The Eung-Eung Brothers (2)
Yi Choi-eung’s house was near Bak Seong-ok’s, in Gyo-dong in central Hanyang.
After leaving there, Yi Ha-eung joined up with Jang Sun-gyu, the battle aide of the Cheonhajang-an crew who had been waiting for him, and the two of them walked down Uijongga.
Jang Sun-gyu had been standing guard outside the room, so he’d heard everything. Glancing at Yi Ha-eung’s face, he said, “That Park Axe bastard doesn’t know rank from dirt. What if something bad happens to His Excellency, the Heungin-gun?”
Yi Choi-eung had been acting as if what could one little merchant do, and to be fair, he wasn’t entirely wrong. But if the man in question was Park Axe, that was a different story.
As Yi Ha-eung himself had learned firsthand, once Park Axe made up his mind, there was no stopping him. Crime deterrence was useless against a man who wasn’t afraid of the cost of wrongdoing.
And yet the fact that Jang Sun-gyu was even saying something like that was proof enough of Park Axe’s current standing.
And of this country’s standing, too.
Yi Ha-eung didn’t even bother to be impressed. He just glanced back at his brother’s house.
“I told him as much, but if he won’t change his mind, then he’s only got himself to blame.”
Jang Sun-gyu was flabbergasted.
Then he understood.
By Joseon standards, if a younger brother was struggling and came to you for help, the older brother was supposed to hand over a fat allowance without even being asked.
If the older brother was rich and still didn’t do it, that went beyond cold-heartedness. It was practically a crime.
He inherited the family wealth because he was the brother, didn’t he? What effort had he made to deserve it? Their parents had left everything behind so the siblings could look after one another.
That was Joseon’s version of “privatized inheritance tax.” In drier terms, one might call it a system that used morality as a tool to control society.
The punishment for violating that solemn social code was harsh.
For commoners, it could really mean a cudgel across the back. It wasn’t for nothing that Nolbu was given the punishment of being terrorized by Jang Bi.
And yet Heungbu Yi Ha-eung hadn’t received a single thing. There was even a child on the way who would give him a decade’s worth of grief, and still nothing.
He hadn’t even been slapped with a ladle. His sister-in-law, Lady Gwon of the military household, was far too high-born to be mucking about with pots and pans herself.
So Yi Ha-eung’s verbal abuse was, at least, understandable.
Jang Sun-gyu nodded to himself. Then he hurried after the swaggering Yi Ha-eung.
* * *
Yi Ha-eung genuinely felt like he couldn’t care less about his brother.
Not because he hadn’t given him money. Really, it wasn’t that.
The Eung-Eung Brothers, a name Taesu had conveniently coined, had never had a good relationship to begin with.
During the future Imo Mutiny, Yi Choi-eung was killed by the Hunkuk soldiers who had risen in rebellion.
Yes, Hunkuk had indeed brought in the ousted Yi Ha-eung and put him up as their patron. And yes, Yi Choi-eung was Yi Ha-eung’s own older brother.
But he died.
He died horribly, with his testicles blown apart.
After death, he received treatment fit for Jesus Christ.
Meaning the soldiers stabbed him with a spear to confirm he was dead.
The method, however, was less Longinus and more like imitating the Duke of Wallachia. Unlike the Spear of Longinus, Yi Choi-eung’s spear didn’t become a holy relic, probably because the place it was thrust into was a bit too filthy.
There were few people in Joseon history who died more pitifully than that.
And Heungseon Daewongun Yi Ha-eung had not the slightest interest in it.
It wasn’t really about money. It was because Yi Choi-eung had joined forces with the man who had been Yi Ha-eung’s lifelong enemy: that damned daughter-in-law.
They plundered people just like the Min clan did. Min Gyeom-ho, who had begged Yi Ha-eung for his life, was ultimately killed too.
For all that they were both Min-clan lackeys, the fact remained that Yi Choi-eung and Min Gyeom-ho had humiliated the Heungseon Daewongun without mercy, and looking at their murders, one really had to wonder whether the Daewongun had even controlled Hunkuk at the time.
But one thing was certain.
