Chapter 165
Chapter 165
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 165
Chapter Title: 165. Chief of Staff Kim Chunsik (1)
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Following the words of his protector—his own son—Yi Geum, who was already in poor health, had fallen into a dire state where blood poured from his ears all because of those "traitors" who had kidnapped a sick old man from the mountains to steal his identity.
Thus, just as he had done since the age of four, directing all major and minor state affairs to the Crown Prince was the natural course of action.
Now, with military command and even the personnel authority over high-ranking officials transferred to the Crown Prince, all formal powers of state rested officially in his hands. Yi Geum was left with little more than ceremonial duties.
The Crown Prince's first personnel move leveraging this authority was, of course, not appointing Kim Unhaeng as Chief State Councillor.
"I appoint former Minister of War Hong Gyehui as Gwangju Magistrate. You are to remain here, tend to the temporary palace, and oversee the reconstruction of Namhansanseong Fortress."
It couldn't exactly be called a demotion. The Gwangju Magistrate—originally also held by the Royal Secretary—held the rank of junior second grade, higher than the Gyeonggi Province Governor.
Of course, it wasn't superior to the same junior second-grade capital post of Minister, but as the defender of the capital's southern approaches, it was a vital position no one could assume without the king's utmost trust.
Moreover, this signaled that he would not overturn Yi Geum's final appointment of Hong Gyehui as Minister of War after his dismissal.
Everyone acknowledged the Crown Prince faction's new government's catchphrase: "Filial Piety Above All."
Hong Gyehui, whose position as a surrenderer had been awkward, was grateful for the chance to retreat to a provincial governorship and restore his reputation at leisure.
The Crown Prince's blazing filial devotion burned without a hint of resentment.
The Crown Prince had the Chun-sik armor brought in, something Yi Geum had stubbornly refused even to the Dowager Queen's dying wish.
The Chun-sik armor was easy enough to use alone. Before anyone could stop him, the Crown Prince turned the handle, bringing his hand near the discharged electric sparks and frowning.
"Hm! This device is remarkably potent. It would be fitting to offer it to Grand Royal Father."
Special Inspector Yi Ilje and Minister of Rites Jeong Hwi-ryang were greatly startled.
"Why must Your Highness test it personally?"
Unlike Kim Unhaeng, who had been watching anxiously from the side, the Crown Prince did not invoke the tale of King Taejong of Song self-administering moxibustion to share his brother Emperor Taizu's suffering.
He didn't know it. It was fortunate that it didn't evoke memories of "that guy" who entered his brother's sickroom with an axe and emerged with the throne.
Instead, the Crown Prince offered words more helpful to Kim Unhaeng.
"How could a son not share his parents' pain? I've tested it myself now, and as the rumors in the capital say, this device truly seems to replenish one's vital energies. The royal physicians must not slack in their prescriptions and acupuncture."
Royal Physician Kim Su-gyu was all too happy to oblige.
Kim Su-gyu had not forgotten how Yi Geum had mocked his own disability for political gain.
This task aligned perfectly with his professional duty to heal the king while sating his thirst for revenge.
After all, as the king himself said, he "couldn't hear a thing anyway." Whatever screams the electric shocks elicited, Kim Su-gyu's treatments would continue until medical necessity was fulfilled.
The Crown Prince hadn't done this just to watch his father suffer.
The Crown Prince, Kim Su-gyu, and everyone else genuinely acknowledged the Chun-sik armor's medical benefits. A bit of pain was understandable—like how good medicine tastes bitter.
The effect Kim Unhaeng and the Crown Prince aimed for was the stark contrast between "the king who blocked the Chun-sik armor his dying mother desperately sought" and "the son who, rather than retaliate in kind, instead showed utmost filial piety" (Kim Unhaeng also aimed for some product placement for the Chun-sik armor).
The strategy succeeded brilliantly in its simplicity. All the assembled officials praised the Crown Prince's filial piety as qualitatively different from his father's.
The one whose conscience should have stung was, if he had any, Kim Unhaeng alone.
But Kim Unhaeng had no such conscience.
In the end, not a single person felt any pangs of guilt.
By the time the Crown Prince officially lifted the alcohol ban, declaring he understood "the king's intent in issuing the edict," no one was thinking of the king anymore.
