Chapter 237
Chapter 237
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 237
Chapter Title: My Cup Overfloweth (1)
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The 60,000-strong force assembled by the Joseon army was pushing the limits of what the kingdom's national strength could sustain.
In this pre-Industrial Revolution era, where population equated directly to national power, the gap between Joseon and the Qing Dynasty was roughly 17 to 20 times.
Combining the Qing's Green Standard Army and Eight Banners at their peak yielded about 800,000 troops, meaning Joseon could realistically field only 40,000 to 50,000 by simple calculation.
The Qing was reeling from this chaos, but for Joseon, maintaining a separate force of 60,000 was an expenditure that could bankrupt the kingdom even in peacetime.
The reason Kim Unhaeng had orchestrated those dizzying preliminary skirmishes boiled down to this. Joseon was simply too poor.
But there was no need for despair. The neighbors—China next door and Britain as guests—were both wealthy.
In this era, begging for food wasn't shameful. If anything, withholding surplus rice made one the villain.
Charity wasn't some pompous act of grace; it was a natural social obligation. That's why every civilization's prophets emphasized it.
So Joseon decided to shamelessly rely on the rich houses.
First, Han Jung-ryang's navy in Jiangnan and Kim Unhaeng's bandit army in Shandong received "aid" from Britain and China. It wasn't perfect, but it drastically cut food supply needs.
However, the 20,000 land troops (and the king) stuck in Joseon had no such option. They had to be sustained by domestic production.
While Kim Unhaeng and Han Jung-ryang rampaged across Chinese soil, their comrades left behind in Joseon were fighting an even fiercer war.
The Northern Expedition force had been stationed for nearly a year now.
With each passing day, the Border Defense Council members supporting them from Seoul—especially Vice Minister of War Chae Je-gong—seemed to age a day in turn.
The council didn't waste effort on futile production boosts.
Pre-modern surplus output was negligible compared to modern standards—zero meaningful difference. Even with a truckload of otherworldly heroes, it was impossible. Especially for Kim Unhaeng, who'd never held a hoe in his life across all his past incarnations.
The wise Joseon officials focused solely on optimizing distribution.
The expedition's success hinged on squeezing every grain of rice, barley, and beans to Pyeongan Province.
They calculated minimum reserves per region in granaries and plotted optimal routes to minimize losses in transit.
The wisdom of the old Spring Clothing Office was repurposed. Young quasi-officials around Kim Iwhan's age were lured by seniors into massive temporary clerk roles, slaving away for passion pay.
Potatoes and sweet potatoes helped, but they were supplementary famine crops, not staples.
Preservation, climate adaptation, pests, harvest labor—plenty of issues. In East Asia, only tiny, sparsely populated Ryukyu—with its freakishly advanced agriculture and a visit from potato prince Kim Unhaeng—made them true staples.
But Joseon now craved even that.
Potatoes, sweet potatoes, whatever—they scraped it all, plus traditional turnips. Wartime economy: eat anything but poison weeds. Thankfully, millennia of near-constant famine left no shortage of famine crop knowledge.
Idle Southerners without posts even hounded the Europeans.
Northern Expedition advocacy was their party line. The churning political scene offered career chances aplenty.
They dangled Kim Unhaeng's rebellious prisoners dumped in Tianjin.
"Didn't hundreds of Westerners suddenly ship out recently?"
"Heard our Grand Army Commander, famed for his hundred-strategy spring clothing, sniffed out spies."
"You foreigners might not know, but four hundred years ago, a Kaesong clan boarded ships like that and never returned... What? Flying Dutchman?"
The threats funneled through fellow Southerner ginseng overseer An Jeong-bok.
No time to waste, so botanist Daniel Solander and crew tasted Joseon's weeds like Shennong, picking the useful ones. No word if deified scholars rejoiced.
But spot markets weren't the only worry.
Naturally, every recorded corruption crime exploded simultaneously during this.
Magistrates hoarding savings clashed fiercely with the central government determined to seize them—a full war. Local clerks, post runners, jailers, war office and camp officials ran a embezzlement Olympics too tight to call.
The council attached overseers and checks, launching a massive bureaucratic purge via punishments and reassignments. The king's help was a boon.
"In this war exalting the Northern Expedition's cause, those practicing extortion aid the enemy—they're traitors!"
The king's rampant military law tamed it in months, but cleanup remained hellish.
With national alchemist Park Mun-su, it'd have been smoother.
But he was gone. Philosopher's Stone vanished. He'd probably thank his early death amid this workload. Incompetent juniors couldn't cope.
Managers drained of vital essence wandered Changdeok Palace and the Six Ministries moaning grotesquely.
