Killing the Tyrant (2)

The blood-soaked struggle that had mortgaged the future of the Korean people was over.

In Hanseong, at least.

"...Comrades."

The place I stood was not the vast and hollow palace we had seized after driving out the tyrant.

I stood stiffly upon the dais and let an indifferent gaze fall across the crowd packed below. This was the headquarters of the Dongmaenghoe.

"...And to the people who have stood in this place with us until today's revolution could come to pass."

We did not fill the palace the tyrant had vacated.

To put it more honestly, perhaps no one quite dared to march into the inner palace like a conquering army and start holding forth about a new government.

"Good day to you all."

The reason was simple.

The Gaehwadang, which had launched the uprising at the completion ceremony and published the revolutionary platform that served as the detonator of the whole affair, had lost a considerable share of its strength to the suppression forces' fierce counteroffensive. Their counterparts in the Sadaedang, meanwhile, had fractured and splintered amid the intrigues of the royal house and the court.

And who, in a situation like that, still stood intact?

"I am Woo-nam Syngman Rhee, party leader of the Dongmaenghoe and Chairman of the People's Committee, charged today with announcing the provisional government of Hanseong."

The result was a vast vacuum of power in the capital. And that power, as if by nature itself, began to gather once more around whatever military force had managed to survive.

After the revolution's victory, the shift in Joseon's landscape of power ran as follows.

For reference, Min Young-ik — who had survived with our help and been half-forcibly enrolled in the Dongmaenghoe — and Min Yeong-hwan — who had come up to the capital after ending his seclusion — had split into an Old Yeoheung Min and a New Yeoheung Min, much as the Daewongun had once smashed the Andong Kim clan, and were now cheerfully shooting at each other inside the Capital Police Garrison.

First they had to survive, they said, before they could slowly atone for their clan's original sins against the people. Or something to that effect.

Thanks to that, Min clansmen whose names had already been written into the Gaehwadang's kill list — men who had already departed this world — were being hauled back out of their coffins and put on public parade. At any rate, this whole affair had given me a new appreciation for the likes of Min Yeong-hwan and Min Young-ik.

Now. Back to the matter at hand.

"Through this gathering, I wish once more to offer you my gratitude."

I had arranged today's assembly for no particularly complicated reason.

The citizens of Hanseong — and, beyond them, the entire people of Joseon — urgently needed to settle a single question. Namely: who ought to wear the throne that had fallen to the ground, its master gone? Or rather, whom should we seat upon that emptied chair of power?

That was why I had stepped forward today. After letting it steam, nice and slow.

"And regarding the announcement to be made today, I sincerely, earnestly beg that as many of you as possible will give it your most heartfelt consideration."

Having driven out the tyrant and begun cleaning the blood-soaked streets of Hanseong one by one, the revolutionary forces had started to wonder.

What is this? Why was it so easy?

The unremarkable personage whom the Dongmaenghoe and Gaehwadang had endlessly branded a tyrant had, shockingly enough, been dragged down in a manner equally unremarkable.

What was more, contrary to anxious fears that royalist armies would rise in the three southern provinces, or in Pyeongan Province — loyal as it was to the royal house — and strike back at the revolutionary government, the public mood was utterly still.

And so:

Well then. Shall we move on to the next step?

Voices began to rise within the Dongmaenghoe as well, asking whether it was not time to proceed. The people respected us. The gentry and the great clans were holding their breath and watching our faces. Why shouldn't we do as we pleased?

Except.

So... what do we do now...?

That was the problem.

The revolutionary army's expulsion of the tyrant and collapse of his corrupt, incompetent court had followed a trajectory entirely different from any previous restoration coup. This was a coup that was not a coup — a restoration raised by men who had never wanted a restoration.

Unlike their predecessors, who had staged such affairs in order to enthrone some particular king, the Dongmaenghoe and Gaehwadang had not launched a revolution to install anyone. The great majority of them had dragged King Yi Hyeong out with a sentiment closer to: Hey, get out! You really can't run a country for shit!

To be honest, even I — who had seized every opportunity from behind the scenes and scored a magnificent windfall — had doubted it right up until the moment I watched the tyrant being hauled out before me.

