Your Place of Exile Is Namwon (2)

Once the others had gone, the one person who always came to visit me as I sat alone in the cells of the Uigeumbu was former Commander Woo Beom-seon.

"Looks like the prison food's been treating you well lately, you little brat. You barely even glance at the rice cakes I bring anymore."

"Everyone already knows I'm leaving for Namwon anyway. The jailers and the runners even pack me a little something now and then and ask me to join them for lunch."

"This is — this is a matter for a formal complaint to the Uigeumbu magistrate! How is the discipline of this country supposed to hold if things have gotten this slack?"

Even as he blustered, he always produced rice cakes and something to drink that he had smuggled in, wrapped tight, and pressed them on me with a running stream of nonsense.

"I've saved your hide three times over."

"Please. When I was shouting my throat raw up on that platform, you were nowhere to be seen."

"Listen here, you little punk. Wasn't I the one who bellowed at the top of my lungs, right there in the crowd — 'Those men! Those men are barbarian stooges selling this country to Qing'? You think all those Hanyang townsfolk would have taken your side without me? A good shill is everything. That's what I'm telling you."

"Fine, I get it."

Time slipped by that quickly.

And in the brief span I spent locked in the Uigeumbu, Hanyang was a city that never ran short of incidents. First among them: Li Hongzhang, Qing's Beiyang Minister, had personally come to Hanyang at the head of the Beiyang Fleet.

The sight of those vessels moored side by side at Jemulpo sent a fresh current of tension through the Far East. Japanese steamships offloaded their rice and fled in haste. British and American merchantmen put about for Hong Kong at once, racing to carry the news home.

And in the midst of all that, the Beiyang Minister had the gall to sit down comfortably with our king.

"It is a true blessing that the unrest in Joseon has been so swiftly put to rest."

"…I scarcely know how to bear the concern of the Superior State."

Court and country alike erupted over the visit, and the government was no less bewildered than the people.

But the last jewel in the old dragon's grasp was not so easily pried loose.

"Will Your Majesty not grant this humble servant an opportunity — to speak of the future of the Great Qing and of Joseon?"

"I will hear you."

Li Hongzhang observed every courtesy and set about earnestly preaching to Gojong the new diplomatic order he had designed for the Far East.

"The world will change, and change swiftly. But even in the typhoon of that change, some things will be preserved."

And with that, he tore apart the plans of Gojong and the Enlightenment faction, who had meant to hustle the Qing troops out early and seize the government entire. An uninvited guest, Li Hongzhang began meeting the king in private — excluding every political faction in Joseon — and steadily widened his influence.

"A tributary state need only observe a tributary state's rites, and safeguard the ceremonies it has kept for so long. As it has always been."

"I am to do this?"

"This humble servant does not doubt that the bond formed today will become a thousand years of loyalty. I am the Beiyang Minister of the Great Qing."

At the same time, Li Hongzhang offered Gojong — who had yet to shed his suspicion — not merely Qing's military might, but a justification, and a proposal too sweet to refuse.

"Unlike Qing, Joseon cannot survive by playing the great powers against one another with strategies of using barbarians to control barbarians, or of the balance of power. As the example of the Ryukyu Kingdom makes plain, when a weak nation opens its ports of its own accord and draws up its own treaties in the name of self-strengthening, it only invites disaster. Joseon must, as it always has, place its trust in us."

"…Then what would you have me do?"

"First, I would be most grateful if Your Majesty would promptly ratify the Joseon–American Treaty of Amity and Commerce, which has been left adrift for some time, and make haste in assembling a mission to return the visit."

"A mission?"

"The Yeongseonsa, of course. For the self-strengthening of Joseon — and to set this disordered court back upon its proper course — does Your Majesty not need hands and feet worthy of a king?"

The monarch hesitated. The Beiyang Minister drove the wedge home.

"…Very well."

After a long silence, the king of the East at last struck his bargain.

Within a week, the roster of the Bobingsa was announced — a roster on which the Beiyang Minister's breath lay heavy.

At first glance, the Bobingsa list seemed to have been drawn without regard to faction or family interest, selecting only the court's young and able officials. The names that followed, however, left the bureaucrats of the government with a deep unease.

