Chapter 3
Chapter 3
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 3
Chapter Title: First Mission
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As I stepped into the house, my servant Jangbok swung open the sliding gate for me.
The Initiation Ritual for New Officials was a familiar custom even to Joseon folk, so it seemed he'd been waiting, knowing this was coming. I felt a warmth like reuniting with a brother, without even needing to dig through Kim Unhaeng's memories of him.
Jangbok grabbed my sleeve and tugged me inside hastily, glancing around as if afraid someone might see.
"Aigoo, young master of the study hall. You must be exhausted. Madam hasn't coughed yet, so pay your respects come sunrise."
Calling me by the nickname from my childhood, Jangbok took my torn gat hat and disheveled outer robe, grinning broadly.
"Looks like you really gave it your all, sir."
I considered venting to Jangbok but decided against it.
Throwing a tantrum to a subordinate about screwing up at the ritual would only lose me face. It'd be utterly pointless.
Just a few hours in Joseon, and here I was, already turning feudal, talking about "inferiors." Even I was amazed.
It was probably due to the eighteen years of experience and knowledge Kim Unhaeng had accumulated, now mine. Structuralist philosophers who claim experience defines the subject would be thrilled. Or maybe my true nature was just trash from the start—but let's not go there.
Still, there was one thing I could never reconcile with Joseon ways.
"If I'm to pay respects to Father in the morning, I need to clean myself up. At least prepare some washing water."
"I've already set a basin in your room."
"Not enough. Bring hot water, one basin after another. Clean towels too."
Jangbok tilted his head, wondering why I was suddenly making such a fuss, but he didn't argue.
I soaked towels in the hot water Jangbok kept bringing and scrubbed until no more foul black grime leached from the basin.
I knew full well that hot showers were impossible in Joseon, even without Kim Unhaeng's memories. This was the best I could do.
Thankfully, to Jangbok, it must have looked like I'd resolved to purify myself now that I'd become a fine official. The wild "study hall young master" had made good, so of course he'd indulge me a bit—that much shone through his actions.
"I'll let you know if Madam starts coughing."
"No need. You worked through the night—get some rest."
"This is nothing. I should have stayed by your side, but I worried it might seem presumptuous and stir gossip that could block your career."
Sorry for letting you down after all that faith. I'd just smashed the head of my path forward with a stick.
Once Jangbok left, I lay down in my room.
The night was still dim. But in Joseon, where most folks began their day at dawn, this hour meant "morning soon."
In Korean terms, dawn was like 9 a.m. commute time, and now was around 7 a.m., when people start stirring. Jangbok hadn't pulled an all-nighter; he'd just woken early.
So I didn't sleep either. I wasn't in the mood anyway. My body ached with fatigue, but sleeping now would make me inhuman.
Instead, I pondered what lay ahead.
"Chief State Councillor, she said. So, like Jangbok said, I need to rise through the ranks here in Joseon."
I combined the Status Window info with Kim Unhaeng's memories in a modern way.
Joseon folks didn't memorize kings by reign numbers like Taejong-Taeseo-Mundanseok. Such pedigrees aligned with modern views only around King Gojong anyway.
Fortunately, from a yangban household, even Kim Unhaeng knew temple names of past kings.
The ill-fated young king "slaughtered by his brother" by those "treacherous villains" was King Gyeongjong.
"So the current king is Yeongjo."
I didn't care if Yeongjo really pulled off that crab paste and raw crab succession ploy.
What mattered was his incredible longevity and how he tormented those around him the whole time.
Who was Yeongjo? The man who brainwashed tens of millions of Koreans.
Thanks to him, polluted info made Koreans think crab paste and raw crab kill you, or feel wrong about storing rice in a cellar. Ask any Korean what goes in a cellar—they'll say, "Uh... a son?"
The cellar issue was key. Starving your only son to death? No one gets away with that easily.
In short, Kim Unhaeng alone couldn't become Chief State Councillor under that mad king Yeongjo.
If my talent fell short, I'd need family backing—but that seemed unlikely too. I thought Andong Kim clan ruled late Joseon, but apparently not yet, or maybe I had it wrong. No real power here.
So to succeed at this "tuition payment" no dog would touch, I'd need future knowledge as a Korean too.
To mesh that with ingrained Kim Unhaeng memories, I'd "translate" them. I sank into thought, feeling like when I organized exam mistake notes.
Micro-details from this era's memories fleshing out my macro history knowledge brought an odd intellectual thrill. I even forgot my grim fate for a moment, lost in it.
Ask any average person about events in Yeongjo's reign, and they'll tilt their heads.
Even history buffs struggle beyond the cellar. Mentioning Yi Injwa's Rebellion marks you as Joseon expert.
This means macro stability—an era of peace.
Great upheavals like Imjin and Byeongja were past. Imjin was a win, Byeongja shoved aside. Park's Tale was the masses' mental rewrite for impossible realities.
Not everyone bought that spiritual victory.
In Yeongjo's time, petitions like Kim Yakhaeng's—distant kin, same clan as me—pushed restoring the mandate and northern expeditions.
Per Kim Unhaeng's knowledge, Qing was fighting the "Mongol rebellion"—Qianlong's Dzungar War, I realized after rolling it around.
Dynasties plagued by rebellions abroad spell opportunity for Korea. Northern expansionists drew strength from that.
But Yeongjo and Jeongjo weren't fools, earning their renaissance rep.
Qianlong simply decided: no people, no problem—for the defiant Dzungars since Kangxi days.
He vowed total extermination.
Sane folks say end war, negotiate. He exterminated them too.
