Three Hundred Bolts of Silk
"In truth, Itigeo and Lee Man-ju are openly preparing to force the Lady's marriage, even by brute strength. It is too outrageous to even speak of, but I hear abduction is part of their plans as well. There have been such attempts."
"Good heavens! Even if he is her half-brother, isn't Itigeo her uncle by rights?"
Before he knew it, Hong-wi's hand had clenched into a fist.
The bitter history with his own usurping uncle came flooding back, vivid as a fresh wound.
"That is so. Thankfully, Tung Ju-gang was not one to sit idle. When Itigeo first dared to speak before the Grand Chieftain, saying that Wol-yeong must be handed over to Lee Man-ju for the sake of the clan's peace — he actually drew his blade. Itigeo went white as a corpse and fled."
"A satisfying tale. It seems Tung Ju-gang truly cherishes her."
"Cherish is hardly the word. He thinks of her as his own little sister. Did the Grand Chieftain say earlier that he raised that child like a son of his own blood? It is the plain truth. She grew up alongside the late young master Temur and Lady Wol-yeong as if they had shared one cradle. Even now I can see them as they were, clear as yesterday."
Kushinu closed both eyes and drifted for a moment into memory.
After a while he opened them again with an air of regret, and let out another long sigh.
"Truly, we owe that boy Tung Ju-gang a great deal. The Grand Chieftain and I were both warriors among warriors in our day, but honestly speaking, we are old now. Still, so long as there is strength left in this hand to grip a blade, no man will dare carry the Lady off — but it is a blessing indeed to have Tung Ju-gang standing at her side."
"I, too, wish to help her," Hong-wi said quietly.
"I have wandered Jianzhou and seen Lee Man-ju's atrocities with my own eyes. If a man like that — of all men — seizes control of Jianzhou, darkness will fall upon this land. All the more so if Kunaha takes his seat after him."
"Well spoken!"
Kushinu's fist tightened.
"Truly excellent words. Let me beg your pardon in advance — I am not one to think so highly of merchants' mettle, but Lord Temusi'i strikes me as a man of real backbone. Even in this Jianzhou, men with the courage to speak of Lee Man-ju so plainly are few and far between."
"You flatter me."
"Not at all. I heard everything from Tung Ju-gang. You took up a blade yourself and drove off those bandits. A remarkable feat. Thanks to it, the whole village holds Lord Temusi'i in high esteem. The praise is on every tongue."
At those words, a faint flush rose to Hong-wi's face.
To rise by his own strength and earn the praise of others — it made his heart tremble.
Even when he had been King of Joseon, he had always agonized over whether he truly deserved the reverence of his people.
After the persecution began at the hands of his uncle Suyang, the doubt had only deepened.
But now — with neither royal blood nor a throne behind him — was it not his own strength, his own ability alone, that was winning the respect of men?
"I fear I have taken too much of your time with an old man's rambling."
"Not at all. Please, tell me more of these stories again sometime."
Kushinu wore a thoroughly contented expression.
It had been a long while, it seemed, since he had last met someone who listened to his words so attentively.
"What brings you here?"
Hwang Ga received Pushan Hadaru, who had come seeking him out, with open frostiness.
Considering the history between the two men, it was hardly an eccentric display. As a boy living in the frontier village, Hwang Ga had once been thoroughly beaten after Pushan Hadaru picked a fight with him for no reason — and in the end, it was Pushan Hadaru who set in motion the circumstances that drove Hwang Ga from the village altogether.
One could argue that this very misfortune was what allowed Hwang Ga to rise into the smuggling magnate he was today, but that gave him no reason whatsoever to feel grateful.
Their relationship was precisely this, and nothing more: mutual dislike, sustained by business neither could afford to abandon.
"I need cloth."
"Cloth, is it? How much?"
Hwang Ga folded and unfolded his paper fan with a languid air.
"Three hundred bolts of silk. Ming goods."
"What?"
Hwang Ga nearly dropped the fan from his hand.
Has this fool lost his mind?
"What in the world do you need three hundred bolts of Ming silk for?"
A single bolt of silk — a fine Ming duanzi, no less — was worth ninety bolts of top-grade cotton in Joseon, even reckoned at the lowest standard. A bolt of Joseon silk fetched thirty bolts of fine cotton, and even the coarsest weave brought in more than twenty.
If that was the price in Joseon, where goods flowed far more freely, then among the Jurchens it was a value beyond reckoning.
"Something came up. Something did, in fact."
Pushan Hadaru was deliberately scraping at Hwang Ga's pride.
It was a provocation aimed squarely at a smuggler's self-respect.
But Hwang Ga was far too seasoned a player to bite at so shallow a lure.
"Since when do three hundred bolts of Ming silk fall from the sky?"
Hwang Ga answered with a flourish of banter, then fixed Pushan Hadaru with a long, steady look.
Why the sudden hunger for three hundred bolts of Ming silk? Even he would struggle to move that much silk.
He slowly spread his fan and sank into thought. There was no reason to make the first move, and even once he understood why Pushan Hadaru was behaving so strangely, it would not be too late.
"It's an important venture."
In the end, it was Pushan Hadaru who could not hold his tongue and spoke first.
Oh ho. An 'important venture,' is it.
"Three hundred bolts of silk is a staggering fortune. What venture could be so important as that?"
"Hah, since when did smugglers start asking questions about the goods they sell? The great Hwang Ga, and you can't keep your mouth shut about anything but the price?"
Hwang Ga smiled faintly.
Go on then, chatter all you like. Who's in a hurry here?
"To answer your question — there is nothing I cannot procure."
He folded the fan slowly as he continued.
