Part 1: Ominous Signs from the Crown Prince
Today, with some rare leisure time, I was relaxing over tea with Park Eun. As we sipped, he remarked,
"I'm truly amazed you haven't collapsed yet, just keeping up with your workload like this."
"Honestly, the Ministry of Military Affairs' duties are nothing compared to my time as Inspector General."
Park Eun chuckled at that.
"True enough. Back when you were Inspector General, I was genuinely worried you'd drop dead from exhaustion."
"Just words?"
"Come on. Who was it that brought you wild ginseng for your health back then?"
"I appreciate that. But what if it all ended up in Je Tae's belly?"
"You... really."
"Kidding, of course. Kidding. I savored every bit. Thanks to you, I even got a son out of it. My gratitude."
Park Eun burst out laughing. Banter with a close friend like this was always fun. In truth, the Ministry's workload was still heavy, but compared to my Inspector General days, it felt like a breeze. Back then, I handled not just Inspectorate affairs but also the Three Armies Bureau. And that wasn't all—I had to mediate between Yi Bang-won and Min Da-yeon, fend off Yi Seong-gye's tantrums. I thought I was going to die from the stress.
Now, I just managed Ministry duties, comforted Min Da-yeon when needed, and endured Yi Seong-gye's fits. A vast improvement. Plus, Yi Bang-won, perhaps concerned for me, had massively bolstered the Ministry's staff. Lately, things had gotten much smoother. Especially with two extra auditors and two more left auditors added, handling the armory registers was far easier.
That's why I had time to slack off like this. And Park Eun here was incredibly capable, making work a pleasure, while I put Jo Mal-saeng to good use. Jo took it all without complaint—he respected me, after all.
It stemmed from Yi Ye. During my Inspector General stint, I'd specially appointed one man: Yi Ye. A resident of Ulsan, he was the era's premier diplomat expert from my past-life knowledge. I'd asked Yi Bang-won to hire him on the spot. Afterward, Yi Ye became fast friends with Jo Mal-saeng.
Yi Ye sang my praises—not because of the appointment, but because his mother, abducted to Japan in his childhood, had returned during the Tsushima expedition. It wasn't solely my merit, but Yi Ye insisted that without my victories at Dongnae, that massive campaign never would have happened. He thanked me profusely every time. And his friend Jo Mal-saeng came to respect me for it too.
I never dreamed it'd connect like this. Exterminating the pirates was the answer, after all. Not a strange conclusion. They'd torn families apart; the wako deserved separation from the world itself.
"Speaking of the Chongchang Formation..."
"Is there a problem?"
"No, it's just... your brilliant ideas never cease to amaze me. Where on earth do you come up with them?"
"I've always been good at imaginative thinking. You know that."
"Fair point."
Of course, it was future knowledge, but that's what I said. Why did he agree so readily? Anyway, the Chongchang Formation Park Eun mentioned was essentially Spain's tercio, adapted Joseon-style: a mixed unit of pikemen, gunners, shield-bearers, and archers. My naming skills sucked, so I'd slapped that label on it for now. I'd ask Yi Bang-won to rename it later.
The central army would reorganize along these lines, with standardized weaponry in the works. Cavalry could stay as is—Yi Seong-gye's system was solid, needing only minor tweaks like weapon uniformity.
I left provincial forces untouched. The south mixed Yongjin and northern Gunikdo systems. I'd learned upon arriving here that Gunikdo was basically the precursor to Sejo's Jinguan system. I rated Jinguan highly, but the current provincial setup suited me fine untouched. Northern barbarians and southern pirates were too different in nature. Tailoring to one weakened the other. Unifying under Jinguan wasn't feasible yet.
For now, the dual system was optimal—complicated, but unavoidable. Later, with matchlocks and socket bayonets, introducing Jinguan with fixes would be ideal.
"But seriously, are you planning large-scale warships?"
"Indeed."
"You'll show models to His Highness and build whichever he prefers, right?"
"Exactly. We'll construct one of each and test their utility."
I had panokseon in mind, but Yi Bang-won might see differently.
"The Censorate will come at you fiercely."
They would. They were already bitching about costs for my army reform prep, despite only vague knowledge. Why attack preemptively? Had they already decided my plans were budget-busters? Not wrong, but...
I was mulling ways to sway them. Dealing with their shit was exhausting.
"If you propose fiscal supplements, it'll be fine."
Boost revenue to cover expenses, right? Park Eun nodded.
"That salt pan plan?"
"Yes."
I'd proposed solar salt fields in Pyeongan and Hwanghae Provinces; trials were underway in Pyeongan. Results soon, and expansion likely. More revenue, cheaper salt—win-win.
