Chapter 143
Chapter 143
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 143
Chapter Title: Northern Scholars' Adventure (1)
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Qianlong Emperor's claim to be the lord of all humanity wasn't some joke or slander.
He truly used official titles like Zhongwai Gongzhu—Lord of All Nations—or Tianxia Dajun—Great Sovereign of the World.
And until the day he died, no one on this planet could outright deny those titles. Not even Britain.
Dismissing it as mere bluster ignores the overwhelming evidence backing him up.
The most prominent example was the total extermination of the Dzungars.
This war, an indispensable part of Qianlong's famed "Ten Perfect Victories," was currently in a brief lull.
Before Kim Unhaeng's delegation arrived, around 1755, Qianlong had launched his first campaign, securing surrender without firing a single arrow. Up to that point, there'd been no major clashes.
But that was the problem. It all culminated in the real war in 1757, just as Kim Unhaeng's group was heading home.
The new puppet leader of the Dzungars, Amursana, had earned immense credit for the pacification by betraying his lord Dawaci. But having lived in those uncivilized lands, his tastes were a bit archaic.
He threw a tantrum demanding the outdated title of Khan, but Qianlong, in line with civilized trends, granted him the rank of General instead. And Amursana rebelled again.
Qianlong issued an edict lamenting that he'd apparently spared the rod.
Worrying about the funds to mobilize massive armies twice? That's a concern for poor nations like Nazi Germany. Besides, with a 2-0 scoreline proving it, the Germans were never any good at war anyway (though they sure loved it).
Hitler talked about final solutions until he applied one to himself alone, but Qianlong was on another level. He utterly eradicated the Dzungars.
Not just destruction—extinction. Genocide wasn't a modern invention; Qianlong's actual edicts had already perfected the blueprint.
"Exterminate them utterly and completely."
"Kill everyone except the elderly and the infirm."
"Drag the women off to serve as slaves for Mongol or Manchu soldiers."
Generals who showed mercy to prisoners were punished on the spot. Every commander vied to become an eighteenth-century Bai Qi or Xiang Yu. Not a single Dzungar survived—literally.
Qianlong renamed the region Xinjiang—"New Frontier"—as freshly conquered territory. And twenty-first-century China is pulling similar stunts on the new Uyghur settlers there.
Sure, claims like "We wiped 'em out, so the land's empty" or exploiting smallpox were the same tricks the British used in America.
But while the British committed sporadic atrocities driven by individual genetic depravity and cruelty, the Qing channeled their vast national power systematically under one man's will.
In a word, the Qing were far more modern than Britain.
And Kim Unhaeng, now in Beijing, would experience this in every sense.
Vice Envoy Jeong Gwangchong had noticed people starting to give him the cold shoulder. It all stemmed from the king personally naming him.
Desperate to assert his presence, the moment he unpacked at the Southern Guest House—after learning that the old Korean Lodge had long since been taken over by Russians—he sidled up to me, acting all friendly.
"Why'd you fall off your horse earlier?"
I brushed it off with a half-truth.
"Seeing this grand capital for the first time in my life, I was utterly awestruck by its majesty."
"Haha! Makes sense for a first-time traveler. But we must focus on the Way, not strange foreign goods. No way a barbarian dynasty lasts a thousand years."
Ah, so the Diary of a Journey to the Hot Springs was spot on. Even in the heart of Beijing, Joseon envoys trash-talked the Jurchen emperor without a care.
I got that pulling off chicken races in such a high-risk spot earned high marks back home, but shouldn't the vice envoy tone it down?
He'd been here before—didn't he know a single errant brushstroke could trigger a literary inquisition that'd wipe out three generations like the Dzungars?
Textual purges had plagued dynasties before, but under the Qing's iron-fisted domestic rule, it was practically a war on trolls. The Han might suck at fighting, but keyboard warriorship was their specialty.
In that regard, Joseon—with its foreign servers—could badmouth openly (though the Imjin War shows foreign servers aren't a total get-out-of-jail-free card). The Han, meanwhile, honed clever metaphors and plausible deniability.
But now even the Jurchens had learned the patterns.
What started as sporadic purges under Kangxi and Yongzheng had become a permanent fixture, now a go-to tool for snitching on annoying neighbors.
That's why Yeonam burned his brush-talk notes with Qing scholars right there on the spot. Of course, true to Joseon scholar form, he'd memorized them all for his Diary anyway...
Wait—Park Jiwon?
Hong Daeyong?
Where the hell were these Silhak guys?
I realized there were people I needed to track down before Jo Dongha.
If these guys ran their mouths off somewhere, we'd be "graciously" exiled as a group.
Shenyang had allowed some leeway for independent action, but the capital and its outskirts were a whole different beast.
By the rules, envoys weren't supposed to leave their lodgings except on official business.
But like anywhere, Kangxi-era regs were now effectively dead letter.
Hong Daeyong slipped some cash to the enforcers and happily went about his objectives.
