Bang Un's Recommendation
The best way to solve Guizhou’s agricultural production problems was to provide fertilizer and carry out large-scale water control works.
But Guizhou had no money for that now.
So Hwiyeom planned to build dams in Sichuan first, raising the province’s efficiency in using its water resources, and then use that foundation to construct dams in Guizhou a few years later.
“Of course, this isn’t something that’ll be finished in a year or two, and it isn’t something we start right away either.”
Hwiyeom let out a sigh.
In the end, every problem the Dang family faced boiled down to a single issue: shortage of manpower.
He had promised Michelangelo he would let him build a massive dam on the scale of Constantinople’s triple walls, but that was a project that would take years at the least to realize.
For the time being, therefore, Hwiyeom decided to put him to work in the Innovation Hall.
“There won’t be any major construction for a while. So for now, learn the language of the Gyeong Dynasty first—at Jijuso, the children’s education facilities.”
“You want me to study with the kids?”
“You’ll need to know how to read and write if you’re going to live here without constant inconvenience, won’t you?”
“Mm. Fine. I’ll learn as fast as I can.”
“And after that, stay at the Innovation Hall and do whatever you like.”
“Whatever I like?”
“Yes. Sculpture, painting—whatever. You can even draft plans for the buildings we’ll construct someday.”
“You paid a fortune to bring me here, and you’re still giving me a not-inconsiderable monthly stipend. Aren’t you letting me loaf around a little too freely?”
“Not at all.”
Hwiyeom’s thinking was simple: an artist of Michelangelo’s caliber would more than earn his keep no matter what he did. Even if he just doodled on paper, the value of those sketches to later generations would be enormous.
When Hwiyeom said as much, Michelangelo hunched his shoulders, looking embarrassed, and muttered a small curse.
“Damn it. Getting praised that hard is weirdly uncomfortable. All right—one request. Can I tour the State-run Ironworks?”
“Whenever you like.”
“You’re not going to ask why?”
“You’re curious about the structure and principles, I assume. I’ll have the finished drawings sent over as well. Improving them into something better would make an excellent project, wouldn’t it?”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
Hwiyeom was thoroughly pleased with Michelangelo—the kind of man who, even when given no work, would invent his own and set about it without being told.
While Michelangelo threw himself into research at the State-run Ironworks, the people of the Sacheondang Family were busier than ever.
The businesses the family now ran had grown so broad that even ordinary day-to-day management already consumed a great deal of manpower. Talent did not simply fall from the sky, so the Sacheondang Family expanded enrollment at the Hwieon Scholarship School and took in more protected orphans at Jijuso. When that still was not enough, they began accepting recommendations of reliable people.
“Young Master, I’ve come because there’s someone I wish to recommend.”
“Please, come in. You needn’t have troubled yourself to walk all this way—you could have simply sent for me.”
Hwiyeom spoke with careful respect for the elderly Bang Un, who laughed heartily.
“Shouldn’t the man with free time be the one who comes? Everyone in Sichuan knows our Young Master is busier than anyone.”
“You flatter me. But who is it you wish to recommend?”
“A man from Yuyao in Zhejiang. Surname Wang, given name Su-in, courtesy name Baek-an.”
Having opened the subject, the great Bang Un continued.
“I crossed paths with him briefly when I served as Vice Censor-in-Chief of the Censorate. He was a secretary in the Ministry of Justice at the time. His handling of cases was fair and never strayed from reason, so I watched him closely.”
“An upright official, then.”
“Not merely upright. He is an outstanding scholar—and at the same time a man of remarkable military talent.”
“Wang Su-in… Wang Baek-an… I feel like I’ve heard that somewhere…”
Hwiyeom tilted his head, frustrated by a memory that refused to surface. Bang Un spoke again.
“Ah, yes—now that I think of it, people often call him by his pen name, Yangming.”
“Wang Yangming! Founder of Yangming Learning!”
“Hm?”
The shout had slipped out before Hwiyeom could stop it. Seeing Bang Un’s blank, puzzled look, he hurriedly waved a hand.
