Chapter 27
Chapter 27
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 27
Chapter Title: Chapter 27
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 27
Chapter Title: 13. When I Came to My Senses
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Jangbok had gone to Seoul first, so among my current attendants, only Eoji had been with me from way back.
I couldn't leave Eoji out of my marriage promotion business.
I'd come to feel the need to straighten out the relationship between Eoji—who'd been enjoying free love lowborn-style with Yeoni—and her.
Shamans are a profession extremely vulnerable to sexual threats by nature. Being lowborn means no backlash even if you mess with them.
Divine punishment? At times like these, even Joseon folks turn into enlightened modern rationalists.
For someone like Yeoni, who even has subordinates, it might be a little better, but you can't ignore the risk of those subordinates getting drunk and going berserk.
All things considered, a formal marriage, widely announced to everyone, seemed the better option.
The odds of anyone with a normal personality in Joseon marrying a shaman are slim, but compared to some guy who drinks his wife's money away and beats his wife and kids while playing nominal husband, Eoji was a hundred times better.
The people of Mokcheon County would all congratulate them too. Unless they didn't want to end up under Eoji.
So before heading to Seoul, I'd sent Yeoni a message through Eoji.
As long as she remained a loyal ally from here on and didn't try to cling to Eoji when he followed me to Seoul after my term ended, I'd specially arrange their marriage in the county office's name as part of the business.
What about the couple separating? Do I have to concede that far too? I wouldn't stop him from coming along. A Georyongsan shaman-lineage like Yeoni would make it in Seoul just fine.
It came with the endorsement of Kim Unhaeng, the incorruptible, capable county magistrate who'd go down in Joseon history. No better deal than that.
Yeoni hadn't been on our business list to begin with. This was a sort of welfare policy, but she had money anyway. Plus, folks strongly tended to see her as the mountain god's wife.
So for Yeoni to marry under something like "Sponsored: Mokcheon County Office," I'd need to give special instructions.
I told her she could think it over slowly while I was away. She still hadn't replied.
Come to think of it, I hadn't even asked Eoji. I turned to him.
"Eoji. Think marriage would be good?"
"Uh, y-yeah. Y-Yeoni thinks so too."
First time I'd seen Eoji utter another person's name.
Hey, kid, you can't live so whipped like that.
Look at me. Even with a girl who supposedly likes me (source: Hong Daeyong, highly suspect), I uphold propriety firmly and head all the way to Seoul. This popularity's a real hassle.
Hong Daeyong, riding alongside on horseback, chimed in.
"Haha. A family's intimate joys make no distinction between superior and inferior. With even the underlings holding weddings, for the magistrate's own face, you'd best follow the greater principle posthaste."
Shut it, you.
But if Yeoni was thinking of holding a ceremony, why hadn't she gotten back to me right away?
At that moment, Yeoni shuddered slightly in her shrine on Mt. Chwiamsan.
Bells and rice were scattered in disarray around her.
Yeoni's shrine was effectively on hiatus right now. The simple folk of Mokcheon County were in a bind.
With all the marriage dates needed for the magistrate's marriage push, even if those could wait, the sick needed immediate rituals—and she'd been turning them away for days now.
The other shrines, temples, and Taoist halls had never been as effective as Yeoni anyway, but the magistrate had exposed and shut them all down (the left minister and deputy magistrate believed they'd successfully kept Mt. Chwiamsan hidden from his eyes, all to preserve the people's mental stability).
The anxiety got so bad the deputy even sent someone to check what was wrong. But Yeoni ignored that too.
She just sat there in her shrine, on edge.
'It wasn't an illusion...!'
Not long ago, when Kim Unhaeng visited, she'd felt the mountain god she served—and all the local land gods—kneel crushed flat. That was a major reason she'd allied with the magistrate.
Things would recover once he left, but until then, she couldn't perform true divine rituals or divinations.
Shaman work was a skilled craft, so she could mimic the forms. She'd gotten by that way until now.
But that was just people favorably interpreting her track record as "skillful."
A rationalist would scoff, "She's good at slapping things together—what's different with or without a god?" But Yeoni took it seriously.
