Chapter 175
Chapter 175
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 175
Chapter Title: Knowing is Power (2)
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Knowing is power.
James Flint, interpreter for the East India Company, also wanted to "know" Joseon.
That was why he had contacted the Greenwich Observatory, which seemed utterly unrelated to military matters.
The Greenwich Observatory was currently participating in what could be called the world's first "international academic collaborative project."
In three years, in 1761, and eleven years from now, in 1769, Europeans would gather from around the world to observe the "transit of Venus across the sun," a phenomenon that Edmund Halley had warned was a "once-in-a-century opportunity."
By accurately observing this event from sufficiently distant locations—for example, from the Far East and Europe, or America and India—triangulation would reveal the distance between the Earth and the sun.
The relative positions of other planets in the solar system were already well-known. Success in this observation would establish the absolute value of one astronomical unit (AU), the Earth-sun distance, allowing precise mapping of planetary positions and even the scale of the entire solar system.
Not even the Seven Years' War sweeping the world could dampen the scholars' resolve.
Preparations for the Venus transit had been underway for half a century. It could not be canceled now due to a monarch's whims or lust for conquest.
Of course, Kim Unhaeng would dismiss it without hesitation as utterly useless, worth less than a pile of dog shit.
Did this nonsense contribute to farming? Make money? Strengthen the army, even?
But it was precisely such "useless" pursuits that enabled Europeans to conquer the world.
Whether directly linked to power or violence or not, knowledge is power.
The British East India Company operated a highly decentralized system.
Employees exercised significant local discretion not only in commerce but also in warfare, territorial division, and treaties. The board of directors in the home country was too distant to micromanage East Asia.
In that context, James Flint's letter was not an egregious overstep.
Flint had decided to summon a naval officer to the East eight years earlier than he would have for the second Venus transit in 1769.
The name appended at the end belonged to James Cook, then a promising young naval master in Britain—little more than that.
Flint had met him by chance years earlier during a visit to England. Strictly speaking, Cook was no combatant. But like Flint himself, an exceptional figure, Flint recognized his talent.
Captain Cook's meteoric rise from a lowly laborer's son stemmed not from tactical brilliance or indomitable courage, but military virtues alone.
When forced to choose between a valiant elite unit and a precise battlefield map, great commanders invariably chose the latter.
Cook's gifts lay in genius navigation and cartography. By the time this letter arrived, he would be Britain's mapmaker, securing victory at Quebec with naught but telescope and tripod.
Exactly the skill Flint needed to know Joseon.
As chief secretary, I judged it best if the crown prince remained ignorant of the British arrival.
We absolutely could not create the scenario he had mentioned earlier: "a Western nation proposing trade by ship."
I would then have to cooperate with trade as I had boasted, but even a hint of that would instantly jeopardize the prince's imminent throne. His Majesty was deeply displeased with Westerners, and I agreed.
Thus, I refrained from speaking English before the British.
Dutch could be plausibly linked to Park Yeon's descendants, but there was no such pretext for Britons who had never set foot in Joseon.
After pretending to exchange a few words in Dutch, I turned to Chae Je-gong.
"Their language is unintelligible, but they seem to be from England."
Chae Je-gong, as Left Vice Minister of the Board of War, oversaw military affairs. Recently, the prince had detached the Byulgi Corps—now akin to his personal guard—from the Military Armory and Royal Training Guard, placing it under Chae's secretarial oversight. The prince's military trust in him was, regrettably, considerable.
So I had given Chae accurate information when he sought counsel, yet the insolent man now eyed me suspiciously.
"How do you know?"
"England has bred pirates for generations, far more villainous than the Red-Haired. Their looks alone betray them. See that vicious glint and murderous aura between their brows?"
"That seems more from the thrashing by our marines en route."
"Quiet. Anyway, I've heard they come to China for tea and porcelain. But that means paying silver one-way, which doesn't balance, and their barbarian lands lack worthwhile goods. So they peddle maddening aphrodisiacs in secret."
