Chapter 113
Chapter 113
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 113
Chapter Title: Do You Know the Way? (1)
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At the time, a printer in Florence was willing to publish D.H. Lawrence's Lady Chatterley's Lover, which faced punishment in England for its explicit depictions of sex. This unnamed printer is said to have left behind a famous quote on freedom of expression.
"What's that? That's just something everyone does every day, isn't it?"
It was an irrefutable truth.
But few people affirm every part of life like that. At least not among the politicians and religious leaders who had dominated humanity for thousands of years.
They had tried to bury sex hastily, just as they would rush to bury a corpse at the sight of one.
However, there's truth to the metaphor comparing human desire to fire. The more you try to bury it in darkness, the brighter it burns.
One of the most extreme examples was Joseon.
As revealed in erotic commercial books like Hwai Pyeon Tae, Joseon people craved stimulation too.
Yet among East Asian countries, Joseon was particularly strict about such matters.
This meant that no matter what Kim Unhaeng did, there was little risk of it coming to light. People would be too embarrassed to speak of it.
It was the perfect environment for shady dealings.
Kim Unhaeng, the "modern man," struck right at that point.
The Song family living in the southern part of Hanyang had no notable rank but lived comfortably enough.
In this era, paths to self-realization were limited, and hobbies were few. If you had money and time, your options were obvious.
Song didn't deviate from that rule.
Rumors persisted that even at an age when his yang energy should have waned, he kept taking in young concubines.
Of course, expressions of affection vary, and biological means are just a small part of sex. In Song's case, it was probably mostly about ostentation and dominance.
And the "artificial intelligence" of this era far surpassed modern AI's laughably tailored recommendations, based on meticulous research.
Peddlers who had gathered intelligence knocked on the Song household's door.
Among the lower classes, interactions between men and women weren't much of an issue. As soon as an elderly maidservant appeared, the peddler innocently laid out his bundle.
"I've brought hairpins, mirrors, and such that would be useful for the ladies."
"We have those in every room already."
"No need for a talisman to bear a son?"
"Our master already has eight grandsons. What more could we need?"
With the code exchange complete, the peddler cleared his throat. A small box magically emerged from beneath the bundle.
"What a blessed household! But homes with many descendants often attract jealous spirits. Luckily, I have just the thing for warding them off. It's called Yuryongmok—carved wood depicting a writhing dragon. Its wood energy dispels pediatric ailments like phlegm buildup. Even presented to the Crown Prince, its efficacy is beyond doubt."
Even as an nameless merchant, the peddler lived by his lifelong creed of credibility.
He hadn't lied a word. Royal physician Kim Sugyu had indeed offered Yuryongmok to the young Crown Prince.
The medical theory he cited was straight from Kim Sugyu. In modern terms, it was like "This is that thing the med school prof talked about on YouTube."
Kim Sugyu was punished for privately gifting a toy to the Crown Prince, but in this era, it was a legitimate medical tool.
Of course, a decade or so had passed since then.
Joseon's medical devices had advanced remarkably. The peddler demonstrated it skillfully.
No one could nitpick that it only resembled a dragon in being long. Without touching the tip, it bobbed on its own, evoking a dragon ascending to heaven.
Any ghost causing intestinal blockages in children would flee in terror. In various senses.
The price wasn't cheap, but it was no great expense for the Songs.
Even with ice ages or famines, no country is free of poverty—only poor people. Come spring shortages, people starved in droves like an annual event, but for Seoul's celebrities, throwing a feast worth several houses in a night was something to do occasionally.
Having restored harmony to one household, the peddler moved to the next with satisfaction.
I raked in money over the winter that nearly rivaled smuggling profits. What else is there to do when even going outside is tough?
Eunuchs bought the most (they marry too), and since they were colleagues, I gave them special discounts. Eunuchs, closer to the king than any minister, would prove useful later.
Of course, given my social status, I wasn't personally haggling prices for lewd goods with eunuchs.
Now, I'm using the Shaman Safety Planning Department to sell through women's networks where men can't interfere. For male toys, I'll find other outlets.
Royal physician Kim Sugyu, the original source of Yuryongmok, is a prime candidate.
As the Yuryongmok incident shows, he's aligned with the Crown Prince faction. As a doctor, he can invoke theories of yin-yang circulation and qi flow.
Plus, a few years ago, King Yeongjo complained, "I tire of partisan squabbles. If only my ears were deaf like Kim Sugyu's." So he's on bad terms with the king.