Then, when the magistrate went to Cheongju on inspection rounds, she'd felt uneasy.
Even without him there, the divine power hadn't returned.
She'd chalked it up to her senses dulling after months of suppression.
But no. When he went even farther—to Seoul—she realized for sure.
Imagine stacking a grinding stone on ants for ten days, then removing it.
Would the ants just revive?
Reaching that conclusion hit Yeoni harder than her own initiation rite. Goosebumps prickled her whole body; her vision went dark.
The god is dead.
The god is dead.
And Kim Unhaeng is the killer.
Yeoni bit her nails.
'What now?'
Of course, she could just keep going like before.
Statistically, possession shamans like her were more common up north than in the southern provinces. Down here, it was mostly hereditary shamans carrying on as skilled tradeswomen.
But no matter what Kim Unhaeng or other rationalists thought, Yeoni believed in her "divine power" just like everyone else in Mokcheon.
So her solution couldn't be a rationalist's.
No god? Bring in a new one.
A normal shaman would scoff that gods aren't fighting dogs—impossible. But Yeoni wasn't normal.
Kim Unhaeng's "god," though? She wouldn't even dare glance at it. That wasn't a god for dealing with humans; it was a natural disaster. She'd die instantly trying to borrow its power—she was sure of it.
That left Eoji's general spirit. Powerful, yes—but still within her handling range.
Eoji's physical build matched her tastes anyway, and now she couldn't ignore that either.
But the magistrate definitely planned to take Eoji with him.
Yeoni steeled her resolve.
Did lowborns lack the duty of lifelong service to a master? Anyway, she couldn't let Eoji slip away.
With the gods massacred, Mokcheon held no value for her anymore.
Seoul brimmed with royal energy—even Kim Unhaeng's "god" couldn't rampage solo there. She'd find a spot to serve a general spirit properly.
Yeoni muttered blankly.
"I need to get married."
I headed straight home the moment I arrived in Seoul.
Father didn't even glance at his son of one year absent.
"You've handled everything yourself—why come crawling back? Marry, take concubines, do whatever."
"F-Father, I think you've misunderstood..."
"Right, I'm doddering and got it wrong. What would I know? A failure who can't rein in his son's antics has no shame left to eat rice. Jangbok, you! Outside. Emergency pack on the porch—fetch it quick!"
What's with the old man? This wasn't his character. Actual dementia?
I shot a look at Hong Daeyong, the one responsible. He'd come in with me; he bowed politely and spoke.
"Even I in the distant south have long heard your esteemed name. Father in the Upper Council often wrote of the great virtue of the Jangdong elder."
Did he grease his tongue or what? My father Kim Yonggyeom and his Hong Ryeok were both lowly Seoul officials—makes sense they'd know each other—but who'd praise a coworker to his son?
But my thinking was too cynical. Seems Hong Ryeok really had mentioned Father.
"I've heard you ponder sage virtues deeply, emulate Confucius in teaching disciples, and know well elegant melodies and refined strains."
"True, I enjoy playing the geomungo and blowing the piri. But lord, why speak of music now? 'Tis unfilial, unclear—not just to us, but your own house."
Naturally, Father wasn't in a guest-welcoming mood.
But "Silhak" Hong Daeyong didn't care. Insider type.
"My deepest apologies. My younger sister, improperly chaste, heard only tales of the magistrate's dignity and came to admire you. And I, thrilled at ties to a famed house, boasted childishly far and wide.
Such matters can't be settled with money—that'd offend a noble line. My skill's clumsy, but imitating the ancients, I'll beg pardon with one tune."
Listening quietly to his spiel, I felt something off.
Cleanest would've been denying all as misunderstanding, nothing happened. This was veering elsewhere?
But interrupting before Father? Tough.
Besides, Hong Daeyong's flow was smooth as running water.
Couldn't stop Father—out of curiosity (yep, that's him; no dementia)—having the geomungo brought out.
Once his impromptu concert kicked off, I had zero urge to halt it.
Scholar like me, I know music decently.
