Chapter 16
Chapter 16
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 16
Chapter Title: 8. Cleanly, Clearly, Confidently (2)
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Yeah. I won't deny that I came here planning to make some money too.
The magistrates and local clerks in this era are like tigers and hyenas fighting over the same prey.
In the early Joseon period, both local officials and village clerks were jobs everyone avoided.
That's why there's a rule that you have to serve as a local official before you can rise to a capital post.
The clerks have rules too—rewards for catching those who try to run away from their forced labor.
But what about now?
Local posts are hugely popular even in the central government, and there's a line of people begging to be clerks.
Why? Because there's big money to be made.
Joseon's national treasury is a mess, but the country's potential is far from low.
A stable agrarian state with ten million people isn't all that common in the pre-modern world.
Just look at the potential: there were cases where the military clerks in a single county illegally extorted up to 60,000 nyang.
The current Joseon annual budget is roughly 1.5 million seok of rice, which comes to about 6 or 7 million nyang in cash.
Compare that to Korea's annual budget of around 500 trillion won—that's like rural reserve division officers embezzling 4 or 5 trillion won.
I'm not trying to lecture on the evils of embezzlement, nor am I praising the ballsy Joseon spirit of bottom-rung guys dreaming of gobbling up 1% of the national budget.
Flies don't gather without a corpse. Joseon had that much latent wealth. That's what caught my eye.
Of course, Joseon is an extremely small government compared to modern Korea.
With explicit fiscal spending taking up such a small share of the economy, simplistic comparisons like that don't hold much value beyond being interesting.
The example above is the same.
That 4 trillion sounds exaggerated when compared to the budget, but based on prices, it's more like 10 to 20 billion won.
Still a ton.
No matter how you slice it, it's a massive hunk of meat.
You think I'm going to let you original evil clerks—'元惡鄕吏', the root of all village evils—take it?
Of course, I'm not planning some one-dimensional grift like fabricating crimes for fines, auctioning off prime reservoir farmland at top prices on a whim, or turning sand in spring into rice in fall like some grain loan alchemist.
I'm just correcting these 'abuses', taming the 'arrogant clerks' back to the straight and narrow, and taking a performance bonus from the 'resulting surplus revenue'.
Even in Korea, they give civil servants bonuses for cutting costs, right?
As a regressor, it's only right that I introduce advanced modern systems I know about into Joseon.
This is the unavoidable duty of a man from the future.
This eup chonggi ledger is practically the bible of bribery, the Standard Strategy of the clerk world.
Yeah, the book I wrote. Any rookie magistrate could read it and follow along.
But it's worlds apart from the petty tricks you pull during exams.
I figured I couldn't stop stuff like grain loans, taxes, or warehouse embezzlement anyway.
If that's all it was, honestly? I'd have joined in and turned a blind eye.
Clerks don't even get paid. In early Joseon, it was survival-level corruption.
But the records in this eup chonggi—and the crimes you can infer from them—blew past that level ages ago.
Sure, I've done my share of shady shit. And I planned to here too.
But here's the thing. I never killed anyone.
I'm not against killing per se. Hell, I think there's such a thing as righteous murder depending on the reason.
But your reasons? They're utterly contemptible.
You frame innocent people with house searches, loot their homes, rape any women who catch your eye, beat resistors to death, then falsify documents to cover it up.
Grab anyone, lock 'em up, charge families for jail fees, food, tobacco, firewood—even corpse disposal if they die. No law mandates that, so all the profit's yours.
And it's not just punishment. Even for household censuses or famine damage surveys ordered from above, you use it as an excuse to ransack homes.
Stuff your faces at lavish receptions until households are ruined, snatch anything nice you see.
Show a hint of displeasure? 'Oops, slipped'—and they smash everything in sight, people included.
Even when one gets caught and jailed for this crap, there's always a rotation to forge documents and bail them out.
They decide who gets sprung even from murder charges. They draft the reports that go to the inspector.
And what I just described? That's like picking up one grain of sand in the desert.
It was the faithful local administration of the 'centralized state' Joseon.
But worst of all, that outsider bastard casually handed me the eup chonggi at the inn like it was nothing, right in front of the middle-class patrons.
He figured I'd grumble like past magistrates and then comply?
With his unchecked power in this county, no one would notice, and what could a punk like me do?
Reminds me of something from modern times.
Like middle school kids snickering at a scolding teacher: 'Yeah? What're you gonna do? Wanna throw down?'
This was them confirming their confidence that they—the underlings—outranked the magistrate.
Screw morals. This pisses me off to my core.
You're dead.
I told Jangbok too: a gentleman's duty is to educate the common folk.
And a Joseon magistrate isn't like a 21st-century teacher tiptoeing around lawsuits over every word.
Teaching others is called 'xun tao'—熏陶.
It means firing up the kiln to painfully shape the vessel.
It's gonna hurt like hell.
I made my decision.
Then, in front of the clerks, I tossed the eup chonggi into the brazier.
Burns nice.
