Medieval Cyberpunk City
Yi Seong-hye and Han Pung-ryu were bowing on the dirt floor. It wasn't madness—Yi Bang-ul had just passed the gwag eo, and that's why they were doing it. It had been two years since she'd immersed herself in past exams, which was pretty impressive in itself. The average age of gwag eo passers was in the early thirties, and in China, they even held special exams for super-aged students in their sixties. That's how brutal the gwag eo was.
I'd felt it more desperately than anyone while studying. This insane exam wasn't just once—it was three rounds: Hyangsi → Jinsasi → Yebusi. To pass the gwag eo and snag an official post, you had to ace a once-a-year test over three straight years. And all three stages were at a difficulty that made modern 9th-grade civil service exams look like a joke.
In the Goryeo era, there was the ji-gonggeo, the exam question-setter and proctor rolled into one. They'd announce the topic on the day of the exam, completely random. Last year it might be "Strategies to counter the frequent Jurchen raids," and this year, "Explain why Zhuge Liang, prime minister of Shu Han in 107 BC, was overrated." It sounds like a simple essay at first, but the details make it impossible.
Every candidate had to answer in exactly 40 characters. You also had to factor in the ji-gonggeo's political leanings, and every sentence had to be backed by history or Confucian classics. Sometimes you'd even get disqualified by the assistant ji-gonggeo, the dong-ji-gonggeo, though that was rarer than once a century. Oh, and the sentences had fixed rules too. Fail to match the 3-4-3-4 rhythm, and you're out. Naturally, the wording had to flow elegantly while hitting that beat. It was like they designed it just to make you fail.
And after surviving that nonsense three times to pass Yebusi? If you ranked outside the top twelve and had no connections in the capital, no post for you—just a "passed gwag eo" plaque and back to square one. Connections mattered as much as the test. That's why some skipped Hyangsi and went straight to Jinsasi if they had lines in the central court.
I could skip Hyangsi too and jump to Jinsasi. Big Sis Bang-ul had already done it via family ties—why not me? No matter how prickly Mother was, you use what works.
Yi Seong-hye stood awkwardly, dirt caked on her knees, staring at me. The barn fire was ages ago, but the resentment lingered. We'd exchange perfunctory greetings, but real talk? Rare.
"Mother."
"What."
"I need your help for the gwag eo."
She half-opened her eyes, then closed them briefly. When she opened them again, she spoke.
"Fine. It's about time you climbed. Like Bang-ul, starting from Jinsasi?"
"Yes."
"Got it. We'll head out tomorrow or the day after—get ready."
Too straightforward. Was my read on Yi Seong-hye off? Didn't matter. Passing gwag eo was the priority, not psychoanalysis.
Through the oxcart's window, mountain valleys unspooled like film. A drizzling rain cloaked the ridges in thick fog, wrapping the range in an eerie, chilling haze. Far off, a small city gate appeared, followed by walls snaking along the mountainside. Goryeo's capital, Gaegyeong.
This lonely city, hemmed by mountains, was like a masochist gorging on self-torment. It piled walls ever higher and crammed more people than the land could hold. From the central palace, tile-roofed mansions sloped downward, degenerating into thatch huts at the foothills, stripped of grandeur. Even thatch was luxury up the slopes—mole-like burrows and indistinguishable hovels dotted the ridges, thousands strong.
As the cart delved into Goryeo's heart, the bloated city sprawled unchecked. Main roads, barely worthy of the name, were jammed with markets at both ends in chaotic profusion. Alleyways teemed with rats ferrying plagues. Hillside shanties stacked atop each other like favelas; central tile roofs, forced into shaky two-stories, tilted precariously.
This city was a whitewashed tomb. And I was marching right into its hypocrisy.
The oxcart halted before a mansion. Gang Hyeon-bi and his children waited outside the gate, as expected: two girls, one boy. Another twist in my survival path.
"Long journey—must've been tough. Sis Bang-ul's waiting inside."
An infant swaddled in his arms: Yi Bang-seok, doomed to be named crown princess only to die in Yi Bang-won's coup. Just a baby now, cat ears aside, nothing special.
Crossing the threshold revealed a Japanese garden, worlds from Gaegyeong's grit. White pebbles formed a flat sea, dotted with rock islands amid rugged stones. Karesansui. How'd he know that? No records said Queen Shindeok was Japanese...
"Heh. That intriguing, huh? It's called kare—"
"Beautiful garden. Where's Big Sis Bang-ul?"
Veins bulged in Gang Hyeon-bi's hand, but his smile held. Scary guy.
"That way. I'll show you."
The door opened to Yi Bang-ul rubbing her face on a romance-novel hero's arm. Black hair, tall and handsome, built like a tank. Alpha male in any world, reversed genders or not. He stood upon seeing me, offering a handshake. Grip like iron.
"Heard a lot about you. Min Yeo-won here—soon to be Bang-ul's husband."
"Ah, you're the fiancé?"
Sunny types like him just drained me. Best to hand Sis off quick.
"Yes! Thrilled to meet you!"
He beamed, pumping my arm. My limp limb flailed; shoulder screamed. Red welt bloomed on my palm. No wonder she fell—seeking parental love from a lover was classic.
"Uh, congrats on Yebusi, Sis. Mom was thrilled—bowed in the dirt for Gaegyeong."
"Really?"
Happiness lit her eyes, but shallower than before. Min Yeo-won gave surprising stability.
"Anyway, heard I'm here for gwag eo? Any tips? Like where to sit?"
"They just sat me front row—officials said so."
"Mom's love only shines then. If only it lasted. Hey, who's ji-gonggeo this time? You know, right?"
Yi Bang-ul shook her head. No big expectations—ji-gonggeo was classified.
"Probably Yeom Guk-bo! Mom said keep it quiet, but special for my brother-in-law!"
Yi Bang-ul's face froze in shock. Min Yeo-won kept grinning brightly.
"That Yeom Heung-bang's sister?"
"Yep! Corruption queen Yeom Heung-bang's sis. Avoid slamming asset-hoarding, and you'll pass easy."
Saved. Her sister, incarnation of graft, would be less likely to side with Yi Seong-hye's foes than to pass me leniently—even if I botched it.
"Oh! Dong-ji-gonggeo's Po-eun Teacher."
"Wh...who?"
Chills shook my limbs.
"You don't visit Gaegyeong much, so no pen name? Fine—learn now. Jeong Mong-ju's pen name is Po-eun."
Vision blackened. If Jeong Mong-ju just wrote poems, this gwag eo would've been mild. But she was gloriously mad—modern equivalent of holding Foreign, Executive, and Defense ministries while propping up late Goryeo's dumpster fire. And as dong-ji-gonggeo? That once-a-century drop case? Me?
We're fucked.