International Farce City - 4
The campfire fueled by ginseng burned steadily for quite a while. Having already committed to such an extreme act of burning ginseng, their unfiltered madness seemed set on seeing it through to the end. Or maybe it was just my imagination. As the ginseng smoke wafted up, even just inhaling it made me feel oddly invigorated, like my body was getting healthier by the minute. If there were such a thing as ginseng you absorbed through your nose instead of eating it, this must be what it felt like. Not that I particularly wanted to know.
"Hey, young master."
While I watched the overseas lunatics in their frenzied display, Ak I-yeon, who had been observing the same spectacle, spoke up.
"Ginseng may be precious, but isn't that a bit too reckless? What if no one buys it and they end up burning the whole stock...?"
A perfectly reasonable concern. Chicken racing is a tactic to intimidate your opponent by showcasing your own madness. It only works at maximum effect if they back down in fear. But if they match your madness, you both just crash and burn together. With ginseng held hostage, though, mutual madness isn't an option. If the buyers are Goryeo merchants, they'll never yield first.
"They have no choice but to buy the ginseng. That's why Goryeo's pulling this stunt—they know it."
"No choice?"
"You have to reserve ginseng years in advance just to get any these days. Those merchants have already secured their reserved stock, so Goryeo's got them over a barrel no matter what."
Ginseng is a hot commodity. The kind of insane item that's more expensive than gold by weight, with demand that persists even if the sky falls and the earth splits. Anyone with money flips out over its effects. For ordinary folk, it restores vitality like nothing else; for martial artists, it boosts inner energy.
"Once the court banned private capture of spirit beasts, attention shifted to spirit medicines. No ban on those, so it's only natural."
And ginseng from across the sea in Goryeo is a key ingredient in spirit medicine production. High officials, tycoons, prestigious murim sects and clans—no one can resist it. Limited supply, endless demand, and purchase prices that keep skyrocketing. That's the ginseng currently going up in flames over there—
"One more!"
"Burn another one, they say!"
You mad bastards. Couldn't even wait and now they're burning more.
"...So as long as Goryeo doesn't go too far over the line, the merchants are stuck buying. They can sell at a premium to their reserved customers, no matter the cost."
It's just basic economics. The price of goods isn't set when they first arrive from abroad—it's determined by domestic distribution. If the Hangju price is 1, it reaches consumers at a minimum of 3. Fucking infuriating margins, but unavoidable. So if everyone else is buying ginseng to make spirit meds, you gonna be the odd one out? Fall behind in the competition and you're screwed.
"Hm. A young master who looks like he'd just enjoy the finer things, yet surprisingly knowledgeable."
Whether our conversation with Ak I-yeon was too loud, or the Goryeo merchants had sharp ears—an elderly merchant who seemed to hold a high position muttered while stroking his beard.
"Elder, we're right here. We can hear you."
"Doesn't matter if they hear. They won't understand anyway."
Unfortunately, I do. Before reincarnating, I was fluent in the language of Goryeo's descendants, but even so, this era's tongue should differ from modern times—yet I understood it crystal clear. I was gritting my teeth, pretending ignorance to avoid the hassle of revealing my bilingual skills.
Ignoring the elder, I continued explaining to Ak I-yeon. If she found out I spoke a foreign language, it'd reach Ak Wang's ears, and eventually Jwa Do-eosa or even the Emperor. As a field inspector, that's a nightmare I didn't need. So I ignored it as best I could...
"If only the other merchants were as wise as that young man. Sales volumes are about to drop sharply—repeating this process will just tire everyone out."
"True enough."
Ignoring...
"Anyway, that Lee In-im fellow's gone too far. Telling them to handle only a tenth of last year's volume from next year? Ridiculous."
"What can we do? Domestic demand's booming, so there's nothing left to export. Can't ignore a powerhouse like him."
'Fuck.'
Just hearing the elderly and young merchants' exchange made cold sweat trickle down my back. Those damn bastards. They're doing it on purpose. Hangju merchants can't possibly not understand Goryeo speech. Pretending it's a slip while blatantly dropping it.
"What did those guys just say? Volumes down to a tenth?"
"And they mentioned Lee In-im. Isn't he one of Goryeo's real power players?"
