The Relic Recovery Squad (2)

Although Gyeonghaeng Seowon and Sagilchi were both within Samcheokbu, the two places lay far apart.

At this time, Samcheokbu was so large that it covered nearly all of southeastern Gangwon Province. Gyeonghaeng Seowon stood at the far northeastern edge of the district, right by the sea, while Sagilchi was an inland mountain village dozens of kilometers away.

For the Confucian knightly order to travel all the way out here on business, its zeal had to be admired. The roads ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠were no easier, either. It took my group several days to go back and forth.

But those few days were necessary for my plan, so they weren’t wasted.

Maybe because the Mountain Spirit wasn’t around, my mind felt wonderfully at ease. At least for now, I could look out at the distant East Sea, listen to the waves slapping the shore, and think less about the Dragon King than about romance. It almost felt like I should have had a guitar in my hands.

“There are quite a lot of fish around here too. In Gangwon, we were planning to cover Yeongseo, but if things go well in Wonsanjin later, I’ll have to create an eastern bureau under the Shipping Office.”

Cha Un-hong nodded in agreement.

“There are whales in this eastern sea, and there are beasts the locals call gaji, or seals. Both yield valuable oil and meat.”

“What’s a gaji?”

“They’re of the same kind as the haeyang—sea sheep, or seals—whose hides are prized in the western sea. I’ve heard that Gajido in the eastern sea is famous for them, just as its name suggests, though perhaps someday even Western ships will come calling.”

It wasn’t that far off. By early next year, Americans who had forced their way through the Sea of Okhotsk would enter the East Sea and scramble over who had “discovered” Dokdo first.

The fact that I’d happened to choose a route that wouldn’t cross paths with them was luckier than I’d expected. For both sides, really.

Of all the foreign ships I’d run into so far, not a single one had come away looking good. At the very least, the Americans would be pleased.

And not just the Americans. This could be my good fortune too.

Even if a regressor with extreme xenophobia were to take power now, this was an age when the ships of the West could no longer be held back.

Then there was no need to pick a fight. So far, things had only gone wrong because Britain and France had both been forced into first contact, which brought out the ugly side of “Neo-Confucian nature.” If they came in without running into Park Axe and had time to settle, they might prove far more flexible.

I didn’t feel any particular unease.

I turned my attention to the task at hand.

Before visiting Gyeonghaeng Seowon, I replenished the dried seafood I’d sold off in Taebaek by buying more from the shore at Samcheok.

The trade took place on the Osicheon River, a beautiful spot where cliffs rose along the water and the scenery was quite magnificent.

As I inspected the seafood that had been brought over by boat, something atop the cliff caught my eye.

“What’s that pavilion up there?”

“I’m not from around here, so I can’t say for sure, but... given the refined scenery and the way all those scholars seem to be gathered there, it must be Jukseoru, the famed First Pavilion of Gwandong.”

Since I hadn’t heard of it before, I silently lamented with grave dignity that it must have been lost in the Japanese colonial period and during the war. Of course, the place was still standing in the twenty-first century.

“Let me borrow your Western-looking telescope. Ah, yes, that’s right. Looks like they’ve set out musicians, zithers, and a banquet table, and are preparing to compose poetry or something. I’ve been told that no scholar who comes to Gwandong leaves without stopping by there and leaving a poem behind.”

Itkyu looked around as well and said,

“I hear there’s a temple in the east. Perhaps they built the pavilion to suppress its force. A most unfortunate thing.”

That couldn’t be true; Jukseoru was built in the Goryeo era. Still, the films of Japanese men planting swords in graves hadn’t come out of nowhere.

Yet I couldn’t refute him.

It wasn’t because I didn’t know history. It was because the evidence was right there in front of my eyes.

Monks who looked as if they’d come from Gwaneumsa to the west were hauling in mountains of delicacies and liquor that they themselves would never get to eat. It was obvious the energy had been completely suppressed.

A few of them were even getting kicked around by scholars dissatisfied with the service. It felt like watching Christians in Saudi Arabia or Muslims in the American South.

Cha Un-hong restrained Itkyu, whose divine power seemed to be boiling over.

“This is none of our concern.”

But a little later, it became ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠our concern after all.

Obviously, they hadn’t hired the temple to cater for them. They’d just robbed it. Scholars were supposed to be frugal, after all.

Then ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠again, unless this was a temple backed by the royal family in Seoul, there was no way a place in this ruined country had much money. As for the loot, the quality was pretty dismal.

A young Confucian student, who had come down to the river to pick out the fish himself so he wouldn’t be kicked next after the monks, recognized me.

“You! You’re that bastard from back in Sagilchi who caused a scene! And that monk too!”

The poetry contest at Jukseoru seemed to be taking place right at Gyeonghaeng Seowon, just ahead of us.

Still, there was no way the people who hadn’t dared to challenge us in Sagilchi would dare to do so here.

