Chapter 98
Chapter 98
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 98
Chapter Title: Ginseng War (1)
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Waegwan's harbor was designed for easy control of ships docking and departing, with embankments curving around both sides of the coast like embracing arms.
The entrance was narrow, and to exit, ships had to take a long detour, making it ideal for a small force to ambush a larger one—the classic "mouth of the tiger" from military strategy.
Thus, just twelve warships were enough to seal off the exit in one fell swoop.
But Han Jungnyang had no intention of blocking the entrance and slaughtering every Japanese inside.
On the contrary, he politely let in the ships arriving from Tsushima in blissful ignorance.
The only interruption was a cursory inspection.
The marines' justification was ironclad.
With the deputy magistrate's search of Waegwan raising suspicions that remnants of the illegal fishermen from the border had infiltrated, the coastal navy had no choice but to investigate.
It wasn't unnatural, either. Ever since An Yongbok's time, nearly all the poachers on Ulleungdo had been from Tsushima.
"Judging by that sword at your waist, you're one of those pirate smugglers, aren't you?"
Lee Yuwon, who had come to Ulleungdo with the 'pirate smugglers' only to be captured by Han Jungnyang and spared in exchange for serving as the marines' interpreter, translated the words.
A young samurai shouted in outrage.
"You bastard! Don't you even know basic etiquette? No samurai walks upright without two swords at his side. I'm from a family that's traded with Joseon for generations, destined to become the head of the Tsushima Pepper Clan! Don't you know what you're plotting here? Our supply ships haven't arrived, so I've come to scout on escape orders. Get out of the way!"
One of the officers glanced at Lee Yuwon.
"What'd he say?"
"...He claims he's the son of some high-ranking noble."
"Ha! What kind of nobility is an island barbarian pretending to have? Which country's scholar struts around with swords like some street thug?"
The officer snorted derisively, then casually kicked the boy.
The youth was trained in his family's swordsmanship, but only nominally so. Like most high-ranking samurai of the era, swordsmanship had largely left the domain of warriors.
Matsuura Keisen, grandson of Amenomori Hoshu—the Confucian scholar who had shone in Japan's diplomacy with Joseon—and destined to follow in his grandfather's footsteps as a diplomat, groaned and tumbled over.
"Take his swords and strip him."
"You sure? He says he's nobility."
"Word is, there were so many guys wandering around Waegwan with just a loincloth that the court issued a ban. These people love running around naked by nature. Nobles and commoners alike."
"True, I've heard Japanese love their perversions. Do they just mount anything that moves, right on the spot? Too bad the women don't do the same."
"Even barbarians wouldn't go that far, but I get where you're coming from."
After this enlightening cultural exchange came the economic one.
The marines cheered at the sight of the trade rice sent from Tsushima (the easiest substitute for Joseon currency, hard to come by in Japan) and loaded it onto their own ships.
With Matsuura out cold, another clan retainer cautiously asked,
"Uh... isn't that a bit much?"
"What? Can't you see those twelve grand ships floating out there? How many men do you think are aboard? Even collecting their daily shit would sink this little barge!"
"No, I mean, why are we taking the Joseon army's rations...?"
"A Japanese talking back? Hey, you're a smuggler too, right? Strip."
"Smuggler? We're innocent! What false charge is— Augh! Don't hit me! We can talk this out!"
And so the Japanese, stripped of rice, money, clothes, and even swords, rowed inside weeping.
The Joseon men valued propriety enough not to take their undergarments.
Entry was free, if pricey. Some ships tried heading back to Tsushima, but all were kindly escorted into Waegwan.
Exit, however, was not.
Some Japanese, figuring they'd paid toll to enter and could pay to leave, rowed out to alert Tsushima, even flying white flags of surrender.
The Wolsong Marines fired arrows and cannonballs at them without hesitation.
It was a bizarre confidence born of "they won't hit anyway, so just shoot."
But from the target's perspective, that was no comfort.
"Those crazy Joseon bastards!"
"Hey! Hey! Turn back!"
Thus, Waegwan's population swelled for days.
But the food to feed them did not.
Even if Tsushima's rice had come, the outcome wouldn't have changed much.
Waegwan's provisions came from Joseon to begin with.
Joseon's meticulous bureaucracy stipulated daily allotments for Waegwan officials down to the single fish or sea cucumber.
So when a crisis like this hit, that "meticulous system" shattered like a finely crafted clock smashed against the floor.
In other words, it broke completely, leaving no countermeasures.
By the time I'd surrounded Waegwan with six units, starvation was inevitable.
Like a general directing a siege, Dongnae Magistrate Yi Ichang sat in a chair outside Waegwan, wiping grease from his beard.
