With Your Degree, You Can Only Get a Job in Medieval Joseon
A filial son who observed the three-year mourning period at a young age in the freezing cold of Hamgil Province. Plump-grained wheat grew from his parents' grave to feed the child, a sign that heaven itself was moved. Since the light of moral civilization has reached even the remote northern frontier, how could we abandon the land bestowed by our ancestors? Therefore, we shall maintain the newly established counties and garrisons. Since the child is said to have a talent for learning, bring him to the capital to be taught. As he is a boy destined for great things, we shall bestow rewards upon him and have him enter the court...
Such was the original plan harbored by the supreme ruler of this nation. It was a plan personally drawn up by the man named Yi Do, who would later be known as King Sejong the Great. It was designed to reap a massive political profit.
But circumstances had changed. The plan had evolved—for the better. Now, Yi Do was looking at something far grander than a mere minor political advantage or the acquisition of moral justification.
"Did you... hear about that? You know, that..."
"What, the story from Hamgil Province?"
"How on earth did you know about that?"
"Everyone knows, you fool. Do you have any idea how long it's been since the rumors leaked between the household of Army Commander Kim and the Left State Councillor?"
Around that time, rumors slowly began to spread through Hanyang.
"My lord, about that..."
"Is it perhaps the story of the filial son from the Northern Province?"
"It is, my lord."
As the fire was slowly kindled, the quick-witted moved at the mere sight of smoke rising in the distance. The rest followed slowly behind. Rumors circulating in Hanyang, as always, never stopped at being mere entertaining gossip. They inevitably became a sword to strike someone down, or a shield to block such a blow. It mattered little where they leaked from or who spread them. This was especially true in Joseon, where the Office of the Inspector General could impeach officials based on mere rumors.
Those who rushed the most upon hearing these rumors were, naturally, those seeking to exploit them politically. Where, why, and how on earth were these rumors being spread? What was the situation in Hamgil Province that allowed such rumors to circulate? Was the rumor true? If not, what was the actual truth? If it was true, why was it circulating as a rumor? What was Kim Jong-seo doing? They craned their necks and strained their ears, gathering every scrap of information regarding this rumor. Then, they carefully sifted through it to extract whatever political leverage they could.
On the other hand, who were the ones dragging their feet the most upon hearing these rumors? They, too, were those seeking to exploit them politically.
"That is what they say, my lord."
"Then we must strike first! To know of this and yet fail to submit an official report—does this not cast doubt on Army Commander Kim's loyalty?"
Only when the substance of the rumors began to crystallize did they move cautiously, yet swiftly. Timing was everything. If things continued as they were, it would seem as though Kim Jong-seo had governed the northern frontier so well that moral transformation had naturally occurred, leaving the censors with nothing but minor criticisms to offer. But if they struck now? Kim Jong-seo, who had failed to submit a single report while rumors of a filial son reached all the way to Hanyang, would become an object of censure rather than praise. If that happened... they could temporarily put the brakes on the northern development, which was currently devouring astronomical amounts of budget and manpower.
The censors moved quickly. However, at least one of them should have stopped to think.
"They say it will be tomorrow, my lord."
"Understood."
They should have wondered where the rumor originated, and what Kim Jong-seo was doing.
On the very day the censors declared, "We shall impeach Kim Jong-seo," his official report arrived, by a most exquisite "coincidence." Surely, it wasn't a case of someone nudging Kim Jong-seo to secure the report in advance, only to pull it out now as if they had just received it. That would be absurd. At any rate, that was not what mattered. It was best not to dwell on it, so it had to be treated as unimportant.
What truly mattered was that Kim Jong-seo's impeachment was announced in the morning, his official report was read aloud in the middle of the court immediately afterward, and only then did the formal petition accusing him of failing to report the matter come forward. Consequently, the censors who led the impeachment were made to look like utter fools, while those who had quietly stayed out of it survived. In the end, every attempt to attack and scrutinize Kim Jong-seo's report was completely neutralized. That was what was important.
Two days passed after those few censors who had backed the wrong horse spat blood in frustration.
"Keeping the channels of speech open is the beginning of how a monarch deep within his palace observes the lives of his people. This is why I do not hesitate to converse with scholars of virtue."
The King hosted a banquet and laid the groundwork.
"Sukju, the third son of the late Shin Jang who passed away a few years ago, was summoned by Army Commander Kim Jong-seo and headed to Hamgil Province."
Everyone immediately understood: Ah, so you were the one who sent him. Otherwise, why on earth would a man who had just gotten married and was preparing for the civil service exams go to that freezing northern frontier? What family would ever allow such a thing?
