Chapter 22
Chapter 22
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 22
Chapter Title: 10. Love and Peace (3)
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Using the excuse that I had to report to the court, I ordered them to keep quiet about the tiger hunt.
Yeah, right, as if that would work. I know better. At least I tried.
The rumors had already spread across the entire Hoseo region in no time. Seoul was only a matter of time.
The common active skill of Joseon's underlings, 'I saw it clear as day with my own two eyes,' was just too powerful.
Joseon's personnel system wasn't some Goryeo relic, so I wouldn't suddenly become a general or anything, but if Yeongjo or Jeongjo got wind of it, they might just order some random official to take a shot at me.
Jeongjo was famous for that kind of thing, but after coming to Joseon, I saw that Yeongjo did it pretty often too.
I could fool the crown prince when it was just the two of us shooting, but there was no way every military officer at that event had eyes like Hai Taishi. If I faked shooting poorly and even one of them noticed, it was game over.
The scariest possibility was Sado Seja making me show my skills and then shoving me into something like the Crown Prince's Guard Office.
The Guard Office itself wasn't bad.
Since the crown prince would likely update to king and become something like the prestigious Propaganda Officer, it was usually a great opportunity.
But the crown prince doesn't update. The king deletes the app and switches to the grandson app. If things go wrong, I could get deleted right along with him like some leftover cookie data.
So what should I do?
Other ministers need to step in and block it. They have to sing the chorus of "You can't waste a literary exam top graduate on archery skills alone!"
For that, I'd need some money. Not bribes, mind you—just labor fees for the sympathy choir.
So I was counting the days, waiting for that tiger skin I'd sent up earlier to come back.
They'd probably return it.
Usually, they gave silk, cotton, or rice to tiger hunters as rewards, but that was mostly for professional hunters.
I was an active official who'd caught a tiger—and a civilian official at that, not a military one. A rare case indeed.
Naturally, I couldn't be treated the same as the common folk. They'd want to give me special treatment befitting my status and achievement, publicizing it widely to encourage others.
Like when Yeongjo returned a memorial from someone asking for a post and then granted it anyway.
Wise rulers respect customs. And they bestow as much grace as possible without burdening themselves.
In the end, it pays off. Yeongjo might have had a personality meltdown, but his brain was still intact. I believe that.
And luckily, there was no drought this year.
In Joseon, during droughts, they officially cut off tiger heads, put them in a big vat, and prayed for rain. What a waste.
So, at what timing should I offer it to whom to smooth things over with Sado Seja's faction?
I was pondering that when the Governor summoned me.
What now? Was the tribute short?
Hong Gyehui looked extremely pleased.
Probably because of the gifts I brought, but he wasn't crass enough to say it outright.
"Your actions as a local official—cultivating virtue and benevolence on one hand while demonstrating courage to protect His Highness's people on the other—have greatly impressed the throne. Don't think of the magistrate as just someone who handles documents; leading the militia is an important duty too."
"I'm embarrassed; it's just exaggerated rumor."
Come on, hand over the skin now. The king praised me and ordered it returned, right?
But Hong Gyehui didn't give me the skin. He just kept talking about his niece.
Wait, am I visiting relatives for a holiday? Why does this come up everywhere I go?
And sure, thanks for the help, but you're really not the one. You're basically the guy who locked Sado Seja in the rice chest.
Know who became king after that? His son. The one who watched his dad get that treatment right in front of him as a kid, got PTSD, and turned into a sadistic tyrant named Jeongjo.
I'd rather marry Hong Daeyong's cousin sister or whoever. I'll tutor her through the exams myself.
So I just listened quietly.
No need to make excuses about why not.
The great thing about reul-ja yu-gu-mu-eon in some ways is that when superiors talk, staying silent is the default. My lack of response isn't seen as agreement. No need to awkwardly deflect.
Hong Gyehui didn't seem to care about my reaction either. The talk naturally shifted to everyday chatter.
Then, biding my time, I brought up my business.
"By the way, you mentioned the tribute earlier. I hope the long journey didn't spoil its quality and anger you."
I've said enough—now spill where the skin is. You didn't eat it, did you?
"Oh, that? No worries. Even I could tell it was top quality. It arrived safely, and the king was quite pleased."
Wait, why was the king so happy? Something's off. Shouldn't it come back to me?
"This isn't for public ears, but I heard from friends in Seoul that the king said, 'Not only did he eliminate a great beast, enemy of the nation, but this rustic from the countryside offered a treasure to boost my old age's yang energy—a most auspicious wish for longevity.' Ha ha. I had no post at your age, and here you are, already earning the king's favor. Impressive."
