The Seeds of Abundance (3)
As Chief State Councillor Yi Yeon had said, the system known as ‘Parval’ originated from the military intelligence agency established during the Song Dynasty.
From that point onward, it served as a reliable means of swiftly transmitting military secrets, eventually being institutionalized under the name of the Parval system.
Yet among the ministers of Joseon, not a single soul had any knowledge of this truth.
Information networks here in Hanyang are truly abysmal. 21st-century standards were nothing compared to the mess we’re in now.
In the capital itself, intelligence was better than anything the 21st century could offer. But when it came to information about foreign threats, the situation was so dire that it was laughable.
Yi Yeon took a moment to reason through the situation. He had always been the type who preferred fixing problems over criticizing them, so he started organizing the facts he already knew.
“The Korean Peninsula has been invaded far too often because of its geopolitical importance,” he told his ministers. The idea felt off. If that statement were true, their intelligence should have been far more capable.
If the words had been accurate, we wouldn’t be drowning in this level of incompetence.
As a king now, Yi Yeon began quietly asking ministers about surrounding affairs. The answers he received were almost always “rumors.” So he came to see the Korean people as trapped by geography, forever suffering defeat after defeat.
Geopolitically vital areas like this should have been patrolled by spies, and Joseon’s post-horse system should have caught wind of it. Yet no one seemed to care. He tried another angle. Perhaps the value simply hadn’t been recognized yet. After all, the world was still far from connected.
Maybe the importance isn’t obvious when you don’t understand the bigger picture. But then...
Yi Yeon shook his head. “No. No. It has nothing to do with the Cold War. You can’t call a place at the end of the world geopolitically crucial.” He had traveled the entire planet in his previous life, so the idea of a peninsula being strategically vital felt absurd. “If that logic held, then the Iberian and Italian peninsulas should be equally important.”
Now that the world was becoming one, the Korean Peninsula was gaining economic and military value. But at this moment, he didn’t see it. And even if he did, the current administration wouldn’t be able to act. The ministers had their own calculations. To them, the peninsula was the only bridge to the mainland.
Yet despite that, Joseon was still relying on Ming’s goodwill for both military strength and espionage. “We need to strengthen our intelligence capabilities from the ground up,” Yi Yeon declared. He decided the first step would be to overhaul the post-station system. It was completely different from anything he had imagined.
The post-station system, refined since the Three Kingdoms era, had grown even more sophisticated under the Joseon Dynasty. Following Ming’s customs, the kingdom established stations every thirty ri—about twelve kilometers—along major routes. This distance was based on how far a person could walk in a single day. By using post-stations to manage horses, Yi Yeon had once thought every incident across the eight provinces could be reported within a day at the latest.
But the reports from the frontier garrisons always arrived far too late. When Yi Yeon finally learned the reason, he was stunned. “What? They don’t even know about Parval?” It was absurd. His entire understanding had been overturned.
“So what are those Parval stories in the historical dramas all about?” Actually, the Parval system had been introduced during the Imjin War of 1597. After the war ended, when conflict resumed, ministers Kim Ung-nam and Han Jun-gyeom had suggested copying Ming’s Parval system. It had been set aside at the time. Yi Yeon had no idea this was already in place.
Hah... I’m losing my mind here.
The only urgent communication method still operating was a beacon chain that took twelve hours from Busan to Hanyang. Post-stations—called yeokwon—provided lodging or horses for travelers and served as the starting point for transporting documents and supplies. “So that’s why,” Yi Yeon muttered, finally understanding the war’s disastrous consequences. “This system isn’t enough anymore.” He resolved to rebuild everything from scratch.
Yi Yeon glanced at the stunned Chief State Councillor Yi Yeon and spoke formally. “Your words were not incorrect. However, that was during the Song Dynasty. The Ming is now using the Parval system to deliver urgent matters. If the weather is poor, beacons are useless, so each station prepares swift soldiers and horses to carry information. Therefore, Parval is not an intelligence agency but a system for rapid information transmission.”
"""Ah..."""
Gasps erupted from the ministers. No one had ever considered this approach, and none had known Ming was actually using it. Yet the young king knew every detail.
How does he know that?
Does he have agents of his own?
Impossible. He’s only been king for a short time.
It’s impossible to know at his age.
On top of that, his knowledge of nature and the world surpasses even that of an old scholar who has studied the classics for decades.
A torrent of questions filled the minds of the ministers as Zheng Dae-nyeon, the newly appointed Military Affairs Commissioner, finally spoke up. “Your Majesty, it would be wise to adopt the same system. Unlike the vast Ming lands, Joseon is small. A single soldier carrying a memorial is enough, but even a strong soldier can grow tired traveling long distances or simply disappear if an accident occurs.”
The ministers nodded in agreement. They understood the flaws of the post-stations all too well. Unlike the south, the north faced constant instability, yet the stations rarely prepared sturdy horses. Station masters—yeokri—were given official posts, but many fled whenever they had to pay for lodging or supplies. Information traveled painfully slowly. “That’s why the term ‘a long time’ became popular.” The time between stations was called a long time, but the word had been twisted by the people.
"""It is a good method, yet we have the saying: ‘You must put new wine into new bottles.’"""
The ministers exchanged glances. This was a proverb none of them had ever heard. They shook their heads again. Still, the young king’s words carried weight, so they listened closely.