"Yet, when Shin Sukju observed him, he found that the filial son was a prodigy who had mastered the Thousand Character Classic before the age of five. His father was a loyal subject of the state, and his mother was a woman of exemplary virtue."
"This is truly a wondrous and admirable matter, Your Majesty!"
"Indeed, it is."
Once Chief State Councillor Hwang Hui stepped forward to play along and set the stage, the King spoke as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Heaven was moved by the filial son's heart and bestowed ears of wheat upon his parents' grave. The wheat cakes and noodles before you, ministers, were made from that very harvest."
"..."
"..."
"..."
No wonder the portions seemed a bit small; they had used the tiny sample sent from Hamgil Province. Of course, all the ministers nodded in admiration and deep emotion, dabbing at their tears with their sleeves. Before them, the King spoke.
"I intend to soon bestow a commemorative arch upon them."
Ah, I see.
"Since I shall bestow an arch for the filial son, the loyal subject, and the virtuous woman respectively, there will be three arches in total. Therefore, I shall also grant a commemorative pavilion to house them."
I... see.
"Furthermore, as the surviving child is most commendable, I cannot fail to reward him separately. I shall dispatch carpenters and building materials to construct a grand residence for him."
...Oh.
Naturally, the compensation for the entire village that would inevitably accompany all these measures was not even mentioned. The high-ranking officials gathered at the banquet felt their eyes widen in sheer bewilderment, wondering what on earth was happening. Since there was nothing they could do anyway, and the King had commanded them to eat, they simply picked up their utensils.
"..."
"..."
"..."
Then, everyone fell silent, lowering their heads deeply.
Seeing this, King Yi Do frowned. What are they doing? Are they protesting because I pulled a few strings behind the scenes? There is a limit to how much one should overreact. This is practically mocking me. Wheat that grows well in the north surely shouldn't taste fit for human consumption, so why are they acting as if they are tasting some rare delicacy? How unpleasant. But since I am hungry, I will just take a bite of this...
"..."
And the King, too, fell silent.
It's delicious. But... why is this delicious? Why on earth?
The minor incident of Chief State Councillor Hwang Hui gasping mid-banquet and shouting, "Exquisite flavor!" threw the capital into a frenzy... and not long after.
"An Heon of Aoji, receive the royal decree."
"Y-Yes...!"
The royal command was delivered.
...Therefore, to honor his exceptional filial piety, we bestow commemorative arches, erect a commemorative pavilion, and grant a grand residence to An Heon.
"Waaaaah! The young master did it! Young master! The young master!"
"Uwahhhh...! If only the master and mistress could have lived to see this...!"
"Sob, hic... Y-Young master...!"
Immediately, the entire village erupted into a cacophony of sounds that blurred the line between human cries and beastly roars. But no one could stop them. The King himself had just declared, "The commoners of Aoji who cared for him with all their hearts are also truly commendable," so who would dare interfere?
Still on their knees, they embraced one another, then threw their arms around their young master. They rolled him around, hoisted him high in the air, boasting and celebrating. The officials wondered if this was entirely proper, but since An Heon himself was weeping tears of joy alongside them, it was awkward to stop them. At any rate, Shin Sukju barely managed to calm the crowd down, fearing they might accidentally crush the boy.
An Heon, choking back tears, spoke.
"Y-Your Majesty's grace is so vast... even if my bones turn to dust and a handful of earth, I could never hope to repay it..."
To witness such a sight and not weep would mean one was not a Confucian scholar—indeed, not even human. As everyone watched with lumps in their throats, An Heon continued.
"However... as I am still in m-mourning, and cannot bear to tear down the house bequeathed to me by my p-parents... I humbly beg that you withdraw the gift of the residence..."
"What did you say?"
"I know it is a capital offense to d-decline the King's grace in this manner... but I beg of you to withdraw the command to bestow the residence..."
An Heon's tearful plea was conveyed back to Hanyang exactly as he had spoken it. Upon hearing it, the King declared:
"To devote oneself to mourning one's parents and refuse to expand one's worldly possessions—this is indeed the mark of a true scholar. Though he is young, how could I bend such noble resolve?"
Of course, a bright smile spread across Yi Do's face as he spoke.
"In that case, construct a granary in that village instead. If we store the wheat seeds bequeathed by An Heon's parents there, it will not violate his filial piety!"
Naturally, he was not smiling because he had saved the cost of a single residence. He was smiling because everything had gone exactly according to plan.
