Chapter 8
Chapter 8
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: 5. Chundangdae Avengers (2)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Eoji charged forward before I could even say a word to stop him.
But as he'd boasted, the Turtle Head Clerk must've had some real skill back in his prime. He swiftly lashed out with a kick.
The Turtle Head Clerk's splendid high kick—or something very much like it—slammed into Eoji's face. For a man his age to lift his leg that high... he must've trained damn hard.
I wondered if martial arts like that even existed in Joseon, but as a total layman, I had no clue. It's all just for beating people up, so probably convergent evolution led to similar moves.
But Eoji, having taken the hit, merely rolled his eyes like an ox.
The Turtle Head Clerk wasn't small by any means, but he was still human-level. Bare-handed martial arts are for fighting humans. When facing a beast that transcends human physique, the first prerequisite is to grab a weapon.
It was impossible for a mere kick to pierce through the neck muscles of Eoji—who screamed like a demon at the slightest touch of clothing—and reach his brain. Would an adult collapse from a ten-year-old perfectly executing a textbook straight punch?
"Huck..."
Before the Turtle Head Clerk, realizing something was wrong, could even lower his leg, Eoji swung his arm. It was like a bear swatting away an annoying rodent.
This was on a whole different level from when he'd hit Jangbok. Talk about giving it back with interest. With a sound like a drum bursting, the Turtle Head Clerk spewed blood and flew backward.
Go Bonghwan and I both fell silent.
In broad daylight, in front of all these people, he'd rendered one of the top powerbroker's retainers completely incapacitated.
Go Bonghwan hesitated before asking,
"What should we do? I hear he's the emissary of some great house... We should at least move him somewhere and tend to his wounds..."
As I wrestled intensely with the dilemma, a clamor reached my ears. It was the people who'd been in front of us earlier, either knocked flying or shoved aside by Eoji.
Seeing the carnage, they began shouting.
"Did you come here to take the exam or to kill people?!"
"I know that guy! He's Dog-Beating Stick Kim Unhaeng, the one who smashed a senior examinee's head to pieces at the government office!"
"What? That's him? Even his slave looks like some goblin—must run in the family!"
I made a snap judgment.
"Let's run for it!"
"Wh-where to?"
Wasn't it obvious?
Hope, the future, and above all, my rise—they don't exist behind or to the side.
For me, there's only forward.
"Straight ahead! Eoji, piggyback Jangbok and follow me. We're almost there anyway!"
No choice now but to execute the plan I'd really hoped to avoid.
I thrust my staff forward aggressively.
"I'm Kim Unhaeng of Jangdong! Anyone who doesn't want a taste of my Staff Fist Technique, get out of the way!"
The crowd paled and parted. Even Eoji, who still feared me because of that, looked unwell. Go Bonghwan asked,
"You sure this is fine? Shoving and stepping on people during the exam is par for the course, but this is way too flashy. There'll definitely be hell to pay later..."
My reputation was already trashed anyway. Giving up on the exam here would leave me with nothing.
I grabbed Go Bonghwan's sleeve—being merciful by not yanking his collar.
"I've staked my life on this. If you've got time for idle chatter, start running!"
I had my reasons for confidence.
The fight had been flashy, but in this exam ground packed with tens of thousands, it wouldn't stand out.
Glancing around sidelong as we shoved through the crowd, I saw similar scuffles breaking out everywhere. Such was the scholarly passion of the men gathered to serve their lord and the nation.
Thankfully—no surprise there—no further clashes occurred, and we made it to the front row.
The prime seats, right up front, close enough to smell the wood and ink on the signboards listing the exam topics.
With Jangbok still out cold, Eoji barely managed to unfold the parasol without snapping it, letting me finally catch my breath.
I scanned the surroundings. No sign of that supposed relative of Hong Bonghan (probably not direct kin; I'd heard Hong Bonghan's son Hong Nak-in, around my age, was at Sungkyunkwan).
Well, with his vanguard in that state, he'd likely been swept away by the crowd. I put Hong Bonghan out of my mind.
No point dwelling on it now. I'd make excuses later somehow.
Meanwhile, Go Bonghwan stood with arms crossed, eyeing the topic. He clicked his tongue.
"Looks like that procession to the execution ground from the Office of Diplomatic Correspondence has spread far and wide."
"What?"
Looking at the signboard, it read:
The Great Learning states: Do not impose on others what you dislike from superiors; do not serve superiors with what you dislike from inferiors. In recent times, hierarchies have crumbled: some, under the guise of initiation rites, ruin juniors' family fortunes and even lives, while juniors disrespect seniors and elders, even resorting to violence. What measures can rectify this conduct and restore discipline in the court?
Well, that was the whole point of this special exam, so it made sense... but damn, what a grudge-holder.
