The Gapsin Coup (1)

On a morning when icicles hung like spikes from the tips of skeletal, withered branches, an officer in a uniform that owed nothing whatsoever to Joseon's native style planted both hands on his hips and roared with every scrap of lung he possessed at the hundreds of heads gathered at his feet.

"Soldiers!"

"Forward, march!"

The earth itself seemed to tremble. Fists punched skyward in perfect rhythm; blue-trousered knees folded like the joints of a machine. Tramp, tramp, tramp. Some two thousand Qing troops, assembled directly beneath Donuimun — the Gate of Righteousness — shouldered their rifles and began to file out of Hanseong in impeccable order.

Two years had passed since the Imo year, when mutinous soldiers had risen in revolt and the King had fled to Jemulpo.

"Hmph."

A man standing on the ramparts watched the blue ant-column trickle out through the gate, then opened his mouth as if he could scarcely believe his own eyes.

"They actually withdrew. Is this the power of the press?"

The Qing army had begun to pull out. At that, every newspaper still alive in Joseon — the official gazette, the Hansong Sunbo, which had repeatedly attacked Qing tyranny, had long since been shut down, leaving only the Korea Daily News published by the Dongmaenghoe — had been splashing the story across its pages for days.

"The press, my foot."

A man came lightly bounding up the stone steps toward the gate tower: Kim Ok-gyun, Vice Minister of Foreign Affairs. The man behind the battlements started at the sight of him.

"Baeg-on."

"So that's where you'd gotten to. You came all the way up here just to watch the Qing army leave? That's all?"

The man caught at the end of Kim Ok-gyun's sour gaze was Yun Chi-ho, leaning against the rampart, his eyes still following the receding backs of the Qing troops.

"They're finally leaving, the wretched things."

Unlike Kim Ok-gyun, who had suffered no small ordeal in a Hanseong whose temper had been murderous toward anyone anti-Qing right up to the day of withdrawal, Yun Chi-ho had passed the time in relative comfort under his father's protection. Kim's lips twisted.

"Must be nice, being you."

"...Heh heh."

Yun Chi-ho caught, in that tone, the sharp edge of his friend's mood — his comrade in revolution, the supreme leader of the Enlightenment Party — and answered with a hollow little laugh.

"You say 'that's all'? Do you have any idea how momentous this day is?"

"Hah. Momentous."

"Is it not a remarkable day — the day we drove them out by wisdom, not by force?"

At Yun Chi-ho's words, Kim Ok-gyun narrowed his eyes in open contempt at the thousands of black heads receding into the distance, and went on.

"It's all thanks to the Office of State Affairs and His Majesty working behind the scenes. Still — I'm glad enough I won't have to look at those parasites anymore."

"What...?"

Kim spoke as if the Qing withdrawal were a trifle, visibly delighted by nothing except the prospect of no longer having to keep company with those greedy swine. Yun Chi-ho brought his palm down on a jutting stone of the battlement with a sharp slap.

"Even so, the gathering of the Manmin Gongdonghoe and the men of the Dongmaenghoe was the most decisive pressure—"

"Ah, yes. That's how it might look to the world."

"Baeg-on!"

Kim Ok-gyun cut his friend and comrade off with a weary flick of the hand, and looked up at the plaque hanging from the gate tower with an irritated eye. Of all the characters on Donuimun, only the one for Righteousness still showed a faint, pale gleam; the rest had weathered and begun to peel away.

"The Dongmaenghoe. Yes."

He inclined his head, conceding the point. Credit, at least, had to be given. He's arrogant, and it stings — but Seongheum is right.

It was only Yun Chi-ho's view of the matter, of course, but the man was not wrong. The Dongmaenghoe, the boy orator, and the people of the whole country had, in fact, raised one voice and clamored until the Qing army withdrew.

Remembering those days when thousands had gathered in a single place to demand the troops' departure, Kim Ok-gyun murmured under his breath.

"I'm grateful they stirred the whole country up again. Thanks to them, the Qing — already out of their minds over Vietnam — were badly shaken."

It was less that they had been beaten than that they had glimpsed a club hovering behind their heads. The Qing army, locked in a blood-soaked struggle in Vietnam, had caught wind of a massive anti-Qing current in Hanyang, capital of their greatest vassal, and hastily packed their bags. Better to save face while they still could, gather up everything worth gathering, and leave in a hurry, than to scratch up a two-front war they did not need.

A sorry spectacle.

That Wu Changqing, the Qing representative who had been stalling for months over treaty revision and withdrawal, and General Nie, the commanding officer, had reversed their attitude in a single stroke when the telegram arrived from Beijing was hardly surprising. Rumor had it that the Qing army, locked in a do-or-die contest in Vietnam, had seen ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the tide turn sharply against them with the arrival of additional ships from the French Far East Fleet.

