Envoys to Hirado
I reported to Professor Choyo-gaeng and took my annual leave. It was the first time I'd used it since becoming a resident. To discuss the things I'd been mulling over, I went to see Professor Yi Dong-hui at Inse Hospital. We'd connected at the conference when Munjong had sent the Burn-Iron Roasting Diagram. He'd put in tremendous effort to turn the paper I'd presented back then into a multi-institutional study.
As soon as I entered the professor's office, I bowed in greeting. “Professor, hello! It's been too long.”
When I looked up, there it was—the Burn-Iron Roasting Diagram hanging on the wall.
“Do-yun, good to see you. Have a seat. What brings you to consult me of all people?”
“I'm planning to get my specialist certification and do a Research Fellowship overseas, but I haven't prepared much, so I came for some advice. Lately, I've had a lot of realizations inside and outside the hospital—it's a sudden idea, and I haven't even started on the USMLE. Plenty of shortcomings.”
“Being able to sense something in clinical practice is already proof you're an outstanding doctor.”
“A month and a half ago, sending off that one patient made me feel how much I'm still lacking.”
It wasn't a lie. But it wasn't the full truth either. Sure, the modern hospital had given me insights, but the influence of my Gatong chats with Munjong loomed largest. I'd felt it again recently with the Jeonsi-byeong epidemic. What I lacked wasn't skill—it was vision. Time to shed the passive mindset, broaden my horizons, seek a new environment. But I couldn't say any of that.
Professor Yi Dong-hui adjusted his glasses slightly, set down his papers, and fixed me with a steady gaze. His half-gray hair, usually so kindly, now felt oppressively authoritative.
He swiveled his chair to face away from me, toward the diagram, and continued. “It's doable. The hospital I worked at in the US happens to take on quite a few research fellows. I owe your mother for letting me see this magnificent painting from your ancestor's collection—I'd love to sign off right now, but…”
My throat tightened, mouth bone-dry. “I'll review the papers you've published so far. Get a recommendation letter from Osan Hospital first, and I'll reach out to my US contacts.”
Not a rejection. “Thank you, sir.”
As I left his office, a parting shot from behind: “Sorry to impose on your mother, but could we check out Jeon Sun-ui's warehouse one more time? My gut says there's another masterpiece hiding in there.”
“Yes, I'll go with you sometime.”
There was no such warehouse. It had come straight from my desk drawer.
Back home, I slumped in front of my laptop and let out a sigh. Not from the morning consultation. Compiling ship specs for Munjong was tougher than expected. My knowledge was practically nil. And I had to factor in 15th-century Joseon realities.
Just start writing.
First, the iron keel Munjong had mentioned. Making the whole thing steel would be impossible. So, steel for the lower half of the keel, sturdy oak for the rest. Divide the steel keel into segments, riveted together. Tough enough for big waves.
I added lateen sails and lugsails—unknown in Joseon yet. They'd provide thrust even against headwinds.
Three ship classes total. First, frigate model for scouting and escort vessels. Later classified as escorts, but perfectly fine as warships in the 16th century. Lots of oars for dead calms.
Next, galleon-model merchant ships. Used as warships in some eras too. Balanced lateen and square sails.
Finally, 74-gun ship model for pure warships. Sails optimized accordingly.
I tasked the AI I'd paid for during the original Joseon Annals backup. Joseon panokseon had flat bottoms—factor in the Korean Peninsula's terrain.
All three were ships that dominated eras in human history. Building ocean-worthy vessels would take time. But Joseon could manage it.
Finger hovering over send. The moment I hit this, Joseon takes to the seas.
I pressed it anyway.
I hadn't sent a Gatong message. Three days later, one arrived. He'd finally opened the desk drawer.
What? Had Munjong ever thanked me twice like that? His messages were always concise.
The next day, the envoy from Upper Songpo lay prostrate, breathless, in Munjong's audience chamber. He'd heard Joseon kings never granted audiences this swiftly.
Munjong glanced at the interpreter and spoke. “To Wonmun of Songpo, We bestow Joseon Premium red ginseng and Joseon Premiumbiru.”