Something flashed through my mind at that moment.
Like many middle-aged couples, the king and queen consort weren't on good terms.
If it were just bad, fine—but the problem was her husband being Yeongjo.
Within his family, once Yeongjo disliked someone—son, daughter, or wife—he ignored their social status or position and crushed them utterly.
So the queen consort wasn't even getting the respect due her position as second only to the king.
Sick? Ignore it. Birthday? Ignore it. Treated like she didn't exist. Everyone in the court knew, down to the lowest ranks.
This was disqualifying even as a ruling monarch, beyond personality issues.
Joseon's queen consorts, princes, and princesses weren't mere appendages; they were institutions with their own power and roles.
The queen consort especially was rankless, theoretically not the king's subject. Exaggerating, they were equals.
Without her quietly patching conflicts behind the scenes, the entire royal house creaked. The Im-o Incident partly stemmed from this "lubricant" mechanism failing.
And from here on, it's future history: the queen consort definitely dies before Yeongjo.
She suffers from some mysterious illness, coughs blood, and dies. Makes you suspect he "did" to her like Gyeongjong. No evidence, though.
Why memorize this? There was a second queen consort. Joseon was strictly monogamous. One "wife."
I remember her because of the striking age gap.
She marries near-70 Yeongjo in her mid-teens. In Joseon terms, not even granddaughter—great-granddaughter.
Is that why he needed the tiger skin? Prepping already? Confident he'll outlive the ailing queen?
Gotcha, you perv king. Officer, he's right here.
Walking this path. In the name of the 21st-century isekai hero, I won't forgive you.
Looks like the skin's a lost cause.
No, think positive. Bribes work best on the powerful, and the king is the most powerful here. Mission accomplished.
Drop sunk costs quick. The choir fees... unavoidable. Earn from other ventures.
Quick primer on Joseon government budgets: self-sufficiency.
Local governorates and county offices aside, even central agencies and the kingdom's core Training Guard had to mostly earn their own keep.
Included labor costs, naturally. Slack off, no pay.
Forget the Korean government that spends parliament-approved budgets worry-free. This is wild Joseon.
Sure, if famine, fire, or national projects hit one area hard, others could lend—but "lend." With interest.
I learned this as a history buff, confirmed as magistrate.
Flip side: it means "hands-off" on methods.
Short of blatant illegality, you're like an omakase chef—do as you please.
When Park Mun-su was Hwanghae Governor, he asked for ship funds to stop illegal fishing (Chinese unchanged from then to now) and pirates. What happened?
Yeongjo scolded him harshly: "If you can't create something from nothing, how can you serve this scientific monarch?"
Use matter recombination or summon Chungmugong with a magic circle—just deliver results. Methods? Don't care. Joseon pragmatism.
Now you see why I dissolved the militia and how. That's implicit in a magistrate's discretion.
No? Plenty punished for mishandling troops?
True. But they weren't buddy-buddy with the governor, rude to secret inspectors, or unlucky show trials.
Joseon investigates thoroughly; oversights are rare. Ultra-precise bureaucracy.
Get it?
If you're targeted, you're punished. Stay off the blacklist, do whatever. Crime's punished out of dislike, remember?
Matching that perfectly is a magistrate's skill.
How? Best excuse anyone's worked a job knows: "We've done it this way before."
Precedent. The county annals were huge help. Full of "failed cases" and "successful ones."
Ultimate manual. Even the watching Shin brothers would smile proudly.
Thus, I launched "gwonbun"—urging contributions.
Gwonbun means encouraging [gwon] sharing [bun].
Gather the rich, ply with drinks, hold a meeting on famine or town projects, then "urge" development fund donations.
Joseon-style wealth redistribution, universal budget tactic—no magistrate skips it.
They hate handing over hard-earned wealth?
First, no "self-made" wealth in this Joseon.
Not all exam passers are commies. Drop the bias, hear me out.
In a rice-farming nation where 99% subsist on it, what "effort"? Turbo hoeing? Fourfold Iron Palm weeding?
Does rice suddenly quadruple?
Agrarian societies: everyone slaves just to eat. Wealth growth from effort? Barely a concept.
Trade then? Who grows the grain?
Why else stuck farming? Shoddy breeds indistinguishable from dog grass, crude methods—had to. Feel modern civilization's transcendence?
Say you reclaim rocky fields, buy land, build wealth with death-defying toil.
