Chapter 174
Chapter 174
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 174
Chapter Title: Commercial City Hanyang (8)
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Ten days after I asked Park Yeon to introduce me to a decent Namsadang troupe, their leader came looking for me and showed up at my house.
"Are you Gong-gil, the top man sent my way by Park Yeon of the Music Bureau?"
"Yes, my lord. That's me, Gong-gil."
"Did Park Yeon tell you why I wanted to see you?"
Gong-gil shook his head at my question.
"Lord Park Yeon just said that the Hanseong Magistrate wanted to see a Namsadang performance firsthand. Nothing more."
In Joseon, butchers were treated like potential major criminals, and Namsadang troupes were seen as half-social evils.
Honestly, in my view, both groups were indeed potential troublemakers.
But after the Hanseong Great Fire, I'd steered the butchers toward reform, and over time, they'd started gaining some acceptance from local residents.
The old butchers used to ride around on horses causing all sorts of mischief and committing serious crimes without hesitation.
The Namsadang folk roamed all eight provinces of Joseon, up to no good everywhere they went.
'Some of them even went as far as kidnapping children.'
Park Yeon must have held back on the details, worried that entrusting state business to these guys would lead to them blabbing everywhere.
"I called you here to entrust you with an important matter for the kingdom."
"You're giving state work to a lowly performer like me?"
"Do I strike you as the kind of man who says one thing and means another?"
"Oh no, my lord. Not at all. How could the famous Magistrate Kim go back on his word? I'm just shocked, that's all."
He said that, but Gong-gil's face soured anyway.
In Joseon, when they ordered commoners to do state work, they usually exploited them without a single grain of compensation...
He probably figured he'd end up as unpaid slave labor.
I had no intention of doing anything like that.
Working people for free was the kind of Goryeo remnant nonsense Ryu Jeong-hyeon would pull.
"If you follow my instructions to the letter, I'll make sure you eat your fill of rice and grilled short ribs for the next few months. And I'll pay you handsomely on top of that."
"Is that for real, my lord?"
"My father-in-law is the kingdom's top merchant, and I'm no pauper myself. Why would I work people without paying them properly? In return, you'll have to work hard for what you get."
"Just leave it to us, my lord."
Money really is king.
His face had been twisting up badly until he heard about proper pay, but now it bloomed into a huge grin. That proved it all over again.
"I've heard you do performances called mask dances and puppet shows. Mask dances are where you wear masks and act out funny stories, and puppet shows use dolls, right?"
"Yes, that's correct."
"I've heard your mask dances and puppet shows satirize us yangban pretty harshly. That's why the yangban hate you folks."
Even when I lived in Yanggu, Namsadang performers would occasionally come through the village.
During their shows, they'd say lines that any yangban hearing them would find utterly infuriating.
One I still remembered went something like:
On holidays, the 'gifts' they get are the people's blood and tears, but oblivious, they stuff themselves silly until their bellies swell like mountains—nearly big enough to build a house on top!
Or no, their bellies bulging like mountains must be from accumulating virtue as thick as Mount Taebaek.
Something along those lines.
Twisting the yangban like that had my father and all the other gentry dismissing Namsadang shows as vulgar and refusing to watch.
With my modern mindset, I didn't see yangban as untouchable sacred cows, so I'd dress down to blend in and enjoy the laughs.
And I'd pay generously when it was over.
"Surely you're not asking us to satirize the yangban..."
"I don't mind you satirizing yangban at all. After all, they say even the king gets cursed where no one's listening, right? But some narrow-minded fool might call it rude and chew you out, landing you in hot water... So no, I won't ask for that."
Ah, but that didn't mean I planned to ban yangban-satirizing mask dances.
Quite the opposite—I'd encourage them.
I didn't view yangban scholars as inviolable holy ground, and if mask dances mocking corrupt, rotten yangban spread far and wide...
Those who lived and died by honor might start behaving themselves a bit, fearing they'd become the village laughingstock.
But if a Namsadang troupe under my sponsorship did yangban satire now, yangban scholars across the country would rise up and try to wipe out performers like them and the gisaeng alike...
'Not yet.'
"Instead, I'd like you to turn stories I write into mask dances or puppet shows. Can you do that?"
"If the money's right, we can do anything. What's the content?"
Art ultimately needs money to exist.
That's why in pre-modern times, it was driven by disgustingly wealthy patrons.
Rich folks wanting proper music would drop what amounts to hundreds of thousands of won on tickets alone, and those who found that insufficient poured tens of millions into sustaining orchestras.
Thus, music and art that suited their tastes flourished.
"Lately, restaurants are popping up all over Hanyang, but some bad apples cook in filthy kitchens and sell spoiled or nearly rotten food like crazy. So the owner trying to make a buck by peddling bad food ends up unintentionally killing someone and gets harshly punished for her crime—something like that."
Joseon has no TV, no radio, not even newspapers.
So even if a troupe performs for nearly twelve hours straight, people with time to spare stick around to the end.
The only everyday dopamine hits were gossiping about trivia, eating tasty food, or vigorous bedroom exercise with the wife...
That's why they never got bored of twelve hours of dazzling acrobatics, cheerful voices, and flashy dances.
And afterward, they could brag to others and have conversation fodder...
So a mask dance about a woman severely punished for selling rotten food would have folks ripping her apart while spreading food hygiene awareness.
"Beyond that, I'd like stories like a filial son receiving blessings and living well, or how even the poor can become rich through hard work."
"That won't be easy..."
"No, it won't."
Creation isn't child's play.
Even the mask dances we watch so casually are born from endless agonizing over how to convey the creator's intent to the audience.
Plus, in this era, mask dances often run over two hours.
That's two drama episodes or a full movie's worth of plot...
Scriptwriting must be brutal.
"But it's not impossible, right?"
"True, but... it's not easy. We have to eat too, my lord. We can't tie ourselves solely to your requests."
The easy way to steer the conversation here was one line:
'Oh? But this is an order from me, the Hanseong Magistrate—what are you gonna do? Better just say 'Yes, sir.'?'
But forcing it like that wasn't right.
I needed him to want to do it himself.
"You're aware the state is setting up markets centered on ferry landings like Yongsan, Gwangju, and Noryangjin, right? And that those spots have open spaces perfect for performances."
"Yes, I've heard."
"If you take my request, I'll let your troupe monopolize performances there for the next six months."
Gong-gil swallowed hard at my words.
"Every time you set up and perform, you'll get four seom of white rice."
"For real?"
"How about rotating spots every five days? Day 5 at Yongsan, day 10 at Gwangju, day 15 at Noryangjin, and so on. That makes six performances a month, netting you 24 seom of white rice from me alone. Add what spectators pay, and it'll be a tidy sum."
Drool trickled from Gong-gil's gaping mouth.
"We'll do it, my lord. No one does it better."
"As expected from Park Yeon's recommendation—you're a bold one."
"Thank you, my lord."
"But on that note, get your troupe registered in Hanseong as soon as possible. Every single member needs to be listed on the official troupe registry document. That way, you can perform freely anywhere in Hanyang or across the country. Unregistered troupes will soon be banned from performing by the authorities. And while you're staying in Hanyang, cause no trouble whatsoever."
To spread the good name of Namsadang troupes, I needed to emphasize they were harmless.
Fail at that, and it was all over.
So I hoped they'd keep a low profile during their stay here.
"Remember, cause problems, and you'll face harsh consequences."