If the Hunkuk soldiers had spared the brother just to preserve the Daewongun’s face, Yi Ha-eung would have ordered them to kill him himself.
* * *
And now, in the present, Yi Ha-eung, Park Axe’s friend — a generous concession on Yi Ha-eung’s part — naturally understood his brother’s true nature all too well.
So he didn’t bother trying to persuade him for long.
He’d done enough. After that, whether Park Axe lived or died was his own problem.
There were more important things on Yi Ha-eung’s mind than some brother of his.
“That man who just left, Bak Seong-ok — you know him too, don’t you?”
He didn’t say, because he’s the same kind of thug, but Jang Sun-gyu nodded anyway.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then later, give him something appropriate, maybe a little medicine or whatever, and tell him to come find me. If he needs money, use this….”
With his “brother card” failing him, Yi Ha-eung handed over the Tongyeong hat he’d received from Park Axe.
For the price of planting an undercover man in Yi Choi-eung, who was likely to become an opposing force to Yi Ha-eung, it wasn’t expensive. If Bak Seong-ok couldn’t be bought, then he wasn’t human.
“And how has His Majesty been lately?”
Yi Ha-eung also knew the king was busy running easy-mode eroge and trying to conquer the heroine route.
What he was really asking Jang Sun-gyu, who was close to the king, was something else entirely.
Jang Sun-gyu’s expression darkened. He looked around, then leaned in close and brought his mouth to Yi Ha-eung’s ear.
* * *
Yi Hwan silently watched the court lady writhing rather awkwardly on top of him.
Then he shoved her away roughly.
“Y-Your Majesty?”
To be honest, there was nothing even remotely strong in that arm. She didn’t need to have been pushed away at all.
But the court lady knew very well that the king could call on real strength whenever he wished.
So, as though she’d been thrown off by sheer force, she clutched her clothes to her body and prostrated herself.
She wanted to be done with it too, truth be told.
She’d been trained before entering the palace.
And yet not even the most worldly woman in cultured Hanyang could have imagined that the king would actually command such a vulgar mount-and-ride position. If he wanted that, shouldn’t he at least know how to do it himself and then get out?
She had no idea where all the stern rules of Joseon court lovemaking had gone — the ones about waiting in a nine-bay room with a chicken beside you, about never daring to make a sound or even look at the king’s face. Come to think of it, these were the end times.
The granted favor, awkwardly lowered by tension and inexperience — no, thrust at her like an offering — had been a complete mess.
However much this wasn’t meant to be a fun game for the court ladies, this was just labor.
And because the king had come suddenly, they hadn’t even had the most important part of the ritual: the mosquito net.
Why was that so important? Because Biywon was a forest, and Buyongjeong was a pond. She had no idea how one was supposed to concentrate on that sort of thing.
So the king, too, had no premonition whatsoever that the quest would be cleared.
After shoving the court lady away, the king caught his breath and said, “Get out.”
It was his own room, but the court lady retreated in a flash.
She didn’t even bother flipping up her skirt. She left dressed properly, as she should.
She had no desire to brag about receiving the king’s favor. It wasn’t as if she’d get pregnant anyway, so why set herself up to be told it was her fault like Queen Hong?
Once she was in a quiet place, the court lady lit up a cigarette tobacco leaf newly brought in from Gangwon Province a few days ago.
The advantage of this tobacco was that, when senior ladies showed up, it could be hidden quickly, and because your hands were free, you could keep working at other tasks. That was why, just a day or two after the first shipment arrived, it had spread like wildfire.
The court lady, with the Russian-style — or rather Gangwon-style — cigarette between her lips, pressed her fingernails into a mosquito bite.
Anyone who’d done it knew the pleasure was surprisingly intense. At least it was better than what had just happened.
Still, it would probably have been best not to try the traditional moxibustion remedy with the cigarette in her mouth.
A small scream rang out from somewhere in Changdeok Palace.
In this way, the new things Taesu had brought in were spreading through the palace along with a certain amount of cultural shock.
But despite the essence of French medicine Taesu had painstakingly obtained for him, Yi Hwan had failed his quest again today.
