Chapter 236
Chapter 236
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 236
Chapter Title: Perfect to the Last Drop
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In stark contrast to Joseon, where floor-sitting was practically universal, the Qing made widespread use of chairs.
People from Joseon, including the emissary Hong Daeyong, found it quite uncomfortable, but as a modern man, I rather liked it.
I sprawled out on the chair, cradling my intertwined hands behind my head.
Anyone seeing me would think the commander was dozing off in his seat.
With the crisp early autumn breeze, it was true that sleep came easily in that position. Come to think of it, hadn't Zhuge Liang found Liu Bei napping just like this when they first met?
But only one of my eyes was closed.
And within that gaze, countless dots twinkled like stars across the Shandong Peninsula.
The world is wide, and one-eyed men are many.
In truth, an ability on the level of Hannibal's wasn't all that rare.
A power usable only in wartime had far too narrow a scope. If you started a war just to exploit it, the very gains or goals you sought would likely crumble before you even began—putting the cart before the horse.
When it came to versatility, the pinnacle among one-eyed men wasn't Hannibal Barca, Jan Žižka, or Horatio Nelson—mere mortals who never wore crowns.
Only Gung Ye, the Holy King of the East Sea lands, truly deserved the title of the greatest.
As I've said before, the ability to read minds is equivalent to bending others to your will. If he hadn't gone mad upon glimpsing the abyssal darkness in the hearts of those around him, like King Taejo, history would surely have taken a drastically different turn.
Same category of one-eyed power, so I'd love to swap it for 'Gung Ye's Fascination Technique,' but these guys would naturally refuse.
Fortunately, this time I could guess the emperor's intentions without any special ability.
What the Kangxi Emperor desired was for the Joseon army to swing around the Shandong Peninsula, march north to Tianjin, and clash head-on with the British forces on land.
That way, he could buy time safely without spilling a drop of his own troops' blood, reorganize his defenses, and launch a counterattack.
I'll indulge him, just as he wishes.
I scrolled my gaze downward.
In the seas south of the Shandong Peninsula, the Naehae Fleet was diligently pressing northward.
I'd been tracking the Joseon fleet's movements for months now. Calculating their average speed and estimated arrival was child's play.
The implication of slow pre-modern communication speeds isn't just about the transmission method itself.
For instance, ever since the telegraph's invention, transmission speeds have always been constant. Nothing in the universe travels faster than light—whether wired phones, wireless signals, or satellite links.
Yet no one thinks 19th-century communication speeds matched those of the 21st.
Equally crucial to raw transmission speed is knowing the recipient's location.
Even if a courier galloped at light speed, delays pile up if the addressee isn't home. Servants or family rushing out with the letter might cross paths, wasting the whole day on wild goose chases.
That's why 20th-century media can spin endless mishaps and incidents from the mere absence of personal cell phones. Folks from the 21st century would despair at how impossible daily life would feel, but back then, people just adapted.
Kim Unhaeng exploited this to the hilt.
What he achieved with 'Hannibal Barca's Tactics' wasn't battlefield victory.
Since gaining the ability, Kim Unhaeng hadn't fought a single battle.
Instead, he massively widened the gap in 'delivery speed.'
As he himself said, no need for telegraphs. With sea routes between Joseon and Qing, traditional couriers and messengers, and pigeons within Joseon, Kim Unhaeng managed flawless communication—because he knew exactly where recipients were.
Thus, he drove 60,000 troops straight into the Qing's gut and jaw in a crisscross—while pinning the assault charges on someone else—a masterstroke of precision.
This was no mean feat, even for modern armies with full equipment.
So the 10,000 Joseon troops under his command harbored no doubts about his outlandish orders.
Those lacking faith had no place in his ranks.
That said, regrettably, there were a few like the apostle Thomas, who needed to touch Christ's wounds to believe in the resurrection.
Hong Daeyong was utterly flustered seeing officers praise the unprecedented 'Nine-Pronged Advance' as a divine stratagem.
Suspecting Kim Chunsik had bribed them en masse, Hong snapped to and began urging Kim Unhaeng to reconsider—not because he got nothing himself.
"Chunsik, er, Commander. This makes no sense. In the great wars of the Wanli and Chongzhen eras, the Chinese tried divided advances and came to grief. They had no choice back then with such massive armies, but now, even with funds tight, why split a mere 10,000 men?"
Hong's implication was clear.
Only the Kangxi Emperor thought they were in 'friendly territory.' Everyone present, Hong included, knew Joseon would strike Qing someday.
Thus, dividing forces was folly. When the time came to show true colors, they'd scatter without a proper fight.
But Kim Unhaeng offered no explanation. Seeing no sign Hong would obey like a trained dog, Hong played his trump card.
"Wait, Commander! Do you not know how Yuan Shu raised seven armies only to lose even to Lü Bu, or how Wu Jin split into seven columns and drowned at Guan Yu's mere shout? Hey? What are you—argh! Let go!"
Kim Unhaeng dragged Hong away. No wonder his scholarly reputation was slipping lately—turns out his brother-in-law was the culprit.
