Gyeonghwa Sajok
‘Not much going on these days.’
The Sungkyunkwan reforms were out of my hands now, and the endless round of election-season appearances was finally over. At last it was time to return to being Lee Myeongbok, the diligent web novelist.
Still, My Great Han was creeping into the reign of Sunjo. The thought of writing the Sedo Politics arc made even me nervous about how hard the comments would burn.
In this alternate-history Korean Empire, those families were rarely branded with the dishonorable label of sedo. People called them the Gyeonghwa Sajok.
The Andong Kim, the Pungyang Jo, the Cheongsong Sim, the Cheongju Han, the Papyeong Yun, the Yeoheung Min…
In the modern era they had all received noble titles—count this, duke that—and they still reigned among the country’s wealthiest.
The one silver lining was that they clung so stubbornly to the old hierarchy of scholar-farmer-artisan-merchant that the Empire’s corporations had never taken the shape of the chaebol.
A Gyeonghwa Sajok clan might sit as a major shareholder, but for one of their own to dirty his hands with actual management was considered vulgar inside their circles.
“Ah, whatever. I already decided to write whatever I damn well pleased back when I did the Crown Prince Sado arc. I put the Jeonju Yi through the wringer—who’s going to stop me from doing the same to the Andong Kim?”
While the Emperor fretted over the next chapters of his web novel, the Imperial Household was wrestling with a far more serious problem.
His Majesty might regard the Jongbusa—the Imperial Clan Office—as little more than a gathering of distant elderly cousins, yet when it came to managing the “family affairs” of the throne, the body still carried real authority.
And their worry was singular.
“Does His Majesty… simply have no interest in women…?”
The Emperor’s marriage.
It was no joke. The late Emperor and his entire family had perished in that plane crash, leaving the present sovereign, in effect, the founder of a new dynastic line. In the crudest terms, he was expected to serve as the imperial studhorse.
True, if one ignored generation and simply counted the Jeonju Yi, there were more than enough candidates for the throne. But the unwritten rule of the last hundred and fifty years—that the descendants of Emperor Gojong, founder of the Empire, must continue the succession—could not be broken on his watch.
“He doesn’t appear to have formed any attachments before ascending. Why not simply match him with a suitable young lady from a proper noble house?”
“What about the Manchurian royal house? His Majesty has just settled the Manchurian question. A union would look excellent for ethnic harmony.”
“Is there an unmarried daughter among the Manchu Han’s girls?”
“She’s sixteen… Hmm. Two years. That’s awkward.”
Marriage was legal at eighteen in the Empire. A Manchu princess was not a bad choice, but leaving the seat of Empress vacant for two full years was something no one was prepared to tolerate.
“Then let us select a suitable young lady from among the Gyeonghwa Sajok and proceed. I will broach the subject with His Majesty myself.”
“Agreed.”
“Your Majesty. The Duke of Ganghwa from the Jongbusa has arrived.”
“The Jongbusa… Show him in.”
A grandfather of advanced years entered a moment later.
If you counted the kinship degrees… however those worked. In any case he was an extremely distant relative, but he was the head of the Jongbusa and a senior elder of the imperial house.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Duke?”
“If this old man’s memory serves, Your Majesty turns twenty-seven this year…”
“Yes. After my birthday I will be twenty-eight.”
“During your years as a private prince, was there a woman who held your heart? Or is there someone you are seeing now?”
“There is not. Why the sudden inquiry?”
“The seat of the nation’s Mother cannot remain vacant indefinitely. If Your Majesty permits, we would send the horoscope tablets of young ladies from the Gyeonghwa Sajok and begin preparations for a state marriage. What is Your Majesty’s mind on the matter?”
I’d expected something like this eventually, but this fast?
“Isn’t it rather soon?”
The Duke shook his head vigorously.
“On the contrary, the consensus within the Imperial Household is that we are already late. As Your Majesty knows, the tragic accident greatly reduced the ranks of the imperial family. Many hope you will take a consort and produce an heir without delay.”
“Hmm…”
“Of course we would not rush straight into a state wedding. The procedures are elaborate; Your Majesty will have ample time to prepare yourself. It would also do no harm to become acquainted with the young ladies of the Gyeonghwa Sajok beforehand.”
“Become acquainted beforehand—where, exactly? If I simply go calling on them, far too many eyes will be watching. And summoning them to the palace myself would look equally strange, would it not?”
“There are the palace banquets, Your Majesty. Did you never attend them as a private prince? The Longevity Festival is almost upon us—an excellent pretext.”
“Ah… the banquets…”
Every so often Seokjojeon Hall hosted the sort of glittering reception that belonged in a romance novel. As a member of the clan I had always received an invitation, and I had always ignored it.
I had no interest, and nothing happened if I stayed away, so the cards had gone straight into a drawer.
“I will think on it.”
Whether he read my mood or had simply said his piece, the Duke of Ganghwa nodded and withdrew.
“Attendant Kim. Are you married?”
“Not at present. Back when the Ikmunsa still handled overseas intelligence, agents were required to remain single. One could not risk a family becoming leverage.”
“That was then. Why remain single now?”
“Serving as the attendant closest to Your Majesty leaves no room for a proper household. I chose to forgo marriage.”
Aigoo. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked.
“The Duke of Ganghwa seems eager for me to take a consort at the earliest possible moment. It’s embarrassing to admit at my age, but I’ve never so much as dated. Being told to marry at once has left me rather unsettled.”
“The late Emperor also married without any prior experience of romance.”
“That’s surprising.”
The previous Emperor had been famous for doting on his family—for better and for worse. He had been handsome enough that I always assumed he must have broken a few hearts in his youth. Turns out he had gone straight to the altar without a single romance.
“May I venture a personal opinion?”
“Of course. I am always ready to hear Attendant Kim’s counsel.”
“There is no need to hurry a state marriage. The Duke and the Jongbusa are right to worry for the House, but Your Majesty has only recently ascended. It would be wise to learn more of imperial affairs before deciding.”
“That eases my mind somewhat. Still, it would be best to hold that banquet, wouldn’t it?”
Attendant Kim nodded.
After finishing with Attendant Kim, I headed straight for the gallery in search of a little mental comfort.
This bastard Kim Josun—King Jeongjo trusted him so hard, and the second the kid takes the throne he pulls a full power-broker move
[Up 3] [Down 2]
Okay this is alt-history / fictional history, fine. But pretty much every famous historical figure has shown up so far.
Except the author completely skipped Kim Unhaeng, the GOAT prime minister of the pre-Empire era.
At first I figured it was just for balance. Then today Kim Josun pulls the power-broker move and I’m convinced: the author just hates the Gyeonghwa Sajok.
[Up 22] [Down 4]
“Hmm. This chapter’s getting through without much trouble.”
Then again, most people had never felt particular reverence for the Gyeonghwa Sajok in the first place. Maybe that was only natural.
Ding!
An alarm chimed on my phone.
Through Attendant Kim I had the Ikmunsa “request” that freedom of the press be upheld at my serialization platform.
Hmm… looking at it like this, it felt an awful lot like the kind of abuse of power a tyrant would pull. No—I was simply defending the freedom of publication enshrined in the Constitution.
If anyone was in the wrong, it was whichever Andong Kim thought a major shareholding entitled him to trample press freedom. Yes. Absolutely. This was definitely not me taking out marriage-talk stress by siccing the Ikmunsa on people.
Hell with it. Time for bed.
Just as I was about to sleep, another alarm chimed on the phone.
Thinking the matter might already be resolved, I checked—and found a notification from an email address I hadn’t used in ages.
The sender’s name was written Софья—Sofiya.