This wasn't typical for a regular session. Normally, it should be lecturing on classics or composing essays from the Four Books and Three Classics. This fit a public discourse topic better.
But the Chundangdae was an on-the-spot exam that could decide rankings in one go. Even non-standard questions from the king were possible. Since the Great Learning was one of the classics, it wasn't impossible if the king willed it.
I panicked. Would the king really care this much?
But when I asked, Go Bonghwan shook his head.
"I don't think so. No way a ruler of perfect frugality has time for something trivial like initiation rites. This ties into the Tangpyeong policy His Highness has championed. It's a feint, masking the real intent with a question on current affairs. Anyone who just discusses initiation rite vices or promotion seniority will fail."
A trap question, then. Impressive—both King Yeongjo's twisted psyche and Go Bonghwan's sharp eye. Casually, he added,
"Though hierarchies are the topic, back in the day, when exams suddenly changed topics or subtly rebuked scholars, students would collectively hurl roof tiles and stones to assert their spirit and resist."
What? Really? I never heard of that even in Korean history.
I hurriedly looked around.
The king was at Changdeok Palace at worst. This was Changgyeong Palace next door. If this massive crowd turned into slingers, it'd be a full-scale rebellion, no question.
Watching a republican revolution in Joseon would be a sight, but for me—who needed the Chief State Councillor post to keep my soul—I had to stay tense. Yet Go Bonghwan chuckled.
"What are you thinking? It happened, sure, but that was a provincial exam in rural Yeongnam. No one would dare here. Leave it to me. I have a rough sense of His Majesty's will—it's an honor."
Relieved, I nodded.
"Then you can answer it?"
"Of course."
No one called us out for openly discussing the topic in the exam hall. Everyone was doing it.
While Go Bonghwan dashed off the answer sheet, I stepped away briefly.
To get here, we'd bulldozed through hell, but vendors had already (via bribes) set up stalls before the gates even opened.
I knew it, but it still pissed me off. No point making a scene now, though—no reason to.
I just bought some snacks and a few bowls of takju and returned.
With Jangbok passed out and Eoji unfit for errands, I had no choice. Eoji probably became the first in Joseon to enjoy liquor fetched by his master.
By the time Eoji wolfed down the rice cakes and booze like winking eyes, and Jangbok stirred, Go Bonghwan's answer was nearly done.
I read the elegant script and let out an exclamation.
How could toilet paper... no, how could writing fit a superior's taste so perfectly?
Flattery isn't easy.
You pinpoint facts too embarrassing for the boss to voice, then savagely curse those he hates but can't openly condemn—without crossing the line.
But never imply you've grasped his true intent, even if praising. Bosses hate thinking underlings are smarter; praise sounds like sarcasm.
Who has such a twisted boss? This king.
I could infer Yeongjo's personality from rumors, this era's perspectives, and my Korean historical knowledge.
Yeongjo navigated a precarious reign under Gyeongjong, perpetually on the assassination list, through utmost caution. His survival was a miracle.
If Dr. Yi Geum's wild medical experiments were real, it was genius timing—waiting, waiting, then one final blow.
Whatever with the salted fermented crab, Yeongjo never let his guard down post-enthronement.
The Small and Noron factions tried to devour him during Gyeongjong's time, then rebelled and poisoned two sons after. Any sage would want them extinct.
But Yeongjo didn't.
Under the grand banner of Tangpyeong, he coolly balanced the political scales and managed state affairs rationally. No average human could pull that off.
It all culminated in his victory: the Gyeongsin Purge, incinerating the Three Registers—years ago.
Yet he showed emotional volatility and poor self-control.
Not contradictory—people are full of hypocrisies.
He'd hurl direct insults at annoying ministers (his grandson learned from it), or mete harsh punishments for trifles.
Conversely, he'd skip penalties for big issues, overturning his own rulings countless times.
He'd mark someone for promotion but break their spirit pre-emptively with repeated dismissals and reinstatements—like dog training. Wild histories even claim he wept and jumped into ponds.
Early on, he handled Soron backlash coldly; later, with foundations solid, tempers flared. By late reign, when a suicidal minister declared "I haven't eaten fermented crab since Gapjin!", he granted their wish and purged them.
Shin Chi-un and extremist Norons might've died naturally, but Yeongjo—master faction controller—eventually pivoted to appointing flatterers like Hong Bonghan (that Turtle Head Clerk's master). Regrettable, as it birthed the corrupt politics ruining late Joseon.
Critically, his favoritism was extreme. Managing royal kin—politically vital beyond family—as he pleased sparked disasters.
Unlike his historical image, from my shallow knowledge and observations, Yeongjo was a "mad genius."
Like demon lords who giggle maniacally, rewarding or exploding subordinates' heads on whims for irksome advice.
Fitting the man who ran history's quantum experiment "Schrödinger's Sado Seja" on his son. No mad scientist tops Scientific Sovereign Yeongjo.
