Chapter 24
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 024
Chapter Title: Joseon Remediation Plan
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Even people who devoutly follow God's word can't avoid conflicts entirely.
The Vatican had entrusted missionary work in Joseon to the Paris Foreign Missions Society, and that alone sparked the beginning of tensions.
"Your Holiness! The missionary protectorates in China and Asia have long belonged to Portugal!"
"So you're the ones preaching in Joseon?"
"If we preach recklessly in Joseon, the heads of our missionaries in Beijing might roll! Joseon is a mad country that beheads every single missionary it finds!"
Hundreds of years earlier, the Vatican had outsourced certain missionary rights to Portugal and Spain.
But the first rule of the human world: Fists speak louder than laws.
Spain and Portugal treated missionaries like their own subjects or underlings, dealing mercilessly with any priests or clergy who didn't toe the line.
The priests under the Paris Foreign Missions Society faced similar fates.
"Get lost!"
"Anyone who gives even a sip of water to those bastards will never be forgiven!!"
"They're fake Christians! Drive them out!!"
The fact that France was one of the world's strongest powers didn't automatically make the Paris Foreign Missions Society an evil imperialist outpost backed by the state. The society had few members, little money, and wasn't particularly close to the government. Even most of its French missionaries hailed from rural areas rather than Paris.
Priests in China under Portuguese influence warned their followers never to cooperate with the Paris society, leaving them in dire straits. Joseon natives like Kim Dae-gun felt so threatened they fled from Macao to the Philippines before returning.
And Arthur Leigh, a 21st-century Englishman, was the sort with the fine character to fill in others' gaps.
"I've heard the Portuguese in Macao are persecuting priests from the Paris society. How about relocating to Hong Kong? I'll help you out."
Arthur hadn't met Kim Dae-gun or the other Joseon natives. Too much unnecessary risk.
In the Catholic Church, where hierarchy was stricter than anywhere else, you had to go straight to the top. Starting from the bottom would get you nowhere—and might just piss them off.
"Your offer is most gracious, but... you're not even a Catholic, are you? Why make this proposal to us?"
"Does that matter?"
Arthur blinked as if baffled.
But the priests—those who had volunteered to spread the Gospel far from home, in a world utterly unlike their own—were steadfast.
"It does."
"If you tell us your reasons, we'll listen."
"If you're just using us for commercial gain, then our paths will diverge from those who seek to bring God's word to the Joseon people."
A polite dismissal.
But Arthur was used to rejection.
"The future of Joseon rests on the Joseon seminarians you're training right now."
"...You honor us greatly."
"I'm serious. They're the only Joseon people in the world who can communicate with Westerners and understand Christian principles. That's why I, Arthur Leigh—the only one who can freely converse with Easterners and grasp Confucian ideals—absolutely cannot stand by and watch those young men lose their heads to the Joseon government."
"That insults them. They're prepared to become martyrs for spreading God's word."
"Why die if you don't have to? That's a massive loss."
As the priests opened their mouths to retort, Arthur declared firmly.
"I've opened trade with Joseon. And soon, limited missionary work and freedom of faith will follow."
"!"
"Is that true?!"
"I swear on the name of my late father. It won't be complete freedom, but Joseon will no longer behead people just for believing in God. Would you still send them to their deaths?"
Arthur glanced at the world mission map on the wall, where tiny Joseon was marked.
"My concern is simple: if you stir up a hornet's nest needlessly, the gradual opening of Joseon that I'm fostering will go down the drain."
"Hornet's nest—"
"The Joseon government already sees you as the vanguard of invaders and conquerors. No matter how noble your intentions or how much martyred missionaries cared for the people, it doesn't change the fact that France used their deaths as a pretext for invasion."
"We have nothing to do with the French Republic's government—"
"Of course not. I know. But that government schemed an invasion using you as an excuse."
Arthur pulled a document from his pocket.
"Delay sending missionaries to Joseon for five years, and I'll open the country and ensure no more executions."
"What can one man—"
"I'm not just any man. I'm Joseon's unofficial envoy plenipotentiary."
"Proof?"
"You want better proof than me returning from Joseon stuffed to the gills with red ginseng?"
A conditional contract.
The Paris Foreign Missions Society refrains from sending missionaries to Joseon for five years. After that, Joseon no longer executes missionaries. If Joseon deems proselytizing a crime and executes any, Arthur Leigh donates his entire fortune to the society per this agreement.
Arthur was certain: this contract favored them heavily. Either missionary paths open as they wish, or he becomes their lifelong indentured servant—a total freebie.
No fool would turn it down.
"Oh, and the donation for your move to Hong Kong is separate. What do you say? I'm confident this lets us, Joseon, and everyone grow together. If you need time to review—"
"No more time needed."
In that instant, the contract Arthur had set down drifted toward the candle flame and burned to ash.
"We shepherds of God do not bargain with merchants."
"You mad—"
"I've reflected, and we still have too many shortcomings to preach the Gospel to Joseon. We'll spend five years addressing them, so Mr. Leigh, if you'd share more information on Joseon..."
"You're saying you'll trust me without a contract?"
"Did Jesus stamp a contract to forgive our sins and save us?"
Arthur's mouth hung open, words failing him.
