Chapter 160
Chapter 160
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 160
Chapter Title: The End of the Gejang Revolt (2)
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While I was gauging the Crown Prince's aura by comparing it to King Yeongjo's imposing presence, the Crown Prince offered another rationale for dispatching me.
"And there's no one who speaks the Hongmo people's language as fluently as you do. The Special Forces have picked up some Joseon speech by now, but when things get urgent, we need you to lead them. Serve as the propaganda officer while doubling as the commander of the Special Forces."
The solemn air I'd felt from the Crown Prince for the first time shattered into pieces in an instant.
What the hell were the Special Forces? I'd been wondering why all my documents were getting approved so suspiciously quickly—no review needed, huh? Turns out he'd been busy forming a foreign mercenary unit instead of reading my submissions?
And why such an ominous name? It sounded just like the entire Training Guard—our core strike force right now—getting paid in "foreign rice coupons" before staging a mutiny.
"The loyalty and bravery the Hongmo people showed at the Border Defense Council were exemplary. But until now, they've lived like slaves in the military camps, so I've specially employed them, following King Hyeonjong's example."
These crafty barbarians! Slandering with false accusations and harboring delusions of raising an army—nothing was beneath them.
This wouldn't do. No one else here could defend Confucian orthodoxy but me.
Patriarch of our Noron faction, Song Siyeol, lend me your strength!
"Your Highness, An Lushan of the Tang Dynasty, a barbarian by birth, received excessive favor and seized military authority, becoming a rare scourge throughout history. The seeds of treason are obvious enough. How could the fruit be wholesome if the roots are crooked?"
The term "principle" means to divide names appropriately. At its core, the theory of principle is about "rightly discriminating" things that shouldn't be treated equally.
This theory of principle isn't some stubborn pedantry of old-fashioned scholars. It's the yardstick that determines how to deal with all outsiders, from international diplomacy (barbarian theory) to domestic governance (class system).
Bloodline is part of that yardstick, but "customs"—the morals of cultural groups—are the primary criterion.
In premodern times, though, bloodline and culture largely aligned. No public education meant judging morals by bloodline didn't stray far off.
Any scholar who diligently studied Neo-Confucianism and history would know this theory.
So the Crown Prince absolutely couldn't. All you'd studied were pornographic novels, right?
But astonishingly, the Crown Prince rebutted me.
"The Tang had plenty like Goseonji, barbarians who fulfilled their loyalty. Did Wang Mang, Dong Zhuo, Cao Cao, or Sima Yi commit treason because they were traitors? The Way of the Doctrine of the Mean demands we discard bias."
Hey, don't pretend to know the Doctrine of the Mean. Who taught you to twist classics like this, master of perverse learning?
"If I command and you teach them, even the lowliest can be civilized. Is it a crime just to be born in barbarian lands?"
It sure is.
Whether Dutch or British, the East India Companies are bona fide international mafias. Their very survival is sinful, their existence depraved.
Korea's criminal code proves it—organized crime syndicates can get the death penalty just for forming. Guess a past exam scholar like you wouldn't know.
But I couldn't voice those thoughts. A rift between the Crown Prince and me at this juncture would only delight the traitors.
I'd just have to handle it neatly and sensibly, as always.
Just before I withdrew, the Crown Prince spoke up as if something had occurred to him.
"I've heard lately that many are scheming against you. I'll grant you a palanquin pulled by men front and back, so use it when entering and leaving the palace to display your dignity."
I was greatly surprised.
A palanquin is among the most vivid and vital symbols of status.
Just as modern folks divide class by engine displacement, here the "engine"—number of bearers—was the key divider. The king and Crown Prince used 20 bearers, the royal grandson 14.
But the logic was completely inverted. In Korea, "a good car means high status." In Joseon, "high status means you get a good car."
So scenes of thugs flashing luxury rides after making dirty money were impossible here.
Queen Jang Hui-bin's mother, a lowborn, rode an imperial carriage—and the result was smashed wheels and a burned palanquin. Even King Sukjong couldn't stop it.
A double palanquin was lower than the king's or Crown Prince's, of course. But for non-royalty to legally ride one required at least a prime minister or active senior secretary rank.
For a junior official like me, it'd scream "shadowy power behind the throne."
So I politely declined. With my Kim family palanquin, what need was there?
"Qin Shi Huang prepared many decoy carriages to evade the iron mace of Chang River history, but he couldn't escape heaven's punishment. If I'm upright, heaven will protect me—what have I to fear?"
But the Crown Prince was adamant again.
"Do you think I said that because a palanquin blocks bullets or spears? It's to show dignity and inspire awe in others—that's my intent."
Guess the logic of "flash a foreign luxury ride and you can drive like hell" works from the 18th to 21st century. I sighed inwardly and expressed thanks.
To show humility, I sent most of my Kim bearers home first, leaving only Eoji and Sambok.