In a pinch like that, the three thousand Beiyang troops stationed in Joseon would be sorely needed.

Recalling his last conversation with Qing commanders who had tried so hard not to show that the fire was at their own feet, Kim Ok-gyun sneered at the empty air, as if the whole performance were beneath contempt.

"Heh. 'Joseon's public order has been restored; as befits a suzerain, we shall withdraw in good faith.'"

Not a single Joseon soul was ignorant enough to believe a word of it.

The Qing, having begun their withdrawal, put forward the public pretext that Joseon's turmoil had simply subsided and that a garrison which had completed its mission was going home. The Joseon people who received that explanation thought nothing of the kind. On the day the withdrawal was confirmed, the whole nation cried out with one voice.

They believed that the Dongmaenghoe — the boy orator whose clear voice, once he opened his mouth, was said to ring across all eight provinces, bound together with the Confucian literati of the entire country — had pressed from every side until the Qing packed up and left. Even among the ministers of the court, more than a few thought so.

"But the credit for making the Qing withdraw is ours."

And in the midst of all that, the labor of the court and the King — who had, in the filthy, pride-crushing work of unequal negotiation beneath the surface, held on until the end and barely restored the situation to something resembling normality, so that the Qing could actually leave — was remembered by no one, and credited to no one.

Enough to drive a man mad.

It was a truth that might, decades from now, finally come to light. Kim Ok-gyun, who wore the title of Vice Minister of Foreign Affairs, who was neither of the pro-Qing faction nor — still less — of the Wijeongcheoksa, and who had put his own signature to the treaty revision, was at this very moment ready to lose his mind from the sheer injustice of it.

"Damn it."

"Ahem."

In any event, Kim Ok-gyun — supreme leader of the Enlightenment Party, whose dearest wish was that Joseon should civilize itself as swiftly as possible and step forward as a modern nation — found the whole thing merely regrettable.

"Your words are too harsh, Baeg-on."

"Hm? Ah—!"

Yun Chi-ho gave a cough of discomfort at the sight of his friend diminishing the Dongmaenghoe's achievement, and Kim Ok-gyun started and hastily gathered up his words. Seongheum was, to him, a friend of no great consequence — but the man's father, Lord Yun Ung-ryeol, was a figure of considerable importance, the man who held the Enlightenment Party's key military authority.

"Ahem. Well. Frankly, if we're being honest, we didn't do a thing. The decisive reason the Qing withdrew was that the business in Vietnam went wrong, was it not? However much the Beiyang Minister may have led Qing reform with his talk of the Self-Strengthening Movement and Eastern Way, Western Machines, the Qing army still can't stand against France."

"Tsk, tsk."

Even so, he could not bring himself to slight the boy Syngman Rhee, who had properly introduced a European-style mass politics in Joseon — a land that was barren ground for civilization — or the Dongmaenghoe, or his own country's people who had answered that call and united to drive the Qing out. So Kim Ok-gyun circled all the way around and fell to denigrating the Qing instead. Yun Chi-ho delivered a cold, clipped verdict on this friend whose words kept reversing themselves.

"...You seem rather overexcited."

"Nngh..."

"Watch your words. The will to democratic politics that the Dongmaenghoe and the people of this country have shown today will be a model for all Asia. Indeed it will."

Even as he scolded his friend, there was a considerable edge to Yun Chi-ho's own speech. As if some raw nerve had been touched. Kim Ok-gyun shot him a meaningful sidelong glance, but Yun, lost in his own heat, did not notice, and pressed on.

"I believe without a shadow of doubt that this country, Joseon, will become a public that knows how to draw a clear line between rights and responsibilities — like the citizens of France, and further, of the United States of America — in a world order that is transforming like a storm."

"..."

"What else are the Three Principles of the People that Master Unam and the Dongmaenghoe proclaim? They are democracy itself. He is young, and so he sometimes invites misunderstanding — but the man is a genuine genius. Without any Western education of his own, he found light in the truths of Neo-Confucianism, which everyone had dismissed as hidebound, and held out a hand of change to the literati."

And there it was. Where Kim Ok-gyun, as leader, believed that a handful of elites ought to stand at the center — as the Three Great Heroes of the Restoration had done in Japan's successful Meiji Restoration — to enlighten the masses of Joseon and lead the nation's modernization in due course, Yun Chi-ho, who had repeatedly failed to take office and lived at his ease as a private citizen, was rather more well-disposed toward the boy orator and the common people of Joseon who so fervently supported him.

Yun Chi-ho, who considered himself a man of discernment, went on, thoroughly absorbed in his own argument.

"The true essence of enlightenment is that one not be buried in any single doctrine."