One finger-point from old clerk types, and you're beaten like a dog, stripped bare. Meaningless.
That's why Joseon folk till late Joseon blew daily earnings on booze and gambling.
Savings? Future? Society guarantees that only late 20th century.
These 18th-century rich? "Guaranteed" that luxury.
Not mega-merchants—just more land, easier life, thanks to old clerk ties.
That wealth needs "social return."
Everyone knows how they got it. World ain't just you?
Forget Joseon's vaunted neighborly bonds from textbooks?
Moved by the magistrate's virtue, the rich donated willingly.
Better a little talk over random crime bust, beating, total seizure. Joseon sharpness and cool judgment amaze me sometimes.
Capital secured.
I thought reservoirs were perfect: low materials, high labor markup, big profits.
Wrong. Limited social experience in Korea, no money-handling as scholar here—my mistake.
Obvious on reflection: big projects best once capital's there.
But too big, governor can't cover. Needs balance: decent size, high cost. Explains Yi Il-je's hyperspace fortress.
No castle-building pretext here anyway (Chungcheong has its own arsenals; don't steal bowls). Found other projects.
My gwonbun wasn't free success.
Traditionally village office or academy turf.
Many griped, but majority elite support made it work.
Tiger fame deterred rebellion; this compromise smart.
Compromise needs give too.
I happily approved workshop-submitted repairs for the confucian shrine and village shrine. Harmony of officials and people.
Start small. Earn pocket money, bond with deputy and aides. Then big projects.
Unlike reservoirs, profit here hinges on cheap materials. Youth squad ideology insufficient.
What do I know of trade as noble capital clansman? Like asking a dignified prof coke prices.
Sure, learn. I'm rational modernite.
But I'd get too busy.
Not hating work—busy means neglecting managerial duties.
Zhu Xi said: "A great official keeps himself idle and clerks busy. Buried in papers, you miss their abuses." (Five Philosophers' Near Thoughts)
Who calls Neo-Confucianism airy? Pure practicality. Modern admin org management—clear manager vs. executor roles. Exam staple.
So clerks stay busy. I keep launching ventures, demanding precise ledgers like modern audits for treasury... er, county status.
Half-assed or strike? Red petals fly. Fine. They can't sue me. Thanks, King Sejong.
Too swamped for oversight alone; can't grapple unfamiliar fields.
Conclusion: find reliable government contractor—outside merchant bigwig.
Hard in little Mokcheon. Next door Cheonan, transport hub of Three Nam, perfect.
And I have a friend there. Bit burdensome, but his social skills surely know someone useful.
Hong Daeyong accepted my request.
Said a clean-handed trader dealing with his clan.
Surprise: not from merchant stock.
"From Hansan Yi clan, descendants of Chief State Councillor Yi Mun-chung-gong from King Myeongjo's era (Yi San-hae). Family fallen now; he awoke from poverty, embraced trade without shame.
Named Yi Jae-un, uses odd pen name Sikni-dang. Noble blood means ties with yangban; deals with us too. Speaks unlike vulgar merchants."
"Remarkable."
Textbook Joseon or my lived one—equally wondrous. Pen name "Mud-Eater Hall." Memorize as dirt-poor?
Yi Jae-un no mega-merchant but nationwide. Not native Cheonan, but hub draws him often.
Traders move goods for profit; natural.
Odd one: Hong Daeyong's complexion.
Fidgety like dog needing to poop. Suspicious.
Dirty deal with the merchant?
Drugs? Brits not here yet. Noble house in arms smuggling? Rebellion prep? No motive.
If so, revise escape plan from Hong Gyehui to there.
I eyed him suspiciously; he bolted up.
"I'll introduce him soon."
"Won't forget this favor."
Hmm. Test the bridge.
Later, used Jangbok's slave intel net for background (Dasan recommended in Magistrate's Heart). Nothing.
Large prep unlikely miss slaves.
Sole gain: that cousin sister's ID.
Hong Se-hwa; rarely out as yangban lady, but known beauty among kin.
Hong Daeyong bragged; I half-listened, but true?
But noble scholar Kim Unhaeng pick girl by looks? Wrong.
Beauty fades in storms.
People have lasting value: deeds, genealogy, gold bars.
Governor's push milder—niece, not daughter—no rush to dodge.
Days later, Hong Daeyong brought Yi Jae-un as promised.
Expected worn middle-age; instead, clear-faced youth around thirty.
Citing noble descent, I unusually seated the merchant opposite, hosted warmly. He bowed thanks.
But among his attendants and errand boys, one stood out oddly.