Yeowangchae
Yeowangchae—Yama’s Debt.
In essence, the business of Yeowangchae was no different from that of modern loan sharks. Look closer, though, and it was far uglier.
In the modern world, legal interest-rate caps at least reined in the worst excesses of private lenders. The Jing Empire had no such thing. In the Central Plains, an annual rate of eighty percent on a Yeowangchae loan was considered the merciful incarnation of the Buddha himself; even a full hundred percent earned the lender a reputation for saintly restraint.
In other words, the moment you took a Yeowangchae loan, you were already swallowing a debt twice the principal. Even Hwiyeom found that murderous interest rate mouthwateringly attractive.
“So I’m thinking of opening a money house of my own.”
“Pardon?”
Elder Bak Chang-eon tilted his head at the abrupt declaration. Hwiyeom only grinned and explained, step by careful step.
“The loans offered by the established houses have always been hard for ordinary folk to reach. You need solid status, or they refuse small sums. What I want is something different—a house that will lend to any commoner, no matter how humble, and handle even the tiniest amounts without complaint.”
“…You’re aiming at Yeowangchae.”
“Exactly.”
The big money houses already entrenched in Sichuan had solid client lists of their own. As long as the trust and connections those houses had built over decades remained intact, neither a new competitor nor lower interest rates would pry many customers loose. And Hwiyeom’s capital was still nowhere near enough for a head-on clash with the old guard.
So the real play is the small-loan, high-interest market—Yeowangchae itself.
“Young Master, opening a money house is never simple. The moment the Sichuan Dang Family announces it, every other sect and every existing house will push back hard—”
“Not me. It’ll be opened by Pansu of Hwieon Comprehensive Trading Company.”
Of course, day-to-day management would fall to Elder Jin Cheong personally. Ownership, however, would rest with Hwiyeom.
No need to mention Jin Cheong to Elder Bak just yet.
“Another shell company, like before. For laundering?”
“Laundering is only a side benefit. The real goal is what I said—cleaning out Yeowangchae. Gut Gong Duchan’s cash flow and weaken the elders of the banking houses.”
“…I see. Still, it won’t be easy.”
“Don’t worry. Set the rate at thirty percent and people will pour in from every direction, abandoning the old Yeowangchae lenders.”
Hwiyeom spoke with total confidence; Elder Bak Chang-eon’s face only grew darker. The old man shook his head heavily.
“Young Clan Head, if that is how you mean to fight them, I must still tell you it will not be easy.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. Two problems, broadly speaking. First: the moment you lower your rate, they will match it. If Gong Duchan cuts his own rates and digs in for a war of attrition, thirty percent loses all effect. However flush our coffers have become, we are still nowhere near ready for a straight fight with him.”
Gong Duchan owned the Seogyeong Money House himself; his wife’s family owned Chahwa Bank. More importantly, he effectively controlled nearly every Yeowangchae operation in Sichuan. The capital that flowed from that network was nothing to dismiss.
“Second: they have powerful patrons behind them. Gong Duchan is the money man for the Yeowangchae operators across Sichuan, but the ones who actually protect them are…”
“Salmak and the Asura Sword Gate.”
“…You already knew. That makes this quicker. The instant we start touching Yeowangchae operators, those two factions will move.”
Salmak was a famous assassin guild whose name echoed across the entire Central Plains, not merely Sichuan. The Asura Sword Gate was one of the Ten Thousand Devils of the Unorthodox Path—the great black-path powers that stood against the orthodox Nine Sects and One Gang. Neither was an opponent to take lightly.
“Our clan’s renown has spread far of late, yet the skill of our martial artists and the level of our true masters have not changed overnight. A clash of arms is all too possible. Stirring up two major unorthodox sects at once, right now, is unwise. Later, perhaps—not yet.”
Even under Elder Bak’s deep concern, Hwiyeom’s expression remained almost childishly bright.
“Elder Bak. Everything you just said contains our opening.”
“What do you mean?”
“Salmak and the Asura Sword Gate are Gong Duchan’s backers, yes? Not some third-rate sects—pillars of the unorthodox path. How much tribute do you suppose Gong Duchan is paying those two?”
“Ah.”
Even a business that routinely collected twice the principal was not sweeping the wealth of the realm into its coffers. The individual loans were small, and the bribes and protection money demanded from above were enormous.
In this world it’s common sense for taverns and inns to pay taxes to the government and tribute to the local sects for protection. According to Jin Cheong, Gong Duchan is already pouring vast sums into both factions.
Yeowangchae, operating in the alleys where violence was everyday currency, paid even heavier tribute than ordinary businesses. On top of that they greased every petty official to keep inspectors looking the other way.
“We don’t have to pay tribute to anyone, and we don’t need to bribe the government troops.”
“…But Gong Duchan could still bribe those same troops to harass our money house.”
“Elder Bak, have you forgotten who the Provincial Governor of Sichuan is?”
“……!”
The Provincial Governor of Sichuan was already bound to the Dang Clan by ties that could not be cut. Early gifts of Hogol-go and Micheopmuk had built the relationship; the massive State-run Ironworks project had locked them together; the fountain constructions had sealed a deep mutual trust. With the Governor watching from behind the scenes, what official or constable would dare lay a finger on Hwiyeom’s money house?