A murmur ran through the crowd.

"The Yeongseonsa?"

"We didn't mishear that, did we?"

"Good heavens — the former Chief State Councillor has to drag his old bones all the way to Beijing?"

The Yeongseonsa. The student mission that ought to have been abolished in the aftermath of the Imo Mutiny had been revived.

Beyond those names, capable old ministers who had once served under the Heungseon Daewongun were selected for the Second Yeongseonsa and dispatched in haste toward Uiju. Or rather — they were forced to go.

What's more, the great majority of the men propping up the Yeongseonsa were officials who had either remained neutral during the mutiny or shown sympathy toward the rebellious troops. Gojong put the finishing touch on it himself, tightening his grip on the court.

"Those who take Our command and proceed to Beijing will surely heed Our request. Of this We have not the slightest doubt."

And the message that King Yi Hyeong had these men of the Second Yeongseonsa carry toward the Forbidden City was a humiliation of the first order.

This was the fruit of King Yi Hyeong's bargain with Li Hongzhang — a king who, under the Beiyang Minister's influence, had broken faith with his own people.

And so a mission of some thirty souls, headed by Minister Plenipotentiary Min Young-ik — five times the size of the original historical embassy — set out for the United States. In the same stretch of days, before a month had passed, twice that number, a hundred men, drained away toward Qing's Forbidden City.

Seo Gwang-beom, bound for America, told me the news himself before he left.

"An unavoidable outcome, I suppose?"

"An outcome made to look unavoidable."

"I see. I should be going. There's a great deal to prepare if I'm to reach America."

"Take care of yourself."

"You too."

The second blow was the one we had all feared: the revision of the Sino-Korean Regulations for Maritime and Overland Trade, and Qing's open, systematic interference in Joseon's internal affairs.

"Just as you feared. They invoked the Wanguo Gongfa — the Public Law of All Nations — and hammered into the very preamble of the treaty a clause mandating the preservation of the tributary rites that have bound us for so long."

"Of course they did. I would have done the same in their place."

"Is that all, you think? Even as they withdrew their troops, they left a contingent behind at Jemulpo and Incheon. And now they've got Westerners we wouldn't know from a stranger walking in and out of the court as so-called advisors. It is enough to make a man weep."

Woo Beom-seon had obtained a portion of the treaty text through Kim Ok-gyun at the Office for Extraordinary State Affairs and brought it to me. He struck his own chest, his face twisted with outrage.

"Even when a Qing man commits a crime, we are not to punish him — we must leave the judgment to Qing's commercial commissioners. How is that any different from the Darughachi of the previous dynasty, the Yuan overseers who sat in judgment over Goryeo? What an age. A fallen age, truly."

"If you can't master your temper this early, you're going to be in real trouble. There will be things more bitter and more humiliating than this, lining up one after another."

"What? Things more humiliating than this?"

I said nothing. I only nodded at Woo Beom-seon, who was snorting and fuming as if he might burst. Because it was true. What Qing was about to do in Joseon would be genuinely monstrous.

The timing and the sequence would differ — that was all. They were invaders, no different from the Japanese.

"The trade regulations and the protocols are only the beginning. They will already have received, in secret, from the Western powers — from Britain and France — a promise of suzerainty over this country, treating Joseon as their own semi-colony."

"They wouldn't dare."

"They would. Because the world, as it stands, belongs to them."

In practical terms, Qing had done nothing more than play word games in the gap between the Wanguo Gongfa and East Asia's traditional diplomatic custom — sliding Joseon into the machinery of colony, protectorate, and multinational imperial relations. The fraud succeeded only because the European powers, even when dealing with Qing, the loser of the Opium Wars, had not yet abandoned their caution.

For their illusions about the Qing Empire to shatter, the Sino-Japanese War has to break out. They have to watch Qing get beaten by the Japanese until there's nothing left — not teeth, not claws, not even muscle — before anyone will acknowledge that Joseon is an independent nation.

Or they get beaten to a pulp by us.

Could we actually do that? No — we have to make it possible.

