Into the Tiger's Lair
With shipbuilding safely entrusted to the reliable duo of Yeo Hong-seong and Sima Shang, I no longer had anything to worry about. At last, I could devote myself entirely to my own work. Managing Changseong's administration, running the merchant guild, overseeing ship construction—none of these tasks meant I had nothing left to do. Quite the opposite. There was so much to handle that I had no choice but to delegate. If I had truly wanted to laze about, I would never have come here in the first place.
Clang! Clang! Hisssss—! A piercing metallic screech tore through the air. The place I now stood was the blacksmith's forge.
"Young Master, you've arrived."
Song Eok, the head blacksmith in charge of the forge, approached me with the ease of someone long accustomed to my visits.
"How is the progress on what I instructed last time?"
"As you directed, we've been adjusting the ratios little by little, but we have yet to see any meaningful results. My apologies."
"Not at all. If you find yourself short on anything or discover something new, don't hesitate to tell me."
"I will, without fail."
After receiving a brief report from Song Eok on the work completed so far, I looked around the forge. His apprentices labored before the roaring flames, sweat pouring down their faces as they hammered glowing red ingots. The sight stirred something fierce in the heart of any onlooker.
'No, it's not just my imagination—the heat really is intense.'
Still, repeated visits had brought a measure of adaptation. My first time here had been a genuine struggle to keep my expression under control. Even as the sweltering air pressed against my skin and the constant dance with danger wore on my nerves, I had come to realize that life here was not so bad after all.
'And back then, I was surprised by how closely it resembled what I remembered.'
Metalworking fell into two broad categories. Casting, where molten metal was poured into a mold to take shape. Forging, where metal was hammered or pressed into the desired form. Since casting was the simpler method, I had naturally assumed it would be the dominant technique in this era. That assumption had not been entirely wrong—casting remained the standard in Zhao. But Yan was different. Yan had long since moved beyond casting and adopted forging as its primary method. That was not all. When I first entered the forge, the sounds I heard were not only the ringing of hammers on iron. There was also the sharp hiss of red-hot metal being plunged into water to quench it. Yan's metallurgy had already advanced to include both forging and quenching.
Yet forging was not the only area of progress. While improved forging techniques produced superior ironware, casting still held the advantage in mass production, so its methods continued to develop as well. Honestly, even after hearing the explanations, I could not claim to understand them perfectly. According to Song Eok, however, Yan's heat-treatment techniques for cast ironware were the finest among all the states. Still, there were several things I knew better than he did. One of them was the chogang method—the process for producing steel in quantity—that I had instructed him to pursue.
One might wonder how I could know about something like the chogang method when I admitted to not fully grasping the explanations. Anyone my age in my previous life would have at least a rough idea; it had been a central element in a famous historical drama. The story centered on the founder of Goguryeo, and the dramatization of implementing the steel-making technique developed in Han had delivered a powerful sense of catharsis through the actors' performances.
So what made the chogang method so remarkable? To understand that, one first had to know the types of iron. Iron was classified into four categories according to its carbon content, listed from highest to lowest: cast iron, steel, wrought iron, and pure iron. High carbon content produced cast iron; almost none produced pure iron. Cast iron was hard but lacked ductility, making it brittle—hence its suitability for casting, as its very name suggested. Yet its brittleness rendered it unsuitable for weapons. Pure iron, by contrast, was too soft. What was needed was steel. The chogang method was a way to produce steel in large quantities. If steel could be secured in bulk, there would be no reason to cling to bronze.
The problem was that while I roughly knew the chogang method shown in the drama, I did not know the precise ratios or the finer details of the technique. That was something I could not resolve on my own; it had to be left in the hands of the craftsmen. But time and funding had always been the decisive factors in perfecting any technology. Since the two existed in inverse proportion, pouring the profits from the merchant guild into this project would eventually yield results.
'Once the ship is finished, I should divert a little more of the budget this way.'
Truly excellent steel would require more than simply implementing the chogang method. Several other ideas had already occurred to me. I was tackling them one at a time rather than all at once, partly because of the budget and partly because of manpower shortages. With Changseong's population still small, the limitation was inevitable.
I sat in the forge for a long while, pondering how best to advance the technology further. Watching the actual work being done always seemed to spark inspiration more readily. Who knew? If I stayed long enough, perhaps another breakthrough beyond the chogang method would strike me. But today was not that day. Once I had organized my thoughts, I rose from my seat.
"I will take my leave, then."
"Ah, please go safely."
With Song Eok's farewell, I left the forge. I had no particular destination in mind and simply wandered through Changseong. Walking often helped clear my thoughts, and it also let me observe how the people lived and what they lacked.
'After all, desire begins with scarcity. If I can identify what inconveniences people in their daily lives, I can create products to meet those needs and sell them.'
The merchant guild already dealt in dozens of goods, including basic soap, detergents, and medicines derived from the o-su-yu tree. Yet Yan's natural environment was different. Although the guild's main headquarters remained in Zhao and I had no intention of moving it, my most critical base of power was still here in Yan. If I could ease the hardships of Yan's people, I might expand my support and influence within the state as well.
'Still, the real problem is Jin Gai...'
While the development of metallurgy and shipbuilding was a matter of time and money, Jin Gai's case belonged to a realm those material resources could not touch. With the Lord of Pingyuan and the Lord of Xinling, I had been able to offer clear benefits. With Jin Gai, I had nothing comparable to offer. Nor was he the sort of man who would respond to the seal of the Lord of Pingyuan the way Lian Po or Li Mu might. If he were like Geuksin—someone from the same background as Chu Yeon, a man of talent from the Golden Terrace—I could at least appeal to old connections. But Jin Gai was originally from Yan. Even then, he was not a pure Yan native in the usual sense. Like me, he had been sent as a hostage to the Eastern Hu in his youth and had grown up there, earning great trust among them. It was similar to how I had gained the trust and support of the Lord of Pingyuan, the most powerful figure in Zhao, a state that had once been my enemy. After returning to Yan, Jin Gai rose to become a general and in turn subjugated the Eastern Hu. He had also overseen the massive construction project that extended Yan's Great Wall all the way to Yangping in Liaodong. Once known as the Left Sword of King Shaoyang and famed for his loyalty, Jin Gai had eventually taken root in Liaodong, building a semi-independent power that answered to no one at court. His overwhelming prestige in Liaodong and the support of the local tribes made such autonomy possible. He had not completely broken from Yan—he still sent regular taxes and never refused royal commands. Yet the court refrained from making excessive demands, fearing that any heavy-handed approach might sour relations. The relationship between the court and Jin Gai was one in which both sides observed only the bare minimum of obligations. Even during the last war between Yan and Zhao, Liaodong had contributed only supplies, sending no troops.
'I really cannot see any clear way forward.'
How could I win Jin Gai's support? The question lingered all the way back to my residence, yet no answer presented itself. Still, I could not simply keep putting it off until a solution appeared. When had I ever waited until every contingency was prepared before acting? Sometimes one had to move first and deal with the consequences. And if the problem could not be solved with material incentives, perhaps a direct approach would open a path instead.
'If I go to Liaodong, a new way forward might reveal itself.'
Just as one must enter the tiger's den to catch the tiger. If I could not find a way to persuade Jin Gai from the outside, then I would go inside. The same way I had walked among the people today, searching for new goods to meet their needs.
'Once the ship is complete, I will depart immediately.'