Chapter 31
Chapter 31
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 31
Chapter Title: 1+1=3 (2)
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I might not be able to make soap, but I can build roads, ponds, or embankments.
Of course, aside from the roads, it didn't really matter how they were made, so I didn't need any special knowledge for that—but the reason wasn't just that.
My father is a supervisor at the Office of Public Works. That office handles the exact kind of projects I focused on in Mokcheon and Jiksan.
No, not punishments or performance bonuses—civil engineering and construction. A supervisor oversees those duties, just like the name implies.
Dad might not be an expert, but I'm the son of a government-appointed official site inspector. In my previous life, I did day labor gigs now and then, too. If I had reliable hands to carry it out, I could give rough instructions.
They call it family tradition in two letters: house style. The magistrate thought I didn't know construction and tried slacking off in the Jiksan workshops—they got beaten with shovel handles and replaced.
The Jiksan Autobahn was coming together just like the Nazis built theirs.
Meaning, we skimped every penny.
Labor was free, materials came cheap from Lee Jawoon, and we logged them at inflated prices to pocket the budget surplus.
Officially, the Youth Assault Team was even getting paid wages. We pulled some out of the warehouse, too.
Me.
But it was absolutely not wage theft. When I clear their grain loans, I have to cover it anyway.
If anything, it's like I got paid in advance. We don't talk about how those wages exceed what they owe on the loans.
I'm not trying to raze Jiksan to the ground before the king arrives.
Half-ass it and leave some rice lying around? When the king shows up, it'll all be stripped bare, roots and all.
Everything I did had a purpose.
This is war. So, tactics are in order.
The tactic I chose was scorched earth. Eulji Mundeok used it, so its effectiveness is proven.
A good chunk of Jiksan's movable assets would retreat ahead of the king. First stop: my account in Mokcheon.
I headed home from work today, basking in the satisfaction of another big payday. My "home" being the Jiksan magistrate's residence, that is.
Why not Mokcheon? The Autobahn made staying in Jiksan more convenient.
Mokcheon was being handled well by the outsider Jo Eungjin. With Eoji's club within reach in the next town over, he wouldn't dare betray me.
Sehwa greeted me warmly.
We'd only recently moved into the official residence as a couple.
Her family had provided plenty of support to smooth over complainers for the Autobahn project, so even after the wedding, we'd stayed longer out of courtesy.
Of course, I offered some of my hoarded gold dust as a "wedding gift." Gold's great—easy to process, compact.
Having received my sincere gift, my father-in-law spread word of Kim Unhaeng's honest reputation in Jiksan even harder. He declared that a son-in-law this diligent deserved to take his daughter away.
So Sehwa came to the Jiksan magistrate's residence.
You're not supposed to bring family. But my marriage had the king's blessing.
Saying "we're keeping you as magistrate because of the marriage" meant turning a blind eye to little things like this.
Maybe he'd overlook other stuff, too?
Sehwa seemed to think the same.
"The construction and road work must be hurried along, even if it means driving the laborers hard."
"Something happen?"
"A letter from Uncle (Hongryeok, deputy at the Bureau of Royal Rites). They're bustling preparing banners, hats, hat strings, and such. No official date yet, but it should be soon."
The Bureau of Royal Rites manages the king's clothing and sundry accessories. Even the practical departments were in chaos.
Unlike Korea, you couldn't just use the budget for fixed prices and procedures.
The Joseon bureaucracy's motto was self-reliance, and Yeongjo took it further with Chollima spirit.
Whining about budgets, manpower, conditions? That's impure ideology—or rather, disloyalty.
Like North Korean officials scrounging their own computers on starting, they were probably running around begging everywhere.
The Bureau would prep for the royal family, but other supply departments were no doubt the same.
According to Sehwa, Yeongjo ordered preparations to be "as simple as possible."
Meaning minimal budget, maximal spectacle. He's the guy who forced Park Mun-su to build a fleet for zero nyang, zero pun.
I could hear the supervisors' inner screams all the way from Chungcheong: "Fine, here's a washbasin—walk there yourself, you bastard."
I rubbed my chin, pondering.
"Looks like the royal procession will arrive by Chuseok at the latest."
