Preparing the Construction Unit

Developing the northern frontier. This was one of the major policies pushed forward by Yi Do, the current King of Joseon, who would later be known to posterity as Sejong the Great.

While future generations would view it simply as "stabilizing the borders by pacifying ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and repelling the Jurchens" and "completing the modern Korean peninsula," like all historical narratives, the reality was far more complex.

First of all, the northern policy had been active since the reigns of King Taejo (Yi Seong-gye) and King Taejong (Yi Bang-won). For instance, Yeoyeon-gun, which belonged to the "Four Outposts" of the famous Four Outposts and Six Garrisons, was established during Taejong's reign. Thus, it was inaccurate to say this initiative began solely with Yi Do. Nor was it correct to assume that the Jurchens, who had supposedly been obedient to Joseon, suddenly rebelled and had to be subjugated. In truth, the Jurchens had never truly submitted to Joseon. To their chieftains, Taejo was merely a close brother and an ally, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠not their "boss." And now, with the Ming Dynasty also courting them, the Jurchens were simply playing Joseon and Ming against each other to see who offered a better deal.

Yet, Yi Do had to carry out the northern campaign. It was, after all, "the land where our ancestors rose." If the Jurchens submitted to Joseon and the northern territory became Joseon's, it would highlight the legacy of Taejo, who had built his power base there. This would reframe history: Jeong Do-jeon and the Neo-Confucian scholars would no longer be viewed as Taejo's equal "comrades" in founding the nation, but merely as "assistants" to Taejo, who was already a formidable warlord of the north. If Taejo's role was elevated above that of the scholar-bureaucrats in the founding narrative of Joseon, it would strengthen the royal family's legitimacy, which in turn would lead to absolute royal authority.

Above all, it would put an end to the Ming Dynasty's nonsense of courting the Jurchens to exert pressure on Joseon from Liaodong. The north had to belong to Joseon. And Joseon had to belong to the royal family. Developing the north would resolve a complex web of issues, ranging from border instability to domestic politics and foreign policy. Of course, Left State Councillor Heo Jo would probably spit blood and scream, "Is that why you're trying to tamper with the Veritable Records of Taejo and pouring every single state resource into the northern frontier?!"

But great achievements always required effort and investment. And Yi Do had "invested" one of his most favored ministers into the north.

"..."

This was the reason Kim Jong-seo was currently shedding tears of blood while stuck in the north. Even the mourning period for his mother could not sway the King's absolute, frost-cold command. While Kim Jong-seo had been desperately looking for any opportunity to return to the capital, a shocking variable named An Heon had entered the equation. A hardy winter wheat that could withstand the northern climate, and fine cotton that grew exceptionally well even in the cold north. An Heon, a filial son and a once-in-a-generation genius, had brought these gifts. Now, the northern frontier would never be abandoned. Which meant... there was no longer any hope of escape for Kim Jong-seo.

Today, as always, Kim Jong-seo was carrying out his solemn duty of running endless laps around the northern frontier, courtesy of His Majesty. He inspected the conditions of various military outposts and, alongside Yi Jingok, verified whether the forced migration of Joseon citizens and the forced assimilation of the Jurchens were proceeding smoothly. Thus, the northern border was peaceful today. No, that was not a sarcastic joke; it was truly peaceful. The forced migrants and the assimilated Jurchens had suddenly settled down with surprisingly little resistance. Kim Jong-seo knew the reason. The reason lay in Aoji.

The sight of the gate of filial piety being erected, and the rapid spread of "An-family wheat" and "An-family cotton," had planted a seed of hope in the hearts of the people of Hamgil Province. The hope that life on the northern frontier would actually get better. Since he happened to be near Aoji, Kim Jong-seo stopped by An Heon's village with a heavy sense of purpose.

"Sir, you have arrived!"

"Indeed. Heon, how have you been faring?"

"You have come at the perfect time. There is so much I wanted to show you..."

"Hahaha." Guided into the home of An Heon, who was now eight years old, Kim Jong-seo exchanged brief pleasantries before getting straight to business. "They call it the 'filial piety wheat' in common parlance now, do they not? Yes, the An-family wheat is growing splendidly."

"It is all thanks to your guidance and His Majesty's grace, sir."

"There is no need for false modesty between us. You do not have to tread so carefully."