Namely, mingling with Western scholars.
'Chun-sik said to turn a blind eye, so it should be fine.'
In truth, Kim Unhaeng and Park Jiwon were ja-byeok gun-gwan—military attendants handpicked by the envoy, basically no-responsibility tourists in uniform. Hong Daeyong, as the astronomical calendar official, was the one with real duties.
Kim Unhaeng, who believed a slave's stuff was his by default, had gaslit everyone into thinking he was calling the shots like some regent. But really, the permissions guy and the receiver were swapped. Hong Daeyong was already off his rocker too.
With everything going so swimmingly, who could blame him? All his "schemes" had panned out.
Astronomy—his passion—was one field where Qing China was remarkably open.
The dynasty placed huge emphasis on astronomy, especially the top spot at the Imperial Astronomical Bureau, which they'd handed to Western missionaries to compile precise calendars.
And Hong Daeyong was the official tasked with fetching that calendar. Right on schedule.
He might not match Kim Unhaeng's wealth, but as scion of a local gentry family, he'd leveraged his brother-in-law connections to snag stakes in Unhaeng's ventures. Plenty of coin to go around.
Having saddled Changdae with the luggage, Hong Daeyong took a Manchu speaker and made his way to the bureau, asking around.
No prior appointment? Just showing up was basic extrovert protocol.
But the director's rank made it tricky, even for a Silhak socialite. The gatekeeper blocked him.
"Our lord already has appointments with high court officials."
"Hmm. Well, what if this changes things?"
Hong Daeyong offered two Qingxin pills on a fan.
The director's schedule canceled itself—appointments he didn't even know about. No big loss.
Hong Daeyong wasn't surprised. Joseon was the undisputed powerhouse in medicinal herbs.
If Korean ginseng ruled Japan, Korean Qingxin pills conquered China. Hell, they might even unlock the emperor's bedroom.
But as Hong Daeyong well knew, the real issue was that the boss here wasn't Chinese.
The current director, Liu Songling—aka Ferdinand Augustin Haller von Hallerstein—was from Laibach in the Holy Roman Empire.
German nobility, but no fascist; he was a missionary. Laibach is modern Ljubljana, Slovenia's capital—don't mix it up.
This devout, gentle soul, who'd devoted his life to faith in a distant land, now faced Hong Daeyong's Joseon-style overture right off the bat.
"Mind giving me that on your waist?"
"This... pocket watch, you mean?"
Hallerstein didn't bark about smuggling contraband.
He was a 20-year Qing veteran. Not his first Joseon either.
This was East Asian negotiation 101. Business being unseemly, they framed it as "friendly donation," offering something equivalent in return.
Compared to old Joseon envoys—who'd grab whatever, skip reciprocation, smoke and spit in churches, leaving even Jesuits helpless—Hong Daeyong was polite.
They met because he was the calendar guy, but the ask was still awkward, like any pleb's. Hallerstein smiled awkwardly.
"You seem keen on astronomy, so you understand—this is essential for my duties. I'd gladly offer something else as a memento."
But Hong Daeyong, coveting the watch, bluffed again.
"Not personal greed—official business. The court ordered me to procure foreign astronomical tools and calendars. Let's see... ten Qingxin pills?"
Hallerstein ignored the haggling. He probably didn't grasp the watch's value.
"Hmm... So even your current king values astronomy highly."
"Of course. Our land's been stacking towers and altars to observe the stars for over a millennium. And humbly, I've inherited that wisdom..."
That sparked a lengthy astronomy chat.
Hong Daeyong was enthralled by the new knowledge.
"Oh ho, I knew multiple earth-orbs orbit the sun, but I never imagined their paths were mapped so precisely.
Closer ones move faster, farther ones slower... In calendar terms, solstices quicken in winter, slow in summer. So our earth must trace not a perfect circle, but an elliptical path to make sense."
Hallerstein marveled at Hong Daeyong's swift mathematical grasp.
"Johannes Kepler of Weil der Stadt proposed this, but you're the first to grasp it instantly. Heard it before?"
"No, never. Please, teach me more."
As Hong Daeyong pressed for ongoing exchange, Hallerstein felt more than intellectual satisfaction.
He recalled the missionaries' specialty: infiltration. Nearly every modern spy trick originated with them.
Not that he'd go to Joseon himself—but laying groundwork for future Christian seeds.
He broached it subtly.
"The Lord said, 'Store up treasures in heaven' [Thesaurizate autem vobis thesauros in caelo, Matthew]. What use earthly trinkets? Promise me one thing, and the watch is yours."
"What?"
"That you and I, as brothers under God, will always love each other—and warmly welcome any future bearer of such a watch as a brother."
Joseon hospitality never turned away guests. Hong Daeyong, vaguely aware of Catholicism but missing the conversion pitch, agreed readily.
Pre-Jinsan Bible-burning, it was just an exotic foreign custom to Joseon minds.
