Chapter 66
Chapter 66
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 66
Chapter Title: The Future of the Korean Empire (1)
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“How dare he be so insolent! It was foolish of Us to trust that mere child!”
“Indeed, Your Majesty.”
“Does he think he's something special just because the foreigners treat him well?!”
“Indeed, Your Majesty.”
After Hans had left.
Min Yeong-hwan mechanically agreed with Emperor Gojong's rage while inwardly sighing with relief.
Gojong had gone from disappointment to outright fury at the young baron's cold refusal, but for Min Yeong-hwan, it was better this way—a clean rejection.
In his view, Gojong's plan was far too fanciful.
‘The moment we borrow the might of the German Empire to strike at the Qing, the Russian Empire won't leave Korea alone.’
The Russian Empire was turning a blind eye to the Korean Empire's border disputes with the Qing in Jiandao precisely because it served their interests.
For the Russian Empire—under whose protection the Korean Empire effectively lay—having Korea exert influence in Jiandao on their behalf was like getting a free lunch.
But the moment the Korean Empire accepted German support, the story changed.
It would mean Germany could claim Jiandao's interests instead of Russia.
And the Western powers could tolerate many things, but not the loss of their own gains.
Russia would see it as betrayal by the Korean Empire, abandoning it or swallowing it whole.
Or Japan, that vulture waiting for any chance, might use the Jiandao dispute as a pretext to invade outright.
‘We can't let that happen!’
Min Yeong-hwan was pro-Russian, but not for personal power. It was solely to check Japan, who lurked waiting to devour the Korean Empire with Russia's might distracted.
Thus, he didn't want Russia to swallow Korea either.
Japanese colony or Russian one—either way, the misery for this land and its people would be the same.
If the Jiandao issue escalated into a great power conflict, sparking unwanted flames, the precarious Korean Empire would truly close its doors after five centuries.
‘Why did His Majesty act without consulting me?’
Min Yeong-hwan felt a crisis of faith in his loyalty to the emperor before him.
The Korean Empire had grown through reforms and modernization, advancing beyond the past.
Yet it still fell short of defending itself, riddled with traitors.
And Min Yeong-hwan knew the decisive battle between Russia and Japan was near.
His old Reform Party comrade and pro-Russian leader Yi Yong-ik had declared neutrality, avoiding either side to shield the nation from the storm—but would that suffice?
From his world tour that transformed his naive youth, Min Yeong-hwan knew no voice was more futile than a weak nation's.
‘The Russo-Japanese War will be a grave crisis for us.’
If Russia won, it might be bearable. But if Japan triumphed... he couldn't bear to imagine it.
Yet here was Gojong, still cursing the baron, spouting nonsense about borrowing German might against the Qing.
Perhaps the young baron's existence itself prompted such folly.
Because he was Korean. Just a child—easy to manipulate into securing German military aid, or so he thought.
But this was the boy who, amid arrogant foreigners, claimed a noble title and the German emperor's favor.
A rabbit among tigers was never just a rabbit.
And as expected, the young baron was remarkably shrewd.
Had the civil service exams endured, he might have been the youngest qualifier ever.
‘I owe that young baron my personal thanks.’
Min Yeong-hwan murmured inwardly.
Of course, it served neither him nor Germany, so rejection was natural—but it halted the emperor's solo delusion.
Min Yeong-hwan longed to speak freely with the boy outside such tense settings.
He resolved to visit personally later, with a gift.
* * *
“So this is where Admiral Yi's tomb lies...”
After the disastrous secret meeting with Gojong.
I visited Deok-eui School, where Koreans learned German; comforted workers at German firm Saechang Yanghaeng; inspected the Korean Empire's military band trained by German instructor Eckert—and more—fulfilling our packed schedule.
Gojong seemed to have abandoned hopes in me; no further contact came.
Perhaps he just wanted me gone, out of sight.
But his request was impossible—for me and this nation alike.
Had he mentioned diplomatic independence, I'd have offered advice. But seeking German aid against the Qing crossed the line.
Anyway, water under the bridge.
To clear my head of Gojong's words, I stuck close to Prince Adalbert, focusing on the itinerary.
And inevitably, we arrived here.
