Chapter 4
Chapter 4
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: 3. The First Mission (2)
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‘...!! So these are the twelve essential objectives...?’
The goal of the Ascension to Premiership Chart game is to become Chief State Councillor (there had been a "become king" game, but it was immediately deleted along with its creator's life).
A chart depicting the ascent to the rank of Prime Minister—hence, the Ascension Chart. And now, the first objective I had to achieve on that ladder of ranks had been presented.
But it was pretty out of left field.
[1. Pass the Literary Examination (Sub-goal: 1)]
What the hell is this?
There had been a minor incident, but hadn't I already been appointed to the Office of Diplomatic Correspondence?
I thought for a moment, then quickly realized.
Southern appointment is, in a word, a form of special hire.
On the surface, it's about discovering hidden sages (with the king's discerning eye) or giving preferential treatment to the descendants of meritorious retainers (by the king's grace).
In cases like my family, it's a convenient tool for pushing political agendas or promoting loyalists.
And discrimination against non-regular employees was alive and well in the Joseon era. In some ways, it was even worse.
Imagine someone in Korea who parachuted into a decent factory or major corporation without going through open recruitment.
All the employees would burn with resentment toward that scoundrel who got the job without effort.
But what if it turned out they were the chairman's nephew or grandchild?
After that, at least within the company, no one talks about fairness or hard work anymore.
Because keeping your mouth shut in that situation is "effort," and rewarding those who put in the effort is "fairness."
But Joseon's upright Confucian scholars were different, even when they were supposed to be the same.
The initiation ritual itself started because indignant civil service exam passers—sadaebu—were fed up with powerless sons of powerful families getting appointed through connections without talent.
Who in posterity would call a flatterer of the powerful a true gentleman?
In the end, those who skipped the exams, even if specially appointed, couldn't endure the contempt around them and either took the exams or quit their posts. There were cases of rising high through connections, and they increased later on, but it wasn't common or accepted.
A prime example known to every Korean is Yanam Park Jiwon. He entered service through southern appointment but never passed the higher exams, wandering minor posts until the end.
I knew about Park Jiwon doubly well. As a modern person, of course, but also because our family— the core of the Noron faction—was factionally linked to him.
Park Jiwon's grandfather was the current Rank 2 high official Park Pilgyun. And Park Jiwon's own talent was beyond question.
Even so, as far as I knew, county magistrate or magistrate was his limit.
For someone like Kim Unhaeng, who left no particular mark in history (since I don't know of him), surviving long in the Office of Diplomatic Correspondence on connections alone was impossible.
‘Come to think of it, it said it would make me a civil servant, not that it would help me pass the exam. These bastards are ruthlessly thorough.’
I stopped the useless cursing and gathered my thoughts.
There was no need to narrow my options and box myself in. Let's think calmly. To become Chief State Councillor, was the exam really the only way?
Of course, there were other paths.
Since I'd gotten the status window anyway, I could dream up a fizzy plan: acquire some cheat skill, stage a coup, overturn the country, install a puppet king, and snag the Chief State Councillor seat in one go.
A brainwashing hypnosis skill like I'd always dreamed of would be ideal. No need for violence—just walk up to the king and it's done. When did he ever think I wasn't Chief State Councillor?
I don't care what mess the country becomes. Handle the aftermath with a revolution or whatever. I'm going home.
But the abilities I'd gained so far—Language Synchronization and Disease Immunity—felt like bare-minimum survival basics within reason.
Considering all the context, expecting full-cheat hero skills as a chosen otherworlder was too much self-importance.
It felt more like being a plaything toyed with by a Lovecraftian elder god.
‘Besides, if that were possible, they wouldn't have called it Ascension Chart.’
Climbing step by step: exile, encountering incognito inspectors, maybe even drinking poison if unlucky, and finally reaching Chief State Councillor—that's the Ascension Chart.
Once you reach the Chief State Councillor spot, all that's left is receiving the palanquin, attending the congratulatory ceremony, and retiring to spend your remaining years. In other words, it's a game about enjoying the process.
The twelve essential objectives follow the same logic. Skipping them all would probably be "rule violation." Impossible.
In games, you stand before the demon king by completing the main quests. Since the first is passing the exams, the rest of the "objectives" likely tie into a path to Prime Minister.