Looking back, it seemed he had only ever succeeded with Lady Gyeongbin Kim, who had had such good chemistry with him the first time.
* * *
The cause of this state of affairs was simple.
Stamina wasn’t something you solved just by calling it “French.”
That stuff had to do only with the nervous system and blood circulation.
But sex was a full-fledged sport, requiring a combined ability for aerobic exercise and muscular endurance. That was why France was good at soccer.
Unfortunately, the current Yi Hwan didn’t even have the stamina for children’s futsal.
If Yi Won-beom had seen him, he would have truly felt sorry for him from the bottom of his heart.
Given to him, Yi Won-beom could probably have made the royal line flourish at almost the level of a brood mare. Yes, he was born to be a king.
What’s more, the strychnine he had been taking over a long period had definitely burdened Yi Hwan’s heart and kidneys.
It was a blessing that de Thierry had explained the precautions in detail, since he wanted to expand the market for his virility-enhancing drugs. If Yi Hwan hadn’t even followed the dosage, Yi Won-beom would already have been on the throne.
Normally, the sensible thing would be to stop all this nonsense and get some rest. Maybe even do a little exercise.
But the more that happened, the more Yi Hwan fixated on an heir.
I don’t know when I’ll die. Before that happens, I have to produce a prince and sweep away those ga-jok vipers with their club-like staves!
The order could not be reversed.
If Yi Hwan staged a coup first and then died without ever producing a son, it would be like making porridge only to feed it to the dog.
Unless he murdered the Grand Queen Dowager, the right she held to name the next king and queen would never disappear.
Of course, if all the Min-clan retainers were wiped out as in Yi Ha-eung’s past plan, then the Grand Queen Dowager could be threatened too.
But if things went according to Yi Ha-eung’s plan without a son, the only result would be the one Yi Ha-eung had expected all along. The throne would simply pass to some other royal.
Yi Hwan might not know Yi Ha-eung’s private thoughts, but he could infer enough. He could never allow that.
On the other hand, if he produced a son, there might be people in the Three-Han noble clans who would switch sides to him. Yi Hwan himself could also prepare more carefully.
A daughter?
Back when the Dobansu was first selected, the Mountain Spirit had predicted that in such a case, the king would raise a rebellion in order to buy time to produce another son.
That had been correct at the time. Yi Hwan had thought the same.
But now, only the process had changed.
Even Yi Hwan didn’t believe he could outlast himself until the next son came.
So he’d decided not to think about that possibility at all.
If he couldn’t have it, he’d burn it all down. Then everybody would die together.
Either way, the conclusion was the same.
If he didn’t have a son by the end of the year, Yi Hwan would rise in rebellion.
And according to history, the first and last child he would ever see was a daughter.
* * *
If it hadn’t been for the strychnine, he would have vanished quietly, just like the impotent monarch of the original history.
If it hadn’t been for the side effects of the strychnine, Yi Hwan might have used his military force only to cut down a ringleader like Kim Jwa-geun and might even have considered long-term pressure and negotiation.
But twisted history had erased both of those options.
Yi Hwan had no other means left.
State affairs were a sideshow. Why bother with politics if orders weren’t even being carried out?
The only thing he cared about was reports on Park Axe.
No matter how much Yi Ha-eung and the others ran around covering things up, just as truth is hard to fully accept, it’s also hard to fully conceal.
The periodic reports submitted by provincial magistrates contained fragmented traces of Park Axe’s crimes.
If someone read them carefully and used a bit of insight, they could probably have spotted the promised land. In any case, it was hard for a mere modern man to surpass the system of a dynasty that had lasted nearly five hundred years in just a few years.
But Yi Hwan had no intention of noticing.
He needed virility enhancers.
And bullets.
Perkussion caps were a breakthrough that could overturn the Joseon army’s existing tactics. Combined with the hundredfold enhancement exclusive to his own people, there was no one who could stand against the Chongwiyeong.
The only one who could provide those two things was Park Axe. At least for now.
Yi Hwan simply stacked them up as future material to throw Park Axe aside with once he was no longer useful.