“Ah—no. I must have been mistaken.”
Yangming Learning was not a name given in Wang Yangming’s lifetime. When the existing Zhu Xi school of Neo-Confucianism had ossified into dogma and no longer served as genuine scholarship, Wang Yangming reinterpreted Confucianism in search of its original spirit. The result was a new body of theory whose three pillars were “the mind is principle,” “extension of the innate knowledge of the good,” and “the unity of knowledge and action.” He never named it a new school, however. Only after his death did later generations gather his teachings and call them Yangming Learning. Of course a man living in the present age would look blank if you said the words.
Hwiyeom was elated.
Wang Yangming isn’t some armchair pedant who only spins empty theories. He stresses investigation of things to extend knowledge, and he insists that knowing and acting are not separate matters—he’s a philosopher of practice who puts the unity of knowledge and action first. On top of that, his military talent is outstanding. In 1519, when Prince Ning, Zhu Chenhao, rose in rebellion, Wang Yangming crushed a rebel force of a hundred thousand with only ten thousand troops and captured Zhu Chenhao himself. He’s one of the finest talents you could possibly recruit in this age’s Central Plains.
And if he gained Wang Yangming, the network that came with him would be considerable as well—his disciples.
Wang Ji, Wang Gan, Chen Dehong, Nie Zeng… they may not be famous in Korea, but the fact that their names and even a few lines of description survived in the long history of the Central Plains, among so many people, is practically a guarantee that they’re A-grade talent!
It would be nothing short of a miracle of talent replication.
And yet—
But is this Wang Yangming the Wang Yangming I know?
This world resembled original history in many ways, yet differed in many others. The existence of the Gyeong Dynasty in place of the Ming, the presence of martial artists of the jianghu, the fact that gunpowder had never been developed—and so on.
Still, it can’t hurt to check, can it?
His calculations complete, Hwiyeom seized Bang Un’s hands.
“You must introduce me! I absolutely want to bring him on.”
“Hm?”
Bang Un looked mildly puzzled by the reaction, then laughed good-naturedly.
“Then I’ll send a letter.”
“Ah—but… would a man of that stature really come all the way to Sichuan for us?”
Hwiyeom ventured the question with a hint of doubt. If this world’s Wang Yangming was the one he knew, then even after exile for speaking too bluntly he had returned to office and given the state his full loyalty. Could such a man come to the Sacheondang Family and work for someone other than the emperor?
Bang Un stroked his beard in answer to Hwiyeom’s curiosity.
“He was banished for speaking frankly to His Majesty. While he was in exile, Prince Ning, Zhu Chenhao, raised a rebellion. Wang Yangming was released and ordered by imperial command to suppress it—but he failed.”
“What?!”
Hwiyeom’s eyes went round.
If he was the man sent to put down Prince Ning’s rebellion, then he has to be the Wang Yangming I know! But… he failed to suppress it? What is that supposed to mean?
The suppression of Prince Ning’s rebellion was the brightest highlight of Wang Yangming’s military career, was it not? In original history he had been the first to develop and deploy the Frankish cannon in actual combat so that a mere ten thousand government troops could crush a hundred thousand rebels…
And there Hwiyeom understood.
Ah. This world. No gunpowder.
The first person to introduce gunpowder to this world had been Hwiyeom himself. At present the only forces armed with gunpowder weapons were the outposts of the Noksan Road Traffic Management Corporation and the emperor’s personal guard. Without the power of firearms, this world’s Wang Yangming had been unable to overcome the numerical disadvantage and had lost that fight.
Wow. History diverges in yet another place.
While Hwiyeom moved from shock to understanding, Bang Un continued his explanation.
“In the end the government army did put down the rebels, but Wang Yangming took responsibility for the defeat and resigned. Since then he has not returned to office. He lives quietly in his hometown in Zhejiang, teaching disciples… and no matter how I look at it, it feels like such a waste.”
