Chapter 244
Chapter 244
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 244
Chapter Title: The Entwining Serpent and Dragon (2)
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Last autumn, George Washington's exploits led to a second battle between the Mongols and the British in Tianjin. In response, the Qing activated protocols to prepare for a handover of territorial control.
At that time, the Joseon army crossed the Yalu River, captured Phoenix Citadel, and launched a daring maneuver toward Jiudulong Island in Liaodong.
In countermeasure, Emperor Qianlong summoned the Generals of Heilongjiang and Jilin. Officially, this signaled that Joseon had taken an unexpected course of action; unofficially, it meant the Qing wished to avoid all-out war with Joseon until Britain was fully subdued.
The entire process took roughly three months.
In the meantime, Joseon's navy hadn't been idle.
Washington, who had been forcibly reassigned to the Southern Sea Marine Raiders upon wrapping up in Tianjin, soon learned of this as well.
The Southern Sea Marine Raiders set off from Tianjin and immediately embarked on their next mission.
Riding the autumn northwest winds, the fleet sped southward at maximum velocity. They had only briefly stopped in Pyongyang to drop off Han Jung-ryang, skipping even a glance at Suncheon or Jeju Island.
Observing the stars, Washington figured they were headed for Ryukyu, where they had sold off the slaves.
But their first stop was somewhere else entirely.
It was Taiwan, the European coalition's easternmost outpost in East Asia.
Waiting there was Admiral Richard Tidman, who had arrived from India loaded with supplies.
He was the same man who had come to East Asia with Colonel Draper under the East India Company, only to trade tea leaves with Kim Unhaeng and hand over command to the European coalition forces before departing. Now, without participating in the war, he was ferrying supplies across Britain's Asian colonies.
He welcomed Washington warmly but eyed the Joseon troops with some suspicion.
"I received word from Admiral Porter about the surprise attack from Guangzhou to Tianjin. I've reloaded with bullets and powder in preparation for a prolonged war... but why are you here with the Joseon folks, Colonel Washington?"
Washington glanced at Kim Eung-seok, the pioneer and leader of Joseon's naval marines—the captain of the Southern Sea Marine Raiders.
Kim Eung-seok flashed a grin and clapped Washington on the shoulder in European fashion.
It was just like a street thug suddenly acting chummy, arm around your shoulder, dragging you into a dark alley. A pathetic litany of military rhetoric poured from Washington's lips like a flood.
"The entire coalition force rushed to Tianjin to witness the decisive battle, leaving no troops to spare for logistics. As you know, our allies—the Joseon army that aided our withdrawal from Guangzhou—took on the task. Even our Virginia militia had no spare manpower, but without a high-ranking officer accompanying them, the Joseon troops had no way to prove the truth of the matter."
Washington's talents hadn't deserted him. Admiral Tidman nodded as if in understanding.
However, that understanding included a preconceived notion that would have deeply wounded Washington had he known.
As far as he knew, the core of the Virginia militia's guerrilla prowess lay not with its commander, Washington, but with his deputy, John Stark. Admiral Porter had probably wanted to temporarily separate him from that "loudmouthed colonial bumpkin" he always complained about in letters.
'Like it or not, he's a fellow white Christian. Can't let him lose face in front of Orientals.'
So Admiral Tidman didn't press further and handed over the supplies. Blood is thicker than water, after all.
Tidman himself had no desire to linger and bicker with the military.
The East India Company fleet was hardly in majestic form, as it had been during the first invasion.
With many ships and resources diverted to the expeditionary force, and French privateers rampaging with the momentum of victors, they were barely holding on to India and the newly acquired Philippines.
Honestly, they had to tense up at the slightest pirate from nearby Vietnam or Java. Admiral Tidman wanted nothing more than to hurry back to Manila's fortress.
Lee Jae-un's gift, brought along for the trip, played a part in that as well.
"This is a genuine artwork penned by the Chinese Emperor himself, obtained at great difficulty. Its authenticity is guaranteed by the Joseon army's supreme commander, Your Excellency Kim Unhaeng."
