Chapter 133
Chapter 133
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 133
Chapter Title: Kim Chunsik's Genuine Masterpieces (2)
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Today, as always, a huge crowd of onlookers gathered in Jang-dong.
I mainly supplied the Samhwadoang peddlers with snacks like tobacco grown on my own land in Boryeong, as well as barley sugar and candies, which they sold on the streets.
The overall PD for Kim Chunsik's Genuine Masterpieces was, as expected, Lee Jaewoon from Sikni-dang, the consummate merchant.
There was no one more suited than him to handle registrations from antique dealers, line them up by participation fee from highest to lowest, and manage all the miscellaneous tasks.
However, since Lee Jaewoon hailed from a scholarly family, we couldn't ask him to play the clown and shout in front of everyone, so we hired a separate MC.
The man called Dalmun had once been the king of beggars in Jongno but now managed the financial operations of Samhwadoang under Lee Jaewoon.
His mouth was as wide as a mackerel’s, his face wildly expressive, and because of it, he hadn't married even after turning forty and still wore his hair in braids—which alone made people burst out laughing just looking at him. Even the kids in the capital teased each other about family by saying things like, "Your brother is Dalmun!"
He was praised everywhere as honest and trustworthy, and just his name alone doubled the audience for Genuine Masterpieces. But in truth, both I and Lee Jaewoon knew his other side.
He might not have married, but the gisaeng of Jang-an would scoff at the summons of high officials and nobles, yet they rose eagerly at his slightest gesture to dance. He was the shadowy overlord who mimicked a mute with that big mouth of his and loved guaranteeing loans for anyone—but that was only because Dalmun wielded real power in the private lending world.
No one who took a loan with Dalmun's guarantee had ever survived without repaying it.
Yet here he was now, dancing the iron rod dance with comical flair as he hosted the event, showing not a hint of that darkness.
Such a guy was far more dangerous than some thug openly flaunting brutal violence.
Besides, in the 21st century, I'd been a peaceful everyman, and in the 18th, a proper Neo-Confucian scholar—I honestly had no clue how to handle underworld types.
That's why, originally, during the Taugubong faction's takeover of Seoul, I'd planned to clean him up neatly.
But unlike the other thugs, Dalmun was a celebrity even among the yangban, which made the fallout messy.
On top of that, Pyo Cheolju, who knew him personally, insisted he was talented enough to be his successor and persuaded me fiercely. And when Dalmun himself offered up his organization and bowed in submission, things ended up like this.
Dalmun bent his finger to his lips and let out a piercing whistle. His huge mouth made the sound enormous.
As the performance from the Genuine Masterpieces exclusive band—Hong Daeyong and the kids—came to a halt, Dalmun waved his hands energetically.
"Alright then, let's see what this [Camel Painting] that supposedly came from China is worth. Please give it some deep thought and jot it down, esteemed literary guests!"
[Special Skill: Shin Sukju's Integrity]
[Activated]
[Active Skill: Guan Yu's Patience]
[Activated]
Of course, the method I'd used to spot the inkstone couldn't be applied to other artworks.
So, to avoid exposing my tricks, what should I do?
First, check the submitter's stats. Most con artists like that have pitifully low abilities.
Didn't Edgar Allan Poe say something like that? Deduction starts with gauging the opponent's capabilities.
Then, using Guan Yu's Patience, I listen in on the murmurs from the crowd. Everyone here has a keen interest in genuine masterpieces, so they each have their own insights.
Combining that with the latest intel I've gathered from various sources lets me maintain the event's reputation with solid accuracy.
Soon, the deliberation time ended.
Of course, in 18th-century Joseon, we couldn't raise placards noisily like in 21st-century Korea—that would be undignified. So Jangbok collected our papers.
And Dalmun announced the results.
"Master Baek-o (the disciple of Kim Gwangsu, Seo Sangsu) valued it at three hundred nyang. Let's see... our Lord Taugubong here... ten nyang?"
Hong Daeyong's passionate gayageum solo kicked in, perfectly timed with the dramatic 'thud' of the moment. The fast-paced playing, laced with tension, had everyone swallowing hard. My brother-in-law really seemed born for music over bureaucracy.
Dalmun exaggerated his shock and staggered toward me.
"Looks like our lord missed a stroke on the 'ten'—weren't you aiming for 'thousand,' by chance?"