Just lost interest since irrelevant to success—but Hong Daeyong seemed to have devoted himself solely to geomungo, skipping studies. Explains the exam fails.
But a talent worth learning, even steeling for exam failure.
Broad, grand, rumbling tone: "gung." Shrill, sharp: "sang." Clear, crisp stop: "gak."
Quick head-lift: "chi." Calm sink-and-spread: "u."
These five tones aren't identical.
Through the player's burning, plucking, singing—seven emotions—they vary each rendering, even same note. Infinite shifts beyond mere qingyin, biyin, takyin modulations.
People, futures: nine thousand changes in a blink. Unknowable.
Hong Daeyong's music embodied that.
Seemed familiar tune rendition—but no. Like a 21st-century top singer's cover or adaptation: distinctly theirs. Here too, fully infused with Hong Daeyong's personality.
If that's my takeaway, Father—music connoisseur—grasped far more.
Long after, Father rose and bowed deeply to Hong Daeyong, young as his own son.
Hong Daeyong scrambled up, bowed back. Father spoke, voice thick with emotion.
"I already fathom your intent, lord. Haven't heard such heartfelt playing in ages."
"Overpraise, truly. Clumsy skill vexed your ears—yet no rebuke; great relief."
"As you noted, Confucius taught disciples via song and dance. Music's essential in rites: reaches deeper than word or writ, sage intent. Now I know Hong house ritual music's excellence—no hesitation in deep friendship."
"Overwhelmed by such mighty grace."
Hold up—what're you two doing? Why's it advancing on its own?
High-level comms blooming through music? Shooting a manga here?
Morse code on geomungo?
Hong Daeyong even teared up, grasping Father's hand.
"Cast me off as arrogant, and my sister hangs herself that day—how pitiable! You've saved two lives."
"My scant virtue failed to curb my son's manners, birthing this mess. I'll admonish strictly, mindfully—rest easy."
They play well. Outsider'd think I'd assaulted Hong Seohwa or something.
No more rudeness-tolerating. I burst out.
"What in blazes is this? I'm here to debunk Seoul's baseless rumors—why talk like betrothal? Daeyong! Why deceive Father so gravely? I've never meant to marry into the Hong house!"
Hong Daeyong and Father eyed me with near-identical looks. Translation?
'Who gives a damn what you think?'
Oh crap.
So Father was mad not at the marriage talk itself, but at me not reporting it.
Thinking back, zero reason for him to oppose.
Hong Daeyong's lack of office hurt me, not Father.
Precious few houses in Joseon match Namyang Hong's top-tier fame. And that girl "admires" Kim Unhaeng, to boot.
Emotions secondary, sure—but a hundred times better than dislike. Bonus: prospective son-in-law a potential soulmate.
Even sans Hong Daeyong, probably a fiery scolding, then "just do it."
But Father, political marriage here—I wanna pick more carefully.
Not giving up yet. Gotta be higher houses to pave my success path.
I ignored Hong Daeyong yapping "brother-in-law" this-that, ran Seoul famous-house errands for Hong Gyehee, scouting vibes.
Father and I both top-graders with names; all welcomed us.
"Oh my, Mokcheon's deep scholar graces our humble abode."
"Year's end—proper to greet high-repute houses. This from the Chungcheong observer..."
"No need for such. State's busy enough. Just hold to loyalty, filial piety..."
Noron bonds thick as ever; formal welcomes all around. In haste, nearly blurted "got a daughter?"
But the deal was long sealed.
No house skipped congratulating my marriage.
Rushed Seoul to hawk myself high-price; turns out I was already sold out.
Sun Tzu: Victory ere battle.
Before I even left Mokcheon, the winner was set.
'If Hong Daeyong orchestrated all this... no ordinary bastard!'
Outschemed? By me?
By a guy who flunked the official headcount test?
Nah, impossible. Some lucky breaks, sure.
But cunning as hell unchanged. That sister ploy—sly fox.
Want it that bad? Fine.
I'll forge that brother-in-law bond specially.
Your exams? I'll get you through.
You could grow big enough to help me.
The knockout punch—from our king, of all people. Utterly unrelated to the marriage, or so it seemed.