The finale of our Korean tour: Admiral Yi Sun-sin's tomb in Asan, Chungcheongnam-do.
I couldn't fathom why we came this far, but Prince Adalbert's will was ironclad.
Our prince now stood piously absorbing Asan's air, like a pilgrim at a holy site.
Look at him—eyes misty with emotion, as if this were home.
Local Asan folk stared at the rare foreigners swarming their village, acting oddly, like we were madmen.
“Well now, what's a horde of foreigners doin' in the village? And what're they up to?”
“They say they're officials on state business, come to pay respects at Chungmu-gong's tomb.”
“How'd foreigners even know of our general?”
“Our Admiral Yi ain't no ordinary man. His fame crossin' oceans ain't strange at all.”
“True enough. He's heaven-sent, after all.”
“Least they're not rampagin' like bandits or Japs. That's somethin'.”
“Still, you sure this is fine? Looks like heatstroke made 'em all lose their minds.”
Assuming we couldn't understand, villagers freely voiced their thoughts.
At least no hostility—good enough.
‘And no one recognizes me.’
Unlike bustling Hanyang or Jemulpo, this rural spot knew little of me.
In Hanyang, crowds mobbed me constantly—exhausting. Here, peace at last.
Swipe—
“Hey, kid, you from Seoul?”
As I eyed Prince Adalbert's antics askance, a village boy younger than me tugged my pants.
I ruffled his hair.
“Nah. Not Seoul—from across the sea, in Europe.”
“Europe? A Korean from Europe?”
“Long story. Lesson learned: don't eat what strangers give ya.”
“?”
“Oh, Hans. Who's the kid?”
Snapping from his trance, Prince Adalbert called to me.
“Just a village boy.”
“Oh? Want a photo with him?”
“Photo?”
The boy tilted his head at the unfamiliar word.
Yeah, fate's funny.
After getting parental okay, I posed with him before the camera.
“Ready? Smile!”
Pop!
The flashbulb burst loudly with the prince's cue.
Village elders jumped; the boy giggled, delighted.
“I'll have someone deliver the photo later. Keep it for generations—sell it when it's worth a fortune.”
“Huh?”
“Hans! Hurry! Admiral Yi awaits!”
Prince Adalbert, most excited Korean visitor, called amid my rare relaxed rural respite.
Time for the tomb.
Look at him bounding like a kid.
Who was the child here?
‘Always goes overboard for Admiral Yi stuff.’
Grumbling, I trailed him up Geumsungsan per local guide.
Previous life, bugs and weeds made summer visits hell. Never thought I'd relive it here.
“This is where Admiral Yi rests...!”
How long had we walked?
At Chungmu-gong Yi Sun-sin's tomb, Prince Adalbert choked up in awe.
He and fellow Kaiserliche Marine officers—clearly influenced by my novel—saluted solemnly.
White chrysanthemums, prepared somehow, were laid at the grave, of course.
“What in tarnation are they doin'?”
“Beats me. Who knows foreigner customs?”
Curious locals trailing us gawked oddly, naturally.
My face burned; I averted from Adalbert.
Not bad, but his earnestness embarrassed me vicariously—couldn't watch straight-faced.
And he'd wanted a salute volley for "proper honor"!
I talked him down—locals might panic, cause issues.
Historically, guns or cannons in Joseon warded off ghosts.
Firing at Yi Sun-sin's tomb? Locals might rage, mistaking insult.
‘Don't want history books noting: "Asan riot from ignorant Germans and Hans von Choi's blunder."’
Especially some tabloid-worthy farce.
I wasn't aiming for Alice Roosevelt-level infamy.
“Here, Your Highness.”
“What's this?”
“In Korea, we offer liquor at graves.”
“Oh, splendid custom. A sailor without drink? Unthinkable.”
I poured soju into a cup; he offered it at the tomb.
Locals nodded approvingly: even Westerners knew manners.
Thus, we wrapped official duties successfully, returning to Hanyang as dusk fell.
“Baron. Visitors.”
“Pardon? Visitors?”
Back at the Waldorf residence, this unexpected news hit.
Gojong's envoy flashed—unease stirred.
“Yes. Not one, though.”
“?”
“Four guests. Four Koreans here to see you.”