Chapter 10
Chapter 10
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 10
Chapter Title: Aim for the Top (2)
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Fortunately, the exam prompt came straight out of Go Bonghwan's practice examples.
As expected from Joseon's top cram master.
It was a question about how to strictly prohibit women's hairpieces—those fake buns commonly called gache. Just as Go Bonghwan had said, it was one of those court bans that nobody followed in the slightest.
Such toothless prohibitions were a dime a dozen. The reasons were obvious. But...
'The royals accept these as tribute gifts, so how the hell do they expect civilians to stop using them? Tell me that after you rip the one off your own wife's head.'
Of course, I couldn't say that. Did I want to chug that secret poison no one even knew how to brew until the 21st century and check out of this life with one shot? If I got unlucky, I wouldn't even get a clean death—that was the true terror of poison.
'Luxury...? Ah, you Joseon folks steeped only in Neo-Confucianism wouldn't get it. In my world, it's common sense that people spending money kickstarts the circulation of the economy.'
Obviously, I couldn't say that either. Was I that eager to face the Four Garrisons and Six Fields? Even after King Sejong crushed the Jurchens and flung open that forbidden dark dimension, the number of people who made it back to the human realm alive could be counted on one hand.
I emptied my mind and activated the active skill Han Seokbong's Calligraphy.
Without a moment's hesitation, I dashed off (Go Bonghwan's memorized answer) in one fluid stroke. Gasps of admiration rose from those around me at the sight.
"Whose son is that candidate?"
"Let me see. Ah, it's the second son from the salt farm merchant family in Jang-dong."
"What? That wastrel called Dog-Beating Stick Kim Unhaeng?"
Didn't they get punished for whispering like that in the royal presence? Well, it was probably far enough from the king that he couldn't hear, so they chattered away without a care.
I pretended to ponder and revise here and there as I finished the answer sheet. It was pretty damn boring work.
The other candidates either couldn't afford a top tutor like me (not that I believed that for a second) or hadn't bothered memorizing the answers he'd provided. Most of them agonized for nearly two shichen.
One guy even tried stuffing a rolled-up cheat sheet up his nose and pretending to pick it like boogers right here in front of the king—only to get dragged out.
The Four Garrisons and Six Fields I'd idly thought of earlier might become reality for that fool. Punishments for exam cheating varied by era and king, but it usually meant a good beating in the rain until you were caked in mud, then off to the army.
Tsk tsk. Why not just study fair and square like me? I shivered with joy at having one less rival in the gonggwa track.
Any other cheaters around? I had to spot them and report for the good of the realm.
No ulterior motives here—purely for the safety of the ancestral shrine and altars. What good would scum like that do for the country if they rose to office? They belonged singing private's songs on the front lines.
Luckily or not, that was the only one with the guts to try something that bold.
Well, if you're already passing, no need to cheat for top marks. I soon gave up the hunt.
Instead, for the remaining time, I pretended to review my sheet while turning my mind to other matters.
Based on the status window info so far, I needed to predict the trials this thing would throw at me next.
I couldn't keep getting dragged along forever. In games, didn't knowing the quest-giving NPCs or second-run clears make progress way faster?
But that puzzle was far tougher than this exam.
King Yi Geum, waiting outside in the Hall of Grace, wore a face like his beard had been squashed flat.
Back in the day, Emperor Kangxi had mocked Joseon as "a king weak and ministers strong."
Given how the Jurchens measured strength by kill count (tragically, the strongest turned out to be Han Chinese communists), it was understandable why a normal country's king like Joseon's looked that way. No wonder King Sejong tried to wipe out the Jurchen line.
But mocking a monarch for being looked down on by his subjects was a grave insult to any kingdom. It could even be read as rejecting the political system itself.
Lord Bokseon (Lee Nam), who went as envoy at the time, had dared retort the emperor: "Not in my Joseon!" Grandson of the ironclad gatekeeper of Namhansanseong—who even Hong Taiji couldn't breach head-on—his guts were something else.
But Kangxi hadn't lied (Lord Bokseon returned safely). King Yi Geum acknowledged it too.
Thus, this exam scene stirred strange feelings in Yi Geum.
Most here were young representatives inheriting the vested interests piled up by their ancestors over generations.
Just as Grand King Taejo Lee Seonggye leaped from the ministers' ranks to rule his old comrades, these youths could all challenge for the throne if "Heaven willed it."
Of course, Yi Geum hadn't stumbled onto the throne without talent either.
Like many Joseon kings, even if not the greatest ruler, Yeongjo was a capable administrator and seasoned politician. A Neo-Confucian scholar who stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the era's giants.
Yi Geum wondered what he'd score if he took the exam himself.
Among these thirty-three scholars young and old, was there anyone sharper than him?
As he pondered, Yi Geum shook his head slightly.
