Chapter 211
Chapter 211
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 211
Chapter Title: The Turbulent Northern Expedition (1)
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Throughout the Joseon era, discussions on bolstering northern military strength had almost entirely focused on defensive measures.
It was only natural—no one had the actual forces to attack the Qing, nor any real intention of doing so. One could brush it off lightly like that.
But such half-hearted arguments wouldn't convince the court. Joseon people weren't fools; they could see through the "blind man bluffing at tiger" ploy easily enough.
The curse flowing down the spine of the Three Kings' bloodline was no light matter. Ever since King Hyeonjong, who'd chased the northern expedition like a hunted man to avoid his brother's fate, Joseon kings had to paper over the gap between reality and ideals with plausible logic.
In their deliberations, the Joseon kings seized an opportunity during the Three Feudatories Rebellion.
Not a chance for the northern expedition itself, but a chance to convincingly establish Joseon's strategic ideology.
Many contemporaries viewed the Qing's rule as temporary and superficial.
The Qing's official founding rationale was to avenge the Chongzhen Emperor, victim of rebel forces, and temporarily steward the Ming realm for three generations.
Thus, from the time of the Three Feudatories Rebellion, Joseon assessed that if the Qing were cornered by Han Chinese revolts, they'd abandon the Central Plains and retreat to Manchuria.
It was a Jurchen emergency repatriation protocol amid a shift in continental hegemony.
To modern eyes, who see the Qing as a Chinese dynasty, this might not click intuitively—but think of Britain withdrawing to the home isles after the American Revolution, and it becomes superficially understandable.
And the Qing and the Central Plains had even less in common than Britain and America at the time.
The problem lay with the Inner Mongolian tribes living along the northern retreat route, at the Qing's nape.
The Jurchens hadn't oppressed only the Han. In a massive rebellion, the Mongols wouldn't sit idle either.
Especially now, with most Inner Mongolian nobles (the Eight Banners) buried without recompense in Kyushu, and the protracted Dzungar War turning their horse and livestock trade from domestic economic booms into forced levies.
To prevent the Mongols from delivering the killing blow and canceling the Jurchens' homecoming midway—what to do?
The solution was simple: Turn Joseon into "Benelux."
Invade via Pyeongan Province, resupply through pillage, head straight to Hamgyong, exit via Hun-chun north of the Tumen River, and return to Ying'guoda.
One might scoff, "You think the Joseon army's that much of a joke?" But since it pretty much was, rebuttals fall flat.
From this perspective, diligently governing domestically and reinforcing border outposts could even qualify as a "northern expedition project."
That was the foundation of the strategy Kim Unhaeng dusted off.
In preliminary discussions at the king's pre-audience Border Defense Council, Kim Unhaeng presented the assembled officials with a more refined logic.
"From the Tang and Song to the Great Ming, once virtue waned, bandit hordes rose on all sides and the people turned away—no dynasty escaped turmoil. How much more so for those barbarian Qing? Thus, we must heed King Hyeonjong's profound foresight. We shan't rashly muster great armies first; we must await Heaven's mandate."
When Qing chaos threatens Joseon militarily, repel it decisively with space defense, then reclaim the ownerless Beijing.
The premise of this strategy: No preemptive strikes. Nailing that down was Kim Unhaeng's goal.
Not mere words. This would concentrate Joseon's fighting strength in Pyeongan Province—Kim Unhaeng's fief—for "defense."
Those with military power can start wars, but they can also stop them.
The court exhausts its treasury blocking Jurchen incursions, while Kim Unhaeng controls the timing and manner of the northern expedition as he wishes.
Even An Jeongbok and Chae Jeonggong, disappointed it wasn't a grand northward march with massive armies, had to concede.
But they were either low-ranking or retired. Incumbent high officials, with their realistic perspectives, saw great significance in Kim Unhaeng merely shifting his stance.
Method was secondary. What mattered was Kim Unhaeng himself steeling for war with the Qing if things went awry.
Left State Councillor Hong Bonghan's secret report to Crown Prince Yi Hwon as a loyal advisor spoke for them all.
"Kim Unhaeng is full of talent but has been criticized for neglecting righteousness due to shallow Confucian classics. Yet after Your Highness's edict prompted his northern introspection, righteous fervor seems to swell in his heart. With all under heaven united thus, Your Highness need worry no more."
The king appointed the suspiciously motivated Kim Unhaeng as acting Border Defense Councillor and concurrent Military Council Upper Seat. Days later, he announced a personal visit to the council for details.
For once, Kim Unhaeng threw himself into his official duties.