Chae pondered briefly.
"Ah, I get it. I've heard China recently banned something called afyon—opium, that is. But that was probably the Red-Hairs peddling it."
Ugh, opium means British. Such distortions of information were common in premodern times. Too tedious to explain, I glossed over it.
"Similar scum. All Southern Barbarians, no? Like the Old Tortoise Gull and Tata Grand King."
Chae fixed me with an indescribable look before concluding.
"...If Chun-sik's right, enlisting them in the Byulgi Corps is impossible. We'll imprison them for now."
As usual with Kim Unhaeng's ventures, Chae Je-gong was right this time, and I was wrong.
Surprisingly, the British were not yet opium peddlers. The Dutch first brought it to China, prompting the 1729 ban. The EIC was actually closer to cracking down on domestic small traders' smuggling.
But they would become so soon.
In 1757—just last year—acquiring Bengal's rule plunged the EIC into fiscal crisis.
Governing breeds such woes when you're a trading company. This financial strain also fueled Flint's ability to raise 1,000 pounds—expansion amid distress.
Tea imports from China fell laughably short. Despite EIC's Asian trade monopoly, they supplied only 30-40% of Britain's tea demand.
The rest came via British small traders' smuggling. Expecting them to obey laws was folly from the start.
Moreover, official EIC trade incurred British government tariffs.
Amid the Seven Years' War, propping up inept Prussia meant Britain's tea tax rivaled Joseon's: effectively "100% duty."
No wonder opium tempted the EIC.
Thus, the "21st-century scholar's knowledge" I squeezed out for the prince held true across futures entire—not lies.
"—They befuddle people with that poison, then wage war when banned, demanding to sell it. In India, to raise cotton prices, they even severed weavers' fingers. Utterly unfit for amicable trade."
Chae, knowing this, had no choice but to report to the prince. My "heard from the Dutch"-packaged Western knowledge poured forth unfiltered.
The prince, who had hoped for trade upon hearing of the British ship, soured. Why did only pirates keep coming?
"What is India?"
Fearing I'd urge slaughtering the British and disbanding the Byulgi Corps, Chae answered instead.
"It's the neighbor of Tianzhu, whence monk Xuanzang fetched scriptures in Tang times—also called Hindustan."
This truly came from the Dutch. And Chae whispered info to please the martial prince.
"Hindustan's soil brims with saltpeter like sand. It sprouts white as winter frost if left alone; they just scoop and use it. That's why Western cannons excel—lavish saltpeter and mastery."
"Truly? Our own New Method for Saltpeter Production allows roadside soil now, not just hearth scrapings, yet it's still scarce and laborious. Enviable... marvelous."
I retorted in Gwanu-i's glare at Jin-hoe.
"Left Vice Minister, what idle legend do you peddle? Your Highness, such nonsense can't be true. If so, Journey to the West's flaming mountains, three-headed goblins, talking trees and beasts would all be fact."
Chae couldn't retort: "Your British atrocities stem from Dutch hearsay too—why's yours fact and mine agitation?"
Since defying Chief Scribe Kim Unhaeng as mere vice minister, his few Southerners' appointments from the exams kept delaying mysteriously.
Silencing Chae, I intoned gravely.
"Rumors aside, they've defied the emperor's ban on sea trade, venturing beyond Guangzhou. Behead them all and send to the emperor. We can't afford his suspicion now."
Deputy Commissioner to Joseon was a provisional post.
Like all temps, prolongation bred ills. Misreading Qing signals might rally domestic rebels to Namhansanseong.
The throne must come sooner. For prince and Kim Unhaeng alike.
Even a martial enthusiast prince preferred kingship. He pondered, then compromised.
"We petitioned Jeju trade citing Red-Hair pirates. Claim we captured one this time. But to avoid hassle, forge docs saying the pirates died of weakness."
A fair middle ground for both. We sighed in relief and withdrew.
The prince reviewed Chae's report on collating Dutch arms procured haphazardly.