"That's not all, of course. I've got others in the works."
"Intriguing. Though whether the Censorate buys it..."
As we chatted, talk turned to Heo Cham-rye.
"You've thoroughly reformed Heo Cham-rye."
"Yeah."
Park Eun brought it up because I'd turned the Ministry officials inside out. Newcomers did heo cham-rye—treating seniors to food to request entry into duties—followed by myeon sin-rye, initiation rites. But the feasts burdened rookies, evolving into outright extortion. I'd banned it, to no avail—"tradition."
So I flipped it: Accept heo cham-rye, and seniors would "set an example" by working rookies like dogs. Exactly ten days at Hwang Hui's intensity turned them into zombies. Yi Bang-won deemed it perfect for curbing the practice, ordering other ministries to follow. Now heo cham-rye was just tea or drinks—pure formality. He might make it official; everyone feared that, and he'd proven he could.
Result: No more freeloading under "tradition." Satisfaction.
We wrapped our long overdue talk. Nothing major brewing, right? Crown Prince Yangnyeong was finally showing his colors, but fallout wouldn't hit me. Someone else would catch it.
As Min Mu-jil predicted, chaos erupted at the Crown Prince Academy. Yi Bang-won was furious.
He understood the crown prince loved play—he was only eight. As long as he met the assigned study quota, Yi Bang-won never interfered. But curious about progress, he'd come for a test himself. The prince had memorized nothing properly. Rage ensued.
"Why is this happening? I don't stop your play, do I? Do my words—study then play—repel you so?"
The academy tutors replied,
"He's just nervous, Your Highness. He can do well enough."
Suppressing anger, Yi Bang-won said,
"Then, Crown Prince, read it."
The prince started, but kept stumbling. Yi Bang-won snapped,
"That's why I told you to memorize! It ensures smooth reading. Didn't your tutors say that?"
They had, but fearing reprimand, they'd taught reading sufficed. Yi Bang-won tore into them.
"You dare fawn over the crown prince?!"
The tutors, wronged but silent. Spotting their complicity, Yi Bang-won realized the prince had lied.
"Now lying to your father's face?! What did the etiquette tutors do?!"
He'd thought mere play-loving; bold-faced lies enraged him further. He ordered the etiquette tutor dismissed immediately.
Calming briefly,
"I must select new tutors. Crown Prince, go reflect."
"Yes, Father."
Yi Bang-won left to reselect tutors. The prince bolted to Min Da-yeon's chambers in the queen's palace, whining about the scolding.
Stroking him, she soothed,
"My child, your father expects much because he cherishes you. Don't cry."
"Why must I study so? Other kids play! It's unfair!"
"You are this realm's foundation. Unlike other princes, you are treated accordingly."
"Still hate it. I want to play."
"My child..."
Min Da-yeon recalled Min Mu-gu and Min Mu-jil—similar antics. She'd thrashed them wildly back then. But especially Mu-jil had transformed utterly; no great worry. The prince could too. The tutors just didn't grasp his nature; new ones would help.
She comforted him, escorted to his palace for rest, then sought Yi Bang-won.
"What brings you, my queen?"
Explaining, he gave a hollow laugh.
"Told to reflect, and he runs crying to Mother..."
"He's a child. It happens."
Defending the prince, she persisted. Yi Bang-won retorted,
"Was I wrong, my queen?"
"No. We must raise him right—our eldest, naturally. But the academy lacks talent. I beg you replace them with the realm's finest scholars. His failings stem from poor tutors."
"I planned that. But not Mu-jil—he's swamped, and his Confucian scholarship is modest, unfit for classics. He'll teach practical affairs later."
Yi Bang-won stressed the prince's dire etiquette deficit needed a Confucian rites expert; Min Da-yeon agreed. On discipline, they aligned perfectly—high hopes and deep love for their firstborn, after losing three.
"Understood, my lord. Please assign Joseon's best to guide him."
"No worries. I'll select properly."
Soon, Yi Bang-won appointed Maeng Sa-seong and Byeong Gye-ryang—Joseon's top geniuses. High expectations: Byeong's prose rivaled Ming scholar Fang Xiaoru's praise; from him, true scholarship. Maeng's benevolence and simplicity would instill etiquette and mindset for a fine prince.
Tutors changed; they taught diligently. But the prince skimped, finding it more boring. Min Da-yeon scolded; brief diligence faded after three days. Parents' hearts burned.
As crown prince discipline worsened, Min Mu-jil finally submitted his army reform memorial. Court debate began—and there, he faced savage criticism from the Censorate and grandees. Over costs, despite his fiscal proposals.