Bureaucrats Need a Break Too - 2
Promotions are the goal and dream of every bureaucrat, no exaggeration. To be honest, I don't hate the idea of advancing ranks myself. After all, isn't a Rank 8 position better than Rank 9? And wouldn't Ranks 7, 6, or 5 sound even more impressive? Humans naturally crave higher seats of power, positions commanding the respect of thousands. It's an instinct, nothing strange about it.
Yet the reason I felt a pang of dismay at the word promotion was simple. First off, my bloodline already holds a rank nobler than any bureaucratic title: crown prince of the Giwang household. Second—and this was the real kicker—it's happening way too fast. No, actually, that's the decisive reason. There's a saying that getting promoted too young brings misfortune in life, but I've blown past "youthful promotion" straight into "youthful minister." Does that even make sense?
How many ranks am I even now? Things got so chaotic I nearly forgot the symbol of bureaucracy itself—my official rank. They kept promoting me before I could even settle into the last one, so who could keep track? Vaguely, I recalled it was something with a 3 in it.
"It wasn't long ago that you were appointed Gaui Daibu. Now you'll rise to Tongui Daibu."
Ah. Ak Wang's words sharpened my fuzzy memory. Right—I was Gaui Daibu, the entry-level Rank 3 position. At least that's something. I let out a silent sigh of relief. It was a relief that my current rank was just the first of the proper Rank 3s, and this promotion was only a single step up, not some double jump. When I'd gone from junior Rank 3 to proper Rank 3, that had been a two-step leap. Slim chance, sure, but if the Emperor suddenly declared, "Let's try three steps this time," shoving me into junior Rank 2, I'd have burst into tears for real.
At my age? Seriously? Is it even normal for someone in their twenties to eye junior Rank 2? Unless you're imperial kin or your sister's the Emperor's favorite, how does anyone climb this fast? I'm no expert on Central Plains history, but even I knew this pace was abnormal. Anyone might mistake my surname "Han" not for Giwang's line, but for the imperial family itself.
"Your grandfather went north, yet who could've guessed Guo Ziyi would stay behind in Kaepyeong?"
"You're too kind, my lord."
I barely managed to bow my head at Ak Wang's sudden thrust. Guo Ziyi from Emperor Wu of Han's era—the man who'd swept the Xiongnu to the soul, stamping Baikal Lake on his way back. But Guo Ziyi's fame came not just from glittering victories, but from rocketing to high office at a ridiculously young age. Hearing Ak Wang—a man who'd lived a life overflowing with experience as the Iron King—compare me to him was utterly crushing. Even Ak Wang thought my promotion speed was insane.
"Since it's come to this, aim for junior Rank 1 before your child is born. With effort, you can do it."
"Yes, I'll keep that in mind."
I'll bust my ass to avoid any more promotions. Rank 3 feels like the bare minimum for high office, but Rank 2? That's the real deal.
...
"Y-Your Highness."
"What is it?"
"His Majesty values my meager talents and efforts far too highly, and I am deeply grateful. But stepping into the fields to comfort the farmers wasn't my idea alone. As I just mentioned, it was thanks to Inspector Jo's advice. How could I claim all the glory myself?"
After a brief internal debate, I threw Jo Wi-cheo under the bus. Bearing all the credit alone meant more promotions—better to share with someone appropriate.
Sorry, man. I apologized inwardly to Jo Wi-cheo. I knew he dreaded promotions too, but hey, I had to save my own skin first. Besides, you were involved. I'm not handing you unearned merit. For a healthier, more beautiful bureaucracy, superiors shouldn't hog their subordinates' achievements. Recognizing and reporting them—that's the ideal boss, right?
"Advice and execution aren't equal. And you've forged successful ties with the Northern Ice Palace—that calls for commendation too."
But the response came back firm and merciless. On the surface, praise for my greater contributions. Deep down? No matter what you do, promotion's unavoidable. My eyes welled up, limbs trembling at the ordeal.
