Chapter 193
Chapter 193
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 193
Chapter Title: Joseon-Style Standing Army (3)
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There's that bad saying about giving one more task to the guy who does his job well, isn't there?
Whether that saying exists or not doesn't matter to me.
What's important is that it happened to me.
His Highness, seeing that I handle my duties well, didn't just dump one more task on me—he handed over an entire mountain of work.
To a low-ranking official like me... well, not exactly low-ranking anymore, but...
Anyway, I never imagined he'd entrust nearly the whole of such a massive national undertaking to someone like me, who isn't even a capital official yet.
"Father-in-law, I never even dreamed His Highness would hand such a crucial and enormous project entirely over to me."
Kim Man-deok let out a hollow chuckle at my words.
"Heh, while other young folks are desperate to pass the exams early and climb to capital office as fast as possible, our son-in-law here is one of a kind."
"If I advance too quickly, it'll just breed jealousy around me."
"The only ones jealous of you would have to be idiots possessed by the ghost of Goryeo."
"It's true I'm still young and short on worldly experience, but once you actually look around, there are shockingly many bad apples out there haunted by that Goryeo ghost."
Not all rich people are bad, and not all poor ones are good.
To put it more precisely, there are far more good people in this world than bad ones.
But those fewer bad bastards wield powerful influence wherever they go, tormenting those around them and trying to drag everyone else down with them.
Once you get caught in their radar, you're really in trouble.
Didn't some rotten broadcaster slander shop owners selling king-size castella cakes, claiming they were dumping cooking oil into them to make garbage food just to boost their ratings?
There are bizarre villains trying to ruin perfectly innocent successful idols with all sorts of weird rumors, and human scum endlessly posting dizzyingly malicious comments.
It's the same with Yi Bang-won declaring he'd introduce the Bangwon Law—Ryu Jeong-hyeon immediately stepped up and impeached me on utterly absurd grounds.
So, if a fresh-faced kid not even 25 yet snags a capital office post just because he's got some talent, how many people do you think would tear into me?
"So, why did my son-in-law come looking for me at this late hour?"
"I have a business proposal for you."
"Business? What kind of business are you talking about?"
"How about we go big into the liquor trade together—not just water, but booze?"
Kim Man-deok tilted his head at my words.
Whether in Joseon or twenty-first-century Korea, the liquor business isn't looked upon kindly, so it's natural he'd be taken aback by his son-in-law suddenly proposing to scale it up big time.
But my proposal is a venture with rock-solid prospects.
In a pre-modern state like Joseon, implementing a full-scale draft means a massive supply of alcohol—er, booze—is essential.
That's where upright folks like Kim Man-deok and me need to step up front and set the example.
If we sit this out, some other shark will smell the blood and dive in, and that could lead to real trouble.
A rotten culture could take root where they bribe military officers to supply spoiled booze and rake in the cash. Then the conscripted soldiers drink it, get sick to their stomachs, and in the worst cases, could even die from it.
And given the closed-off nature of the military, once spoiled booze starts getting supplied, that practice will drag on for ages.
'I need to nip any potential problems in the bud.'
"What kind of nonsense is this in the dead of night? Selling booze?"
"It's all for the good of the country and the people."
"You're not one to spout nonsense... This is so absurd I can barely keep listening. Tell me, why on earth are you making such a weird proposal?"
"In Joseon, isn't it true that pretty much everyone in physically demanding jobs drinks? Sailors on ships, laborers hauling goods, farmers busy during planting season—they all knock back a stiff drink whenever they get the chance."
Even in twenty-first-century Korea, folks in so-called skilled trades or fieldwork—jobs that take real muscle—often have iron livers.
Sure, no one's chugging booze mid-shift like some trainwreck, but after a grueling day, plenty drown their fatigue in liquor.
Especially in pre-modern armies, tons of soldiers figure booze is the only thing to unwind the mental and physical strain after a tough drill.
Take that away, and the built-up stress becomes unbearable.