Lee Jae-un, the merchant who always bet on trust, spoke without a shred of deceit.
It was one of the many poems on paintings that Kim Unhaeng had received from the emperor. Now far too refined for such trifles from Zhangdong's genuine masterpieces, the task of disposal had fallen to Lee Jae-un.
And Lee Jae-un knew the basics of business in this era—deception, essentially.
The easiest mark isn't a complete outsider.
It's someone with just enough knowledge. People are most easily convinced by themselves, after all.
"If you have an eye for it, you'll recognize the quality of this painting and the authenticity of the seal. The supreme commander sends it as a token of his hope for deep friendship with the British East India Company."
"Hmm. I've handled plenty of Eastern art as a man who sails East India Company ships, but this is exceptionally fine. The enclosed letter from the supreme commander has truly beautiful calligraphy."
Neither mentioned the poem's content. The poem itself didn't matter—what mattered was that the emperor had written it. A minor flaw at best.
And the shrewd Admiral Tidman didn't miss the private gain alongside the official political points.
Like the tea leaves before, the Joseon army's supreme commander, the "Hyena Butcher," seemed eager to ally with the East India Company. Choosing the Asian monopoly holders over distant British homeland showed real geopolitical savvy.
Admiral Tidman resolved to rush back to India with it.
Not to sell the poems (and Kim Unhaeng's letter) exorbitantly to wealthy rajas, but as a military officer to urgently relay Joseon's "goodwill" for diplomatic reference.
The loading of supplies proceeded swiftly.
In this way, the Joseon forces hijacked an entire shipment of British combat supplies midway.
A splendid collaboration between navy man Kim Eung-seok, merchant Lee Jae-un, and slave Washington.
For three men with little in common to coordinate so seamlessly required a unifying commander. It was more a matter of authority than command skill.
Han Jung-ryang, the weighty Southern Sea Marine Commander who could fill that role, was in Pyongyang. He'd delegated most forces to Kim Eung-seok, but that left him with heavy responsibility for homeland maritime defense.
Aside from him, only Kim Unhaeng fit the bill—but he was deep in the assault on Phoenix Citadel and couldn't possibly leave.
Fortunately for Joseon, there was someone who could proxy all of Kim Unhaeng's authority externally.
Back aboard, Lee Jae-un reported to Kim Unhaeng's eldest son, Kim Ihwan.
"After gifting the admiral that precious item, his subordinates started eyeing us expectantly. As pre-approved by Young Master, I distributed Zhou dynasty copper cauldrons, Tang tri-color pottery, and the like."
The fact that the relics given to the admiral's senior officers were all fakes was irrelevant. Gifts are all about the thought.
Kim Ihwan, seated in the cabin, nodded.
"Well done. Even barbarians understand favors, so they must be distributed differentially between superiors and inferiors. Giving to some but not others harms righteousness; treating all ranks equally harms propriety. This alone upholds decorum."
He called it favors, but neither the British nor Admiral Tidman had overlooked Joseon's suspicious actions for pay. Even they wouldn't buy such an implausible deal.
Kim Ihwan had simply bought goodwill—and that goodwill made Washington's explanation go down smoother. Seemingly similar, but fundamentally different.
To put it bluntly, it was an application of bribery mastery. Lee Jae-un was impressed.
"As expected of one who inherits Dog-Beating Stick Excellency's teachings. I am in awe."
"How could I match Father? Anyway, every going demands a coming. Did you procure what I mentioned?"
"Of course."
Kim Ihwan peered into the box Lee Jae-un presented, then wore a smile much like his father's.
It was Britain's specialty: "black powder." The very stuff that had once made Kim Unhaeng pound the ground in fury after a ship-scale delivery scam.
Ever since the "Western greens" used to suppress Jeong Hu-gyeom's rebellion, Kim Ihwan had taken an interest in Western herbs—and now extended his reach to opium.
Just as encyclopedias trended in Europe amid the Enlightenment, post-Wanwu Gao, Joseon had seen a boom in miscellaneous scholarly books.