The left deputy, bailiffs, six wards—all gasped in shock.
"Magistrate! Burning official documents?!"
Yeah, I'm not the king. That's why they dare lift their heads and yell like that, you ignorant, clueless, rude bastards.
"Don't raise your voice."
I said quietly.
"'Cunning clerks and wicked villagers', they say—and your arrogance truly knows no bounds. Is that truly an official document, or just the scrawled ledger of thieves, peddlers, and merchants?
Don't you know even what's written there is enough to condemn you? And you dare shout at the county head? Beheading you all here wouldn't be unjust."
The clerks and runners didn't bow their heads in shame, of course.
They just stared at me like, 'Has this guy's lost his mind?'
Yeah. Staring right at me. They don't even avert their eyes anymore.
A relative once said, 'These days, clerks don't even dismount for yangban.' Guess it's true. I can gauge the local power now.
Come at me. Who's first?
The outsider Shin Manheung stepped forward. Oh. Elite mob right out the gate.
Bit harsh, but he looks born to be an outsider. Congenital villain material.
He cleared his throat dramatically first.
This prick just coughed in front of the magistrate? A thousand years ago, I'd have beaten the insolence out of his skull with a staff.
"Ahem. Your Excellency seems young and hot-blooded, unable to contain your rage—we underlings are mortified. Excessive emotional outbursts disrupt the qi and blood, harming the body. You must calm down."
I tilted my chin up, listening to what nonsense he'd spout.
"Do you have some fine remedy?"
A smug grin flashed across Shin Manheung's face. He launched in eagerly.
"No ulterior motive, Your Excellency—we fear you might unintentionally commit an offense. True, punishment isn't decided without the Sovereign's decree, and even for great urgent thieves, it requires the provincial inspector's permission. That's the strict national law."
Absurd. Infuriating. My qi and blood are twisting just like you said. Main poisoning incoming.
You wouldn't dare lecture me on the law. Got connections to the inspector?
I stayed silent, so he chided me like a child.
"So first, compose yourself. Sudden changes in expression call for calming wine to settle the shock. It's fine tradition for new magistrates to host the village elders with wine and food, inquiring into local affairs. Why not open such a seat?"
He paused a beat, lowering his voice.
"Shamans don't fit in the yamen, but he's respected locally. Worth inviting to celebrate your tenure. How could he refuse?"
Ah, suddenly I want to be a different kind of magistrate. Craving skills like 'Summon Gosa Temple Ghost' or 'Aoji Coal Mine'.
Guess he overheard me chatting at the inn. Makes sense—Shin Yeong's spot was right there.
I calmly counted to three in my head.
Then softened my expression.
"As the outsider says, calming wine is the perfect cure for raging qi and blood. There's an old record of Jin Emperor Taejong Wanyan Wugimai drinking it. Do you know it?"
Shin Manheung blinked in confusion before answering.
"This lowly functionary is unlearned and doesn't know."
"Then you don't know why Jin Taejong drank it either."
"Yes. What lesson do you intend?"
"Jin Taejong dipped into the treasury for personal drinking, violating the law set by his brother and founder Aguda. His ministers caned him twenty strokes based on national law. To calm his shock."
No scholarly questions like 'What kind of upside-down world lets underlings beat the emperor? Is that why Jurchens are Jurchens?' or 'Beat him for drinking, then make him drink more?' popped into his head, naturally.
Shin Manheung's face filled with the certainty that something had gone very wrong.
Hmm. True-born villain. Killer danger sense.
Before he could bullshit more, I shot to my feet.
"You insolently invoke the law, so I'll give you the law. Plundering the people with this eup chonggi and subtly urging collusion—that's capital crime. We'll send it to the capital for His Majesty's approval on your flapping mouth. Separately, I'll adjudicate what I can myself first."
"No, Magistrate..."
"Insulting a superior rank 5+ official as a lowly clerk or soldier—100 cane strokes! I'm rank 6 magistrate, so three grades reduced: 70 strokes! Don't worry, outsider. After, I'll make sure you get top-shelf calming wine!"
I recited the strict clause from the Great Ming Code again.
The difference this time? I meant it.
But Shin Manheung didn't kneel in despair.
His face was still just 'What a hassle, this childish tantrum.'
Confidence that no one in this county would dare cane him shone through.
Ah, right. In this county.
Don't think of military instructors or runners as modern cops or guards. They're not trained professionals.
Frankly, Joseon local yamen security is just neighborhood thugs applying for the perks.
Prejudiced? Not my view. Jeong Yak-yong's.
And the clerks are the ones turning those mobs into their limbs.
So no one here to enforce.
But outside the county? Plenty.
"What are you doing, Eoji?!"
My cue dropped, and Eoji appeared.
Scrawny for his build, but wielding a massive thief-beating club.
As prepped.
Everyone yapping that only yamen military or runners can execute punishment.
Yeah. Got it.
I appointed Eoji as gate guard on the spot.
Probably how that old guy felt saying 'Let there be light.'
