Monk's Cry (1)
If the sun had gone down and nobody was leaving, the officials would lose face. So, more or less by tacit agreement, a compromise was reached.
The people who didn’t care all that much about missing out on the smuggling business simply left. That let the ones who stayed pretend, in a roundabout way, that they had failed to drive anyone out. That was how things were done before the modern age.
Cha Un-hong decided she would be one of the latter.
She kept dangling the name of Park Chang-su, the First Naesang, in front of the soldiers—and even pulled the fraud that Park Taesu here was Park Chang-su’s younger paternal cousin—and stalled without rolling up the ginseng operation. Then, just as Cha Un-hong had planned, Park Chang-su’s men came forward to escort them into a “private conversation.”
One of the merchants watched them approach. It was Jeong Ja-beom, the only man in the Dongrae commercial circle who had opposed the Bak Dokki operation from the start.
If things continued like this, Bak Dokki would walk straight into the trap. While Park Chang-su kept them pinned here, a separate detachment from the other Naesang merchants would finish its business with Dongrae-bu. Jeong Ja-beom didn’t know what had happened in Tongyeong, but unlike Tongyeong, there was no need for a brazen raid.
If a man from Dongrae-bu came and said, “It’s time to carry out the repatriation, so hand over the Japanese,” then what else were they supposed to do but hand them over?
Jeong Ja-beom felt something close to regret.
Judging by Bak Dokki’s character—the way I heard it described by the soldiers in Jeonju—he seemed like a man with a straight spine. What if he really just came here to do business and ends up getting dragged into this by some Japanese informant and bleeding for nothing?
Misunderstanding the situation just enough to be moved by it, Jeong Ja-beom found his courage.
“Wait!”
Park Chang-su’s men scowled. They had already reported Jeong Ja-beom’s earlier “arrogance” to their master.
“What is it?”
“I’ll entertain them. The opening of the night is a delicate matter; we can’t afford a mistake.”
“We’re handling something even more delicate, so go mind your own business.”
“Do you think you’re in any position to glare at me? Unless Park Jung-gun himself comes, you can’t just take me lightly.”
Of course, Park Chang-su couldn’t come in person. He had more important work to do—coordinating with the daikan who had commissioned this job, and inviting the other Japanese smugglers who would serve as bait to keep Bak Dokki occupied.
The men hesitated, but only for a moment, before advancing on him again with fresh ferocity.
“Why are you talking down to us when you’re not even a proper member of the commercial guild?”
“We’re just hands and feet; we can only do as we’re told. Take it up with the master!”
There were other men around Jeong Ja-beom too, but they were there only to speak on their master’s behalf.
“Sir, why are you doing this all of a sudden?”
“If you start a fight recklessly and get expelled from the commercial guild, we’re finished. Let’s just step back.”
At that point, even Jeong Ja-beom found it hard to press the issue any further.
Annoyingly, that Bak Dokki and his attendant still wore expressions that said they had no idea what was going on.
Still, if one had gone this far for complete strangers, that was truly the work of a righteous hero.
The riffraff, having noticed their victory, spat to the side.
“Tch. If you were going to fold that badly, why’d you stick your ugly mug out in the first place, you runt?”
“Hey, you two brats, hurry up and follow along. You should consider yourselves lucky to be part of such a rare opportunity for a newcomer.”
But the riffraff made one mistake.
There was someone here who sensed the difference between righteousness and wickedness more sharply than anyone else, like the great heroes in the tales.
Jeong Ja-beom saw Taesu’s expression change.
And the next instant, he saw one of the men’s faces cave in as he was sent flying.
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[The answer seems obvious, but I’ll ask anyway. Why did you do that? Park Jung-gun’s supposed to be helping you, isn’t he?]
Taesu gave back the answer he had once given at Seungcheonpo on Ganghwado, not long after coming to Joseon.
“Seemed like he was trying to scam me.”
[How?]
“Just a feeling.”
[……You really haven’t changed at all.]
Logic had nothing to do with it.
