Chapter 2
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: I Won't Do Anything
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***
"Sigh."
Sighs kept pouring out of me.
It had been three years since I, an ordinary college student, transmigrated into Heo Gyun of the Joseon era.
Those three years had been more than enough time to calmly reflect on just how screwed I was.
"Gyun, my boy, why the heavy sighs? Come on, try some of this tofu. It's tasty—your father made it himself."
"Yeah."
I swallowed another sigh and snatched the piece of tofu my mother offered. Mmm, delicious. As expected of Grass Hall Tofu. The nutty flavor from carefully ground premium soybeans, mixed with that salty hint of East Sea brine from Gangwon Province—truly the Heo family's masterpiece. Sitting there on the cool wooden porch, nibbling away at the tofu Mom kept handing me, I heard Dad's voice drifting over from the courtyard.
"Hey, Old Man Jeong, doesn't this batch of tofu seem even better?"
"Yes, my lord. Soaking the beans in seawater for two extra days must've done the trick. The flavor's much richer."
"Heh heh, right? Top it with Aunt Eonyeon's special seasoning, and it'd be divine. I'll tell her to set some aside for you after you're done. Grab a bowl of rice wine on your way out, too."
"Haha, thank you, my lord."
"Hahaha, what thanks? We're good!"
A kind-hearted laugh as he bantered with the elderly slave over tofu-making.
His courtesy name was Yeop, style name Grass Hall. My father in this life, Heo Yeop.
Watching the master and servant exchange blessings while making tofu filled me with a warm, fuzzy feeling—and another sigh slipped out before I knew it.
"Sigh."
According to Joseon through Heo Gyun's Eyes, which I'd read in my previous life...
This guy dies, too.
Alone in some inn far from home, coughing up blood in solitude.
"Father, I brought the tofu soaked for three days. I was worried it'd been too long, but it held its shape. Haksae, set it down here."
"Yes, young master."
The front gate creaked open, and a man appeared.
Bushy eyebrows, prominent nose—strikingly handsome. The Heo family might not have much else, but damn, the looks are on point. I hope I grow up looking half as good.
Courtesy name Bong, style name Lotus Valley. My little big brother in this life, Heo Bong.
They say siblings grow up fighting, but maybe the age gap's too big? No bickering here—just a sweet, caring brother who slips yummy rice taffy into my pocket day and night.
"Sigh."
The problem? This guy dies, too.
Dragged into factional strife, exiled just past thirty, never to set foot on family soil again, dying at thirty-six in some distant place. At best, fifteen years left.
"Baby, why the sighs? Bored? Look, your sister drew this for you."
A girl's voice from the end of the porch. Baby fat still puffing her cheeks, but anyone could see she'd grow into a beauty. She grinned mischievously and spread out her drawing before me. Her talent was as renowned as ever—the artwork was stunning.
"Pretty, right?"
"Uh-huh."
"Hee hee."
I gazed at the picture and reached out my tiny hand to stroke her cheek.
Courtesy name Orchid Snow Pavilion, given name Choehui. My sister in this life, Heo Choehui.
She dies, too.
Enduring hellish in-law life, losing two kids to smallpox, separated from her husband, secluded and alone—dead at just twenty-seven.
Should I call a shaman for an exorcism right now?
How can my whole family's future be this tragic?
"If you're that bored, how about a walk with your big auntie? Come here, sweetie."
"Uh?"
"I'll take him, auntie."
"No, no. Your child is my child, too. You don't mind big auntie's arms, do you, Gyun?"
"Nooo."
Now my big aunt, who'd been sitting across from us eating tofu, suddenly scooped me up. The gentle touch of her hand on my conical cap brim brimmed with genuine affection. Feeling her warmth, we stepped into the courtyard for a stroll, and familiar faces from moments ago came into view.
Dad, big auntie, Mom, little big bro, sister, Old Man Jeong, Aunt Eonyeon, Uncle Haksae—and all the family-like folks I'd spent the last three years with.
They all die.
The ones not here will die, too.
After all, late-life Heo Gyun gets tangled in treason, executed by dismemberment. And in Joseon, treason meant implicating three generations.
"Sigh."
No wonder I'm sighing.
We're really fucked.
After our courtyard stroll, exhaustion overcame my toddler limits—I dozed off and got tucked into bed. A quick nap later, and my mind was sharp as ever.
Alright, I've fully grasped how fucked we are. Time to find a solution.
I've got resources, though—plenty of historical novels from my past life, dramas I'd binged. Can't just let it all crumble meaninglessly. Roll the brain hard enough, and something'll click.