And so I, along with every person in Joseon, now hesitated to speak lightly of the uncertainty that lay before our fatherland. Just as the Gaehwadang and Dongmaenghoe had begun to snarl at each other over their differences, while the surviving Sadaedang and the ministers of the old government rolled their eyes this way and that through the war of nerves.

Faced with that spectacle of impending internal fracture, I finally resolved to take the lead, clutched my parched throat, and cleared it. I had declared I would not hide in the rear — and that had been two years ago already.

"Ahem."

And so I calmly opened my mouth before the vast crowd packed into the Hanseong headquarters of the Dongmaenghoe — the building that had been elevated to a provisional government, or rather, that now served as the administrative offices in place of Yukjo Street, which the fighting in the capital had left in utter ruin. I had deliberately kept silent through three ambiguous days that might have been called short, or might have been called long.

A hint, if you will: politics is like cooking rice. Just as rice tastes best when you let it steam just long enough, politics, too, comes out flavorful. That is the idea.

"As of this afternoon, the person of the tyrant has been formally delivered into the custody of the revolutionary army. Accordingly, the revolutionary government will demand ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the official resignation of every political figure and every ministerial post of the former government. Personnel of the Ministry of War who held their posts through the revolution are no exception."

At the close of every sentence of the prepared statement, the corridor filled with the snap of camera shutters and the scratch of pencils across notepads — correspondents from the Korea Daily News, and from the Hansong Sunbo, which the tyrant's press suppression had forced to close.

"The constitutional draft and the cabinet organization of the new government, to be built in time for the coming new year, will be announced in the near future."

The shutters crashed and clicked again.

People feel terror before an uncertain future, before a future they cannot see. The citizens of Hanseong and the people of Joseon — who had, through the process of revolution, watched men and horses slaughtered and houses burn — were no different. After violence that had been brief but intense, what they wanted now was stability.

"I would ask the people to understand, with some depth, that this is a nationwide resolution reached after the most careful deliberation — founded upon the fact that the only organ capable of substituting for the administration and the exercise of justice of a former government which is, without exaggeration, halfway to a vegetative government since the tyrant's fall, is our Dongmaenghoe."

The journalists seemed to like my phrase — vegetative government — and their pencils went scratching with fresh enthusiasm. I paused the announcement until they had finished taking it down, and when the rasp of lead died away I opened my mouth again.

"Even so, there are those who look with worry upon the reports that will surely come in — of foolish elements still loyal to the directives of the former government, or still obeying the tyrant's deranged commands, stirring up disorder throughout the provinces."

There were people upon whose feet the fire had fallen when the leading figures of the Dongmaenghoe — and I, their party leader, in particular — had kept silent for three days without any reaction worth the name.

Figures of the old government. Men of the Sadaedang. The New Yeoheung Min. Corrupt officials who still held posts out in the provinces. And the Dongmaenghoe cadres and Gaehwadang principals who were wringing their hands over what to do with all of them.

Most of them, now that the victory of a revolution that had already scattered blood in every direction seemed secure, were shrinking from the thought of scattering still more. And into that feeble state of mind the provincial grafters, the swindlers, and the traitors to the nation had come plunging, swapping out their nameplates and waving their flags for all they were worth, begging this side to let them live.

But that would not do.

"As of this hour, the administrative force of the former government is suspended in its entirety. Armed resistance in Hanseong and throughout the Gyeonggi hinterland will be regarded as an act of treason."

It would have been an insult to the history of the red banner, written in the blood of our people. It would have been a betrayal of the revolution, and a fraud upon the people who had given it their support.

"To the traitors of the nation across the land."

I flung the statement I had been holding in both hands into the air and fixed the journalists with two eyes burning hot.

In that instant every sound in the corridor died. The shutters. The pencils. Even the breathing. All of it.

I had just proven, on this very spot, the unscientific experiment that a bomb can also go off from a man's mouth.

Into several hundred rabbit-wide eyes I declared it again, so that no one could mistake me.

At my sudden declaration of another war, the faces of the journalists, the pressmen, and the old-government figures twisted into every shape imaginable. Some bolted from the corridor at a run. Some scribbled furiously. Some, whether from shock or from rapture, had tears running freely from both eyes.