But Taesu was certain. This was a trap of some sort.
While Cha Un-hong covered her mouth with both hands, Taesu looked over the rest of the men.
“This whole ‘let’s have a serious talk’ thing is bullshit, right? Tell me now, and I’ll let you live.”
The men backed away, flustered. They looked around, searching for the public authority they had been ignoring a moment ago, hoping for help.
But cherry-picking the world to suit themselves was not going to work here.
The soldiers had already gone off drinking. Freedom always came with responsibility.
When they failed to get the answer they wanted, Taesu sprang forward.
The one-two and hook that flew out in a single breath sank Number 1 before he even knew what hit him.
As that bastard collapsed like a severed puppet, Taesu followed with a right middle kick and drove it straight into Number 2.
Number 2 seemed to have some experience and hurried to raise his arms in defense, but that was about as useful as putting up one more crossbar in a barn and expecting it to stop a charging ox.
“Ghk!”
With the sound of joints grinding, his waist folded over. In the end, Number 2 took one body shot from the left hand and went down too.
Number 3 waved a hand as if he was about to say something.
But Taesu thought that if he stopped for that, he might end up getting stabbed.
Taesu rushed in like he was going to close the distance, forcing the man to cover his face with his arms.
Then he drove a knee straight into the empty solar plexus. If the bastard survived, he’d be pissing red for quite a while.
After the same obvious lesson was repeated three times, Numbers 4 and 5 made the wise choice.
Even Taesu couldn’t catch them once they bolted without even looking back.
It wasn’t that he was slow; he just had no interest in chasing them down to beat them senseless.
Taesu turned toward Jeong Ja-beom, who was standing there with his mouth open.
“If you were trying to help me, then now that we’re here, you might as well help a little more.”
“A-ah, I mean…”
“I’m not asking you to fight with me. Just be honest and tell me everything.”
Jeong Ja-beom decided he would.
Not because he had seen what happened to the ones who kept quiet. From the beginning, he had intended to help Bak Dokki based on principle.
That was more or less the same thought shared by the people now helping Taesu.
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While Jeong Ja-beom laid everything out for Taesu, Park Chang-su, “Bak Dokki’s cousin,” was furious.
“That Jeong bastard betrayed us in the end!”
At this rate they’d lose the ginseng, the gold—everything. The Japanese daikan looked at him suspiciously.
“What’s going on? Were you found out?”
“No, not yet. I’ll handle it somehow.”
Of course, there wasn’t a single daikan there who didn’t understand Joseon well enough to know that this was nonsense.
In the end, the first daikan stepped forward, stroking his topknot as if it were the hilt of a sword.
“He sounds rather rough. Then again, what sort of man who fraternizes with informants is properly refined? This land belongs to His Majesty the King of Joseon, but this waegwan is our home, so leave it to us.”
“Using soldiers would make too much noise. The troops posted outside in the ambush barracks will catch on at once.”
The ambush barracks were the six units stationed around the waegwan to keep watch over it.
In other words, Joseon soldiers.
The first daikan did not bother mentioning that those very soldiers had once been cut through in a single stroke when they marched on Dongrae-bu in the time of King Hyeonjong, demanding a concession settlement and calling for the magistrate to come out. Such fact-based violence would have been rude. In the first place, these men had gathered for the sake of amity between Joseon and Tsushima.
And there was another thing worth noting in Park Chang-su’s words.
The troublemaker Dairano Nari-modo had certainly smashed the Joseon troops during that riot, yet he still failed to break through to Seoul and had to disembowel himself.
The Joseon army was always breakable. But Japanese men who had faced the fastest monarchs knew better than anyone that that did not mean Joseon itself was easy to break.
The first daikan graciously accepted Park Chang-su’s advice.
“We won’t use soldiers. Men who learned martial arts from olden times are more common in our country anyway.”
That was a nation where national education consisted of slicing sashimi; there was no denying it.
The first daikan was true to his Japanese identity. He spoke the way a yakuza boss would issue orders to his underlings about disposing of a drum barrel.
