Chapter 70
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 070
Chapter Title: Arthur Leigh, the China Enthusiast (1)
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I didn't rush straight to Beijing, that lion's maw.
After all, I'm not some official Joseon government bureaucrat—just a lowly advisor. Debating whether to send envoys to the Qing, haggling over protocols and formalities... that'd take forever. So why not handle other business in the meantime?
The first stop was Hong Kong.
The Governor's office there is the front line directing the British Empire's Far East policy, so naturally, Hong Kong had to come first.
The previous governor, whom I'd met before, Sir Bonham, had been reassigned after earning merits in the Second Opium War. So of course, I had to pop in, pay my respects to the new governor, and grease the wheels properly.
"A pleasure to meet the new Governor."
"The pleasure's mine. Your books left quite an impression on me as well."
The new governor: John Bowring.
To my eyes—a seasoned 21st-century future hero's gaze—John Bowring's life already read like a web novel protagonist's backstory.
A former MP from the minor Unitarian sect in Britain, and a fairly renowned author to boot.
Before entering politics, he'd been secretary to none other than Jeremy Bentham, the founder of utilitarianism—you know, the guy who coined "the greatest happiness for the greatest number."
After Bentham's death, Bowring handled publishing his mentor's posthumous works. He dabbled in business and politics, championing gems like expanding suffrage, ending Catholic persecution, universal education, free trade, repealing the Corn Laws, abolishing the death penalty, scrapping flogging from military law... truly approaching 21st-century intellectual ideals.
He even advocated for... decimalization. Surprising, isn't it?
- Everything surprises you.
No, seriously—this guy's a true pioneer. In a mad country like the British Empire, where 1 pound = 20 shillings, 1 shilling = 12 pence (pence being plural for penny), 2 shillings = 1 florin, 5 shillings = 1 crown, 21 shillings = 1 guinea, and a quarter-penny = 1 farthing... he's too good for it.
- So why'd this great man end up in Hong Kong?
Ah, that. His business ventures tanked, leaving him broke.
- Ah...
Business is bad for your health, the root of all illnesses. Writing and business? Perfect recipe for ruining your life.
Bowring counted Britain's top hate-monger, Palmerston, among his friends. Palmerston slotted him into a cushy government gig as a diplomat—paid by the state, of course.
Considering Bowring's fluency in countless languages and vast overseas experience, it felt less like a parachute drop and more like an elite paratrooper insertion.
That's right.
The key is "Palmerston's friend."
A man passionate about domestic welfare but quick to swing the big stick abroad under the banner of free trade.
Birds of a feather: Governor Bowring mirrored Palmerston's foreign policy outlook perfectly. He only recommends his own kind.
"Since arriving here a few years ago, I've long observed the lives of the previous governor and all us Britons engaging with China."
"And what did you make of it, Governor?"
"It's outrageous."
But Bowring was no ordinary man I could easily judge.
"The Chinese are in dire straits, and we guests treat our hosts with contempt and abuse. Must we call in the army every time their resentment boils over?"
"Well said! You're absolutely right, Governor!"
"The Qing government suppressed free trade, extorted bribes, and branded us barbarians—they deserved a thrashing. But this isn't it. I want guests and hosts to coexist peacefully, in mutual benefit."
This had to be top 1% British character, right?
"Have you heard what I told Consul Ollcock?"
"We need a force to check Prince Gong. Naturally, I fully support it."
To my surprise, he nodded readily.
"The British Empire must be the foe of all absolutist monarchies and the friend of liberty-seeking peoples. Prince Gong cozies up to us now because he's in a fire pit—no one knows if that goodwill lasts once things improve."
"That's my thinking exactly. Beyond Prince Gong's personal tastes, if hatred festers between our peoples, he'll have no choice as a ruler but to turn the blade on us."
"Precisely. Give them competitors, encourage healthy politics, and surely a faction willing to exchange goodwill with us will emerge."
The conclusion seemed naive to me, but at least our views aligned—small mercies.
What threw me was what came next.
"So, shouldn't Joseon—where you've been so active—eventually escape the absolutist's embrace and hand power to its own citizens?"
"Of course. Thanks to your strong support, Governor, Joseon's emerging bourgeoisie and gentry are growing rapidly. With more progress in education, it'll firmly establish itself as a democratic nation."
There was steel in his words.
Would a governor who reveres constitutional monarchy and republics truly love absolutist Joseon?
I cut him off before he could spout some horror like "Let's teach Joseon Britons-style democracy."
"We need more missionaries."
"Missionaries, eh."
"The old nobility clings to Confucianism to justify their status. But for the new gentry and bourgeoisie, Christian faith and devotion could be an alternative."
"China missions are stagnant... I'll hint to my contacts that Joseon offers prime gospel-spreading opportunities."
"No need for forced conversions. Joseons are starving for knowledge—we just build more schools."
