Proclaiming the Imperial Era
***
In the Jin capital of Kaifeng, Emperor Aizong sighed deeply upon hearing the report from the envoy who had returned from Goryeo.
"Goryeo has seized Liaodong and grown so mighty."
He had expected as much, to some degree. Jin could no longer treat Goryeo as a vassal. The purpose of this latest embassy hadn't been to interrogate them. In truth, Jin had no intention of antagonizing Goryeo—nor had they truly demanded that Goryeo halt arms sales to Song. Quite the opposite; they had hoped to receive something in return.
And so, they had proposed handing over horses. But now...
"That doesn't put us in a position to refuse. The losses to our Iron Buddha Cavalry have been severe; half of them are now manned by Han Chinese."
The Iron Buddha Cavalry—Jin’s elite heavy cavalry. Since the Battle of Yahu Ridge, they hadn't even fully recovered. They had barely managed to repel Song's northern expedition, counterattacking across the Yangtze to torch Song's fleet and inflict heavy damage while securing footholds. But those were mere raiding bases, nothing more.
To keep ravaging Song without respite, the Iron Buddha Cavalry was essential. Yet Song had countered Jin's plundering horsemen with new weapons procured from Goryeo. Horses were already scarce, and now they were dying off in droves.
To sustain the raids, they desperately needed more horses.
"So, you're saying we must also hand over Emperor Huizong's paintings and the Song imperial seal?"
"We have nothing else to offer in exchange for purchasing those horses from them."
Maintaining the state and paying tribute to the Mongols was painful enough. In such straits, did they have the luxury to quibble over Song treasures? Besides, those horses from the old lands of Buyeo and Suksin originally belonged to Jin anyway. In other words, the mounts for Jin's cavalry came chiefly from what was now Goryeo territory.
To secure those horses and keep their raiding army operational, they had to offer something.
"We'll hand over Huizong's paintings and the seal immediately."
Even the remnants of their pride had to be surrendered. What choice was there? If they couldn't reclaim past glory, they had to preserve the nation at all costs. And for that, they had no option but to accept Goryeo's demands.
Goryeo excelled in iron production, but it had always relied on charcoal. By contrast, its neighbors Song and Jin had advanced coal-based ironworking. To be precise, Song had pioneered it, and Jin had absorbed the technology upon seizing half of the Central Plains.
Coal-fired iron production far surpassed charcoal methods. Coal had higher energy density and heat output, making it ideal for large-scale industry. In grand terms, output could be dozens or even hundreds of times greater. It was the cornerstone of the Industrial Revolution, after all.
Goryeo hadn't used coal before because charcoal sufficed, and coal was hard to obtain. The peninsula's deposits paled beside Manchuria's vast reserves.
But Manchuria held immense quantities. Now that we had secured a good supply, we could fire up coal ironworks. As a bonus, we could produce briquettes for ondol heating too.
Of course, we'd need to refine the ondol to avoid carbon monoxide poisoning—maybe add internal pipes. Pipe-making is feasible now, and my mass-produced kaolin cement ( Portland cement) could seal any gas leaks.
Coal alone would save our forests and free up timber for dragon-keel ships. What a game-changer coal was.
The more I thought about it, the more reclaiming Goguryeo's old lands made sense. We'd been too busy with Liaodong to mine coal until now.
Especially welcome: jobs for Khitans and unemployed Jurchens. Even the people of Dongjin—nominally independent but effectively under our sway—mined coal to trade for food, expanding our influence.
The Khitans now thrived in our fleets as sailors, miners, and Byeolcho soldiers. Assimilation was going smoothly.
"Pair up the unmarried, or those widowed from former Jin subjects who've migrated to Liaodong, along with local Jurchens and Khitans."
We matched singles too. This included Bulgarian women left in Liaodong, whom we married off. And whenever Mongols sent "support" women—useless for military aid, treated as disposable playthings—we wed them off as well.
We had plenty to complain about to the Mongols over that, but it was the best way to glean their intelligence.
"What do you think of making something like this? Feasible?"
"Not impossible, but it'd be tough."
Nothing's impossible. If I say make it, they make it.
"Do well, and as a reward, you can marry one of those popular Western women from the Seres—the Bulgarian ones."
"I'll give it my all."
As mentioned before, I was envisioning barbed wire. I instructed the artisans accordingly.