I especially shooed Jangbok away quickest—he'd surely crank that damn bellows to max volume unasked and strut around. I didn't want my horse treated like an illegally modded thug sports car.
With Capital Garrison Commander Sin Min handling security well, the short trip from Changdeok Palace to Jang-dong should be fine.
Take the palanquin home and store it properly. In 300 years, it'd fetch a fortune at Jang-dong's authentic luxury auction.
Then I hitched Pony up front and Eoji in back to start the palanquin.
This setup evoked the image of a poor, upright scholar with just one horse.
'Still, fewer bearers make it comfy.'
It had to be. This double palanquin was a plebeianized horse-drawn version—like an electric car.
Traditional ones were man-ported, but horse-pulled designs were cutting-edge Joseon tech. Fewer humans meant less jostling.
No need to say who invented it.
Who but King Seonjo Yi Yeon, master of speed? The year Imjin War broke out, he pioneered animal power for the royal palanquin—Joseon's first.
Wait a sec.
King Seonjo?
I activated the skill.
Boom! Crash! With a deafening roar, the palanquin lurched backward violently, slamming my headrest with intense force.
Eoji had lost his grip on the palanquin.
Luckily, I didn't have to endure that madness for long.
I arrived home "Seonjo-style."
And only much later did panting Eoji and Sambok stagger in after me.
Right. Of course. Seonjo's speed didn't need wheels.
Steam engines or diesel? Outclassed by a maglev train turning the entire road into room-temperature superconductor.
That's why it was a B-grade skill, not A.
I muttered curses aloud. Loud enough for the Status Window to hear.
It was heavenly luck the palanquin wasn't totaled. To avoid the crime of wrecking the Crown Prince's gift on day one, I hustled to repair it.
While Jangbok grumbled at Pony for "running too damn fast," I sank into thought.
Pony wasn't winded like Sambok or Eoji.
This palanquin and its draft animal were a matched set, apparently. My hypothesis that skills don't affect other "people" was gaining ground.
Extra horse for driving? Fine. But in war? Useless. If the troops spotted it, Confucian warriors would go full "Don't let the witch live!" mode.
I sealed this trash skill for now.
Then focused on the task at hand.
Special Forces? No. Military wasn't my major.
I planned a massive rain ritual. The drought seemed due to the king's lack of virtue.
Joseon's rain rites followed "do everything to make it rain," mixing every folk faith mishmash.
Tiger heads soaked on one side, kids dragging dragon toys on the other (a few families bought Yongnyong-mok under ritual pretext).
Of course, as a proper Neo-Confucian, I ignored such sorcery. We held grand rites at the Royal Ancestral Shrine.
Rain or not didn't matter.
No rain? Blame untamed Namhansanseong traitors—time to march.
Rain? Heaven blesses the Crown Prince—rightful heir.
The real key: ideological vetting.
Praising Yeongjo if rain, or blaming the Crown Prince if drought? Definitely traitors.
The latter was easier to spot. Honestly, I preferred no rain.
Kim Unhaeng's wish went unrealized.
On the 18th of the fifth lunar month that year, right after the Crown Prince's rain rite, heavy rain poured from the heavens.
Even Kim Unhaeng was shocked.
As Kim Unhaeng eyed the sky suspiciously, state-economy-worried yangban rushed to prove loyalty.
"The Crown Prince's pure devotion in the rite moved heaven itself, as if by promise—what wonder is this?"
"Lately many claimed Kim Unhaeng deceived the sovereign, but no worries now!"
"Just traitor rumors. If true, heaven wouldn't send rain!"
"Wait. I hear Jang-dong passes down arcane family secrets. Did Kim Unhaeng work some sorcery?"
"How can a literate scholar believe sorcery? If real, why droughts? I know Jang-dong secrets—rooted in medicine, healing people or fattening livestock."
"No, listen. Days ago I saw Kim Unhaeng's palanquin flying like winged horse. Divine speed spell on the beast? He talismaned servant legs to rout Hamgyong rats!"
"Nonsense. Now it's talismans? Just a fine steed. Quit novels, hit Gangnam Daeseong for scripture study—you'll never rise otherwise!"
The witch theorist shut up red-faced. Another scholar chimed in.
"Riding palanquin as junior official is irreverent, but with Crown Prince's excessive grace, rain falls—no other explanation."
No one rebutted.
Confucians consistently reject base superstitions.
But "heaven's signs" can't be dismissed. They're not superstition.
Why? Meaningless question. Christians don't "scientifically" distinguish shaman vs. Jesus healings.
Same here. Why including Confucianism in academia is tricky.
And the Crown Prince secured top religious interpreter status via this rite.
Tears or rain on his cheeks, he declared:
"With signs so clear, how can I delay a moment? We must crush the traitors at once."
It was already royal command.
Three days later, Kim Unhaeng's "social welfare army"—Training Guard and Horse Management Corps united—crossed the Han River.
Namhansanseong was a siege fortress. Access predictably awful—and meant to be.