Thus, my path is building a civil servant career in Joseon, and for that, I absolutely must pass the exams first.
It might sound long when spoken, but the thoughts flashing through my mind didn't take much time.
I couldn't afford to space out long in front of my father, especially since this was a scolding session.
Fortunately, Father didn't find me suspicious.
Even a modern person couldn't imagine their son staring at a floating status window on the floor mat. Instead, he spoke with pity.
"Seeing you prostrated before me, trembling and groaning, you must be quite indignant. If you have something to say, speak."
It wasn't why I was shaking, but I did have something to say.
Reputation matters in this society. Long-term, I needed to frame yesterday's outburst not as a mistake, but as an uprising.
I cleared my throat.
"The zealous ones have repeatedly forbidden the initiation ritual by national law, yet excuse it as custom, committing random looting and abuse that kills not a few—this deceives the sovereign above and loses the people's hearts below. Even scholars like Yulgok said it's not righteous, and I agree..."
Ow, that hurts.
Father had whacked my forehead with his pipe. Strange—he seemed so refined.
"No greater malady afflicts book-readers than you. You've mastered flashy rhetoric without grasping fundamentals. Did Yulgok see the ritual's farce and just retire to the countryside, or did he beat people with a stick?"
The rebuke was stern, but debating logically with his son proved Father was quite progressive by Joseon standards. I bowed immediately.
"I spoke out of turn."
"What will you do now? You dared invoke Yulgok—will you retire like him?"
The question clearly led to the answer, obvious even to outsiders. I replied with relief.
"No."
"No?"
"Anyone can lose their temper and throw away life or office. But Jing Ke [荊軻] avoided petty quarrels to burn his sole life for great purpose, and Lord of Huaiyin [淮陰侯, Han Xin] endured crawling under ruffians' pant legs for grand merit. Returning home now would end my life as an ordinary man."
This was rhetoric even my modern self could recite. I felt smug inside, but Father stroked his beard dismissively.
"How arrogant to compare yourself to ancients. So, what do you plan?"
I gave the answer he wanted.
"They tormented me using the ritual as excuse because they look down on southern appointees. I'll rise through the Literary Examination openly, silencing them—that's the righteous path."
Father looked like he wanted to slap his knee in satisfaction.
"Good! The junzi walks the straight path. Even with petty hindrances, he doesn't seek shortcuts or alleys [行不由徑, Analects]. Our land reveres and boasts scholars who shun office, but that's like calling an unmarried widow chaste. Saying you don't need office is only after handling it excellently."
Common image of late Joseon sadaebu, especially Noron, is like "Neo-Confucian Taliban."
But people are complex, not monolithic. Being in a Noron household showed it's not always so.
My father, Kim Yonggyeom, mingled with all classes, gaining broad knowledge. Eccentric at best, heretical at worst by era's standards.
In modern terms, pragmatic thinker. Naturally, he disliked scholars' attitudes.
His words now were his usual refrain: mocking those insecure in court competition who feign purity and seclude for vain fame.
I fully agreed—no deep philosophy needed. My soul was on the line.
So I bowed without hesitation.
"I'll always keep Father's teachings in mind."
"I'll inquire through family elders. Await punishment for now. The Office isn't elite, but it's important all the same. His Majesty will soon reply."
Damn. Crime's a crime, it seems.
The Office of Diplomatic Correspondence handles diplomatic documents—an important post, as Father said.
But that's the bureau; broadly, this was just young thunderbolts causing a ruckus.
Even the Office of the Inspector General getting involved would lose face. Office Judge Kim Jeongbong simply reported to the king.
I had no way of knowing palace happenings, but I could guess the outcome.
The relayed royal reply was quite long. And as expected.
The child before me summarized it breezily.
“Beat the rabble-rousers. All were dismissed in the end.”
The punishment was simple: all who held the forbidden initiation ritual, harming scholars' dignity—dismissed. Naturally, me too.
Of course, that didn't derail my mission.
Joseon dismissal differs completely from modern Korean civil servant expulsion.
Removal from duty is similar, but Joseon dismissal is closer to modern position removal, with even lighter felt severity.
Unlike Korean civil servants—virtually never fired barring embezzlement, sex crimes, or DUI—Joseon dismissals were rampant, criteria be damned.
