Red Robes and Hidden Roots
It had been exactly one month since sinking the Namyang Bay pirate fleet and returning home. Every morning, the ports echoed with the lively clang of anchors being raised, and in front of the grain markets on the bustling streets, haggling voices surged like waves once more. Hwaseong currency had become the traders' preferred medium over even the magistrate's silver. The economic siege that the Noron faction had meticulously built over three months vanished without a trace before Yi Si-woo's fleet.
Yi Si-woo crouched in a corner of the Gigi-cheong workshop, blueprints spread out before him.
"I need to boost the flow rate here by another fifteen parts. If I twist the waterwheel blades another seven degrees, it'll bring the water's velocity right to the pressure displacement point."
He muttered to himself, sketching precise curves onto the blueprint with charcoal. The blades shouldn't just spin against the water—they needed to let the current glide along their curved surfaces, generating pull from behind.
Like how wind grows fiercer through narrow passes, narrowing the gaps between blades and adding curvature will accelerate the flow. Higher speed means lower pressure, and that differential will explosively increase rotational force.
Modern engineering called it Bernoulli's principle, but names meant nothing here. What mattered was that this seven-degree twist would determine the volume of water pouring onto parched rice paddies during drought.
His next goal was the waterwheel-powered pump. Crushing the pirates had been surgery to open Hwaseong's external arteries; now it was time to build up its internal muscles. Without fundamentally solving irrigation for the surrounding fields, this prosperity was just a sandcastle reliant on external trade.
"Director of the Gigi-cheong, sir."
A scholar knocked cautiously from outside the door.
"Speak. I'm calculating gear meshing right now—keep it short."
"A summons to the palace has come down. His Highness calls for you personally."
Yi Si-woo wiped his charcoal-smeared hands roughly on his clothes and stood. He paused at the doorway, glancing at a dirt-caked box on a cart. Inside were the mareongseo (potatoes) he'd procured from a Qing merchant during his time as Onseong magistrate.
I've secured the waterways. Now the real game is what to grow with that water.
A glint of resolve sharpened his eyes as he tightened his gat string.
The air in the side hall hung heavy. The Noron ministers exchanged wary glances, their mouths firmly shut. Whether they'd lost their words after their maritime blockade scheme was smashed head-on, or were pondering a deadlier poison, it was impossible to tell.
"Announcing the Director of the Gigi-cheong, Yi Si-woo!"
With the eunuch's cry, the hall doors swung open. Yi Si-woo entered alongside General Yi Bang-mu and Baek Dong-su, prostrating themselves at the center.
"Your Highness, Director of the Gigi-cheong Yi Si-woo reports. I have purged the western sea bandits and returned safely, as commanded."
"Rise."
King Jeongjo stood from his seat. An uncharacteristic radiant smile lit the face of the usually reserved king.
"You've proven my judgment of character true. Today, it is I who owes you a debt."
At the king's nod, a eunuch presented a decree wrapped in red silk.
"Hear this, ministers. We promote Director of the Gigi-cheong Yi Si-woo from Jeong 4-pum Tonghun Daebu to Jeong 3-pum Tongjeong Daebu, and appoint him concurrently as Gyujanggak Jikgak. As a Jeong 3-pum Dang-sanggwan position, he now holds the qualification to deliberate state affairs directly with Us!!"
The moment the king's words fell, the Noron ministers on the left erupted like a disturbed hive.
Tongjeong Daebu. The rank of Jeong 3-pum Dang-sanggwan, donning red robes to debate national matters with the king.
"Your Highness! This cannot be! No matter the merit, a mere youth in his twenties as Dang-sanggwan? There is no precedent!"
"Placing one unproven in experience or scholarship in such a seat will shatter the pride of scholars who've devoted lifetimes to study and undermine the court's discipline!"
The ministers prostrated en masse, pounding the floor in near-wailing protest, as if rehearsed.
Amid the uproar, King Jeongjo gripped his fists tighter and bellowed at them.
"Discipline? What discipline do you speak of!"
His voice thundered against the hall's ceiling. He glared at each prostrated minister in turn.
"When pirates swarmed the western seas, blocking routes to Hwaseong and making the people weep blood over rice prices—what did you do? The court, tasked with upholding discipline, stood idle as a fortress was isolated. Is that your notion of propriety!"
The hall fell silent as if doused in ice water.
The king's gaze shifted back to Yi Si-woo.
"Experience lacking, you say? Where in Joseon is greater proof than annihilating hundreds of pirates and thirty ships with just five vessels, reopening Hwaseong's vital arteries in one stroke! Which seasoned court veteran has resolved Our woes so perfectly!"