For viable large-scale roads: two main routes.
West: Down modern Seongnam-si, linking capital north, Samnam south. Hong Gye-hui used it fleeing with Guards.
East: Out near Gyeonggi Yangpyeong, up Han to Gangwon.
And Kim Unhaeng, well before rites, contacted Gangwon to seal the east.
Gangwon Observer Yi Yu-sin—my old bellows-incident partner.
Our rapport showed: we were alike.
Noron Neo-Confucian guardians, fierce national ownership.
Three years before I seized the bellows from Tsushima—Yeongjo 28th—Yi lost his mother.
His filial piety picked Okcheon Guryongchon, Song Siyeol's hometown, for burial.
Many sought Song's aura meeting the Crown Prince, but Yi was boldest.
Then Yeoju magistrate pre-local army purge, so troops under him.
Yi commandeered them to occupy village, bury mom.
Army serves people; Yi was people.
Thus, Song-united Kim Unhaeng and Yi synced intents easily.
Chunsik Fleet delivered my cash upriver—or Crown Prince's orders? Unclear what moved Yi.
But Yi arbitrarily moved garrison troops like at mom's funeral, sealing east road: fact. No one checked Gangwon observer doubling naval/horse commander.
Carefree welfare army marched west boldly.
Gwangju folk trembled recalling Guard pillage, but Horse Corps "late" followed Yi Geum's orders, hauling Hoseo grain.
Crown Prince ordered distribute to Gwangju's poor.
Token amount for show, but army passing without looting—instead supplementing—like cold teacup reheating. Impossible.
Folk shuddered at Crown Prince's thermodynamics-defying miracle, prostrating in thanks.
Even hard-up locals brought arms/clothes to aid traitor-crush. Kim welcomed warmly, of course.
Meanwhile, Yi Geum doubled down on Crown Prince-Jin collusion after east cutoff.
But fortress loyalists lacked telescopes, not inference.
King fled, yet eerie quiet? They knew.
Nation turned from king.
Namhansanseong too, seemingly.
Lowly unseen folk vanished noticeably.
No backroom tenders: supplies dwindled.
So Guard Captain Gu Seon-haeng and loyalists petitioned king sans protocol.
Secretaries announced like house stewards; skipped essential physician pulse-check, ministers' greetings/gifts.
Despite obvious poor health.
Close eunuchs whispered: one ear oozing blood/pus.
Hid with fur hat in summer—fueled ominous rumors. Deaf physician Kim Su-gyu awaiting silently: spiteful revenge? Unknown.
Wartime council like war meeting.
Military expert Gu knew king's plight direst, most hopeless—but armored calm.
"No couriers from anywhere. Enemy likely cut all roads. About 2,000 Training Guard-like troops advancing west."
Yi Geum rasped like frayed cord.
"Guards under Defense Minister Hong Gye-hui surely isolated. Wait for their return."
Less than ten days since raging at Guard deserters—flip-flopped.
Yi thought reasoned revision.
Officials: strong king-dementia proof.
Top civilian Personnel Minister Jeong Hwi-ryang et al. wondered why here. Non-military? Send us back (to Seoul ideally).
But Yi didn't.
"Guards and Palace Guard pincer: rout them. Troops and officials alike—resolve for desperate fight."
"Officials not troops" had zero buy-in. Used military pretext to glare at Gu.
Gu swallowed despair.
"Your Majesty... regrettably..."
Kim dissolved most Guards as Gyeonggi locals. Liberated troops' news reached Gu easily.
"Kim Unhaeng seized Guards' gear from Seoul, dispersed them home to Gyeonggi. Guards... can't return."
Yi Geum made weird noise.
Jeong thought snapping frayed cord.
Yi flung off fur hat. Thin blood trickled ruined ear.
"Guards left on royal command! Royal command!"
Hwawan Ongju, heading back knowing council, flinched at inner explosion.
Author's Notes
1. An Lushan was Sogdian (near modern Samarkand). Not rare in Tang.
2. Lunar 5/18/1757: End of rites brought real relief rain (folk praised Yeongjo).
3. Sima Qian's Records of the Grand Historian: Zhang Liang hurled iron mace at Qin Shi Huang's procession via Chang River history pact; hit decoy, emperor safe.
4. Divine speed talisman tale in Ch. 62 'Jet Stream Attack'—and again. Jangbok bluffed then. "Don't let the witch live" from Exodus.
5. Yi Yu-sin in Ch. 135 'East India Company Joseon Branch'.
In-story events real. Massive scale for mountain monk? Petitions flew; Yeongjo passed to Crown Prince, who to observer. Yi arrested, quickly freed.
Local gentry petitions on "invading Confucian Song heritage site" suggest real issue: Okcheon Guryongchon fields (likely communal hyanggyo-owned).
6. Final scene homage to famous film Downfall. Sado Seja once donned grandson (Jeongjo) fur hat pre-execution to appeal to father-king.