Then, without a flicker of hesitation, he executed the orders.
The Joseon army of 10,000, split into agile thousand-man detachments, snaked through Shandong. In the August fields rippling with golden waves, the bootprints of nine Joseon columns stamped the earth.
Oh Deokgeun, a Myeongju county commander from the Uiju Defense Corps and leader of one column in the Liberation Vanguard's ship-smashing infantry this time, bellowed energetically.
"Who told you lot to fight? I don't expect anything from the likes of you. Just run on time! But you're used to this work by now. Slackers on the scythe get their pants yanked down standing and the whip!"
As he said, asking if people of this era knew how to swing a scythe was like asking moderns if they could use a computer.
The Joseon troops, who'd done nothing but wander for months, whistled merry tunes at this peaceful labor. Never dreamed an expedition could be this fun.
Shandong folk, forced to watch their unharvested rice and wheat stolen before their eyes, weren't amused.
Of course, no one actually stepped forward three paces as per Kim Unhaeng's edict for those unhappy with the imperial command. Soldiers from agrarian Joseon slaked their nostalgic pangs with vigorous farming.
During the Imjin Wars, the great Ming Emperor Wanli, seeing mass starvation loom in war-ravaged Joseon's fields, promptly bought and shipped a million seok of grain from right here in Shandong.
The Ming treasury reeled, and countless died on those brutal roads (Joseon had none), but Wanli didn't care.
And yet, if Joseon skipped sacrifices to Qing out of fear, they'd be less than human.
Whether rebuilding ancestral rites was mere 'Neo-Confucian busywork' bears rethinking. Joseon folk, paragons of loyalty, tirelessly reenacted noble tales even today.
The emperor ordered Kim Unhaeng to prepare and march to Tianjin.
This included provisioning, left entirely to the commander's discretion on 'how.'
They mustn't break laws outright, but as in modern times, 'illegal' meant mainly offending superiors.
Harvesting from abandoned fields—owners fled or deemed forsaken amid Shandong's long chaos—counted as standard supply gathering.
Kim Unhaeng pushed the nine-pronged advance to widen the army's 'surface area,' maximizing procurement efficiency.
Same mass means more contact yields higher absorption—like a herd of mice devouring more than one elephant. The split Joseon forces amassed vast 'baggage' in under a fortnight.
Plus, divided advances were traditionally desperate measures to speed large armies. Honestly, 10,000 was playground scuffle size by Qing standards, but as a small state, Joseon struggling to maneuver that many won court consensus.
This consensus formed because the emperor's informant, unable to report more bad news, actively agreed.
Hwasin, pivotal in summoning Joseon troops to crush the White Lotus, stood most to lose from any fiasco like them turning swords on the emperor.
Civilian pillage? No issue. Kim Unhaeng maximized mobility within relatively safe Qing lands to rush Tianjin. He had to.
Kim Unhaeng summoned all troops to central Shandong's Imchi County for the Mid-Autumn Festival on August 15th.
Hong Daeyong felt the heavens weep at the impossible order to regather nine columns, but every messenger returned with confirmations.
No delays from plunder zeal—Kim Unhaeng's decree was crystal clear.
"Any no-shows will be left behind without court-martial; let the barbarians execute them, their corpses rotting in foreign soil."
'Play here while I head home to Joseon' worked wonders. The swiftly reassembled Joseon army swam in seas of grain and loot, toasting triumphantly.
But Qing wasn't unmanned.
Shandong's top official, Governor Choi Eung-gye—hydraulics expert, war-irrelevant but versed in poetry and music—sensed suspicion in the Joseon army suddenly converging instead of fanning northwest. It crystallized when they veered east, not northwest.
Qing's 50,000 were scattered too. But lacking a one-eyed gaze, Choi mustered his 500 direct subordinates to block Kim Unhaeng.
Facing the eastbound Joseon force, Choi was speechless before even questioning.
Joseon hadn't just taken grain and cash. Visiting their camp, Choi carefully phrased his first query.
"Weren't all your troops infantry who came by ship?"
Kim Unhaeng beamed.
"Precisely, Governor."
"Then why so many horses and oxen?"
"Need to haul baggage, and war's chaos left beasts starving everywhere. Even dumb animals tug at the heartstrings, so I took them in."
Choi couldn't help suspecting they could talk. Livestock scatters in chaos, sure—but do they meekly follow on command?
But Choi had prior business.
He cleared his throat and said,
"My men report many bear our branded warhorses. I won't forget your efforts. I'll report your merits upstairs, pay silver for them—leave the horses."
Though tempted to claim credit, not branding Kim a horse thief marked Choi as exceptionally upright among Qing officials.
Considering war-torn Qing's horse shortage, he was a peerless loyalist.
Incorruptible. Moral paragon. Devoted servant.
Unfortunately, all anathema to Kim Unhaeng.
Kim nodded, then snapped his fingers.
The gesture, rare among Joseon folk, spoke volumes. Eoji's dog-beating stick cracked down; Choi fainted dead away.