'No, when employing people, talent is always secondary.'
A true king of the Way of Virtue, embodying the Tang founder King Tang's principle of prioritizing moral character above all?
More honestly, none of these guys were worth picking, talent be damned.
This country's brain was him; the rest were limbs. What good were limbs with too much brains or ideas of their own? Rebellion, that's what.
Your right arm might claim it's better than the left, but to the head, they're no different. If he followed his whims, he'd ditch these grandsons of high officials and drag market commoners straight to office.
Not a bizarre notion. Quite universal, really.
Not just Joseon—even in Europe, Enlightenment despots railing against "corrupt, incompetent" nobles for popularity preached the same under their equality cries.
Power, like wealth, is relative.
In a land where everyone's rich, even free handouts get shot down by the wealthy. You're rich only if there are plenty poorer than you—not just by pile size.
Power's the same. The more "lowborn" below you, the more precious it gets.
Thus, monarchs' ideal: towering alone. Noble clans, children, kin—all equally lowly before you.
Then power shifts from relative to absolute (no comparisons left). History dubs such masters "absolute monarchs."
In short, absolute kingship isn't about elevating the king. It's dragging everyone else down.
King Yi Geum had devoted his life to that.
At first, for survival. Those cursed Soron urged his half-brother daily to kill him.
But like cave-dwellers fleeing beasts who built homes and walls for comfort, Yi Geum had evolved. No more Crown Prince pickling suspicious crab; he was now Joseon's sole sovereign, power's foundation nearly complete.
Rebels mostly purged. Authority stable. Borders calm. Healthy heir secured.
Yet his foes weren't just Soron or Namin.
'Eight out of ten of these scholars are Noron spawn.'
Since the Gyeongsin Purge, they strutted like they owned the world, scheming to keep the king in their grip at every turn—Song Siyol's heirs were the real headache. The Noron openly claimed they made this king.
Big mistake.
The Noron didn't make Yi Geum king for power. He used the Noron to survive and inherit the throne (one and the same).
At least that's how Yi Geum saw it.
Once the candidates' poems were submitted, Yi Geum returned to the palace and summoned Crown Prince Yi Hwon.
The Crown Prince approached deferentially. This sixth moon of the year, Princess Huaping—Yeongjo's once-beloved daughter whom he doted on as much as he loathed the Crown Prince—had died in childbirth. Father's nerves were razor-sharp; no time to dawdle.
And the Crown Prince's caution wasn't overkill. Anyone would think he'd killed Princess Huaping himself.
Though biased on family matters and not counted as official history, Lady Hyegyeong's Record of Idle Moments notes:
'At the end of Princess Huaping's pregnancy, I gave birth to Uiso (the infant Prince Uiso who died young). But fearing reprisal, I showed no sign. (Yeongjo too) never once asked Prince Jingmo (Crown Prince Sado) or me if we'd had a child.'
Yi Geum had his reasons—plenty, massively so.
The Crown Prince was brilliant enough that ministers vied to snag his writings, yet to Yi Geum, only flaws stood out.
First, he seemed too eager to please his father. When quizzed on scholarship, answer by the true Way—not by scanning Father's face for approval.
Of course, he didn't want to seem weak, but buckling like a reed in fear? No guarantee he'd stand firm against ministers after Father's death.
Moreover, rumors swirled—thanks to palace maids' bad influences—that he enjoyed martial arts. Utterly intolerable.
Not that martial pursuits were lowly. Yi Geum knew firsthand: the throne was a razor-edge; no room for distractions beyond scholarship and politics.
Thoughts of the Crown Prince suffering without an outlet never crossed Yi Geum's mind.
Hard to expect such empathy from an 18th-century man.
Not just because Yi Geum was Joseon-born.
Even late 20th century, terms like allergy or ADHD were dismissed as weakness. Just itchy or scatterbrained. Modern youth too soft.
Thus, Yi Geum eyed the hesitant Crown Prince with distaste. He tossed over a paper with zero affection.
"Wise professors and veteran ministers picked out a few standout answer sheets. Crown Prince, choose the top graduate from these."
Dominated by paternal terror—no room for "the old man's at it again"—the Crown Prince prostrated in shock.
"Selecting exam passers sets the king's stellar retinue; it's the pinnacle of royal duties, not some trifle. None dare do it but Your Highness. Please withdraw the command."
"Who said do the selection? They're all passers already; just rank them. And curb your arrogance. If your top pick defies reason, it'll be rejected, and you'll pick again. Show your judgment."
Trembling under his icy father's words, the Crown Prince peered at the sheets.
Normally, the exam office collects originals; graders copy them blind to avoid recognizing handwriting.
These were originals. Official copies still with clerks.
Yi Geum had ordered them specifically to test the Crown Prince—before some toady leaked results for favor.
