Gisaeng? I'll Show You My Madness!
"What? Gisaeng? Want to see my madness?"
I headed to the magistrate's office after lunch, my matchlock slung over my shoulder. It was just as the official had mentioned that morning—I was there to pick up the paperwork for it.
But I had an unintended companion.
"No, Mom. I can go alone, seriously."
"Absolutely not. You know how dangerous the world is?"
"Mom, I'm the Chaekho Dongja. Don't you remember I took down that tiger?"
"Oh, I remember how close you came to getting yourself killed, my boy."
It wasn't just motherly worry about her son heading out alone to the office. No, she was definitely tailing me to make sure I didn't run into Eori. Things had been like this ever since we'd announced our plans to marry. I'd get shadowed every time I stepped out the door, and Eori wasn't even allowed to leave the house.
...Not that there weren't ways around it.
"Hello."
We arrived at the office with Mom glued to my side. I bowed politely to the guards on duty. They grinned back at us warmly.
"Haha, good day! How's the Chaekho Dongja doing?"
"Heard the news. Must be tough dealing with that young master of yours?"
"Aigoo, don't even get me started."
The adults might've gossiped about it, but that didn't mean the whole village was in the dark. Heck, even the guards here were chatting about my wedding plans, plain as day.
"So, what brings you here?"
After a quick word with Mom, one of the guards turned to me. I set down the bundle I'd been carrying on my shoulder and answered.
"Here for the matchlock paperwork."
"Oho! Is that the one His Majesty bestowed upon you?"
"Yes, that's the one."
"Mind if I take a look?"
"You've got one yourself, sir. Bigger and burlier than mine."
The guard's matchlock had a proper buttstock, unlike mine. That seemed to be the difference between official-issue and civilian models.
"Hahaha, true enough. But one from the king has to be something special, right?"
"It's actually smaller than yours. Wanna see?"
"I'd love to."
No harm in it, so I unwrapped the cloth covering and showed them the matchlock. Under the clear sunlight, it gleamed like a jewel.
"Ooooh...!"
"Whoa...!"
Even the guy holding a spear nearby couldn't peel his eyes off it. I soaked up the envious stares before wrapping it back up.
"Can I head in now?"
"Oh, right! Yeah, go on ahead! Oh, wait—one thing. We've got a guest right now, so keep it quiet. Got it?"
"When have I ever caused trouble? Hey, why's everyone looking at me like that?"
Not just the guard I'd been talking to—even the others gave me that deadpan stare. Mom, meanwhile, rubbed her forehead like she had a headache and sighed.
"Haa... Son, let's just go in."
"Uh, sure."
We passed through the office gates and into the courtyard. I was scanning for the clerks to handle the matchlock paperwork when a burst of rowdy laughter erupted from the main building.
"Hahaha!"
"Is that really true?"
"You bet! No doubt about it!"
I recognized the magistrate's voice—he didn't have long left in his post—and the official who'd delivered the royal decree. There was also a new voice I'd never heard before. Their boisterous chatter leaked through the paper windows into the yard.
"What's going on in there?"
A servant approached us as we eyed the building. I bowed and spoke up before Mom could say anything.
"Hello. Here for the matchlock paperwork."
"Haha, the matchlock? One moment, please. I'll let Hyeong-bang know."
The servant, pleased by my greeting, headed toward the building. He didn't step onto the porch but called cautiously toward the closed window.
"Hyeong-bang sir! The Chaekho Dongja is here for his matchlock permit."
Looks like Hyeong-bang was in on the party too. The window slid open almost right away, revealing a glimpse inside.
"Haha! Si-jin, that you? Come on in! Join us for a drink!"
"Already here for the paperwork?"
"Ooooh...!"
The magistrate and the decree-delivering official spotted me, but the new guy didn't. He was a yangban with a catfish-like face, leering sleazily at Mom.
"Haha! Magistrate, my good man. How could you not bring such a fine gisaeng along?"
What? Gisaeng? Want to see my madness?
Gisaeng were office-affiliated entertainers who provided songs and dances at gatherings like this. Not prostitutes like in the modern stereotypes, but still—being mistaken for one didn't sit right.
"What are you doing? Come greet the gentleman!"
The guards probably have spare bullets, right?
"M-my lord!"