By the time they reached Seoul, half the army was drunk. Even Kim Seong-eung couldn't punish them all and settled for flogging a few ringleaders.
Calling it a lapse in discipline is a modern perspective.
Better to say they had successfully turned what could have been war into a festival.
Not forcing Hong Gyehui back as Minister of War, writing letters to Left State Councillor Jo Jae-ho and former Chief State Councillor Park Mun-su urging their return to court—these all demonstrated the Crown Prince's governing will (though he wasn't dead yet).
However, what the Crown Prince could do directly ended there.
Without a steward, even a great household with dozens of servants couldn't plant a single rice paddy.
To sort out the remaining matters, reorganizing the Office of Diplomatic Correspondence—the mouthpiece and secretariat dubbed the "Voice of the King"—was the top priority. In some ways, it was more crucial than appointing prime ministers or ministers.
The current Senior Secretary Kim Han-cheol was still in place.
But he had followed Yeongjo to Namhansanseong Fortress, and in the current climate, his somewhat awkward old hardliner Noron stance was an issue.
Especially since he had poor relations with Won Gyeong-ha, the Noron leader of the reconciliation faction. Though Won had retired, his son Won In-son was close to Kim Unhaeng. Ousting Kim Han-cheol as Senior Secretary was inevitable.
Likewise, the successor Senior Secretary went to the expected figure.
"I appoint Propaganda Officer Kim Unhaeng as Senior Secretary. As per precedent, he shall concurrently hold the roles of Jehak of the Royal Academy and Director of the Office of Royal Seals."
One ought to object.
Kim Unhaeng had no prior experience in other secretarial posts, was only twenty-seven, and it had been a mere eight years since he passed the civil service exam.
Even a top graduate would need nearly twenty years of steady promotions to reach Senior Secretary—assuming no exiles or dismissals along the way.
Yet Minister of Personnel Jeong Hwi-ryang, who should lead in upholding court discipline, remained passive.
Right State Councillor Kim Sang-ro was probably still jailed for treason.
The top candidate for Right State Councillor was Jeong Hwi-ryang himself (Hong Bong-han wasn't exactly blameless, but still minister-rank). Everyone knew who had painted Kim Sang-ro as a smallpox carrier.
If he didn't want the post, he could object—but then he wouldn't have stuck by Yi Geum to the end. Jeong Hwi-ryang wasn't averse to the prime minister's seat.
With the Noron heavyweights of the era being swept away, it was time for Jeong Hwi-ryang's clan—linked to the royal family through Princess Hwan— to rise again.
So Jeong Hwi-ryang stayed silent.
And with the Minister of Personnel silent, no one else spoke up.
Yi Geum had frequently upended promotion norms and seniority anyway, so special appointments to Senior Secretary weren't unprecedented.
The only one objecting was Kim Unhaeng himself.
"This unworthy subject, at such a young age, taking on the heavy duty of managing royal affairs would surely invite gossip among the gentlemen of the court. How could I tarnish Your Highness's sage virtue? Now that the traitors are quelled, I humbly wish to resign my post and return home to quietly pursue my studies."
"The only true words in that memorial are the two characters for 'unworthy'!" So lamented Park Mun-su.
But Kim Unhaeng wasn't entirely insincere.
He did quietly read books back home. It wasn't his fault that his hometown was Jang-dong in the capital, a stroll from the palace.
In any case, the Crown Prince—a fellow easterner—responded swiftly.
"In olden times, Prince Gwigung (Sejong's grandson Yi Jun) quelled a rebellion and ascended to the premiership at twenty-seven. Kim Unhaeng achieved the same feat and even saved the royal heir's life, so his merits outweigh even those of royal kin. Any who speak against it deserve suspicion of ill intent."
The officials, Jeong Hwi-ryang and below, instantly sensed their misjudgment. Silence alone wouldn't suffice.
Soon, memorials poured in proclaiming Kim Unhaeng was born to be Senior Secretary. The Crown Prince reaffirmed his command on that basis.
"The court's loyal subjects unanimously recommend Kim Unhaeng. Though the elders' wisdom and virtue weigh heavy, as a peer in age, my expectations differ—refuse no longer. As per precedent, I add the rank of Ga-seon Da-bu (junior second grade) to Kim Unhaeng; execute my command without delay."
