Chapter 39
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 039
Chapter Title: The Return of the Swindler (2)
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“Kuahaha!!”
I take it back.
I’d been underestimating 19th-century folks way too much.
Especially my brother. Sure, my mental age is way higher than his.
Park In-ho, who roamed all over East Asia pushing free trade and mutual prosperity, versus Daniel Leigh, who’d just graduated and shipped straight off to the military—what a glaring gap in life experience. Daniel’s skills are straight-up subordinate to mine.
“Ahh, I am Daniel himself...”
“Cut it out. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“Embarrassing? Why me?”
Daniel, sprawled out on the hotel bed, peeked his head up to look at me.
“Did you fight bravely? Fact. Did the Koreans admire you? Fact. Did they beg you to stay and train their army? Fact. It’s all facts, isn’t it?”
“Just drop it.”
But this guy’s ambition for success and turning his life around was downright terrifying.
No clue when or where he pulled it off, but he’d hooked up with some hack journalists and unleashed a barrage of wildly twisted propaganda.
Of course, it wasn’t anything insane like Daniel suddenly wielding imperial swordsmanship to wipe out a million Korean troops single-handed. That wouldn’t fly even in 19th-century London.
But it flew in The Times.
I figured all Daniel was good for was beating up his little brother, wolfing down crappy rations, and mocking Indians.
Turns out the sloth had a hidden talent: writing.
[The massive army summoned by Chosun’s King Kinchua-kun from every corner to crush the British forces crumbled at the sight of the Redcoats fighting for faith, freedom, and justice—]
“Who the hell is Kinchua-kun?”
“The King of Chosun. What do you mean?”
What kind of dogshit nonsense is this? Where’s Heonjong?
Sensing my utter disbelief, Daniel finally sat up, still wrapped in the blankets like a goddamn inchworm.
“You kept bragging about being an East Asia expert, so I did some studying up myself. I know my stuff now.”
“Uh-huh. Sure you do.”
“Over there, the official king’s just a figurehead. The real power’s the Tycoon—that’s the Great Lord, right?”
“What?”
“So I checked that dictionary you made. ‘Kun’ means ‘emperor,’ but in actual usage, it’s prince or duke. Which means we stood up to the real ruler of Chosun, Prince Kinchua, and restored power to that puppet king.”
Just to clarify, “Tycoon” doesn’t mean rollercoaster guy—it’s what they call Japan’s shogun. Got nothing to do with Chosun. This idiot can’t even tell Japan from Korea.
Kim Ja-geun’s now Kinchua-kun? And “kun” is like a title—“duke” or whatever—so Prince Kinchua?
What the...? Why is this bullshit somehow not entirely wrong? Heonjong was locked in the back room, and Kim Ja-geun might as well have been king...
“The ‘Geun’ in Kim Ja-geun isn’t that kind of ‘kun’!”
“Heungseon-kun’s a prince, though, right?”
“That’s because it’s not ‘kun,’ it’s ‘geun’... Ah, fuck it. Whatever. Believe what you want.”
“Hey!”
Explaining now that Kim Ja-geun’s just a name and Heungseon’s something else feels exhausting. Suddenly, everything’s a hassle. Dead Kim Ja-geun wouldn’t complain anyway. Cheers, buddy—you got promoted to king posthumously.
Anyway, from my view, Daniel’s tale—packed with pure bluff, lies, and fabrications—got printed in the papers left and right.
And it blew up big time.
“The end times are here.”
“That’s why I wrote you in a good light too. Why you gotta complain about everything? You gotta live a little smoother to last long. Can’t be all edges like that.”
Folks of the nation, take a look at this guy. He’s cramming other countries’ history and truth into a trash compactor and spouting it shamelessly!
But Chosun’s shogun clan, the Kin family’s youngest, Kinchua.
This wicked man couldn’t tolerate his people gaining freedom. When his brother Kin Yoo converts at Arthur’s persuasion, he poisons him and seizes the shogun’s seat!
Now shogun, Kinchua imprisons the boy king and monopolizes all power. The boy king secretly slips Arthur a decree hidden in his belt, begging rescue.
Meanwhile, Kinchua builds an army to conquer China and Japan, then destroy Christendom forever. Young Daniel Leigh leaps into the military to face this great evil...
Fucking hell.
What makes it fucking hell? It’s written so goddamn addictively that even I keep wanting the next installment. That’s what pisses me off most.
I can’t comprehend it.
I just can’t.
Daniel’s stuff is loaded with women fawning over him, righteous soldier Daniel solving problems and vanishing like the wind, steamy-but-not-too-dirty 19+ scenes slipped in, constant fights—fists, guns, violence everywhere. Bar brawls, mad Indians trying to burn women alive, pirates, and later war scenes.
How does this lowbrow instant-noodle word-vomit—
Why! Why is it so damn popular?!
“Uh... didn’t it feel kinda cringy, gilding your own lily like that?”
“Not a shred of shame!”
“Wow.”
“Isn’t this all just my tearful struggle to make it somehow?”