Lately, it felt like I was visiting the palace for meals. Was it okay for a mere subject to treat the Emperor's domain like a neighborhood diner?
"Please enter, Vice Censor-in-Chief. His Majesty awaits."
The Geum-ui-wi Commandant guarding the Wuying Hall eyed me differently, as if sharing my thoughts. Or maybe it was just my paranoia. As the Emperor's last shield, he saw officials rushing in at summons all the time—why fixate on me?
"You've been summoned often lately, Vice Censor-in-Chief. It shows how tirelessly you labor for the realm and its people. As a fellow subject, I truly admire it."
Not paranoia. The man who always spoke only necessities uttered unnecessary words laced with personal feeling—even "admiration," the ultimate compliment.
"Your words overhonor me. I merely did my duty, and it happened to be visible. All officials strive for the realm and people alike—how could I be special?"
"Those who act just to be seen are different from those whose every deed draws eyes."
Strange. It sounded like praise but didn't feel like it. Like he was branding me: Hide all you want—you're fated for promotion.
"I've held up a busy man too long. Please go in."
Before I could respond properly, the Commandant ended it with a faint smile. Him smiling? Like spotting a unicorn on the street.
Knowledge merely stored in the head is dead knowledge. True scholars put learning into practice—that's the essence of scholarship, the proper use of wisdom. Every scholar knows this. Yet how tragic that even this truth often remains mere knowledge, unapplied.
But hearing of the Vice Censor-in-Chief's deeds made me realize even I, who should set the example for all scholars, had fallen short.
To think he'd go to the fields himself. A chuckle escaped me. The crown prince sharing dust with farmers, harnessing spirit white deer to plow the earth—what a wondrous tale. Straight out of legends or folktales. Why hadn't I done it sooner?
I knew "Farmers are the foundation of the world," knew they outnumbered all other subjects—yet never thought to join them. To truly grasp farmers' hearts, I should've approached them. When fields were ravaged, reports weren't enough; I should've seen for myself.
"One of every three you meet on the road is your teacher." An ancient sage's words surfaced. Sages never err. It means ignoring status for lessons—anyone can teach, no matter how lowly. And you must venture out to give or receive them. Stuck in the palace like me, you'd meet no teachers.
"This subject, Vice Censor-in-Chief Han Un, pays respects to His Majesty!"
Yet heaven watches over us. Even palace-bound, I had a fine teacher: one who taught me practice over mere learning. Noble-blooded yet approaching the farmers—a virtuous talent.
"Raise your head."
This talent, always surprising or delighting me, had shone brightly again.
"Seeing you always brings me joy, Vice Censor-in-Chief. You devote yourself to the realm, advance for the people, and achieve results everyone applauds. So though I know not your thoughts, I cherish and anticipate our moments together."
"Your words humble me, Your Majesty."
"But this time, I'm miffed. Had you shared your idea with me, I'd have grabbed plow and hoe. The qilin and phoenix may be on the plains, but I'd have tilled with the imperial horses."
"Y-Your Majesty."
My light joke visibly flustered him. Meant to amuse, but a flop. Is there truly an invisible wall between sovereign and subject? Even jokes don't land. Perhaps only after he becomes Giwang can we banter. Even Giwang Senior, though a subject, converses freely as a king. Or is it just him?
"Vice Censor-in-Chief."
"Command me, Your Majesty."
"Your merits have always been great, but this deed will be remembered eternally—a beautiful legacy. Future emperors and ministers will speak your name, praising its brilliance."
With that, I placed a hand on his still-prostrate shoulder.
"I'd love to appoint you Jungbong Daibu."
His shoulder twitched.
"But that would trouble you and the other subjects alike. So settle for Tongui Daibu."
"I am overwhelmed by Your Majesty's grace!"
Promotion to proper Rank 3 Tongui Daibu, not junior Rank 1 Jungbong. He voiced thanks laced with gratitude. Was it for the promotion itself, or for holding back from excess? A trivial curiosity, but it struck me.