The Frog's Leap
Daewongun Yi Ha-eung’s most trusted general and the man now leading negotiations with America, Shin Heon, had recently suffered a shock that shattered the world he thought he knew.
Joseon had dispatched him, the Naval Commander of the Three Provinces, in anticipation of the worst possible war with America. Instead, Shin Heon had stood before American warships and lost all will to fight.
If they attacked, he would stake his life on resistance, yet his thoughts now leaned sharply toward ensuring such a clash never occurred at all.
He could never have imagined it, but that was precisely what Serget had intended when they invited him aboard their flagship, answered every question, and even demonstrated the cannons.
Kwaaaang!
The thunderous roar tore through the air as an American warship’s cannon struck a distant rock with perfect accuracy. Once again, Shin Heon’s mouth fell open.
“Th-that… its range reaches that far?”
“It can strike even farther.”
“Heavens… And with that black smoke, it can sail against the wind…”
“Of course. Soon we will build even faster warships that rely solely on steam engines, without sails at all. When that day comes, naval warfare will shift once more.”
Die fighting to repel the foreigners if negotiations fail?
Impossible.
Even if Admiral Yi Sun-sin himself were reborn in his place, the outcome would be the same.
Because he understood naval warfare better than anyone, he could picture all too clearly what would happen if America turned its ships against Joseon.
Park Gyu-su had said it: if the foreigners ever decided to strike in earnest, they would push into Ganghwa Island and sever the Han River’s supply lines.
If that happened, could Joseon possibly endure?
Shin Heon immediately sent a memorial to the court, pleading that the current terms were the best possible and begging them to conclude the treaty.
“The foreigners’ ships cleave the sea with the force of wind defying mountains. Their cannonballs reduce rocks to powder, and their roar rivals thunder. Even if our forces fight to the death, it will be impossible to hold the gates of Ganghwa.”
The atmosphere in the royal presence chamber grew heavier than ever before.
“Shin Heon… How could that upright warrior be so terrified?”
Daewongun stared at the document again and again in disbelief, yet the words refused to change.
The Naval Commander of the Three Provinces—the highest naval authority in Joseon—had sent a letter far too pessimistic and desperate for his station.
Enclosed with the memorial was an American situation report that laid bare how the outside world had turned upside down while Joseon’s court gazed at the sky from the bottom of a well.
How India had become a colony of England and been plundered.
How the Qing, once thought invincible, had seen Beijing fall and the emperor’s garden burned.
And how, just days ago, Satsuma and Choshu had their bones and flesh separated after daring to raise their noses.
“Is… is this truly true?”
“We had heard rumors that the Qing were ravaged by barbarians, but to this extent…”
“Surely these are one-sided American claims? There must be exaggeration!”
The ministers could not hide their shock.
Some called for cross-verification, yet the descriptions of ironclads and steam engines that Shin Heon had witnessed firsthand belonged to a realm no amount of imagination could fabricate.
“Your Excellency, if Shin Heon speaks the truth… should they blockade the Han River, Hanyang will become a rat in a trap. When rice supplies are cut, rebellion will follow.”
“If we cannot win by fighting, then seeking peace to plan for the future is the way to preserve the dynasty.”
Daewongun clicked his tongue.
He hated to admit it, but reality was merciless.
If war broke out now, Joseon would meet the same fate as Satsuma.
If the national treasury were squandered in the young king’s first year, reform would run aground before it could even begin.
“Very well. Their demands are not for territory, only permission to sell goods in a corner of Busan… We shall grant it.”
Daewongun made his decision.
Yet for the sake of the scholars watching with open eyes across the country, he could not appear to have surrendered.
“We cannot throw the gates wide open. We will permit the trade they desire, but strictly limit its scope. And…”
According to the envoys who had returned from Qing, the Qing were doing something similar, so there would be little reproach on that front.
“Seize this opportunity to purchase their superior cannons and weapons. We must cultivate the strength to resist barbarians with barbarian technology.”