I had no intention of causing a violent incident here, either.

So I told him it was good to see him again. The scholar, utterly uninterested in seeing me, pretended not to know me and examined the fish instead.

Then, as people like him always did, he began taking out his irritation on someone weaker.

“You cur! The sea is right here, so why are the fish so dried out and worthless? Have you hidden the good ones away, planning to sell them to merchants instead of offering them to the great men?”

The fact that he hadn’t even considered paying for them showed what a truly great scholar he meant to become.

The fisherman answered back with a scowl.

“The merchant who hauled away the good ones is standing right in front of you, sir. Why don’t you get your fish from him?”

I had already bought up the good fish in advance.

The scholar didn’t even need to turn his head to understand why this boatman was being so rude.

So he didn’t turn his head toward me at all. He just kept denouncing the “rudeness of this lowly boatman.”

I couldn’t bear it any longer and cut in before he could finish waiting for me to speak.

“If you need fish, I can sell you some again.”

The problem was that he couldn’t buy them.

He was a scholar, which meant he was virtuous and therefore had no money.

If you’d ever wondered how a scholar with no land and no office survived, there was your answer. They didn’t need money.

Cha Un-hong, who had picked the perfect moment, stepped forward smoothly.

“We could give you a few fish as a gift. It seems you gentlemen made quite a trip out to Sagilchi, so you must need something to go with it. As it happens, we came to Gyeonghaeng Seowon to pay our respects and seek instruction.”

The scholar’s face brightened.

He may have ignored the slight sarcasm in her words, but he understood the meaning perfectly.

Confucius himself had emphasized that when seeking instruction, one must not forget the tuition.

In other words, this meant they’d come to give him money—or rather, not money exactly, since they couldn’t possibly be here just to hand it over—but to make a deal.

As Un-hong had said, the seowon was a little short on funds these days.

It wasn’t because some ancient god was angry. That could be blocked with divine power.

But when humans caused a nation to collapse, there was no stopping it.

The superstructure depends entirely on the base. It doesn’t matter how powerful the hyenas are when the Thomson’s gazelles have all starved to death.

In fact, today’s poetry contest at Jukseoru was really just an excuse to gather the local wealthy yangban, praise the seowon’s calligraphy, and collect donations.

The scholar worked through the matter in his head.

It made sense that merchants would behave this way.

Seowons were roughly the equivalent of modern Korea’s giant neighborhood churches.

And unlike modern Korea, Joseon truly did have Confucianism as its state religion. That gave it far more power than simply showing up with torches because a mosque opened across the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠street.

If the seowon unleashed a flood of petitioners and grievances, the Samcheok magistrate’s troops would instantly become legal bandits occupying Sagilchi.

That was probably what this negotiation was about.

The scholar quickly accepted the fish.

“I am Lee Chundeuk, and I serve as the seowon’s saekjang—the officer in charge of supplies.”

He sure acted like the same kind of commoner as O Bong-gil from the Ganghwa market, and it turned out his job was the same too.

I felt a little pleased just thinking of O Bong-gil, so I also went out of my way to be considerate of the scholars’ feelings.

“Shall we talk somewhere quiet? If you’re uneasy because of the monk here, I can send him away.”

I said a few words to Itkyu, and he nodded at once and disappeared like a ninja.

Lee Chundeuk was deeply moved.

“The elders like the dongju—the seowon’s master—or the jaejang, the dormitory head and student council president, are handling important matters over at Jukseoru. I’ll offer these fish and come right back, so come with me. As for the money, there’s no need to speak of it in all its tedious detail. Let’s just settle it among ourselves.”

What could a scholar know of handling money?

If he needed something, he brought it in. If he didn’t have it, he beat up the guy who looked like he did.

Of course, as reality had just proven, life didn’t work that way. The people who made it possible for scholars to keep living in the illusion that they could survive without money were exactly these practical managers.

I watched Lee Chundeuk hurry off with a thoughtful look.

Then I whispered to Cha Un-hong, “Doesn’t this feel like it’s going well?”

“It does. You’re getting rather good at schemes these days.”

I was quite satisfied.

Not a peep of the Mountain Spirit’s copyright complaint reached my ears. Of course, he wasn’t beside me right now.

My group entrusted the fish to the local merchant broker at a generous commission, thereby earning some goodwill, and then headed for Gyeonghaeng Seowon.

One of the order’s squires guarding the gate recognized my face.

He was the same one who’d been beaten by Itkyu.

“You—you! Aren’t you that insolent axe peddler who used to run around with that monk?”

With Lee Chundeuk standing right beside him, he might have been wise to reconsider, but the bitterness of his filial impiety—of never being able to leave descendants—must have cut to the bone.

Before Lee Chundeuk could stop him, he drew his mace and rushed me.

I hadn’t formally learned the kind of weapon-control techniques Itkyu used.

