Chapter 59
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 059
Chapter Title: The Sprouts of Capitalism (4)
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If we're talking about the most omnipotent power-wielder in world history, it'd have to be Mao Zedong, hands down.
Hitler? That guy was just some nobody sweating over a Junkers coup.
That hunchback? Got kicked to the curb by his own son in his final years and reduced to a mere figurehead.
Stalin? Yeah, Stalin's got some real chops. But the sheer scale of the power he wielded? It's on another level entirely.
How immense must that authority have been to wipe out sparrows and turn Chinese civilization to ashes? Thanos had to scour the universe for stones just to dust half of existence, but Mao reset the heavens with a flick of his finger.
"Uh... can we talk about something else?"
Look at that. Even the Dragon King gets demoted to a jar ghost under that terrifying might. That's the power of a 12th-grade psyker surpassing gods themselves. Mao Zedong... Who could've known...
The opium that had gnawed away at the Chinese mainland for so long.
The sparrows, those bloodkin of Satan, preying on the rice of the Chinese people.
Nothing withstood his power, yet astonishingly, one thing survived.
That was—mahjong.
How formidable must mahjong be to make even Mao and Li Guan-yu throw in the towel?
Of course, the ultimate Englishman Park In-ho wouldn't be caught dead not knowing how to play mahjong. If you're doing business in China, you have to know your mahjong.
"But you know the Chinese are already playing mahjong, right?"
Is that the same thing?
You think folks playing minhwat'u would turn down go-stop if you shoved it in their faces?
The rules of a game are more crucial than you might think.
A prime example is chess. In the ancient proto-chess, the queen and bishop were far more sluggish than today. Once the rules evolved into the modern version, the game's speed and fun exploded.
So, what if you drop a meticulously refined set of 21st-century mahjong rules—honed over ages by countless players and the Chinese Communist Party—right in front of them?
"How on earth did you come up with these rules? They're way more fun!"
"I'm pretty sharp, you know. If we spread these rules far and wide, won't more people discover the true joy of mahjong?"
"Of course. It's not like playing by these rules costs any extra money..."
Perfect.
Beta test on the Chinese: cleared.
Plastic—the humanity's ultimate weapon—doesn't exist yet, but mahjong tiles can be made from bone or bamboo. Set up a factory, and mass production is yours.
Buying ready-made beats handcrafting at home. They wear out over time, and as labor-intensive items with rock-bottom production costs, they're a steal.
Worried about sales?
Or that China will just crank them out themselves and flood the market?
Eh, who knows. Sure, you can't stop China from self-sufficiency, but export routes should stay open. Why would trade ships leaving China swap tea leaves for mahjong tiles? Exactly.
This is all money in the bank.
Let's sell it everywhere.
Imagining mahjong parlors popping up next to every opium den in China, I proclaimed this new item to the world at large.
Ahh.
How far does my genius extend...
Loans started rolling in from Britain, America, and France.
In exchange? Naturally, maritime customs duties and a few other concessions as collateral. But who cares? Joseon was swimming in an insane amount of silver—an amount the country had never even dreamed of since opening its ports!
The gold standard of Asian trade.
This storied silver coin, used since the Ming Dynasty, boasted such top-tier credibility that even America designated the Mexican silver dollar as legal tender.
With this much silver, Joseon could establish a central bank and take its first steps toward a silver standard.
The era of those ugly Sangpyeong Tongbo coins was over. Leaf money could stay as small change, but to build even basic economic infrastructure, they needed a silver-based economy that's overwhelmingly easier for international trade.
Joseon lacked high-denomination currency, so people lugged around thousands or tens of thousands of Sangpyeong Tongbo in bundles. No wonder they invented drafts out of sheer frustration. I was shocked to see promissory notes and checks in this primitive land.
Sure, it was pre-modern, but Joseon had the seeds of finance. No need to conjure something from nothing when the foundation's already there.
"That's why nurturing them into British-style banks would be perfect for establishing a national policy bank."
I beamed as I proposed the bank charter, but Finance Minister Kim Heung-geun, Foreign Minister Yi Ha-eung, and the other ministers looked far from thrilled. I was caught off guard.
"Listen here."
"Yes, my lord? What is it?"
"Is there any real reason for the court to get involved?"
"Pardon?"
"If the nation needs it, loyal subjects offer up their wealth voluntarily out of patriotism. Mixing base money into pure loyalty just looks bad."
Ah.
Their whole mindset is worlds apart from ours.
Why buy when you can just seize?
Extortion is their way of life.
I thought I'd gotten a decent grasp on Joseon by now, but their thought patterns still elude me. Their fundamentals are different. What other country prints Dangbaekjeon willy-nilly when the treasury's empty?
Exactly.
Joseons' understanding of economics was disastrously poor.
This isn't about economics being a modern field or whatever.
The ancients knew you could profit from seigniorage by messing with currency, and Joseon knew it too. That's why they printed Dangbaekjeon.
So why did sharp minds like Yi Ha-eung go along with issuing them?
Simple.
'Print it quick, printing makes money.'