"Grraaah..."
"Urrgh..."
Kim Unhaeng's old zombie rite vision seemed imminent.
Among them, Vice Minister Chae Je-gong best fit Joseon's Wharf King title.
Staggering past the Royal Secretariat from overwork, he spotted a boy and entourage heading nearby.
Chae's face soured. That direction: Eastern Palace. A young man entering now? Chae knew him well.
Kim Unhaeng's son, Kim Iwhan.
No rank now, but the next-gen shadow power no one ignored.
Not yet a match for present power broker and Unhaeng peer Chae alone. Chae considered hailing him for a scolding check.
But he shook his head.
He disliked the Noron sprout, but Kim Iwhan pulled his weight. Without him, moderates would've suffered double.
The king was gone. No longer in Seoul.
Yet he lingered on his officials' backs, in their hearts, tormenting them still.
"Headless holidays" sounded nice in theory, but without a final approver on big projects, it was hell.
Yi Hwon clearly delegated palace matters to Queen Hong and state affairs to the Border Defense Council.
But no fool would say, "Then no reports to the crown prince?" Only past-exam passers avoided such idiocy.
To officials, the crown prince must be tense and burdened.
The Upper King's hale Namhansanseong raised doubts, but kings weren't immortal.
Missteps could doom the house in sons' or grandsons' generations. To dodge needless grudges, report to the powerless prince too.
This inefficient weirdness amplified stress. Tough even smooth; now it was deadly.
Joseon scholars' specialty—resignations—skyrocketed.
But Yi Hwon solved it like corruption.
"Resigning mid-war without parental bereavement or grave illness—what's the intent? Military law offers no mercy but hanging for camp deserters!"
Officials shed tears, unable to desert. Kim Unhaeng-certified warlord indeed.
Frankly, Crown Prince Yi Jeong was in a bind.
He knew of Yi Jeong's Hong Guk-yeong, Jeong Hu-gyeom aides. Young as he was, he sensed the delicate politics with father absent.
He needed a proxy rule or total shutdown, but Kim Iwhan solved it.
"Filial sons see a lone white cloud drifting far and think of parents. Though distant now, don't slack on evening bed checks and morning greetings."
Seemed generic filial advice anyone could give.
But Kim Iwhan added unmistakable commentary.
Enlightened, Yi Jeong got Queen Hong's okay and proclaimed via council.
"Tasting parents' medicine, cooking rice, preparing wooden pillows and fans—that's filial piety, the upright root of the realm. I'll personally oversee the royal meals, clothes, fuel—all for His Majesty."
Administrative proxy wasn't Joseon's way.
Yi Jeong served father's meals and bed as son. That filial act linked to inheriting Yi Hwon's throne.
All praised the prince's piety. Then neatly streamlined approvals for "royal meals"—king and army supplies.
Kim Iwhan oiled it via father in Pyeongan then, averting misunderstandings.
One word from Unhaeng, and the king dropped suspicions. That's why grudging Chae acknowledged Iwhan's merit.
Thus proxy-limited for expedition support, Yi Jeong naturally consulted Kim Iwhan often. Crown Princess Kim Suk-yeong's whispers weighed heavy.
"Summon unreliable ministers freely, and they'll mock Your Highness as a mere worm or scheme behind. Limit to trusted few."
Dreading scorn, the prince heeded his wise wife.
Effectively, council got Iwhan's approvals.
And Unhaeng manipulated Seoul supplies comfy via son, freeing him for Shandong.
Joseon court was becoming a family firm.
Agenda to the prince was "supplies" in name, but Joseon's full rear military governance.
Losing steam after an hour, the prince scratched his head frustratedly.
"Royal menu cuts maxed out; everywhere screams granaries emptying."
Like council, Kim Iwhan skipped production hikes, citing father's lessons.
"Must import ultimately. Tsushima lord's letter arrived yesterday."
Japan probed Joseon's suspicious moves.
Perfect excuse: repeated requests for congratulatory envoys on shogun's ascension, changed years ago.
Japan specialist interpreter Park Sang-sun, true to backchannel diplomacy, relayed Japan's war-torn trade resumption intent with Qing. Newly promoted to Assistant Director of the Bureau of Interpreters (Senior 4th), his eyes pierced foreign schemes.
If Joseon's silence betrayed Qing—as Japan suspected—they'd be prime allies.
Shogunal powerbroker Danuma Okitsugu needed envoys to boost Kyushu power vacuum grabs.
Kim Iwhan saw opportunity. Like father's "allies," Japan had rice Joseon lacked.
But prince countered independently.
