Chapter 76
Chapter 76
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 76
Chapter Title: A Letter to the People of Joseon (1)
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Yeongjo's 28th year (1752) was a golden opportunity for King Yi Geum.
Long ago, Lee Seonggye, a northern warlord, had buried trust beneath the sea and beaten loyalty to death with an iron mace, founding the "Land of Confucianism." Simple math put it at 360 years, which might make modern folks tilt their heads.
But in Eastern reckoning, it was different. This year marked the sixth Imshin Year since the founding—a milestone impossible to ignore.
So in the seventh month, Yi Geum held a ritual offering at Yeonghui Hall, where the spirit tablet of King Taejo resided. The crown prince attended as well.
As Kim Unhaeng had surmised, the official historians at times like these wrote whatever the king commanded. If he said to record it, they did; if not, it was "unfit to be entered."
Yi Geum thus ordered the attending historians to listen carefully and take notes.
Then he shed tears.
One of Yi Geum's signature talents was crying on cue. Much like wiggling one's ears.
Sobbing, he declared,
"Alas! As an incompetent and unworthy ruler, I have no face to show before Taejo, who endured death to found our nation. My subjects play games with the hanwon recommendations, and even the Censorate cannot distinguish right from wrong. Here I swear once more: those who engage in factional strife again shall find no place among the gentry. This is my great edict—proclaim it far and wide!"
No one was surprised. They were just annoyed. Even the crown prince.
The king always blamed factionalism for everything except natural disasters.
By mid-18th century Europe, multinational astronomy projects were observing Venus's transit across the sun simultaneously worldwide, using triangulation to measure the Earth-sun distance.
Joseon had no such astronomy, but human intellect didn't differ much. Few truly believed celestial events were the king's fault anymore.
Yi Geum thus freely attributed rainbows or thunder to his own failings for show.
But everything else—budget shortfalls, chaotic appointments, lingering epidemics—was invariably the fault of faction-ridden ministers too busy squabbling to govern.
From regencies to endless abdication crises and strikes, the reasons were always the same.
"I can't rule because of factionalism!"
Impressive once or twice, but over a reign mortals couldn't fathom, it grew tiresome.
The ministers and crown prince transcended time in that moment, regressors all—like 21st-century YouTube viewers facing an ad. Except skipping meant skipping life itself.
Yet it wasn't mere farce.
Astoundingly, Yi Geum was thinking something akin to an "ad" himself.
He knew this was a desperate measure to an extent.
True power needed no such theatrics. Crush with guns, swords, and money—that was enough.
Lacking that, one wept, shouted, or flipped tables in rage.
But unlike original history, a remedy for gaining "power" now existed.
Violence and money were two sides of the same coin.
To that end, Yi Geum added one more command.
"Court officials will heed my words, but not all in the capital. Proclaim the edict using the new postage stamps. Train the Express Corps in the process, and ensure no one in the capital or nearby gentry can claim ignorance by sending it to them all."
Even Kim Unhaeng, who proposed "postage stamps," would admire the promotion.
Wealthy folk and officials rarely bought them—they had private couriers.
Kim Unhaeng favored Jangbok Express. Poor officials used clerks from their offices.
Thus, the targets were the lettered but servant-less, or those too strapped to afford them.
Yi Geum sent these folk a "Founding 6th Cycle Commemorative Postcard" in his name.
It touted his evenhanded rule's legitimacy, condemned factional ministers, and doubled as promo: "Pay up and use it."
Modern knowledge deployed at a level even Kim Unhaeng rarely conceived.
The king's massive promo campaign surprised even me.
I vowed once more not to recklessly unleash future tech.
This era's elites were too sharp to hand it to casually. Not because I was clueless.
Anyway, stamps sold well. Not lick-and-stick—they were small wooden tokens like gambling chits. "Disposables" were luxuries here.
Including systems for terminal-level recovery, the capital's postal framework took shape quickly.
Nothing new needed. Relay posts existed; Han River shipping just sped it up.
The change? Private mail too. Letters with stamps for pay; cargo at premium rates.
Heavy or bulky? Seoul's population couldn't handle it—only light, portable items.
Stamps weren't the core. Postal administration was.
Macro-wise, it birthed addresses, fixed residences—modern concepts.
Ideally, build post offices, hire literati, launch full ops. But if we had leisure, Yeongjo wouldn't rage.
I had other plans, so no grand expansions.
Postal admin as extra office duty. Push it to clerks—they couldn't quit.
Private letters went to capital ward heads, then provincial magistrates, down to village heads, hamlet chiefs, neighborhood leads. Neighborhoods were five households—no burden.
Key: they came to fetch.
Delivery boys? Economically unviable (stamps wouldn't cover wages), and politically/ethically dicey.
Joseon offices weren't public service hubs. They were untouchable higher governance.
Superiors don't run errands for inferiors. That's Joseon post.
And here, my ploy #2's "gap" emerged.
Exploiting Joseon institutional cracks for economy was exhausting.
Businesses were tiny, mostly army-tied.
Big state projects created openings. Without them, like Yi Ilje's unbreachable fortress.
So I resolved.
No gaps? Create a flawed business with gaps.
Perfect systems hard; sloppy ones easy.
No matter my effort, it'd fail. Joseon's post wouldn't modernize—premodern infra everywhere.
Thus, prepare to "privatize" the gap.
Chae Isung, from Hamgyong fishermen, and Pyo Cheolju, Seoul sword-for-hire, were family now. Pyo had sheltered Chae on Kim Unhaeng's orders when he first fled.