Jeongjo clutched the throne's armrests as if to crush them.
"This Director of the Gigi-cheong shall now stand at Our side, designing the Joseon you envision without regard for anyone's gaze. Further debate shall be deemed a challenge to Our resolve and an insult to the merits that defended Hwaseong!!"
The ministers slammed their heads to the floor. Yi Si-woo accepted the red decree with steady hands.
On the way back to the Gigi-cheong, Jeong Yak-yong stood waiting at the government office entrance, hands clasped behind his back. Spotting the red silk decree, he let out a chuckle.
"Congratulations. No one will make you kneel anywhere now. The Uiju prodigy has finally donned true red robes."
"Isn't the congrats a bit stingy? They say clothes are wings, but no offer of a drink?"
At Yi Si-woo's jest, Yak-yong burst into laughter and clapped his shoulder.
"You know my temperament. The moment I heard of your promotion, I sent word to the tavern! Tonight, we'll gather everyone from the Gigi-cheong and settle with Hwaseong currency lavishly. You just sit pretty in those precious red robes—drinks are on me!"
"What's this? Sun rising in the west?"
"I'm in a good mood. Good mood! Anyway, the celebration's set for tonight!"
Yak-yong slung an arm around Yi Si-woo's shoulders, leading him into the Gigi-cheong courtyard. Word had already spread; scholars and blacksmiths, covered in charcoal dust from the workshops, poured out.
"Director! Or should we say Lord now?"
"A Dang-sanggwan from our Gigi-cheong? No more sneering at us 'technicians' when we send official documents to the Construction Office or Inspectorate!"
One scholar pumped his fist in triumph. The joy of breaking the noses of other departments—who nitpicked budgets, materials, and approvals—had everyone grinning ear to ear.
Then the burly General Yi Bang-mu and Baek Dong-su appeared, roaring with laughter as they thumped his back.
"Lord Yi! Those red robes suit you fine! Go to the State Affairs Council and smash those stiff-necked desk-jockey fossils!"
Yi Bang-mu's booming congratulations turned the courtyard into a sea of laughter. As if pre-planned by Yak-yong, a large mat was laid out, and tavern porters hauled in massive liquor kegs.
"Gather round, everyone! Today marks Lord Yi Si-woo's promotion and the Gigi-cheong's official place at the court's heart! The side dishes won't be just tavern meat. Didn't this lord prepare something special?"
At Yak-yong's words, Yi Si-woo rummaged through the brazier's ashes. Pitch-black lumps rolled out, steaming with heat.
"You've all worked hard. These are mareongseo (potatoes) I got from a Qing merchant back in Onseong. Perfect drinking snacks—grab one and peel the skin."
The crowd picked them up skeptically.
"What's this?"
"Looks like dirt clods."
The grumbles faded the instant they bit into the white flesh beneath the skin. The courtyard went quiet.
"Ooh... what's this nutty flavor?"
"Fluffy yet filling—better than rice!"
White powder dusted their mouths as they chewed potatoes and raised cups.
Yak-yong proffered a cup to Yi Si-woo, who sat on the mat in his red robes.
"Si-woo, you're a strange one. Receiving Dang-sanggwan decree and your first act is roasting dirt clods?"
"Dirt clods? This is the key worth more than a million gold to fill the people's bellies."
Yi Si-woo clinked cups and laughed. In the Gigi-cheong courtyard under the setting red sun, the scholars' flushed laughter, warmed by drink, spilled over the walls.
At the same hour, in Sim Hwan-ji's mansion in Hanyang's Bukchon. While the outside world buzzed with victory news, the air here was frosty as fallen rime.
Sim Hwan-ji sat before his writing desk, silently watching the tea leaves settle in his cup.
"The Yi clan of Uiju. A military family guarding the borders for generations."
He tapped the investigation report on the desk. The genealogy was clear; no doubt Yi Si-woo was direct lineage.
"Yet."
Sim Hwan-ji lifted his cup.
"How does such talent emerge from sword-wielders? Mechanical wizardry, bizarre farming, tactics too. Too vast for a twenty-year-old."
A man in the shadows replied quietly.
"No teacher turns up, no matter how deep we dig. No master-disciple ties, no notable contacts."
"Not absent—hidden."
Sim Hwan-ji set down his cup.
"Keep digging. From his childhood movements to every person he's encountered. Something will surface!"
The man withdrew soundlessly. Alone, Sim Hwan-ji gazed out the window. The sunset glowed red.
No monster like that from mere sword-wielders. Yi Si-woo, I'll unearth your roots. The deeper buried, the faster they rot.