Chapter 9
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: I Want to Make a Deal
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Changdeok Palace, Bureau of Books.
The central hub through which every book in Joseon must pass, and the crossroads from which they are sorted and dispatched back to the eight provinces.
Historic masterpieces worthy of future registration in the Office of Special Counsellors, scriptures and legal codes to stock the National Academy and aid young scholars, medical texts and prose for the Royal Medical Office and Court Medical Bureau, poems and sijo for circulation in city bookstores, trashy literature better suited as kindling than books, and finally, seditious writings that must never see the light of day.
As the national institution tasked with managing and sorting all of this, dozens of books arrive at the Bureau of Books each day under the pretext of "review."
"Aigoo, my aching back."
Kim Hong-su, the fifth-rank Censor handling the Bureau's practical work, rubbed his bloodshot eyes, rose from his seat, and stretched with a massive yawn. His conduct as a government official paid from the national coffers was hardly exemplary, but he'd arrived before dawn at the hour of the Rabbit and worked diligently until the sun hung high at the hour of the Serpent. He could rightly claim to have fulfilled his duty as a bureaucrat.
"Censor Jeong. How about a cup of tea before we continue?"
People, like machines, need oiling to run smoothly.
Seizing the chance to clear his head, wet his throat, and slack off a bit, Kim Hong-su called out to his junior colleague, Jeong Su-chan. But instead of answering, Jeong was glued to a book, staring at it as if his eyeballs might pop out.
"Hey, Censor Jeong. I said, let's have some tea."
"Ah, yes. Sure."
This guy.
Can't he see I'm talking to him?
Kim Hong-su clicked his tongue in annoyance as Jeong ignored his invitation to rest and kept poring over the book.
Jeong Su-chan had this one major flaw. To survive long in this job, you needed a bit of street smarts—knowing when to work and when to slack off. But the man was so rigid and inflexible.
"You really live a tiring life. That's not how you do this job."
Seeing a chance to impart the superior wisdom of a senior, Kim Hong-su sidled up behind Jeong Su-chan and spoke.
Dozens of books arrive at the Bureau every day.
Handled by just two people.
Obviously, there's too much work, too few hands, and not enough time.
So how do you manage?
"First, check the script. Classical Chinese on the left, vernacular on the right!"
Vernacular books are obvious anyway.
Stories for illiterate fools who can't read hanja? Every single one is trashy literature.
No need to waste time reviewing—toss them right, check at the very end if they're seditious, and burn them.
"Next, check the family name."
Books from obscure provincial families all have the same predictable goal.
I'm so talented and brilliant—why did I fail the exams? How corrupt is this system to reject someone like me? Next time, I should pass, so reform the exams my way. All spouted at length, shamelessly invoking Confucius and Mencius.
What idle fools. Anyone in their right mind would spend that time and expensive paper buying another scripture and studying harder.
"Once you've checked the script and family, just glance at the title."
Medical texts requiring expertise or local gazetteers? You won't understand them anyway.
No need to verify—just set them aside and ship to the Royal Medical Office or Ministry of Revenue. Let them sort and discard.
"Got it? Do it my way, and the work flies by."
"Ah... yes... sure..."
"Damn it, man! What the hell are you reading?"
Another perfunctory reply. Kim Hong-su snatched the book from Jeong Su-chan's hands.
What? A vernacular novel? No need to even look.
Author: Heo Gyun? Who's that?
Yangcheon Heo Clan... a bit intimidating. But no, the Yangcheon Heos wouldn't write in vernacular. There are plenty of Heos in the world.
Title: Culinary Duel: Jang Geum? No clue what it's about from the name.
Tsk tsk. A Bureau Scribe lost in trashy fiction.
And he's the one slacking off.
"Listen, Censor Jeong. As your senior, let me say one thing..."
"Give it back!"
Jeong Su-chan lunged at him, eyes blazing.
"Hey, are you insane?!"
"There's another copy over there, so you read that one, Censor Kim! Why steal someone else's book? That was the best part! Jang Geum's stepmother just appeared in her dream!!"
"Wha... what?!"
"Don't talk to me! You'll ruin the flow!!"
Whoosh!
Jeong snatched the book back, turned away, and dove right in. Kim Hong-su was speechless.
Should he let this slide?
Shouldn't he grab the punk by the collar, shake him, and reassert senior authority? But raising his voice and brawling during official hours wasn't proper for a scholar. Trembling with rage, Censor Kim picked up the other copy Jeong had mentioned.
"Hmph! Fine, let's see just how great this is!"
If it's worthless trash, I'll never forget. I'll file a formal complaint up the chain.
And after a long while passed.
The Bureau door opened, and a man entered the room.
"Censor Kim. Let's step out for tea."
"Ah... yes."
"What the hell are you reading? I said, tea."