Above all, I'm the man who finished the masterpiece Joseon through Heo Gyun's Eyes (aka Heo Gyun's POV)!
Yeah! Heo Gyun—you, no, I can do this.
"Hm."
A tray on the room's low table held rice taffy studded with pine nuts and gingko—must be from bro. I let the sticky sweetness melt on my tongue, the sugar jolt firing up my walnut-sized three-year-old brain. Head spinning at full speed—doping complete. Time for serious analysis.
"What's the problem?"
No effect without a cause.
If the whole house ends up shattered, there must be a fatal root cause. Cross-referencing Heo Gyun's POV with my three years here, I pinpointed it quick.
"My family... way too chill, aren't they?"
No tension. Zero.
If I had to compare, it's that vibe only from real chaebol heirs—the utter confidence that no matter how the world turns, what disasters hit, or what bullshit you pull, you'll never be screwed.
But fair enough.
My dad in this life boasts it proudly after a few drinks sometimes.
"Heh heh, Gyun, our Yangcheon Heo Clan has been the Prime Minister's Kin for generations."
Prime Minister's Kin.
Means they're legit nobility worthy of marrying royalty.
Way back, the clan founder supplied King Taejo Wang Geon with massive grain stores for some quasi-royal status or whatever.
In short, the Yangcheon Heo Clan:
Immense wealth in Later Three Kingdoms days, supplying huge armies; undisputed top nobility in Goryeo; unbroken prestige into Joseon—a prestigious house thriving over a millennium across three eras.
My big auntie, who carried me around the yard earlier? Granddaughter of Prince Iman, with Sejong the Great's blood. My own mom, Dad's concubine? From the famed Andong Kim clan. What more needs saying? Tension? That's alien to them.
That led straight to the next task.
"No tension means politics wreck the house in a flash."
Factions. That's the core issue.
Left-right splits in politics? Timeless, nothing special.
Democrats vs. Republicans, conservatives vs. progressives, old-guard dinosaurs vs. commie sympathizers—biting and tearing daily? I'd seen enough in my past life.
But Joseon's factions? Not mouth fights like modern politics—these are full-on demon brawls.
One misstep: torture standard. Two: exile optional. Feel unfair alone? Drag everyone down into a literati purge deathmatch.
And the players? No average Joes.
Easterners' spiritual pillar Yi Hwang (Retreat Stream); Westerners' idol Yi I (Chestnut Valley); King Seonjo's fave Ryu Seong-ryong; Yi Deok-hyeong and Yi Hang-bok of Osung and Haneum; six-time Chief State Councillor Yi Won-ik; plus pre- and post-Imjin heroes—an all-star lineup dominating Joseon history, crammed into factional Pentagon.
"My dad and bro in that mix?"
The guy making tofu with Old Man Jeong?
The one getting spanked by Mom daily for bringing too much taffy, rotting my teeth?
Versus Chestnut Valley Yi I in a demon brawl?
"No way."
Impossible. Don't even try.
Hey, that's hell up ahead.
"Sugar crash."
Overworked my tiny head—forehead throbbing. I grabbed another taffy, flopped onto the blanket, and kept thinking.
Think.
Bitten by a tiger? Keep your wits, still hurts like hell.
Forget the rest—find a way to avoid the tiger entirely.
What could work? Rolling taffy in my mouth, cross-checking every historical drama and alt-history novel from my past life including Heo Gyun's POV, I hit a conclusion.
"Just slack off and mooch?"
Like those group project slackers from my past life.
No studying, no office, no politics—just burn the family fortune living easy?
Before Dad croaks in exile, send docs ahead; buy a house near bro's banishment spot; when time comes, pack meds and food, visit often; for sis's married life, support closely, vaccinate kids with cowpox or whatever—I swear I read that in some alt-history novel.
"Hm."
Sure, I'll get flak as the useless Heo brat who skips studies and office. But better than limbs torn off.
Crucial: As a three-year-old, what else can I do? This feels solid. Group project meta. Let's roll with it.
"I swear it. I, Heo Gyun, will do nothing from now on. Until the day I die of old age."
Heo Gyun, age three.
Declares: Do nothing.
"A royal decree!!!"
Suddenly?
"Heo Gyun, third son of Grass Hall Heo of the Yangcheon Heo Clan, heed this! By His Majesty's command, enter the palace with your father, Grass Hall Heo Yeop, by the hour of the snake today and attend the Regular Audience!"
Heo Gyun, who'd done nothing—age five. (Soon six.)
New Year's Eve eve, we received the edict and headed to the palace.
What the hell?