He deliberately scanned the room, then scowled fiercely.
"Hey now, you assembled sages, stop overreacting to this fool's learning. Not all beggars are the same, you know. A Jongno beggar right by the palace knows his royal edicts and basic characters!"
The crowd roared with laughter. Even I chuckled, reminded of modern tales about how Seoul Station homeless were a cut above the rest.
But Kim Gwangsu, the senior judge sitting beside me, threw a wrench into Dalmun's fun.
He didn't laugh. Gravely, he said,
"Dalmun, take a look at my paper too."
"Pardon? Oh, yes. Alright... Wait, Master Sanggo-dang only gave it five nyang? What's going on here? I wouldn't know a camel if it bit me, but even to my ignorant eyes, that painting looks masterfully detailed."
Kim Gwangsu shot a glare at his blundering disciple Seo Sangsu and addressed the guests.
"The submission claims it's by Kim Bugwi, a Chinese court painter from Joseon in the Inner Cabinet—but no such person exists. Why would any Joseon man, even a lowly servant, become a painter in barbarian lands when even we scorn the bald Jurchens? The pigments and brushwork aren't Chinese either. It's a complete fake. Chunsik knew as much and priced it low."
Wait, I had no idea. Though now that I think about it, the painter's name 'Richie Kim' does scream forgery.
But I chimed in as if I'd thought the exact same thing as Kim Gwangsu.
"Precisely. Even as a fake, it's finely executed on its own merits—just as Dalmun said—so I gave it ten nyang. But seeing it doesn't pass muster in Master Sanggo-dang's discerning eye, my judgment is still lacking."
Seo Sangsu cringed in embarrassment again, while the forger who submitted it clutched his head in deeper shame and fled.
This boosted our event's credibility even higher.
I built public trust with these 'standard appraisals,' while for select forgeries with no loose ends—ones where my opinion diverged from Sanggo-dang's—I issued 'special certifications' to vouch for their value. And naturally, Dalmun handled the special appraisal fees, laundering them spotless.
Even Kim Gwangsu had slipped up on a few appraisals in his time. So when I pushed back hard, he'd often concede, "If Kim Chunsik says so, maybe I overlooked something..."
In the end, it was a battle of wills.
And when it came to 'conviction,' no true Confucian scholar like me could lose.
That conviction didn't stop there—it expanded further.
I could no longer meddle in the Office of Military Supplies, but SIT was a private outfit.
I tossed unnecessary weapons techs like Choi Cheonyak or Yi Deokri to the military office, then pulled out the key Yuryongmok artisans, doll makers, and Japanese and Dutch slaves, fully separating them.
Thanks to leader Na Gyeongjeok's clockwork research, SIT's metallurgy was top-notch.
From there, I started restoring ancient bronzeware (as I'd decreed) from the Three Han eras. Philology at its peak—what could be more literary exam material?
Na Gyeongjeok wanted to make watches, but I told him to quit the pointless tinkering and just do what I said if he wanted paid. Joseon didn't need natural sciences.
Archaeological digs weren't a modern invention. Even now, the Qing unearthed plenty from the Stone or Bronze Ages.
But rather than systematic study, emperors signed them for their collections, or they traded from Beijing shop windows. In a way, these folks were more money-mad than moderns.
Naturally, they fetched high prices in Joseon too, and forgery tech was already out there. For metalware, they'd shape it convincingly, then corrode it in chemicals.
The plan: make fakes so convincing they're indistinguishable, then pass them as genuine under 'the eye of god' Kim Chunsik's guarantee.
Any true scholar yearning for those utopian Yao-Shun days, when all bellies were full and songs rang out, wouldn't spare the coin.
Kim Unhaeng headed to Gangnam Daeseong and finally met An Jeongbok after a long while.
Just recently, backed by the Jang-dong Kim clan—Joseon's Medici, run single-handedly by the second son—the joint publication of Seongho Yi Ik and Sunam An Jeongbok's [Discourse on the Differentiation of All Things Under Heaven] had come out, brightening his face a bit.
"How's your health these days?"
"Thanks to Chunsik, I'm doing just fine."
Of course, Kim Unhaeng wouldn't have sponsored some pointless evolutionary biology or natural history book for nothing.
"With no duties tying me down, I've been able to dive into scholarship. Next up, I'm writing history books, they say?"
An Jeongbok launched into a long explanation, hoping for sponsorship again.