I swallowed the second ambition, the thinner of the two, deep down my throat, and offered Woo Beom-seon a calm warning as he stood there seething.

"In any case, keeping your head down for a while wouldn't be the worst idea. Tell me — has anyone come to you from the palace?"

"…How did you know that?"

He turned to look at me, genuinely startled.

"Did you put a tail on me?"

"Hardly. Right now, His Majesty doesn't need a gentle, well-regarded scholar. He needs a swordsman to stand at his side."

"Ah. That's true."

I spoke to him as he ducked his head in reluctant agreement.

"You could fly off to Tokyo and resume your studies. Or tag along with the Bobingsa that's been dispatched to America and see the world. Staying in the army right now is a blunder that will cost you your standing, your honor, and even the people close to you in the years ahead."

"That bad?"

I laid the situation out for him with care, watching the disbelief on his face.

"The newly assembled cabinet and army will be thick with Qing's influence. They will earn the rage and the curses of every subject in the country, channeled through Hanyang. It is a government that will not last."

Strictly speaking, my warning that the government would not last was wrong. Gojong, the man most responsible, would cling on to the end — he would not be dragged from the seat of power until he had lost the country outright.

It's the men Gojong takes as partners who will have their heads fly off, one after another.

Ah — with the exception of the Five Eulsa ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Traitors and the Seven Jeongmi Traitors. Those sons of bitches swung the moment they saw the angle for a stab in the back. Didn't even take a measurement first. A different breed entirely from Gojong, who always checked the backstabbing angle before he ever offered a political hand.

"If you stay, you won't last two years. You'll be cursed from every direction and given a dishonorable discharge."

The same held for Woo Beom-seon, who had done his military studies in Japan. In an army about to turn entirely Qing in color, he would be the one officer who could show a pro-Japanese face — and Gojong, with that dark little mind of his, would openly champion him and try to use him as a counterweight to the pro-Qing faction inside the Capital Guards.

I made him swear it.

"Promise me, right here and now. You will not accept any post from the court until the Bobingsa and the Yeongseonsa have returned. Not a single one."

"Now hold on, that's going too—"

"Just do it!"

I gripped the bars and shoved my face close to his. He wrestled with it, then let out a long breath and answered as if the words hurt.

"Ah, damn it all! Fine, fine! I promise. But you remember this, you hear me? I'm giving up a commander's post in the Capital Guards because of you!"

"Understood. I'll repay that kindness two times over!"

That much, at least, I could promise.

Not long ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠after, on the very eve of my exile, I received an unexpected visitor beneath a sky still pale with the last of the night, just before the dawn rooster crowed.

"Are you awake?"

At the sound of that voice I frowned and spoke toward the figures whose shadows stretched long between the bars.

"Wh-who… is it?"

But that shadow — or rather, the smallest among the shadows, the one with the most bent back — drew close and looked me over, murmuring to himself.

"…You really are just a little kid."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Show some respect."

A larger shadow barked the order from behind the small one. In that instant, a spark of recognition flashed through a corner of my mind.

It can't be.

"Your Majesty."

I dropped to the floor and pressed my forehead down in a full prostration before anyone could offer a further explanation.

It's Gojong!

Before I could even think of recovering the proud self-respect of a twenty-first-century citizen of the Republic of Korea's liberal democracy, I remembered two things: that I was presently locked in Joseon's infamous Uigeumbu, and that Joseon was an absolute monarchy.

I wailed.

"Your Maje~sty—"

I lay there, putting on a voice of exquisite sorrow. The small shadow came forward, leaned against the bars, and spoke.

"Now that you know who I am, I shall not waste words. Who ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was behind you?"

"…?"

What is he talking about?

The moment Gojong asked the question, I nearly lifted my head in a daze to get a look at his face.

Who was behind me? What was that supposed to mean?

What is this? Did someone slander me? That can't be right…

I stayed silent, unable to make sense of the situation. Gojong tapped the bars and asked again.

"Did I not ask you a question? Ah — I forgot myself. Do not be afraid. You are merely an ignorant commoner, innocent of any crime, and no harm will come to you. Was this something the Daewongun ordered — the one who was sent in custody to Qing?"

