Chapter 148
Chapter 148
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 148
Chapter Title: Master of Humanity (2)
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For the nomadic Dzungar people, the very concept of a capital was inherently weak.
That said, if one had to pinpoint one, it would be the Ili Basin, cradled by the Tian Shan Mountains.
In the first month of the lunar year, a modest gathering took place in Ili.
The faces of the nomadic warriors who had endured another brutal winter in the arid lands bore the cracked bark of nature, etched like tree rings.
There was none of the wild, boiling ferocity one might associate with descendants of Genghis Khan. Everyone gathered here was tough, wrinkled, and desiccated.
Not mighty oaks, but ancient, withered trees. They had reached the end of their lifespan as a people—no amount of water could revive them now; they merely awaited their final moments. Yet they looked like they'd give anyone trying to chop or carve them a real fight.
Amid them stood one man radiating an alien vitality.
It was Amursana, the 'leader' of the Dzungars.
"The Emperor seeks to eradicate the teachings passed down from our ancestors. He's turning khans into generals and replacing alliances and banners with fancy-sounding counties and prefectures. It's obvious he's scheming to pit the four tribes—Khoshut, Khorlos, Dörbet, and Uyir—against each other. Isn't this just the cunning trickery of the Central Plains folk?"
Qianlong, who had earnestly tried transplanting the Manchu-learned civilized systems onto the Jurchens, would feel quite hurt by that (and in fact, he was so hurt he was trying to wipe them all out). What era did they think this was, prattling on about Mongol traditions?
The more cynical onlookers wore expressions that said, 'If the Emperor had appointed you unified khan instead of just khan of the Uyir, you wouldn't be spouting this nonsense.'
But Amursana's words rang true enough. The Qing was employing classic strategies of a vast empire to dominate its colonies.
Left unchecked, the nomadic peoples of the steppes from Western Mongolia to Kazakhstan would vanish without a trace.
Yet Amursana's outlier status stemmed from one key fact: he wasn't born a Dzungar.
Moreover, he was the traitor who had bound his former lord Dawachi and handed him over to the Emperor during the previous pacification.
This made it quite the uphill battle for him to become the spiritual pillar uniting the Dzungars. In original history, he failed at grand unification and met a scattered, miserable end.
But things were different now.
Amursana's Inner Mongolian spy network had snagged some valuable intel—intel only he possessed.
Qianlong's extermination of the Dzungars wasn't just the sadistic hobby of a dictator who failed as an artist; it had other dimensions.
This campaign was also a critical New Deal policy to bolster the Inner Mongolian economy, ensuring their loyalty to the Qing.
Where do you think those 100,000 camels and 150,000 warhorses came from?
The massive silver the Qing had disbursed flowed into Inner Mongolia, buying livestock and allegiance in return.
In other words, the Qing's expedition plans were leaking to the Mongols. Supply plans were operational plans, after all.
With Outer and Inner Mongolian tribes constantly shifting alliances, a turncoat like Amursana could still maintain his pipelines.
And Amursana decided to gamble on it.
"To the east lies a kingdom called Joseon. That land, too, was ravaged by the Jurchens, its territory laid waste. They say the Han of that time raped the Joseon queen from atop a high platform, forcing the Joseon king to watch as he bashed his head nine times against the ground until it split open and he died—laughing all the while!"
The rumors had a Mongol twist, but they'd captured the gist decently enough for ignorant Tatars. Besides, hardly anyone here even knew what Joseon was.
"Joseon harbors deep grudges against the Qing. Word is, they're rising in massive rebellion this time, so the Emperor's sending troops under General Shengjing. That means the army heading our way is only half its original size!"
Pure fabrication, of course. Qianlong had indeed split off troops to Manchuria, but a mere 10,000.
Before anyone could spot the inconsistency, Amursana raised his voice.
"This is our chance. Our only chance. We must stop fighting each other as they want and unite. Do you all want to end up like the Joseon king? Do you want to watch your wives and daughters dragged off by Jurchens to suffer humiliation?"
That was intolerable. Not just by common sensibilities, but by Mongol pride itself.