Baptism or confession felt like modern docs joining tribal rituals—no big repulsion.
And Hallerstein deployed pro missionary skills again.
"To become brothers in our rite, we need holy water—but it's so sudden, nothing prepared. One moment."
Calling for an acolyte and failing, he summoned a Chinese servant instead.
Hong Daeyong glanced over casually.
Then chaos erupted.
The servant spotted Hong Daeyong—or rather, his Joseon robes—went pale as a ghost, and bolted.
Overturning desks and furnishings in his flight—no baptism now.
Hallerstein was stunned. So was Hong Daeyong.
"A friend of yours?"
"First time seeing him."
But Hong Daeyong reacted faster.
He'd been wondering why Kim Unhaeng tagged along on this envoy trip out of nowhere.
Money-making yeah, but trading wasn't his main gig— no real need to pioneer here.
If Unhaeng had ulterior motives, it'd spell disaster. Better investigate before getting dragged in.
Following his gut, Hong Daeyong gave chase. That middle-aged Chinese—or likely Joseon—held the key.
Of course, pocket watch firmly in hand. He'd promised, after all.
Former Hamgyong North Provincial Military Commander Jo Dongha ran till his mouth tasted bloody.
Unlike Kim Unhaeng's prediction, he hadn't infiltrated Beijing's high echelons yet.
Not some tribal-era Jurchen op; it couldn't be that easy. Sneaking into the capital at all was praise-worthy.
He'd burned through connections and cash, left with just his yap—but confident it could devastate the tyrant.
His burning vow: avenge his brother, Training Division Commander Jo Dongjeong (no way accidental), and his family.
So he'd holed up at the Catholic church in the Astronomical Bureau—least likely spot for Joseon encounters.
Luckily, the kind folks bought his mute Chinese peasant act. A dousing here and there? Minor hassle.
Thus, Jo Dongha was secretly the Jesuits' first unwitting Korean Catholic.
But if he didn't bolt now, that honor would vanish from all future histories. Erased entirely.
'Why's a Joseon here?!'
He'd heard envoys arrived, so he'd stayed indoors, sweeping quietly.
The church was cold to Joseon; they had no reason to visit. Safe haven.
Calculation failed.
Even disguised, his face—known up to Northern Garrison Command—was plastered nationwide as traitor Jo Dongha.
And now pursuit? Busted, obviously.
Hong Daeyong didn't know the face—who memorizes wanted posters?
He was chasing on pure puppy instinct, no goal.
But that's why Kim Unhaeng—who'd predicted Hong's likely haunts and checked the bureau—spotted him instantly.
Kim Unhaeng gasped at the sight of Hong Daeyong. Ready to rip him a new one.
That resolve died seeing Jo Dongha ahead. Unhaeng knew that face, naturally.
No archery in the capital. Slower than arrows, but Eoji's mass and menace outclassed them.
Thud! Eoji just blocking sent Jo tumbling, blood spraying—like slamming a stone wall full-tilt.
Panting Hong Daeyong recalled Hallerstein's action-reaction law.
Meanwhile, practical Kim Unhaeng skipped theory for action. He yanked Jo up by the collar.
Then bellowed in inexplicable Chinese:
"You thief! You're the one who stole this lord's Qingxin pills! Whose slave are you? Draggin' you to the Tongling guards right now!"
Onlookers lost interest, dispersing like they all knew the score.
As Beijingers ignored him—attention would've been worse—Jo despaired.
Then a whisper in Korean hit his ear.
"Here to save you—play along, quick!"
Sounded like Hallerstein's tales of the "devil's bargain."
The devil comes when resistance fails, tempting irresistibly.
Jo signed the pact without reading the fine print.
Just like the man before him.
Author's Notes
1. The Dzungar campaigns involved tangled factions within Dzungaria, Tibetan religious groups (the Dalai Lama's prominence in Tibetan Buddhism ties heavily to this era's Dzungar issues), and rivalries between Qing and Mongol tribes—a mess brewing since Kangxi's time. The story summarizes just Qianlong's slice.
2. The Korean Lodge fell to Russians post-diplomatic ties; they stationed Orthodox missionaries and monopolized it. Joseon envoys got the former punished consort's residence, Jianhuochun Lodge.
That proved too cramped / suspicious Russian meddling vibes, so they surrendered it around 1748. The new build assigned is the story's Southern Guest House.
3. Liu Songling (Hallerstein) did meet Hong Daeyong IRL, but ~10 years earlier. He lived/died in Beijing, still director then. Note: Bureau and church were separate buildings; no impromptu baptisms like that.
4. Their chat covered Kepler's 1st and 2nd laws. First meeting IRL was lukewarm—no deep astro talk, just a quick tour.
Beijing Catholics disliked Joseon; the meetup took heavy gifting to pull off.
5. In 1765, Joseon court did order astronomical imports. Hong wasn't the lead.
6. Not a watch specifically, but Hong did covet strangers' stuff on first meets IRL.