Chapter 49
Chapter 49
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 49
Chapter Title: 24. Walking on Thin Ice (1)
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Kim Unhaeng, a man from the modern era, could only see people's ability scores after acquiring the 'Shin Sukju's Integrity' skill.
However, though its precision was relatively low, to the people of Joseon, it was nothing more than a basic skill that everyone possessed.
If you couldn't quickly gauge your opponent's strength, you died. That was the reality of this era.
Lee Ikjeong, the former Chief State Censor whom Kim Unhaeng respected, surely had that level of discernment as well.
At that time, Lee Ikjeong, who had come to the examination hall as the Minister of Rites serving as the reading officer, could instantly sense the aura of the Gangnam Daeseong students (though, of course, he didn't actually see anything).
"Th-this is...?"
The seven or so scholars sitting in the front row, radiating blazing resolve, were embodying the spirit of determination with their very beings.
A couple of them even had what looked like bloodstains on their robes. Lee Ikjeong hurriedly scanned the surroundings, wondering if he had somehow ended up on a battlefield.
Given the nature of the preliminary exams, honestly, about half of this batch of successful candidates had already been pre-selected by the king or powerful aristocratic families.
The five brothers from the Pungsan Hong clan, kin to Hong Bonghan, were a prime example.
The five brothers of Hong Junghyo, who had been exiled for failing to appear for interrogation during the Kim Jeonggu incident and was then a junior official, all had their admissions essentially pre-decided.
Which meant, conversely, that the rejects had also been predetermined.
But if he let that show, these scholars looked ready to beat the reading officer to death first.
Upon closer inspection, he could barely recognize one or two faces.
That kid who looked so imposing only because of his sturdy build—he was barely an adult, if that. He was definitely Park Jiwon, grandson of former Assistant Judge of the Board of Revenue Park Pilgyun.
The scholar with sunken cheeks and piercing eyes was Yu Yeonho, a close nephew of the current Deputy Commander of the Censorate, Yu Cheokgi.
'With family backgrounds like that, admitting them wouldn't draw any criticism.'
Fortunately, as if heaven was aiding him, a few of the pre-selected scions from powerful families were already nowhere to be seen, or groaning in the corner while clutching their stomachs.
The fact that they had brought along private soldiers or servants wasn't an issue. The others had done the same. Normally, they wouldn't even bother picking up their exam papers themselves, downloading them remotely via attendants instead.
In an exam personally overseen by the king, this was the extent of it—so one could imagine the discipline in the provincial or preliminary exams. Not using ghostwriters was practically conscientious.
Once the exam papers were submitted, Lee Ikjeong examined their answers with particular care. No matter what, it wouldn't do for the Minister of Rites of the nation to let them pass just because.
Yet the answers were excellent.
A bit rough around the edges, as one might expect from young men, but they stuck to the orthodox path as if they had memorized model answers from some exam prep academy. They could be presented before the king without shame.
At that moment, Lee Ikjeong recalled an old subordinate.
'Could Gangnam Daeseong Academy be...? If Dog-Beating Stick Kim Unhaeng instilled that spirit in them, it's no wonder they have such momentum. But how, in that short time?'
As far as he knew, Gangnam Daeseong Academy hadn't even been around for two full years. Far too short to transform people like that.
But there was no time to dwell on such doubts amid the tight schedule of the special exams. Lee Ikjeong pushed stray thoughts aside and focused on his duties.
That day, every single examinee from Gangnam Daeseong Academy passed.
Jangbok came in and reported.
"Another guest has arrived."
I snapped in irritation.
"Don't they know the custom of avoiding visitors for the first three weeks after childbirth? We've hung a rope across the gate, so why are there so many guests?"
"Shall I chase him away? He claims to be from the household of Lord Deputy Commander of the Office of Diplomatic Correspondence..."
The Deputy Commander of the Office of Diplomatic Correspondence was Won Gyeongha, who had already been Left Councilor when I passed the exam. Chasing him away would get me booted from the court instantly.
But I didn't want to grovel before Se-hwa and my son, who was still wriggling his limbs blindly.
So I took it out on Jangbok instead.
"You fool, don't flap your gums without orders. Who told you to chase him away? I'll go see him myself."
It seemed my presence at home was doing more harm than good to her postpartum recovery.
I grumbled as I prepared to head out.
I wasn't too worried.
Since it was a son, my parents were overjoyed beyond measure and would take excellent care of them.
I preferred daughters over sons, but it was sad that everyone here was Joseon stock.
Even Se-hwa had the triumphant look of a general returning from battle with the enemy's head. Well, her sister-in-law hadn't borne a son yet, either.
"I'm fine now. Thanks to you last time, Mother and Father are here in Seoul, so she comes to visit now and then."
"There's a reason the old custom bars outsiders for three weeks after birth. While I'm away, please be cautious—extra cautious."