“Hey, you! Go to Donghyangsa at once and deliver my message!”
Park Chang-su’s face twisted. He knew exactly who was being called.
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The waegwan’s four major duties were called the Four Offices. Somehow, people in this era just loved a good Four Heavenly Kings setup.
The first was, naturally, the waegwan’s superintendent.
The second was the daikan, who served as the counterpart to the naesang merchants.
The third was the kansa saiban, the general diplomatic officer dispatched from Tsushima.
And the fourth was the abbot of Donghyangsa, which sounded a little out of place to Joseon ears.
Donghyangsa was the temple inside the waegwan. It was just like having a church inside a Western concession.
And the abbot of Donghyangsa was responsible for organizing and preserving the waegwan’s various records.
In Japan, unlike Europe, it was not unusual for clergy to be drawn into state affairs. Saying that this made them less specialized than in China or Joseon wasn’t quite accurate, either. One could just as easily say that the entire governing class of China and Joseon was a kind of Confucian clergy.
There has never really been a premodern country where religion and politics were truly separate. Honestly, even modern ones are questionable.
And the military’s share in politics has never been small.
Japan, too, had a proud tradition of warrior monks.
Or rather, because it was Japan, they had developed so thoroughly you might wonder whether they had forgotten Buddhism forbade killing altogether. The Musashibo Benkei Sakamoto Ryoma had in mind when he looked at Taesu was a warrior monk, after all.
In other words, Donghyangsa was the archive of those battle-clergy [Monk] knights.
Just as Taesu had finished hearing all about the merchants’ scheme from Jeong Ja-beom, the high-ranking knight of that temple archive appeared before him.
He certainly had the body to call himself a high templar.
His bald head gleamed in the torchlight like he was shouting that meat was forbidden to monks, but steroids were not. The shadows of thick, jutting veins stood out across him.
Like a muscle-bound monk who had suddenly dropped out of some gate and landed in the waegwan, he declared in a booming voice, “I am Ittkyu of the Linji Sect, and I serve as the seongseo-yeokseung at Donghyangsa, the monk responsible for diplomatic documents! Are you the Joseon brute helping that informant?”
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[The cause is righteous, and these heathens really are filthy enough to deserve extermination. Hurry up and split that bald head with your axe!]
Taesu was dismayed. Even Cha Un-hong at his side was talking as if he would naturally kill the man.
“If they’re Japanese, it’s one thing, but the Japanese revere Buddhism, so monks don’t hold low status there. You shouldn’t kill him carelessly.”
“...If I don’t kill him, I’ll do that.”
But if you thought Cha Un-hong was the voice of reason here, you’d be mistaken.
It was true what they said about ink staining what it touched. Even Cha Un-hong had already had a little of her brake line cut.
So only Jeong Ja-beom stomped in place, frantic.
“Wait, why is nobody thinking of actually talking first?”
Taesu looked at Ittkyu.
“He already has zero intention of talking. And the fact that they sent someone like that means your betrayal’s already been found out. We should’ve stopped those last guys from running off.”
Taesu neatly put into words the protest that had only taken vague shape in Jeong Ja-beom’s head.
“So I’ll take responsibility for it. I’ll handle him.”
Jeong Ja-beom suddenly felt ashamed of himself.
So he tried once more to stop Taesu.
“You don’t know who that weird monk is, do you? It’d be better to run.”
“He doesn’t know me either, so it’s fine.”
Ittkyu laughed heartily.
“Your courage is admirable. But rest easy. As one who has entered the Buddhist path, I do not commit pointless killing. Without even needing to fully unleash the profound mysteries of Kurama Yoshin-ryu, which spans countless martial arts, someone of your level can be handled with bare fists alone!”
Kurama Yoshin-ryu was a martial art that originated in a temple. That about told you what Japanese Buddhism was like.
Even in the twenty-first century, it is still taught as a police arrest technique in Japan.
Taesu knew nothing about the history of old martial schools, but he could still sense Ittkyu’s boast that he intended to “arrest” him rather than kill him.
