Chapter 5
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 005
Chapter Title: Shawshank Escape
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How the hell do I escape this pirate den?
Option 1.
Escape over land.
That's suicide.
In case you've forgotten like that jar-head ghost over there, let me remind you: I'm a little British boy currently in China.
- I haven't forgotten. Why are you slandering me out of nowhere? You some kind of Red Guard?
No matter how rampant the smuggling gets, the vast majority of Chinese folks live and die without ever laying eyes on a Westerner. Conversely, anyone who's seen a Western face is usually knee-deep in the shady underworld.
And I'm supposed to hoof it over land? Insane.
Option 2, then.
Steal a boat and head for the nearest spot with Westerners.
- Sounds right.
Nope. Impossible.
Westerners are only in two places.
Macau, where the Portuguese planted their flag, and Whampoa—the only open port in China—aka Guangzhou.
No way a rowboat even a kid under ten could handle gets me out of here. Even if the Dragon King summoned a whale or giant squid to tow it, I'd shrivel up and die miserably before arriving.
Logically speaking...
The pirates have to put me on a smuggling ship heading far away.
Once we're out in the open ocean near the destination, I could snag the Dragon King ship and make a desperate break for it.
- But?
These guys would never let me anywhere near Westerners.
Look at all the smuggling around here—they never take me along. I'm prime interpreter material, the most efficient use for a talent like me, but they flat-out refuse.
But this is Park In-ho, Arthur Leigh.
Boss-man of his second life.
When push came to shove, he combined his past life's IQ of 130 with this one's 130 for a total of 260 and devised the perfect escape plan.
- Great. Spill this genius plan already.
First, the jar ghost stocks up mana for a while. Not a sea turtle—something bigger, like a whale, rideable. He's bulked up a ton this past year; turtle won't cut it anymore.
- So it's all on me after all...?
You're my guarantor, aren't you? Gotta help out at least this much.
And then.
Right away.
Board a smuggling ship bound for Joseon.
The one and only—perfect—way out.
The mysterious hermit kingdom at the edge of the Orient, Joseon.
Even this small, insular nation couldn't escape the clutches of the global value chain.
At this point in time, Joseon was a dirt-poor country in the throes of regent politics, with nothing to its name. Still, it had something to sell to the world.
Something gloriously named: people.
Surprisingly, Joseon's smuggling scene wasn't much different from 21st-century high-tech ops.
Chinese smugglers sail right up to the seas off Hwanghae Province, where Joseon smugglers dock with loads of red ginseng. They trade on the sly at sea, wave bye-bye, and Qingdao and Joseon are none the wiser.
I board one of those ships and head to the middle of the Yellow Sea.
Then, on a pitch-black night with no moonlight, I summon a whale taxi—the pride of Ulsan Metropolitan City—via Kakao Dragon King and hightail it to the Korean Peninsula coast.
Smuggling's always done in pitch darkness, one step from disaster. That perfect cover for them is the perfect chance for me to bail.
"I have to board that ship."
"A kid not even ten yet? What boat?"
"The other kids ride and work fine."
"Still—"
"The Dragon King is angry! I have to go myself!"
The boss didn't hide his irritation when the kid he'd been using as a totem started swinging religious authority around.
But the underlings, especially the grunts, felt differently.
"Boss, uh, can we take him?"
"Hah... Fine. Don't leave him alone on the boat."
"Got it!"
The goodwill I'd slowly banked paid off. These simple-minded pirates fell for basic sales patter and chit-chat skills way easier than expected.
And so my grand escape plan kicked off aboard the Joseon-bound smuggler.
It hit a slight snag.
"S-storm!"
"Hold on tight!!"
Rumble rumble crash.
After every ounce of persuasion, I barely boarded the Joseon smuggler.
I encountered my second storm in life.
And shipwrecked for the second time.
- ...You little shit.
This time, thanks to prep, I rode a whale—far bigger and comfier than a turtle—eastward.
It was summer.
1839.
Qing Daoguang 19th year.
Joseon: Heonjong 5th year.
Hwanghae Province has a cape called Jangsan Cape.