This is what they mean by "useless bastard in life."
Officially, I was here for Father's illness—no special palace audience. Local mag leaving post? No brownie points.
Just the usual: New Year's tribute goods, local products.
Mokcheon specialty: wildcat and fox pelts. Pre-departure send to jog his memory on that tiger skin favor, y'know.
Surprisingly, Yeongjo had a conscience.
Ministry of Rites, divining His will, reported thus:
"Mokcheon mag Kim Unhaeng: top eval, special merits, famed for benevolence locally—proves top graduate no fluke. Past faults led to outer-post demotion; per custom, summon now to one of the Three Offices?"
Yeongjo was game.
But one tackler: Hong Bonghan, who hates my guts.
Shameless much? Stele pending, sure—but this elder, outclassed in age and station, clinging to a young punk?
Hong Bonghan cited my Hong Gyehee ties, questioned my eval.
Coming from a wang sado-in-law who exam-passed via freebie, newbie-gov of Gyeonggi like some corporate webnovel protag? Rich.
Then dredged up stale Chungcheong gossip—clerk assault, total baseless slander.
Unprovable past (dead men tell no tales) mattered less in Seoul than the Hong Gyehee angle.
Hong Gyehee: Noron heavyweight. Seen as factional attack on Noron; court turned nasty fast.
What gave Hong Bonghan the balls?
January: his daughter Hye gung Hong pregnant.
Forgetting? Dad's the crown prince. Quick work.
Boy or girl? I alone know. Era's sex-checks by fortune-tellers; palace doing it? Vatican cardinal demon-summoning tier.
But he bet the farm—assuming son, or private reading. Bold race.
Maybe target wasn't me, but Noron bash.
King had to rattle the tangpyeong cabinet urgently.
Info-gathering snagged my marriage rumor.
King's all-in compromise:
"Word is, East Palace already blessed with joy; soon, censor Kim Yonggyeom's house celebrates too. Subject-king harmony: commendable.
Long knew Kim Unhaeng's loyalty (tiger pelt). Three Offices fits Rites' say—but youth vaulting high invites envy, personal pride.
Opponent from Cheonan's penal clan? Messy fallout best avoided nearby. Term under a year; leave him be. Later summons demand maturer skill: focus governing well, cultivating virtue."
Not dislike-no-promo; marriage hassle (Three Offices no cakewalk)—honeymoon in Mokcheon, basically.
Joseon wife eventually Seoul-serves parents; by then, promotion implied.
Non-urgent, wives rarely trek solo that far. Yeongjo's creepy "thoughtfulness" chills.
Totally done.
My marriage's in the records. Annals-bound absent freak twists.
I stared blankly at the sky.
Winter's sullen clouds finally cleared. Just like my brain now.
Heard it from a Korean school senior once.
Suddenly snapped to: married.
I muttered blankly.
"I need to get married."
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1. Shamans divide mainly (by talent) into possession types (receive strong gods) and hereditary (learn craft from ancestors). As noted, north favors possession; south, hereditary. Yeoni handles both.
2. "The god is dead. The god is dead." Parody of Nietzsche's Gay Science. Original: "God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him." Key is "we"—changing it flips the in-story meaning unrelated.
3. Morse code pops in fiction for impromptu cipher, but slow for unprepared long messages.
Joseon folk don't know Morse—doesn't exist yet. Kim Unhaeng's modern but exam-grind student; doesn't know...
4. As prior note: real history has Kim Yonggyeom impressed by Hong Daeyong's playing, bowing deeply.
5. Even if Joseon masses believed shamanism, elite ideology deemed "shaman tricks superstition"—no tolerance for "pagan" acts on principle, as Kim Unhaeng said. Yi Seonggye/Muhak or later King Sunjo's grandma pushing palace-site superstition worked 'cause above saebyeok or unrelated.
Just those two: no east palace gate (early royal loss—Jeong Dojeon too strong); grandma forced Gyeonghee move (Sunjo too weak)—wins there.
6. Hye gung Hong's pregnancy? Not Jeongjo—early-note Uiso se sson (Crown Prince Uiso).
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