The Tiger's First Strike in Hanyang
The dawn in Hanyang, on the way to the capital, felt utterly different from Uiju's winds. A murky air thick with the desires of countless people and the shadowy struggles for power.
"Young Master Yi, the capital truly lives up to its reputation as the pinnacle of the realm. Look at the splendor of the Six Ministries offices and the endless tiled roofs—they make it deserving of the title 'heart of Great Joseon.' But..."
Jeong Yak-yong trailed off as he surveyed the opulent Unjongga Street.
"How is it that the air beneath those glittering tiled roofs feels so heavy? The eyes of passersby brim with killing intent, as if invisible blades are aimed at each other's throats. It unsettles my heart."
Si-woo gave a faint smile.
"The more splendid the silk, the more tangled the knots on its reverse side. But Master Jeong, the one who unties those knots becomes the master of the game."
The civil service exam was a week away. Ordinary scholars would hole up in an inn near Sungkyunkwan, reviewing the Four Books and Three Classics while fine-tuning their condition. But Si-woo's actions were utterly unconventional.
Without even unpacking his bundles, he ordered Man-seok.
"Man-seok, spare no silver. Buy up every swift-footed, loose-lipped informant in this capital of Hanyang. And reserve the top floor of Wooryeong Pavilion—the grandest inn on Unjongga—for the entire week."
"Young master, they say a single night's room there costs its weight in gold... You sure about this?"
"Didn't I say money flows like water to draw information from the depths? Get moving."
From the first day and throughout the week, Si-woo scoured the Six Ministries markets and merchant guilds, poring over their ledgers. He pinpointed how the influx of rice and cotton cloth from the eight provinces into Hanyang had sharply declined. Clear evidence that provincial taxes and goods were vanishing midway before reaching the court.
The flow of goods from the eight provinces is blocked, yet the warehouses of the capital's elites overflow. Proof that tax rice and military cloth meant for the state granaries is diverting to private homes. The Three Taxes are rotten to the core, with the people's hard-earned blood fattening someone else's belly. His Majesty must be seeking an obvious answer through this exam.
"Young Master Yi, what on earth have you been doing all week? Not a moment on exam prep, just prowling the markets—it's got me on edge."
To Jeong Yak-yong's worried query, Si-woo gazed down at the capital from Wooryeong Pavilion's railing, lost in thought.
In this palace surrounded by enemies, does King Jeongjo truly seek mere eloquent scribes? Is he searching for the sharpest, maddest hunting dog to crack the Noron fortress walls and excise the rotten sores in one stroke? If so, I must become an answer beyond his expectations.
At last, the promised week passed, and the morning of the preliminary civil service exam arrived.
Si-woo headed to Sungkyunkwan's Bicheon Hall with Jeong Yak-yong. The courtyard before Bicheon Hall brimmed with thousands of scholars from across the nation.
Moments later, King Jeongjo himself arrived in procession and took his seat. The hall fell utterly silent.
Jeongjo's gaze slowly swept over the scholars, unaware that among them lurked the owner of the tiger pelt that had thrilled him two years prior.
Soon, the exam topic was announced.
Discuss the root measures to rectify the three tax corruptions shaking the national foundation: irregularities in land tax settlements, biases in military cloth levies, and the illusions of grain loans.
A low murmur of groans rippled through the hall. These were the chronic ills of Joseon, later dubbed the "Three Tax Disorders"—a conundrum no one had clearly solved.
But for Si-woo, who had scoured the capital's real economy to its depths over the week, this was merely an arithmetic problem proven by numbers.
With his 21st-century administrative instincts translated into Joseon prose, he poured his answer onto the page.
The chaos in land taxes stems from absent surveys; conduct a new cadastral survey to uncover hidden fields and ensure equitable taxation by terrain.
The suffering in military levies lies in taxing the dead and infants—unify the registers to eliminate fictitious entries.
Grain loan exploitation is official usury; introduce state-monitored transparent records across the entire distribution chain.
Si-woo's brush never hesitated. Beyond spotting systemic flaws, he rebuilt it from data as his backbone.
Even after filling the answer sheet in a single, fluid stroke within the time limit, he didn't rush to leave.