Yi Yeon swallowed hard. When he taught his middle-school students, he often shared fun stories about the wider world. The same wide-eyed wonder he saw in those students now shone in the ministers’ eyes. He felt a pang of tension. “If only I could dismiss these ministers and hire only those who serve their own greed, the kingdom would be doomed.” Of course, there were ministers who cared only for their own comfort, like Sim Tong-won. But even they still observed certain limits. The Three Offices—Sa-gan-won, Sa-heon-bu, and Hong-mun-gwan—were still functioning.
With these people at my side, I can realize my dreams.
Yi Yeon felt a surge of warmth again and continued. “Therefore, I plan to build new facilities along this new route. These stations will serve both as Parval and post-stations, protecting the local people in a military capacity. We will also use them to transport goods and conduct trade. We will place combined facilities everywhere.”
Zheng Dae-nyeon tilted his head as if remembering something. “Your Majesty, you mean to build fortresses?”
“No. These places will serve the role of fortresses, but they will not be fortresses themselves. They will be surrounded by earthen walls only one meter high. The names I have chosen are regional teams for smaller stations and wide-area teams for larger ones.” His first idea had been rest stops, but everything had to change. Intelligence had to be improved first, and the forced labor system had to be fixed as well. Transportation and supply routes had to be managed. The scale had grown far beyond his original plan, and the budget would be enormous. “Damn it. The money leaving my pockets is faster than the gold I’m digging.”
He was still pondering when an unexpected delivery arrived. Before the ministers could speak, Yi Yeon summoned Kim Yang-bo. “Yang-bo, bring it in.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Kim Yang-bo dragged in a massive box, groaning under its weight, then began unpacking white bowls one by one. The ministers’ eyes widened in disbelief. The bowls were so bright they seemed almost translucent.
“Your Majesty, what is that?” “Could it be porcelain?” “Porcelain can’t shine like that...” “Who made it?” Yi Yeon ignored their questions, flashed a smile, and pushed the bowls forward.
—Clink! Clink! Clink! Clink!
The ministers jumped, mouths open. None of the bowls had broken. Clear, crystalline sounds rang out. Yi Yeon then placed two bowls together and gently tapped them.
—Cling!
"""Wow..."""
Exclamations of wonder escaped even the ministers who had lived for seventy years. Sim Tong-won, clutching a large soup bowl in his hand, looked utterly astonished. But Yi Yeon found the bowls underwhelming. They lacked the transparency and luster of the bone china he remembered from his past life, and the designs were plain. “The difference in calcium content between cow and chicken bones can’t be helped.” Kim Yang-bo’s bowls had been sent by Minister Cho Do-gon. Yi Yeon had instructed the method of using chicken bones, but the calcium level was lower than that of cow bones, resulting in poorer quality.
Yet the ministers were thrilled. Even Chief State Councillor Lee Jun-gyeong and Hong Seom had their throats moving with excitement. It made sense. Simple, elegant white porcelain was the symbol of an upright scholar.
Yi Yeon gestured for Kim Yang-bo to distribute the bowls among the ministers, then spoke again. “I plan to place these bowls in the regional and wide-area teams. Merchants traveling along the roads will easily purchase them, and the profits will help maintain the stations.”
“Your Majesty, will you be hiring the corrupt suppliers with the sales revenue?” “Yes. Not only these bowls, but also the pens and paper I showed earlier will only be sold at the stations. Eggs produced in the future will follow the same rule. This way, goods will be distributed at the same price everywhere, and the people will no longer be cheated.”
"""Ah... What a magnificent plan!"""
"""The king’s heart for the people is truly profound!"""
The ministers sighed in admiration. They had never imagined such elegant items, and now the king planned to sell them to create revenue, then use that revenue to hire honest men to fix the roads and bring stability. What reason was there to oppose? Yet a nagging feeling lingered in one corner of his mind. Opening a path for corrupt suppliers to thrive felt wrong. But since the king promised the same price across the entire country for the benefit of the people, he found no justification to object. For upright ministers deeply rooted in Neo-Confucian thought, the welfare of the people was the most important thing. “If this continues, we may even be able to abolish the corvée labor system.” “Correct. Since the king has provided us with a way to live, the corrupt officials will have no excuse if they still break their consciences.”
"""Still, there is one concern."""
"""Why? Are you worried about local officials who take bribes?"""
"""It’s not exactly the local officials..."""
One minister hesitated, then glanced at Sim Tong-won. The others clicked their tongues in unison. Everyone knew who the final boss of the corrupt suppliers was. Yet Sim Tong-won continued to turn the bowls over in his hands, lost in thought. Yi Yeon smiled faintly. “I’ve finally found a use for you.” He couldn’t keep him close because it was uncomfortable, and dismissing him would upset Queen Insun. He had been watching carefully to avoid crossing any lines. “The best asset for the job.” Now that he had found a place for him, Yi Yeon called out. “Left State Councillor?” “...”
“Left State Councillor?” “...” He called twice, but there was no answer. Chief State Councillor Lee Jun-gyeong poked Sim Tong-won in the ribs.
* * *
Note: At this time, Joseon’s officials were unable to openly commit misdeeds. The fear of accusations from the Three Offices kept them in check. But as factional struggles intensified, slander and imprisonment became common, and eventually the Three Offices lost their effectiveness. From a 21st-century perspective, the Three Offices functioned as follows: Sa-heon-bu served as prosecutor, audit office, anti-corruption commission, and constitutional court; Sa-gan-won acted as the press and national records office; Hong-mun-gwan served as advisory and research institution and national library.