The Measure of One's Vessel
Preparations began for the elixirs they had named the Deungmyeong Pain-Relief Pill, the Deungmyeong Golden Wound Salve, and the Deungmyeong Vitality Pill.
"Feels a little strange, working somewhere that isn't underground," Yang Mosu admitted. A man who had always brewed medicine in cellars found even the simple fact of working above ground enough to lift his spirits. "Still, we do need a cellar. There are things that have to be stored in the shade. Ice would be even better, if we can get it."
"Ask for whatever you need."
Under Yang Mosu's direction, a pill-compounding chamber was built inside Deungmyeong Manor. They renovated an unused pavilion, and Yang Mosu and two others settled in to produce the core ingredients of the elixirs. The facilities for mass production would have to be built outside the manor; after consulting with So Yeondok, Yang Mosu settled on a site near the trading company.
"I'll handle the rest," Cheongu said. "Medicine takes time to build trust, so at the start I'll take a loss if I have to—the priority is spreading word of how well it works."
Ja Gangcheon simply nodded. As far as he was concerned, his part ended once he handed over the formulas. Cheongu would make the money work.
"If these pills succeed, will we be able to build the ship?"
That was the real reason Gangcheon had gone so far as to make medicine in the first place.
"It's possible. And if the pills catch on, it won't just be the silver—the manor's reputation will rise too. That'll help with the persuasion."
They could not pay for a ship all at once. Man Pilung, the shipbuilding expert, would need to believe the funds would keep coming without interruption. And to move a master craftsman who had already retired and gone home, they would need terms nothing short of extraordinary.
"I'll make it succeed. I swear it."
Cheongu's resolve was more solid than anything Gangcheon could have asked for.
"Don't push yourself too hard. I know you study every day without sleeping."
The knowledge Cheongu carried now was not something he had always possessed. Whenever Gangcheon showed interest in something, Cheongu deliberately went and learned it.
"Martial training has improved my stamina. Two shichen of sleep and I feel completely refreshed."
"Father would have liked you. He always said you have to keep studying, too. I loved martial arts so much I never studied much myself."
"I can do both well."
"Then take everything you want. I'll be rooting for you."
"And while I'm taking everything, what are you going to take?"
"Me? I'll just take the world. Father gave it to me as a fifteenth-birthday present."
Cheongu thought that last answer suited Ja Gangcheon perfectly.
The market of Gyounam was undergoing a great transformation.
First, the black market—which had been shut down—came back to life, and the number of ships coming and going rose sharply. For now it was only a recovery of what had been lost, but the volume of wealth moving in secret had clearly changed. The black market managed by the Hao Clan operated at a level that made comparison with the old one meaningless. A market run by an exploited back-alley underworld and one run by the largest power in the murim, skimming every last coin of profit, could never be the same.
Day by day more ships entered the harbor, and the commercial district revived with them. A market in flux is opportunity for some and crisis for others. The Donghae Trading Company—which had lately drawn notice for its remarkable growth in Gyounam's markets—was no exception.
Jo Pilsung, lord of the Donghae Trading Company, came to Deungmyeong Manor wearing a forced smile and a face that looked unmistakably exhausted.
"Uncle Merchant-Lord. Come in."
Ja Gangcheon led him into the rear garden. Once Panseok had set tea between them and withdrawn, Gangcheon spoke.
"Have some tea and rest a moment. You look worn out."
"I haven't been sleeping at all lately."
"Because you're that busy?"
"It's more than that. There's something weighing on me."
There was a reason he had come looking so tired. Forgetting even that the tea was cooling, Jo Pilsung sighed and began.
"My lord. Gyounam's market is changing fast. Our company's business is expanding, and opportunities are opening in fields we've never touched."
Lately other trading companies had been sending every kind of proposal for partnership. Anyone could see it was a good situation—except Jo Pilsung.
"I don't think I'm the man to handle that change."
That was the heart of his worry.
"Through the Eastern Sea routes and the ice trade, I thought I was managing well enough. But now that our company is drawing attention and chances are appearing across all kinds of ventures, every decision feels harder. I'm starting to think my vessel simply isn't large enough to hold a major trading house."
Caution made him slow, and sometimes he let opportunities slip. Once, that temperament had kept the company steady; now it was a heavy, stifling flaw. As the chances he had failed to seize began to stand out, he could no longer trust his own judgment even on the problems already in front of him. A vicious cycle.
"That must have been hard on you."
"I don't mind being hard-pressed myself. I only feel sorry for the people who trust me."
"No."
Ja Gangcheon's voice was firm.
"You being hard-pressed is the biggest problem."
"Ah. Yes. Because I'm not enough—"
"That's not what I meant. I just meant it hurts to see you struggling."
Jo Pilsung, who had been laying bare a serious burden, felt something catch in his throat. He had not come looking for a solution in the first place. Ja Gangcheon was hardly the man to consult on trading-company affairs. Perhaps what he had wanted was simply this kind of comfort.
Even that thought, however, was only half right.
"But Uncle—there's something I don't understand."
"What is it?"
Ja Gangcheon spoke calmly.
"I think I'm doing well as lord of this manor."
"Of course you are."
"But I don't even know how much it costs to run this place. Whether the granaries are full, how many hands we need, which walls are broken and need repair—I don't know any of it."
"My lord, you are the center of the manor. You've entrusted those matters to the chief manager and to Panseok. You don't need to know such things."
"Then why don't you do the same?"
"Pardon?"
Ja Gangcheon tilted his head.
"What I can't do, Cheongu and Big Brother Panseok do for me. So you should find people like that too. You said yourself the world is full of excellent merchants."