From there, I spun tales painting Joseon as a nation "so pro-British they don't know what to do with themselves" and its people "desperate for Christianity and Western learning, but lacking chances." Bowring listened with rapt interest.
"Indeed. A nation spontaneously requesting clergy without missionaries—Joseon's different."
"I bear Catholics no ill will, but a Catholic Joseon would naturally cozy up to France. Best counter: send more Anglicans and Protestants."
After much whining for more investment in Joseon, our talk naturally shifted to literature and Far East culture at large.
That wrapped my business pitch. Now it was time for the 21st-century hero to step up.
"I've got an unpublished manuscript I'd value your opinion on."
"Oh? A manuscript on Joseon and Confucianism by the top expert. Another travelogue?"
"No. An essay... though the evidence is a bit thin for a proper paper."
True to form as a literary man, instead of filing it away, he pulled it out and started scanning it.
And soon enough...
His brow furrowed sharply.
"Bit of a leap, isn't it?"
"I'm certain."
The content was simple.
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1. As non-Europeans learn from Europe, nationalism spreads widely.
2. Non-Europeans feeling invaded or victimized by foreign powers band together xenophobically, much like the Irish.
3. Beyond linguistically and historically distinct Koreans and Japanese, Chinese and Indian nationalisms are intensifying. As our interests grow, so does the threat to colonial management and free trade.
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"India, even? China, maybe..."
"I'd bet on a massive anti-British uprising in India within years."
"It'll just get crushed. The East India Company's sepoys alone number hundreds of thousands."
"Nationalism has the power to turn even those sepoys' guns against us."
The Sepoy Mutiny hadn't happened yet.
So I could just pretend to predict it.
"Don't you have friends at the East India Company?"
"That's why I'm certain, knowing India. This path is dangerous."
"India's a mess of languages and religions. Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs—they'd love to tear each other apart."
"Even so."
"What do you want from showing me this?"
He switched back to governor and ex-MP mode.
"Just testify that Arthur Leigh foresaw India's blaze."
"Ha! If that day comes, you'll have prepared, right? What then?"
Now for the main event.
"Hire sepoys elsewhere than India. Loyal ones, free of religious issues, willing to deploy overseas."
Joseon sepoys.
Just supply 10,000 to the East India Company—no more, no less—and what's my cut on that brokerage?
No matter that Britain was the hub of modern civilization, the 19th century was still the 19th. Unless you were high-ranking or in politics, Far East experts spun in the Far East, India experts in India. Meaning anyone I'd casually met—or even if not in person, who'd at least visited my "office"—...
"Mr. Leigh! Long time no see!"
"Hahaha. Been busy lately, you know."
"Of course! You're the Far East's alchemist!"
British diplomats were diplomats, but the people to meet were endless.
Traders in Hong Kong, Guangzhou, Shanghai, and beyond.
Missionaries eager to spread God's word.
Even Qing locals.
And to all of them, I spun the same yarn.
"Joseon's a hugely promising investment spot."
"Invest in Joseon."
"Joseons are wailing for the gospel."
"Did you know? Dogs in Joseon's open ports carry silver coins in their mouths."
"India or China? Ugh, too risky. Joseon's the safest uncivilized nation."
A full circuit performance like that.
Next up: reuniting with Qing intellectuals—but I couldn't just drop in on them willy-nilly, especially in these turbulent times.
Only after sending word and scheduling did I settle comfortably into my long-vacant Hong Kong mansion to check on Leigh & Gladstone Company and Far East Reclamation Joint Stock Company operations.
"How's business?"
"Smooth sailing? More like tsunami-sized. We're raking it in with pitchforks!"
Leigh & Gladstone Company was minting money like a coin press.
Qing-Joseon relations hadn't sunk this low since the Manchu Invasion.
But does that mean no more buying red ginseng?
Block Koryo red ginseng imports completely? Could they? Leigh & Gladstone was a proper British firm.
Even if the Qing went mad and banned it, they lacked enforcement muscle. If they had it, opium wouldn't flood the place. Local officials' pockets would just bulge, and ginseng prices soar.
Far scarier: surging imports from the Great Qing.
That vast land sells everything, makes everything.
Two Opium Wars had jolted it from hibernation. Hollow giant or not, massive growth was inevitable short-term.
"Ramp up smuggling to the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom."
"Got it."
"Joseon cotton cloth sales will boom—up imports. Woolens too."
"Isn't Joseon warm? Woolens?"
"Summers hotter than Bombay, winters colder than Moscow. That's Joseon."
Idiots. Do I have to spell everything out? How else to make big money?
"One more import."
"Name it—we'll prep immediately."
"Soda ash. Guaranteed profit."
"Planning a glass or soap industry in Joseon?"
Joseon's industrial capacity was still tight.
But no real capacity needed.
Soda ash.
Sodium carbonate.
Or in old terms... lye water.
Ways to make bank in Joseon were endlessly abundant.