Still prone, the envoy cried out; the interpreter relayed. “Your Majesty is most gracious.”
The envoy smiled into the floor. Japan can't easily get Goryeo ginseng. This mission's a success.
Then. “However.” The interpreter held his tongue. Sudden silence tensed the envoy.
“Songpo ships must never again foul Joseon's seas.”
The envoy's shoulders locked rigid.
“Do you know what transpired in the Gyehae year?”
Trembling, the envoy barely managed, “Yes, I know.”
“We wish to bestow much upon Songpo.”
The envoy pressed himself flatter.
“Thus, test not Joseon's might.”
The envoy mumbled incoherently, beyond coherent reply. Though loath to defend him, the interpreter feigned translation. “Your Majesty is most gracious.”
The envoy kowtowed twice and withdrew, back soaked in sweat.
The next day, Munjong summoned Anpyeong Daegun Yi Yong. He came with Kim Nae-gyeong. Munjong had called on him several times since the physiognomy reading for the Heuksan-juice manager from Seosan.
“Not seeking a physiognomist?” At Munjong's words, Anpyeong turned. Kim Nae-gyeong hastily slipped from view.
“Deokyangjeong Yi U-ryang craves the greater world?”
“Yes, brother.”
“May I employ him for grave matters? You may not see him awhile.”
Anpyeong bowed low. “Your Highness—no, sire—most gracious.”
Lifting his head, Anpyeong saw Munjong's face strangely flushed.
“That Kim Nae-gyeong came far; tell him to read physiognomies before leaving.”
Anpyeong resolved to erase from memory his brother's dismissal of it as mere sorcery.
Soon after, Anpyeong led Kim Nae-gyeong to Gyotaeyeon, the queen's bedchamber.
“Guard your tongue well.” Anpyeong's face was stern.
Kim knew the place's significance by hearsay. He sensed life's second crisis approaching. The first: four months prior, meeting Gwon Ram. Anpyeong Daegun took me as guest retainer; escaped wrath.
Deep within Gyotaeyeon, Anpyeong had him meet two noblewomen.
They hurried out and, in a secluded spot, Anpyeong eyed him. “One will captivate a single life; the other…”
Anpyeong's gaze sharpened like a hawk's. Kim blurted, “Will captivate the lives of tens of thousands.”
No further word from Munjong. Freed up, I compiled my English resume and papers, emailed Professor Yi Dong-hui. Focused on hospital duties and specialist exam prep.
Two envoy teams here, remarriage to prepare—bound to be busy.
Munjong's wedding was now less than a month away. Shouldn't I prepare a gift? The ship tech was invaluable, but state business to him. Needed something personal.
Course meal? Joseon banquets served everything at once. Even France, course meal birthplace, did the same until the 19th century. Sequential dishes, one by one? Nowhere in the world yet. Special.
I opened Gatong.
Odd. Thanks twice again.
I opened the Joseon Annals.
“Trade with Songpo is permitted. A meeting house shall be established at Hirado, to be called West Japan Trade. Deokyangjeong Yi U-ryang is appointed to the separate seat, and Choyo-gaeng to the separate monitor.”
The envoy from Upper Songpo's Wonmun, moved to tears, reported: “We deeply thank the King of Joseon for his grace. Through the meeting house, we shall further strengthen amity with Joseon.”
West Japan Trade? The pen slipped from my hand.
Four days ago, I'd sent shipbuilding tech. No way they'd built ships already.
Munjong the gambler?
Location impeccable: Hirado, where southern trade boomed ninety years later, from Portuguese to Dutch.
The personnel? Astonishing. Deokyangjeong Yi U-ryang, Anpyeong Daegun's second son. In the original history, dead by December this year, not yet twenty.
Even with Gatong's ripple effects, why send this frail youth under twenty to Japan?
Most baffling: Choyo-gaeng. Gisaeng whose name graces the annals sixteen times, captivating three of King Sejong's sons. Prime disciple of the notorious Bak Yeon, authority on court music and dance—even rumors said Sejo couldn't bring himself to execute her amid adultery scandals.
Honey trap?
Munjong was on the move. In directions I hadn't foreseen.