The Blue-Clad Faction's Journalism
After receiving word from Song Jeon-bin that the Censorate was stonewalling and that the working officials were hiding something, Yi Gyu-chan reported it all to Hwi-yeom.
Hwi-yeom listened and answered without the slightest ripple of surprise.
"Of course they are. How many people in the Censorate have scandals of their own involving the sons of high ministers?"
"The top is cracking the whip, so they'll put on a show of compliance and wait out the storm."
Yi Gyu-chan looked at him, waiting for orders. Hwi-yeom smiled faintly.
"His Majesty seems to hope we will serve as something like an external audit office… but there is no need to play that part."
"Officially, the Censorate has already released its materials. If we plant someone inside to dig further and get caught, we only hand ammunition to bureaucrats who already resent reporters and newspapers."
"Then…"
"We finish our side of it by casually leaking the facts to the Dongchang. We run the story based strictly on the materials we received officially, and we make it perfectly clear in the paper whose office the documents came from."
"If trouble comes later, we have cover — and at the same time, people who try that kind of halfhearted document dump will stop doing it."
"Yes."
"Playing the righteous whistleblower is fine, but let us remember what our goal was from the start. The reason I summoned you, Elder, was to grow ordinary people's interest in Beijing in the existence of Joint-Stock Companies and in stock trading."
"Please keep your focus there."
"Understood. Then we will close this matter here and prepare the campaign for Joint-Stock Companies and share promotion."
"Even so, for the time being, make sure you can still run at least one article a day related to official corruption."
"It wins His Majesty's favor, teaches the bureaucrats to fear the paper, and there is nothing better for drawing the common people's attention."
"Yes."
"And that piece the other day — the trash dumplings? That was excellent. Don't only dig into the government side; shining a light on problems among the common folk is good too."
"That said, if we get framed too heavily as a corruption-exposure rag — if that perception hardens — it becomes a problem. Follow the advertising push plan and start soliciting ad placements from the big merchant houses and restaurants."
In the end, a newspaper gains authority and power because it can hurt someone or profit someone.
Of course, they had somehow ended up in the position of a quasi-imperial house organ, so authority and power had already been handed to them without much effort…
But that doesn't make any money.
If he wanted not the Emperor's mouthpiece but a newspaper that made money, he had to put real force behind advertising as well.
At Hwi-yeom's words, Elder Yi Gyu-chan wore a troubled look for the first time.
"Ah… Young Master, I have read and memorized the advertising push plan, but… frankly, I am a little worried."
"Will people really spend that kind of money to promote their shops and merchant houses in a newspaper?"
For a man who had lived in a world where the only advertising that existed was street-corner hawking, it was a natural reaction.
Yi Gyu-chan himself had at least grasped the power and value of advertising from Hwi-yeom's proposal — but the people they would have to sell to would feel, until recently, exactly as he had: no need for it at all.
They had done fine business in Beijing for generations without any such thing, hadn't they?
Hwi-yeom smiled quietly.
"Conveniently, a perfect stage has already been set. The trash dumplings. The outfit that sold them was Beijing Restaurant, one of Beijing's Three Great Restaurants, wasn't it?"
"That's right."
"Go talk to their competitors — Mimi Palace and Paradise Restaurant."
"One rival has just fallen flat on its face. Isn't this the moment to open up a decisive lead?"
"And as seasoning, casually let slip something that will make them feel the panic of falling behind — that we are already working to close a deal with the other house as well, for instance."
Yi Gyu-chan's mouth fell open.
"Is that allowed?"
"No problem. From a proprietor's standpoint of not wanting to be left behind alone, the odds are high they will accept an advertising service contract. And if they refuse?"
"Well, even after a contract is signed, deals collapse for all sorts of reasons. We simply say that is what happened."
"…I am learning a great deal."
"Heh heh. Still, they will almost certainly accept."
"Why is that?"
Hwi-yeom answered Yi Gyu-chan's question.
"Nothing makes a person more restless than the thought of being left behind. On top of that… they will also be nursing a certain fear."
"Pardon?"
"Elder Yi — do you really think Beijing Restaurant was the only one stuffing its dumplings with trash for filling?"
At Hwi-yeom's words, Yi Gyu-chan's pupils wavered.
"The others as well?"
"I believe so. When you have three competitors of similar scale, and the competitive balance has held without anyone breaking away, it means they were all producing roughly the same level of competitiveness."
