senior rank-4 Junior Architect and appoint him Gigi-cheong Director."
The assembly murmured again. Just months ago, leaping from junior rank-6 to junior rank-4 had been unprecedented; this was another shock.
Chae Je-gong smiled quietly. Sim Hwan-ji and the Norons' faces had drained from ashen to ghostly pale.
Jeongjo patted Si-woo's shoulder lightly, as if their expressions meant nothing.
That night, Chae Je-gong stood alone by the Han Riverbank. The smoke had long dissipated, leaving only scorch marks on the reeds in the wind. In fifty years of service, he had seen much, but never one who pierced five hundred paces with mere equations.
Footsteps approached from behind. It was Si-woo. He stood beside Chae, gazing the same way. Silence stretched.
"Aren't you afraid?"
"Of what, sir?"
"Greater authority breeds greater enemies. They backed down today, but it's not over. Do you know how far their reach extends?"
Chae pointed toward the darkened capital.
"Today, only a target shattered. But that steel tube you made aims straight at the Norons' centuries-old privileges. When their walls crumble, don't you think the debris will bury you?"
Si-woo gazed at the flowing river and replied calmly.
"I know."
"And you'll press on anyway?"
"Elder U-sang."
Si-woo turned to him.
"One plowshare changes a field. One barrel changes a border. What I fear isn't the enemy—it's stopping."
Chae Je-gong stared a moment, then chuckled shortly. For a fifty-year veteran, it was a remarkably simple laugh.
"Very well. Forge ahead."
Just half a month after the royal decree, the rundown Kumho-dong workshop transformed into Joseon's most anomalous fortress. Deep within Gigi-cheong stood Jeongyu-gak, the hall of intricate knots that Si-woo had named himself—Joseon's first true research institute.
"This... is really a government office?"
The young scholars entering Jeongyu-gak for the first time gaped in awe. Si-woo stood before them, sleeves rolled up on his work clothes.
"What you'll learn from today isn't Confucius's way."
He placed a precisely machined steel rod on the table.
"This is Gigi-cheong's standard. From now on, every forge in Joseon measures by its length and weight. Not the artisan's feel, but this cold chunk of metal's figures will order Joseon."
Murmurs rose among the scholars. One ventured cautiously,
"But Director, how can this blunt metal replace the artisan's heartfelt precision?"
"Exactly."
Si-woo met their eyes.
"Heart can't fill starving bellies. But precise specs can stamp out bowls for ten thousand."
He glanced out the window. A massive waterwheel turned heavily on the Han's flow. Gears meshed, driving hammers to pound glowing metal. Calculation, not instinct, forged the steel.
"Propriety blooms only on a full stomach. You're no longer scholars copying classics—you're engineers designing Joseon's wheel. Set down the brush. Pick up the ruler."
A mix of bewilderment and anticipation lit the scholars' eyes.
The Noron hardliners, led by Kim Gwi-ju, decried Gigi-cheong as a budget-devouring monster in memorials, but Jeongjo burned them unread over candle flames. Instead, late into the night, he pored over blueprints from Jeongyu-gak, sketching Joseon's new map.
The night deepened, but Jeongyu-gak's lamps burned on. Low breaths chanting numbers over scripture mingled with the precise tick of gears designing Joseon's future.