A Four-Year Plan for the Central Plains
Fortunately, the banter-like friction between Hwiyeom and Bak Chang-eon ended like light teasing.
“Teasing? Did you just call it teasing?”
“I get it already, so knock it off. Why are you settling into a horse stance like you’re about to throw a fit again? You’re not some Demonic Cult martial artist who cultivated demonic arts.”
“De… Demonic Cult…”
Bak Chang-eon fumbled inside his robes again, searching for his Cheongshimhwan.
If he were to list out everything he and the Elders of the Elders’ Council had done to prop up the Dang Family during Hwiyeom’s absence, it would make for an epic novel that no one could hear without tears. Yet this so-called young patriarch had arrived with the next workload in hand, smiling brightly without a drop of blood or tear in him, saying things like, “You’re really laying it on thick. Getting so worked up like that—you’re not secretly from the Demonic Cult, are you?”
For a moment Bak Chang-eon thought of Hong Ilgon.
Enemy though he was, in this moment he found himself missing the man.
Elder Hong, are you happy in a world without overtime? As for me, I feel like I’m going to die.
Had Hong Ilgon himself heard that, he would first have been flabbergasted at being spoken of like a dead man while still very much alive, and then appalled at who exactly was being used to get under someone’s skin. Bak Chang-eon shook his head vigorously at the absurd thought and spoke.
“…During the young patriarch’s absence, every elder of our Elders’ Council and every subordinate under them worked themselves to the bone. Before offering even a word of praise for that labor, you throw a new pile of work at us—what exactly are we supposed to do?”
“Great Patriarch, are you watching from the afterlife? The Elders’ Council that spent half a sixty-year cycle doing nothing but trip up the patriarch’s office is now trying to oppress me just because they’ve finally done a little work. Does this make any sense? Well?”
“…Let’s just talk about the work.”
The moment Hwiyeom pulled out the unpaid leave request form, Elder Bak Chang-eon simply planted his face on the desk.
Had it been a mistake to accept Hwiyeom’s proposal back then? Status, honor, and wealth had all been given—so why were the tears still flowing?
“All right, enough teasing. Let’s have a serious talk.”
When Hwiyeom’s expression turned solemn, Bak Chang-eon straightened his back as well.
“First, I wish to convey my deepest gratitude to Elder Bak Chang-eon, head of the Elders’ Council, to the elders under him, and to every member of the direct and branch families who so splendidly filled the void during my absence. As soon as the review of the business performance reports is complete, I will soothe the bodies and minds of those who worked so hard through additional performance bonuses and commendations based on results.”
“If you’d only said that first…”
“Ah, but how could I possibly hold back when there’s a new business to talk about?”
“I’d rather die than suffer. Haah.”
“What kind of ominous thing is that to say? I’ll have a batch of restorative tonics prepared for you—eat them and live a long, long life. A man who still has so much work to do for years to come, saying such chilling things?”
“Not tonics—poison, more like.”
“We’re all going to die when we get old anyway, so why waste money on poison?”
Before Bak Chang-eon’s eyes could fully form the triangular shape of a man thinking Is this bastard insane? and trigger a second nuclear fusion reaction, Hwiyeom snickered inwardly and hurriedly changed the subject.
I should stop teasing him.
“This ‘Rubber Product Production Monopoly and Central Plains Market Domination Strategy Plan’ is a fairly large-scale project. The State-run Ironworks is impressive, but to be perfectly frank, it has not reached the point of monopolizing the iron and steel market of the Central Plains. Rubber products are different. Outside of the Southern Man, there is nowhere that produces rubber, and we hold a monopoly on that production channel. And the utility of this rubber is by no means inferior to iron. You can think of it as usable in almost every place you can imagine.”
With every trace of laughter stripped away, Hwiyeom’s serious face was that of the business sage Bak Chang-eon so deeply respected. The elder who had watched him since he was eight years old nodded quietly instead of asking, “How do you even know that?”
“So there was a reason the young patriarch was greedy despite the chronic manpower shortage.”
“Exactly. Miss this opportunity and we might have to sign under far more expensive terms later.”
Allies though the Beast Palace and the Dang Family might be, the heart before entering the latrine and the heart after leaving it could never be the same. They both believed the current contract had only been possible because the terror of starvation was right under their noses.
“However, you say we lack the manpower to build new factories. In that case, until personnel can be reinforced, instead of producing and selling finished goods, let’s have the Innovation Hall research products that could become goods.”
“I believe that is reasonable.”