They met at Dongjak Ferry without fuss, handing off duties.
Pyo dropped his pipe, stunned by the cargo volume.
"Why so many boats...? Who's sending all this?"
"Capital's got people, hasn't it?"
Chae replied smugly, as if he were the Seoulite.
"King's pushing stamps, so even servant-less gentry send a letter or two. Some feel bad sending just words—south-of-Han loads all route here."
"Why not stamps for those?"
"Old man's thick. Even I, from backwoods Gangbuk, get it. Obvious, right? Why hustle non-elite goods for no gain? Food rots en route; cloth or paper gets pilfered mid-way. Only fools invite that."
Pyo got it then.
In this system, valuables never went post, big or small.
Midway theft? No recourse. Unelected officials had no reason to care.
Capital-area magistrates answered to king or superiors only. Non-elites got beaten, end of story.
Kim Unhaeng predicted it all, prepping private courier for the shortfall.
As Pyo's savvy brain lagged, Chae eyed him suspiciously.
"Surely no shortage of horses? I'd warn Master Dog-Beater."
"Should be fine—good you brought extras. How'd he foresee this?"
Pyo was renowned crafty in Dog-Beater faction.
Chae puffed up, spinning fancies as fact.
"Obvious. Royals rarely write subjects. Edict'd be posted, done. Dog-Beater, court bigshot, must've advised the king."
Pyo, courtlier, differed.
The "edict" hit faction nerves—beyond a War Ministry clerk's remit.
Not arrogance; elders wouldn't tolerate.
Like a rookie exec outing boardroom factions publicly. Joseon same.
But Pyo held his tongue.
Past lashings from Yi Geum taught restraint.
If Kim planned it, not so blunt.
Layered political nudges, high-official buy-in standard.
Poking curiosity risked backlash.
Pyo knew faction secrets—betrayal meant simple erasure.
Kim left violence to Lee Jawoon's Samhwadang, not Pyo.
So Pyo shut up, worked.
"This much? Hurry. Childeok! Help unload. Miseong, guard—hack thieves' hands on-site. Master's orders: drown pilferers in Han to protect Jangdong Kim clan's rep."
Meantime, Chae fetched a box with pigeons, tying notes: "Dongjak hub stocked."
State homing pigeons from Goryeo days weren't alien, but these elite ones? Jangdong Kim "household secrets."
Chae glanced at three heading northeast, then away. No falcon worries.
Squinting at river-glinted sun, he said,
"But yeah, loads as you said. Chuseok nearing amps it."
Pyo startled.
Kim knew July's founding meant events; August's Chuseok followed.
Joseon holidays weren't 3-4 days. Half to full month festive. Affectionate era—courier chaos inevitable.
Edict timing? Perfect launch for stamp sales and Chunsik Courier fireworks.
Pyo couldn't tell if king's cunning or the scarier Kim Chunsik's.
Either way, terrifying.
Pyo's Chuseok parcels to Gwangju reached Ansan's Seongho Village academy too.
Home to Yi Ik, revered by practical and Confucian scholars alike.
Unlike frail An Jeongbok, Yi had inherited wealth/slaves—decent life. Unpassed exams often had reasons.
But it dwindled. Like An, illness drained funds.
Thus, old disciple's herbs for Chuseok delighted him.
"Heh, Sunam's poverty rivals Noron lows—yet sends this?"
Favorite pupil Yoon Donggyu ventured,
"Gangnam Daeseong's nominally his dad's, run by son Kim Chunsik—talent for profit and glory unmatched, they say. Maybe Sunam learned there?"
"Imitate that? Sunam's resolve's stronger. Kim must've his tricks. Young manor talent regardless."
Yoon pressed,
"Daeseong recruits across factions. Maybe Sunam's recruiting you?"
"If so, I misjudged and taught him wrong."
Yi replied coolly.
Kim's resume impressed, but his money-chasing clashed.
Jangdong Kims needn't scramble thus—hoped An wasn't tainted.
Anyway, Yi opened the letter.
No recruitment. Just greetings, one query.
"How strictly distinguish chestnuts from acorns? What nonsense?"
Yi eyed Yoon—clueless. Pondering, Yoon offered,
"Maybe court gentlemen vs. petty men?"
"Sunam's mastered scholarship—why ask me? And such unscriptural metaphor? Seems literal."
"But who can't tell chestnuts from acorns?"
Yi stroked beard.
"Hm. Truths lie in questioning the obvious—like Zen koans. Fun. Chuseok—maybe peddle big acorns as chestnuts?"
Jest. Yoon chuckled appropriately.
But jokes hit truths.
Yi Ik's quip neared reality.
Kim, raking courier cash, prepped Pyeongsi Seondeok Hall profits too.
For that, ace naturalist Yi Ik's precise bio-classification vital.
Kim's style: wealth + rapport.
Affordable rare herbs, disciple bond. Yi "practically" owed answers.
Author's Note
1. July 28th year Yeongjo's ritual (minus postcards) all factual; Annals show his fixation on recording/proclaiming his words. "Post" (u) same meaning then.
2. "Playing with hanwon" refs hallyeom gwonjeom, self-censorship via palace scholars.
Park Jeongwon, Kim's pal, central. Factions fought recommendations; Park stormed out—undermining Yeongjo's intent to curb Personnel Ministry picks, end strife. King furious.
3. Unmentioned: Seongho's Cheomseong-ri "flying land"—like extraterritory. Administratively Gwangju, geographically Ansan. Joseon borders whimsically split by taxes/military yields—modernly bizarre enclaves common.