Names sealed anyway, and Crown Prince unlikely to know handwritings. Speed mattered.
If Kim Unhaeng—nail-biting at home, anxiously awaiting results—heard this, he'd freak as a paranoid maniac king.
But the Crown Prince knew Father better than Kim Unhaeng ever could.
No pick would escape scolding.
Choose what Father'd like? "Flattering with clever words!" Pick what he liked best? Father'd nitpick logic flaws or moral lapses: "That's all your scholarship's worth?" or "What's your hidden agenda?" Tantrums galore.
No escape from the endless abuse; the Crown Prince could only shrink. That flinching irked Father more. Vicious cycle.
Resigned, flipping sheets, one caught the Crown Prince's eye.
Not coincidence. Its printing-press-neat script stood out.
That's why college essay prep stresses exact word counts and legible handwriting: counts are objective point docks across graders; sloppy script? Content's DOA.
In any exam, fates often hinge on unasked-for details.
This time too. The Crown Prince scrutinized the eye-catcher first.
And the bright Crown Prince soon realized something else.
'This handwriting... it's that guy!'
Palace maid Han, serving the Crown Prince's Eastern Palace, steered him from hated studies toward martial arts and play.
They chatted often, and she'd shared gossip.
A young scholar at the Office of Diplomatic Correspondence: seniors tormented him harshly; he grabbed a staff and thrashed them all gloriously.
'For real? Even innocents cringe under superiors' grilling; his heroic spirit must be immense.'
True awe from experience. Excited, Han spilled more.
'Why lie? Word is, he trained Spear Staff Fist from youth but something went awry, so he entered via literary exams—a true master. Afterward, in Seoul, he toppled any who irked his sense of justice. Even recruited a hero like Inwang the Benevolent King, who rips ox horns from live bodies.'
True or not, the wuxia tale captivated the Crown Prince.
That was Jang-dong's Kim Unhaeng, who'd lately passed the exam. Despite rowdy rumors, his calligraphy was impeccably neat—like Han Ho from the Seonmyo era.
Forced to the Hall of Grace by Father's whim, he'd scanned for that scholar amid the crowd. Too far, faces unknown, no hulking warrior in sight—so he'd given up and forgotten.
Skimming content: Kim Unhaeng's sheet was boilerplate drivel. No clever insights or sharp opinions. The Crown Prince felt a pang of disappointment but quickly reframed.
'Won't get nitpicked.'
Flip side: smooth, honest, flawless. Even this grudge-holding Father from a past life couldn't savage it too harshly.
So he picked it up. Yi Geum snorted derisively.
"Stale brushwork, plagiarized prose, the lazy scribble of a scholar clueless about real governance. You truly think this top material?"
Say "My mistake" and switch? Worse scolding. Crown Prince doubled down—Kim Unhaeng's staff-wielding image bolstering his kid-sized courage.
No grabbing the candlestick to bash Father's skull, but cowering endlessly? Shameful.
"Youth and inexperience aren't his fault, so lacking official polish merits leniency. Thus, forgive his ignorance of current affairs."
Father's brow twitched; Crown Prince swallowed dryly. But no stopping now. He whipped himself onward.
"...Instead, check if his intent is pure and true. Unknown author, but its thrust never strays from Confucius, Mencius, or Master Zhu. It consistently decries luxury and urges moral cultivation. With Your Highness's wise insight, he'll surely become a pillar of the state."
Yi Geum gazed down silently at the Crown Prince, whose "careful" words trembled audibly.
Did he read Father's mind again? This thankless whelp irked no matter what.
But this instant, he'd given the answer Father wanted.
Unlike the Crown Prince, Yi Geum knew who wrote it. He exhaled sharply through his nose.
"Crown Prince, withdraw."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Relieved only that the hellish audience ended quick, the Crown Prince bowed swiftly and retreated.
Yi Geum then gauged the announcement timing for the just-decided top graduate.
As planned: the one "not him, but the Crown Prince picked."
1. The gache issue actually appeared in a book exam. The Chundangdae incident in the story is a new event caused by the protagonist, but a bit later, the annals note something like "(They even tested it in book exams due to the gache issue, but it proved hard to ban)." Meaning it had been asked before.
2. Hiding paper in the nostril was a real cheating method called "Uiyeonggo." Uiyeonggo was a palace storehouse for ingredients—modern equivalent might be "pocket stuffing."
3. Prince Uiso was King Jeongjo's elder brother, who died in infancy. He was Grand Heir Apparent then; posthumously made Crown Prince much later by Emperor Gojong. Yeongjo resented Prince Uiso over the Princess Huaping matter but later dreamed of her, believed him her reincarnation, joyfully named him Grand Heir (didn't make him love the Sado couple more). But he died soon after, deeply grieving Yeongjo.
6. Aim for the Top (3)