Forgiving rebels blocks his lifelong "Ten Perfect Victories" legacy.
Like him, chasing achievements, I couldn't just mock Qianlong.
He succeeded. Genocide 200 years before Hitler—and perfectly, unlike him.
Not tepid war crime tolerance, but official "exterminate utterly" slogan.
Even Hitler hedged with "Final Solution." Continental scale. Comparing to the eunuch emperor insults Qianlong.
Captured generals punished; total killers rewarded. Smallpox aided, like Anglo-Saxons on natives.
Dzungars vanished long before Qianlong's end.
Left "empty land" became "new territory"—Xinjiang. Called "Uyghur" now, but Dzungars dominated then.
Like Saxons/Slavs claiming "empty" after wiping natives.
So attacking Qing mid-war is nonsense.
Catching a weary beast sounds good, but this beast?
Qing's no limping leopard—it's an African elephant trampling a crocodile in rage over a nose nip.
Want mutual suicide? Fine. But Homo sapiens should outsmart reptiles.
Can't give world's strongest empire's lord—pre-British—"Dzungar Slayer (600k)" then "Joseon Slayer (10M)." (Britain waits 100 years.)
So I judged wisely like most Joseonites.
Forgot early returnee dreams of Manchuria. No guts like fearless King Injo.
Turned to internal affairs.
Wise foreign policy meant peace inside. Economy—farming—was decent.
Long famine hits Sunjo later (remembered from Hong Gyeongnae Rebellion), but now harvests good.
No good news lately, so I cherished this positive. Stability first for advancement.
But career thoughts soured me quick.
Politically unstable.
Mid-Joseon factionalism shifted to Later Faction Politics at a key turn.
From Kim Unhaeng's childhood tales: 10 years ago, Kim Changjip, Yi Imyeong, Yi Geonmyeong, Jo Taechae exonerated.
Noron called them Four Loyalists; Soron, Four Fiends.
Not quirky martial villains—ministers who made Yeongjo king. (Noron: Four Loyalists.)
Dismissing as "Yeongjo rewarded backers" underrates Joseon politics.
Post-Gyeongjong enthronement, young king got crown prince proposal, then regency demand.
Modern: "Your Highness, die soon."
They died instead. Absolute monarchy no joke; Gyeongjong was Sukjong's son.
Sukjong's temple name? Suk—Purge King. Faction games mere mobs before AOE "Return to Host."
Court shuddered at Gyeongjong's fury over Yi Geonmyeong's "Our king's impotent, no heir" to Chinese envoys. Penalty: beheading, not poison. Natural, really.
With better hygiene, he'd have purged like dad.
But he faltered, soon following them. Soron, hating Yeongjo, quit crab paste for total war.
Exonerating them right away? Admit I'm Crab Paste King, Noron puppet.
Must first prove his innocence.
Order crucial: Exonerate because he's innocent, not vice versa.
Thus, 20-year epic standoff: abdication waves, tear shows rivaling Seonjo. Poor Crown Prince Sado, always kneeling in sackcloth.
Exonerations and reversals flew amid Gyeongjong/Yeongjo purges.
No mere retrial—Yeongjo's legitimacy at stake. Whole court tense. Tangpyeong policy balanced Noron favoritism.
Law flipped morning to night like Sukjong Returns. King's perk: overturn rulings shamelessly—"evil ministers clouded my wisdom."
Yeongjo won. "Three Hands Plot" report burned clean.
Four exonerated: No Crab Paste history. Yeongjo legit brother-successor.
1740 Gyeongsin Edict wrapped it. Kim Changjip last exonerated, pósthumous title next year.
My father Kim Yonggyeom—felt more "my" than ever—is Kim Changjip's nephew.
Great-uncle beheaded by Gyeongjong. Clan exiled, naturally.
Post-Yeongjo hopes dashed by politics; returned post-Gyeongsin as capital elites.
Late but lucky. Father got provincial post; I, Office of Diplomatic Correspondence. House party mood.
Then I bashed a senior's head ten days in—ritual day.
Then Jangbok called anxiously from the door—voice, face changed.
I smirked bitterly. News arrived already.
"Go hide so no sparks fly your way. Say I sent you on an errand..."
Twenty years servant life; he got it, vanished quick.
Father Kim Yonggyeom's refined, enlightened—no scapegoating servants.
But "just punishment for poor service" likely meant beatings. Joseon way.
And I wouldn't escape either.
"Hope he doesn't toss me in the cellar."
As expected, Father—unlike future king feigning "dead wife whispered from stars!" shaman tricks—didn't order me bound.
Pipe in brazier, he stared long.
Suddenly: "Man from Hwaiwon Office of Diplomatic Correspondence came. Quite the spectacle."
These bastards snitched at dawn.
No rebuttal for Kim Unhaeng here. That's Joseon son.
Even modern me speechless. Total embarrassment both worlds.
I knelt, head down, hands flat—only option.
Status Window floated before eyes—over cold floor.
I marshaled all willpower not to scream. That'd confirm madness with last night.
Veins bulging:
Why pop now? Mocking me? And this skill? I need "mass hypnosis" or "total mind control."
Paranoid, I found solace: "Home" meant greeting parents. Status Window Joseon-true.
No time for nonsense—key message followed.
For the first time, not text—a crude hexahedron, like a yut stick.
To me, it looked like the body part from ancient curses, symbolizing my plight, tumbling down.
Just my luck.
A crisp, infuriating chime rang.
The next instant, the first mission engraved itself on the floor.
3. First Mission (2)