Yeongjo probably didn't realize it stung. Like sighing that a sleeping pup has the best lot in life.
But it's too early. My connections, funds, power, and violence are far short of rebelling against Yeongjo.
To build them steadily, I first need to secure Hiraga Gennai, my toy supplier, firmly under me.
SIT is at the pig farm, so a branch at the neighboring vegetable farm won't look odd.
Hiraga was right there.
In the secret workshop strictly controlled against laborers, he rose unsteadily from whittling wood, eyes like Park Sang-sun's.
"Master, please, send me back home!"
Despite my interruptions, he'd learned Joseon speech remarkably fast. His stats from that skill were spot on.
But whining in Joseon instead of Japanese changed nothing. So I gave the same response.
"Hah. How could I arbitrarily release a moonlit criminal? Do you know the effort I put into sparing your neck?"
"I'm truly innocent!"
Unfortunately, he wouldn't humor my self-praise. Selfish bastard.
"But you told Matsuura you wanted to come to Joseon, didn't you?"
"Th-that's true, but... then isn't he a criminal too?"
Hey, that's exactly why I can't send you back. Is he an idiot? Or are geniuses idiots elsewhere?
"Matsuura's case is different. He's Tsushima's special envoy with official seals. You're just a commoner."
"He let me on his ship!"
"Repeating yourself? Want another beating? Who'd believe such nonsense?"
Eoji's imposing presence lent 4DX conviction to my words. Hiraga finally shut up.
I cleared my throat and asked.
"Anyway... how's the work going?"
Hiraga protested with silence. Yeah, I get it.
But you lot kidnapped Joseon potters during the invasions and enslaved them, so call it even. Though your work is a million times more humiliating than pottery.
Still, this should change your mood.
I gestured, and Eoji set down an ornate wooden box.
Resembling a casket, two copper wires protruded from the top.
Hiraga looked up questioningly. I smiled leisurely, fanning my face.
"Eoji, turn the handle on the side."
Eoji did—not because he feared me, but a yangban touching machinery would ruin his dignity.
Moments later, blue and purple sparks flew between the wires.
Hiraga gasped.
"H-how?!"
The box was Hiraga Gennai's Elekiteru—elektriciteit.
I puzzled it out after much thought. Without knowing both Japanese and Dutch, deducing the original pronunciation would have been impossible.
But that's all I needed.
Restoring it is a liberal arts talent, not science. For a modern person, at least.
Hiraga said he'd failed repeatedly, but without knowing the goal, no wonder. The key is its purpose.
Digging etymologically reveals "electricity" upfront, no science needed.
The glass jar and gold leaf seemed core, but luckily unbroken. The fault was something I knew: snapped copper wire crudely paper-wrapped, blocking current.
I don't know why spinning glass produces electricity or sparks at wire ends.
But I don't need to.
It's called electricity.
And electricity flows through metal. Even a liberal arts guy knows that.
Then it was quick. I siphoned some cannon copper from the Training Command (Joseon can't source copper easily; can't steal ritual vessels as a scholar?). Fixed in no time.
Why buy a sparking toy for big money baffles even liberal arts wisdom.
Sighing at past ignorance, I unfurled my fan and recited the perfect Japanese line.
"Ah, so barbarians untouched by royal civilization truly don't know."
Hiraga prostrated instantly.
"Please share that knowledge with me!"
As expected, I hid my smile behind the fan.
"Think such insight comes overnight? It's not transmitted to the unworthy. First, cultivate virtue, or learn nothing."
"Wh-what virtue?"
I tapped the exciting science box.
"This device embodies the I Ching's profound principles. Yin-yang as the Two Forms, Four Images, Eight Trigrams branching into 4,096 hexagrams. Copper-iron turning to wind-thunder is no surprise."
Not scamming. I couldn't explain in modern Korean either.
Weeks of pondering yielded only middle school memories of twisting my right arm with left hand for electromagnetism tests.
Yeah, that three-finger left-hand pose. Usually, I'd rip hair with left while thumb-smashing with right.
I went all in.
"Thus Confucius read the I Ching till his thong snapped thrice. Grasp its essence, and anyone like me can handle this on first sight."
It worked surprisingly. Hiraga clutched my robe.
"I've pondered qi originating from one source via Huayan Sutra's Eight Negations and non-duality, but failed. What is that profound principle?"
