Chapter 111
Chapter 111
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 111
Chapter Title: Puppet Service (2)
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Of course it was only natural, but good news arrived first from the Matsuura clan rather than the Marines.
Commerce beats war, after all. The problem was that this was smuggling, so it wasn't exactly stable.
I unpacked the shipment delivered via Chun-sik Express under the name of that NTR interpreter Park Sangsoon.
Then I picked up the contents and examined them from every angle.
Not that I could tell if they were genuine or not.
Aside from its impressive size, the legendary "whalebone" looked, in texture and shape, uncannily like a human toenail at first glance.
When I bent it, its springiness reminded me of a certain material known only to me.
'Feels like plastic.'
Not in structure or composition, but in potential use. Even if it wasn't perfect for clockwork springs, it seemed versatile for all sorts of applications. Just as Kaoru had said, it looked ideal for lightweight, high-end carvings or components.
I immediately took it to SIT. Na Gyeongjeok was stunned at first but eventually admitted defeat and quietly set to work building the puppet.
"Can you make it walk?"
"That's no easy task. Walking might look simple, but you have to plant your feet, bend your knees, swing your arms, and more. Just stiffly ticking the legs back and forth would topple it over in seconds or look downright grotesque."
Tch, why were there so many roadblocks? In just 250 years, robots would be fencing and flipping through the air.
In the end, we changed the original boy design to a girl, dressed her in a skirt, and hid wheels beneath the hem to mask the movement. For the painting, I blackmailed Byeon Sangbyeok—the fool who'd run his mouth to Hong Daeyong—into doing it.
Unable to let go of my obsession, I hounded them until they at least rigged the arms to swing somehow.
But as Na Gyeongjeok had warned, there was a reason experts existed. Without proper joint actuation, the motion was like rigor mortis in a corpse.
Even Choi Cheonyak looked worried.
"This might come off as grotesque rather than amusing in the throne room..."
I agreed. They might suspect it was a curse doll and execute me for high treason.
The solution to my dilemma came from the household's clever touch.
Taking it to Kaoru, who'd seen it the most, as a last resort proved spot-on.
First, she placed a dainty fan in the puppet's hand, transforming the feel entirely with that one accessory.
Intrigued, Se-hwa joined in. Once we dressed it in her handmade wide-sleeved robe, it was at least passable—no one would scream in terror at night.
During holidays, the king often bestowed gifts upon his officials.
Unlike modern celebrations for festivity or commemoration, these carried a heavier weight of real livelihood support. Holidays in this era demanded massive expenses relative to income compared to today. The Joseon government, stingy with salaries, used such gestures to show off.
The officials grumbled inwardly but endured, offering thanks and praises for the king's grace.
Whatever their true feelings, the mood was festive. It was the perfect season for unveiling light entertainment.
Thus, the puppet demonstration went ahead as planned during Chuseok.
The pretext was that it was a byproduct of studying Dutch clocks. The crown prince, who seemed eager to paint me as a radical reformer, showered it with suspiciously lavish praise.
"Truly marvelous. I've heard tales of automatons in the water clock invented by King Sejong, but surely they weren't this precise. This is what 'drawing new meaning from the old' truly means."
However, Park Mun-su, fresh from handling the Cheoryang garrison, scowled and nitpicked as usual.
"The Military Armory studies weapons, not toys. This is a waste of the national treasury."
You're in front of the crown prince—mind your manners? He yells even at the king if something irks him; does the crown prince not even register?
My reliable backer, Uncle Hong Gyehui, was absent, posted as magistrate of Gwangju.
Just as I was about to be crushed by this abuse of power, an unexpected ally came to my aid.
Hong Bonghan, the crown prince's father-in-law and commander of the Royal Guard, spoke up (in support of his son-in-law).
"Lord Yeongseong-gun has a point, but it's not the whole picture. If the puppet's arms can move, they could pull a trigger. In my foolish opinion, this means firing cannons without soldiers."
Yeah, that does sound pretty foolish.
I could sympathize with Alfred Nobel's regret over his inventions being weaponized for humanity's sake. But since he was defending me now, I stayed quiet.
Hong Bonghan continued.
"Even aside from that, from what I've heard, the tiny mechanisms inside resemble flintlock igniters—valuable military assets."
"The commander's words align with my own will. Isn't this the very device King Hyeonjong attempted but failed to perfect?"
"Indeed. How could the bloodline of the three kings lack such resolve now? It merits a grand revival."
Hyeonjong? This feels ominous.