"Not Chuseok. Last year, His Majesty spared the Onyang people the water-hauling for the holidays, didn't he? With such benevolence for the people, it'll be after Chuseok."
Got it. Yeongjo picks the worst timing for others but hates hearing complaints himself—he wouldn't travel on a holiday and eat shit for it.
Thinking about it, last New Year's Eve he spared Onyang folks the water duty because they were tired—yet this year, he's slyly planning the infinitely more exhausting royal tour.
Sehwa's read on the pattern matched. I nodded.
"You're right."
The question was how many days. For precise intel, I wrote to chatterbox Park in Seoul first.
No ginseng anymore, but Mokcheon had herbs to send instead. Hint at gold for good info.
After scribbling a few letters, it was dinnertime.
I tried voice command. Hey, government slave.
"No one's here? It's time—why no dinner? Bring it quick."
No answer.
What? Firmware glitch?
Instead, an answer from the non-slave side. Sehwa.
"The government slaves were taken by the steward at noon."
"Why?"
"Saw them grabbing shovels, hoes, etc. Seemed like corvée work. Didn't you order it?"
Right. I did.
Told them "finish fast or get beaten"—they really went all-out. Even dragged the maids?
Sehwa said,
"No worries, though. I can handle serving you. How could a wife's devotion be lesser than some slave's?"
Why should you do that? That's not your role.
Voice range issue? No way this huge yamen has zero people.
Find the guy who opened the gate when I came in, eat, then plan business.
Besides, cooking in Joseon wasn't easy. A noble lady raised delicately couldn't just willpower through it.
In manga, these characters butcher cooking mysteriously. Flavor aside, why explode the pot?
To speed things up, I said firmly,
"Everyone has their talents. Your wisdom and learning are exceptional, but as a daughter of a wealthy house, you've never done rough work. Stop."
"I've cultivated womanly virtues in the inner quarters—why couldn't I handle that?"
Then she actually brought the meal tray. Prepared it ahead, I guess.
I didn't buy it. Must've ordered someone while I was gone.
Jiksan yamen or not, I brought close servants from Mokcheon (who'd poison me?).
Two years of their rice—one taste tells. My absolute palate will confirm.
Delicious.
Better than my kids' cooking.
Like a cooking manga judge who doubts after great priors, tries the protag's, and tears up.
She had this talent, too.
Couples dining together was rare in noble houses with big families split by gender. We just ate together.
I picked up my spoon hesitantly and said,
"Why didn't you bring attendants from home?"
"Even with special royal grace, that's all the more reason to be cautious. Bringing servants to an official residence invites gossip."
After years immersed in Joseon order, I'd overlooked such propriety.
In backwater yamens or alleys, maybe—but higher up, reputation is king.
Sehwa showed me without preaching.
Bringing personal servants wasn't scandalous per se.
But her choice could rebrand me as humble.
Hard to say myself, but I'd heard praise for achievements—no "incorruptible official" reviews yet. Blind fools.
"I came trusting only you. Please never lose that ambition to become Chief State Councillor."
Wise me heeded my wise wife's advice.
Now I'd be extra careful not to get caught.
If no emergencies, sunset marks the end of the workday in Joseon.
But life wasn't idle enough for straight sleep from dusk to dawn.
Scholars read by lamplight all night if they had oil; commoners twisted rope, sewed, wove straw sandals... Wait, modern too—but state population boosts happen mostly at night.
Fieldwork leaves you beat at sunset. Dinner makes you sleepy.
So agrarian folks often nap at dusk, wake at night for tasks, sleep again, rise pre-dawn.
Not rigid—common pattern. No work? Nap longer, wake earlier.
Unlike modern single-block sleep, it's "smart" segmented.
For non-laboring yangban, ideal is 4-6 hours in chunks.
Looks like premature death to me. Explains few nobles?
Confucius dissed napping disciples as "rotten walls" for millennia—still frowned on sleeping much.
But I'm modern, ignore unscientific nonsense.
Plus, I worked outside today. Sehwa tidied the residence, handled chores, cooked—busy.
We crashed instantly.
I woke like typical Joseon folks—unsure hours without clock.
And nearly stopped breathing.