What was more, Yun Chi-ho personally — as a matter of national pride — had watched Japan and the Qing, nations that had until recently shared Joseon's own predicament, grope and shove their way through the process of modernization, and had envied them even as he despised them. And now the seed of democracy, which the Western powers were said to have brought to flower, was to germinate from Confucian learning itself, the very pride of Joseon? A man of ordinary vanity and fierce self-regard, Yun Chi-ho simply could not bear it. An attack upon young Unam, Syngman Rhee, would be regarded as an attack upon himself.

"And it will be the path by which our Joseon, last to open its ports, may be first to win recognition from the foremost powers of the world. The Self-Strengthening Movement, the Meiji Restoration — by your own argument, they are all superficial reforms. Those people still have not grasped what the true strength of the great powers is. But the people of Joseon are different. If you choose to ignore that..."

Yun Chi-ho, still leaning against the rampart in an easy posture, raised his index finger and pointed at his own two eyes, as if to say he would be watching. Kim Ok-gyun swallowed and changed the subject. Leave the man to it, and they would waste this important day — the day the Qing army withdrew — on a pointless quarrel.

"Ahem! More to the point — that boy orator you praise so endlessly hasn't shown himself on this day of celebration. Have you heard anything of what's become of him?"

"...Syngman?"

"For the man who claims to be his most ardent admirer not to know is simply absurd."

"Mm."

"As I heard it, Unam was seen leaving in haste for Pyongyang with a few others. Perhaps he felt a sense of déjà vu about the Qing withdrawing so meekly?"

"You mean he went to confirm they were really leaving?"

"It could be that. Or — having accomplished the great work he promised the people — he may mean to return to private life. He is a true scholar, is he not?"

Yun Chi-ho's pupils shook, as if the news had thrown him into confusion. Kim Ok-gyun, who did not miss the look, added quickly:

"If young Syngman stood with our Enlightenment Party, we couldn't ask for more! As things stand, the boy orator is welcomed by every class in Joseon. Having him with us would be like gaining a heavenly host."

"...That's true. If Master Unam stood with us, it would mean the Dongmaenghoe and all its branches would support the Enlightenment Party. Even if we don't hope for as much as that — if he merely showed a favorable response to enlightenment, we'd be more than grateful."

Hah. That's a relief.

Seeing Yun Chi-ho drop his guard and concede the point, Kim Ok-gyun swallowed a deep sigh at the back of his throat. Who would have guessed that this stingy, self-important fellow was such a fervent supporter of Unam?

Tsk. If his father weren't commander of the Northern Army, he'd be a nobody.

This was a world in which a man could be appointed to office on the mere fact ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of having drifted overseas for a stretch of study. And yet Yun Chi-ho had not been given even a modest post. A wretched, pitiful creature if ever there was one.

Having run him down in silence, Kim Ok-gyun promptly rearranged his face into something amiable and opened his mouth with shameless ease.

"If it comes to that, only one obstacle will remain in the path of Joseon's reform."

"Only one?"

"Yes. Only one. The Sadaedang."

Yun Chi-ho turned the word over in his mouth. Then something seemed to dawn on him, and he flinched, a broken sound escaping him.

"It can't be—!"

"Yes. It is exactly that."

Leaving the startled Yun Chi-ho where he stood, Kim Ok-gyun came up beside him, leaned against the rampart, and dropped his voice to a whisper at his friend's ear.

At the same moment, a cold north wind came howling through, enough to freeze every last trace of the heat that had hung between the two men.

The fragile peace of Hanseong had, at last, come to an end.

The date set for the uprising was, as it happened, the celebratory banquet of the Postal Administration.

Pop, pop, pop! A contraption called a camera, brought in from the West, spat fire again and again, recording this historic moment onto its plates.

"Congratulations!"

The whole assembly, gathered late in the evening for the banquet, raised a cheer. The General Postal Bureau, whose opening had been postponed again and again after the Imo Incident wrecked its principal instruments and machinery, had at last begun its work. It was proof that Joseon's heart, which had briefly stopped on the road to modernization, had begun to beat once more — and proof, too, that a certain family had survived the countless political struggles of the age.

That family was, of course—

"A joyous day, a joyous day!"

"Our congratulations, Maritime Defense Commissioner!"

"Haha. My thanks."

Among the great and lesser officials assembled at the detached palace for the inauguration, the greater number had gathered around Min Yeong-mok, Maritime Defense Commissioner and Director of the Royal Clan Office. And little wonder: now that the Qing army had withdrawn, he stood at the very core of Joseon's power.

The sycophants who had flocked to him whispered.

"I hear your nephew has been appointed acting secretary of general affairs at the Postal Administration. We shall look to your continued favor."

"Come now, my good man. You ought to make that request of the nephew who received the appointment, not of me. What power do I have?"

"Oh my — after the Ministry of Taxation, is this not the next great teat of the court, the most vital of posts? In due course, Your ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Excellency yourself must take the Postal Administration's affairs in hand."

