His Name, Syngman Rhee (1)

The scholars Choe Ik-hyeon and Yu In-seok had brought with them proved far more skilled with their hands than their bookish appearances suggested. And true to their nature as followers of those two unbending men, they were diligent and tireless besides. What do I mean by that?

"Heh... I came because the people wouldn't stop spreading rumors and filing complaints that a bandit stronghold had sprung up on the mountain behind town."

Seo Gong-sun, the newly appointed Magistrate of Namwon — son of Left State Councillor Seo Dang-bo — stood at a vantage that commanded the entire county. What he found was not a penal colony where a convict ought to be living. A massive stone wall snaked along the cliff's edge, and behind it a house rose neat and square. His mouth fell open.

Who in their right mind would think to raise a stone wall and put a roof on a sheer, razor-cut precipice like that?

It looks bizarre, but if you look at it another way... isn't that a fortress?

A fortress? Then this was truly serious. What if the people's complaints were right, and some unsavory band had actually nested here?

"Huff, huff! Your Honor!"

"Wha—!?"

From behind Seo Gong-sun, the judicial officer and the military officer came panting up the slope. Reading the new magistrate's thoughts with instincts honed over years of surviving their superiors, they launched into an explanation, sweat pouring off them.

"Aigoo, so the trouble's finally come to a head."

"H-how did they get all that built so fast?"

Behind them, armor rattling, came five or six soldiers who had raided the armory for half-rotted mail and rusted spears, fancying themselves armed men. The problem was that calling these fellows soldiers was an embarrassment.

"Damn it..."

The new magistrate, Seo Gong-sun, despaired. If a band of thieves really were hiding in that mystery fortress — or stronghold, or whatever it was — these were the men who would be protecting him. The thought hit him hard. He glanced sidelong at the mountainside he had just climbed, already considering how well he might run, and asked the two officers fidgeting beside him,

"How long has this been here?"

"Pardon?"

"When did that thing go up, I mean. It didn't just sprout out of the ground overnight!"

"...W-well, three months! Three months ago some people started coming and going in a great fuss, and then this mess happened."

"Yes, yes. Three months, that's right."

The judicial officer rubbed the back of his neck, looking thoroughly ashamed. The military officer just watched Seo Gong-sun's face, desperate not to say the wrong thing. Seo Gong-sun glared at them both with withering contempt, then turned back to the fortress, still unable to believe it.

"This is enough to drive a man mad."

So three months ago this mountain had been perfectly ordinary, and now a fortress of that height stood on it? Remembering that there had been no measures taken, no reports filed in all that time, Seo Gong-sun snapped.

"The judicial officer and the military officer knew people were coming and going from a penal colony and did nothing? That is a national convict's place of exile! What on earth were you thinking when you were supposed to be managing and supervising it?!"

"Well, the previous magistrate ordered us not to bother blocking people from coming through..."

"Yes, that's what he ordered."

As Seo Gong-sun flew into a rage, the two officers deployed that time-honored Joseon administrative tradition: blame the predecessor. Three deep furrows carved themselves into Seo Gong-sun's brow. He let out a long sigh and gave his order.

"Haa. What use is there in blaming ignorant men like you. Go confirm first whether the convict has left the penal grounds."

"Aigoo, yes! Of course we should!"

"Let's go!"

Once Seo Gong-sun abandoned the interrogation, the two men lit up with the look of men who had just been spared. They promptly herded their so-called soldiers onto the mountain path leading to the fortress.

Seo ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Gong-sun watched their retreating backs with a look of utter disgust, kicked at the dirt for want of a better target, sighed as if he meant to empty his lungs, and hurried after them.

Before long, white snow began to fall. And in perfect contrast, the empty books Choe Ik-hyeon had brought were being deluged with rain as black as ink.

That's right. Dozens of volumes now brimmed with the conversations and themes of myself, Choe Ik-hyeon, Yu In-seok, and the scholars who had followed them here.

"Ugh, somebody save me."

My fingers had gone numb; I couldn't even grip a brush. I slumped, limp. Across from me, Choe Ik-hyeon, still scratching away diligently, looked up with an expression of profound disappointment.

"We've only just filled thirty volumes. What is this fuss?"