From Sparta's Menelaus to the late Ming's Wu Sangui, down to lesser cases like Park Sang-sun, the big-game hunter of current Joseon-Japan smuggling—the botched deeds of Golden Sun had altered history countless times.
But Paris, Kimchi Yang, all of them were amateurs compared to Mongols.
The entire race was born for that very purpose.
Trace modern men's Y-chromosomes back, and a staggering stat emerges: 8% of Central Asian men and 0.5% worldwide descend from Genghis Khan and his sons.
With their founding ancestor himself as victim, Mongol racial trait NTR was perfect offense and defense. No one could argue otherwise.
Thus, no one could steal that right in the Mongols' name.
Amursana's victory vision, grounded in the 'sturdy eastern alliance,' reunited the 600,000 Dzungars once more.
Once Kim Unhaeng and the Joseon envoys withdrew, the Board of Rites returned to its daily duties.
The first lunar month was packed with events. Regular audiences for envoys from all nations, the Lantern Festival games—it was a busy season for the ceremonial offices.
Amid the bustle, an imperial edict arrived at the Board.
"This year, we will not receive the Dutch merchants."
The Board notified the Netherlands without a second thought. The Dutch protested vehemently.
"What the hell is this all of a sudden?"
"We just got kicked out of Japan and were hoping to expand trade here in China!"
"Pirates? Who's slandering us?"
"It's Joseon. Has to be those ship-stealing bastards! This won't stand. We'll petition the Emperor directly. Let us in!"
Qing officials were dumbfounded by their brazenness.
Indeed, their longtime ally Joseon's words rang true. Those guys were just pirates.
The Dutch were beaten and chased off.
If they didn't like it, they could skip the official trade. The shabby peddlers wouldn't be missed; the mighty Great Qing lacked for nothing.
But the next imperial order gave even the courtiers pause.
"What is the reason those Ara-sa people have built graves and shrines at will in the Joseon envoys' quarters and occupied them? Investigate thoroughly and make it crystal clear."
It was tantamount to ordering the Russians' expulsion.
Kim Unhaeng was unaware, but Qianlong had heard of the 'Grand Escort of Kim Chunsik the Hero' in the markets and sought to resolve this 'minor grudge' with imperial mercy.
With wuxia tales circulating in China at the time, the Emperor figured if it was an escort by a latter-day Oak Bone Whirlwind hero, Kim's side must be in the right.
The Russians' infamous reputation left even the courtiers unopposed on that point.
Yet as with all worldly affairs, it wasn't about right and wrong, but the balance of power.
Russia shared a direct border with the Qing and had used equal terms with the Emperor in treaties—a great power.
Even if Russia claimed victory, the Qing knew how they'd forced even Joseon to borrow troops. It wasn't a matter for rashness.
But contrary to the ministers' worries, the Emperor had fully weighed it.
Qianlong wouldn't be so easily swayed by Kim Unhaeng.
His political aims were to warn Russia—showing unrest on the northwest frontier against the Dzungars—and saddle Joseon with as much debt as possible over Manchurian reinforcements, silencing their complaints.
Yet the ministers misunderstood the Emperor's profound intent.
"Your Majesty, the Son of Heaven's grace must be equal to all nations. Granting Joseon alone such favor is difficult. If we demolish their graves and clear their shrines, those Ara-sa folk may grow suspicious and resentful."
The ministers meant 'Are you perhaps another Wanli Emperor?' But Qianlong took greater offense at the final remark.
What was he doing right now? In war, nothing mattered more than unbreakable momentum.
Suggesting the Emperor should fear Russia was utter nonsense.
The Emperor issued a curt reply laced with displeasure.
"As I command: clear away all illegal encroachments cleanly."
When the Master of Humanity commanded twice, that stern dread shook all of Beijing. Soldiers immediately mobilized to the Russian quarters.
"Why on earth did those Ara-sa folk flee, spraying shit, piss, and vomit everywhere?"
"Weren't they always famous for leaking fluids everywhere? Probably got spooked when the garrison burst in while they were drunk."
Park Jiwon and I chatted like that as we unpacked in the reclaimed envoy quarters.