"But if one of them was cutting ingredient costs through fraud — reusing rotten stock or leftover scraps from customers' plates — could the other two possibly have kept pace by competing honestly?"
"That can't be… Then the remaining restaurants also…"
"Otherwise the balance would already have broken."
Yi Gyu-chan, who had happily eaten at those places himself, clapped a hand to his forehead in shock. Hwi-yeom spoke with the weary expression of a man who had seen too much of the world.
"Well. That's how it is. Ignorance is a kind of medicine. Doesn't it strike you as odd to begin with? Compared to the other restaurants in Beijing, those three alone charge suspiciously low prices for their food."
"They explained it away by saying they buy ingredients in bulk and get discounts, but…"
"Places that large also keep large staffs. How do they cover the difference in labor costs?"
"…Because they have so many customers?"
"We'll leave it at that for now."
No matter how he ran the numbers it did not add up, but Hwi-yeom cut the topic off with a smile.
"What matters is this: whether they committed fraud or not, at this moment — having watched Beijing Restaurant collapse from a single article — they will fear our newspaper."
"No — every restaurant in Beijing will fear our newspaper. We must look almost like the God of Death to them, don't you think?"
"That… is true."
"For the big restaurants, even if they have to hand over a bit of advertising money, simply being on good terms with us will already feel like value for the cost. The advertising effect itself will be secondary."
"Ah… I understand."
"And whatever the initial motive, once they actually place an ad and see meaningful growth in sales, newspaper advertising will start to catch fire."
"Now I finally understand what you mean."
"Good. Then please proceed."
"Yes!"
Yi Gyu-chan withdrew with an expression of pure admiration.
Only after he returned to Hwi-eon Newspaper headquarters did he realize there was a problem.
"Come to think of it — who is going to do the sales?"
The staff brought up from the Sichuan Daily and the black operatives of the Minjeongwon had all been assigned either to printing and distribution or to reporter work.
The outside contractors — the beggars of the Blue-Clad Faction — were all reporters as well.
There was no sales department that could actually meet advertisers, hold meetings, and close contracts to place ads in the paper.
"And it would hardly be fitting for me, the vice president, to do it myself…"
This was not some neighborhood hole-in-the-wall. How could a vice president go out and pitch ads in person?
After a moment's thought, Yi Gyu-chan decided to reassign some of the black operatives currently working as reporters into sales.
"Right. The outside reporters are handling information gathering well enough now anyway."
But he did not know.
What consequences this casual decision — robbing Peter to pay Paul — was about to invite.
Having received the transfer order, Minjeongwon black operative and current commercial reporter at Hwi-eon Newspaper, Jo Chun, clenched his teeth.
Are the higher-ups dismissing my ability?!
On an early spring day when he was eight years old — the day that had given him his name, Early Spring — a Baekga-jaengsik deliveryman had found an orphan abandoned on the roadside and reported him to the Sichuan Dang Family. Taken in and raised by a Dang Family branch office, Jo Chun was a Minjeongwon black operative whose gratitude and loyalty to the Dang Family ran to the marrow of his bones.
To feel as though the very meaning of his existence had been denied filled him with desolation and rage he could not suppress.
I will not forget this humiliation.
Fire lit in both of Jo Chun's eyes.
Without fail! I will post outstanding results in sales and prove my worth! Then Vice President Yi Gyu-chan will realize his choice was a mistake and put me to proper use!
Every black operative transferred from the reporting staff to the sales department was thinking something similar.
I am a Minjeongwon black operative. Information gathering is my work. And they send someone like me not to reporting, but to sales…
I will not accept this. Without fail — without fail — I will make them regret it!
Armed with fierce loyalty and real competence, the Minjeongwon operatives threw themselves into sales in earnest.
It looked something like this.
Scrape together every single virtue of the shop, plaster on every fine phrase, and maximize the promotional effect!
Jo Chun scouted out a shop of decent size and took his meals there for several days running.
All the while he investigated everything — the exterior, the taste of the food, and so on.
Once they see this, they won't be able to refuse an ad!
Jo Chun sought out the shop in high spirits.
"Manager of Paradise Restaurant — Master Hwang In-gyu?"
On his way home after work, having locked the shop for the night and walking down a dark alley where the sun had fully set, Hwang In-gyu found a black shadow falling across his path.