Kim Jong-seo mentally reviewed the current situation. It had been about a month since An Heon returned to Hamgil Province. In the autumn of the year before last, they had sown and harvested the filial piety wheat in a few select locations. The royal court had immediately realized its value. It was a monstrous crop. It thrived in freezing soil, yielded far more grain, was incredibly hearty, and even tasted excellent. If this spread, the entire northeastern region would be transformed. Thus, last autumn, every single seed of the filial piety wheat was carefully sown. The sprouts were now beginning to break through the soil. However, the growth was noticeably different from when it had first sprouted by the grave. In his memory, the wheat back then had been overwhelmingly more abundant.

"It is a crop bestowed by heaven in response to your deep filial devotion. Yet, because the other farmers cannot match your level of sincerity, their harvests are inconsistent."

The filial piety wheat was about to be distributed nationwide as a state policy. Therefore, they had to understand the secret behind its success. To this, An Heon replied:

"You speak of my devotion, but... I was in deep mourning at the time and could not pay attention to anything else, so I am not entirely sure myself."

"You do not have to strain yourself trying to explain."

"I merely walked around the gravesite every single day to keep watch. I paced back and forth so often that the surrounding soil became completely flat and packed down."

...And from the boy's seemingly innocent words, Kim Jong-seo's sharp mind caught onto something crucial. He stepped on the soil where the wheat was planted, daily and repeatedly. He kept the frozen ground from shifting and lifting the seeds as it froze and thawed.

"Also... I thought that if muddy puddles and slush formed around the grave, the damp, negative energy would be harmful, so I drained the water frequently."

He dug and cleared drainage ditches to prevent water and moisture from pooling. He kept the seeds from rotting in the slush created by melting snow and ice.

"Sigh... I am deeply apologetic that I could not be of more help to you, sir."

"No, not at all. You have been of immense help."

Kim Jong-seo was struck with admiration. A five-year-old boy had simply followed the rites of mourning without knowing any better, yet by sheer coincidence, his actions had prevented every single agricultural disaster of the northern frontier! Was this truly the resonance between heaven and man? How could this innocent child have known that wheat was planted beneath his feet? How could he have known to pack down the soil every day to care for the field? How could he have known to clear the gravesite to protect the seeds? Kim Jong-seo marveled at this self-evident "coincidence" and "miracle."

"Thank you. The longer I stay, the more of a burden I will be to your village. I must take my leave now."

"You are leaving far too soon. There is still so much I wished to show you..."

"Haha, if you ever uncover any new insights from the texts of the sages, send me word."

With those words, Kim Jong-seo rose from his seat. As he stepped outside, the familiar, biting cold of the northern frontier pierced his lungs.

"I shall return next time, then."

"Sir, please wait a moment!"

An Heon called out to him, but Kim Jong-seo shook his head, not wanting to trouble the villagers any further.

"Do not strain yourself with excessive etiquette. How could I expect you to entertain—"

Clack. Clack. Clack-clack. Clack. Suddenly, an unfamiliar sound echoed through the air. No, it was a familiar sound, but one he never expected to hear in this particular village.

"Have the women of this village resumed weaving?"

The sound of weaving. Kim Jong-seo smiled warmly, feeling a sense of gratification.

"That massive pile of cotton sitting in the storehouse will finally begin to dwindle."

One might ask if there was any village under the sun where the sound of weaving could not be heard, given that everyone needs clothes. But until recently, this village had been exactly like that. Because of the gate and pavilion of filial piety erected here, they had received so much hemp cloth as royal rewards that they had simply fashioned clothes out of those. But now, the sight of women weaving had returned to the village. It was a welcome change. At the same time, he recalled the massive mountain of filial piety cotton piled up in the storehouse. Now, instead of sitting idle, it would finally be spun into fabric.

"Would you care to take a look at the storehouse, sir?"

"Very well. Let us see how much it has decreased."

Kim Jong-seo followed An Heon. But the moment the storehouse doors swung open, Kim Jong-seo...

"...Have you already moved it elsewhere?"

He froze on the spot. To the stunned general, An Heon calmly replied:

"No. We have used it all."

"Used it? On what?"

"Why, for weaving, of course."