The Song merchants who'd overheard began to stir one by one. Already, buying ginseng once felt like blood rushing to your head—now volumes cut too? And not some cartel bullshit, but by order of a court heavyweight? Sure, a tenth was obvious bluffing, but even trimming to nine-tenths would hit hard. No way they'd let it slide.
"I-yeon."
"Yes, young master."
"Let's go see Dong-gu Wang first. No point sticking around just watching the fire show."
Ak I-yeon nodded innocently at my suggestion. Talk of ginseng volumes at a tenth or Lee In-im pulling strings didn't seem to pique her interest much—she'd only recently entered society.
As we approached Dong-gu Wang's residence, an official came over, offering to escort us to the banquet hall. They'd apparently prepared a feast the moment we entered Hangju. But I politely declined for now. Better to convey the on-site madness firsthand to Dong-gu Wang before enjoying festivities.
"Ginseng volumes down to a tenth?"
"Yes, Your Highness. A rumor the Goryeo merchants are deliberately spreading."
Dong-gu Wang, who granted my audience, furrowed his brow at the news of the quota control.
"The tenth figure is exaggerated, of course, but they mentioned Lee In-im. Volumes will definitely be restricted next year."
"That damn old coot won't die and keeps stirring shit."
Muttering irritably, Dong-gu Wang sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead. Lee In-im—Goryeo's Minister of State, de facto head of their bureaucracy. Nine years Dong-gu Wang's senior, he was a peak-realm martial artist who could drop dead any day yet stubbornly asserted his presence like the monster he was. Hearing his name from merchants' mouths, in a city under Dong-gu Wang's influence? It was as good as a notice: 'This is how it is—deal with it.'
"Playing games with ginseng, of all things."
Dong-gu Wang's voice carried subtle anger and helplessness. I got it. Ginseng was coveted by officials, murim folk, men and women, young and old—anyone with cash. A sudden sharp drop in supply? Social chaos inevitable. But pressuring Goryeo merchants with 'Why aren't you selling?' wouldn't fly. If they say stock's gone, what then? We had no fixed annual contracts anyway.
Formal inquiry to the Goryeo court? 'Ask the merchants if you're pissed.' Obvious response.
"...We'll have to increase silk and porcelain quotas."
"Pardon?"
I reflexively questioned Dong-gu Wang's out-of-left-field remark. What did Goryeo skimping on ginseng have to do with silk and porcelain...?
"The Left Vice Inspector General wouldn't know. This isn't the first time Goryeo's pulled this crap—fades from memory, then flares up again."
"A protest, you mean?"
"Exactly. Goryeo's fine selling only to us, but I have a duty to make Hangju an even grander, more dazzling hub. That means spreading limited goods to merchants of every nation, luring more from their homelands."
I nodded, grasping it. Goryeo wanted profits from Hangju; Dong-gu Wang wanted an international trade metropolis. To draw crowds, spread goods wide—even if it meant less per country.
"Then the loyal vassal state gets treated like this? Goryeo throws fits."
"Loyal... vassal state?"
Confusing. Loyalty? Vassal? Words that didn't fit Goryeo at all. Nominally a Daesong tributary, sure—but purely on paper. I'd bet they ran their own era names domestically without batting an eye.
"The sentiment you feel is what I feel every time."
Dong-gu Wang's voice dripped bitterness. I couldn't bring myself to respond. What battles had he fought all these years?
We rescheduled the banquet for evening and hit Hangju's streets again.
"His Highness must have it rough."
Relaying our talk to Ak I-yeon and Jo Wi-cheo, she offered sympathy with a complex expression.
"Silk and porcelain are tough to mass-produce. Can they just ramp up output on demand?"
Jo Wi-cheo, meanwhile, calmly hit the sore spot.
He was right. Cranking out goods like that required an Industrial Revolution. And those were luxury items—mass-produce luxuries, and they become commodities.
"If production can't increase, we'll adjust the per-country allocations."
I stuck to generalities. Unilateral tweaks would spark backlash from other merchants. Highlight appeal of non-silk/porcelain goods, or offer hidden perks. Beyond that, I was out of my depth. I was an inspector, not an economist.
"My lord."
"Hm?"
"Looks like a guest seeking you."
As I inwardly prayed for Dong-gu Wang's well-being, Jo Wi-cheo spoke up. I followed his gaze.
'Ah.'
The elderly merchant from before was approaching.