"Kyushu—one whole region—gutted; what rice?"
"They have some. Qing burns nationwide, yet no starving emperor tales. Less than China, but Japan's vast."
"Even so, barbarian diplomacy needs father's prior report. Beyond my call."
"Wise words. Just order that review."
Promise consideration, not outright no.
Japan's offers hid nasty intents usually. Joseon shunned even gifts, wary of debts. Returned Seoul-reaching presents aplenty.
So teasing envoy hints left Japan like a fortress girl sighing, "No weekend plans."
Netherlands gone, China cut—Japan paradoxically most isolated. Joseon could fabricate intel for hefty grain.
Winking one eye thrilled village girls; no double drifts, but weakness exploitation? Pure father Kim Iwhan. Scanning agendas:
"Father in Shandong urgently wants stone shipped. Bundle policy with it? I'll draft; Your Highness approve."
Stones? Prince got it—forts vital; universal ammo. Why Seoul shipment? Mystery.
Refreshed, he approved. Japan rice import via Iwhan: greenlit.
Truth: 20,000 troops camped nearly a year? Normal Joseon unit dissolves.
20% desert, 20% injured, 30% merchant out, 30% bribed—shell units littered Joseon. Couldn't hold antimatter long.
But Pyeongan's 20,000 had a tokamak-grade magnetic field.
King Yi Hwon.
Troops under king's direct command and watch? No funny business. Apathetic, they slacked divinely; vibe right, they exploded beyond all. Spirit of the nation.
Instead, year-long constant drills. Even elite Training Guard rotated; Joseon first long-term standing army post-founding.
Joseon troops forgot drill, mastered hoeing and potato ID—beyond British marines; prime line infantry.
Yi Hwon, Muyesinbo author, oversaw trainings expertly.
And troops couldn't gripe at deadly drills killing some.
Not king privilege. Yi Hwon always matched—or exceeded—them.
Now too.
Chief State Councillor Hong Gye-hui, reporting, froze at room-filling heat and humidity. Un-autumn swelter.
"Y-Your Highness...?"
Veteran, he knew rites.
But before the king "mounted as if on horse, knees bent standing"—posture unknown.
Yi Hwon in thin singlet steamed. Muscles tighter than visible writhed in feats unreal.
Hong barely ID'd it.
Dongchun-gong!
Even experts couldn't half-squat long. Muyesinbo compiler Yi Hwon's advanced solo tweak.
King rose slowly. Hong prostrated.
"Highness, preserve your health. How long...?"
Yi Hwon grabbed tossed pocketwatch.
"Not long. Half hour?"
Hong knew he'd fail half that.
No stray thoughts before king. Hong reported deftly.
"Grand Commander of Joseon Forces Kim Unhaeng returned from Shandong."
Yi Hwon gripped watch tight.
"Understood."
"Shall summon audience?"
"No."
Yi Hwon hurled watch behind. Wailing explosion echoed like Wangsimni dirge in Hong's ears.
Ignoring it utterly:
"I'll go."
Hong, grasping "to Kim Unhaeng," paused mid-dignity lecture.
King's favor, Unhaeng's merits made sense.
But seemed more.
Author's Note
The subtitle is from Psalm 23 in the Bible. Its meaning will be revealed next chapter.
1. Qing household registers (not population) frozen at Kangxi era poll tax base: ~25 million; Joseon similar ~1.5 million. Qianlong actual (est.): Qing 300M+, Joseon generously 15-17M.
Pre-modern: myriad non-tax levies, not just head tax; real gap closer to latter. "Northern Expedition" like 70kg man vs 1.4-ton hippo.
Of course, story math simplified. Actual Joseon troops often >40-50k; most economic side-gigs covered costs, as noted early.
Many reasons: poor support led to deaths/desertions, kept unit names... Qing bloated too.
2. Factionalism simplified for reader ease, as mentioned. Real Chae Je-gong etc. Qingnam Southerners unlikely Northern advocates; post-Hyojong, Southerners pushed it via later traitors Yun Hyu, Heo Jeok (Tagnam). Qingnam survived drawing lines; couldn't speak freely.
3. Flying Dutchman: ghost ship legend tied (distinct from) Davy Jones. "Dutchman" as 17th c. Dutch sea peak.
4. Shennong taught pharmacy at dawn of man, whip-testing all plants' juices for effects. Myth: near-death many times.
5. Zombie rite from ch. 210 "Brother's Country." Spring Clothing Office: Kim Unhaeng's private admin from ch. 138 "Rolling Millstone." Bureaucrat mercenaries.
6. Envoys went for shogun ascensions, but not immediate. Internal timings delayed years often.