Considering the abysmal hygiene of the 18th century, I'd have preferred a full year of quarantine, but this was the limit. Fortunately, Se-hwa, having lived with me, had adapted somewhat and nodded without protest.
I instructed that the messenger from Won Gyeongha's house, who had brought the letter, be treated to a fine meal, then read the missive. It was exactly as I had anticipated.
Won Gyeongha's son, Won Inson, had sat for the exam this time and failed.
His scholarship was decent enough, and as scion of a prestigious house, he should have passed easily. But he got roughed up entering the hall, which threw off his condition, and he couldn't write properly.
In his distress, he heard that every student from Gwangju's Daeseong Academy had passed, so he sent word to me to enroll his son there.
As expected, the high officials all knew my father's name was just a signboard.
Won Gyeongha wasn't the only one.
It had been barely two weeks since the exams, and I couldn't even count the letters or visits. Won Gyeongha was among the more restrained, delaying slightly for the dignity of a senior minister.
The response was better than expected. The only ones staying silent were probably Hong Bonghan's faction, who found it awkward to bow their heads to me, or the hardcore Small Faction.
Either way, they were opponents too big for me to tangle with right now.
For now, it was time to rejoice in Gangnam Daeseong's prosperity.
No top scorer, but that was usually reserved for the scions of major clans anyway—unless another literary prodigy like me emerged. No point getting greedy. Even Yu Yeonho, the nephew of the Deputy Commander of the Censorate (whose father was a county magistrate; I'd overlooked it, dismissing him because of that), made it into the top grade.
I wrote back to Won Gyeongha first. Honored to receive such a promising young man—nothing fawning about it, just standard customer service.
After handing the reply to the messenger, I turned to Jangbok.
"I'm crossing the river today."
"Ah yes, you mentioned a feast today. Of course, this humble servant will escort you there and back."
As they were all from prestigious families, they'd been busy with courtesy calls after passing, so only now could they gather at the academy for celebrations.
I rolled my eyes at Jangbok's hint not to send him back after dropping me off.
What, did he think I was Swedish? Drag him to the feast and send him home hungry?
"I'll stuff you till you burst, so quit worrying and fetch Eoji. Unless you want to row alone."
Upon arriving at the academy, I half-suspected these mad lads had broken the alcohol ban right after passing the exams.
The banquet spread was so lavish it felt like a lie that there was no liquor.
Hong Daeyong greeted me as representative.
"The kingdom's prohibition is strict, so fine liquors like soju or clear rice wine are absent, but please indulge your scholarly spirits with the rest."
Wasn't that supposed to be said over modest fare like wild greens or tofu soup?
There was beef, pig's head, steaming whole chicken, fresh fish (a rarity even in Seoul), and oil-fried pastries galore—nothing missing.
They'd even snuck in several jars of what was dubiously called 'sweet rice wine.' The vibe screamed 'eat till we drop today.'
And it wasn't just the students. Park Pilgyun was there too.
Wait, isn't your grandson only fifteen? He doesn't need a guardian anymore. Sure, you're on waiting list as a de facto retiree, but that idle?
I soon realized why Park Pilgyun had come.
The old man was today's sponsor.
Park Jiwon was practically the youngest passer ever, so no wonder Grandpa wanted to celebrate. But wasn't that old man's reputation as an incorruptible official?
I approached him and bowed politely.
"Your generosity leaves me at a loss, sir."
As expected, Park Pilgyun demurred.
"This is pooled from several great houses to repay Teacher Chun-sik's efforts for the spring planting. How could I alone take the credit? I'm just here to see my young grandson—don't call this old man indulgent."
Chun-sik? Right—my courtesy name.
When I came of age, the elders named it after my sixth cousin Kim Wonhaeng, already famed for scholarship, whose own was Baekchun, hoping I'd follow suit.
But I hadn't heard it much lately.
For one, I'd mostly worked as a government clerk, so people rarely used courtesy names.
Park Jiwon was too young, Hong Daeyong family. Other friends used my given name in official contexts, and casual acquaintances called me by office.
I'd also made it clear I hated being called Dog-Beating Stick as much as Chun-sik.
By Joseon standards, it wasn't uncool. But I wasn't Joseon-born.
Couldn't erase it, though.
I'd possessed a body already named Chun-sik.
Now Park Jiwon was an adult too. And my students, bonded tightly as instructor and pupils, ate and drank freely while calling my courtesy name.
"A toast to Kim Chun-sik!"
"This is all thanks to Chun-sik..."
"Chun-sik and we shall be together forever..."
"With Kim Chun-sik's scholarship, Gangnam Daeseong rivals Seoul's four great academies..."
These bastards doing this on purpose?
As with such token exams, the newly admitted weren't granted posts overnight.
But none came from families worried about making ends meet, so no big issue.