“Even so, if the house is opened under the name of Hwieon Comprehensive Trading Company, we can block official harassment—but not naked force. The moment the alley thugs of Yeowangchae sense trouble, Salmak and the Asura Sword Gate will send true experts.”
And if the Dang Clan then dispatched its own masters in reply, that would be the opening shot of a sect war.
“Elder Bak, don’t worry. Do you really think I would have spoken this far without a plan?”
“You mean…?”
“Of course I have no intention of fighting Salmak or the Asura Sword Gate myself. Nor do I plan to send our own martial artists into the alleys to bleed against street trash.”
From the beginning Hwiyeom had never even considered open violence.
I may have created Tangga Manneung-go, but Elder Bak is right—our people haven’t suddenly become invincible. Starting a war would be stupid. Besides, every single member of the clan is precious manpower. From the warriors who guard the family all the way to those greedy elders—if I can keep them all alive and wring profit out of them until they drop dead of old age, why throw lives away in a pointless fight?
Ignorant of that cheerful calculation, Elder Bak Chang-eon asked carefully, “Then how exactly do you intend to…?”
Hwiyeom laughed, bright and clear, under the elder’s worried gaze.
“I’m going to bring in the government troops.”
Hwiyeom had drawn the broad outline, but countless details still needed settling. Elder Bak Chang-eon spent the rest of the night refining the plan; at first light he went straight to the Provincial Governor and laid it out. The Governor accepted Hwiyeom’s proposal without hesitation.
“Hah… You truly believe you can root out Yeowangchae?”
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
“If you will step forward and clear them away, nothing could please me more.”
To the Provincial Governor, Yeowangchae were weeds that fed on the blood of the common people. Their existence made the people suffer, yet pulling them up was troublesome; even when one finally took the trouble, new weeds sprouted almost at once. So he had simply left them alone while they flourished in plain sight. Now Hwiyeom was offering to do the dirty work for free.
Hwiyeom smiled. “If Yeowangchae vanish from Sichuan soil, the credit will belong to you, Granduncle. His Majesty will be delighted. A return to the central court would not be out of the question.”
“True enough. But are you certain? This will require no small amount of silver.”
The Governor’s concern was natural; Hwiyeom’s plan was essentially a declaration of financial war against Gong Duchan. Hwiyeom only laughed.
“It’s fine. We don’t need to fight until every last Yeowangchae house goes bankrupt.”
“Then?”
“When two chariots race full-tilt toward a wall, the contest doesn’t end only when both smash their heads open. It ends the moment one of them stops first.”
“That’s the same thing—if you mean to outlast the other houses until they go under first…”
“Ah, the metaphor was poor. Just watch. Everything will be finished long before Gong Duchan himself goes bankrupt.”
“You sound confident.”
“Of course.”
Hwiyeom smiled sweetly.
I’ve done every dirty trick in the book to raise capital in my past life. Compared to fighting foreign corporate raiders and short-sellers, the three great money houses of Seongdo are just neighborhood punks shaking down kids for pocket money.
The Provincial Governor watched that unshakable confidence for a long moment, then nodded. He drew out a sheet of paper and began writing in a single flowing hand.
“Looking at you makes me think a great many things these days.”
“What sort of things, Your Excellency?”
“That I have been far too indifferent to the Dang Family.”
“….”
“Yet at heart I am an official who serves the people. Growing too close to the gallant men of the martial world is good for neither side.”
“Is that so?”
The words were empty. After Hwiyeom’s grandfather Dang Seon-hyo had died, the Governor had severed contact with the clan and had even handed pieces of their interests to the Qingcheng Sect. To Hwiyeom the speech sounded like pure self-justification; still, a quiet sincerity underlay the Governor’s voice.
“In truth, rooting out Yeowangchae was a duty that should have fallen to me as an official of the people. Yet I never even dared to try.”
“Why was that?”
“Who can say? Once the excuses begin there is no end to them. What remains unchanged is that you are attempting what I could not. As an official who serves the people, I find your resolve both proud and shameful.”
“…?”
“Thank you—for thinking that way, and for working to bring change.”
What is with this old man all of a sudden? Getting sentimental? Goosebumps.
Hwiyeom managed an awkward smile. The real reason he wanted to crush Yeowangchae was simply that it was Gong Duchan’s grassroots cash cow; he had never been driven by any lofty dream of better lives for the common folk. Blurting that out here, however, would be pure idiocy. So he kept silent and let the Provincial Governor feel a debt of gratitude.
The Governor finished the order, stamped it with his seal, and while the ink dried gazed out the window at the streets of Seongdo with a solemn expression.
Then he spoke.
I hereby assign one hundred and fifty government troops to Hwieon Comprehensive Finance. Use them to eradicate the Yeowangchae that have spread like poisonous mushrooms throughout Seongdo and Sichuan Province.
Hwiyeom accepted the order and bowed low.
“This humble one, Jeong Pansu, principal of Hwieon Comprehensive Finance, receives the command with reverence.”