They had already roughly settled on items such as rubber gloves, boots, and rubber shoes, but rubber was the sort of material that revealed endless uses the moment one looked more closely, and Hwiyeom could not possibly teach every processing method and manufacturing technique one by one.
“And before we advance into the Central Plains, there is strategy that must be established. We need a plan.”
“A plan? Hasn’t the main family already advanced into the Central Plains through the ironworks business?”
Hwiyeom shook his head at Elder Bak Chang-eon’s words.
“The main family has never advanced into the Central Plains. The ironworks business is not the main family’s—it is a state-run enterprise of the Sichuan Provincial Governor’s Office.”
“Ah…”
Bak Chang-eon realized his mistake and nodded.
“I see. Because the main family is deeply involved from manufacturing to operations, and because we share a certain portion of the profits, I had momentarily forgotten.”
“Yes. But from now on, the Sichuan Dang Family must advance into the Central Plains as the Sichuan Dang Family. We will inevitably meet enormous resistance.”
“Mmm…”
Elder Bak Chang-eon nodded.
“It will by no means be easy.”
Even in the twenty-first century, with its developed transport and communications, doing business across provincial borders in a country like China was nearly impossible unless it was a national project or one relied on connections with Communist Party cadres and powerful local government figures. A league only they understood, a nation of guanxi that those raised in democratic capitalism could never truly grasp—China. And Sichuan, of all places, had been a region the Central Plains had watched warily since ancient times.
“How many people do you think will be jealous and envious when a bunch of Sichuan country bumpkins start making a fortune selling silk? And now Sichuan is going to enter the Central Plains market? They’ll form cliques, obstruct us any way they can, throw their weight around, scam us—it’ll be pure chaos.”
“…It will.”
“That’s exactly why we need a thorough plan. Whether to win them over, how to distinguish the forces we will make into allies from the enemies we will crush, how to separate those with whom we can negotiate from those with whom we must fight to the death. Which products to sell through which connections into which markets and by what methods. How to build those connections, and how to sever the connections of those who oppose us. How to deal with the bureaucrats who will come crawling out the moment they smell money once we’ve reached a certain scale. Concrete, clear plans.”
“Not a plan that can be made in a week or two, then.”
“Of course not. I’m thinking about four years until we enter the Central Plains.”
“Four years?”
“The time it takes to raise people, the time until the Caffa brought from the Western Regions grows enough to ship as a product, the time to research products using each type of tree sap and to build the factories that produce them. During that time we must meticulously prepare our plan to advance into the Central Plains. Elder Bak Chang-eon, will you help me?”
Bak Chang-eon bowed deeply to Hwiyeom.
“Are the young patriarch and I not bound by a single thread of destiny? If you drag me into hell, I will follow even leaning on a cane.”
“Why are you talking about hell and inviting bad luck? It’s a staircase to paradise.”
“I’ve heard that staircase is far too steep and the number of steps is endless.”
“It’s good exercise.”
“I’ll die after working out twice.”
“An elder of a prestigious martial family, afraid of exercise?”
“I can’t win a single word against you, damn it.”
The two of them exchanged jokes and snickered for a while before Bak Chang-eon finally spoke.
“I will draft a preliminary plan and submit it.”
“Don’t do it alone. There’s quite a lot to do, starting with gathering materials.”
“Yes.”
“Then that’s enough about this… Was there anything else worth reporting that happened while I was away?”
“Well, if you visit the Innovation Hall you’ll see for yourself, but they’ve had a few results there as well.”
“What are they?”
“Director Unhwa has completed black powder. But… he seems extremely dissatisfied that the power is far less than expected.”
“Oh, finally.”
Quite some time had passed since he had entrusted the manufacture of black powder; it seemed they had at last found a proper formula.
In truth, black powder itself was not something Hwiyeom considered particularly meaningful. Its stability was poor, it corroded barrels, it was vulnerable to moisture, and it produced so much smoke that it obscured the shooter’s vision. Still, it would serve well as a decoy to hand over later when the authorities learned of the Dang Family’s powder and grew greedy for it, and for cannons that required large quantities of powder it would actually be better than smokeless powder—so he had developed it first.
Now it’s time to start developing guncotton and mercury fulminate.
“I should stop by the Innovation Hall with Aunt Su-jeong. Elder Bak, good work.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll put in an order for tonics at the medicinal warehouse, so go collect them later.”
“…Yes.”