"Indeed. Our Eastern histories are mostly messy and inaccessible, which has always saddened me. I'm using Ban Gi's [Outline and Precepts of Eastern History] as a framework, emphasizing geography and territories to rigorously clarify traditions..."
"Never mind that—look at this ritual vessel."
"It resembles Zhou dynasty ware. Ah! Back then, our land hadn't declined yet. Losing the key strategic point of Liaodong brought us to this state."
Kim Unhaeng cut off the expansionist, fascist remark decisively, as always.
"Spot on. This is exactly what Gija brought when he crossed to Joseon from Liaodong. I'd like you to write an authentication note for it."
As An Jeongbok opened his mouth to point out something odd, his eyes met Kim Unhaeng's.
In that instant, the famed Silhak scholar An Jeongbok's brain kicked into high gear.
One who had worn flower shoes could never go back to bare feet. He could never return to that charcoal hut.
The Zhou ritual vessel guaranteed by the author of [Eastern History Outline] fetched the highest price ever at the Jang-dong gallery auction after its founding.
Nearly half a year into this scheme, and still no reinstatement—but Kim Unhaeng wasn't too worried.
His position now was worlds apart from when he'd been sacked over the Wangsimni Salho Palace incident.
A few who fancied themselves quick on the uptake had gone to the crown prince pleading for Kim Unhaeng's reinstatement.
But unlike the prior interrogation, the prince—heeding Hong Bonghan's advice—didn't repeat the same mistake.
Hong Bonghan's talk of 'a different kind of favor' wasn't so simplistic.
For the first time without Kim Unhaeng, the prince launched proactive political maneuvers.
Ironically, it was all for Kim Unhaeng's sake.
Yi Geum was working harder than ever since the regency began.
The situation was dire. He couldn't even resort to refusing medicine or announcing abdication as a political escape hatch anymore. Endure to the end was his only option.
The ministers might actually let him die.
Rumors even swirled that in the queen dowager's quarters, she was eagerly awaiting his abdication notice, ready to flip on dementia mode and say, "By all means, do so."
Even Royal Physician Kim Sugyu's recent reports of "erratic pulse, needs rest" felt suspicious.
Could he still be holding a grudge from back when Yi Geum had lamented wanting deaf ears like his?
Yi Geum shook his head at the thought.
He was just being paranoid. No way.
Anyway, now the army was all he could truly trust.
But like any army, even the Training Guard he'd chosen as his new praetorians couldn't exist in a vacuum.
Even Joseon's near-independent economic military needed administrative support. To hold the army, Yi Geum had to sort out the court apparatus.
But the ministers weren't showing up.
Park Mun-su, Hong Gyehui, Kim Sangro, Kim Jaero—the top-tier heavyweights were on strike. Hong Bonghan was somehow keeping the Training Guard afloat, but this would crumble the army from the foundation.
So today, swallowing his pride, Yi Geum meticulously penned hand-written notes like a delicate maiden—then his thoughts drifted to a place he'd never have considered before.
'No way?'
Yi Geum shoved the notes aside, claimed illness, and took to bed. Lately, he'd been scrubbing his ears furiously every time he saw the crown prince, so they did feel clogged.
Then he issued a verbal decree.
"My virtue is lacking, so the senior ministers ignore my summons—what shame to cling to life gobbling medicine? Like King Mu-ryeong of Zhao, I'll starve myself in my chambers. Inform the ministers."
Luckily, the ministers didn't curse him outright for emulating Mu-ryeong—a fine attitude, indeed.
Yi Geum was still the strongman. No comparison to 'Hamheung Yi Seonggye' or 'Yeongwol Yi Hongwi.'
The ministers offered ritualistic gratitude and empathy, then headed to the crown prince.
And as expected, the prince, acting as regent, summoned the striking ministers via his own hand-written notes.
Promptly, Park Mun-su and the rest entered the throne room.
Officially, of course, because the king was ill.
But Yi Geum couldn't possibly see it that way.
Not all had flipped to the prince's side. It wasn't that simplistic.
This was the senior ministers' warning.
We won't rebel, but take responsibility for your blunders and hand some power to your son. The regency gave it perfect legitimacy.
Park Mun-su spoke first.
"Failing to enter court lately due to personal failings is our grave sin. But stubbornness like today's would be an even greater crime, so we'll fill the vacancies first to ease Your Highness's worries, however slightly."
