Chapter 41
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 041
Chapter Title: Great Matter of Human Ethics (1)
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Daniel didn't head quietly to Liverpool.
Instead, he hopped off at stations along the way, meeting each and every fan who'd sent him admiring letters, and spent some truly blissful days doing so.
And when the train pulled into Wolverhampton, the city next to Birmingham...
Daniel met a widow.
And, astonishingly, he went all the way to Liverpool with her.
This is supposed to be real? I'm expected to believe this?
"Bro. Sit down here."
"What? Why? She's offering to devote her life to supporting us—what's the problem?"
"No, calm down. I've made my own fortune now, so you don't have to shoulder the whole family burden anymore. No need to force yourself to find some rich widow. So—"
"I'm telling you, that's not my type at all! Whether my destined partner turns out to be a widow or a nun, who cares!"
No, a widow might be one thing, but a nun? Yeah, that does matter a bit.
Here, renowned physician Arthur Leigh prescribes alcohol. At least he's not handing out opium, so by this era's standards, he's top-tier. No arguments.
After force-feeding him some expensive booze until he was stuffed, Daniel's eyes gradually grew as hazy as a dead fish's.
And then.
"She was the woman who could become my mother!"
At last, Daniel shed his filthy pretense, revealing his true colors as a scheming hero of chaotic times—no, not quite Cao Cao level, so let's call him a crafty old fox. Anyway, there it was, plain as day.
"Do you have any idea how hard it's been for me? Losing my parents and bearing this crushing responsibility all alone! Then, finally, the woman of my destiny appears—the one who can heal all my wounds and pain!"
"Daniel... into older women... seeking a lady to replace Mom..."
"Put that notebook away!"
Now I see—the goal wasn't money. It was resolving that... mother complex. As the one with the higher mental age here, I guess I have to understand.
- You?
Of course.
I'm on my second life, and losing parents is something I've been through before. It's sad, sure, but bearable.
But picture this: attending boarding school in this wild land of Britain, getting the news of Mom and Dad's deaths, the family fortune wiped out by debts and offsets, and that sense of duty to look after sis too. Any normal person would've rotted from the inside out, but all he's got is a thing for older women? Pretty healthy way to cope, if you ask me.
- Humans are impossible to understand... Is my comprehension lacking, or is your family just weird?
Idiot. Be grateful he hasn't gone off the deep end.
I read about it once in some alternate history web novel—a German king who got his kicks from being whipped and electrocuted in some shady spot. Not having tastes like that is a win. Here, as his little brother and big brother Arthur Park In-ho Leigh, it's my job to comfort poor Daniel.
Britain isn't like Joseon, where carrying on the line and preserving the family is everything. Nobles care about that stuff a bit, but we're no noble house.
So I'd just laughed it off before. If I do well, everyone eats well and lives well—no need to stress.
I wasn't alone.
It hit me like a ton of bricks, absurdly late.
I'd lived solo for so long, I'd overlooked it without thinking.
How can I change history if I can't even improve the lives of the two closest people to me?
Yeah, this is right.
I don't know when the Leigh couple died in the original history, or if Daniel and Violet lived well after.
Doesn't matter.
I'll just help them live way better than before.
Ah! Right then, in that dingy hotel room, I felt reborn.
The already handsome, kind, and talented Arthur Leigh had finally leveled up from A-rank to S-rank!
With an open heart as vast as the sea, I asked Daniel for more details on this woman he wanted to marry.
"She... lost her husband and firstborn recently, was really struggling, but said my writing brought her smile back."
Hmm. Add one more: weak to people who need her. Note to self.
"What's her name and age?"
"Eliza? Thirty... nine...?"
Hmm. Well, if he likes her, what can you do. Probably a beauty.
"So, how many kids left?"
"Five..."
"...How old?"
"The eldest who just died... was eleven, I think..."
Correction.
Maybe childcare's just his hobby.
If he'd been born in the 21st century, he'd have made a fine kindergarten teacher. Instead, he was born in this barbaric age and ended up shooting guns for the East India Company.
No problem. I've been reborn as the great Arthur who embraces all, so five nephews added to the mix? Piece of cake. Their family's loaded anyway—no begging bowls needed.
I dumped Daniel—too drunk to tell if he was drinking the booze or the booze was drinking him—onto the bed. Damn, why's he so heavy.
"Oh yeah, bro."
"What?"
"Sis says she's not getting married."
That instant.
Laser beams shot from Daniel's eyes, the alcohol haze vanishing in a flash.
"That little shit, what'd you say?"
"Ah. Nothing. Go to sleep."
"Like hell I can sleep now! Sit down! Hey!!"
"Will you listen? Ask her yourself later."
"Where is she! I'll break her damn legs right now!"
Don't ask me.
Personal safety first, always.
I'm no chicken-shit human terrified of water, so scouting a bride isn't my lifelong quest.
With matchmakers popping up everywhere now that they've tasted the fun, that's off my plate. What had me fired up was setting up business right here in London.
Needless to say, promising to loop the East India Company into ventures in Joseon sent my stock skyrocketing among the Club and Company staff.