To him, the northern expedition was just a means—but a means isn't trivial. It was more like a savage steed that could throw him to his death if mishandled.
Kim Unhaeng gripped the reins tight. For his "true objective."
Needless to say, even Jeong Hu-gyeom and Princess Hwawan remained cautious for now.
Thus, during archery practice, Jeong Hu-gyeom said nothing Kim Unhaeng could use against him.
Voices decrying Western missionaries in the Eastern Palace weren't few. In the worst light, it was presumptuous criticism of the crown prince's conduct.
Of course, as Kim Unhaeng always exploited well, "judgments" in any era hinge more on the judge's mood than rational evidence.
But that's the issue: Jeong Hu-gyeom was the crown prince's maternal cousin.
If framed as a word in defense of his master (Crown Prince Yi Hwon), punishment becomes ambiguous.
The goal of Joseon-style smartphone-smashing penalties is to warn the master. Arrows end up aimed at Yi Hwon, who naturally dislikes advertising family discord over trifles—especially amid the northern expedition and his own path to the throne.
Neither Princess Hwawan nor Jeong Hu-gyeom sought the crown prince's or Kim Unhaeng's outright destruction. Their aim was power acquisition.
Had Kim Unhaeng done nothing but hold his seat, they'd have first eased out Crown Prince Yi Hwon to build strength. Only at "regency"—the final boss of succession—would they act boldly.
Currently, it was just the basics: Bringing Yi Hwon onto the political stage. No reason for young Jeong Hu-gyeom to go all-in yet.
But Kim Unhaeng wanted them to go all-in.
So he cast bait into the northern expedition sea to hook them.
Before bait, scatter crumbs.
First: Handing over Kaoru to formalize the alliance.
"Don't sulk. I'm Rank 2, the princess unpinned. Isn't this promotion?"
"My lord, though I'm Japanese, I now know the palace and shrines better than any rural port bumpkin. No need to tell me—I'll pretend delight."
"My civilizing finally took root. But no Japanese-style antics."
"I don't want to die either. But if the princess commands?"
"You seem confident in your looks. True, you're the handsomest after me."
"As a Confucian, you speak like Buddha. Folks at the snack shop say over tea that with you, youngsters think good looks and silver tongues—like Jeong Hu-gyeom or that Hong Gu-yeong crowd—guarantee success."
"Quiet. Without virtue, shells are worthless. Their hearts are vile from the start; a few more years, and it shows on their faces. Like ugly Westerners. Anyway, report anything at once."
"Understood."
Smooth, since we'd done it once at Namhansanseong.
But the second crumb met resistance. In a way, more outrageous than freeing slaves.
"I-hwan, you're nearly fifteen—man enough now, eh?"
"A marriage proposal?"
"No. Join the military."
In Joseon, manhood meant marriage, not army. Kim I-hwan tilted his head.
"Which garrison commander? Soldiers won't gladly follow a boy."
Kim Unhaeng grieved his son's privilege-blindness. How from his path of justice did this sprout? As a democratic republican reborn, he bore modern responsibility.
"Nonsense. What feats make you a general? Just be a military officer."
"Pardon? How can a yangban serve in the ranks?"
"Who says you're yangban? The title's mine, not yours. No exam passed—what've you done?"
"Father passed at near forty himself..."
"Hate it? Go to Gangnam Daeseong. Teacher Go will guide you."
"I'll go to the army."
For Kim I-hwan, army life wouldn't be harsh. Transcending class, he's beyond social penalties—like a chaebol heir in jail, comfy.
Gangnam Daeseong differed. Most students matched or outranked him.
And Go Bonghwan specialized in them—true to Kim Unhaeng's will, he'd burned boats on golden rivers to found it, drilling kids like a human-rights-abusing baseball boot camp.
"I'll slot you in Suwon Magistrate's guard. Brace for two-three years."
Kim I-hwan's sighing eyes sharpened.
"Suwon, you said?"
"Yes. Mind the Retired King's consort there."
No Royal Guard or Namhansanseong meant planting a spy by King Sukjong's—Yi Geum's—side.
Sure, the Retired King mattered politically. But sending a son to babysit a powerless, well-watched ex-sovereign made little sense.
In Joseon, father-son were one body, literally.
No "Ancestors sold country for connections and wealth; we're separate personalities, so spare us the blame and loot!"—21st-century pro-Japanese spawn logic didn't fly.
Inheriting life and assets from ancestors—how dodge their crimes? Like keeping stolen loot without thief charges?
Even kings were bound. The Three Kings' bloodline hated northern expeditions too.
Merit passed down too. Rewarding heirs rewarded the self. Many gladly died guaranteeing offspring's glory.