Suppose the King had only bestowed the commemorative arches and the rewards that came with them. If An Heon had accepted them without hesitation, people would inevitably whisper, No matter how young he is, and even if it was a royal gift, how could he accept it without declining first while still in mourning? Conversely, if An Heon had declined them, they would say, No matter how deep his mourning, how dare he decline the King's grace? Whichever path he chose, criticism was guaranteed.
Thus, Yi Do had provided An Heon with a safe alternative. He had intentionally slipped in the "residence," which was the perfect thing to decline. Declining the other honors would mean refusing royal gifts and disrespecting his parents, who were being recognized as a loyal subject and a virtuous woman. But a house for himself was highly declinable.
In this way, An Heon accepted what he should, declined what he must, and cemented his reputation as an exemplary filial son. For a boy he intended to groom for greatness, there must not be a single blemish on his record. Yi Do smiled with deep satisfaction. He saw right through my intention and chose the perfect option. It seems Minister Shin trained his son well.
"Um... Heon?"
"Yes, Mentor?"
"How did you know to decline only the royal residence..."
"Pardon?"
"...Never mind. You are a remarkable fellow."
Of course, Yi Do had no idea of the actual truth behind it.
...It worked. Everything was moving much faster than planned. I had assumed the talk of a filial arch wouldn't even come up until the three-year mourning period was over.
Lately, the village was bustling and lively every single day. Everyone I ran into had a warm, joyful expression. It was hard to believe these were the same people who had been on the brink of death not long ago.
Yes. For now, it seemed I had achieved about half of my goal of survival. Aside from the fact that Joseon was currently suffering from a famine and we were still surrounded by a horde of resentful Jurchens, we were safe.
Come to think of it, that wasn't very safe at all.
It was getting cold. With autumn returning, the villagers were planting seeds in the fields. Those very wheat seeds. The real work began now... *Brrr, it's chilly.*
"D-Dolbi? Could you ask your master if... maybe cotton is an option?"
*Hurl!*
...What?
*Hurl!*
Uh...
*Hurl!*
"..."
*Hurl!*
Well... yes. Thank you for your hard work.
I bowed lightly to Spirit Hong-wi, then nudged Dolbi—whom I had been scratching on the belly as they lay on my lap—into the corner. Dolbi glared at me, wondering why I had suddenly stopped, but I ignored them.
"Ah, forgive me for being late. My servant packed the wrong clothes... Brrr, how on earth is there frost here already?"
It was time for Shin Sukju... my "mentor" to arrive. Shivering from the dreadful climate of the northeastern frontier, my mentor entered the room. After resting for a moment, he spoke.
"Right. Let us resume what we were discussing last time. Where did we leave off?"
"Are we... skipping the passage you were lecturing on last time?"
"We can do that later. Later. Besides, you already know all of it anyway, don't you?"
"..."
If you're going to say that so openly, why are you even here? Aren't you the one who came to teach me that "already known" content?
"Ah, yes! Didn't you mention it before? That there are laws governing how the sounds of written characters change over time."
"I did."
"Let us discuss that! I have never encountered a more fascinating topic!"
Ah, so it's because you find it fun? You just want to chat with me under the guise of teaching? What shamelessness is this?
A dark thought crossed my mind: Is it because of this complete lack of self-awareness that he was able to betray both his lord and his friends so spectacularly in history?
I had to restrain myself. Such thoughts were disrespectful and dismissive of one's elder and teacher. To think I had to treat a man who didn't act like a teacher as my mentor. I truly detested the absurdities of the fifteenth century.
Anyway, since my "mentor" was asking me for "instruction," I cleared my throat and spoke.
"Though my learning is shallow..."
"It is not shallow, so skip the useless pleasantries."
"...Upon reviewing various classics and their commentaries, I have found several common pathways in how the sounds of words change."
"Oh!"
"For example, do you recall when you first lectured me on Mencius?"
"Indeed. That was when I caught you already knowing the Four Books and Five Classics, along with all the commentaries left by past scholars, by heart."
"..."
What a petty man.
"On that day, my reading of the character jeo (底) as ji (致) in the phrase Gosu-ji-ye (瞽瞍底豫) was entirely in accordance with the ancients."
It's just that the pronunciation changed over time. Mencius wrote it intending it to be read that way.
"In other words, the sounds of jeo and ji were originally the same, but they diverged as later generations passed the spoken language down from mouth to mouth."
Of course, Old Chinese had no tones and no palatalization. The initial consonant for both jeo and ji was the alveolar plosive /t/, but one retained its original pronunciation while the other became an affricate.
...I tacked on a tedious, pedantic explanation of how to prove this. Yet, perhaps because Shin Sukju was a perverted Confucian scholar, his eyes only sparkled brighter at my explanation.