I dove back into business. Dozens hoping to enroll at Gangnam Daeseong, plus the now-established bootlegging crackdown racket—too busy counting cash.
My 'main job' was leisurely. No one paid me any mind anymore.
Because that October, Yeongjo barricaded himself again, refusing to see his ministers and throwing a tantrum.
From the summer when I launched Project D-100 to train students through early fall, something massive brewed in the uppermost echelons, unrelated to me.
Upon taking the Chief Censor's seat, Min Baek-sang immediately went extreme. He argued for wiping out the Small Faction remnants.
Well, his father had been stabbed to death by Small Faction founder Kim Il-gyeong during King Gyeongjong's trusted ministers purge, so understandable.
But even as a Noron survivor myself, I couldn't defend that.
Honestly, after King Gyeongjong conceded even the crown prince title to Yeongjo's son, demanding regency from a young king was Noron's natural comeuppance. And Yeongjo had snapped that spear himself.
Of course, Yeongjo owed his throne to Noron's desperate gambit.
By rights, they should've just dismissed Min Baek-sang for overstepping.
But his wording was the problem.
"The monarch's false accusation remains unwashed [君誣未雪]."
Those four characters 'gummu miseol' rocked the political world. The phrase had circulated since the king's gaming days.
What false accusation?
The ones claiming Yeongjo plotted Gyeongjong's assassination with the three-pronged spear or moonlighted as a dark chef for his brother.
Unwashed meant what?
That Yeongjo's twenty-year political saga—vindicating the Four Noron Ministers, arguing their innocence cleared his own—his hard-won legitimacy was all for naught.
It was a direct insult to the impartial politics Yeongjo devoted his life to, trampling the self-pardon he'd masterfully executed.
Memorials aren't solo affairs, so even I in the censors knew.
But I didn't meddle like calling a suicide hotline.
Min Baek-sang was Noron but tight with Hong Bonghan. I hoped Yeongjo would just lop his head off.
Alas, he only got exiled to Geoje Island.
Or so I thought—it didn't end there.
Some Noron ministers submitted more idiocy: 'His words overstepped, but his intent was right.' Season 2 kicked off late fall. After opening the exams, just behave, damn it.
His life denied, Yeongjo 'refused his medicine.' In modern terms: 'Screw it, I'm done.'
Some ministers might wish the king practiced what he preached, but like old folks vowing to die already, Yeongjo's medicine boycott screamed 'I'll outlive you bastards.'
So ministers begged daily for audiences he denied, banging heads in vain. I wasn't a minister, so skipped it.
I stayed clear of the mess entirely.
Not just Min Baek-sang—defenders got exiled too, several of them.
But I avoided riding the wave to snipe anyone for core goals.
Don't dip toes in massive political waves. Retribution comes later.
For the status window quests, 'not screwing up' mattered more than rushing.
Exile for embezzlement or crime gives no comeback; ideological fights just mire you in mud.
So I quietly amassed wealth.
I ignored the innocent crown prince, dragged in whenever possible as the king's emotional dumpster for failing regency duties.
As ministers and crown prince frayed, Seoul's Dog-Beating Stick faction grew ever sturdier day by day.
In Dog-Beating Stick territory, only my rigorously 'inspected' 'sweet rice wine' circulated, with a cut of profits as inspection fees.
Gangnam Daeseong expanded with prepaid tuition. Pyo Cheolju, bored tending horses at the ranch, joyfully returned to real estate brokering.
By the first snow, my son—whom we no longer treated as 'nonexistent' past the initial phase—finally got his name.
That day, after novice parents' grueling battle, we finally put I Hwan to sleep.
Se-hwa sighed (worn out, no doubt) and pulled something from the rice chest in the corner.
"Eoji brought a letter. I've been busy lately, so strangely, Yeon-i sent it first."
"...Got it. From now on, don't store anything touched by human hands in the rice chest. What does it say?"
The weary new mother's look vanished from Se-hwa, replaced by her old pouty expression.
"Who doesn't know you're a neat freak? I hid it there to avoid others' hands."
Only then did I snap to.
Inwang Mountain shaman intel on capital gossip or yangban scandals didn't need urgent letters.
This meant an emergency of grave import.
And the rice chest sparked a hunch.
To her, pure hiding spot. To me, it evoked something.
"Could it be... about His Majesty?"
Se-hwa nodded tensely. Walls have ears.
She silently plunged her hand deeper into the chest.
Unlike Yeon-i's letter, a deeply buried missive tumbled out, spilling rice grains.
My guess was right.
Thinking 'hearts united as one,' it might as well have come from the rice chest.
It was from the Crown Princess Consort, future Lady Hyegyeong of the Hong clan.
She couldn't contact a shaman directly, of course. Proxy was standard.
But nobility can call via burner phone saying just 'it's me.' So I recognized it like Yeon-i or Se-hwa's.
I swallowed hard. Then read the letter.