I'll sightsee properly once I'm the owner.
At the closing bell, Si-woo calmly submitted amid the last group and exited Bicheon Hall.
Three days later, when top scholar Yi Si-woo's answer sheet was revealed in the throne hall, it erupted like a massive powder keg.
From the throne, Jeongjo pointed at Si-woo's exam paper and spoke.
"Chief State Councillor, behold. This scholar Yi Si-woo's prose flows without hindrance, brimming with concrete plans to save the suffering people. I wish to appoint this talent as Junior Secretary of the Office of Scribes to keep him near. What say you?"
The courtiers buzzed at Jeongjo's bold proposal. While top scholar rank granted junior sixth-grade status, Junior Secretary was junior seventh—lower formally, but the core of practical duties, recording the king's every move.
Kim Gwi-ju bowed with a benevolent smile.
"Your Majesty, seating a top scholar as Junior Secretary lacks precedent, but no better place exists for a young talent to learn the gravity of state affairs and court dynamics."
With the indulgence of those at power's peak, Si-woo's entry to the Office of Scribes was sealed. To Kim Gwi-ju, the eighteen-year-old Si-woo was just an ignorant flower stem, soon to wilt in palace ways.
Overwhelmed by grueling duties, he'd tire and return home or grovel at Noron feet, Kim was certain.
The next dawn, Si-woo donned Junior Secretary robes and stood alone before the palace's massive gate. Ignoring Man-seok's worried gaze from the inn beyond, he pierced the mist to stare at Geunjeongjeon's high walls.
His first day as Junior Secretary was as brutal as Kim Gwi-ju anticipated. Senior secretaries cast cold stares at the new eighteen-year-old top scholar, skipping congratulations to begin hazing with false rituals.
"Top scholar or not, no arrogance here. Learn palace etiquette by finishing this first."
Without proper greetings, they herded Si-woo to a corner room in the Office of Scribes and piled yellowed ledgers like a mountain.
"Grain loan reports from Hamgyong Province over three years. Cross-check for errors or miscalculations and recopy them all by today. Miss one, and forget going home tonight."
Abuse disguised as duty. To Confucian eyes, mere jumbles of numbers and scrawl; ordinary rookies would pull all-nighters for days without finishing.
Dust clouded over the ledger mountain. Watching the seniors' mocking retreats, Si-woo murmured softly.
Trying to torment me with this? Mistaking me for a mere scholar and tossing me this honey trap.
Instead of his brush, Si-woo spread the ledgers on the floor and scanned them at breakneck speed.
Cross-checking the ledgers, they're consistently short by about 20%.
As Si-woo dissected them, a massive corruption flow emerged.
Tch... it reeks. Better check the others.
After four relentless hours of pursuit, Si-woo halted at one point: an obscure village in Hamgyong Province.
Found it. Clear proof Kim Gwi-ju's clan diverted military rice into private usury.
The figures weren't missing—they traced horse relays and fleets. All logistics funneled through merchant houses monopolized by Kim Gwi-ju's wife's family and collaterals. State rice moved not by official troops but private outfits, their end point linking to northern granary lands by Kim Gwi-ju's ancestral estate.
Even Queen Jeongsun's brother, Noron hardliner Kim Gwi-ju, couldn't erase his own supply chain traces. Or rather, arrogance that none dared touch his records under his prestige had invited this.
With an impassive face, Si-woo took up his brush to recopy. But amid the neat script, subtle annotations posed sharp questions at corruption's heart—seemingly routine notes that a meticulous king like Jeongjo couldn't miss.
As sunset faded, departing Si-woo drew senior secretaries' sneers.
"Top scholar, huh? Spent the day tallying numbers. He'll pack up for Uiju soon."
Si-woo passed the gate without reply, exhaling deeply. Beyond, Man-seok paced worriedly, but Si-woo silently turned to Geunjeongjeon's walls once more.
High walls mean many secrets hidden within. I'll unearth them one by one—wait for it.
The palace watch bell tolled through the mist, cleaving the silent air. Its echoes spread over the capital. Si-woo's silhouette slowly vanished into the thick darkness beyond the gate.