"Now, if this were pocket change, I wouldn't press you — I've done a trade or two of that size in my day. But this one's grown rather large, so I find myself wondering whether my payment might end up slipping through someone's fingers."
"Hmph. You think I'd cheat you?"
Pushan Hadaru forced a laugh.
"No such worry. There have been those who tried to skim, but never once in my life have I failed to collect what was owed me."
At Hwang Ga's words, Pushan Hadaru fell silent.
"That said, let me be clear — even I cannot produce three hundred bolts of Ming duanzi on short notice. Joseon silk, now — that I could manage."
"That will do fine."
Pushan Hadaru answered without a moment's hesitation.
This fellow — he's serious.
Hwang Ga was somewhat surprised. Joseon silk might rank a step below the Ming goods, but silk was silk.
"Just who in this Jianzhou intends to dress himself in three hundred garments of silk?"
"Kunaha."
"Lee Go-nap-hap?"
Pushan Hadaru nodded.
And Hwang Ga understood.
"Hm. Did you receive some promise from him, then?"
Pushan Hadaru did not answer.
But now Hwang Ga understood this posturing as well. He had heard that Pushan Hadaru had made it his life's ambition to claw his way into an official position — so there was no doubt about it: he was playing the fool in the hope of extracting some title or other from Lee Go-nap-hap within the Jianzhou Guard.
Hm. The pitiful pig. He's letting Lee Go-nap-hap take him for an easy mark and eat him alive.
Yet in another way, Hwang Ga understood Pushan Hadaru too.
It was a merchant's fellow-feeling. Whether Joseon or Jurchen, the classes they revered differed — scholars in one, warriors in the other — but in looking down upon merchants as contemptible, they were the same. Materially they might prosper, but both the Joseon merchant and the Jurchen merchant carried the same twisted longing for status and advancement.
In truth, so had Hwang Ga once.
"And why exactly should I help you?"
"What do you want?"
Pushan Hadaru answered, suddenly deflated. He was, after all, a merchant to the bone.
Hwang Ga's mind turned swiftly.
"Install me in the Hwangseongpyeong Merchant Assembly as a member with voting rights."
"That's all?"
"And of course, waive my entry fee and tribute payments for life."
Pushan Hadaru deliberated a moment, then shrugged.
"So be it."
"Done!"
Hwang Ga flashed a grin.
With this, he had won a seat among the leadership of the Hwangseongpyeong Merchant Assembly — a body long monopolized by Jurchen merchants — with a vote of his own.
Pushan Hadaru, meanwhile, looked none too pleased about it.
Then Hwang Ga spoke again.
"And how will you be paying me?"
"What?"
A blank look spread across Pushan Hadaru's face.
Hwang Ga frowned.
"Come now, friend. Even if I join your Merchant Assembly, do you imagine that settles the account for three hundred bolts of silk?"
"Ah. Right."
Pushan Hadaru conceded the point.
"Can you pay at once?"
"Half in advance, half on credit—"
There was no confidence in the answer. Though Pushan Hadaru commanded the premier trading house of Hwangseongpyeong, its profitability had eroded steadily for years, and its coffers were running dry.
"Well I never. The mighty Pushan Hadaru wants to put half on credit. Astonishing, truly."
"Don't worry yourself. I'll repay it, every coin."
"And if you can't?"
At that, Pushan Hadaru went silent.
That possibility was too terrible to contemplate — he had never even allowed himself to think of it.
Hwang Ga studied the wavering merchant with cold, level eyes.
The finances of the Pushan trading house were guarded secrets, but he had long since noticed that its fortunes worsened with every passing year. The shrinking volume of goods they bought was proof enough — the fruit of a bloated operation that prized connections and favors over profit.
And now three hundred bolts of silk — not as an investment, but as a bribe?
Hwang Ga knew perfectly well that Lee Go-nap-hap had neither the means nor the intention to repay anything of that value. It was possible, of course, that Pushan Hadaru had wangled some other privilege out of him — but given the man's habit of groveling before the powerful, that was unlikely.
In a word, the odds were high that he was pouring out a fortune for nothing at all.
Hwang Ga used bribes liberally himself, but never like this — never throwing money away for empty air.
"You think I can't repay it?"
It was such a pathetic answer that even Pushan Hadaru found it absurd the moment it left his mouth. But there was no help for it. There was no other way.
He clenched his teeth.
Even if that wretch Hwang Ga sneers down his nose at me, what can I do?
Then Hwang Ga smiled.
It was the easy smile of a man who had already claimed the upper hand — and to Pushan Hadaru, that smile was more humiliating than a hundred insults could ever have been.
"Look here... Pushan Hadaru, isn't this a bit much? We're both merchants, aren't we? Merchants move for profit. It's not as though you and I are bound by any bonds of loyalty."
"...Fine. What do you want?"
"If you fail to repay me, you hand over the shares of your trading house."
Ugunai's eyes went wide.
It was unthinkable. However dire the circumstances, this could not be borne.
But Pushan Hadaru let out a long sigh.
"So be it."
"Good. Then we draw up a contract."
Hwang Ga was thorough to the last degree. Whatever business he undertook, he left behind indisputable proof.
In silence, Pushan Hadaru reviewed each clause of the contract as Hwang Ga settled it, one by one.
Strange as it might seem among the Jurchens, where illiteracy ran rampant, Pushan Hadaru was one of the rare few who could read and write. As for Hwang Ga, who had eaten official rice in a government post, it went without saying.
"Everything confirmed? Good — then press your thumbprint."
They cut their fingers and pressed prints in blood.
Two copies were drawn up in all, and each kept one.
Pushan Hadaru held his silence throughout. Hwang Ga, for his part, drove the knife home with a parting smile, delivering his farewell in the sunniest of tones.
Pushan Hadaru bit his lip the entire way home.