Wang Yang-ming
Seated before Hui-yeom was a man in his early twilight years.
Gaunt and unremarkable in appearance, his eyes were deep and quiet, luminous with wisdom, while his back remained straight as a bamboo stalk—bearing the unbending integrity of a true scholar.
Wang Su-in of Yuyao County in Zhejiang, courtesy name Baek-an, the man who would one day take the style name Yang-ming and be revered as the founder of the School of Mind—a giant who carved his mark upon the history of Eastern philosophy.
Facing such a figure, Hui-yeom’s heart was a tangle of conflicting thoughts.
I’ve wondered this before, but just what kind of world is this supposed to be?
In this timeline, Wang Yang-ming had never developed the Frankish cannons and so had been unable to continue his official career. Had that also erased the future in which he fell ill and died on the road home after suppressing a rebellion?
While Hui-yeom lingered over the altered fate of Wang Yang-ming and the nature of this world itself, the man before him spoke.
“What weighs so heavily upon your mind?”
The quiet question pulled Hui-yeom from his private thoughts. He gave an embarrassed smile.
“Forgive me, Master. It was rude of me to drift off while entertaining so distinguished a guest.”
“No matter. Still, I find myself curious—what could so thoroughly steal the thoughts of the Foresight Dragon?”
“Listening to Master Baek-an’s words stirred many reflections. The excessive tyranny of the Eight Imperial Families, for instance…”
“Indeed.”
Wang Yang-ming nodded, his expression grave.
“The saying ‘Outside the Eight, no man is human’ circulates quite openly. In this country, without the blood of the Eight Imperial Families it is truly difficult to rise.”
“That severe?”
“There is some exaggeration, of course. Yet if one counts those of Rank Three or higher who do not belong to the Eight, the number among a hundred officials is twenty at most—perhaps fewer.”
“I see. And those twenty posts, set beside the other eighty, are little more than chaff, are they not?”
“Or temporary sinecures. The case of His Excellency Bang Un, who recommended me, is typical. He stepped down after serving as Censor-in-Chief of the Censorate, yet that post was merely an honorary title held for a few months before retirement. Without membership in the Eight, that is how it goes. Even those seats are handed out and snatched back as a fig leaf so no one can say the Eight devour every office.”
“I understand what you mean.”
“The great sickness of Daegyeong is this: the tyranny of the Eight constrains His Majesty’s ability to govern, and the rest of the officialdom, robbed of any real hope, cease to strive.”
“Your words are just.”
A nation cannot be run by one man alone. An emperor sets the broad direction of policy; he has neither the time nor the capacity to micromanage every detail. When a handful of houses monopolize every key post, every decision becomes entangled with their private interests. Those houses then collude with every vested interest, forging an ever-tighter cartel. Once the cartel is formed, its clients enjoy the spoils, bribe their patrons for protection, and feel no need to innovate or compete—corruption and incompetence bloom. New products, ideas, and services born of fierce research and bone-grinding effort by those outside the cartel are discarded, stolen, or absorbed until the outsiders themselves are co-opted. In short, the nation’s progress freezes. And if a man knows that no matter how hard he works he will never rise past Rank Five, why exhaust himself? Effort only brings frustration; even those driven by duty and patriotism find themselves blocked and harassed by the Eight at every step.
“Therefore I believe,” Wang Yang-ming said, “that the influence of the Nine Great Noble Families—and of the martial world as a whole—must grow if the Eight are to be checked.”
He continued thoughtfully.
“In truth, this may simply create another set of Eight Imperial Families. Ideally one would not elevate any particular houses, but dismantle the Eight entirely and build a system in which any man of ability might reach high office… yet that is unrealistic. The other great clans lack the strength.”
“Regrettably so.”
The great houses that once dominated the realm had been systematically broken and scattered by the Eight Imperial Families. The martial clans of the jianghu, however—old aristocratic houses that had little interest in central politics, or mere local powers rather than true great clans—had never drawn the Eight’s full attention. As a result the Nine Great Noble Families now wielded more real power than most of the traditional aristocracy.
“I have heard, through His Excellency Bang Un, of all that the Sichuan Dang Family has accomplished in Sichuan.”
Wang Yang-ming’s quiet eyes burned with a soft, steady fire.
“It is no exaggeration to say the Dang Family rebuilt Sichuan. Through them I glimpsed the latent power of the martial houses.”
That power, of course, owed more to Hui-yeom’s future knowledge and his political and commercial genius than to any inherent potential of the martial clans—but Hui-yeom merely kept silent.
“The picture this Wang paints is this.”
He took up a brush and wrote two characters upon the paper: Counterpoise.
“Counterpoise. Meaning to support the nation while standing in opposition?”
“Exactly.”