Yet Go Bonghwan's essay nimbly dodged, scratched, and stroked the final boss's minefield psyche.
It subtly linked initiation rites and faction strife without overt mention. Bonus: hinting the incident was a plot by those dissatisfied with the king's four chief ministers.
Citing ancient sages and modern rulers in a dazzling dance, it concluded: before the sovereign, all in court must unite as one.
Hm. Not far from some newspaper's staple: "Let the people unite to uphold Comrade Leader!"
Blatant king-sucking would've marked us as sycophants—Yeongjo's ideal was the sage king shunning flatterers. So it aped upright remonstrators.
Using the trite "all stems from men" from Tang the Wise's era, it sternly urged the king to further moral cultivation. In Joseon, you could be bold here.
This would stick. Satisfied, I unfolded the paper.
Now, transcribe neatly to the answer sheet. The raid party's finisher—me, the scribe—takes the stage.
Sure, it's my exam paper, but wisely, no "adding my color." Recipes must be followed; amateurs ruin dishes chasing "personal taste."
A scribe copies. I was now a Xerox machine.
Drawing my brush like a sword, I summoned the status window.
The Chundangdae, like the Hallim Exam, was graded on the spot.
To show the king's grace, results were posted the same day he oversaw it. Though we never saw his face.
Thanks to skill training, I finished first but submitted seventh strategically to avoid notice, then exited with my comrades.
I pondered the absence of the king—or even high ministers—at the exam ground.
Exams are events even the king can't ignore: encouraging top scorers, awarding royal flowers to high placers.
Today wasn't the palace exam ranking top grades; it was for direct advancement, so maybe excused.
But fresh off musing Yeongjo's traits, my inference veered elsewhere.
'The king views the initiation rite incident politically: clash between Noron consolidating power and opposing forces. That explains everything.'
(In Yeongjo's mind) Full clash would bring Noron petitions for "suppressing thieves" like storm clouds. This Chundangdae soothes ministers, especially Noron, beforehand.
And the king appeared briefly, then unusually returned to the palace—likely feigning illness.
Thus, a warning to ministers: "I'm no pushover, but I've shown goodwill—take it, eat it, and behave."
But it was just Noryangjin thugs scamming a poor examinee. Silent prayers for the king wasting brainpower.
Lost in thought, Jangbok suddenly tugged my sleeve.
"Young master! Young master! What are you thinking? The postings are up! Hurry and check!"
I snapped my head up so fast it whipped wind.
Finally, the first goal's result.
But dozens of layers of people blocked the way to check.
Using Eoji again felt iffy now. Habitually, I said,
"This'll take forever. Jangbok, go check and report back. What are you waiting for? Run!"
Me—ranting revolution over Turtle Head Clerk—stooping to trash level. Humans are sly and petty. But manual labor sucks. Servants exist for convenience.
Yet Jangbok didn't budge despite my order. Just a sad smile on his swollen face. I realized my mistake.
Idiot, even slaves need to read their master's name, right? No literacy classes, but basics.
"Let's all go."
I led everyone, burrowing through the crowd. Many had tasted Eoji's fists, so they parted like the tide.
At the postings, tension kept my eyes shut. Go Bonghwan, clutching his chest and deep-breathing, laughed at me.
"Exams come yearly if missed; nine in ten who haunt grounds from youth never pass before forty. What's the famed Dog-Beating Stick of the capital so fidgety about?"
If Faust hadn't bungled that one line, I'd have no reason to cling to this absurd exam—unlike those Mephistophelean bastards?
No, Faust self-sabotaged stupidity; better call it Magical Girl Syndrome.
Then a sharp voice pierced beside me.
"This is wrong! How can wastrel thug Kim Unhaeng make the postings?!"
Eyes flying open toward it... stranger. Correction: now I knew.
Turtle Head Clerk stood nearby, paper wad in nose—likely his master's cousin or whatever.
My face visibly brightened—double relief, heartburn vanishing.
One: that guy wasn't close kin to Hong Bonghan. Otherwise, even Thousand-Character Classic would've passed him. His tantrum screamed failure.
Two: no need to say—my first goal achieved.
As if congratulating, the status window appeared. Never dreamed that punk would look welcoming.
Submitted answer sheet within top 10.
Reward: 30 Horse Hoof Silvers issued.
Still handing out useless skills, as ever.
But no time to care. Beyond skills, new messages abounded.
As I pondered their meaning—wearing an undignified expression for a passerby—another popped up.
Optional Goal: Pass the Palace Exam with Top Grade (A-Class or higher)
Just as I thought.
Piecing it together in my head. Got it.
Quick submission was achievable with the first reward's calligraphy skill. This Ascension to Premiership Chart game, brutally unhelpful, still guides toward Chief State Councillor ultimately. So probably...