"Prior to the inauguration of the new government and the announcement of the cabinet, the Provisional Committee will immediately establish a new commission for the liquidation of corruption. Its name shall be the Public Security Committee."

The moment a new organ of government issued from my mouth, the journalists' hands grew frantic. Their eyes, bright with questions, pressed in upon me with something like menace, but I refused those stares to the end and went on.

"The Public Security Committee shall be represented by a person nominated by the thirteen deputies of the Provisional Committee, as resolved by the Dongmaenghoe and the Gaehwadang. Its duties and its scope remain, as yet, undetermined."

That was when it happened.

"...Long live the revolution! Long live the revolution!"

"Sir — you cannot make a disturbance here."

"On a day of such joy, am I forbidden even to weep aloud, even to laugh? Do not stop me! Long live the revolution! Long live Joseon! Ten thousand years to the people of Joseon!"

Even from where I stood I could see it: a man behind the press seats who had finally gone from sobbing to clapping, seized at last by party members of the Vanguard and dragged away.

"..."

Ah. That was Yun Chi-ho.

I had only exchanged a few words with him, so I was not yet used to the man — but perhaps because he was still young, he had, contrary to the infamy of the pro-Japanese traitor I knew him for, a strikingly pure streak about him still.

What was it he had said to me? That the people's revolution of Joseon, led by the Dongmaenghoe and the Gaehwadang, was historic proof that would demonstrate the excellence of the Korean nation to the entire world...?

In any case, he was not the only one. Several others, like Yun Chi-ho, had been unable to master their joy, raised a ruckus, and been hauled out.

I turned my eyes with some effort from those fanatics of the revolution and spoke to the journalists who still held their seats.

"The soldiers of the new Capital Guard camps, including the Vanguard presently engaged in the security of the capital and in police operations throughout Gyeonggi, will in due course expand their operational range to all eight provinces of the country. The regions first selected are as follows. The special demonstration cities of Hanyang, Kaesong, Incheon, Gwangju, Pyongyang..."

Just as the original owner of this body had once done in Busan, it was Joseon's first-ever declaration of a war on crime — rammed through like a Railroad Vote.

To be perfectly honest, the Provisional Committee, the new government, the Public Security Committee, the "declaration of a war on crime," and all the rest of it were nothing but so much sleight of hand.

"Ah, hang it! You ought to just take the throne yourself."

"Haha. The joke is wearing thin."

"I am not joking! With a candidate as good as you sitting right here, what the hell is this about Prince Gyeongeun, or Prince Cheongan? What did those bastards ever do for our revolution? Madmen, the lot of them..."

I only smiled at Woo Beom-seon, who was tipping back cup after cup with a face gone flushed and bright.

If it were that easy to settle, my friend, I would not be losing sleep over it.

We were standing at a fork in the road — a republic, a monarchy, or a council of soviets? — and he expected me to simply announce, I am the strongest, so shut up, you idiots?

"Time will settle it, little by little. For now it is quite enough that the Dongmaenghoe is gradually being recognized as a new organ of power in place of the old court. And with the tyrant's treatment still unresolved, to start discussing the throne at once would—"

"Ah, I know that! But when there is no candidate so perfect as you, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠why must we even bother to agonize over it?"

Having poured that much of his heart out, Woo Beom-seon folded his arms, and the look on his face said he had meant every word.

"Ahem. Is this what they call replacing the unworthy and installing the worthy? I am a dullard in politics, so I honestly cannot tell. But is it not more or less the same thing?"

"..."

"It is a murky business, I grant you. The tyrant is not a false king, after all. He is only in custody because our momentum overwhelmed him. He is still, strictly speaking, the sovereign. And if we leave the palace empty, talk will start sooner or later, will it not? So someone has to take the lead, plant the flag, and—"

"There is no need for that."

"Wha—!?"

At that moment two old men were added to a room that had held only the two of us.

"It has been some time."

"Has it, now?"

The two who appeared were the present meritorious elder of the Confucian literati — a revolutionary hero — and his self-proclaimed second-in-command.