“I see. Please introduce us. I’ll put him to important use.”
“Very well.”
Bang Un smiled faintly.
“Then I’ll take that as settled and take my leave… but may I ask one thing? What is this drawing?”
“Ah, this.”
Before receiving Bang Un, Hwiyeom had left a set of design drawings spread on his desk. When the old man asked about them, Hwiyeom answered.
“This is a machine for making sweets. Using the sugar we’ll produce in Guizhou, I intend to make confections the wealthy of Beijing won’t be able to get enough of—and make money from them. That, in turn, will increase agricultural production in both Guizhou and our Sichuan.”
“Sweets that use sugar… don’t we already have things like oil-and-honey pastries and medicinal cookies?”
“Heh heh heh. This is something of an entirely different character.”
“Oh? Now I’m curious. May I take a look?”
“By all means.”
“Then let’s see…”
Bang Un scanned the drawings and spoke.
“Mm. So you put the sugar in through this hole?”
“Yes.”
“And when you press this pedal, the cylinder holding the sugar turns.”
“Exactly.”
The machine Hwiyeom had designed worked like this: the operator sat in a chair and worked pedals like those of a bicycle; a sugar drum linked to them spun round and round. Charcoal burned beneath the drum, which rose and rotated in the center of a large cauldron. The drum itself was pierced with countless pinprick holes.
In short, what Hwiyeom had invented was a cotton-candy machine.
“You put the sugar in, turn it by pedaling, and apply heat?”
“Yes. The sugar melts from the heat and is flung out through the holes by centrifugal force, spinning around inside the cauldron like threads. You wind it onto a bamboo stick and sell it.”
“Ha ha. What an amusing idea. To think you can make candy like this… And what about this one?”
“Ah, this is simpler. You put a little sugar and soda into a small ladle, melt it over charcoal until it turns yellowish and puffs up, then flip it onto an iron plate, press it flat, and let it cool. That gives you sugar flakes.”
“Soda?”
“Yes—a substance our family produces.”
“Hmm. And these? They look like molds of various shapes…”
“They are molds. Before the sugar flakes cool and harden completely, you stamp them with these iron frames the way you’d stamp a seal, to give them shape. Then, with a bamboo needle, you try to lift out a piece that matches the model. If you succeed, you get an extra sugar flake as a reward. You’re selling a little entertainment along with the snack.”
“Hmm… so there’s a slight element of gambling to it…”
Bang Un’s brow furrowed slightly. Hwiyeom laughed and waved a hand.
“Gambling? Focus instead on the fact that to earn that extra flake, you have to exercise intense concentration to lift the shape free. The sugar flake shatters if you so much as let your mind wander—so you must keep your spirit razor-sharp. It’s excellent practice for a scholar’s powers of concentration. And the sweet flake lightens a head made heavy by study and refreshes the mood for the next session. Two birds with one stone, wouldn’t you say?”
“…Now that you put it that way, I suppose so.”
The rigid old Bang Un, who had spent his life with law codes under his arm, was effortlessly talked around by the three-inch tongue of Hwiyeom, who had spent his life with marketing under his.
“Both are most ingenious. I expect these will become hugely popular in Beijing.”
“If all goes well, we should see results around late autumn or winter, once the sugarcane harvest and sugar extraction are finished.”
“I look forward to it.”
Bang Un left with a smile.
Hwiyeom grinned to himself and muttered,
“Business alone won’t do it. In the end this is also a fight over people… I should send a gift or two to the Sima family. If I want to sell sweets and coffee in Beijing without interference, I’d better grease the wheels in advance.”
“Young Master, it is Lee Jinmyeong. I’ve come on urgent business.”
Still smiling in satisfaction, Hwiyeom looked up, puzzled.
“Come in.”
“Yes!”
Lee Jinmyeong opened the door, entered, offered his greeting—and spoke at once.
“The ships carrying State-run Ironworks steel for sale in the Central Plains… have been seized by the water bandits of the Eighteen Strongholds of the Yangtze Waterways.”