"Aha... You are absolutely correct! Since the Classic of Poetry is a collection of songs with melodies, the rhythm and rhyme must have been strongly preserved in the text. If so, we can deduce that characters in the same positions must have sounded similar..."
"Let's... stop there. It seems you understand well enough."
"This is truly delightful! To categorize sounds and define the laws of their change, thereby resurrecting the songs of the ancients!"
"..."
If only I had shown that much enthusiasm for my coursework, my classical Chinese literature professor would have adored me. At the very least, it would have been easier than the madness of memorizing dozens of scriptures cover to cover... No, let's not dwell on the past.
"Please do not be too certain. I am merely a six-year-old boy, and what I have shared is nothing more than my personal speculation."
...Though, of course, it was actually the work of legendary scholars like William Baxter, Li Fang-Kuei, Zhengzhang Shangfang, and Laurent Sagart.
"A-Anyway, because of these discrepancies, it is difficult to follow the words of the ancients if the texts lack proper annotations."
Of course it's difficult. To use an analogy, "Classical Chinese" is like grouping Proto-Latin, Classical Latin, Venetic, and modern Italian all together and calling it "Roman script." If you threw a modern Korean in front of a person from Gojoseon, they wouldn't be able to communicate at all. Yet, we are expected to read the writings of those eras.
"Thus, even when the writings of the ancients survive, later generations cannot read them properly and are left in confusion."
It's a tragedy that brings tears of blood. And it happens all too often. That's exactly why high school Korean textbooks have multiple conflicting interpretations for a single hyangga.
"Perhaps many beautiful writings of the ancients have already been discarded by those who did not know their worth."
This is an even greater tragedy, and it, too, happens all too often. From the ancient Samdaemok to the early modern drafts of Yi Sang, truly... truly...
"If we do not organize the principles of these changes and systematize our language, more teachings will be lost to time as the years pass. How... how could we..."
"Heon, why are you suddenly crying? What is the matter?"
...Forget it. Drop it.
"A-Anyway, upon reflection, this is also a problem for the spoken language of Joseon. Even if there were songs detailing the history of ancient Goguryeo, who today could recognize them?"
"Indeed. But why the tears..."
"Idu and Hyangchal lack precision, and the ancients surely used different writing systems that we do not even fully comprehend today. This is..."
"..."
"...Never mind."
I barely managed to snap out of it and stop myself. Come to think of it, we were right on the cusp of the creation of Hangul, the single most important event in the history of the Korean language and literature. If Hangul were to vanish due to some butterfly effect, I would commit suicide, Gyeyu Reconstruction be damned, as an apology to hundreds of thousands of Korean literature majors.
"...At any rate, the Complete Works of Master Zhu and various other classics must be imported to Joseon. Only then can we thrive with more research based on richer historical sources."
"I... see. The conclusion feels somewhat abrupt, but you are correct."
After that, I conversed with Shin Sukju on various topics. For the record, I sent a letter containing the exact same contents to Kim Jong-seo as well. Just in case Shin Sukju tried to steal credit for my achievements later. Even if he was my mentor, I would sooner trust Won Gyun's military tactics than Shin Sukju's loyalty.
Thus, I engaged in academic discourse with Shin Sukju. I only brought up topics that would earn me the reputation of a "genius." Specifically, topics that would be "safely" accepted in Joseon, a Neo-Confucian state. Even if I possessed knowledge of future Confucian philosophies, there was a limit to what I could safely introduce.
Yangmingism? A simple Google search would tell you that Wang Yangming established it because he believed Neo-Confucianism neglected moral cultivation and practice. Was I supposed to get myself branded a heretic?
Late Joseon Neo-Confucianism? Those ideas emerged from the center of a political vortex completely different from our current situation. They were incredibly sensitive and radical. It was a surefire way to get beaten to death.
Therefore, I chose the safest option. It was the very path chosen by Confucian scholars who had lost political power during times of severe academic persecution: Evidential Learning, or Gojeunghak. There was a reason this school of thought flourished during the Qing Dynasty, when scholars were executed at the drop of a hat. Arguing over whether a character's meaning was correct or its pronunciation was wrong was, by far, the safest route.
I merely slipped in a "tiny" bit of new knowledge. After all, I had to enjoy some modern-reincarnator advantages. It was nothing major. I j-just... added a bit of future historical linguistics, comparative linguistics, and theoretical linguistics.
Well, my conscience is clear. I want to live a life that makes my college tuition feel like it wasn't wasted. ...Otherwise, how else is a Korean literature major supposed to get their tuition's worth?
*Hurl!*
...Hongwi. What on earth are you doing in the meantime?