The Eastern Knight (1)

The presidential office in Hanseong.

I had just unfolded the Daehan Maeil Sinbo that had come off the press that morning and tossed it onto the desk when I spoke.

"The photograph came out rather well this time."

"I—I am most ashamed that the matter was handled in this fashion, Your Excellency! We ourselves only learned of it this morning!"

Yun Chi-ho, Director of the Public Security Committee, bowed his head and grovelled with an expression of profound apology, convinced he had committed some grave error.

I rose from my seat to escape him, clasped my hands behind my back, and gazed out the window.

The place his averted eyes had gone was the front page of the morning paper, where Hong Beom-do and the Qing prisoners of war had been printed large as a barn door. Beside it, in smaller type, ran the full text of the article.

"The negligence of the political officers our Public Security Committee dispatched is certainly a problem, but even granting that we instructed them to receive the war correspondents courteously, for a mere noncommissioned officer to grant an interview unprepared is a grave failure of the military—"

"Ah, no. Director Yun, you've misunderstood."

He had misunderstood completely. He thought the problem was that a noncommissioned officer risen from the ranks had, of his own accord, granted an interview to a foreign journalist—and a famous British war correspondent at that—and that an article had gone to press with no official statement or response prepared by the Republic.

For reference, even in France and Britain, where freedom of the press was most thoroughly guaranteed in this era, the moment war broke out they imposed not merely censorship but outright control of the newspapers.

America? The country that until recently had split itself north and south and beaten each other to a pulp? The history of newspaper censorship in that great United States of America, which calls itself the homeland of liberty, begins with President Lincoln during the Civil War.

So the intellectuals of this age—Yun Chi-ho included—regarded the publication of this article and interview without any prior consultation with the Republican government as a disaster, and had barged into the office first thing in the morning to bow their heads.

But.

What's all the fuss about?

Having personally lived through the advanced politics of the twenty-first century, I thought entirely differently from them.

These people of this era are so hidebound it's a problem. They genuinely believe a newspaper has to be rational and reasonable to persuade the public...

The public and the press are far more vulnerable to emotion than to reason.

I waved a hand at Yun Chi-ho, who had misunderstood everything on his own, and explained that Hong Beom-do had done nothing wrong.

"On the contrary. This is exactly what I wanted."

"What you wanted, Your Excellency...?"

"Isn't it perfect for a media play?"

A man who had even studied abroad could hardly be ignorant of the phrase. Hadn't even Cleveland, the current President of the United States, used a media play to put down the matter of his illegitimate child? Of course, that had been nothing more than a bit of wordplay, a trivial joke that got him through it.

Compared to that, the article of Hong Beom-do's interview—and the full text of it—was a perfect interview, the kind that belonged in a textbook. I thought to myself that a man of quality doesn't go to waste, and smiled as I pointed at the photograph of Hong Beom-do, whose physique was so much larger and more solid than the Qing prisoners that the contrast was striking.

"Thanks to this young fellow of ours, the Republic has gained three advantages. Even a grand reward would not be too much."

"Th-three, Your Excellency?"

"Three major ones, leaving aside the minor points."

I let the insolent desire in Yun Chi-ho's eyes—And you're only ten years old yourself, aren't you?—roll off my shoulder, and explained.

"First: it is a superb interview that proclaims to the entire world—to the Western powers and the colonial empires, and further to allied republics such as our friend France—that we are a civilized nation."

"Hmm. There was internal opinion within our Committee as well that Chamgyo Hong's questions and answers were quite timely and carried a certain moral implication, but given that the man is a soldier, there has been some talk from the military..."

"A beautiful reverence for life that transcends borders, and a martial spirit to match. From now on, those two things will be the slogans that represent the national character of our Republic and the ethnic character of the Korean people."

"Ah..."

"I suppose I'll have to explain this more simply."

Yun Chi-ho wore a slightly vacant expression, as if twenty-first-century mass politics had not yet quite landed with him. I smiled at him and spoke.

"A people of matchless valor, yet with warm hearts. Doesn't that sound like a national character made of nothing but pleasant-sounding words? The Germans are so cold they're practically frozen solid. The Gauls are chatterboxes and greasy besides; the Latin peoples are cruel at the most unnecessary moments—that sort of thing. The Anglo-Saxons? Eccentrics who eat sardine pie. America? A nation of mongrels herded together, without a shred of pedigree you could find if you washed your eyes out, thoroughly gilded in mammon-worship—robber barons putting on airs as if they were aristocrats?"

A rather savage collection of expressions, admittedly.

"I-is that how it works?"