Wang Yang-ming answered Hui-yeom’s question.
“Whenever a single interest group seizes all power and privilege, corruption, complacency, and decay inevitably follow. History shows that no nation or organization has ever escaped this fate. Therefore simply destroying the Eight Imperial Families is meaningless—the Nine Great Noble Families would merely become the new Nine Imperial Families. If instead we strengthen the Nine until they can stand against the Eight, and let the two camps check each other while jointly upholding the state, the tyranny of the Eight will lessen and competition will drive the nation forward.”
The concept was hardly foreign to Hui-yeom.
“An adversarial symbiosis, then.”
Like the United States and the Soviet Union in the Cold War, or America and China in the twenty-first century—whether by design or by accident. A system that races alone without rivals is doomed to collapse; a conscious rival spurs both parties to greater heights.
“You grasp the essence after the briefest explanation. His Excellency Bang’s praise was no exaggeration.”
Wang Yang-ming smiled; Hui-yeom smiled back.
“I believe the idea of Counterpoise needs to be expanded a little further.”
“How so?”
“By creating one more opposing force. Just as His Majesty once divided provincial authority—formerly held by a single governor or feudal lord—into three separate powers, administrative, judicial, and military, and entrusted them to the Provincial Administrative Commissioner, the Judicial Commissioner, and the Regional Military Commander so that each might check the others, I believe we need at least three opposing pillars, like a tripod.”
“Three opposing groups… and the third?”
“The merchants.”
“Merchants?”
“Yes.”
Wang Yang-ming’s face twisted as though he had heard something unspeakable. Hui-yeom pressed on.
“The Eight Imperial Families are, of course, great houses of ancient lineage. And the Nine Great Noble Families you propose as their counterweight are likewise descendants of famous bloodlines.”
“True.”
“If only those two hold power, everything will still be decided by birth—whether one belongs to the Eight or the Nine.”
“Then why not simply gather the remaining great clans into a third force? Why insist on elevating merchants?”
“Because they too are great clans. In the end it is still blood that decides.”
“I do not follow.”
“Can a commoner become a great-clan noble by effort alone? Noble blood is inherited at birth. Any power that rests upon blood is no different from that of the Eight or the Nine—only weaker.”
“Yet commoners who are not of the great clans cannot possibly manage the affairs of state.”
“Why not?”
Had Wang Yang-ming fallen back upon pure blood-theory, Hui-yeom would have been deeply disappointed. Instead, true to the man who had once attacked the dogmatic Neo-Confucianism of his age, he raised a practical objection.
“Those outside the great clans are merchants, artisans, farmers, fishermen. All but the merchants lack the means to educate their children; most cannot even read. Merchants can read, write, and calculate, yet they use those skills solely to fatten their own purses. Give them power and they will simply twist the state to their private profit.”
By the standards of the age the argument was not wrong. Hui-yeom therefore answered with a smile.
“Ignorance can be remedied by teaching. Arrange matters so that a merchant’s pursuit of profit becomes identical with the public good and the national interest. Look at Sichuan. Look at what I—what the Sichuan Dang Family—have already done.”
“That was possible only because the Sichuan Dang Family is an old martial house possessed of real strength.”
“At first, yes, it will begin that way. But watch. When those of us who have money and power spend our private fortunes educating commoners, talent will emerge among them. Commoners are not inferior in intellect. It is not only the high-born who possess minds fit to discuss statecraft. Commoners have simply never been given the chance to learn. Merchants are the same. If we craft laws and institutions so that the surest path to the greatest profit is the path that benefits the people and the realm, then within those bounds they will strive to make the country a better place—because that is how they enrich themselves.”
Having lived through the capitalist twenty-first century, Hui-yeom spoke with absolute conviction. From the perspective of this era the ideas were dangerously radical, almost an assault upon the very foundations of the status system. Yet Wang Yang-ming was a man of genuine stature. Suppressing the visceral rejection and discomfort that rose in his chest, he forced himself to examine Hui-yeom’s words with logic and reason. At last he nodded.
“…Hearing it put that way, I believe you are right.”
“Will you help me carry out this plan?”
“I will. If the whole realm can be transformed as Sichuan has been, would that not be the realization of the sages’ ideal of governing the world and relieving the people?”
“Then I entrust myself to you from this day forward. I wish to appoint Master Wang as the first Director of the newly established Talent Development Institute. We will expand the existing Hui-eon free schools into several regional academies so that more of the country’s talent may be gathered and given opportunity.”
“This Wang gladly offers his life for a Daegyeong in which every man may live well.”
Years later, having already outlived the age at which he had died in the original history, Wang Yang-ming would remark to a disciple:
“I said I would offer this one life of mine—I never said I wanted it ground into powder until nothing remained…”