Easy to find: Open a Korean Peninsula map, spot the bit sticking farthest toward China from Hwanghae—that's it. In the 21st century, it's where the northern pigs park missile launchers and fire at whim.
No relation to mountain beasts despite the name, but plenty of folks die there anyway.
Sticking out most in Hwanghae made it a hub for domestic Joseon shipping like grain transport and trade (smuggling) to China. The fierce currents had a notorious rep throughout the dynasty. This story, originally set in China, got upgraded to Joseon, with the Inverted Sea where Simcheong jumps changed to Jangsan Cape—you can imagine the danger.
Folks living in such harsh spots are usually bold go-getters. Just look at British lads raised staring down the North Sea, all clouds, drizzle, and ship-shredding fury—proactivity at 140%. Hwanghae wasn't as brutal as Britain, but the Joseon dynasty's "gifts" of misery bred fine, enterprising capitalists.
Hwanghae folk were so globalized that coastal types had no hang-ups dealing with Chinese.
Western barbarians were the exception.
"Your Excellency! Your Excellency!"
"What's the fuss?"
"A barbarian washed up at Jangsan Cape."
"Hmph. Those currents are vicious... Just handle the body properly and give him a funeral."
"He's alive, and not Chinese."
"Oh?"
The county magistrate soon learned the details and realized this wasn't for him to handle.
He swiftly submitted a report.
Your humble servant, Magistrate Won Yeong-jeong of Shinjangyeon County, reports:
A child washed up at Jangsan Cape. Strangely, a whale carried him ashore on its back.
...His hair is black, but his eyes are blue-green, and his features differ starkly from ours or even the Chinese. Brought to the yamen and nursed for days, he can communicate in halting Chinese.
...The boy calls himself Yi Aseol or Arthur Leigh, from England. He says he was traveling to China with family when disaster struck, killing all but him. Captured by pirates, he endured torments...
Joseon might be poor with rotten internal politics, but it had a decent process for Western castaways.
1. Bring to Hanyang.
2. Check for useful skills or knowledge.
3. Notify Qing envoys: "Protecting this guy."
4. Qing replies: "Oh, from XX country? Send him; we'll ship back on their traders."
5. Hand to interpreters on next Qing delegation for return.
With castaways rising, 1 and 2 often skipped, but worldwide, this was advanced and humane. Villages didn't just kill or enslave them—Joseon character (or magistrate control) was top-tier for the era.
But things were different now.
1839: Joseon hosted a big event.
"Heretics believing in evil learning (Catholicism) are rampant again. Once hooked, they abandon parents and king for devils alone. Instead of cherishing life, they court death for ghosts—truly vicious doctrine."
"Well said. Time to uproot them."
Gihae Persecution.
Catholic crackdown curtain rose again.
Unlucky for Arthur: This one had sneaky ties to him.
"Didn't we burn those wicked books in Shinyu Year (1801)? How do they linger?"
"English castaways from before spread them to the people."
"Westerners are all vicious."
19th-century British visitors always gifted Bibles. To Joseon folks, no difference between Catholic or Protestant—it was all the same poison.
And leading this purge, Prime Minister Yi Ji-yeon was ruthless.
"Last time, we spared the weak and young out of mercy. Look—they bred more and regrouped. Even child heretics corrupt body and soul; exile just spreads it. No choice."
Fewer deaths than Shinyu, but kids tortured and killed mercilessly.
The court wasn't bloodthirsty enough for "English kid? Kill!" but orders to Hwanghae sharpened: "Even children might proselytize—send to Hanyang ASAP."
Worst possible timing to visit Joseon.
However.
"Hello. I'm Arthur Leigh."
"How do you speak Joseon?"
"Everyone's been so kind. Gave me clothes—thank you. With such care, how could I hesitate to learn your language and writing?"
"Remarkable."
"Studied hard, and now we converse. Truly joyful."
"...Have you read the Analects?"
"What's that?"
To a second-life hero starved for sales and results, this crisis was nothing.
(Commentary)
"Is it not a joy to learn and practice repeatedly?"—the opening line of the Analects.