The Great Sungkyunkwan Reform
The republicans. They look like people who have no business existing in a country called the Korean Empire, and yet, surprisingly, they hold a solid, permanent slice of the empire’s political pie.
In Manchuria and Danamo—regions that have never looked on the imperial house with pure affection—voters reliably cast their ballots for the republicans. Even in the cities, people who mutter, “What does the imperial family even do anymore?” throw them a vote as well.
Despite a name that sounds ready for open combat—the Korean Republican League Party—they are, for the moment, a relatively moderate bunch. They do not go around calling for the seizure of imperial property, at least.
The real ones are off somewhere in a basement founding a communist party and playing tag with outfits like the Jeguk Ikmunsa and the National Intelligence Service.
In short, the Republican Party’s seat count is roughly equivalent to a running approval rating for the imperial house.
Under the previous emperor, when the Republicans first broke into double digits in the districts and, with proportional seats included, reached thirty, the conservative press went into genuine shock. The palace felt the crisis too: the imperial family started appearing in the media more often and expanded the funds devoted to charity work.
You could ask whether something that thin could possibly win people over—and yet it works. Mass psychology is a strange thing.
As for why I am suddenly rambling about dull domestic politics: election season is almost here.
A constitutional monarch almost never shows his face in connection with an election. The only times I appear at the National Assembly are the dissolution of parliament and the opening ceremony. That is the whole of it.
It is a kind of custom. To demonstrate that the imperial house is not interfering in the election in any way, the palace more or less suspends ordinary business for the campaign period. Which means I get to treat it as a vacation, and so here I am again, sprawled out in my room inside the palace.
Hmm… maybe I should post a chapter for the first time in a while.
After the Yeongjo incident, the novel had kicked up a nationwide controversy, so I had dumped a few chapters in a rush and then left a notice: “I’ll be updating irregularly for the time being.”
I really had been busy cleaning up the mess, and the endless flood of hate comments made it impossible to read genuine reader reactions anyway. So I had prescribed the extreme medicine of irregular updates until the hot plate cooled down.
My stamina is back, and the plate has cooled. Time to put something up. I have a backlog of chapters written in spare moments, so I only need to pad them a little.
Honestly I was sad they cut the spice on half-forced low heat for a while, but it feels like it’s back
Already getting a little spicy again
Every time he writes about the imperial house he must be sweating
God, making him die before he even hits fifty
We can all see which “something,” crystal clear
Hmm. Readers don’t even flinch at a sudden death anymore.
Early on they had raged through the Yeonsangun arc and burned again through the Imjin War, but it seemed they had finally adapted to my spice level.
Or, more accurately: after the rice-chest incident, everyone who couldn’t handle the heat had simply dropped off.
Still, page views were climbing, so I had carved out my own little niche in the spicy-novel market, hadn’t I?
The problem is how to handle Sunjo…
Originally I had planned to show the full onset of in-law politics and the decline of late Joseon. But—
This world’s Korean Empire has walked the “correct” path a little too cleanly.
Contact with the West had come early; by the same historical period it was already a colonial empire. So people kept dismissing my premise as an impossible what-if piled on top of another what-if.
Hmm… that feels unfair.
I had spent dozens of chapters showing why the Joseon of the world I came from had fallen. I needed a stronger means of persuasion—something outside the novel itself.
“Your Majesty. It is Eunuch Kim.”
“Has something happened?”
People might assume a eunuch is always at one’s side, but I found that a bit oppressive, so on days without a schedule I treated the eunuchs as being off duty as well. The ones who used to live permanently at Gyeongbokgung had seen their holidays multiply, and they half-joked that I was a sage king for it.
“It is regarding the replacement of the Rector of Sungkyunkwan, which Your Majesty mentioned previously. I have come because there is something I must report.”
“Ah. Is the opposition from Sungkyunkwan that severe?”
“It seems the difficulty is that the man Your Majesty recommended is a graduate of the Imperial University.”
“Hmm. They know he was my teacher from before I took the throne, and they still object?”
“Sungkyunkwan’s pride is… considerable.”
“Good grief. Then who are they putting forward?”
“The man I mentioned last time—Kim Yeonghwan. He commands the largest faction inside Sungkyunkwan.”
“Hmm. In my heart I would ignore all of them and appoint my old teacher as Rector. But throwing my weight around over something like this would look ridiculous… What do you think I should do, Eunuch Kim?”
“The Seokjeon Daeje is approaching. There will be an opportunity to speak with this Kim Yeonghwan. Perhaps Your Majesty might converse with him then.”
“The Seokjeon Daeje. Right—that was coming up. I’ll talk to him then.”
I had asked whether I might attend the Confucian shrine rites of this Korean Empire out of simple curiosity, and the reply had been: Why not take the place of First Offerant yourself—the chief officiant who pours the first cup of wine?
Apparently the last time an emperor had attended the Seokjeon Daeje was a hundred years ago. No wonder they had looked so moved.
“Yes. I shall convey it so.”
“Even for His Majesty, seating a graduate of the Imperial University as Rector simply will not do. There is such a thing as tradition.”
“Perhaps this is the drawback of His Majesty’s sudden accession—he has not yet fully absorbed the customary forms…”
The Sungkyunkwan faculty were thoroughly sour about the unexpected appointment.
They had no objection to the previous Rector, Yi Sicheol, stepping down of his own accord after a few premature brushstrokes had failed to read the emperor’s mind. No one had pressured him to resign; he had left on his own.
The problem was that the emperor had appointed the next Rector himself. No one denied that it was within the imperial prerogative.
But under the existing procedure, the Rector was first chosen from among those trusted inside Sungkyunkwan, after which the emperor selected one name from the candidates. That had been the custom.
“The Seokjeon Daeje is almost upon us. Why not request a private audience with His Majesty then?”
“Ah—now that you mention it, His Majesty is attending this Seokjeon Daeje as well.”
“His Majesty takes such an interest in tradition and history. If we speak with him carefully, he will surely understand our position on the Rectorship.”
“Of course. The Rector of Sungkyunkwan is no sinecure—he is the head of the greatest school in this country. His Majesty will discuss it with us in an open spirit.”
The moment the Seokjeon Daeje ended they came scurrying over to tell me, at length, how important the Rectorship of Sungkyunkwan was, how tradition this and custom that.
Aigoo, my head.
“I had not realized the Rectorship was quite so weighty a post. I can hardly refuse a request from the Sungkyunkwan faculty. Choose the Rector according to custom.”
“Your Grace is boundless.”
“That said, I had meant to repay a debt to my old teacher. Since things have turned out this way, surely Sungkyunkwan can spare one position for him?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Kim Yeonghwan—now the Rector-elect—answered.
“The Rector’s duties are so heavy that concurrently serving as President, overseeing the administration of the school, would be too much, would it not? I shall separate the offices of Rector and President of Sungkyunkwan, and appoint Professor Yang Hongwon to the presidency.”
“…!”
“This way the Rector may devote himself more fully to preserving the empire’s orthodox learning. A truly fortunate arrangement, wouldn’t you say? Haha!”
“Y-Your Grace is boundless.”
Yes, yes. What century do we live in? Even a school needs a separation of church and state.