Suwon Hwaseong (5)
Spring was coming. It had been a full year since leaving Onseong and setting foot in Hanyang. Just as the once-foreign air of the capital had grown familiar, the earth of Hwaseong shook off the last remnants of winter, releasing a damp, loamy scent.
As the final section of Hwaseong's walls neared completion, Yi Si-woo rented two entire farmsteads outside the walls and erected a signboard for the Mareongseo demonstration plantation. In front of it lay seed potatoes procured through Qing merchants—rough, dirt-caked lumps that looked utterly unpromising.
He carefully picked one up and sliced it in half with a pre-disinfected knife.
"My lord, are you really going to plant that? When we're already short on food, burying dirt clods in the ground?"
The farmer who had volunteered for the demonstration wiped sweat from his brow and approached. Behind him, dozens of peasants gathered, eyeing the baskets with suspicion.
"Is this really something that fills you up better than rice? It looks just like the kind of root wild beasts dig up."
At the elderly farmer's question, Yi Si-woo held up a halved potato, dirt still clinging to his hands.
"This isn't just a dirt clod. You've already heard the rumors from my time in Onseong—how this little miracle worker performed on that barren northern soil. Even in rocky fields, even through killing frosts, it grew fat and filled the people's bellies. Didn't you curse the heavens last year's drought when the paddies cracked open?"
Despite the conviction in Yi Si-woo's voice, the farmers' eyes remained wary. He might be dressed in simple cotton robes instead of his crimson official's uniform, but to them, he was still a lord walking on clouds. Decades of being burned by smooth-talking bureaucrats had etched deep lines of doubt into their faces.
Instead of replying, he grabbed a hoe. Without hesitation, he knelt in the furrow between the rows.
"M-my lord! You'll ruin those fine clothes!"
The startled farmers rushed forward, but he waved them off. The soil's texture seeped between his fingers as he pushed the potato in deep, cut side down.
"Clothes can be washed. The earth never betrays honest sweat."
Mud caked under his nails and blackened his knees, but he didn't care. Crawling along the furrow like a farmer himself, he planted one after another.
One by one, the peasants tentatively picked up their hoes and joined him.
"Three months. Dig it up again in three months. If I'm wrong then, I'll sell my official robes to fill your granaries."
His half-joking sincerity finally cracked the tension; faint smiles spread across the farmers' faces. The elderly man gripped his hoe with trembling hands and bowed deeply.
"How could we doubt the skill that saved Onseong's people? If even you kneel in the dirt, my lord, how could we fail to follow ten times over? We'll plant and trust."
His words ignited the rest. The surrounding farmers leaped into the furrows.
"You heard the lord! He made it work in Onseong! Grab your hoes, everyone!"
Twelve farmsteads near Hwaseong joined in. When the Gigi-cheong distributed free illustrated planting guides alongside the seeds, word spread like wildfire.
A week later, honest green sprouts poked their heads up.
But as the lush leaves began blanketing the earth, trouble blew in from an unexpected quarter, right on cue.
"My lord, disaster! The magistrates under Suwon Inspectorate are refusing the seed potatoes in unison!"
The scholar burst into the Gigi-cheong, face ashen. Piles of official dispatches from each township lay before them, their contents eerily uniform.
Don't disturb the people's hearts with unproven foreign crops. Planting bizarre roots in the sacred soil of Hwaseong, home to royal tombs, will exhaust the land's vital energy—such nonsense.
Yi Si-woo scanned the documents with sunken eyes.
"About what I expected."
Jeong Yak-yong, reading over his shoulder, clicked his tongue and set the papers down.
"They're not afraid of the potato's 'poison.' They're terrified of a world where people no longer stake their lives on rice prices. In that world, their power crumbles like sandcastles."
This Gigi-cheong's Mareongseo demonstration planting is a national project conducted under His Majesty's special permission. Yet bizarre rumors about Mareongseo are rampant near Hwaseong, misleading the people and obstructing the endeavor.
Magistrates of each township shall immediately root out the sources of these falsehoods, punish them severely, and proclaim His Majesty's will in detail to prevent unrest among the populace.
Should the rumors persist or be abetted by officials thereafter, it shall be deemed disobedience to the royal command and grave negligence in feeding the people, punishable without mercy.
He slammed the seal down with a thud. Jeong Yak-yong peeked over his shoulder and widened his eyes.
"My friend, this openly uses His Majesty as a shield."
"The starving Noron lords in Hanyang won't have the guts to petition the king against feeding the hungry with potatoes."
Jeong Yak-yong chuckled and shook his head.
"Hahaha, you're right, Si-woo."
Deep into the night, on King Jeongjo's secret summons, Yi Si-woo headed to the annex of the Hwaseong temporary palace. At the entrance, he saw the king's back, lit by a single candle as he pored over a large map.
"You've come. Draw near."
Jeongjo recognized his footsteps without turning. The map detailed Hwaseong's walls, waterways, and even the demonstration plots.
"Petitions are piling up like mountains. Your reply has the Noron ministers in a frenzy."
Jeongjo's voice held no rebuke, only a faint amusement. He offered a teacup.
"My deepest apologies, Your Majesty. My presumption has burdened you."
"Nonsense. Well done. If they fear Our name, it means they haven't forgotten who rules this land."
Jeongjo opened the window and gazed out. Under the moonlight, the final wall section stretched long.
"Once those walls are complete, what next?"
Yi Si-woo traced the southern coastline on the map.
"The walls are just the shell. Mareongseo will ensure food self-sufficiency, Gigi-cheong technology will boost productivity, turning Hwaseong into an economic hub. Pirate hunts in Namyang Bay are merely the start. We'll build a fleet to sail shoulder-to-shoulder with Qing, Japanese, and even Western ships."
Jeongjo asked softly, "Aren't you afraid? The Noron ministers will try to silence you."
"With Your Majesty at the helm and a well-fed people backing the world I've designed, what is there to fear?"
Jeongjo stared long, then chuckled.
"On the day those walls finish, We shall proclaim a new Joseon's dawn from Hwaseong. Stand by Our side then."
"I shall engrave it upon my heart."
Leaving the annex, the night sky was exceptionally clear.
The same hour, Uiju in Pyeongan Province. Before the weathered walls of the Yi clan home, a man lurked in the shadows—Choi Hyeong, spy sent by Kim Gwi-ju.
Tracking Yi Si-woo's traces in Uiju was easy yet difficult. Everyone praised Uiju's divine dragon, but the closer he got, the stranger the voids in his story felt.
Instead of bribing clansmen, Choi Hyeong infiltrated the detached study where Si-woo had secluded himself for over a decade. Officials had searched it multiple times, but his eyes were different. He ignored floor and walls, focusing on the ceiling.
Perfect. Too perfect—that's what's off.
In the spotless study, only one anomaly: an unnatural knot where the beam met the rafters.
Like a cat, he silently scaled a pillar and probed the knot. It wasn't wood—a finely carved wooden plug. Pulling it revealed a narrow wooden box wrapped in oilpaper.
Inside lay a bundle of faded papers. Under candlelight, Choi Hyeong unfolded them carefully.
"What... what is this?"
Not the elegant prose admired by Uiju's scholars, nor profound Neo-Confucian truths. Childish scrawls filled with unidentified equations, intricate machine cross-sections, and geometric patterns beyond Joseon's mathematics crammed the pages.
Even to an illiterate like Choi Hyeong, Si-woo's bundle screamed not scholarship, but blueprints to upend the world.
The grotesque truth the boy called divine dragon had hidden alone atop the beams each night, shunning the world's acclaim.
Choi Hyeong tucked the papers into his bosom and vanished into the dark.