Nah, it won't devolve into keyboard warrior northern expeditions turning into a real Russian invasion like back then.
Fortunately, the unproductive military talk didn't drag on.
The crown prince rewarded me with some meager trinkets (truly meager) and wrapped up the event. Of course, the puppet went to him.
I'd prepared a couple more. In this hierarchy-obsessed society, I took pains to dress them in clearly inferior attire to the crown prince's.
These went to powerhouses like Royal Guard Commander Hong Bonghan, Chief State Councillor Lee Jongseong, Left Minister Lee Cheonbo, and others. I skipped Park Mun-su to spite him.
The above-ground promo samples wrapped up smoothly.
Word would soon spread among the perverse merchants rampant in Seoul (not me—Hong the censor had already become an unstoppable Anonymous). They wouldn't fail to envision alternative uses.
Now it was time for the real puppet service.
Two prerequisites were essential.
First: a secret channel to avoid repeats of Hong Daeyong's fiasco. A reliable cutout contact in case of exposure.
Second: my personal workshop, excluding SIT. Best if one person satisfied both.
But I had no one I trusted who could also craft puppets. Tell Na Gyeongjeok or Choi Cheonyak, and the whole Military Armory would vanish overnight.
Was there no convenient soul under my control, skilled with clockwork?
While Joseon buzzed with Chuseok cheer, far-off Nagasaki brimmed with energy too.
In Nagasaki's foreign trade district, a Japanese youth around Kim Unhaeng's age was getting heated.
"What do you mean you won't buy this scroll? That's not what you said!"
Dutch traders come to mind for Nagasaki commerce, but as in modern times, Chinese were the most numerous foreigners everywhere.
China trade dwarfed the Dutch here, especially given the shorter distance.
Goods weren't the only exchange. Cultural flow between China and Japan peaked then, especially paintings. Many Chinese artists learned novel Dutch and Japanese styles here and took them home.
A thriving art market was inevitable.
The Chinese merchant twirled his mustache disdainfully.
"Joseon style's all the rage lately. I said I'd consider it—not that I'd buy."
"You sly bastard! Insulting a warrior, are you?"
But the art dealer was so Japanized it was hard to believe he was Chinese (universal trait).
"Anyone'd think you were a daimyo's son! What's scary about some rural asakiura bumpkin?"
"What?!"
The youth, Hiraga Gennai, gripped his sword hilt.
But Japan didn't solve everything with sashimi slices.
Most issues, sure—but not always. This was one such case.
The merchant, knowing Hiraga couldn't draw, just scoffed.
And frustratingly, he was right.
Foreigners trading art here meant the Nagasaki magistrate and local bigwigs backed him. No reckless swordplay allowed.
Hiraga was merely an ashigaru heir from Takamatsu Domain (modern Kagawa, Shikoku), studying in Nagasaki.
Family poverty forced him to fund studies and pocket money via scroll mounting, one of his specialties.
Now that livelihood work was insultingly rejected.
Hiraga's skill wasn't lacking.
On the contrary, scroll mounting was less than 10% of his prowess.
If Joseon had Choi Cheonyak, Japan had Hiraga Gennai.
No field—art, crafts, music, medicine, mining, science, languages, classics, even male prostitution—escaped his mastery.
In his later years, he became a drunken sword master slicing two at once (reality: arrested and jailed, no samurai manga ending).
Japan's first ad jingle composer, thermometer inventor, goods expo host—his titles dazzled.
But he wasn't frugal; his pursuits demanded cash, like charming kabuki boys.
Recently, he'd fallen for Dutch sweet-talk and splurged on a broken Elekiter (friction generator). Repairs drained fortunes.
If Nagasaki's art scene shifted now, Hiraga would be in dire straits.
He released the hilt and shouted.
"I've never heard of 'Joseon style' my whole life. Show me one of these hot sellers! If it's a scam, you won't be forgiven!"
The dealer, unconcerned, tossed out a rare "Joseon gift" like trash.
Hiraga unrolled it, snorting—and his eyes widened.
"Th-this is..."
Not just the content, tame compared to Edo erotica.
To a hardcore doujin artist, it was all tablet grind anyway. Buyers cared little for that.
The key was staging and technique.
The brushwork on true-view landscapes and figures was masterful, but above all, the unprecedented format shattered conventions.
The genius Hiraga dimly sensed fragments of transcendent future knowledge embedded within.
Hiraga Gennai knelt.
"Urgh!"
The dealer smirked arrogantly.
"See the gap now? Your scroll's fine craftsmanship, but painting? Mediocre from the start. So..."