"You keep talking profit, but your true intent—to prevent innocent souls from dying—is plain to see. Bishop Imbert's teachings are firmly rooted in your heart. What need is there for scraps of paper? Just keep doing what you're doing."
Arthur rose and bowed deeply at ninety degrees.
The sunlight filtering through the stained-glass window seemed utterly holy.
Now I get it.
I just don't mesh with priests.
What's with all the fuss after getting a free meal?
Humans make contracts for peace of mind. Mouths can lie forever, but stamped paper lasts eternally.
But priests always go on about God's will and say, Fine, do what you want—even if it's a scam. Makes me feel guilty even if I wanted to scam them.
It's like being Jean Valjean who stole the silverware. More precisely, hearing You should've taken the silver candlesticks too from the bishop.
Even Valjean, hardened by 19 years in prison, couldn't overcome his conscience after that. And here I am, the most conscientious Park In-ho in this absurd 19th-century world. To trade fairly, I have to be sincere too—pure evil.
But I'm no Valjean. I've never even stolen bread, let alone silverware.
You did steal bread, though?
That was just holding cell, not prison, you chicken-brain.
More importantly, even those holy missionaries get sacrificed for national interests by these ruthless 19th-century imperialist states.
What can one man save through personal repentance and charity? A few, maybe. But softening those imperial guns and cannons just a bit could save hundreds of millions.
When I returned to Hong Kong from Macao, all hell had broken loose.
"We're rolling in it! Rolling in money!"
"Good Lord! Those ignorant Chinks are snapping up Joseon mandragora like mad at insane prices!"
"What'd I tell you? I said it'd work."
A profit margin so terrifying it raised goosebumps.
Excluding 'gifts,' most of what we'd loaded in London was low-unit-cost stuff: cotton cloth, sugar, gunpowder.
We sold it to Joseon at European-markup prices, bought red ginseng with the proceeds, then flipped that ginseng in China for ten times the price.
Money duplicated! Money duplicated!
Investors in Arthur Leigh! Rejoice! Your money's growing like weeds!!
No. Not just this one score. I came here for greater good.
After handing out fat bonuses to everyone on this Far East voyage, I raced to the Hong Kong governor who'd sent the invitation.
"Pleased to meet you. I've read your report several times."
"An honor beyond words that you've invited me, Governor."
"Call me casually. I'm ex-East India Company myself. Had a slight personal tie to your late father, so Uncle works in private."
"Haha. In informal settings away from state affairs, definitely."
Sir George Bonham: Governor of the Straits Settlements, Hong Kong Governor, Plenipotentiary Minister to China, and Trade Superintendent.
Word on the street called him a "capable governor with broad support, excelling in administration and wartime logistics"—and also a "do-nothing, incompetent, boastful, arrogant freeloader."
Both at once?
That's why managing people is toughest. Without status screens showing stats, who's right? Gimme a status screen already.
I'd submitted my report ahead of time. Copies were probably crossing oceans to our London investors.
Sure enough, the governor showed keen interest in this trade profit.
"Profits like this from Joseon trade? Unbelievable."
"Embarrassing to say, but one or two merchant ships max out Joseon's trade potential for now. They trust me personally but haven't opened their ports to us yet."
"Still... this is hugely encouraging. Impressive. Most impressive."
We discussed Far East trade in a businesslike, optimistic vein.
"Canada and America grow tons of this ginseng. Can't we pass it off as Joseon ginseng?"
"Experienced ginseng merchants can tell at a glance."
"Damn."
Eh, typical British thinking.
"Joseon is gripped by an ultra-conservative, backward nobility. The young king dreams of reform to avoid becoming their puppet."
"What if the British Empire helped with reforms?"
"Tricky. After France's military threats, they reject foreign meddling. Through normal channels, anyway."
"Hmm..."
After sharing intel,
I seized this rare direct audience with the governor to unveil my ultimate master plan: Operation Joseon.
"Joseon has no proper army. We need to invade now."
"...What?"
"Capture the king, force a trade treaty—that maximizes British interests perfectly."
"Wars need pretexts. You know that."
"Plenty available."
Why wouldn't there be?
"Joseon's a Qing vassal."
"So I've heard."
"In a second Opium War, we 'advise' this Qing rear base—and potential supply-line threat—to join our side. If they comply, no war. If they refuse, we march on Hanyang."
The governor looked flustered at the sudden war talk.
"And a war with Qing lets us open Japan too."
"Elaborate."
"Joseon and Japan both rely on sea routes to feed their capital's hundreds of thousands. No need for guns or cannons—just choke their windpipes with our fleet, and they'll surrender."
Declare war on Qing.
Launch gunboat diplomacy on Joseon and Japan under "Whose side are you on?"
Win-win.
"This is our golden chance. Before France or America moves, we must seize that massive market now."
"Qing as mere pretext, open Joseon and Japan without firing a shot?"
"Opening them ends our endless trade deficits."
Nothing excites Europeans more.
"Let's discuss details. Dinner?"
The moment had arrived.
After 19 years in prison for stealing bread, the embittered Valjean gets a night's meal and bed from Bishop Myriel by chance. Thinking Stealing and selling this house's silverware beats 19 years of prison labor, he swipes it and flees—but gets caught and dragged back. The bishop tells him, Yes, that's mine. But you missed the priciest item—the silver candlesticks. Why not take those? He hands them over with a blessing.