At that, I finally understood what was going on.

He's heard the rumors about me in the palace, but he couldn't bring himself to believe that I was actually a prodigy who stood in front of a crowd and whipped up public opinion.

And in fairness, it was an understandable failure of imagination. Gojong, a man who had spent his entire life distrusting even his own allies — whom would he trust this early?

If I had been in his place and someone told me a seven-year-old had stood in a public square before the assembled townsfolk of Hanyang, openly cursing Qing and stirring the crowd, I would have told them to stop talking nonsense and sworn at them besides.

I lifted my head a fraction, enough to set the facts straight.

"…Your Majesty, this humble subject truly does not understand what matter Your Majesty is asking after."

"You do not understand. Then do you mean to say that you yourself came out into the square, demanded a public hearing, and demonstrated before the people that the Qing army should withdraw?"

"Your Majesty sees it truly. I felt it myself, and I acted. That is all."

And in that moment I could read Gojong's expression without seeing it.

I heard it — the hard click of teeth clamping together, gums and molars grinding as one, close enough to tickle my ear.

"…I see. So that's how it is."

Whether he was swallowing his anger because he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠believed I had lied to him, or whether he was simply speechless at a reality too absurd to accept, Gojong said nothing for a long time.

I was just about to open my mouth when he asked,

"Do you know of the country called America?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. I do."

"Then tell me. Do you have any desire to see the world, and to pursue learning?"

"I — I beg your pardon?"

My voice shook with confusion. Gojong pressed me again, hiding the way the corner of his mouth had begun to lift.

"Exactly as I said. Do you have a hunger for learning? There is still a ship remaining in Busan."

"Th-that's—"

"Do not worry. The exile is, of course, forgotten. You need only say two words to me. I wish to go."

Faced with that wholly unexpected offer, I could only lift my head in a daze.

"I… I…"

Honestly, I was a bit better looking than he was.

That morning I exchanged farewells with Kim Ok-gyun — Right Royal Secretary and Vice Minister — who had come with Woo Beom-seon to see me off.

"You turned that down!?"

"Yes, sir."

Kim Ok-gyun was furious.

"You mean you kicked aside a chance to study in America? Just like that? Do you have any idea how much I said to His Majesty on your behalf—"

He had rolled up his sleeves and was fanning the back of his neck as if he could not get enough air. I stuck out my tongue, smiling, and answered with as much apology as I could put into it.

"I know, I know. I do."

"A boy who knows just booted a heaven-sent opportunity with both feet!"

"The brat still hasn't come to his senses. While he was in the State Tribunal he should've gotten a couple of lashes on the backside, just for the experience."

As I listened, I gathered that Gojong's dawn visit had been largely Kim Ok-gyun's doing. Woo Beom-seon, standing to one side with a look of pity, told me that when Qing had begun to spread its influence through Joseon, Kim Ok-gyun had gone to the king more than once and spoken of me as a clever child, putting in a word. That was why Gojong had come on the last possible day, just before I left for exile.

Still — working with Gojong is a bit much.

I couldn't say that out loud, so I hid my awkwardness by shrugging with exaggerated innocence and climbing into the prison cart.

"I can't go on ships. I get terribly seasick."

"Have you even been on a ship? Seasick, my foot."

"I'm sorry, sir. It was a rare opportunity, and you went to such trouble to arrange it."

"So long as you know it."

Even after that, Kim Ok-gyun stood there a while longer, scuffing idly at the dirt with the toe of his shoe, before he asked,

"Well? Is there anything you need for the journey to Namwon? You've said your farewells to your parents, I trust?"

"Thanks to your concern, that's all been taken care of."

"That's a relief. We've sent word of your well-being, so your parents can set their minds at rest. Ah — here. The paper and writing things you asked for."

He held out a bundle wrapped tight in cloth, then pointed at it with a curious look.

"And what do you mean to do with this? Study, perhaps?"

"Ah, nothing so ordinary as that."

I let a small smile slip at his question, and answered.

"I thought I might write a book."

Write a book.

That was my first goal for the place of my exile.