Chapter 51
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 051
Chapter Title: Modernity is Cold (1)
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1853.
The traditional Sinocentric order let out a thunderous roar as it collided with an iceberg, gradually plunging into the frigid depths of the sea.
"Negotiate! Let's negotiate!"
"We have no intention of toppling the Qing dynasty. As long as our free trade is guaranteed, we won't treat your country as an enemy."
"You're spouting that nonsense while funding the rebels...?"
"How are we supposed to crack down on every civilian selling weapons on their own whim? I swear it's got nothing to do with us. But what if it did? Are you gonna scrap the talks and keep fighting?"
The Qing Dynasty suffered defeat after defeat.
The Taiping Heavenly Kingdom.
The Nian rebels.
And the Western barbarians to boot.
The rebellions and intrigues erupting on all sides were far beyond what the already weakened Qing could handle.
Whether it was Emperor Xianfeng and his cronies fleeing Beijing for Chengde, or officials abandoning their posts to retire to the countryside, the thought crossing their minds was much the same.
'Is the country really about to fall?'
'Already? It's falling already?'
If a friend you saw often caught COVID, you'd tell them to take better care of themselves.
If that same guy ended up in the ER with kidney stones the next week, you'd think, damn, that guy's got rotten luck.
But if he got discharged only to come down with tonsillitis right after? If you shot him a gift card message out of pity and he replied, "Dude, I think I've got hemorrhoids too"?
At first you'd think he was faking it from the start, but then you'd wonder, what's really wrong with that guy? Is he gonna end up eating spicy beef stew in hell or what? The anxiety would creep in.
That was exactly the Qing Dynasty's situation.
To anyone watching, the Qing was a terminal case stacked with COVID, stones, tonsillitis, and every lower abdominal ailment you could name.
Of course, even piling up illnesses like that doesn't make most people start writing wills or signing up for life insurance.
"Once this rebellion ends, we must reform."
"We need to adopt Western technology, purge the corrupt officials, and above all, burn every last bit of that opium!"
They figured since their health was shot, they should rest up and build their strength.
Meanwhile, Britain, France, and America were starting to feel the complications mounting.
'How do we end this war?'
Their goal wasn't to torch Beijing, march into the Forbidden City with army boots, and proclaim a new empire.
They'd just come to make money.
To be precise, they wanted to give those uppity Chinks—who kept failing to read the room and locking their doors—a good thrashing, then throw their shoulders back and proudly swap bullets for the gold and silver piled up in Chink houses.
No matter how many Chinese they gleefully slaughtered, it meant nothing if they couldn't even recoup the gunpowder costs. The moment that happened, their futures turned bleak.
These Westerners were starting to fear the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom more than the Qing itself.
"These guys are straight-up cultists, right?"
"Their leader claims to be Jesus's brother? Aren't they insane?"
"And they're shouting anti-opium, anti-foreigner slogans. For now, they need our weapons, so it's all talk, but if they take over China, our trade profits are bound to plummet."
The Qing was still better than the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom.
The more people witnessed the Taiping reality firsthand, the more they ranted, "Those aren't even people you can negotiate with—they're not human." The Western powers began feeling uneasy about the Taiping's momentum.
And so, both sides finally prepared delegations for peace talks.
But...
"The Qing bastards still haven't come to their senses."
"They can't grasp the simple truth that they just need to sign the treaty we offer—they're still trying to squeeze more out of it."
"Fine. Then we march on Beijing!"
21st-century folks learn in the gorge that pirate "negotiations" aren't talks—they're "tongueslapping." It's common sense for pirates to put a bullet in the opponent's skull and harvest the gold.
But 19th-century Qing people didn't know that.
Like sensible folk, they planned to give what they had to and take what they could, unwittingly offending these barbaric pirates in the process.
Beijing went up in flames.
The Forbidden City was trampled.
It was the moment the prestige of the Great Qing Empire came crashing down.
The peaceful Kingdom of Joseon, sharing a shallow slice of the Yellow Sea with the Qing Dynasty.
"Heavens. Beijing's burned?"
"That's what they're saying."
"The Qing army didn't just retreat—they couldn't even defend the capital or the ancestral shrines?"
"Yes! The Western armies are looting the whole city right now!"
"Hah."
The high and low officials of this land trembled at the news.
And then.
"Heh. Heh heh."
"Heh heh heh heh!!"
"Ha ha ha ha!! Heh ha ha ha!!"
They convulsed like epileptics, twisting their bodies every which way.
"Keh heh heh heh!!"
"Keh heh heh heh!!"
"That's right, that's right! If even the Great Qing crumbled before a mere Western force, how could a country like Joseon ever beat them?"
"We've never clashed swords with them. Instead, we extended virtue, mercy, and our proudest asset—Neo-Confucian ethics—to treat these guests with utmost hospitality. Embracing them without fighting is surely His Majesty's benevolence."