For strengthening royal authority or war prep, minor side effects were acceptable—that was the baseline thinking among Joseon officials.
Was Joseon's economy doomed like Russia's eternal winter, so they dismissed the fallout? Or did ruling this way keep it perpetually ruined?
"No, it won't do."
"Why not?"
"You think the saying 'Three Days for Goryeo Affairs' came from nowhere? For any great national undertaking, the court must first earn the people's trust."
I sent word to merchants in Gaeseong and Uiju requesting cooperation on the bank, while steamrolling the old fogies griping about wasting precious coin on such frivolities when every wen counted.
I couldn't let this precious sprout of capitalism wither.
To avoid coming back from Europe or America to a collapsed Joseon economy, I had to input Economics 101 pronto.
By now, you're probably getting the picture.
Every reform in Joseon was ultimately geared toward withstanding the inevitable Qing invasion.
"Isn't this about building up to conquer Manchuria and restore the empire?"
That's just polite fiction because this is a land of gentlemen, a nation of scholars. Lip service, really.
'Raise a mighty army, lop off the Manchu emperor's head, kick around some Jurchen skulls like soccer balls, and take the throne' sounds way cooler than 'Eek, what if a million Qing troops invade? We're all dead!'
Half of it was hope that British military reforms would let them crush the Qing in ten minutes flat.
The other half was terror that without them, it'd be Byeongja Horan Sequel: Electric Boogaloo.
The mahjong idea didn't spring from thin air either.
The court was cracking down on gambling when someone piped up: 'No matter how hard we crack down, the diehards keep popping up—why not tax it instead?' That sparked my mahjong brainstorm.
Whether to build a powerhouse army or pay loan interest, Joseon needed revenue, period. That's why officials grumbled, 'That bank money could slash our interest burden!'
And that's how this happened.
[Number three horse, number three! Whirlwind starts now! Whirlwind from Hamheung races like the wind, true to its name!]
"Sold national bonds and bet it all on you! Run!!"
"That's right! That's the spirit!!"
The first advanced Western import: horse racing from Britain.
Warmongering Europeans loved it, and it perfectly incentivized breeding good horses. Raise one winner, strike it rich!
Even yangban fell for promises of riches, then again for patriotic warhorse breeding.
With palanquins obsolete and rickshaws and carriages the new noble rides, the idea spread that any proper yangban household needed a few horses.
The court loved it too.
Beyond horse supply, racecourses were massive and public—easy to tax, unlike shady backroom betting.
But they didn't stop there. The court unearthed new gambling ops.
"Woooaaahhh!!"
"Win the fight or die trying!!"
"Smash their skulls!!"
Joseon's top spectator sports: ssireum wrestling and seokjeon football.
Bets on matches existed before, but tax-hungry officials jumped in as bookies outright.
In a word... toto.
And it didn't end there.
"Gambling doesn't just turn people into wastrels sucking the life from society. Gamblers always attract thugs who cheat them blind and slap on usury to fatten their purses.
If the state manages gambling directly, it'll cut down on folks losing farms to scams. Above all, it'll choke off the bloodsuckers preying on the people and bring true peace."
Joseon-style Kangwon Land casino debuted.
"With lines of families ruined by gambling, how can we ban it outright? The nation opening betting halls itself?!"
"Mad gamblers sell their own parents, play go-stop with toes after slicing off hands, roll dice with tongues even after losing feet. If the state doesn't save them, who will?"
Miraculous logic.
Scholars grumbled 'even for us, this is too much,' but folded before King Heonjong's plan to fund the army with casino profits.
Thus, Heungseon-gun—already tight with Joseon's underworld—mobilized even the righteous vigilantes to crush them. Gangs and thugs got smashed like candy.
What to do with these poisonous mushrooms sprouting everywhere?
No slavery anymore post-abolition.
Exile to the north worked once, but dumping in Hamgyeong-do now? Tricky.
Traditionally, the East lacked 'imprisonment' concepts—no long-term jail time.
But modernity's tide swept punishment too.
How could gentlemanly Joseon, scorning China's barbaric penalties, get finger-wagged by foreigners for harshness?
New judges, stripping powers from old magistrates, sorted cases into three buckets.
The worst offenders. Death.
"Hey, you lot. Ready for the chop? Bribe the executioner or it's a botched beheading, you know."
"Spare us!! Please!!"
"We're sorry! No more thug life—we'll live right!!"
"Then off to the mines?"
Serious crimes but redeemable hearts. Mines.
"Scum like you deserve the axe, but our merciful king pities even your wretched necks. One path to survival—"
"We'll do anything!"
Middling crimes, decent character, once whipped. Reformable.
"Get on the boat."
"...?!"
"Fit for navy but dodging enlistment's desertion, but His Majesty's mercy is vast—volunteer now, and the state feeds and houses you! Mines or boat?!"
"B-boat!"
"No spirit!"
The navy, chronically undermanned compared to the army.
The court solved manpower woes by shoving every crook aboard—dog thieves, public urinators, beggars, debtors, gamblers, petty thieves, you name it.
Damn... Spirit!