"Shall I make it even simpler? Let's take the East as an example. First you have the Russian Empire and the Ottomans. Both of them claim to be European, but Western Europeans don't treat them as Europeans. And the grounds they cite have a point. How can a country that treats knocking back vodka and beating your own wife as a virtue, and a feudal theocracy that has written polygamy—not even concubinage, polygamy—into both state law and the Quran, aspire to be great civilized powers? For the record, I hear the Ottomans also consider beating your wife at home a virtue. Anyway, it's a joke that would make a passing dog snort."

Yun Chi-ho said nothing.

"So let's see. The Dai Viet of the Indochina Peninsula has been blown to pieces as a country, and India is the proud jewel of those sardine-pie-eating pirates. Africa is a slave marketplace and a slaughterhouse, and South America isn't much different from North America. Ah—are they the descendants of primitive tribes whose very foundations have vanished? And Mongolia? One wonders if they even still exist. The Qing is a paper tiger in name only, getting thrashed even by us. So then—who's left?"

Good heavens. Only Japan and our Republic!

Now that was truly astonishing.

And that's the biggest problem of all. Our two countries are physically the closest, damn it!

For the record, the Balkans were being called white slaves among the Western powers, with talk of protectorates this and that, while they fried and stewed among themselves, and Poland had been carved into three. Northern Europe had shut itself away for a full hundred years, so there was no need to pay them any mind at all.

I suppose all the Viking descendants froze to death.

Anyway!

"Whew. It's been a while since I ran the motor this hard—I'm out of breath."

I hadn't originally intended to go this far, but I had gotten carried away talking without realizing it, flushed with heat and excitement. In the end I drained the cold teacup sitting on the desk, caught my breath, and grinned at Yun Chi-ho with a shrug of my shoulders.

"Got a bit excited there."

"Yes. It appeared so, Your Excellency."

"Ahem!"

Embarrassing, but well. It wasn't as if I had said anything untrue.

After a moment to catch my breath and settle the excitement, I pointed this way and that at the handsome photograph of Hong Beom-do splashed across the front page, and continued.

"The second... he's quite good-looking. Fine features, and a splendid physique besides."

Yun Chi-ho's eyes went sour as he compared Hong Beom-do's shoulders in the photograph with his own narrow ones.

"He does have the makings of a great general."

What was he even comparing himself to. I pretended not to notice his pathetic display and spoke.

"The friends we must be most wary of are those island-nation fellows who worship the sardine-pie-eating pirates."

"You mean the Japanese, Your Excellency?"

"Those fellows know perfectly well how they themselves ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠are perceived. Knowing one's place is as good as having already accomplished half of success, Director Yun."

I answered "Japan" with a gleam in my eyes, and impressed it upon him: that the only nation we were currently competing with, and the only one we must be wary of, was Japan.

"The Republic's domestic proposition lies in the advocacy of the Three Principles of the People and the spread of revolution. It lies in countless compatriots and the Korean people establishing and defending a nation of the kingly way beneath the spirit of the Three Principles."

"Th-the scholars say it isn't much different from European republicanism or liberalism."

At that, I sharply scolded Yun Chi-ho, who was trying to swallow only the pleasant-sounding words.

"Why do you swallow the rest? You didn't mention that there are arrogant Western professors who regard Confucianism as a religion."

"Well, I am an enlightenment intellectual, so Neo-Confucianism isn't particularly—"

"That you still draw that distinction means your enlightenment isn't finished. Engage in self-criticism."

"Eh...?"

They say a frog doesn't remember when it was a tadpole. Honestly. Having ordered him to draw water at dawn and engage in some sharp self-criticism, I continued.

"Japan currently believes itself to be the only civilized nation in the Far East, and that it is their responsibility to resist Asia's old order and incorporate them ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠into the world order."

"Their swollen noses are quite famous, yes."

"During the tyrant's era, there were quite a few in this country who took the bribes those bastards were handing out."

"Have no concern, Your Excellency. I have recorded and investigated them all."

Yun Chi-ho suddenly sprang to his feet and held out a leather notebook he had been clutching close. I didn't even need to open it. The metallic reek of blood and the chill radiating from that notebook made me feel a shiver despite the height of summer.

It was something I had ordered him to do, though.

"Anyway. This is a decisive opportunity to turn the attention of Europeans and Americans—who have until now been looking at those conceited Japanese bastards—toward us."

"Ah, and in a positive direction, at that!"

"That's right. And we sprinkle a generous seasoning on the national character of our Korean people as well. Brave, sentimental, and so devoted to their word they'd die for a promise—to the point of looking a little stupid."

"?"

He cocked his head at my last words. So devoted to their word they'd die for a promise—to the point of looking stupid? His expression said, Is this an insult or a compliment?

Of course, given that I had brought it up, it was a compliment.

"The defining characteristic of European diplomacy is that there is no trust."

"I beg your pardon?"

"They don't trust each other."