"Just like his father Henry!"
"Arthur! I knew you were special from the start!"
"You're the hero of our Club!"
Unlike some leaf-chewing backwater village that stiffed me on tuition and inheritance, the East India folk had paid my school fees and didn't steal my legacy. In this savage era, Arthur Leigh's heartwarming tale of a magpie repaying kindness was enough to make even the gold-worshipping, money-grubbing Company men tear up.
"The land of opportunity, Joseon! This is your one shot!"
"Cheap seats! One-way express to Joseon!"
"Mysterious forbidden land of the Far East! Change your life in Joseon!"
The East India Company invests shares and manpower directly. Current and former staff pitch in extra.
Then me personally, and Leigh & Gladstone Company chips in too, raising the grand curtain.
And it's not over there.
The Far East Company, the Joseon court, and internal affairs kick in again to form a new outfit.
Its name?
Du-gu-du-gu-du.
.
- Madman.
Why? What's up.
- Madman!
Hey now. This is different from the Oriental Development Company. This one's for Joseon's prosperity and economic freedom. Proof? The Joseon authorities are investing too.
The Far East Development Company—FarDevCo for short—secures exclusive rights to most profitable ventures in Joseon.
From now on, all ginseng and red ginseng sold in Joseon must go through FarDevCo. In short, the bribes they used to pay Kim Ja-geun now go to FarDevCo.
But unlike Kim Ja-geun, we don't just skim cash.
Before FarDevCo, Joseon folks had to haul ginseng to Beijing and sell for 10-30 taels. Now, Leigh & Gladstone ships it from Nampho to Hong Kong or Guangzhou—expected price: 100-200 taels. Insane profits, right?
- How's that even possible? Were all Joseon people idiots?
No way.
Joseon folks smuggled too, on the sly. But without ships or crews, Chinese merchants came direct and lowballed them.
Britain beat China into opening free trade ports in real time. Plus, for some reason, opium addicts around the treaty ports crave Koryo ginseng—huge demand.
- You don't know? Playing dumb?
I know nothing. They fought the Opium War, but opium trade's still illegal in Qing? Good British merchants wouldn't sell it.
Same for Joseon shipping—FarDevCo monopoly.
Replace their pathetic ship tech with Western or Chinese vessels, solve the crew issue roughly, and done. Currently all Chinese or Indian sailors, but we'll phase in more Joseon crews over time.
And tariffs.
Bring in East India Company experts on international law and customs, plant them as advisors in Joseon. Eton grads preferred. If folks I've "job-placed" share some profits, that's a misunderstanding. Just gifts.
Our ventures don't stop there.
Start with railroads in Joseon. Rails never betray. Just Gyeongbu, Gyeongui, Honam lines, and we'll rake it in.
- Planning to fleece Joseon again, Arthur?
As a rational manager, Joseon should hand over rail rights.
Know why Egypt fell to colonialism? Dug Suez Canal, piled debt to the heavens, got screwed. With Joseon's meager capital, nationwide rails would bankrupt them. Better to use someone else's money and flex.
Sell factories and advanced machinery too.
I first thought spinning jennies or looms, but Joseon folks didn't want 'em.
"A machine that spits out endless cloth without human hands?"
"Sounds good, but got anything else?"
Joseon officials... wanted guns, cannons, bullets, shells tech. Is explosive DPS in their blood?
Anyway, with the fortune squeezed from Joseon shogun Kinchua-kun, we build Joseon's first modern factory: an armory.
Thinking it over, cloth would compete with cheap Chinese knockoffs, but "made by us, for us" Joseon guns? No competing with Chinese heads—just shoot. Joseon wants to conquer Manchuria too, clearly!
Next, mining rights.
Joseon already granted mines to rich folks for kickbacks, but of course, regents pocketed bribes.
The court seized all rights, crushed existing operators. Traitors gave traitors gold and iron, right?
But mining screams one item and one guy.
"Gunpowder?"
"Not just any—blasting explosives."
"Demand's high lately. Few years back, factories for blasting powder popped up southwest. Say it's for Far East export—they'll love it."
Black powder blasts won't satisfy this future soul.
After scouring books, I confirmed this world lacks a "miracle item" still.
No dynamite yet, but some chemist synthesized a super-potent explosive... gotta be nitroglycerin.
Mix nitroglycerin with diatomaceous earth, get dynamite. Diatomaceous earth? That... bath mat rock by the toilet. Guaranteed.
Problem: chemistry ain't a Horadric Cube—mix and poof, item. Can't spend years studying now.
I immediately ran ads and job postings under Leigh & Gladstone.
[Seeking chemist to safely refine nitroglycerin into efficient, economical explosive.]
Responses flew in fast.
[That substance is extremely dangerous—do not handle lightly.]
Astonishingly, from the guy who synthesized the pyro-stuff himself.
His warnings like a doomsayer scared everyone off. Who'd rush into nitro with a no-name venture anyway?
But one did.
[Researching nitroglycerin. Possible to get support?]
I cheered at the name on the letter: Alfred Nobel.
That's right.
A future man gotta milk future knowledge for honey.