In 1864, at Chungsindang Hall in Dongnae Magistrate’s Office, the historic Korea-America Treaty of Amity and Commerce was signed.
It was Joseon’s first modern treaty, yet thanks to the KKK’s sacrificial efforts, its terms were reasonably acceptable from Joseon’s perspective.
Article 1: The open port shall be limited to Busan Port only, and American merchants’ residence shall not extend beyond the designated area within the port (10 ri).
Article 2: The tariff on American cotton textiles shall be set at twenty percent.
Article 3: American vessels may survey waters near Busan for safety, but only within the East Sea and South Sea.
Article 4: American merchants shall sell firearms and gunpowder exclusively to Joseon officials.
Compared to the humiliating five-percent tariffs forced upon Qing and Japan, twenty percent was an extraordinary condition that preserved Joseon’s pride.
The exclusive sale of weapons was the clause through which Daewongun could claim some credit. Just as Qing pursued its Self-Strengthening Movement with renewed vigor, Joseon could now legally acquire Western modern weapons to strengthen its defenses.
Furthermore, the treaty included the right to proclaim grain export bans for food security and, most importantly, a clause stipulating that missionary activities would follow Joseon’s guidelines—the royal family’s greatest taboo.
After affixing the royal seal to the treaty document, the Joseon court breathed a sigh of relief.
They had avoided war, secured justification, and gained tangible benefits. It was a diplomatic victory worth praising.
Yet there was one clause this first modern treaty for Joseon had overlooked.
Hidden quietly among hundreds of Chinese characters and English words was a provision nearly equivalent to a special clause.
To prevent spoilage and damage of unsold goods during trade, American merchants may construct storage warehouses within the designated residence area. They are also permitted to install basic maintenance facilities necessary for reducing the volume of such goods for return shipment to their home country or for long-term storage.
A tedious, administrative, and seemingly harmless clause.
Joseon officials passed over it without much thought.
“Ah, if the goods don’t sell they’ll rot, so they want to build a warehouse. Reducing volume to ship back means saving on freight. Typical barbarian mercantile thinking.”
But such ambiguous wording could always be twisted to suit the interpreter’s convenience.
Facilities for reducing volume?
Feeding bulky raw cotton into machines to compress it and spin it into thread would dramatically reduce its volume.
In other words, this clause was effectively a permit to build a textile factory.
Long-term storage of unsold goods?
Simply stockpile them deliberately, process them in the factory, attach a “Made in Joseon” label, and export them. That would suffice.
Of course, the workers would all be Joseon people, so it might even benefit the common folk.
Serget Cotton’s excellent welfare was well known throughout the United States, and it was an objective fact recorded in employee memoirs that Chairman Serget did not discriminate against overseas staff.
The frog in the well had yet to grasp how vast the outside world truly was.
But it would soon learn how cruelly deep the sky visible above the roof could be—regardless of its own will.
While Serget was busy wrapping up affairs in Joseon, the gaze of Joseon officials fell not only on him but also on Leo, who moved like his shadow.
“Look at that black skin. Is that the sea-ghost we’ve only heard of?”
“Is he not the Kunlun slave mentioned in Qing travelogues? Yet his attire is more refined than the foreigners’.”
Joseon’s high officials knew of Black people through books.
But the Black people they imagined were servants carrying loads for others, not trusted aides wearing the finest suits, carrying briefcases, and assisting white masters.
Leo skillfully ignored their curious or wary stares and focused on his work.
“Chairman, I have revised the wording of the Article 12 supplementary clause. Using ‘maintenance’ instead of ‘processing’ should avoid suspicion.”
“Excellent. Perfect.”
While Serget negotiated with Shin Heon and Park Gyu-su, Leo meticulously refined the treaty’s poison pills. The moment the talks ended, he appeared like a ghost and collected every variety of kimchi Serget had praised.
“This is gat-kimchi, and this is chonggak-kimchi. I will double-seal them to prevent the smell from leaking.”
“Kya. As expected of Leo. You’re the only one.”
That was not all.