For real? He tried fixing circuits with that unfathomable Neo-Confucian-Buddhist mashup beyond monism?
Stunned briefly, I straightened.
"Can't explain in a phrase. Requires years of study."
Right. Grad student thesis labor, aka study. Heard it takes half a century to prof in an engineering lab.
"No matter how long, I'll strive!"
"Good. Your current task is the first step in cultivation. Don't your monks carve Buddha statues for practice?"
Hiraga eyed his work, light-years from sacred icons.
"This...?"
"Tsk. Doubting? I just explained yin-yang. What you're making manifests yang; enough cultivation reveals yin. Then pursue their union."
"A-ah, I see..."
Glad he bought it.
Securing lifelong service, I moved to the next goal.
Coaxing dejected Hiraga, I asked the device's purpose. The Dutch scammer sold it dear, so there must've been a sales pitch.
As expected, it was a toy.
But further talk revealed other fine uses.
A decent business idea sparked in my head.
As New Year's Eve neared and all Joseon anticipated the holiday, a spectacle fitting the mood unfolded at Songpa Ferry.
Pray to the Heavenly Gods for timely rains, the River Earl against floods, the Earth Gods for bountiful crops.
Basically, mash excuses for a feast till tables break and bellies burst. Same root as all religious events.
But none among the gathered merchants and commoners held such cynicism.
The sponsor was Yi Jaemun, boss of Samhwadang gripping Songpa Ferry; the invited shaman, Inwangsan Yeoni, unmatched in the capital for spiritual power.
People whispered excitedly.
"Look, it's starting!"
Gongs clanged, bells rattled, fans swirled.
Yeoni's voice rose, fell, twisted, blended amid the din.
Shamans rarely lack rhythm or dance skill. Yeoni was top-tier.
The crowd marveled at her famed prowess.
As warped time twisted, distinguishing metallic tones from her wails grew hard.
Pre-modern spectacles rarer and more thrilling. The sensory feast plunged them into dreamy haze—like a superstar concert.
Ritual ended as sun nearly set.
Yet the performance lingered. They stood dazed or murmured.
Before arts fragmented, this primal shadow of painting, dance, song pierced as divine energy.
Yi Jaemun seized the moment to unveil an early modern marvel.
He clapped like a quack doctor.
Fitting, since that's exactly his act.
"New Year approaches. Seasonal shifts bring ailments. Many feel vigor fade with age. Come see! Behold this Japanese vigor-booster!"
The boldest—or most desperate—stepped up. They touched the "Japanese vigor enhancer" as directed.
Yi Jaemun turned the handle; sparks and screams erupted.
He'd timed for night deliberately. Joseon folk, seeing "brighter than torchlight" artificial illumination, felt eye-strain illusion.
The handler's raw pain was no illusion.
"Aigoo! I'm dying!"
As the subject rolled, Yi Jaemun chided casually.
"Tsk, endure it. Weak essence means impotence at night!"
Laughter roared. Massive power influx justified some pain—like paid acupuncture.
The year after Franklin bottled lightning, taming divine wrath, Joseon wielded the Western device in pure Eastern style.
Author's Notes
1. Some websites oddly list Royal Physician Kim Sugyu's gift to the Crown Prince as "Yuyongmok (play wood)," but official Seungjeongwon Diary records it as Yuryongmok (dragon-playing wood), as in the story. Of course, at age 3-4, no sexual connotation.
Kim Sugyu was dismissed but reinstated like typical Joseon officials, serving as Chief Physician through Yeongjo's reign.
In Yeongjo 25, hard-of-hearing Kim Sugyu prompted the king's actual line about partisan strife. No record of Kim's reaction; ministers just panicked at the sarcasm.
2. Hiraga Gennai really tried restoring the device using Neo-Confucian-Buddhist monism.
Theory wrong, but he succeeded—perhaps Franklin's 1752 experiment sparked electromagnetic research in Europe (they didn't know either). Likely not as simple as in-story.
3. Kim Unhaeng's finger talk is Fleming's Left-Hand Rule. Gutjuin means ritual sponsor (seated at head table, naturally).
4. The finale's electric show was common in 18th-century Europe in bizarre forms.
From chain-shock lines to suspending charged kids on silk to attract paper, or seating ladies for gentlemen's "kiss"—friction sparks made lips "burst and teeth shatter."
"Electrocution boosts virility" was legit doctors' claim then. This fun classroom persisted; later, innovative Marquis de Sade suggested electric eels.