"Ha ha! Finally hearing the clamor inside—looks like the rice has run out for real!"
Sitting across from him, I cheerfully picked up my chopsticks. It was Joseon's first beef steak, courtesy of modern knowledge (finally paying off).
I'd used a cauldron lid as a frying pan substitute—turns out getting a metal sheet from an army unit was harder than expected.
Salt alone seasoned it fine, whether 21st century or now. Aside from the meat quality, it was satisfying.
But as a yangban, I couldn't flip or cut it myself at the table, so I had Jangbok do the honors.
How about it, Joseon folks? Pretty great isekai, right?
Hey, Dongnae Magistrate, don't shovel it in like seaweed soup.
At least say something like, "No cuisine like this in ancient or modern times." Reactions are key in mukbangs.
Of course, I didn't make steak just to flaunt modern knowledge.
Humans' sense of smell is surprisingly keen—especially when hungry—and oil-grilled meat aroma spreads for kilometers under the right conditions.
It must be maddening inside the walls. No real siege meant no worry about arrow range; we grilled freely.
Not just us. Other soldiers couldn't do steak, but they set pots around the walls, boiling meat stew.
I speared another piece and said,
"It wasn't built to hold out long anyway. Your dispatch report ready?"
I planned to submit alongside Yi Ichang's. More voices meant more credibility.
Adding Wolsong's Han Jungnyang's separate report sealed the perfect narrative.
'In Hwanghae Province, they armed rebels; on Ulleungdo, they colluded with illegal fishermen for smuggling; now in Waegwan, they've abducted Joseon women for rape. Barbarians know no ethics, but this is unprecedented in history.'
That justification could spark war. Hesitate, and court nobles—you'd have to drop your Noron banner. Might as well be Bok-in.
Waegwan would close or shrink drastically.
Tsushima collapses without Joseon trade.
Thus, ballooning black-market smuggling somewhere. Bans on such things are futile.
Paving the way for my core goal.
Disrupt Joseon-Japan trade? Cut revenue? Stifle expansion?
What traitorous nonsense.
If pirates invade without fighting, it's peace—and peace advocates sell out the country.
Yi Ichang downed a shot heartily before replying.
"Don't bring work to the table. Of course it's done. I just need to submit it. Oh, right. They say you're a master calligrapher—mind drafting it for me?"
"I'm unworthy. But how could I refuse the magistrate's order?"
No reason to delay court business.
I drafted his report right after eating.
Copying inevitably involves omissions and errors.
My version had a few added or missing characters, coincidentally aligning perfectly with my aims. Pure chance, of course.
Yi Ichang, busy picking his teeth and belching before the starving Japanese, had no time for such minutiae.
Deputy Magistrate Kim Unhaeng's clear comprehensive report would reach court before Waegwan could concoct excuses.
No Chun-sik Express, but I had talent faster than anyone to Seoul.
Promising no return to Seoul if it succeeded, Brother Chunbae galloped north at near-Ancestor speeds.
No phones is a blessing. Info control is easy.
Kim Unhaeng had only recently met him in person, but Han Jungnyang was surprisingly young—like Yi Jaeun.
Adjutant at that age? Fast rise, even for a local officer.
And here, he'd climb higher.
Han Jungnyang brimmed with vigor, one foot propped casually on the captured grand ship's railing, scanning Waegwan harbor.
To cool his surging blood, his uniform hat was pushed back, hair spilling from its net.
A short beard framed a pipe clenched in his mouth—taboo near the neckline, with loaded cannons right below his feet. Suicide attempt to a modern eye.
But Han Jungnyang wasn't modern, so he ignored the risk.
Instead, he pondered the money to be made here.
Cross-verifying Kim Unhaeng's proposal and his own intel: Waegwan's annual profit was at least 1,500 kan in Japanese currency—nearly 300,000 nyang pure.
Couldn't swallow it all, but scraps would suffice.
And 1,500 kan was mostly official daylight trade like raw silk; shadows held plenty more.
Especially ginseng, king of shadow trade (compact volume-to-price). Kim Unhaeng offered circulation aid for a "revolutionary ginseng—steamed to concentrate potency without rot."
"That Kim Unhaeng guy's something else."
Han Jungnyang's words prompted vanguard captain Kim Eungseok to hesitate.
"But is this okay? We can't kill all the Tsushima folk in Waegwan, and when they get out, they'll cry foul about illegal invasion."
Han Jungnyang turned, tapping Kim Eungseok's head with his pipe.
"Ow!"
"How much money have I made you so far? Do I look that stupid?"
"N-no. Just curious."