"Only thirty...? And how long do the two of you plan to squat here, anyway!? Please, just go home already!"

"When a man draws his sword, he ought to cut something, even if it's only a radish. Naturally we must fill a hundred volumes."

"Good heavens...!"

I wailed. Choe Ik-hyeon and Yu In-seok merely chuckled, clucking their tongues. I regretted everything.

I've awakened a pair of demons!

And the one who saved me was neither Woo Beom-seon nor my parents back in Hanyang, but the newly appointed Magistrate of Namwon, one Seo Gong-sun.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"W-water. I'm just going to get some water."

I was staggering out onto the porch when a booming voice rolled over the wall that had become, for all intents and purposes, a prison.

"Come forth!"

"The Magistrate of Namwon approaches!"

"Convict, open the gate!"

The Magistrate of Namwon? Approaching?

At the sound of my savior's voice beyond the wall, I bolted.

"S-somebody help me! Please, come in, Your Honor! There are strange people in here!"

"?"

"They're right here! Please throw them all out!"

I welcomed the magistrate — who had come merely to check that the convict was behaving himself — with both arms wide open, and hurriedly dragged out the illegal occupants of the penal colony, Choe Ik-hyeon and Yu In-seok, to show him. But his mind was elsewhere.

"...It's a fortress, nothing less!"

He was still reeling from the sight of our house, which in three months had transformed into a rather handsome prison. Or rather, a fortress.

After a long moment, the magistrate pointed at our house — now practically a citadel, thanks to Yu In-seok's students — and asked, looking utterly at a loss,

"You did this?"

"We did. The view here is superb, so we put our skills to work. Perfect for reciting poetry with young Syngman Rhee, so we tidied the place up a bit."

"So you merely exchanged written conversation and epigrams with the convict?"

"At my age, coming and going is hard, so I slept here quite a bit as well."

"..."

"Ahem. Oughtn't you be thanking us, rather? Our elder Chan-gyeom spent his own fortune on the repairs."

Choe Ik-hyeon stood there shamelessly admitting he had eaten, slept, and idled with a convict at a penal colony. Beside him, Yu In-seok turned on the judicial and military officers as if to say, And what were you so proud of, leaving a leaky exile hut to rot? The magistrate's patience reached its limit. He quietly called a name.

"...Judicial officer."

"S-spare me, Your Honor!"

The magistrate fixed his glare on the man most responsible. The judicial officer flung himself flat on the ground and begged. It was such a pathetic display that it actually deflated the tension for everyone ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠watching — a truly gifted performance.

"Haa."

Whether it was the predecessor's fault or the lazy judicial officer's neglect, Seo Gong-sun had nowhere to put his grievance. In the end he only sighed as if the earth itself might swallow him. The water was already spilled. Better not to report it up the chain and just bury the whole affair.

"Hm?"

Then something caught Seo Gong-sun's eye: the untitled book in Choe Ik-hyeon's hand. He asked,

"What scripture is that?"

"Ah, this?"

When Choe Ik-hyeon lifted the book and asked back, Seo Gong-sun nodded readily. For Seo Gong-sun, Magistrate of Namwon, was himself a Confucian scholar of the old school — of the same kind as Choe Ik-hyeon.

"Oho."

Choe Ik-hyeon did not miss the light in Seo Gong-sun's eyes. Hiding a sly smile, he made his offer.

"Would you care to look?"

At the same time, Choe Ik-hyeon's hand stretched toward the magistrate. Drawn by some dark magnetism pouring from the book at the end of that arm, Seo Gong-sun could not tear his eyes away. He answered with difficulty.

"...Then I shall not refuse."

"Good."

The moment he took the book, Seo Gong-sun began to read it standing there, as if possessed — the text I had lectured, Choe Ik-hyeon had written, and Yu In-seok had bound.

Again? Another awakening!?

After Choe Ik-hyeon, Yu In-seok, and their ragtag band of ten, a new villain was being born before my eyes. I lunged in horror to snatch the book from Seo Gong-sun's hands.

"Y-Your Honor, perhaps that's enough for today...?"

"Bah! Can't you see I'm reading? Out of the way!"

"Urgh."

"Ah..."