With an expression that clearly asked whether that had been a joke, Bak Chang-eon tilted his head and then laughed emptily.
“I’m disappointed.”
The moment Dang Unhwa saw Hwiyeom he began to whine.
“The explosive power is far weaker than I expected! Even a little moisture and it hardens solid, and if you mix in just a bit more graphite to keep the moisture out it just becomes dirt that burns well! This isn’t art! I should have just poured everything into researching Explosive Poison and explosive oil instead! What is this even supposed to be?! You said it would be the invention of the century! Hwiyeom! Did you trick me?! Huh?! Is that it?!”
“Ahchoo!”
Thwack!
“Guek!”
His voice had climbed in a perfect gradient until he was practically pressing his face against Hwiyeom’s as if about to kiss him while snarling—then Dang Su-jeong’s heel dropped onto the crown of Dang Unhwa’s head. After rolling around on the floor clutching his scalp for a moment, Dang Unhwa shot to his feet and jabbed a finger at Dang Su-jeong.
“Kicking your own older brother in the head! Has anyone ever seen such a wretched wench?!”
“Act like an older brother if you want to be treated like one! You lunatic! What do you think you’re doing to the young patriarch in public?!”
Hwiyeom watched the sibling spat with lukewarm eyes for a good while, then let out a small sigh and spoke.
“Director Unhwa.”
“Yes.”
“When did I ever say black powder was the end?”
“Huh? It isn’t?”
“Black powder is, to use an analogy, like iron. A lump of iron ore itself has little value, but process it and it becomes farming tools or hidden weapons.”
Hwiyeom drew the Hagyeongchong he carried in his robes. He separated the round lotus-root-shaped cylinder (the part of a revolver that holds the bullets) and held it up as he continued.
“The Hagyeongchong we currently use works by loading a bullet inside, then channeling Explosive Poison created through the Green Dragon Divine Art into the interior and detonating it so the force launches the bullet. That requires the Green Dragon Divine Art to reach at least three stars so that material transformation becomes possible, plus enough proficiency to actually manipulate Explosive Poison. Even with generous support from spiritual medicines like I received, reaching that level takes a minimum of five years—usually more than ten. Considering that the Green Dragon Divine Art itself is a mental cultivation method transmitted only to the direct line of the Dang Family, the number of people who can handle this weapon won’t even fill a handful.”
“That’s true.”
“But if we pack black powder inside this and detonate it with a flint or a matchlock fuse to fire the bullet? Even someone who knows no martial arts can use a powerful hidden weapon.”
“Mmm.”
“And that’s not all. Even a direct descendant may not always be able to circulate their internal energy normally, right? We of the Dang Family may never fall victim to energy-dispersing poisons, but what if our internal energy is completely exhausted in the middle of a fierce battle? Would a weapon like this still be meaningless then?”
“…But!”
Dang Unhwa protested.
“To detonate this black powder, the impact from the Hagyeongchong’s hammer is nowhere near enough, and even if we install a flint inside, setting off powder that’s been packed hard is impossible.”
“I know.”
That was why, in original history, flintlock matchlocks used a pan that spread the powder wide so it would ignite easily; when the flint struck the pan and the powder exploded, that explosion was channeled into the chamber to fire the shot. But that structure only worked for muskets fired while standing still and aiming carefully—it was completely unsuitable for a Dang Family hidden weapon that needed to be made in revolver form and fired while moving violently in every direction.
Still, Hwiyeom had always intended black powder for other uses. Uses on a larger scale than duels between martial artists—military operations. Cannons, wooden-box land mines, rocket arrows, heaven-shaking thunder bombs… the sorts of things that would make any army drool. Of course not immediately, but later black powder would be necessary as camouflage to hide the Dang Family’s true weapons. And as always, when it came to powder that could actually be used in the Dang Family’s hidden weapons, Hwiyeom already knew the answer.
“Which is why there’s something Director Unhwa needs to make for me to solve that problem.”
“Oh? What is it?”
“Guncotton, and something called mercury fulminate.”
“Does it explode?”
“Extremely well.”
At Hwiyeom’s words, Dang Unhwa broke into a brilliant smile that fully exposed his bright-red gums, living up to his nickname, the Laughing Explosive Demon. In contrast, the researchers of the Innovation Hall who had just received a death sentence of confirmed overtime began to look as though their faces were rotting from the inside.
…The fact that black powder had no particular connection to guncotton or mercury fulminate was, well, probably unimportant.
Hwiyeom had long since mastered the art of handling Dang Unhwa.