Shin Manheung and his loyal dog soldiers thrashed by Eoji (insane—treason much?), then all bound in the cangue. Everyone realized this wasn't a game.
The clerks foamed, desperate to save their boss's skin.
"You said caning, not rods! Rods are only for specific crimes, Magistrate!"
"Only inspectors or generals, and only prescribed counts—or it's the same crime!"
Ha. Pulling out the law only when it suits them.
But if you followed it so strictly, why's a thief-beating club— which even the magistrate can't use—in my office?
You used it plenty when you wanted to beat someone dead.
In principle, yeah, they're right. Magistrates can't use rods by rule (unlike canes).
Why do sageuk dramas show every magistrate beating with rods then? Bad research?
Nope. Spot-on. Magistrates did beat people with rods all the time.
Tiring to explain, but Joseon law's like that.
One deputy killed nearly 30 with caning during a short tenure.
Lawsuits? Heard of King Sejong's benevolent ban on commoner suits?
If caning bans weren't followed, you think commoner suit bans were? Sharp question.
Answer: They were. Strictly, until Joseon fell.
So now they're getting exactly what they dished out.
Status-based, utterly unfair, brutal violence.
Joseon's system is loose enough for clerks to kill at will.
Which means I—with higher explicit authority—can kill them clean too.
But I can't play dirty like them. I'm a magistrate due (probably) a virtue stele.
They play filthy; I play clean. Pride before steles.
So I nodded to their legal plea.
"You're right. Eoji, put away the thief-beater. Bring canes."
Eoji stowed the club as ordered.
Meaning, destroyed it.
Eoji pressed it over his knee, snapping the thick rod like kindling.
Clerks looked like their necks snapped.
Now tool doesn't matter.
Hit by 88mm shell instead of 105mm—less painful?
Eoji, model of legal zeal, fetched regulation canes.
Not his smarts surging—Jangbok's frantic signals helped.
Now for the most 'legal' beating in current Joseon.
But our outsider Shin Manheung wasn't so legal.
Passed out after seven, let alone seventy.
Can't endure prescribed beating? Shameless illegality.
I ordered him dragged back conscious to finish, then flicked my sleeves and rose.
They didn't misstep to deserve this.
I planned to pick any clerk as demo case the moment I saw that eup chonggi.
It's 'just custom notes', they can dodge—so wait for actual crime as evidence?
Too modern thinking.
This is Joseon. Beat first, find crime later.
No. Beat to find the crime.
Can't uncover organized cover-ups without beating first.
Running investigations myself has limits. You won't make me rely on Jangbok.
Plus, this is defensive.
No power base while gathering evidence? I'm in danger.
Those soldiers clenching fists despite my legal recitation? Proof.
Seize control first, procedure second.
Why'd Seomun Pyo rip off his watch and stage a play to grab the shaman without question?
Follow procedure to ban human sacrifice? He'd face civil war first.
My ambush succeeded.
Outsider's high status got him home custody mercy, but his 'rebel' minions half-killed and jailed carefree.
Dead? Oh well.
Then tidied the hall, sent everyone home. No work vibe.
Didn't forget promised fine wine to Shin Manheung's house. I'm a promise-keeping magistrate.
May it fester his wounds. Shoulda poisoned it?
Now silence everywhere. Only Jangbok—self-appointed head slave— barking orders.
I reached for my fan habitually to think, then smacked my lips.
Ah, Yeon took it. No spares? Gotta hustle for bonuses.
The real fight starts now.
Shin Manheung whined big but took under ten—no death.
Days groaning, then back pretending obedience. Full villain charm offensive. Still 70 full swings coming.
Behind scenes, spread my bad rep county-wide, pull strings via Chungcheong Inspector Lee Ilje and court ties to plot against me.
Why do local clerks have those connections? They butter up exiled scholars, build networks.
Most capital bigwigs aren't Seoul natives anyway. Gyeongho sarim—Hoseo breeds deep scholars.
But here's the thing.
My race trait? Gyeonghwa noble clan.
Not saying capital's great, provinces suck.
Hanseongbu is my turf, my clan's territory.
Brag your tenure all you want—I've got more friends inside. Can't compare to Dad, sorry.
Current rank matters, but 'hometown' is the ultimate weapon here.
Me, knowing crown prince wedding details early—think I came unprepared on court intel?
My buddy Jiwon, thanks. Won't spill about your girl.
Plus, one of Mokcheon County's Four Heavenly Kings is my ally.
Judging by Yeon's smarts from our chat, she's not dumb enough to side with Shin Manheung.
Betray? Enforce Great Ming Code on shamans 'by the book'.
No need for many. Send Eoji. Even Takam Mountain spirit appears, he'll snap the old man's neck without blinking.
Not even a contest.
Ah, free from Yeongjo—pure bliss.
These clerks are chaff next to the Science Monarch. No future knowledge needed.
Alone in the guesthouse, I smirked.
Then pulled out the eup chonggi's 'real original', my Seoul memo, letters, documents.
I reread them secretly.