"Ahem, ahem."

Min Yeong-mok made no particular effort to drive off the men pouring honeyed words at his elbow, and confined himself to coughing. For the sycophants were not wrong: the Postal Administration was no mere sinecure for the handling of letters.

To think that something called a postal money order should bring in such sums.

The matter was not yet certain, but according to the German customs superintendent and financial advisor, Möllendorff, postal money orders stood every chance of becoming a great source of revenue in the years to come.

Bills of exchange, is it.

And if that purse-string were to be gripped firmly by a nephew of his, or by one of the in-laws—

Our family's foundation would be all the more secure.

Hiding a smile amid the sycophants' congratulations, Min Yeong-mok searched for his kinsmen out of the corner of his eye.

"I hear the Director-General has been promoted to acting secretary of general affairs."

"I merely rendered a modest service, and was offered a burdensome post."

"My, how modest you are!"

At the end of his gaze, surrounded by crowds and looking thoroughly overwhelmed, stood Left State Councillor Min Tae-ho (no relation to Min Young-ik's father of the same name), Min Young-ik, administrator of the Mint, and Min Eung-sik, Director of Military Affairs.

"Our congratulations, Your Excellency!"

"A blessing upon all the people of Joseon."

"Not at all, Your Excellency!"

These were the central figures of the Four Min Coalition that had seized Joseon's political world after the fall of the Daewongun.

They're all doing well.

Min Yeong-mok, who had become the family's senior elder almost by accident after a succession of unhappy deaths among the clan heads, watched his cousins with uneasy eyes — they were still inexperienced, still showing a raw and unpolished side — but then ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he caught sight of the old generals in a corner of the inauguration hall, and let the matter drop.

They stand with us.

They were Front Guard Commander Han Gyu-jik, Rear Guard Commander Yun Tae-jun, and Left Guard Commander Yi Jo-yeon: the Sadaedang's core military men, and the front-line commanders who could presently mobilize the greatest number of troops in the capital.

"Heh, heh. At last."

Gazing at that sturdy backing, Min Yeong-mok grew sentimental. Was this not a Min world?

Thanks to the Qing withdrawal, those Enlightenment Party striplings and that little boy orator have gone quiet of late. It should be a good time to discuss a cabinet reshuffle with His Majesty.

His Present Majesty was not a man to doubt lightly a trust once given. He would surely join, and eagerly, in driving out the Enlightenment Party's young rabble, who made a racket of the court at every turn. And if that failed, one could always go scurrying to Her Majesty the Queen.

"Excellent."

It was then, as Min Yeong-mok was looking over his own people and his faction one by one, receiving the officials and foreign guests assembled for the inauguration, that someone sought him out in haste.

"Maritime Defense Commissioner."

"Hm?"

He turned his head from a foreign guest at the voice calling his name, and started, finding an unexpected figure standing there.

"Vice Minister of Foreign Affairs? Is that you?"

"I trust you have been well."

"Ah—"

The man who had stopped him was none other than Kim Ok-gyun, supreme leader of the Enlightenment Party. For a moment Min Yeong-mok lost his composure at the sight of the Vice Minister offering a greeting with eyes utterly settled and still.

"...I did not expect you to come here."

It was a considerable rudeness, but the Vice Minister shook his head as if it were nothing.

"It would be a shame to skip a major occasion of the court over a private grudge."

"Is that so...?"

As Min Yeong-mok, making no effort to hide his surprise, stood at a loss that the man had sought him out at all, Kim Ok-gyun, his face set, offered his congratulations in a level voice, and put out a hand.

"In any case, Your Excellency. My sincere congratulations on the opening of the Postal Administration."

"Ah. My thanks."

Even as he spoke his gratitude, Min Yeong-mok carefully took the Western handshake that Kim Ok-gyun had extended.

And then—

A crash; a roar.

"Wh-what was that!"

"What is that noise!"

At the ear-splitting blast that came with the shock, people startled and ducked beneath the tables.

Another crash.

"Aaaagh!"

"A bomb!"

On the heels of a second tremendous explosion, the lanterns that had lit the banquet danced all at once, and pale dust came pattering down from the eaves of a roof shaken by the shockwave. This one had gone off closer — much closer.

And then—

"Eh...?"

Min Yeong-mok, who had himself been about to dive under a table in the sudden din, felt a scorching heat at his solar plexus and carefully lowered his eyes.

"Wh-what is this...?"

What met his gaze were trousers soaked red, and a familiar palm that had driven itself in beneath his belly.

"Min Yeong-mok."

A voice that had held no feeling at all now carried something hot, and whispered.

"Kh—!"

Only then could Min Yeong-mok meet Kim Ok-gyun's eyes again.

They were eyes steeped, truly, in madness.