After a mistake, dismissal was the next common penalty following a review.
Something blows up? Dismiss first. Heavy guilt? No reinstatement. Light? Back in days later.
Even sakdal gwanjik (stripping office)—sounds record-erasing scary, but substance is similar.
Joseon has plenty who got it multiple times and returned to office. Exile at least feels like "proper discipline."
So judge context, not dismissal itself.
Here, it's like the kid said: "Shut up, all of you!" Reinstatement soon, obviously.
Can't run things mass-dismissing junior officials. Even King Yeongjo, who fired whole bureaus (Three Offices) for politics, wouldn't rage over this.
"The Office naturally sided with their own, reporting the newbie swung a stick injuring officials."
"You're teasing me. Would His Highness protect our house, nearly exterminated years ago? He probably doesn't even know my name. Just abolishing the ritual and enforcing discipline."
Laws for civilized folk are odd everywhere, Korea included: sly tormentors innocent, but punching back is grave crime.
By Joseon law, I'm clearly the perpetrator.
Yet the king dismissed all. As if saying, "You deserved it."
Not taking my side, but Yeongjo's temperament signaling no tolerance for ritual nonsense.
The kid nodded at my explanation.
"Likely. Anyway, your fame's spread thick in the Six Ministries streets."
I swear I never had such a little brother. I'm the charming youngest with an older brother and sister.
We're seven or eight years apart, but in Joseon, non-kin calling "hyungnim"/"little bro" proves closeness, not age. Unlike Korea, it's literal "like brothers" if tight.
I'd had my coming-of-age; he hadn't, so "adult treatment." If both adults, friends more natural.
But he worms in via "family ties," using unapproved bro terms for schemes. Puberty age, yet bold.
‘No, that's why? Twelve years old—high schooler socially in Korea. Age drawn to danger.’
Whatever, I couldn't chase him off.
"Family ties" true, and even if I became Chief State Councillor per mission, he'd be 100x more famous.
Grandson of current Minister of Rites Park Pilgyun: Park Jiwon. Yes, Yeolha Diary author I'd read.
Even unknowing his future, current Park Pilgyun leads Noron, pushed Four Ministers including Kim Changjip. Can't snub his grandson.
So, hearing I'd become a Hanyang SNS star, I couldn't hide my unease.
"My fame spread?"
Park Jiwon mimed stroking nonexistent beard. His oversized-for-age build made it unweird.
"Oh, unaware? Guess what nickname young officials gave you? Dog-Beating Stick Kim Unhaeng."
"...So, I hang with dogfighters?"
Unlike me, no modern wuxia exposure, Park Jiwon looked puzzled.
What talk. The master of the Intimidation Stick Method, who thrashed dog-like thugs and crushed their spirits—like Song’s Intimidation Stick regime. How could this brother not visit? I couldn’t say I didn’t know if asked.
Voice huge for a voice-changing kid. Neighborhood shame; I shook my head.
"Drop it. Eavesdroppers might think I'm a street thug."
"Haha. True gentleman's model. Heard you've resolved to study, show scholarly talent, awe the petty folk?"
Never thought world-class Father would act like a high school senior's parent starting cram mode. How much bragging till neighborhood kids know?
Anyway, good he knew—faster talk.
I smiled meaningfully on purpose.
"Yes. Planning to pass within a year."
Regular civil service exams every three years, I knew. This Mu-jin year and next Gi-sa no literary exams by law.
But no worry.
This era has tons of special exams for excuses. My memories and knowledge: at least yearly.
Most for regime stability goodwill.
Often with perks like direct higher exam skip or non-academy eligibility. "Taking" possible.
Park Jiwon shocked elsewhere. If I passed next year at nineteen, near youngest in Joseon history.
"Unaware your learning was so vast yet precise."
I admired. Twelve-year-old rephrasing "With that brain? In a year?" so refined. Big future ahead.
But no lie.
As boasted, I'd take—and pass—the exams. No choice.
But Joseon exams no cakewalk, even special ones.
Regressor? That one I know flunked civil service worse than exam competition.
Useless. Need other resources.
Yes, other resources. Sorry Father, never planned "my scholarship" for passing.
Just need to pass, right?
First step: via this young master before me. I lowered voice, shifted tone slyly.
"My studies aren't that deep. So I really need your help this time, little brother."