Aside from Jung Gwang-chung eyeing me suspiciously post-hangover, everyone praised 'Kim Chunsik, who humbled the Qing Emperor alongside the Three Scholars, washing away our humiliation gloriously.'
The Russians, screeching as they fled to the dry goods inn and southern quarters, must be nursing grudges—but no matter.
That grudge would go to Qianlong anyway. Geographically, they'd have to breach the Qing before ever reaching Joseon.
Modern Russia doesn't hold the Primorsky region yet. What a sturdy great-power shield.
By sea? Even less likely than a Dutch revenge fleet hitting Joseon. Unless they had icebreakers.
And Russian warships here? They'd get wrecked even by bottom-tier Japan.
No—across Soviet times, the 21st-century Lus Car Empire, Second Empire—has Russia ever won a naval battle?
Land-dwellers through and through. Off the ground, they're cannon fodder.
Ottomans? By that logic, Italy's an army powerhouse, Belgium Africa's conqueror. Stick to real nations.
Bottom line: nothing to worry about.
The only obstacle was one Russian Orthodox missionary vowing martyrdom to defend his church. Purify your own flock first.
Once even he was dragged out, the quarters regained their old Joseon vibe.
Meaning servants, guards, and porters swarmed in, grabbing anything of value.
If this were a temple, such heathen spoils couldn't enter Joseon—but since the guardian wasn't a monk, airtight logic.
The missionary thrashed, limbs pinned.
"Repent[Penitenziagite]! You minions of the Antichrist, thieving greedy potbellies! Argh! Let me go! God's wrath will strike you down!"
I informed the underlings it was a kind of incantation.
The thrilled Changdae and fellow servants hauled him out, smacking his head in Confucian name. 'Think we're scared of such devilish chants?'
Meanwhile, I pocketed a golden cross separately. What's a cleric need with luxury?
He'd just preached poverty[Penitenziagite], so permission granted. Joseon folk are so Confucian, they'll leave the graves be anyway.
The Qing garrison didn't spare the missionary out of respect.
They just respected the two massive Russian dogs he trusted like mountains—equally mountainous in size.
These were the beasts Park Jiwon called 'ass-sized Ara-sa dogs' in Yeolha Ilgi.
And now, they were Ara-sa dogs turned Joseon dogs.
Joseon folk wanted to celebrate the reclamation by boiling them, but I vetoed with plans to train them as military hounds back home.
Beating them with sticks? Might cost a third of the envoy corps their lives first. Their paws alone match my palms—monsters in dog skins, honestly.
Park Jiwon agreed. Naturally, with ulterior motives, as always.
"Leave them to me. I've long wished to raise horses or dogs in my later years. I'll make those so-called military dogs as you suggest."
Unless Park Jiwon coughed up full tuition for Gangnam University, but feeding dogs was a hassle anyway (Jangbok and Eoji had to stick with me), so I granted his wish.
Our envoy's new members, 'Chungbok' and 'Malbok,' slobbered over Park Jiwon's cheek with their huge tongues.
I glanced at Park Jiwon—playing with dogs or wolf-pack bait?—then looked away.
"All the big stuff's done now, right?"
Nakchang-gun, indebted to me politically and financially, replied with the face of a fully trained slave.
"The Redhairs made a fuss, but the Emperor handled it. No word at the first-month audience either. We just watch the Lantern Festival fireworks and head home. The streets explode with paper cannons—quite the spectacle."
Hm. With silver agents prepping VIP seats, might as well go. Gotta keep showing these Silhak scholars wonders to curb their weird ideas.
"Staying through the first month, then?"
Pre-first-month nasty business needed swift handling—like Jo Dongha, caught sneaking for bribes, hanged with the other riffraff.
He probably talked, but heroes always draw slanderous villains. Wise Qing officials ignored his pleas.
With the sole worry gone, I had no rush. Tourism, reopening shop—perfect.
Hong Daeyong's insane people skills hooked us up with court bigwigs; Lee Jawoon's mouth gaped like a gourd.
'Zhou Ritual Vessels' and 'Duke of Zhou Classics' sets flew off shelves, fit for glass displays. Traditional hits like red ginseng and Qingxin pills? No need to mention.
