Chapter 11
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: Finding Answers to 2,000 Years of Debate in a 5-Year-Old
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The grand gates of the imperial palace swung wide open, and Emperor Juwon hurried out barefoot to greet his guest, flustered and rushing.
His hasty footsteps were unbefitting of an emperor, an utterly undignified sight.
There stood Immortal Master Cheonun, an elderly sage who looked like a young man untouched by the passage of time. He had existed even before the empire was founded, and after its establishment, he had served as the teacher to countless emperors.
He was living history, the pinnacle of myriad scholarly pursuits, and the title bestowed upon him reflected that.
The position of Immortal Master was honorary, yet it commanded an authority no one dared ignore.
He himself had been the teacher to numerous emperors. And who would dare treat lightly the man who had directly debated with Kong Qiu, the supreme sage revered by so many ministers?
"Master...!"
Emperor Juwon, the hegemon who had crushed the world with sheer force, bowed his head like a schoolboy before his instructor.
"It's been a while, Juwon. Have you cut back on all that sword-swinging lately?"
Cheonun tapped the emperor's shin with his staff. The Gold Army soldiers gasped in horror and reached for their swords, but the emperor raised a hand to stop them.
His usual stern expression vanished, replaced by an embarrassed scratch at the back of his head.
"I've tried to heed your teachings, Master... but I've only swung the sword as much as necessary."
"'As much as necessary,' you say. Your idea of 'necessary' is always excessive—that's the problem."
Cheonun clicked his tongue.
In the past,
after the late emperor's sudden death, a hellish war of succession had unfolded as his many sons slaughtered one another for the throne. It wasn't full chaos, but war was inevitable, and the people would suffer.
So, he had elevated Juwon—whom he had briefly tutored as a child—to the imperial throne. His endorsement alone granted legitimacy and justification.
The lessons from his childhood weren't trivial, either.
Even a minor teaching from a millennium-old sage was like a peerless divine art to a talented individual. Juwon had been exceptionally gifted already, and Cheonun had taught him profound inner arts to hone that talent, along with the arts of governance.
Yet that choice had always weighed on him.
Making Juwon emperor had been a necessary evil for Cheonun. The boy was supremely talented but ferociously savage—a flaw. Still, the other princes were even worse, so for the people's sake, he had no choice but to select him.
Even so, to the emperor, Cheonun was his master, his lifesaver, and his spiritual pillar.
"Come, let's go inside and talk. I'm curious what suddenly changed about you..."
"So, you've found hope in the Crown Prince, then."
"Yes, that's right."
He knew about the emperor's dream—to be remembered as a good king. But after butchering his brothers, no amount of good deeds could earn him lasting honor.
In that context, finding hope in his son made the situation comprehensible. The question, then, was the son himself.
"But where is he?"
"He threw a tantrum about striking, so I'm giving him some education."
"Striking? What?"
At that, the emperor gave a rough summary of events. Immortal Master Cheonun shook his head as he listened.
"That's too much. How could you do that to a child?"
"His attitude was poor. He's innately lazy, so he needed a push. I'll ease up later, but this is to give him a proper scare..."
"Even so, it's excessive. Are you raising a sage king or forging a tyrannical emperor? Will he even grow up properly to become one at this rate?"
The emperor fell silent under his master's rebuke—not because he lacked a retort, but out of respect for his teacher.
"Let me see him. I need to judge if your teaching methods and this so-called trial—treating him not fully as Crown Prince—are right or wrong."
The emperor bowed his head without argument.
"Yes, Master. Understood."
I was summoned by the emperor before even receiving Soso's report.
I tried holding out a bit longer to gauge the situation, but he threatened to burn down the East Palace, leaving me no choice.
Eunuch Jo Yun warned that this wasn't his usual bluster—if I didn't show, something dire might happen—so I had to comply.
Upon entering the side hall, an odd dissonance hit me.
A young man sat in my father's seat, with the emperor seated below him—an awkward reversal. The man's pointed ears marked him unmistakably as a Green Moon Tribe member, a sight straight out of books.
One fact sprang to mind.