Good thing he wore a helmet.
My calculations pegged the Naehae Fleet's arrival at Pyeonghaewei—Joseon's initial landing site—at August 20th to 22nd.
Subduing Choi, hacking his seal and tally with Chunsik Armor MK2 to capture his far outnumbered direct Shandong troops took no extra time.
Wang Danmang, former envoy and second only to the Retired Emperor in Chunsik Armor fittings—cured long ago of his Jurchen virus by its wonders—knew Qing bureaucracy cold. His eager help wrapped it up in a flash.
Thus, on August 23rd, we rendezvoused with Han Jung-ryang at Pyeonghaewei.
Heaven aids those who aid themselves, eh? Whew, close call.
Han marveled.
"You said come, and we did—right on schedule, not a day off. How did you foresee this months ago, before we even sailed? That demon steed galloping ten thousand li is beyond mortal ken!"
That's why I like Han. His calculated praise had his 30,000 Liberation Vanguard eyeing me with awe.
I handed him hundreds of lobotomized Qing POWs.
Pyongan silver mine bosses would gladly pay introduction fees to take them. Han, pocketing transit fees, beamed.
While that processed, I scanned Han's list of captured Europeans.
No need micromanaging POW treatment now.
My modern knowledge shone brightest on Europe's obscure affairs to Joseon. Prior fleets netted junk like microscope inventors, zoologists, astronomers. Hoping for useful catches this time.
Then a familiar name jumped out. I muttered,
"George Washington?"
Han's report brimmed with secrets, so we sat alone in the cabin. He asked curiously,
"Know him? Sounds like a frontier rebel leader; even his English homeland holds little fame for him."
I pondered phrasing.
Then realized: Washington was useless anyway.
His one Joseon-relevant feat? Slave plantation owner. Land and serfs being prime wealth here too.
Everything else harmed Joseon. Besides plantations, Washington just...
"Heard his name from English in our land. Always harbored treason, dreaming of overthrowing his country to crown himself. Plus, per his own townsfolk, he chopped down his father's cherished cherry tree as a kid—disrespectful to superiors from the start."
Han reacted as hoped, aghast.
"Such a disloyal, unfilial wretch exists? Fits what that Sneaky Fang (Lee Ja-un) said: he claimed not to be any sovereign's subject. Spoke with him; glib tongue, but arrogant sprout showed early. I'll discipline him strictly."
I nodded. Forgetting that trivial Washington, we turned to vital matters.
Han asked,
"We took all Qing troops captive, but vanishing a Shandong governor won't stay secret long—even the Jurchen emperor will notice. It really begins now?"
I clenched my fist.
Tension dwarfed the Washington moment.
My sudden Qing ambush wasn't impulse or desperation.
With British invading Tianjin 'per Joseon's proposal,' secrecy was toast. Han's updates on Jiangnan meant the emperor would soon hear of Yi Shi-yo's revolt too.
Joseon's ties would surface everywhere regardless.
Northern Expedition? The cup brimmed full.
One drop would overflow it.
But I wouldn't drop it. Nor feverish Han here.
"Can't sideline the navy for northern push. With your command, I'd obliterate Tianjin's English and blocking Jurchens at once."
I replied calmly.
"However urgent, affairs have proper order. Even seizing Westerners' ships of the line, our troops aren't versed yet—clashing with Tianjin's English fleet now means heavy losses.
English from Ganghwa and Hanseong, handed over as promised, will trust us. Leave them be for now; first, escort me and these troops to Pyongan."
"Pyongan? Then..."
"Yes. You guess right."
Only one in Pyongan—my king—qualified to drop that final drop.
I hadn't forgotten my democratic republican roots.
Even sans crown, that friend had ample credentials.
Urgency rivaling my Chief State Councillor dream burned in him.
Only those who've endured shit possess such qualification.
"I'll enter His Highness's presence and advocate crossing the Yalu."
Author's Note
The subtitle 'Perfect to the Last Drop [Good To the Last Drop]' is taken from Maxwell House's 20th-century coffee ad slogan.
1. Oh Deokgeun was real, but a Gesipo commander near Geoje, not Bangsan Myeongho. Ship-smashing infantry is fictional Liberation Vanguard unit, derived from 'fight fiercely to smash ships [力戰碎舟]' in late Joseon manual Byeonghak Jinam, denoting navy post-landing combat.
2. Korea's Choi clan is indigenous, but China has a separate hanja-homophone Choi, rarer there. In-story Choi Eung-gye descends from famed Kangxi-era Taiwan commander Choi Sangguk; family nobility. He excelled in hydraulics as Shandong governor, later Fujian governor and Minjie viceroy. Known for poetry and music prowess.
3. Washington's cherry tree honesty tale was fabricated in a post-mortem biography by Mason Weems, parson (or Anglican priest) and bookseller.
4. Circumstances of (non-Catholic European coalition) Europeans originally in Joseon, arrested on Kim Unhaeng's orders for hostage exchange now, detailed in Chapter 225 'Petition to Arms' part.