Se-hwa had returned to the capital with her household by then.
The Crown Prince surely knew of the merits her family had earned in Cheonan.
Thus, fitting her Ga-seon Da-bu husband, Se-hwa became a Jeongbu-in (wife of a second-grade official). Just one step from Jeonggyeongbu-in.
Se-hwa approached Kim Unhaeng, standing on the porch, pretending not to have heard the decree.
She dressed him in the crimson robes of a capital official.
It was like Lady Min handing a sword to Joseon King Taejong or Lady Yu donning armor on Goryeo King Taejo—done on the porch, not indoors, so all the servants and guests of the Hall of Diligent Service could see.
Then, whispering softly behind his shoulder:
"This is just the beginning."
And so it was. Securing the Senior Secretary post—essential for any path to the premiership from capital official—the road ahead glowed green.
One heart, one body. Kim Unhaeng took after Yi Bang-won or Wang Geon. He sighed so loudly even Jangbok outside could hear, then stepped out.
Why the fuss over a junior third-grade capital post? Because the Senior Secretary transcended typical junior third-grade roles.
There's a reason junior second-grade ranks are standard for it. Just think: is the presidential chief of staff truly equal to cabinet ministers by law?
Moreover, as Director of the Office of Royal Seals, the Senior Secretary shares security duties; as personnel secretariat, he influences appointments; as deputy of the Royal Pharmacy, he monitors the king's health. It'd be weirder if such a post lacked power.
Of course, the Senior Secretary serves the king, not the Crown Prince.
But why does the king need the Office of Diplomatic Correspondence now?
Or conversely: with the Crown Prince effectively handling all state affairs, could he leave it aside?
A dilemma born from the total lack of precedents for true regency in Joseon.
Unprecedented matters are usually headaches, but this one was welcome.
From another angle: doesn't it mean I can control—er, assist—both king and Crown Prince?
Double the glory; how could it not be?
In the Office of Diplomatic Correspondence's main hall next to Jeong-ing Hall, I scanned my new subordinates' faces.
The one I liked least was Chae Je-gong, newly promoted to Junior Secretary (War Division).
Apparently, the Crown Prince valued his artillery unit's performance at Namhansanseong and selected him.
I'd told the Crown Prince so often to cultivate civil virtues, yet he wouldn't listen.
Not like me, proving loyalty on the front lines—now any gunmaker gets parachuted into capital posts? Who's going to study literature then? Next, they'll make artisans ministers?
The parachute Junior Secretary Chae Je-gong smiled affably.
"Our ranks as secretaries may be equal, but the Capital Chief oversees all. We went on undercover inspections together before, and now this—quite the twist. Let's get along well."
Even this nitpicker brought braised beef as a courtesy gift; he'd clearly heard something from the Crown Prince.
Sigh. Can't boot him out now.
I grumbled as I received the name registers, keys, and such, then inspected the steward's duty quarters, the historians' quarters (secretaries usually doubled as historians), and the record vault. Hmm. Feels like my county magistrate days.
I turned to Junior Secretary Han Gwang-hoe.
"With His Majesty recently away from the capital, any gaps in the steward's daily logs?"
Han Gwang-hoe, another top graduate like me, looked uncomfortable.
But what could he do? You're the senior-most secretary who followed Yeongjo.
Who told you to curry favor with Yeongjo via reconciliation essays for promotion? Look—even Chae Je-gong brought braised beef. I can spot a dead-end career a mile away.
"The secretaries preserved them without sparing our lives amid the chaos; no omissions."
"Admirable rigor in official duties. You must strive to maintain order."
Oh ho. Right—calling our Justice Corps' cause "chaos." This Han Myeong-hoe knockoff with the similar name.
I decided to vent my frustration with Chae Je-gong on him.
His old boss, former Senior Secretary Kim Han-cheol, was equally clueless.
Writing rubbish like "the Crown Prince led the army in rebellion" or "the Training Command killed the Capital Guard commander"—fuel for future historians' misunderstandings.
Such false history must not stand.
As that famed E.H. Carr, whom most history departments mention first year, said: "History is an unending dialogue between the past and the present."
History isn't mere facts. No objective history exists detached from interpretation and evaluation.
In other words, reshaping the past to fit the present is history's true essence.
