Western Artisans (1)
In truth, if one looked at it a certain way, the order of development felt a little strange.
Even by the standards of original history, glass had already been produced in the Central Plains as far back as the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods (770–220 BC). Yet the crucible process—one of Hwi-yeom’s achievements, analogous to the Chinese method of pouring steel—only appeared in Chinese history during the Northern Song (AD 960–1127). That put the sequence roughly seventeen hundred and fifty years out of order.
Strictly speaking, glass already existed in the Gyeong Empire as well. The problem was simply that no one truly understood its usefulness, nor did anyone actively try to commercialize it.
By this era Europe must already be putting glass windows into cathedrals… Haven’t the Arabian merchants managed to procure any alchemists and glassmakers yet?
The Central Plains had long fashioned glass ornaments, but large-scale use of glass for tableware only began around the late sixteenth century, and ordinary glass windows like those in Europe did not become common until the Qing period.
The variety of chemicals we use keeps growing, and demand for airtight, transparent containers is rising fast. We can’t put glass development off any longer…
Come to think of it, nearly three years had already passed since Hwi-yeom asked the Arabian merchant Ibn al-Nasir to find him “people.”
“From next year the first coffee harvest will be possible…”
Time was short, hands were few, and the work only multiplied. Anxiety gnawed at him, yet there was nothing to be done about it.
Fortunately for Hwi-yeom, a letter arrived around that time from the Yunnan branch of the Agricultural Cooperative. Western merchants had arrived, it said, bringing with them various scholars and technicians; he was requested to come in person and negotiate.
Hwi-yeom crowed with delight.
“For that reason, I intend to make a business trip to Yunnan.”
“……”
“……”
“Ah—one and a half months. One and a half months. You’re really glaring daggers at me…”
When Hwi-yeom muttered with half-lidded eyes under the triangular glares of Dang Un-sang and Bak Chang-eon, the two men cleared their throats.
“Your absence leaves an enormous hole, you know. We’re only reacting this way because we hold your abilities in such high regard.”
“This old man already has tears welling up at the mere thought of the Young Master toiling in a distant land.”
They’re really laying it on thick.
Still, while his father Dang Un-sang was one thing, the fact that Bak Chang-eon could act so shamelessly only proved how close the two of them had become. Grateful for that, Hwi-yeom simply smiled.
“Don’t worry. I won’t bring any new work back this time.”
“You mean that?”
“Well… talks about the full-scale distribution network for Caffa production, and… a few minor inventions, maybe?”
“You little—!!”
Dang Un-sang bellowed, yet he could hardly pick a fight over something done for the family’s good. He only waved a limp hand.
“Fine. Go. Just go. Heh-heh-heuk… this is the punishment I get for raising too capable a son.”
“But you’re happy about it, aren’t you?”
“…You brat.”
“Heh. I’ll be off then.”
Having received Dang Un-sang’s permission, Hwi-yeom went straight to the Inner Hall Steward’s office that Sama Yun had claimed as her own.
Originally the steward of the Inner Hall was the chief household manager. Yet Hwi-yeom’s achievements had so drastically increased the Inner Hall’s workload that the role expected of its head had undergone a complete transformation. When the previous steward, Baek, retired due to age, every candidate who should have succeeded him stuck out their tongues and flatly refused the post. As a result, the elder Bak Chang-eon—himself a former steward—currently held both the chairmanship of the Elders’ Council and the stewardship of the Inner Hall.
Now, however, the duties of the Inner Hall steward were steadily shifting to Sama Yun. Given the nature of Inner Hall work, it was hardly strange for the household’s mistress to take charge of it. The problem until now had simply been the lack of any mistress competent enough. Sama Yun, though, was a monster who, at least in the realm of wringing every drop of efficiency from limited resources and redistributing them, displayed ability equal to Hwi-yeom’s own. She was also his fiancée, and Hwi-yeom regarded sharing the family’s secrets with her as a matter of course. Thus the Tang family members had naturally come to see Sama Yun as “the person who is only temporarily handling the Inner Hall but will soon become its steward in the natural course of things.”
“Yun-mae, shall we take a business trip together?”
“Where to?”
“Yunnan. I received a report that the high-level personnel I requested from the Western Regions have arrived. I’ll go negotiate in person and hire them if they look promising.”
“Oh my, how lovely. Come to think of it, Caffa production starts next year, doesn’t it? We should inspect the state of the coffee plantations while we’re there.”
“We leave in three days, so get ready.”
“Yes.”
“Ah, and… we’re short on manpower. Could you send more clerks from the Sama family?”
“Hmmmm…”
Sama Yun rested the tip of her brush against her lips, thought for a moment, then shrugged.
“They won’t release any more truly useful talent at this point. Would merely adequate people be all right?”
“Ability can be cultivated. Character and background matter more. We absolutely cannot have spies mixed in.”
“You say that,” Sama Yun’s eyes narrowed, “yet you still won’t let a single one of them near the departments that handle the Tang family’s core secrets.”
“Hahaha.”
Hwi-yeom laughed awkwardly.
“There are eyes watching, after all. The fewer holes information can leak through, the better. Still, I haven’t hidden a single thing from you, Yun-mae.”
“Hmmmmmmm…”
Sama Yun eyed him askance, then finally gave a snort of laughter as if granting him a pass.
“I’ll ask Father.”
“Thank you.”
After informing Sama Yun of the departure plans, Hwi-yeom notified Lee Jinmyeong and Ye-eun as well.
“You two don’t need to come this time. It’s just negotiations, not something new. Please handle things well while I’m away. Coordinate closely with Elder Bak.”
“Yes.”
“Ah, Elders Jin Cheong and U Seong-sik should come along, though. Pass the word.”
“Understood.”