"Facing reality, Joseon is thriving."
"The root of conflict between East and West is the Qing. Only when the Qing vanishes can we realign the world's fundamental order, one piece at a time!"
We weren't wrong!
We protected the ancestral shrines before ending up like the Qing!
Good lord. Qing coins? Why stuff your pockets with filthy, stinking Jurchen barbarian trash that reeks just sitting there?
The Joseon people swiftly empathized with their "friends, the British Empire." It was far better for mental and physical health.
Then they leisurely munched popcorn while watching their eternal ethnic foes—the hairy Jurchens—get slaughtered.
"Lately, the realm has seen frequent upheavals, with corrupt officials running rampant and turning traitors. It's time to fill new wineskins with new wine. I wish to summon upright talents who have languished unseen under the powerful clans."
This wasn't some celebratory expansion exam for Beijing's inferno. The king was just holding a test because he was in a great mood lately.
Unlike empty talkers, this young king truly needed fresh talent to his taste. He personally went to the exam hall and set Comprehensive Mirror for Aid in Government as the topic.
"...This guy's out."
"...This one too."
"This one's out too. Have the Royal Guard investigate how 'pure' his body and mind really are."
The king was as disappointed as a company commander on Sunday morning roll call.
But not every scholar in Joseon was like that.
"This one's worth a look."
"This one passes."
"This one too."
A horde of fresh-faced, downy scholars basked in the glory of passing, but they didn't snag posts right away.
By this era, Joseon already brimmed with exam passers.
No matter how massive the great purge had been, claiming countless yangban lives, the existing passers filled the ranks. The pint-sized Joseon court couldn't hand out offices to them all.
The king dipped into his bag of tricks again, summoning his think tank Yi Asul—the reliable source of bizarre Western ideas.
"I want to cast out old fogeys steeped in outdated ways and embrace fresh, spirited scholars into the court. Any smooth way to pull this off?"
"Three measures, Your Majesty."
"Ho, three already? Speak."
Yi Asul was getting a feel for what 19th-century Joseon loved and loathed.
"Make the judiciary independent."
"I heard you pitched that to Heungseon once before."
"Why do magistrates turn into extortionists the moment they hit their posts? The system's rotten at the root—we must fix it."
"How?"
"Magistrates are buried in work; even honest ones spend their terms just on trials. Split the role—create separate judges for rulings—and you'll solve all Your Majesty's worries at once."
With dedicated judges handling courts, magistrates focus on admin.
And slyly adding "impeach corrupt magistrates" to the judges' duties would nip graft in the bud from the start.
"What if the judges get corrupt?"
"Let the magistrate report them."
"Pit them against each other? Not bad."
Corruption thrives on collusion, but add one more head, and betrayal odds skyrocket geometrically. Same principle as cartels falling apart.
Plus, judges were officials too—hundreds of new posts sprouting at once. That'd satisfy plenty of pissed-off passers with no jobs.
"But the treasury's tight. Ballooning offices like that will cause issues."
"That's where the second measure ties in."
"Ho. What's that?"
"Divide posts into unpaid honorary and salaried ones."
Joseon officials got stipends.
Mere rat tails, people griped, but tallied up, it drained the treasury plenty—a perennial headache.
But Yi Asul boldly shattered this norm.
"Nothing's more glorious than a scholar serving the state. To enjoy such honor, they should contribute to the nation, not drain it. Why sap the coffers?"
"...I-is that so?"
"Yes! In the West, since Great Qin (Rome), aspiring officials liquidated family assets to publicize their integrity and vision, winning the people's trust."
Don't pay them.
Better—make 'em pay to serve.
"Th-that's selling offices—"
"Only after cultivating virtue and family can one govern the state. Only those secure in livelihood avoid corruption and serve faithfully. Rely on a pittance stipend? They'll sell out for bigger bribes."
Scholar Yi Hwan screamed inwardly to ignore this madness.
But King Heonjong, lord of blood and steel, instantly birthed the miracle process: "Just have my favorites donate some fields and appoint 'em?" He smiled contentedly.
"What's the final measure?"
"Joseon selects talent via exams, testing knowledge and wisdom—but not practical skill. Gather passers and train them in duties."
"A second Sungkyunkwan just for exam grads?"
"Precisely."
In 21st-century terms, a civil service academy.
Joseon had probation-like systems, but haphazard. Pre-modern societies worldwide ran on ad-hoc everywhere; Joseon was decently procedural on paper.
But to a 21st-century mind, it fell short.
"Take Britain: splendid academies like Eton unite youth and mold ideal character. Joseon has hyanggyo, seowon, Sungkyunkwan—now we need practical training grounds."
Fancy "hidden rural talents," but Confucian drones ignorant beyond classics.
To forge modern bureaucrats, training was essential.
The king liked the third idea best.