So I chose to "dialogue with the past."
That evening, I entered the record vault and pulled out three years' worth of Office of Diplomatic Correspondence logs.
Took them home and burned them.
These logs, with the official records, form the Annals' backbone.
Thus, like official records, they're not for casual viewing. Vault access is strictly limited.
But does anyone follow that?
Officials constantly check them for work—disappearances are the least of it. Servants even sneak in to steal and sell scraps. No skill needed.
Anyway, post-rebellion logs to now were all penned under Yeongjo. No loss burning such fabrications.
Yeongjo himself endured an "unexpected fire" and rebuilt 130 years of logs from scratch.
Data existed from other offices, but content shrank to a third.
Was it truly from loss, or contents that "had to be cut"? Who knows.
I brought all to avoid suspicion from just burning the steward logs—plenty of paper.
Feeling a Joseon twinge of waste, I soon found its use.
Soon, Yi Hwan-i poked his head in.
"Father. Father. Something smells delicious—what is it?"
"You haven't devoted yourself to studies. How could worldly food tempt one immersed in books?"
Regrettably, unlike Prince Sado, Yi Hwan-i didn't shrink from his father's rebuke.
"People say my studies rival yours."
On condition of listing those daring to compare a seven-year-old to my scholarship, Yi Hwan-i got to munch roasted sweet potatoes beside me.
"But what is this? Like a potato, but different. I've never tasted anything so sweet."
What "lifetime" for a kid his age? I peeled one and said,
"From the south, they say. Don't eat it all—share with your mother. And some for Su-yeong."
"Yes."
Answers fine, but watching: he eats half before going ten paces. His future really worries me.
The Liberation Unit's "imported from Japan" sweet potatoes would, in original history, arrive via the 1763 communications envoy.
Thus, Kim Unhaeng had advanced their introduction to Joseon by decades.
But knowing only vaguely "post-Imjin sweet potatoes and tobacco from Japan," he never thought to tout the agricultural merit. Assumed they existed already, like tobacco.
No reason for Kim Unhaeng to probe famine crop status deeply, and with slow info and poor tech, southern cultivation spread only mid-19th century, half a century post-intro. Understandable ignorance.
The initial batch from Gyeongsang Left Naval Commander Han Jung-ryang was all devoured by Kim Unhaeng's family—no promo evidence. Good thing the Four Directions Army deemed it army fodder and started growing it south.
Even knowing, sweet potatoes would've been low priority in his ventures.
He had far more pressing matters.
Falsifying duty rosters, Kim Unhaeng pinned the fire on Junior Secretary Han Gwang-hoe and dismissed him. Then dumped log reconstruction on the remaining secretaries and stewards.
As Senior Secretary, he formally paid court to the Crown Prince.
The Crown Prince consoled Kim Unhaeng.
"I've heard you've labored greatly to restore order in the bureau lately."
"Overpraise, Your Highness. Though this subject has no ambition for office, with stern command given, how could I refuse to exhaust my steed for its final journey?"
"I entrust my affairs solely to you, so never abandon me for the wilds again. With ample undercover experience, I trust you'll sort wheat from chaff well."
After this exchange, Kim Unhaeng broached serious business.
"Forgive my presumption, but I must urgently discuss the Qing matter."
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1. The Crown Prince's pain-sharing was something Yeongjo actually did in the second month of that year during the Dowager's illness.
Back then, it was moxibustion like Song Taejong. Yeongjo promoted his filial piety by citing Jo Gwang-yun and Jo Gwang-ui tales, even though suspicions about Jo Gwang-ui's throne succession were widespread—suggesting overall character assessments differ from individual beautiful anecdotes.
2. Unlike Kim Unhaeng's treatment, Kim Han-cheol decried factionalism but hated the reconciliation faction. Seems he pushed Noron dictatorship (both aimed to end factions anyway). He impeached Won Gyeong-ha and got dismissed.
3. Contrary to Kim Unhaeng's view, Han Gwang-hoe was more active reconciliation faction than sycophant (same surname origin as Han Myeong-hoe). Yeongjo truly favored him with repeated special promotions.
4. Steward daily logs, foundational to Office logs, were frequently lost, often taken home by handlers. Thus, even today with early Joseon logs gone, bits like Kim Jong-jik's survive.