Han Jungnyang snorted smoke.
"Don't worry. Our wise king won't blink at Japanese 'false accusations.'"
Thinking of the king only heightened Kim Eungseok's anxiety.
"But isn't the responsible official punished regardless when something happens at Waegwan? Like with the ginseng incident."
"That's for petty merchant squabbles. Who got punished when Kim Unhaeng cleared Hwanghae, and we Ulleungdo?"
"Cleared? Then..."
Kim Eungseok eyed his privateer captain—no, colonel—dubiously. Han Jungnyang, gaze fixed on Waegwan, said,
"Soon the Japanese won't endure and will hand us the perfect pretext."
Tada Kazue shouted fiercely.
"We must get a ship to the mainland at all costs. Only if Lord Doju appeals to the shogunate can we stop this outrage. Let me lead, braving their guns. The Joseon dogs lack the guts to actually fire cannons!"
"Don't act rashly. Isn't this mess from following your advice?"
Kazue fell silent at the suddenly stern Governor Shichizaemon.
He didn't retort that Kazue had first suggested using women (and men). Nor ask if he feared gutting for international friction.
Seeing it as shameless boss flipping blame on an innocent subordinate? Purely Joseon thinking.
A model Japanese aide never argues logically with superiors.
That's for Joseonites yapping "loyalty" and screaming at the king over dislikes.
Samurai feudal order mirrors yakuza codes—both live by violence.
So Tada Kazue's job wasn't persuading Shichizaemon.
It was taking full blame for "independent action," resolving the mess, and crediting oyabun—er, lord and governor—later.
This "dialogue" was tacit instruction.
Tada Kazue bowed to the governor and withdrew.
Waegwan held only adult men. Recruiting fighters was easy.
Fewer sword-proficient samurai meant peace? No—roles shifted to lower classes.
In this foreign trading post ripe for trouble, bodyguards overflowed.
Three days later, Tada Kazue gathered a hundred loyalists for "purely his own initiative, sans governor orders."
"To the capital! Appeal to the Joseon king of this aid outrage and execute the villainous traitor Kim Unhaeng! Slash any who block us!"
The swordsmen roared, raising blades high—their spirit towering over their stature.
That spirit lasted until Waegwan's gates opened.
Shocking, but not unprecedented.
In King Hyeonjong's reign, Tsushima folk demanded moving Busanjin Fortress—citing narrow channels, tough docking, defenseless terrain—every excuse.
They eyed gobbling a fully fortified national fortress raw. Island pirate diplomacy.
Joseon refused, so they went full Japanese: diplomat akin to today's Tada Kazue—Hirano Narimasa—led 200 swordsmen charging from Busanpo.
Pretext? Straight to Seoul, tell the king themselves.
Japanese "petitions": stab if foe seems weak; self-stab if not.
They ask directions with swords. Imjin War proved it.
Joseon scrambled but massacred them Imjin-style anyway.
Disaster: Japanese reached Dongnae county seat.
But it ended there.
"Hygiene Lord" Hyeonjong ignored Waegwan's hot-spring-less pleas.
Refused, Japanese couldn't war; withdrew, Hirano suicided.
Thus, Tada Kazue steeled for death.
Otherwise, outer Joseon dogs—especially sly Kim Unhaeng—would twist reports.
Escalate maximally for public forum voice.
Even staking his neck.
Duty of a shogunal spy.
Kim Unhaeng thought differently.
No time, and King Yeongjo's desk got ugly fast. No intent to submit barbarian nonsense and face exile or demotion. Other kings too, but Yeongjo's protocol: dislike report? Exile the submitter first.
Tada Kazue, lofty zeal and flashing blades to cleave frightened Joseon troops, halted at the lined matchlocks and cannons.
"Wait, hold on—we're not here to fight..."
Voice too soft, and crucially, Joseon troops didn't speak Japanese. So Kim Unhaeng bellowed in Korean,
"The Japanese foe! Armed! Invades!"
Author's Notes
1. Matsuura Keisen did become clan head later, negotiating to improve Tsushima's deteriorating Joseon trade balance. Born 1737, so about 16 now.
2. Kim Eungseok originally becomes Wolsong colonel years later—not a low officer like here. And yes, there was a real rule against wandering outside in just loincloths (someone did it).
3. Estimated annual Japan-Joseon trade profit this era: average 1,723 kan. In-story, Kim Unhaeng and Han Jungnyang lowballed due to info gaps. 1 kan ≈ 200 nyang is rice-price guesstimate; actually 100-200 nyang varying by inflation.
4. Kim Unhaeng's "no fight means treason" line is from the Anti-Foreigner Stele inscription, as you know.