"Elder Chan-gyeom?"

"Well, well."

Our Choe Ik-hyeon, who might as well have had I am a man of rigid principle written shamelessly across his face, clicked his tongue at Woo Beom-seon, whose cheeks were still flushed with drink, and opened his mouth.

"Could not even wait that long before you started your complaining again."

"A-aigoo, that is not it at all!"

"Donnyeongbusa, I rather think you had best send that fellow north. A man who drinks like that in peacetime — how he stays sober on a battlefield I shall never understand."

"That is not so, elders!"

Having held forth in that fashion, Choe Ik-hyeon and Yu In-seok squeezed themselves in between us and gestured for cups to be brought. Woo Beom-seon snapped back to his senses at once and lifted the bottle.

"Ah — Elder Chan-gyeom. What I mean is, I was not putting any wild and baseless notions into Seung-man's head—"

"A moment ago. You said the tyrant is not yet a false king?"

"I... beg your pardon?"

The mere lifting of a wrinkled palm was enough. Woo Beom-seon's instincts were still alive, but Choe Ik-hyeon cut off the disjointed excuses before they could begin and held a single sealed letter out before me.

"He is a false king now."

I took the letter without a word. Beside me, Yu In-seok urged me to open it at once.

"?"

"Heh heh. Open it, if you would."

I took hold of the flap. Yu In-seok snickered without another word, and Choe Ik-hyeon — for reasons I could not immediately name — had his shoulders set a good deal higher than usual.

Hm?

Wait. Choe Ik-hyeon's shoulders were up? Looking again, his nose seemed to have climbed a notch as well. Was I imagining it?

And his shoulders were up? This old man, who ordinarily went about with the word humility glued to his lips?

With two unsteady eyes I tore open the envelope Choe Ik-hyeon had handed me and read its contents at speed.

It cannot be.

And what cannot be, was.

Two characters, heavy enough to feel in the hand. Deposed.

The drink had already left him. Woo Beom-seon, who had pressed in close at my side, squinted at the letter, then let his mouth fall wide open and loosed a single strangled cry.

"Deposed!? Is this real? That stiff-necked Grand Queen Dowager just quietly issued a royal instruction— mmph!"

"Man, have some dignity, I beg you! This is not Namwon!"

So the Pungyang Jo, in the end, had gone begging to the greatest elder of their own house in order to survive!

Having more or less guessed how the letter had come to us, Woo Beom-seon swept the two elders with a sly look and muttered under his breath.

"This — this! All that lofty dignity, all that grave composure, and behind our backs the two of you have been cooking—"

"Ah, will you close that mouth!"

Yu In-seok barely managed to clamp a hand over Woo Beom-seon's furiously babbling lips and dragged him bodily out of the room. Choe Ik-hyeon, who had been quietly draining his cup, opened his mouth at last.

"...Have you no mind to take it?"

"!"

You will understand well enough the shock that single sentence delivered.

The throne.

Considering the sorcery that name carries, it is not a name one can shake off lightly.

I, the King of Joseon?

King.

At the look that froze on my face, Choe Ik-hyeon folded both hands before him in silence, as if to say it was a thing one might well consider — and I said nothing.

But my silence did not last long.

"Must I... really?"

"Ahem. Yes, of course, a man like you would accept— wait. What did you say...?"

At my bewildered answer, the mask of tension Choe Ik-hyeon had worn from the first finally cracked. His eyes went as round as a pair of full ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠moons, and he shouted.

"WHYYYY!?"

Ah. First victory recorded. How sweet is the scream of a Confucian master.

When I, if anything, put on a look of quiet sorrow, Choe Ik-hyeon — still unable to wipe the shock from his face — spluttered an explanation, spit flying.

"Y-you do not seem to have grasped it. The local gentry, the people of Hanyang, even the royal house itself have all together marked you for the next throne! And you say you will not take it!?"

"What."

I turned a faint smile upon Choe Ik-hyeon, whose dismay had not yet begun to fade.

"No. To be honest, I don't want it."

My answer had been decided a long time ago.

In truth, the man who exploded before the bomb I had dropped that afternoon was Choe Ik-hyeon, in the small hours of the morning.