What? Kim Jong-seo stared back at the storehouse. The once-overflowing space was now completely empty. This time, he looked at the boy's face. The moment their eyes met, he realized. The boy had indeed said there was something he wanted to show him. Without another word, Kim Jong-seo followed where An Heon pointed. As they drew closer, the rhythmic clack-clack of the loom grew louder. And when Kim Jong-seo pushed open the door, there was "something" inside.

"..."

"..."

A petite woman was weaving an incredibly wide piece of fabric all by herself. It was so wide that it easily exceeded the shoulder width of two grown men. It was a width that a single petite woman should have found utterly impossible to weave... Clack! Kim Jong-seo's train of thought was abruptly cut off by an object shooting across his field of vision. Something was "flying" through the warp threads. As the woman pressed down on the treadle, something moved again. With every slight twitch of her hands and feet, the loom operated at a terrifying speed. And at an equally terrifying speed, a massive sheet of fabric was being woven before his eyes.

Where on earth had such a thing come from? He did not even think to ask or press for answers. There was only one possible explanation. As Kim Jong-seo turned his head, the "seven-year-old sage" bowed politely and spoke:

"I merely studied the way the women weave and pondered upon it."

"...How much?"

His voice faltered slightly from sheer bewilderment, but the boy seemed to understand his meaning perfectly. How much more fabric is being woven compared to before? The boy replied:

"Easily over tenfold."

Before Kim Jong-seo could even scramble to find his voice, the boy spoke again.

"I have drawn up the blueprints for this loom. Would you care to examine them, sir?"

First, they summoned a court painter. Having been abruptly dispatched to Aoji, the painter arrived in a state of high tension, wondering if the "seven-year-old literary genius" had finally decided to try his hand at painting.

"Copy every single detail."

"..."

Instead of the landscape painting he had anticipated, the painter found himself copying a technical blueprint, utterly bewildered by what he was looking at. Of course, whether a single painter was confused or not did not matter in the slightest. Because those blueprints were not meant for him. Kim Jong-seo, the Provincial Commander of Hamgil Province, immediately dispatched them to Hanyang. Such was the power of a message capacity upgrade propelled by fourteen million viewers.

"My Lord Daehogun! Urgent word has arrived!"

"What? Another message? Are the locals around the mines throwing another tantrum?"

"No, sir, it is not that... It has come directly from Hanyang!"

"What?"

Dispatched to Gyeongsang Province as a special commissioner, the Daehogun felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead. All sorts of ominous possibilities flashed through his mind. Surely His Majesty isn't already nagging me to hurry up? Isn't this a bit too harsh? I've barely arrived in Gyeongsang Province and was just about to start working! Even if I were slightly late—which I'm not—sending a separate messenger just to rush me? Isn't His Majesty being far too relentless? Especially since he had only just finished constructing the Heumgyeonggak earlier this year before being immediately sent down to Gyeongsang Province. His back still aching from running around all day, the Daehogun cautiously asked his subordinate about the situation.

"How... how did the messenger look when he delivered the news?"

He ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠felt a pang of resentment, but he didn't even have the luxury to indulge in it. If a demand had been made, he had to meet it. That was his job: extracting the maximum efficiency within limited time and resources. He never complained about being busy, for he knew very well that his worth lay in his ability to deliver. He needed to see what kind of messenger had come and in what manner, so he could gauge how much leeway the King was willing to grant him...

"He seemed to be walking on eggshells around you, sir. He had a deeply apologetic look in his eyes."

...Uh-oh. That was the absolute worst-case scenario. A cold shiver ran down the Daehogun's spine. His Majesty was not a man who felt apologetic toward his subordinates. He himself worked from the crack of dawn until the dead of night, completely consumed by his duties. If he was awake, it was only natural that someone else had to be awake with him. After all, a king couldn't change his own robes or light his own candles. Thus, His Majesty was far more likely to say, "If even I am working like this, how dare you complain?" For such a monarch to show even a hint of "apology" meant the messenger must have been infected by that very awkwardness. What on earth could possibly make the King feel apologetic? Is he sending me into exile? With a heavy heart, the Daehogun returned to the government office. Soon, he knelt to receive the royal command.

In that instant, his breath caught in his throat. Where... where did they say?

Hamgil Province? ...Aoji? Jang Yeong-sil stood frozen, his mouth hanging open in sheer disbelief. Why on earth am I being sent there all of a sudden?!