If the supply dried up, he’d have to pull them out, but for now Choe Je-u was sending the medicine and bullets faithfully. There was no need to provoke him for no reason.
* * *
Yi Ha-eung was consumed by a great unease.
It wasn’t that he was suddenly worried about the king.
But if the king kept fixating on nothing but those matters, then the historical consequences were obvious.
That was how an all-powerful minister could appear where none had existed before.
And if it was Kim Jwa-geun, who already treated the king like a decorative trinket, there was hardly any need to say more.
He asked Jang Sun-gyu, “What is Jangdong doing?”
Jang Sun-gyu had been waiting for that question. He raised a hand and pointed toward Changdeok Palace.
That was where the king was, and the State Council too. Both were places Kim Jwa-geun could easily head for.
But both Jang Sun-gyu and Yi Ha-eung were Seoul men, and Jang Sun-gyu did not mistake the finger’s direction as pointing to Changdeok Palace when, in fact, it pointed a little west of it.
Yi Ha-eung swallowed hard.
Hunkuk’s main training camp!
The North Camp west of Changdeok Palace.
And the commander of the training corps was Hong Jae-ryong, the father of Queen Hong.
The same man whose daughter the king had not protected in the Grand Queen Dowager’s Gwangjeosa, but had instead shifted the blame for impotence onto by impregnating Lady Gyeongbin Kim.
And yet Hunkuk was Joseon’s strongest military unit.
It was also a powerful vegetable-distribution network that dominated the fresh-produce market of Hanseongbu.
Just because they were good at cutting things only when slicing cabbage roots didn’t mean they were to be underestimated in a fight, where they’d probably just use time amplification like their own creator-ancestor anyway.
That only meant this cabbage army had not only considerable money but roots all over Seoul, which meant they had geography and connections on their side.
In short, there was no unit more advantaged than Hunkuk in a “Seoul urban battle.” Chongwiyeong’s home base was Mount Bukhansan Fortress, after all.
And it wasn’t only tactical advantage.
The training corps, whose cabbage fields would be ruined if Seoul was brought down, would really fight with their lives on the line.
So he’s finally doing it!
That was how he felt: finally, at last. Not: surely not.
Jang Sun-gyu’s analysis was similar.
“He’d already been in touch with Commander Hong for a while. Lately, though, they seem to be talking even more closely. These days, he even goes in person quite often.”
Yi Ha-eung thought it made sense for Kim Jwa-geun to do that.
Kim Jwa-geun’s attempts to neutralize or peel away Chongwiyeong had failed repeatedly, thwarted by the bewilderingly subtle political skill of the capable monarch.
And the king’s recently sacredly blazing fire would have been visible even to Kim Jwa-geun.
So Kim Jwa-geun had made his decision too.
To protect himself against the king.
Then what was Yi Ha-eung supposed to do here?
Whatever he did, there was one man who wouldn’t leave his mind.
Park Axe.
Objectively, it made no sense. Park Axe had almost no connection to politics and had not yet shown any clear military action.
And yet Yi Ha-eung couldn’t shake the feeling that any prediction of the coming political order that excluded Park Axe would be meaningless.
Author’s Note
1. Yi Choi-eung reportedly died trying to flee by climbing over a wall, according to Hwang Hyeon’s Maechon Yarak, and after his death the soldiers supposedly pierced him “through the anus and out through the cheek” with a spear to confirm it, according to Park Han-gwang’s Jeosang Ilwol.
2. This is the kind of detail usually left out of children’s tales because it’s not exactly educational, but when Heungbu splits open the gourd, the chant includes “Byeo, byeo, Yang Gui-bi.” In contrast, when Nolbu splits open the gourd, it becomes “Byeo, byeo, Jang Bi.”
Yes, that’s the same Jang Yide of Changban Bridge. What Heungbu did with Yang Gui-bi, Nolbu will do with Jang Bi.
3. The mosquito net really did have to be hung. There were ponds and forests in the palace, so there were plenty of mosquitoes. That said, the court customs regarding royal consummation that are known to the public are mostly from the late Joseon period and were generally applied only to the queen.