Biology was dominated by Southerners, so Kim Ihwan planned to team up with his uncle Kim Jeok-hang's Chunbae Pharmacy and the serf special forces who moonlighted there to produce an expanded Donguibogam.
Whatever the process, the son had now avenged his father's grudge—like the parable of digging through snow for bamboo shoots in loyal devotion.
As Lee Jae-un departed amid praise, Jangbok entered next.
"What's that medicine? I'm feeling stiff myself—mind if I try a taste?"
Kim Ihwan scolded Jangbok for his inefficient battery drain.
"You wretch. You're out wandering far from attending your master—what's so fascinating in this cramped ship?"
"N-No sightseeing, Young Master. My stomach's churning. We raced to Pyongyang, boarded right away, and hit these rough waves—how could anyone endure it?"
"Well, well, I've never seen such a health-obsessed servant in my life. Shall I brew you a Ten Coin Great Tonic next time?"
But Jangbok didn't wilt.
Not because he was a veteran who'd watched Kim Ihwan from birth. He was Jangbok, the proud flagship smartphone of the Zhangdong Kim household.
"Young Master's lifetime is just sixteen years. I'm thirty-five, you know. Born the same year as the master—watching Madam's frailty, don't I deserve some discomfort at this age?"
But Kim Ihwan was Kim Unhaeng's son.
"You want a taste of the marines' pirate-beating stick, eh? Think all ages are equal? Father's the Spring and Autumn, you're the sickle. Besides, Father still draws a hundred-catty bow—his vigor rivals any youth. Don't you know that?"
As Jangbok fell silent under stern Noron moralism, Kim Ihwan jerked his chin.
"If you get it, tuck this away safely. It's deadly poison—never touch it."
Having handed over the opium, Kim Ihwan added one more line upon seeing Jangbok's face.
"This isn't bluffing for show. Last time, didn't you nearly die gobbling those forbidden Western greens?"
Jangbok flinched.
"After that burning torment, how dare I touch it again? But why procure such poison...?"
"Poison and medicine are a paper's width apart. Anyway, stash it and prepare—we'll disembark soon."
Jangbok, seasick and miserable, brightened at the news.
"Heading home now?"
"What nonsense? Next stop's Ryukyu, right beside us."
Having served father and son for two generations, Jangbok's honed intuition told him otherwise.
They probably wouldn't head straight to Hanseong from there either. Not like New Year's neighborhood visits—what strange fate was this?
As Kim Unhaeng swept through the chain-country era like a storm, East Asia's monarchs—ironically—had to become the most dynamic and reformist leaders.
Not just the Han-Chinese-Japanese triad. Ryukyu's King Sho Bo-ku was the same.
To keep pace with the era's changes, he launched sweeping reforms under Ryukyu's catchphrase: "Gathering the excellence of the Three Hans."
A large-scale, systematic state slave system.
"Distribute the Englishmen to each majiri according to household and farmland records. Entrust the task to local clerks from commoner backgrounds—if they're negligent in ledgers or management, they'll become slaves themselves!"
Sugar farming, Satsuma's imposed staple industry on Ryukyu, paired perfectly with slaves. So efficient it persisted into the 21st century, letting commoners devour desserts daily.
Initially, Sho Bo-ku sought to uproot Satsuma's remnants and rule as an exemplary agrarian monarch.
But Okinawa wasn't ideal for rice. Above all, Ryukyu couldn't ignore Joseon as a new sugar market.
"What a sight."
King Sho Bo-ku, personally at Naha Harbor, stroked his beard in admiration at Joseon's grand fleet.
Even mongrel ships, as the British called them, were warships. Enhanced with practical East Asian modifications, they were even better.
From Ryukyu's view, this was naval power they couldn't afford to antagonize. Especially loaded with cannons and powder just received from the British.
Thus, the king acted as if his presence was solely out of respect for the Joseon visitors. Absolutely not because the British had burned Shuri Castle, forcing him into a tent palace.