Sehwa sat half-up, gazing down at me.
How'd I know? Full moon night.
No light pollution in Korea days—moonlight's intense. Full moon like daylight isn't huge hyperbole.
Moonbeams through cracked shutters shadowed her face.
Her downcast eyes gleamed blue, bare cheeks pale.
Summer thin clothes, loose hair—eerie vibe. Uncles called it Legend of the Hometown feel.
Dream? Yeah, body frozen—sleep paralysis.
Not real.
Unreal beauty and terror both.
Try flexing fingers one by one...
"You're awake."
More shock than tiger pounce. I bolted up desperately—not dying pathetically.
"What're you doing?"
Sehwa tilted her head.
"Pardon? I just woke too. You were sleeping soundly, so I didn't wake you."
Oh right. Typical wake-up hour. Overreacted.
As I caught breath, no apology in mind, she said cautiously,
"Did I upset you?"
"No. Just startled—feeling faint."
"My loose hair looked ugly. Was brushing it while you slept."
In this era, flaunting long loose hair prompts "Parents just died?" Loose hair's for mourning.
Modern gap eased me. I smiled.
"No, that look's more beautiful. No need to tie it—troublesome."
Mid-lipservice, a question hit; I added,
"But why brush at night? Back to sleep anyway."
Hand to hair, she gazed.
"Didn't want you seeing me disheveled on waking. But if you say so, I'll leave it."
"Haha, whatever. On bed, who cares about primp..."
Something off—I shut up.
Looking pretty on wake-up—what'd she expect?
Sehwa said something seemingly odd.
"Do you know why I schemed to marry you?"
No clue.
Hong Daeyong said my looks—bull. Why's he face-obsessed?
"I hate sitting in a spot anyone could fill. I want to be indispensable to your rise."
I pondered, then honest:
"Truthfully, you already are."
"And I want to be the only one sharing that glory with you."
As I parsed, she continued.
"I watched your face thinking that. Hoped you'd wake, hold me. So I brushed my hair. I want you to cherish me more than all those women you've held countless times."
Who held countless women? Not me.
Unlike her misconception, my innocence is spotless.
Status Window's fault. Passive—can't turn off.
Vitality's physical per literal meaning; doesn't guarantee satisfaction (absence near-guaranteed dissatisfaction).
But this skill "guarantees results" unlike the name.
Why's this hyper-perform beyond expectations? No ki-blast from arrows?
And Sehwa asked a worldly senior, assumed I'm experienced.
Like Korean girls gossiping friends? Hope not mother-in-law.
Two months married, she approached boldly.
Summer thin clothes. Her hand moved—jacket slipped off shoulders. Loose long hair barely covered.
Like first night, palms cupped my face, pulled me in.
"I won't share you anymore. One more reason now. Can't go back knowing this. Without you, I'd die too."
I clocked the time.
Such lines only at 3 a.m. No other possibility.
Sunrise two-ish hours later confirmed.
...Gonna nap after morning duty, send kids off. Normal in summer.
Night aside, days unchanged.
Jiksan modernization rolled on; my wealth grew.
Not just for me—wealth secondary.
By Chuseok, released some "retreated" assets to feed Jiksan well.
Can't have them banging gongs rudely before the king. Wait—seize gongs for tools. Good idea.
Roads and scorched earth: check.
Then Park Pilgyun's letter arrived.
[Chilly dew falls [Cold Dew]; I'll specially send the magistrate a jar of gochujang.]
Even chatterbox Park had to code it. Got it.
Mid-9th lunar month near Cold Dew: a jar of gochujang—the stuff Crown Prince gifted two years back that cured Yeongjo's mouth sores, saved his life. He's coming.
Equating king to gochujang? Not grudge—Park's humor.
No one'd guess Yeongjo'd reverse-kill his lifesaving son. Currently, it's filial piety symbol.
I knew his grandson Park Jiwon later wrote the studied "sending a peck of gochujang"—double geek thrill.
Savoring that, I burned the letter.
Sehwa and I nailed it.
Mid-September, Yeongjo "air-raids" Chungcheong with washbasin.
Path includes Jiksan.
Recheck preps, play my held-back card.
Time to gacha.