Despite my constant remonstrances, the thrill of forbidden fruit accelerated him.
As Park Mun-su exploited my policies for war supply woes, the prince eyed resolving Joseon's powder shortage. Exclusionist Kim Unhaeng felt alone.
And the prince held off reporting the British breach to the emperor for more than powder reasons.
As orthodox blood successor, over-relying on Qing risked him.
He grasped basic diplomacy: weak states thrive on multiple cards.
Thus, regrettably for me, no need to rashly sever British channels.
That call could wait post-coronation.
When melancholy and self-loathing grip one, even trifling solace empowers.
For Qianlong Emperor, Joseon's minor pirate suppression news was just that.
British barked at haijin, Dutch slyly backed rebels, Tibet spurned past grace and rose—amid universal insolence, only Joseon proved loyal.
Its prior insolence magnified the感動. Like a fugitive servant rushing back to fight for the master's peril.
Qianlong wished to bind Joseon with favor.
As petitioned, he mercifully allowed the "senile, unfit king's" abdication, granting the crown prince—already "proven worthy"—Joseon's royal seal.
The cost? Mere gold ink. Pennies against vanishing western war funds.
In fall 1758, Crown Prince Yi Hwon became Joseon's 22nd king.
Mid-joy drafting the abdication edict (Yeongjo need only seal) and accession writ, the status window appeared.
[Mandatory Objective: Make Crown Prince Yi Hwon King of Joseon. He must be alive; posthumous ascension or temple name invalid. Deadline: Imo Year (1762).]
I grinned smugly.
True reward for zealous isolation. Finally cleared this grueling fifth quest.
Tuition was three, right? Five more payments, and this demonic game ends.
But something felt off.
Quest cleared, yet no tuition update or new skill.
No need for deduction. Post-gull service mode engaged, the status window voice kindly clarified.
These insurance scums. Desperate for my soul any way.
The Office of Royal Decrees was empty. Glancing around, I whispered low.
"So death or deposition means failure?"
"No guarantee you won't cheat by superkilling the prince?"
Don't ask so sincerely? Scary.
"Hm. No other petty fine print?"
Ridiculous.
Even card sharps explain rules to marks. Illusion of informedness is cons' basics. Think I'm my bro?
But I'll win. Your fidgeting signals my victory.
Kim Unhaeng's optimism seemed sound short-term.
Flint-summoned James Cook's ship would arrive around the 1761 transit—three years off. Barring upheavals, Europe's war drags to 1762.
Qing troops, supply lines shattered by Qianlong's Tianshan devastation, staggered to Kazakh and got swallowed by nature. Exhausted, they're hammered by southern Tibetan rebels wielding tantric fury—insurrection endures.
External threats to Joseon negligible awhile.
The issue? Come 1762, when all settles, my accumulated karma might unleash cataclysm.
Joseon's ongoing changes were harbingers.
Author's Note
1. Skipped in-story for pacing, but "knowledge is power" illuminates the counterfactual crux: "Why did Europe conquer the world?"
Not via study zeal or tech from learning, but epistemic humility: "We know that we don't know."
Sapiens explains aptly: Yongle fleets thought they knew East Africa/India, so skimped exploration. Britain, via 60-year exhaustive India Survey (even irrelevant trivia), "knew India better than Indians"—enabling rule.
2. Venus observers faced real perils. Flint's Sumatra mention nods French raids on British ships.
3. James Cook, charting unknown South Pacific to "end Age of Discovery," was a master (navigator-in-chief, not combat) newly qualified as captain by 1758.
Quebec: Seven Years' War's French-Indian phase, Abraham Plains. Cook's precise river maps aided British ambush.
Canon: Skipped 1761 for Newfoundland charts, fame-building; joined 1769 Tahiti. Now altered.
4. New Method for Saltpeter Production: Early 18thC interpreter Kim Ji-nam's life-risked Chinese formula. Roadside soil yielded mass quantities of superior quality vs. prior hearth-scraping. Still no match for scoopable Indian deposits.