It was already too late. The magistrate, drunk on the book's madness, shoved me roughly aside and tore through the pages.

I screamed. Choe Ik-hyeon roared with laughter.

"No!"

"Haha! He's one of us now! Give it up, boy!"

In that instant, a chill crawled up the back of my neck.

And so another name was inscribed upon the Book of Grievances: Seo Gong-sun.

Not long after that, this so-called new magistrate began assisting Choe Ik-hyeon and Yu In-seok with everything he had — money, men, and influence. And what kind of assistance, you ask?

"You must send at least twenty volumes to Jeonju today!"

"Gwangyang County has five volumes of back orders piled up!"

"Someone's come from Naju wanting to see the book."

"A man arrived from Gongju. Shall we just send him away?"

Errand runners and scholars filed through the front gate, each snatching up another cloth-wrapped bundle of books from the stacks in the yard.

"Elder Chan-gyeom, the yamen has sent scribes and printing blocks to help with the copying."

"Do convey this old man's gratitude to the magistrate."

"Aigoo, of course, of course."

Yamen clerks bowed and scraped as they stacked fresh paper and new volumes in the courtyard, then withdrew with apologetic faces, while Choe Ik-hyeon watched it all with deep satisfaction. Behind him, scholars bent over their desks, diligently copying out the books I had written.

"Books! We need books!"

"The orders are backed up!"

"You. Stop wandering around with nothing to do and get back inside and write the next volume."

"What?"

"Now."

I pointed at the flood of book orders and the yamen men arriving with woodblocks and movable type strapped to their backs, then lost the power of speech under Yu In-seok's look that said, quite plainly, get in there and write.

The penal colony had become, in the most literal sense, a madhouse.

What the hell is this?

No, seriously — what the hell? What kind of sorcery was this? Why was that insane grimoire so popular?

Question piled on question, and then, all at once, a great realization struck me.

Ah! Could it be that every Joseon man is born with a little fascist already installed in his heart?

I stared, slack-jawed, at the people streaming in and out through the gate. There was no end to them.

"They want this whole cart filled!"

"Where did they come from?"

"Daegu!"

"Good lord."

In truth, barely a fortnight after Seo Gong-sun had carried the book down the mountain, my writing had broken out of Namwon and begun spreading through Jeolla Province at a startling pace. I learned the reason later: Seo Gong-sun was what this era would have called an insider. In other words, the man had a great many friends.

And as a result—

"I've come to see Master Unam!"

"Master, just one lecture, I beg you!"

"The book — give me the book! I'll pay whatever it costs!"

"Master Unam, what should our Joseon do from here?"

"Teacher!"

Not long after the books began to sell, they came in droves — endless requests for meetings, handshakes, lectures, all aimed at this body of mine.

Gray-haired yangban and green young scholars alike thrust their hands out roughly and shouted my name without pause.

I have no idea what rumors he spread, but Seo Gong-sun — who had walked off with my still-untitled book — had turned a mere convict into a star overnight. Of course, lurking behind him were the Confucian networks of Choe Ik-hyeon's Hwaseo School and Yu In-seok's Wijongcheoksa faction. Still.

Around this point, I began, slowly, to enjoy myself.

"Ahh. So this is what they call popularity?"

In the end I gave up on everything and threw myself into the demands of the age. If the world wanted me like this, I would give it what it wanted. Wouldn't you?

And so today, once again, it was a lecture. A discourse. Seasoned, just a little, with advanced twenty-first-century populism.

"Ahem."

I cleared my throat, and the men packed below the porch — who had been watching no one but me — stirred and murmured.

"Ohh!"

"He's going to speak!"

"First, I thank you all, from the heart, for coming here today."

And so I opened my mouth to the men before me, young and old alike, their eyes shining bright.

My right hand clenched into a fist and thrust toward the sky. My back was straight. I stood as if I owned the earth beneath me.

"Before I take questions, today's lecture will concern the fierce national character of we Joseon people — our spirit, our endurance — and the Japanese, who, having been defeated by the Western barbarians, have lost their history and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠their traditions and now drift without purpose, as well ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠as the vile Manchus who seized the Central Plains—"

And so, once again, I began a speech disguised as a lecture.