The emperor's master, living history, a legend—rumors of an Immortal Master named Cheonun. This had to be him.
But there was another unfamiliar face: a stern-looking Green Moon girl with glasses, standing lowest.
In this bizarre atmosphere,
the Immortal Master, in his youthful form, stared straight through me. Realizing too late, I hurriedly bowed.
"Greetings, Immortal Master."
Watching me, the young man quietly asked the emperor,
"Is this the Crown Prince you spoke of?"
His gaze, even in that brief clash, felt like it pierced to the secrets buried deep in my soul—terrifying in a way unlike my father's.
"Yes, that's him. Greet him properly—he's my master, and the empire's, Immortal Master Cheonun."
At the emperor's words, I bowed even deeper.
"Crown Prince Jui-an. Pleased to meet you, Immortal Master."
"I don't expect such formal greetings from a child who doesn't even know who I am."
Cheonun told me to raise my head and relax, then asked,
"I heard you went on strike because your education was too harsh. Haha, quite the entertaining tale."
Entertaining to some, perhaps, but to me, it was life or death. I replied with a hint of indignation.
"It was my desperate struggle to survive."
"Hmm. To survive..."
Cheonun's eyes seemed lost in thought for a moment before he lifted his teacup and asked softly,
"Let me ask you one thing. In ruling a nation, what do you think is most important? People often speak of virtue and law, but I'm curious about your view."
A sudden interview unfolded.
I couldn't fathom his intent, but I knew I needed a good answer. Convincing this Immortal Master might open the door to getting my demands met.
As I pondered, the girl called Nokhui beside him glared daggers.
Why is this kid like that?
I ignored her and thought it over. A solid response came to mind.
"Immortal Master, if I may ask first: Should an emperor rule solely by virtue or by law?"
In this world, Confucius preached nearly the same as in my era, so Confucianism was similar, with minor differences.
He'd likely posed the classic dilemma between virtue and law. But I rejected both. Virtue and law were mere tools.
"Neither—that's my answer."
Cheonun's face lit with intrigue.
"Then what is your answer?"
"Institutions."
Cheonun's eyebrow twitched.
The emperor eyed me in surprise. He seemed displeased with my audacity—counter-questioning and defying the Immortal Master—but held his tongue.
"Institutions? Aren't they just virtue and law? Do you mean using both?"
Should I answer honestly or hedge? I hesitated.
Fortunately, I knew the response to this outdated question.
Not because I'm clever, but because thousands of years of human history provided the wrong-answer notebook and answer key.
After a brief pause, I decided: honesty.
"Virtue depends on the ruler's heart, so it's fickle. Law hangs on the ruler's blade, so it's easily abused. The nation should be run by agreed-upon rules, not people."
"Rules?"
"The people pay taxes, and the state guarantees their safety and food with those taxes. The ruler is merely the chief administrator of that promise, not the owner. That's the contract between state and people."
Cheonun's mouth parted slightly. Social contract theory—in an era dominated by divine right of kings, this bordered on treason.
The girl beside me bristled and stepped forward.
"Insolent! The Son of Heaven is the lord granted by the heavens! How dare you call him an administrator?!"
"If heaven granted him, heaven should feed him—why steal rice from the people?"
My retort left her flushed and speechless. Cheonun waved her off and pressed on.
"Fine, administrator it is. But in the Warring States era, a fellow named Kong Qiu said moral education of the people comes first. I said filling bellies comes first. What say you?"
Maslow's hierarchy of needs. I chuckled inwardly. Basic to modern folk, but a lifelong puzzle here.
"You're right, elder. As they say, goodwill flows from a full pantry. Forcing morals on the starving is torture. Only after survival needs are met do people grasp propriety and self-realization."
Cheonun nodded—aligning with his own view. But I continued.
"Yet Confucius wasn't wrong. A full belly alone doesn't bring prosperity. Better a full-bellied scholar than a full-bellied... ah, sorry. Slip of the tongue. We must cultivate gentlemen."
"How do you do both? We're too busy feeding them—when to teach?"
"That's why we need institutions. And technological progress."
I rearranged the teacups on the table to illustrate.