Jo Pilsung felt the fog in his head begin to clear. But Ja Gangcheon's words were not finished.
"Cheongu and Big Brother Panseok handle all the actual running of things, and I still think I'm doing well as lord."
"Of course. Everyone here has gathered around you. That is the greatest role of all."
"And you?"
"I'm nowhere near as exceptional as you, my lord."
"I don't think so."
Ja Gangcheon put a question to him.
"There's a kid who used to sell dried fish at the harbor and then joined the company, right? The one with the mole under his left eye. Fourteen, was he?"
"Yang Cheol. And he's thirteen, not fourteen. Still too young, so we only use him as an assistant."
"See? How many merchant-lords memorize the name and circumstances of a boy who's only been there three days—and not even a full company man?"
"That's because he's one of my people, so of course—"
"And you took a huge loss to bring back company men who'd been sold into slavery. That's why you have to stay as merchant-lord."
Heat rose in Jo Pilsung's chest.
"Thank you, my lord."
"I'm one of the people who trusts you too. Please understand that that isn't a small thing either."
Jo Pilsung rose with a lighter face. Then Ja Gangcheon asked one more question.
"What kind of tea do you like, Uncle?"
"Pardon? Why do you ask all of a sudden—"
"So I can serve it next time you come. It's nice to rest a while over a warm cup of tea, isn't it?"
The emotion he had been holding back swept through Jo Pilsung's entire body.
"Thank you, my lord."
"Don't lose heart."
Jo Pilsung bowed deeply and left the manor.
Thud!
Two hulking men hurled a man to the ground like a sack of cargo. The man in his late twenties tumbled across the dirt with a dull impact and clutched at his chest. His heart hurt worse than the back that had struck the earth.
"How can you do this to me?"
A figure appeared in the great doorway he was staring at. A fat man with a goatee wore a smile of pure contempt.
"Why blame me because your vessel is small?"
He was the lord of the Haesin Trading Company, which moved more seafood through Gyounam than any other. Three years earlier he had carved off the dried-fish business and given it to this man. The man had sworn to regard him as a lifelong benefactor, expanded the venture dramatically, and risen to become a merchant-lord with three fishing boats of his own. He had even begun catching fish himself and built a dried-fish warehouse—until the chief manager who had founded the company at his side said something strange.
We have to return the business to Lord Haesin.
What the man saw was a contract written with exactly that clause. He could swear on his life he had never signed such a thing.
"Was that why you attached that manager to me from the start?"
"I haven't the faintest idea what you mean."
The traitorous chief manager had originally belonged to Haesin. When the dried-fish business was first divided out, the lord of Haesin himself had sent the man over, saying he would be a help. For three years the younger merchant had shared everything with him, never suspecting—and in the end he was forced to hand over, intact, the entire business he had grown.
"You bastard!"
Unable to hold his rage, the man lunged at the merchant-lord. But a body already injured could not get past two solid gatekeepers.
"Break both his legs so he never limps near here again."
The lord of Haesin stroked his goatee as he gave the order.
Someday that one would have eaten me alive.
The man had been born for trade. So the Haesin lord had eliminated a rival in advance. Of course, having raised him, he had made sure to take a profit on the way. He had deliberately granted the rights, then seized back everything the man had built.
"Heh. This is how you run a trading company."
"Aaaaagh!"
At the final greeting from a man he had once respected, the younger merchant screamed through clenched teeth.
"Why start yelling already? You'll have plenty of reason to cry from here on."
Thud!
The gatekeepers who had thrown him down raised their clubs.
"That's enough. Stop there."
"Who the hell thinks he can—"
The gatekeepers saw who had appeared and recoiled in alarm.
So Yeondok, head of the labor office for the Donghae Trading Company. Because he came out of the underworld, orthodox merchant-lords still looked down on him—and for the exact same reason, none of them wanted to collide with him head-on. Facing his cold gaze, the gatekeepers did not dare swing their staves.
"Can you stand?"
"Th-thank you."
The man gritted his teeth and got to his feet. So Yeondok stepped closer.
"If you feel like hanging yourself or drinking yourself to death, come find the Donghae Trading Company. If you're headed for hell, you ought to take at least one person with you. Don't you think?"
So Yeondok gave a casual nod toward the Haesin signboard.
Yonggu was one of the three great harbors of Shandong. From its government office a man came trudging out. Years in prison had left him with a limp, and he was so caked in filth that no one wanted to come near him.
One man, however, approached without so much as a frown and held out his hand.
"Jo Pilsung, of the Donghae Trading Company."
"You're the one who got me out?"
"You look displeased. After three years on a false charge, isn't it about time you got out? Was prison that comfortable?"
Of course it wasn't. Three years in a cell, and it was a miracle his filth-caked body had not simply rotted and died.
"They were holding you without any official papers. Looks like they meant to keep you locked up until you died."
"And yet you managed to pull me out."
"It cost a great deal of money. And I also pledged that you would leave this town."
"What do you want from me?"
"I need your talent and your temperament. I'll pay a fair price—sell them to me."
"Better than the ones who locked me up for no reason. Still, a slave is an improvement on a prisoner, I suppose."
At the self-mocking laugh, Jo Pilsung recalled the rumors about the man.
There's a young merchant-lord who inherited his father's business and grew it large. But a rival company seems to have brought the authorities in. They framed him, absorbed the company, and divided it among themselves. He only ever traded honestly—he had no defenses against that kind of thing.
With even the thinnest of backers, he would never have fallen. It was the result of a naive belief that skill at business alone was enough.
"Whether you're a slave or a colleague depends on you."
The man had no real choice. He turned and followed Jo Pilsung as the merchant-lord walked away.