To Yun Chi-ho, who could not believe what I was saying, I pulled from the drawer the treaty text of the offensive-defensive alliance we had recently concluded, along with a map, and set them before him.

"The French Republic and the United States of America have entered into a temporary offensive-defensive alliance with us."

"Yes, that is so."

"But nowhere in any clause does it say they will automatically intervene."

"I-is that a problem?"

"It's an offensive-defensive alliance. What if, just as we're about to lose Seoul and surrender—at the very end of the war—they announce they're sending reinforcements?"

Yun Chi-ho's eyes flew wide.

"Think it through carefully."

I spread before him a map on which the territories our Republic would acquire if we won this war had been painted in red, and explained.

"A politician's promise is not to be trusted. If you sit there in a daze believing it in all innocence, don't you dare go around telling people you ever practiced politics."

He was silent.

"We have to take our own share ourselves."

You may find it strange as well—why I distrust our allies, France and America, to this degree. But you see, in international affairs, in diplomacy, throughout thousands of years of human history, there has existed only one absolute rule.

The one who trusts is the fool.

"The ones who clearly need to shed more blood in this war are the frogs. This was never our war to begin with. Keep that in mind as you listen."

"Yes, Your Excellency."

Sensing that this was important, Yun Chi-ho straightened his posture. To him I laid out my true thoughts with a grim expression.

"The Wolf's Lair is already projecting our military casualties at three thousand."

"Whaaat? Have we not been winning victory after victory?!"

Yun Chi-ho was aghast at the shocking news that casualties had already surpassed three thousand a mere ten days into the war. I shot him a look that said shut your mouth, and spoke.

"And that's the minimum. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠We are winning, but the People's Army advancing through the harsh North is writhing in agony."

He had nothing to say.

"And those losses will grow exponentially the closer we get to Shenyang and Shanhaiguan."

"Th-that's—!"

"And while that's happening, what have our allies—the United States and the French expeditionary force—been doing?"

What would they be doing. America was busy making money, and France, still indulging the whining of its own demoralized young men, still hadn't even taken Taiwan.

Sons of bitches.

"E-even so, there will never again be an opportunity for our nation's territory to secure a domain broader than this in all of history—"

"Are Liaodong and Manchuria that important?"

Silence.

"Listen. We are fighters who cried revolution for the people. That kind of territory and empire is a cheap taste more suited to the sentiments of the tyrant's era."

I told this to the pure-hearted Korean who was still shaking his head wildly, as if he couldn't believe it, or as if he were trying to deny reality.

"And will the frogs kindly tuck Liaodong and Manchuria into our domain? They'll pick every nit and put on every air, then try to force the precious things on us cheap."

"Ugh."

"Remember this clearly. When a politician promises that something 'is so,' it means it 'might be so.' And when he says it might be so, that's just a roundabout way of saying it 'is not.'"

Having heard my true feelings, Yun Chi-ho buried his head against his own legs and asked in a dying, slow voice.

"...Then what are we supposed to do?"

I answered him with a serious expression.

"We play the fool, take their side—and lose. Together."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Re-creation of the State Grace. Truly a phrase that warms the heart—a romantic one."

He stared at me, uncomprehending.

It was still a distant future, but one need only remember the Ming, which fell so easily to the Qing. And Joseon, which got beaten while keeping the seat beside them.

"Three hundred years of friendship, or of loyalty—dress it up as that, and it should be enough."

Together they would stop the treacherous dictator of Japan, who sought to disturb the peace of the continent and invade Joseon—and then the descendants of the khan who had united the cruel nomadic peoples would destroy the two nations that had protected each other with loyalty.

I tossed an old volume at Yun Chi-ho, who could not find his way out of my story.

It was—

"A Diary of Ten Days at Yangzhou. You know perfectly well it's circulating in the open now. And the Han Chinese, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠still wearing the queues of the nomadic peoples, have yet to escape their slavish misfortune."

It may sound like the opening of some fantasy novel, but this was the reality of the nations that suffered the Qing invasion in the past. In other words, for the Han Chinese of China, two hundred lost years; for our Korean people, a history of humiliation.

"And yet we are defeating the Qing. An army armed with justice and loyalty. Now, when Europeans who know this background see the article of Hong Beom-do's interview, what do you suppose they'll think?"

"Eh?"

"The public loves a story in which the underdog overcomes all suffering and anguish and seizes success. It's satisfying, isn't it?"

And the nineteenth century was a time when French Romanticism, remembered as the Belle Époque, had not yet died. Through the people-loving young man Hong Beom-do, we would demonize the Qing.

I condensed all of that content, novelized it, and set a completed book without a cover before Yun Chi-ho.

"Europe is still a place where cheap chivalric literature works. That's what I'm saying."