Even including Korea, this was the first man who’d ever said he’d go easy on him.
Unfittingly, Taesu felt his fighting spirit stir.
“Then come at me.”
Taesu handed the axe to Cha Un-hong.
[You idiot! Don’t you know the basics of warfare? You should have bragged about fighting barehanded, then secretly pulled out the axe and smashed him!]
Taesu told Cha Un-hong to stand a little farther back with the axe, just in case it got dangerous.
Then he set his stance, with his arms extended just a bit more than usual.
It was hard to generalize, and Taesu himself didn’t categorize it this way, but compared to kickboxing or boxing, Muay Thai tended not to keep the guard pressed so tightly together. The main reason was to allow for elbow exchanges.
Ittkyu lunged in, trying to seize Taesu’s wrist, and Taesu’s elbow slammed hard against the monk’s forearm.
It sounded like weapons colliding.
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Meanwhile, the naesang merchant Song Gwang-rak, who had been assigned the task of securing the sashimi and wasabi, visited Taesu’s ship with Dongrae-bu officials as soon as the sun went down.
Bak Seol-chae, who was guarding the ship, sat on the gunwale and said, “Stop. Who are you?”
Song Gwang-rak glanced at Hyeon Hak-ro, the waegwan hundo, standing beside him.
Strictly speaking, a hundo was in charge of markets, not repatriations. But no matter how influential a naesang merchant might be, he could not command Dongrae-bu officials as freely as the Dongrae magistrate could.
In the first place, this sort of task was too lowly for someone of the magistrate’s rank to touch. It was all handled by the underlings, which meant the ceiling on bribes was basically just tacit acceptance.
So instead they had brought Hyeon Hak-ro, a man they were friendly with.
Why were they friendly? Because Hyeon Hak-ro was bad at public trade and had gone heavily into debt. You had to be close with friends who had money.
Either way, to a commoner’s eyes, they were all just important lords.
Knowing that, Hyeon Hak-ro also put on the standard Joseon civil servant’s public-service manual so as not to give himself away.
“We’ve come from Dongrae-bu to take the Japanese men scheduled for repatriation, so hurry up and come down! How dare a commoner sway his legs on the gunwale when his betters have arrived?”
Bak Seol-chae did not seem particularly flustered. He didn’t hurry down either.
He was a man from Tongyeong, the “naval headquarters.” At a glance, you could tell that this Hundo bastard lacked the swagger of a true predator.
“Then why come at night?”
A civil servant actually working overtime? Impossible. At least that was how it seemed to Bak Seol-chae, a civilian.
But Hyeon Hak-ro had an excuse ready for that too.
“You merchants, who care only for money, kept shouting for us to hurry the repatriation and hand over the cash, didn’t you? And now you’re dragging your feet? Just how many heads do you have, you insolent brat, that you think you can play games with the government?”
Bak Seol-chae went inside without a word. Song Gwang-rak let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
But the one who came out next wasn’t Bak Seol-chae.
It was the one who had been “shouting for us to hurry the repatriation and hand over the cash.”
Recognizing Hyeon Hak-ro’s face, Yi Ha-eung and Hajeong-il, who knew Song Gwang-rak’s face, suspiciously studied the two of them in turn.
Song Gwang-rak’s body stiffened like dried sea cucumber.
Author’s Note
1. Donghyangsa really is a record archive, but it was not actually garrisoned by warrior monks.
2. Ittkyu is a fictional character. His name is borrowed from Ittkyu, an important figure of the Linji Sect.
The monk responsible for diplomatic documents at the waegwan Donghyangsa really was a member of the Linji Sect. That said, Donghyangsa was not limited to monks from that sect alone.
3. It is true that Kurama Yoshin-ryu is said to have begun in Buddhism, but it has nothing to do with the Linji Sect.
4. Hyeon Hak-ro is a real historical figure, and the fact that he racked up heavy debts in the waegwan after failing at public trade, only for the naesang merchants to pay them off, is also true.
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