Unlike when Noron ex-chief Lee Jongseong—fugitive from the capital—had done something similar, no one attacked Park Mun-su this time.
Not because he was the favored Yeongseong-gun. The Noron now had a bigger foe than the Soron.
Hong Gyehui—the first to quit his post when Kim Unhaeng was tortured—backed his near-enemy Park Mun-su.
"As the premier says, personnel matters are urgent. To uphold the regency's proper form, Your Highness should decide high posts and offices, delegate the lesser to us, and preserve your royal health."
Yi Geum shuddered watching his filial son Yi Hwon dutifully prepare medicine below the dais, as if uninvolved.
He looked straight out of a Three Bonds book, but the reality was the opposite.
'That snake of a boy...'
Even the crown prince's tears now seemed reptilian.
Desperate for options lately, Yi Geum had even skimmed the newly published [Discourse on All Things], pondering if he could use the Namin somehow.
According to it, crocodiles—scaled egg-layers classed with snakes—shed false tears when swallowing meat.
Despite the midsummer heat, Yi Geum felt a chill like stumbling on a swamp gator.
Thus, the crown prince took control of metropolitan clerks, some magistrates, and provincial appointments.
Kim Unhaeng still wasn't reinstated, but key allies shifted to vital posts. The shaman-led Safety Planning Department—Kim Unhaeng's line to the prince, involving Crown Princess and Hong Bonghan as her father—handled it smoothly.
Moon-song Commander Han Jungnyang, acting Three Provinces Naval Commander, became Gyeongsang Left Naval Commander.
Park Jaeha, former Jeolla Left Naval Commander, was appointed Three Provinces Naval Commander concurrent with Gyeongsang Right.
For Jeolla Left, Chungcheong Naval Commander Yi Juguk—coordinated from Ganghwado—stepped in.
For the last spot, Jeolla Right, Yi Geum grabbed incumbent Heo Geup on a performance review pretext, purged him, and installed Training Guard artillery head Yoon Pildeok.
The same man who'd bonded with Kim Unhaeng over ginseng during his secret Hamgyong inspectorate.
Yoon Pildeok, thrilled at having picked the right side back then, eagerly took up the post. Naval command was hot now.
Noron Chundang cherished its members. The four got massive 'promotion celebration gifts' as party dues. With Genuine Masterpieces on track, no regrets.
In short: Kim Unhaeng now dominated Joseon's southern seas.
The environment was set for the side goal he'd hesitated on due to fallout fears: sending private ships to Japan.
Even with Kim Unhaeng cracking down on smuggling, that was inbound; Joseon ships to Japan wasn't trivial—especially with Japan's sakoku mode thanks to the Dutch.
But now, even if Imjin War 2.0 erupted, without Kim Unhaeng's say-so, the king was out of luck.
Kim Unhaeng gripped the prince's letter, wearing the smile Se-hwa loved.
The longer the wait, the greater the reward.
He needed a 'stable' setup for quests ahead anyway.
Far better than getting suddenly nabbed and tortured.
So this wouldn't end at just hitting the goal.
Author's Note
1. Dalmun is a real historical figure who inspired the wild character in Park Jiwon's [Dictionary of Bizarre Characters]. In the story, we adopt the 1707 birth year, putting him in his 40s.
Mentions of his influence—like with gisaeng or guarantees—appear in and contemporary tales, but the narration that his 'honest reputation was a mask for underworld boss status' is the story's interpretation.
2. The Camel Painting by the mysterious court painter Kim Bugwi is a real contemporary forgery. Kim Gwangsu didn't fall for it, but his disciple Kim Gwangguk (Seo Sangsu's role here) did write an authentication note after being fooled.
3. Qing emperors' graffiti on Stone Age artifacts can be seen at places like the National Palace Museum in the Republic of China.
4. An Jeongbok's [Eastern History Outline] emphasized territory and geography, lamenting Liaodong's loss. Notably, it treats Dangun Joseon near-canonical.
This earns it praise as Silhak or nationalist history, but Yi Ik and An Jeongbok were strictly Neo-Confucian, rigorous on legitimacy. The outline's orthodoxy is Gija Joseon; it criticizes usurpers and excludes queens from kingly records.
5. Joseon had no 'reptile' category. Typically, crocodiles were a type of fish, snakes a type of insect—different classes.