Two men with cold faces and colder eyes stood blocking his way. Hwang In-gyu stammered in panic.
"Y-yes, that's me — and who might you gentlemen be?"
"Ah. We are people like this."
They lifted the press badges hanging around their necks (they had moved to sales, but no one had told them to turn the badges in, so they still wore them) and held them before Hwang In-gyu's eyes. His eyes went as round as saucers.
Hwi-eon Newspaper reporters — th-those demons have finally come for my shop…!
He swallowed dryly. Every little trick he had ever pulled flashed through his mind like a lantern reel.
What did they catch? Showing customers that the fresh fish is being filleted right in front of them, while actually using yesterday's leftover flesh prepared under the cutting board first?
Or straining out the solid bits of noodles customers left behind, drying them, and putting them into fried rice and dumplings?
Or covering rotten meat with fierce spice and selling it? What is it?!
His head was a whirl, but he was a merchant with thick business bones. Managing his expression, he spoke to reporter Jo Chun with a carefully composed air of confidence.
"Ah — so you are the gentlemen who exposed those scoundrels at Beijing Restaurant. What business do you have with me?"
"We have been taking a considerable interest in Paradise Restaurant…"
Jo Chun's eyes, and his colleague's, sharpened.
"We have investigated Paradise Restaurant in a number of ways… and found a great many rather fascinating things."
Jo Chun drew a sheaf of papers from his robe and rustled through them. Instantly, Hwang In-gyu's back was soaked.
Damn it…! They already have everything mapped out — why is there so much of it!
Hwang In-gyu hastily tried to bargain.
"What is it you want?"
"It seems we could become excellent business partners."
As Jo Chun spoke, the other reporter pulled a contract from his robe, held it out to Hwang In-gyu, and said,
"If you would kindly sign this advertising contract, we will take care of the rest."
Damn it — is this blackmail?!
They had clearly come to squeeze him with whatever leverage they held — but even so, it might be better than being exposed.
With no real choice, wiping the sweat from his brow, Hwang In-gyu nodded.
"…Show me the contract first."
"Here it is."
With trembling eyes, Hwang In-gyu took the contract and read it.
But even scrubbing his eyes, he found no poison clauses.
It was simply content promising to promote his shop well.
The sum they demanded in return, however, was absurdly high.
Even so…
For hush money, it is on the cheap side…
Hwang In-gyu's gaze flicked to the bundle of papers in Jo Chun's hand.
"If I sign here, burn that stack of paper."
"…Pardon?"
"Is that a problem? I need a safeguard of my own. That is my condition."
Jo Chun narrowed his eyes for a moment, as if trying to see through Hwang In-gyu's thoughts.
What? I went to all that trouble gathering every virtue of the shop, and he wants it burned without even looking?
The days of eating every meal only at that place flashed through his mind, and a slight irritation rose.
That cold gaze made Hwang In-gyu flinch, but he held firm, thinking his life was on the line.
A moment later,
"Very well."
Jo Chun took a fire-box — a small vessel for carrying an ember — from his robe and burned the sheaf of papers.
Watching the precious notes turn to flame, Hwang In-gyu finally looked relieved and pressed his seal to the contract.
"Th-this means we have no further grievances with each other. You understand?"
"Understood. An excellent choice."
When Jo Chun stepped aside, Hwang In-gyu staggered and hurried toward home.
From now on I won't be able to play games with the ingredients either.
But will this 'promotion' business actually work? If it does, it wouldn't be so bad…
In any case, if the secrets had come out the shop would have had to close. Being able to stop that for this much money was a cheap deal. Thinking so, Hwang In-gyu fled as if escaping.
Watching his retreating back, Jo Chun muttered as he looked at the papers that had already become pure ash.
"I worked so hard surveying Paradise Restaurant's unique strengths to persuade the advertiser… well, if the advertiser is going to be like that, there is nothing to be done."
"There was something a bit too gushing about it anyway. Let's keep it clean. Clean."
"Huu… what an anticlimax."
And so, through the pure sincerity of the Minjeongwon operatives (in a manner of speaking),
Hwi-eon Newspaper raked in enormous advertising revenue while, quite unintentionally, triggering a wave of self-purification among many of Beijing's shops — or so the story went.
At any rate, the newspaper took root that way, slowly seeping into the lives of Beijing's common people, and by the time the Beijing railway was finally complete,
Sama Yun's day of delivery arrived.