Deputy Instructor Park Ji-hwan, who'd come to get some fresh air, snatched Censor Kim's book.
Censor Kim shouted.
"Ah! Give it back!!"
"Kahaha, My Lord, you must be so proud. Your son's book has been stocked in the National Academy."
"Heh heh, just luck. I never even hoped for the Academy—thought it a blessing if it just went to city bookstores."
"Aigoo, too modest. The Bureau reviewed and approved it for the Academy, proving it's no mere novel but a scripture of value."
"Now it's the Heo Five Houses, not Four. Impressed by your youngest daughter's poem at eight, and now a five-year-old son. The Easterners' future is bright indeed."
"This is why breadth of mind matters. How did you even think to give a five-year-old two sacks of rice?"
"Heh heh, you people."
Heo Yeop wore a satisfied smile, clearly relishing the honeyed praise from those around him.
One thousand sheets of paper, ten scribes.
Two copies to the Bureau, five to the National Academy, and the remaining three donated to the book contracts office.
Even for the wealthy Heo family, never short on funds, it was a hefty outlay.
But now, not a penny felt wasted.
Approved for the National Academy—no less than a scripture for the scholars who'll uphold the nation. This went beyond publishing a decent book; it was a family achievement.
"Kahaha, narrow-minded Westerners couldn't even dream of such a twist."
"Obviously. They're all parrots reciting scriptures and spouting empty rhetoric."
"Come, come, work's done. Let's drink. My treat today."
And one more thing.
The Westerners' faces were priceless.
They say a cousin's land purchase hurts your gut; how much worse when your enemy claims it outright?
Watching them writhe in fury filled Heo Yeop with delight.
Once the hated Easterners vanished completely, the Westerners clicked their tongues.
"Tsk tsk, how can the nation stoop to stocking trashy literature in the Academy?"
"Exactly. Heo Yeop must've strong-armed it with family clout."
"Read the book—such extravagance, unheard-of foods everywhere. Plays the incorruptible official, but his house feasts like that daily."
"Incorruptible? Heo Yeop was born rich as Croesus—no need for bribes. Tch!"
It hurt.
Hurt like hell.
Even Heo Nanseolheon's eight-year-old poem hadn't stung this bad.
Now the son? At five? Damn it. How much longer must they endure that smugness?
Amid the chorus of resentment, one man kept his wits.
Courtesy name Yi, style name Yulgok—Yulgok Yi I spoke.
"The content is excellent. It depicts Neo-Confucian subtleties so engagingly; it'll surely aid novice scholars."
"My Lord, how can you say that?!"
"That's how I see it. It's a true classic. But... I'm afraid too."
Culinary Duel: Jang Geum.
Undeniably good.
Hate to admit it, but can't deny it.
Still, issues to address.
"The child grasps Neo-Confucianism, but the presentation is wrong."
"Presentation?"
"Yes. It uses the mild term 'duel,' but the content is strife and combat. Not persuasion, but victory over defeat."
"Ah, I see!"
Since Yi Hwang of the Retreat Stream retired, Heo Yeop was the Easterners' top face—by house or rank, undeniable.
His son dares expound Neo-Confucianism in a book.
Hero naturally embodies Eastern thought; opponents are Westerners.
More pointedly: villains scheming against Jang Geum are branded Westerners—and they lose.
Terrifying. A mere five-year-old with such radical views—what chaos when he grows and joins factional strife?
"Sigh. Let's have a drink. My chest feels tight."
"Ah, my ears are itchy."
"Young Master, what's bothering you now?"
"Dunno. Got chills the other day, now my ears itch like crazy. Some dog barking?"
"There's a dog over there."
Woof woof.
So that's why.
Strange noises in my ears nonstop.
I glanced at the drooling mutt sprawled on the thatched floor, yawning lazily, then headed toward the market.
"Dori, before we go home, let's grab some honey cookies."
"Aigoo, sounds good to me."
Aside from occasional chills and itchy ears, life lately is peaceful.
No study nagging, just "don't cause trouble, buy snacks" from Mother, pocket stuffed with fabric scraps for change.
Mornings: wake, quick village school. Afternoons: roam market with Dori, munch treats. Evenings: home, crash. Dream life.
"Yonder's the honey cookie stall. How many?"
"Together. Buy plenty—share with uncles, aunties, sis too. Mother's given loads of cloth."
"Heh heh, Young Master, such a kind heart. Plenty there, fill both hands."
Arms loaded with cookies, just turning homeward.
Suddenly, two burly men blocked my path.
"Are you Heo Gyun, Young Master?"
"Who?"
"I'm Kim Deok-su from Hanyang. Head clerk of the Hanyang Merchant Guild. This is my close friend—he runs Yeon-gwang Pavilion, a pleasure house in Pyongyang."
"And?"
What the...?
The two bowed deeply and said,
"We want to do business with you, Young Master."