Before I could borrow a bullet from the guards, the magistrate hurriedly explained.
"This lady is no gisaeng—she's the mother of the Chaekho Dongja."
"Oho? Chaekho Dongja? So that's him, the kid?"
"Yes, exactly."
"Smaller than I expected."
What'd you say? Drop your pants and mine's bigger than yours.
He was technically a superior, so I held my tongue. Mom and I bowed to him.
"Greetings, my lord."
"Good day, sir."
"Hmm. Quite the beauty."
Nope, can't take it. Time to borrow that bullet.
"My lord."
I started to move, but the magistrate cut off the catfish creep again.
"The boy is fiercely devoted to his mother."
"Is that so?"
"Indeed. At ten years old, he broke the limbs of bandits who attacked her. And just recently, he shot out the eye of a massive tiger that was eyeing her room."
"A-hem!"
"Frankly, even I find him a bit scary. When it comes to his mother, his eyes roll back and he loses all reason."
"I-is that right? You may withdraw."
Only after hearing how I'd throw caution to the wind for Mom did he drop the sleazy gaze. Still, he kept sneaking peeks at her, full of regret.
"Right! Si-jin! Here for the matchlock? Hyeong-bang, go handle it."
"Yes, my lord. Si-jin! You and your mom, this way! I'll sort it quick!"
Hyeong-bang shot up at the magistrate's words and came out. Mom and I hurried over to him, putting distance between us and the catfish punk.
"Phew! What a guy."
Hyeong-bang, reeking of booze, glanced back at the partying building. He grumbled without breaking stride.
"I hope the next magistrate isn't like that one."
"Mind if I ask who he is?"
"Him? With the road construction starting nearby? He's Jeong Su-dal, the senior secretary from the Ministry of Public Works overseeing it."
"From Hanyang, so the magistrate can't budge?"
"Haha, spot on. But that's worrying. A man in charge of such an important project, and he loves his pleasures and luxuries that much."
Honestly, his face alone put me off. Even accounting for the leering at Mom or boozing it up in broad daylight.
"He wouldn't skim funds from the project, would he?"
"Hey now, surely not?"
"Surely" kills, they say. And you're not even denying it outright.
The catfish had gold earrings the size of a baby's fist and multiple jade rings on his booze-gripping fingers. With that shady mug, they screamed embezzled road funds.
"At least he's gotta feed the workers, right?"
"You'd think so."
Hyeong-bang conceded my point and brought up the laborers. Most working the road were convicts or war captives. Convicts were serving hard labor sentences; the captives were barbarians picked up by Joseon troops on their way back from the China expedition last year. Either way, unwilling draftees. Starve them and riots were inevitable—which even the catfish probably knew.
Probably.
"Ahem! Here we are!"
Hyeong-bang halted in front of the clerks' office-cum-record archive, where he'd been venting about the creep.
"Come on in. I'll wrap this up fast."
He led us into a room with a massive desk. We sat side by side as he pulled out the matchlock forms and explained.
"Normally, anyone under sixteen has to store their matchlock here at the office. But with just days left in the year, I'll use my discretion and let you take it home."
"Thank you, Hyeong-bang sir."
"Mm. No unauthorized modifications, mind you. And if you harm anyone with it—intentional or not—and don't turn yourself in within three days, it's the death penalty. Clear?"
"Yes, got it."
"Good. Powder and bullets can only be bought through the office investigator here. Violate that, and we confiscate the matchlock plus fifty strokes of the rod."
Owning a matchlock came with more red tape than I'd imagined. You had to acknowledge the rules in writing, register the serial number engraved on the barrel, and ownership alone didn't get you ammo.
"Bullet pouches with powder and balls are one nyang for five. Max five per purchase. The priming powder flask—ten don worth, flask included—is one nyang. Return the flask undamaged for three pun."
"Got it. Then I'll take five rounds and one flask."
"Whoa, hold on—explanation's not over. To buy powder and balls, you pass a test at the range first."
"Why's it gotta be so complicated?"
"Has to be, doesn't it? You've seen how fearsome these things are."
"Well, yeah..."
"Haha, don't look so glum. It's a simple test anyway."
Back at American flea markets, kids bought thirty-round semi-autos with no paperwork. Why the hassle here for a single-shot matchlock?