The craftsmen from Jin and Song brought advanced skills, and our own had learned enough to produce matchlock supreme cannons. Drawing wire from animal fat-lubricated iron was tricky, but with effort—and the lure of Bulgarian brides—they'd manage.
I trusted our artisans!
Why barbed wire? I'd once eyed the Sixteen Prefectures of Yan Yun, but without crushing the Mongols, holding them would leave us exposed in the middle. Destroying the Mongols now? They were still useful, and better uneasy coexistence than needless enmity.
Fortifying Liaodong's borders made more sense. With cement ramping up, we could define the frontier, build walls, and deploy wire to halt Mongol cavalry.
Limit continental holdings to Liaodong, seize Kyushu in Japan, bridge to America—what need was there for further Chinese expansion? America alone had endless resources.
I'd considered the Sixteen Prefectures to counter a unified China, but Song's pathetic state proved they lacked northern conquest power. Dependent on our weapons, neither they nor Jin could reclaim lost lands anytime soon.
Jin and Song would remain divided, nursing grudges in a prolonged Northern-Southern dynasties stalemate. They'd sooner kill each other than unify.
Bonus: Jin was expanding the Iron Buddha Cavalry with Han Chinese, imposing Jurchen identity through administration and the Meng'an Mouke system. Forced cultural assimilation.
Then came good news: Jin had sent Huizong's paintings and the Song seal. We were primed to bind Song with obligation.
The fleet had been gone nearly a year—results soon. After smoothly trading with the Jin envoy, I tacked on one more thing.
"Oh, and one more announcement."
"What is it?"
Best to notify Jin upfront.
"Goryeo will soon proclaim the Imperial Era—Kaje Geonwon."
"Kaje Geonwon? You mean to truly claim the imperial throne?"
Kaje Geonwon: declaring equality with Jin. For Jin, who always saw Goryeo as inferior, this would sting.
"Let's be clear: Jin calls itself an empire holding just Henan and Shandong. Goryeo now spans six thousand li east, west, south, north. How could we not claim the throne?"
"But—"
"This is a unilateral notice. Bluntly, isn't the true emperor of the Central Plains the Han Chinese Song emperor? Song's recognition settles it."
What can you do if we just do it?
"Do the Mongols recognize it?"
Mongols weren't even worth debating. We coexisted awkwardly. I'd dropped hints of emperorship before Yelu Choeje, who managed Ögedei's temper, multiple times.
Not outright claiming "emperor," but implying we were an empire. Mongols dared not object. Protesting would highlight their repeated defeats—twice now. Admitting loss to a "tiny" state would shatter their prestige.
But defeat by an equal empire? More palatable. Like how Japan glorified Yi Sun-sin as a genius to explain their loss.
Frame it as a peer, and it works.
"The Mongols, who lend us steppe trade routes out of fear—dare they object? If your emperor can't stomach recognition, just tacitly ignore it."
We don't need your permission anyway.
Jin had already humiliated itself before us. Begging for the Nine Eastern Castles from Jin's founding emperor's brother—then flipping power to force vassalage. Goguryeo had tamed northern nomads. Malgal (Jurchen ancestors) were subjects; Khitans too, until late defection. Even Göktürks were friendly—roots of modern Turco-Korean ties.
Goguryeo fell; now Khitans and Jurchens built Liao and Jin. But we'd restored its authority. They were our subjects now. Your recognition? Please.
"We'll inform our court."
"Good. Peaceful coexistence benefits us all, no?"
Clinging to Henan and Shandong while calling yourself emperor? Be grateful we let that slide.
"Choe Regent, will Song recognize our Kaje Geonwon?"
Father still worried. Understandable—we were a bit grown to claim emperorship.
"Not impossible. If they balk, threaten to halt arms sales."
Song's matchlock troops and Jin's elite raiders were locked in fierce exchanges. But with northern ambitions crushed, Song could only defend. Our iron cannon detachments reported Song's 300,000 routed by Wan An Jin-hwa-sang and Wan An Hap-dal; raising another army would take time.
They couldn't even touch Jin's Yangtze bridgehead. If Goryeo now said, "Hey, we're emperors too!"—what then?
We'd distinguish ourselves as the Haedong Emperor—Emperor of the Eastern Sea, or Three Hans.
Goguryeo had claimed heavenly descent; "Son of Heaven" wasn't China-exclusive.
A modest boost in matchlocks wouldn't hurt.
"We'll send an embassy to Song, led by a Literary Attendant and Grand Councilor."
We'd observe proper protocol, at least.