Daniel was dead serious.
“Sure, I’ll seduce some rich widow, live cushy without kids, and die lonely old. But you? Find a proper bride and carry on the family line! Got it?!”
“Starting to sound like your real motives are slipping out.”
“No way! It’s all my noble sacrifice! Christ himself would tear up seeing me: ‘You lived so devoutly, so sacrificially. Come to heaven.’”
This bastard’s lost it. Mocking faith like it’s breathing.
But this mad 19th-century world doesn’t smite him—instead, fan letters flood our hotel room. How’d they even find us?
“Yours piled up too. Take a look.”
“These aren’t for me—they’re for the story character Arthur Leigh.”
“It’s an essay, not fiction.”
“Bullshit.”
Daniel sorted fan letters at light speed: women one pile, rich-looking folks another, the rest... humans are so predictably consistent.
I looked away from the lunatic ripping into ladies’ letters first.
Britain’s Parliament wouldn’t fall for such lunacy.
***
“The hero of the East has arrived!”
“Arthur Leigh, guardian of freedom, graces us!!”
“What about my niece? I’d gladly give her to a great hero like you!”
Goddamn it, you idiots.
Why’d you fall for that tinder trash?
Gladstone, sir! Shine your conscience and light on these fools quick!
Gladstone, whom I hadn’t seen in ages, seemed recharged after a political break—full of energy.
“About those articles your brother wrote this time.”
“You read them too, sir?”
“Of course. Beautifully written, they were. Bit pleasure-seeking and sensational, sure, but the masses love that stuff.”
“Well-written... you say?”
“Not to toot my own horn, but The Times has great material and tons of moral lessons—needs real culture and learning to appreciate. Your brother’s stuff, though? Grabs readers by the throat. Especially the common folk.”
The Times riding on material alone?! His crap’s more fun?!
That’s it. I poured heart into The Times to enlighten Western idiots with neutral, dry, objective facts on proper knowledge. But these barbarian pirate scum prefer low-level, base drivel that matches their level.
Pigs.
Ignorant swine who know jack about real literature! What’s so great about that kindling?!
“Whig support’s up meaningfully. Voters seem inspired—our expansionism isn’t just money-grubbing; it’s showcasing Britain’s dignity and justice.”
“...Is that so?”
“Chosun’s king and nobles must admire us tons to send royals right after the trade treaty. Everyone’s amazed.”
Hmm.
Hmm.
Daniel’s the real deal. Sharing genes, huh? He’s got Nobel lit prize talent for sure.
No ally more trustworthy than blood. Supporting my brother to tower as English lit master? Duty by Joseon Neo-Confucianism or Christian ethics.
“Anything specific I can do to help you, sir?”
“Your exploits already do. Not ugly opium wars—true aid to weak nations, sharing morals and justice.”
Exactly.
Britain’s conscience stamped me moral. Pure healing.
Next, Ganghwa Brothers’—Yi Uk and Yi Won-beom’s—Eton enrollment.
Obvious, but they’re my age. Eton age long passed.
But when’s “impossible” ever stopped anything?
“Chosun royals are short-handed. Current king has one son—if king and boy die, Yi Won-beom’s top succession pick.”
“Sent succession 2nd and 3rd to Britain? That serious about opening up?”
Didn’t say I half-forced them. “Volunteered” spotlights their resolve.
“Yes. Dumping them straight in uni’s no good. Breathe with these future Britain talents few years, build bonds—diplomatic gold, no?”
“But... not sure.”
“Tutor English/Latin 6-12 months, Eton few years, then uni. Perfect fit?”
“I’ll ask, no guarantees. Public schools are independent.”
Then, Leigh & Gladstone Company profit reports to investors. First goals done.
Issue: Foreign Office report.
Palmerston’s gone.
“Lord Palmerston stepped down.”
This guy got sacked.
Just before I hit London, French President Napoleon III coup’d. Palmerston ignored PM and Queen, rushed in no-balls-deep fight or something.
“Resigned” my ass—booted. Now plotting to topple cabinet, gunning for his own PM...
Me and him? No ties. Don’t care. Walking disaster, confirmed.
New Foreign Sec, Lord Granville (Granville George Leveson-Gower, 2nd Earl Granville)—from Gladstone, hates “meddling,” peaceful type. Should talk fine.
Wrapped up.
Back early from drinks for tomorrow’s minister report. To Daniel—
Empty?
Where is everyone?
Straight to lobby.
“Any message from Daniel Leigh?”
“Yes. Left this note.”
[To my dearest brother.
A lady, avid reader of my work, says she admires me greatly. Off to Liverpool—wait up.
Say hi to Violet while I’m at it.
Your brother, toiling for family day and night.]
Crazy bastard...
Woman-obsessed bastard... Racing from London to Liverpool for pussy...
I prayed Daniel never caught syphilis and chugged mercury. Lit giant or not, dying shitting on walls? What a disgrace.
I lit the bear-paw pipe Heonjong gifted.
Just once. Rude not to use a gift. One time for real.