Then a young warrior, seeming younger than Hiraga, parted the curtains.
No need for fine attire; his attendants screamed highborn.
"Innkeep, sold the painting? I'd like payment now if possible. Leaving Nagasaki soon."
Matsuura Keisen, the painting's seller and de facto overseer of Joseon-Japan trade. The Chinese dealer rubbed hands obsequiously, a total shift from Hiraga.
"A Joseon painting's as good as silver in hand. For your lordship's credit, I'll pay upfront. Anyone else? No chance."
He glanced pointedly at still-kneeling Hiraga.
To Hiraga's greater insult, Keisen ignored him entirely.
"Thanks."
The dealer handed over a heavy pouch and casually asked.
"Why the rush to leave?"
"Nothing urgent. Family business shuttles to Joseon; time to go again."
Private trade banned, but Tsushima's official Joseon route persisted.
The domain lord's influence waned, though. Waegwan interpreters were usually his kin, but Joseon halted dispatches post-incident as punishment.
Kim Unhaeng's ploy to weaken both powers near Waegwan let Matsuura seize prime position in the power vacuum.
Common knowledge in Nagasaki, so the dealer bowed to Keisen over magistrate or Kikkyaku.
"Then please bring more fine paintings this trip."
"Hm, might not be easy... but if chance arises, I'll return. Farewell."
"Safe travels!"
Seeing off Matsuura, the dealer turned to Hiraga. Chase off this pest, and the day ends fresh.
But Hiraga Gennai was already gone.
Matsuura Keisen gave the panting rural warrior who'd chased him a look of utter disbelief.
"Take you to Joseon?"
Like Kim Chunsik, why were crazies roaming broad daylight lately? Overseas travel like a neighborhood jaunt?
Even "real" official trade was dicey; smuggling a total stranger? Absurd. Chunsik himself was joining the second run to Ulleungdo—no risking his ire again.
Keisen sighed, signaling his burly yojimbo (guards/thugs) to hands on hilts.
The future two-slaying drunkard Hiraga's swordsmanship was immature yet.
So he wielded his tongue instead.
"I'm from Nankai-do, as you know—the path of Joseon envoys. Family's handled Joseon ginseng for generations, but trade's declined lately. Desperate for outlets, I cast dignity aside upon this precious connection."
The truth? Family merely near the envoy route.
But Hiraga, Japan's top venture capitalist, had the gift young.
Keisen, no trade veteran himself, wavered at Hiraga's pitch hitting his needs spot-on.
Kim Unhaeng had paid for whalebone with prime red ginseng, as before.
Fine—Joseon ginseng was priceless. The second smuggling fleet was stocked heavy with whalebone and silver for it.
But official trade excluded ginseng now—Waegwan's downfall stemmed from it.
In short, Joseon ginseng was hot contraband, easily spotted. Domestic channels were risky.
If this guy opened Nankai-do markets (bit remote from Nagasaki/Tsushima), it'd dodge suspicion nicely.
Lies or bluster? Dump him at sea. Stowaway won't complain.
With leverage, mold him as desired. Kim Unhaeng provided ample examples.
'Could even hand him to Chunsik, the expert—like the Dutch.'
Dutch chief David Vollen now squirmed, unable to report his lost ship to Batavia.
No protesting Matsuura or Tsushima either. To complain, he'd confess to Batavia and homeland first—impossible.
Shogunate, sensing schadenfreude, offered no aid.
In young Keisen's heart, Kim Unhaeng was becoming a role model. His schemes were exemplary.
Keisen raised a hand, halting his men.
The next day, the smuggling fleet departed Nagasaki with one extra aboard.
Author's Note
1. Bipedal locomotion is fundamentally unstable (must balance on one leg while moving), so even modern robotics took ages of trial and error to achieve.
2. Joseon halted flintlock development for various reasons, not just mechanical issues. Scarce flints and no major wars were key. Whalebone couldn't fully substitute springs, so pre-modern East Asia never mass-produced flintlocks.
3. Japan's famed polymath Hiraga Gennai was indeed studying in Nagasaki around 1752-53.
His exploits roughly match the story, but he didn't fund studies via erotica sales, nor acquire the Dutch generator until much later. In real history, he somehow fixed it through grit, though he never grasped electricity's principles fully.
His ad jingle was for toothpaste; no surviving tune or lyrics—online versions are modern inventions.
4. Though not family trade, Hiraga did obsess over Joseon ginseng. His book Butsuruihinshitsu details artificial cultivation methods. He contributed to its smuggling to Japan.