"Efficient administration fairly collects taxes to build welfare. Spare budgets fund schools to spread education—not just rites and propriety, but skills to earn a living. This creates a stronger tax base, allowing the emperor to eradicate poverty. That's my principle of governance: politics."
Silence. Only my breathing echoed in the side hall. Cheonun gazed at me amid his swirling thoughts.
Debates from a thousand years ago resurfaced vividly.
Even amid fists and stubbornness, on ideals, morals, reality, and rice.
This child didn't cling to one side—he bridged the gap with institutions. Why force a choice between two? Why not solve both? It was like self-rebuke.
But was it mere idealism? No. Simple words, yet profoundly logical upon reflection.
Morals and reality coexist in one world.
Forcing one creates heavenly fantasies or beastly savagery.
This child spoke like someone who'd seen the answers beforehand.
"Ha... hahaha..."
Cheonun burst into laughter—starting small, then booming through the hall.
"Hahaha! Brother Kong Qiu! Did you hear? You're right, I'm right—but we were both wrong!"
The laughter went on endlessly, tears welling in his eyes—not just from the strain.
No one in the hall dared stop it.
Only after a long while did Cheonun wipe his tears and look at me. His gaze held no childish dismissal, only awe for wisdom transcending eras.
"Imperial authority from contracts. Institutions. Moral reform through systems, not clinging to one ruler. Fine words indeed."
I'd said too much. Time to pull back.
"Yes. So the nation won't collapse if I slack off a bit."
Framing it childishly, I added. Cheonun roared with laughter, thumping his staff.
"Your Majesty. Did you hear that?"
Even as Cheonun asked, Emperor Juwon stared at me with a complex expression, stunned by his son's radical words.
"This child already sees his path. Yet your education hardly suits one treading it."
"Master, but jade must be chiseled..."
"Hammer a finished vessel, and it shatters. This child needs no such teaching. Just provide conditions for self-study and an environment to align knowledge with his thoughts."
Cheonun stated firmly.
"I understand your imperial concerns. So, I won't teach him long-term, but may I take some interest in his education?"
He yearned to craft a sage king himself, restoring his fallen honor.
But he couldn't deny that direct tutelage from Cheonun would make the heir's talents bloom brilliantly.
The emperor pondered long.
He fell silent for ages. Ultimately, only one choice: he couldn't defy his master and lifesaver.
"...Understood. If that's your will, Master."
"My thanks. I'll teach him well, without fail—worry not."
Cheonun's words sealed it.
Success!
Escape from education hell at last. I hid my glee, but inwardly cheered. Freedom!
But Cheonun smiled slyly at me.
"From now on, you're my disciple, so speak freely. I'll accept your conditions—for now. But with one stipulation."
"Yes?"
"I'll observe your 'politics' firsthand and teach any shortcomings. I'll assign a disciple to work with you and show me."
Cheonun pointed to the fuming girl beside him.
"This is Nokhui. Sharp mind, but trapped in ancient texts, rigid as can be. Let her learn living politics at your side. Use her as secretary."
Nokhui cried out in shock.
"Master! How could I serve such a wild..."
"You've aped too much of Kong Qiu's stuffiness. This education is for you too. If you learn nothing watching, I've nothing left to teach."
Nokhui stood stunned.
But I was shocked too.
One assassin secretary in Soso was burden enough—now a Confucian hardliner girl too?
Regaining her wits, Nokhui adjusted her glasses, glaring at me with fighting spirit.
"Your Highness. I'll serve you well henceforth. However..."
She eyed my legs.
"Squatting like that violates decorum. Straighten up at once."
"...Ha."
A sigh escaped me.
The life-risking strike succeeded. No more overtime hell.
But my office would soon become a chaotic den with two secretaries: an assassin and a hardliner.
Cheonun smiled contentedly, murmuring,
"A millennium-old indigestion finally easing. Watching this unfold will be entertaining."
"That impressive?"
The emperor, doubting despite acknowledging his son's talent, prompted. Cheonun laughed again.
"We'll see soon enough. But definitely more promising than you were as a child, Your Majesty."
"Huh."
At the emperor's flustered look, Cheonun's smile deepened.