Even Admiral Yi Sun-sin understood that well enough to do his utmost during wartime to ensure soldiers could enjoy moderate drinking.
'Booze is an indispensable item in pre-modern militaries.'
"Come to think of it, when I led my merchant caravan on long hauls, I'd often let them drink their fill. Otherwise, who knows when the grumbling would erupt over the brutal schedule."
"Even paid laborers build up resentment if you deny them drinks—imagine conscripts dragged into three years of service with no real pay to show for it. Sure, the new system means just three years and you're free from military duties for life, but at a young age, spending those years cooped up in barracks without seeing family or friends? That's no small hardship."
"...Now that you mention it, you're right. Bluntly put, three years in the army is like slaving away without a single day off for three straight years."
That's the most hellish truth about military life.
No going home.
Some trash senior who gets pissed just looking at your face, nitpicking you with every lame excuse under the sun—and you're stuck with that bastard 24/7, 365 days a year, in a hellish routine that chokes the life out of you...
In a place like that with no booze to vent the stress? Pure hell.
"So, feeding the soldiers well is key, but we must supply plenty of booze too."
"From what I've heard from folks at the Ministry of Military Affairs, this new conscription system will draft nearly 100,000 soldiers nationwide."
"Yes, roughly that many will be conscripted across the country."
"How do you plan to source the rice or grain to brew booze for that many? You're not thinking of buying it all from markets nationwide, are you?"
Buying up enough rice on the open market to brew makgeolli for nearly 100,000 soldiers would skyrocket grain prices overnight.
That'd make life impossible for non-farmers hit by the sudden hike.
We can't threaten city dwellers' livelihoods just to supply soldiers' booze.
"We'll buy from yangban households across the country."
"What rice do yangban have ly—"
Kim Man-deok cut himself off and slapped his knee.
"Landlords stockpile grain in their warehouses, but unlike gold or silver, grain goes stale over time and eventually rots. So you're saying buy up that old grain cheap, brew it into makgeolli, and sell it?"
"Exactly. Brew makgeolli with that aged grain, and if there's any left over, use it to feed chickens. What do you think?"
"Our house granary has thousands of seom of old rice sitting there. Better to turn it into makgeolli or chicken feed than let it rot."
Not all rice is equal in value.
Depending on the situation, freshly harvested new rice at one seom can be worth more than twice the two-year-old stuff...
Rice over three years old is usually fed to cows, pigs, or chickens in rice-short Joseon—or just tossed.
I'm targeting two-year-old aged grain.
Buy it cheap, brew makgeolli, and feed leftovers to chickens in a poultry farm.
That way, we ramp up both chicken meat and egg production.
"Right now, market rates put new rice at two to three seom of old rice per seom, and makgeolli tastes about the same whether made with new or old—so selling old-rice makgeolli to garrisons and local offices at half price? We'd rake in massive profits."
"After tough training and labor, soldiers will guzzle makgeolli like water—it'll fly off the shelves as fast as we make it."
If I don't jump in, merchants will treat army money like easy pickings, bribing officers to offload overpriced makgeolli.
Just like in the 1970s and '80s, when PX suppliers, officers, and NCOs colluded on petty embezzlement...
They'd supply barely three mal of white rice worth of booze per dong-i, charge for a full seom, and skim half the makgeolli per batch.
With upright folks like me and Kim Man-deok leading, we can completely shut down that bribery and profiteering.
"Beyond makgeolli, no plans for soju or cheongju?"
"Soju and cheongju are premium liquors—made with old rice, they might not sell."
Kim Man-deok smirked at that.
"Top-grade stuff for the palace or ministers—or capital bigwigs—needs to be pricey, so yeah, new rice there. But for rural yangban sipping solo? Quality doesn't have to be sky-high."
"Makes sense."
Even in war, 1,000 rifles meeting basic standards pack more punch than one ultra-expensive top-tier gun.
Soju and cheongju may be high-end, but mass-producing them cheap with old rice...
That could out-earn selling one premium bottle.
"Alright, let's do it that way."