And so Hwi-yeom set out for Yunnan for the first time in a long while.
This trip, however, differed a little from the usual ones. Over the past year the Metallurgy Department had built Sanseong No. 2 and No. 3 after Sanseong No. 1. Sanseong No. 1 ran the line from the Hwieon Comprehensive Trading Company warehouse in Seongdo to the State-run Ironworks; Sanseong No. 2 ran from the coal mines to the trading company. Sanseong No. 3, meanwhile, covered the currently longest route—from Seongdo all the way to Kunming.
“It was not built for passenger transport, so the ride quality is… not good, even if one is being polite.”
The conductor bowed and scraped before Hwi-yeom, looking mortified. Hwi-yeom smiled.
“I know. I simply wanted to see for myself how the grain we ship from Sichuan to Yunnan actually moves. Please don’t feel burdened.”
“Y-yes…”
Even though Hwi-yeom spoke with courteous respect and a smile, the angle of the conductor’s bow only grew deeper and the cold sweat running down his back only increased. Right now he wanted to cry.
How am I supposed to not feel burdened?!!
Naturally, Sanseong No. 3 was a steam locomotive that burned coal, so once it was underway the cars behind the tender at the front were all coated in soot. Yet three days earlier the order had come down that Hwi-yeom, Sama Yun, Jin Cheong, and U Seong-sik would ride this very Sanseong No. 3 to Yunnan. The conductor and the entire staff of Hwieon Railway Company had therefore spent three days and nights polishing Sanseong No. 3 until it gleamed.
(As an aside, Hwieon Railway Company was a separate enterprise Bak Chang-eon had spun off from Hwieon Comprehensive Trading Company once Sanseong No. 1 began regular service. Its main business was the maintenance and operation of steam locomotives. The Metallurgy Department that built the engines could not keep managing them forever without interfering with other work, so a number of staff had been seconded to transfer know-how and train the railway employees in locomotive maintenance. At first the Metallurgy chief, Han Cheol, had been ready to lie down on the tracks in protest—until Hwi-yeom whispered the magic words into his ear: “I was planning to prepare the railway company president’s seat as a soft landing for you after you retire as Metallurgy chief…” whereupon Han Cheol had sprung up as if he had just heard Jesus tell a cripple to walk.)
In any case, Hwieon Comprehensive Trading Company now boasted both Hwieon Railway Company and its subcontractor, the Noksan Road Traffic Management Corporation. It was a textbook example of octopus-style expansion, and Hwi-yeom felt thoroughly satisfied every time he looked at the ever-growing organizational chart.
No antitrust laws, no lawmakers screaming at me to break up the company… Ah, the Central Plains truly is heaven!
They had even attached an extra rest car behind the one where the stokers took turns resting, then worked themselves to the bone making its interior as luxurious and spotless as possible. Hwi-yeom smiled knowingly at the conductor.
“I’m sorry for the trouble. Someone like me staying away from the actual worksite is usually the best help I can give, but my position doesn’t always allow that…”
“Not at all! Not at all! It is a very, very great honor!”
“There’s nothing else I can do for you, but your people must have worked hard. Here—Secretary Lee.”
“Yes.”
Lee Jinmyeong drew an envelope from his breast and held it out to the conductor. As the man accepted it with trembling hands, Hwi-yeom smiled.
“A bonus packet. Take the staff who worked hard out for a good meal later.”
“Thank you!!”
Inside the envelope was a bill of exchange issued by Hwieon Comprehensive Finance. Paper currency had not yet appeared; iron coins, silver, gold, silk, and grain still dominated real transactions. Yet promissory notes from large, creditworthy trading houses or money shops circulated much like modern checks—and a note issued by a Hwieon group company on Sichuan soil was as good as gold itself.
The invigorated crew shoveled coal with even greater vigor, and the train began to glide along the rails a little faster than usual.
Niccolo dal Monte had originally been a glassmaker of Venice. Specializing in the stained glass used in cathedrals, he had never once left Venice in his entire life.
In those days the glass artisans of Murano were precious human resources. The entire island had been designated a special zone for glass production; strict regulations forbade the leakage of glassmaking secrets; craftsmen were forbidden to leave the island; and anyone who leaked the techniques faced savage punishment.
Yet Niccolo had always yearned for the outside world. That thirst only grew as his skill rose, until at last no one on Murano remained who could teach him anything more and everyone was busy praising him—and the yearning reached its peak.
“I am not a bird in a cage! I too want to see the world outside! Like that Marco Polo, I want to explore the lands of the East!”
Marco Polo, author of The Travels of Marco Polo, happened to be a Venetian just like Niccolo. That fact alone set fire to Niccolo’s adventurous spirit.
They say a late-blooming passion is the most terrifying of all. In the end the master, already past forty, secretly prepared a ship and attempted to flee—only to be shipwrecked at once, drift, and fall into the hands of Mediterranean pirates as a slave.
Pirates thrived across the Mediterranean, and Arab raiders in particular preferred European slaves; their sharia forbade enslaving fellow Muslims. Thus Niccolo came to meet the Arabian merchant Ibn al-Nasir.
Hearing that Niccolo was a famous glassmaster from Murano, Ibn al-Nasir had him make glass as a test, then said:
“You have two choices. Remain an Arab slave as you are now, or follow me to the Gyeong Empire in the East and work there treated as a master artisan. Which will you take?”
Niccolo did not hesitate.
“Let us go to Gyeong.”
And so he cast himself of his own free will into the Oriental Hard-Working Inferno. Had he so much as dreamed of the overworked figure he would become, he would have screamed “S… T…… A… Y…” until his throat burst. Instead he was overflowing with curiosity and expectation toward the unknown world.
That decided his fate.
Poor man…