If Serget overwhelmed the officials with fluent Korean and vast knowledge, Leo captured their emotions with national pride.
“Amazing! Masiss-eoyo! Choego! Joseon food, awesome!”
Serget, already steeped in Joseon culture, responded with restraint, but the officials craved the innocent foreigner’s reaction of shock and admiration at their culture.
Leo deployed the acting skills he had practiced while watching Serget in Qing without reservation.
At the banquet hosted by the Dongnae magistrate’s office, a plate of fermented skate, pork, and aged kimchi—samhap—was served.
In truth, this dish had been prepared because Serget ate Joseon food so well that they wanted to test his limits.
Even before the ferocious smell that made even Gyeongsang people hesitate with their chopsticks, Leo did not so much as blink.
His tongue and nasal passages had already endured stinky tofu in China.
To him, the smell of skate was no longer an obstacle.
“Mmm! Ooooh! Fantastic!”
When Leo devoured the samhap in one bite and gave a thumbs-up, the shocked assembly stirred.
“Good heavens… He’s eating that?”
“Even we plug our noses, yet he eats it so deliciously!”
Even Shin Heon stared at Leo in disbelief and clicked his tongue.
“No, a Westerner eating skate? Perhaps your parents are from Jeolla?”
“Your Excellency! This man is a Westerner. Naturally his parents are Westerners as well. Hahaha!”
Everyone burst into laughter, and Leo scratched his head sheepishly.
It went without saying that the officials’ wariness melted away like snow.
Thus, after successfully completing the national-pride feast in Joseon, the American fleet weighed anchor.
As Serget watched the receding Busan harbor, Leo respectfully presented a letter.
Fortunately, it was an urgent dispatch from the Yokohama branch that had just entered port.
“Chairman, grave news.”
“What is it?”
“Nathan Bedford Forrest, the KKK Grand Wizard, and all his executives… have crossed the river from which there is no return in the middle of the Pacific.”
“Oh dear…”
Serget raised a hand to cover his face with a deliberately sorrowful expression. His shoulders trembled so much that he seemed to be holding back tears.
“Cause of death?”
“Acute alcohol poisoning and cardiac arrest from excessive drinking. Director Ben said, ‘We tried to stop him, but he kept drinking until it came to this.’”
“Ah… To depart without even setting foot on his homeland again. Truly regrettable. Though somewhat lacking, they were men of genuine patriotism.”
Serget’s voice trembled as though soaked in moisture.
Leo also bowed his head with a somber expression, covering his mouth with his hand.
“To think of even those half-baked fellows—no, the deceased. For a businessman to have such a tender heart, this Leo finds himself filled with worry.”
When they returned to the South, they would have to hold a funeral as a matter of courtesy.
Though it remained to be seen how many would attend.
“That aside, Leo. You’ve worked hard on this trip. Rest well once we return. I’ll give you paid leave.”
“Thank you.”
“Come to think of it, isn’t your birthday soon? This time I should throw you a grand party. Make all of Mississippi buzz.”
A party hosted by the Chairman.
Normally he would have accepted eagerly, but this time Leo politely shook his head.
“No, Chairman. I am grateful for the thought alone.”
“Hm? Why? Is it a burden?”
“No. This time… I wish to host it with my own strength.”
Leo rested his hands on the railing and gazed at the distant horizon.
The successive overseas assignments he had undertaken recently were no longer mere duties.
He had shaken hands with the British Prime Minister, manipulated Japanese merchants, and shared drinks with high officials of Qing and Joseon.
He had been the Chairman’s shadow, yet that shadow was now growing large enough to cover the entire South.
Therefore, he wanted to test it once.
“I want to invite people using only the money I have saved and the value of my own name. Not as the Chairman’s chief of staff, but as Leo, an executive of Serget Cotton.”
No one remained who did not know that James Serget was successful and wealthy.
So it was only right to show how far an executive of Serget Cotton who had achieved great success abroad could go.
Just as Serget had once told them.
Leo was meant to become the symbol of a successful person of color.