That was unfortunate for the squire.

My attacks didn’t just restrain; without a safe way to hold them back, they tended to destroy.

I leaned my upper body back in a lean back to dodge the club, then snapped forward with the stored momentum still in my body.

Thwack! My right hook slammed into his jaw. Itkyu’s strikes might not interfere with a man’s livelihood, but this one looked like it would cause serious damage.

As the squire went down, I raised my bare hands and said shamelessly, “I didn’t come here to fight. It was your side that attacked first.”

Even Lee Chundeuk had no comeback for that.

He was the seowon’s gatekeeper in name, so he scolded the squire for failing to show proper hospitality to a guest and led me inside. That was often the squire’s lot in life.

Lee Chundeuk no longer gave the squire a second thought.

He was tense, repeatedly running simulations in his head.

No matter how much of a saekjang he was, haggling wasn’t a scholar’s field. It required a fair amount of resources.

That was why Lee Chundeuk never even considered why I had simply sent Itkyu away, despite the fact that he was potentially valuable combat power in an emergency.

Gyeonghaeng Seowon enshrined not only Kim Hyo-won.

It also enshrined Heo Mok, who was now the leader of the Namin faction.

The Namin had sprung from the Dongin faction of Kim Hyo-won, but more than that, Heo Mok had been active in dealing with heresy as the magistrate of Samcheok.

And the only image I had of Heo Mok came from what Un-hong had once told me about the old loan shark Kim Sang-jun case.

Heo Mok had vigorously defended Lee In-han, a low-ranking official who had committed the exact same crime as Kim Sang-jun, using the exact same logic.

And Heo Mok was a prime minister, so Lee In-han got to abduct and murder commoners and still live fat and happy.

As much as he was a patron saint for loan sharks—stern toward heretics, but warm toward criminals—Lee Chundeuk seemed prepared to entertain a fair amount of money dealing under Heo Mok’s protection.

But my proposal was astonishing. Lee Chundeuk practically jumped out of his skin.

“What? You want to sell the Ogyumjam?”

“That’s right.”

I had clearly promised Jwaeju Lee Jinhong that I wouldn’t seize or steal the Ogyumjam.

So I was offering to buy it.

But the soul hairpin lodged in the spirit of the Dongin scholar-official Kim Hyo-won couldn’t be pulled out so casually.

“If that thing falls back into the hands of the Sagilchi rabble, the old custom of Wangqiu will flourish again! How can we let the rites and propriety our forebears painstakingly corrected be ruined once more? Looking at you, I can tell you’ve come on that Jwaeju’s request. Not a chance. Merchants, all of you!”

That answer was exactly what I’d expected.

This was where Cha Un-hong’s role began.

“In fact, we’re not merely merchants. We’re disciples of Master Chusa.”

“What? Chusa?”

He couldn’t just say, What would I know about some petty Noron calligrapher? Not with a straight face.

The nineteenth century was already an age when factional lines didn’t mean much anymore. What mattered more was the heavy name of Kim Jeong-hui.

As proof, Un-hong produced Kim Jeong-hui’s letter of introduction.

It was the very document Kim Jeong-hui had written in Jeju to introduce Park Gyu-su to Yi Ha-eung. Yi Ha-eung had naturally handed it to me in Dongnae before leaving.

It didn’t matter that it wasn’t a letter of introduction for Gyeonghaeng Seowon. What mattered was the calligraphy of Chusa that almost every scholar knew.

“I did think your bearing was a little unlike that of an ordinary merchant...”

He was saying, as politely as possible, that he’d wondered what gave me the nerve to beat up scholars, and now he’d found out: backing like this.

Even though Kim Jeong-hui was an exile, he was still such a major figure that the Andong Kim clan would launch a full-scale campaign if necessary. A seowon’s saekjang was no one who could stand against that.

“Master Chusa entrusted me, though I was still young, to this gentleman here so I could gain experience traveling the world.”

“Then this young gentleman must be from a prominent family?”

“I have no family worth bragging about before the seowon elder, but my family has lived in Kaesong for generations. I also have many ties to Sungkyunkwan. And here is a letter written by His Lordship Prince Heungseon, who served as the former branch inspector.”

That was absolutely not a lie. Cha Un-hong did indeed have enormous influence at Sungkyunkwan in Kaesong, and the official letter of appointment naming Yi Ha-eung branch inspector—the very letter that had once been used to swallow up the old Bobusang—was still very much alive and well.

Lee Chundeuk could feel its authenticity as well.

“So that was it! I could tell by your accent that you were from the north. Kaesong is a scholar’s city, after all. In any case, if that’s the story, then I can’t refuse you.”

I felt sorry for Lee Chundeuk.

Letting Cha Un-hong or the Mountain Spirit speak freely was like handing me an axe.

And soon, the far more capable knowledge of Cha Un-hong would be laid bare.