So if Kim Unhaeng wanted his son military, better a northern expedition staff role: shining merit, fine pretext, safe experience.
Least self-sacrificing Kim Unhaeng wouldn't hide his son in shadows—for son was self.
Yet shoving him in Suwon? One answer.
Suwon mattered more than the northern expedition.
Kim I-hwan replied.
"I grasp Father's will fully. As heir to a house of national grace, how not offer my body for the realm?"
"My son indeed. I entrust it to you. All mine shall be yours anon."
"Entrust it."
Father and son shared a thought, eyeing each other.
What an annoyingly smug grin.
Setting aside our private intent—known only to I-hwan and me—for the surface, stationing him rearward would first please the court.
This Jeong Hu-gyeom mess taught me something.
While I was away from Seoul, petty jealous haters of loyalty sprouted like mold. Vermin like Jin Hoe cozying to the king spelled trouble.
Not betrayal—more realistically, the king wasting limited political resources blocking them.
Me, returning to Pyeongan, leaving a son "hostage" silences "Yi Gwal" whispers. Secondary gain, but juicy.
Why need a hostage?
Because I'm about to amass forces to upend the realm.
The upcoming "Royal Audience: Joseon Military Committee" must cement that. As I sorted materials at home for it, Jangbok entered.
"My lord, a guest at the annex."
Felt like a scam call mid ranked game. I didn't hide irritation.
"Tell 'em no audience—the king's soon."
"True, but same clan, and awfully insistent..."
I looked up.
"What'd he bribe you?"
Jangbok flinched. I clicked my tongue.
Over-AI flexibility's pitfalls. "Mechanical" often means frustrating, but machines have strengths—and limits.
I seized Jangbok's bribes: rice cakes, brown sugar lump, half-bleached silk bolt. Despite schedule, I decided to meet him.
Not for lavish gifts to a slave—Jangbok said "same house."
Family aids family. And per Jangbok's tears, from Jang-dong Kim clan, Haeng's branch. Snub it, I take heat.
"Fine. What's his courtesy name? Whose scion?"
"No courtesy heard, but great-grandson of former County Magistrate Kim Baekbong."
My genealogy flipped. Baekbong's pen name; magistrate namesake was middling bureaucrat Kim Su-bin of Injo's reign.
Quite distant kin. Explains why unknown despite Haeng branch. A generation below that Kim Si-bal who jailed Gyeongjong's envoy.
Hmm. What post suits? With that cash, low clerk's unappealing.
Wrong.
The Haeng clansman was familiar—from here? No, Korea proper.
A disheveled old mid-rank in plain robes—looking poorer than his commoner aide—warmly clasped my hand.
"This one's Kim Yakhaeng. Distant brother to Your Lordship—sorry for late greetings."
Joseon's first official calendar-reform advocate.
The man whose single memorial to Yeongjo induced policy paralysis from shock and fear.
First "triple prostrations in exile."
Kim Yakhaeng.
Kim Yakhaeng's Chongzhen-wailing tirade was, in a way, nostalgic.
"The Qing now can't fend outer bandits nor retain inner virtue amid mounting resentment—this is our chance to gloriously wash away humiliation. I know Your Lordship harbors such grand intent aiding the throne. To rally all people, mustn't we retroactively grant imperial titles to the Five Shrines (from Injo down), hold suburban sacrifices at Nammun, and perform the Eight Rows Dance?"
Don't make me laugh. Six Rows is zombie ritual fodder, fine—but Eight Rows? Even idol groups won't cut it.
I curbed the urge to drag him out, closed my eyes. Less related than strangers, but still Hang kin.
"Zhou rites passed only to Lu, yet 'Lu's sacrifices are not rite' [Rites Record]. Not for hasty talk."
Kim Yakhaeng flailed in shock. What? Shocked I'm northern-skeptic? Not that I know Rites?
Then his commoner aide spoke.
"That Rites line means Duke of Zhou, as mere minister, denying Yin-Song heirs. Versus Jurchen dogs like the Xianyun—how lack our eastern mandate?"
Gifts' colors sparked bad vibes with Jangbok.
Instead of yelling at a commoner interjecting, I tensed, asked.
"Your name?"
"Unworthy before Your Lordship—call me Park-ga."
Author's Notes
1. Shakyamuni had disciple-cousin Ananda, so handsome women joined the order to see him, even abducted or bewitched him. Bare-shouldered robes banned for him alone. Buddha admitted Ananda was "handsomest after me."
2. Kim Unhaeng burning boats at Gangnam's golden rivers to trap students at Daeseong founding was in Ch. 39, "A Certain Gangnam Academy City" part.