Post-audience silks and gold from Qianlong let us buy out foreign merchants' stocks and resell high.
But Nakchang-gun hesitated slightly.
"Originally sixty days, but... thanks to you, we got permission to leave early. Honestly, better to head home sooner. Lantern Festival, then go."
Two reasons, it turned out.
First: cutting stay costs.
Yeah, I get it. Save here, pay my debt faster.
Hong Daeyong had dipped into public funds; I topped it off with mine. That's why I played middleman.
If not for blood ties, I'd have hanged him beside Jo Dongha. Eight necks enough?
Second: geopolitical.
"Likely troops off to the Western Tartars soon. Armies passing always bring more harm than good. Best avoid. We'll trail the Emperor's brother, new General Shengjing Hong Yeom, en route."
Oh, hitch a ride on army funds? Nice savings.
"As expected of the chief envoy—master of such trips. I'll cut some interest."
"...Thanks."
A quick check revealed Hong Yeom, Prince of Dara-gwa and Duke of the Imperial Army tagging along, was a corrupt greedy official steeped in graft.
No such scum leading Neo-Confucian vanguards in Joseon our Noron way—Jurchen blood tells.
Utterly irredeemable.
Better bribe him pronto.
Cheaper than army-fund perks, math-wise.
Pre-departure, we hit the Lantern Festival market for sightseeing and to liquidate stock for funds.
Silver backing secured prime spots; business boomed.
One stubborn inventory soured Lee Jawoon's mood.
"Chunsik armor's not moving unexpectedly."
Pitched as medical gear, but too little time to prove it, and China's flashier novelties outshone amid low sales.
Then some loafers cracked the market.
"Gotta have the secret manual of Haedong Dog-Beating Stick that repelled the Ara-sa."
Lee Jawoon knowing Chinese was the hook. He dropped the market stunt he'd nagged me for and jumped in.
"The Eastern Heretic of Three Thousand Cycles sheds bones and washes marrow every 3,000 years[返骨洗髓], molts skin and replaces fur every 2,000[剝皮伐毛, <Dongmyeonggi>].
Dog-Beating is profoundly subtle and mighty; ordinary folk trying it reverse their Eight Extraordinary Meridians and twist their skeletons. First regulate inner power, attune the five viscera and six bowels—but that takes decades of cultivation. With this device alone, train conveniently at home."
Anyone who'd taken even one Chunsik hit unquestioned its punch. Lee Jawoon bundled mystery pills like Kimga Daehwan.
As the sole light in this dark premodern hell, I couldn't sit idle as isekai hero.
So I taught basic fitness: had Eoji demo push-ups and squats.
"Do these a hundred times daily, run 20 li (10 kilometers Qing li) a day—talented ones lose all hair, reaching that fur-molt realm. Then you're ready for the manual."
Thus, Kim Chunsik Health Kits sold out.
Hong Yeom, receiving my 'humble thanks for army protection,' granted me a letter.
Strip pleasantries: that was it.
Just talk. I'm no Foreign Ministry official or prime minister.
Already loaded with Qianlong gifts, I burned the letter quick—lest misunderstandings of barbarian coziness.
On the twentieth of the first month, with Shengjing garrison aid, our envoy departed smoothly, all gains intact from Qing.
Author's Notes
1. Contrary to Kim Unhaeng's thoughts, Russia has won naval battles. Peter the Great's modern navy scored a small victory in the Great Northern War... yeah, that's it.
2. Park Jiwon wanted a ranch in his later years. Yeonam is the very place he planned that ranch.
3. Penitenziagite means 'repent' but also literally 'live in poverty.' Medieval Catholic Franciscans used it as a motto; not a Russian Orthodox trait. Potbelly symbolizes greed—like Western imp images.
4. As it keeps appearing, Hong Daeyong's charisma is real. In China, he quickly befriended literati like Ban Jeong-gyun, Eom Seong, and high officials like Seo Seong-gyun, gaining much aid. Even entering no-go zones freely.
5. During Park Jiwon's mission, Qianlong shortened their stay to ease burden—but really punishment for rudeness to the Panchen Lama. Telling guests to hurry home.