"They say you're the son of Potato Prince Kim Unhaeng—indeed, you resemble your father, handsome and refined. Want some of the slaves we bought back recently?"
Kim Ihwan prostrated politely.
"Yes."
"We've just started working them in the cane fields... Why does Joseon need them back? I'll have to consult the Three Ministers."
Though Kim Ihwan held no office, he remembered his father's illustrious civil servant family's practical training.
'If you don't want to do something but someone's insistent, say you'll review it and send them off. Then forget.'
Instead of withdrawing, Kim Ihwan made an offer the Ryukyu king couldn't refuse right there.
"In exchange for the slaves, we'll provide several corvettes modeled after Western ships built in Joseon. In this chaotic age where the world's seas boil over, how could Ryukyu's mighty king—who bridges all nations—not need warships?"
Warships for slaves? Unprecedented. The king's eyes wavered like Joseon King Gojong scraping for silver to buy ironclads.
"I know you're from a noble house, but can you sell warships so casually?"
"Our kingdom deposed the tyrant King Gwanghaej who slew Ryukyu's prince long ago—our bond and love for Ryukyu run that deep. This is a special decree from His Majesty and the Crown Prince, inheriting that ancestral devotion."
In 1611, under Gwanghaej, Jeju Governor Lee Gi-bin seized what seemed a treasure ship adrift. Aboard were Ryukyuans, Chinese, Japanese.
To claim the loot, he colluded with Magistrate Mun Hee-hyeon, falsifying reports of Japanese pirates. Surely some Japanese aboard?
Gwanghaej era: pirates meant kill without question. Passengers slaughtered, goods seized, ship burned.
Thus, Joseon's privateer spree was domestically palatable.
Later rumors swelled: a Ryukyu prince aboard, carrying magical Ryukyu treasures to rescue his father; Lee coveted them.
Joseon folk, especially Jejuans, became instant barbaric murderer-thieves. Ryukyu, Vietnam, Taiwan spread tales of pirate Joseon, forcing 19th-century castaways to hide identities.
Blame lay with King Gwanghaej. Killing his own Prince Yeongchang and foreign princes alike—truly the Prince Slayer.
Injo proudly listed Ryukyu prince murder among Gwanghaej's crimes. Padded charges, but useful here.
Above all, current King Yi Hwon advanced bearing Injo's final justice, the northern expedition. No better time to flaunt Joseon-Ryukyu friendship.
Years ago, facing Ishiyo, Sho Bo-ku had readied his queue; now, he seemed set to don a topknot. Reform monarchs must start with flexible hair.
Qianlong would have spat blood, shouting who freed you from Satsuma's yoke—but Sho Bo-ku, diplomatically like Gojong, had no choice.
Reformist King Sho Bo-ku made his shrewd decision once more.
Washington and his released deputy John Stark embraced, weeping copiously.
They'd suffered greatly, after all.
Joseon spread its slave system alongside Sejong's laws and precedents.
Including welfare policies still praised today—leagues beyond European slavery. Joseon didn't strictly enforce Sejong's laws, but having them on paper counted for something.
Yet that knowledge went unused in Ryukyu.
Ryukyuans knew the drill. No experience wielding sugar slaves, but plenty as them under Satsuma.
Ryukyu merely repeated Satsuma's deeds on the British—adding resentment for their burned capital and slain people.
In this short time, the ragged Virginia volunteers had dwindled to thirty percent. Slave plantation owner George Washington couldn't contain his outrage at such inhuman treatment.
The fleet, yielding a few Joseon-made fluytes, promptly set sail for the next destination. Northeastward this time.
Not homeward, alas, despite Jangbok's hopes.
The ship slipped between Busanpo and Tsushima without pause, racing north.
Plotting it: from Tianjin via Taiwan and Ryukyu into the Sea of Japan.
That graceful curve resembled, in a way, the tail of some unholy beast tipped with venom.
As nine dragon heads tore into Qing troops at the Liao River, that tail curved gently northeast.