Chapter 3: First Mission (1)
When I entered the house, my servant Jang-bok (長福) opened the small gate for me.
Since the Myeonshin-rye was a custom familiar even to Koreans, it seemed he had been expecting this. I felt as if I were meeting a sibling, and I was glad without having to recall Kim Un-haeng's memories about Jang-bok.
Jang-bok hurriedly grabbed my sleeve so no one would see.
"Oh, young master of the study. You must have had a hard time. Madam hasn't coughed yet, so we shall greet her once the sun rises."
Calling me by the childhood title he had always used, Jang-bok took my torn gat and my ruined outer robe, smiling broadly.
"You must have completed it properly."
I considered complaining to Jang-bok, but I stopped myself.
Stamping my feet in frustration over my failure at the Myeonshin-rye in front of a servant would only ruin my dignity. It wouldn't help at all.
You might say, "Has he only been in Joseon a few hours and is already acting like a feudal master, talking about servants?" I find it strange too.
Perhaps it's because I have eighteen years of Kim Un-haeng's experience and learning ingrained in me. Structuralist philosophers, who claimed that experience shapes the subject, would be pleased. Or maybe my true nature is just trash—but let's not think about that.
Still, there was one thing I couldn't reconcile with Joseon people.
"To see Father this morning, I need to prepare myself. Bring water for washing."
"For washing water, I have already placed some in your room."
"That's not enough. Bring hot water repeatedly. And clean towels."
Jang-bok tilted his head, puzzled at my sudden fuss, but he didn't argue.
He kept bringing hot water, and I soaked a towel repeatedly, washing until no more grimy black water emerged.
Even without Kim Un-haeng's memory, I knew that hot showers were impossible in Joseon. This was the best I could manage.
Fortunately, Jang-bok seemed to understand that I was performing ritual purification to show a new determination. The care in his movements reflected the thought: "Our mischievous young master, having performed excellently as a civil servant, deserves this service."
"If Madam coughs, I shall come to inform you."
"No. You rest. You must have had a hard night."
"Hard work? I should have served you at your side, but they might call me presumptuous and gossip, hindering your advancement, so I waited anxiously."
He had such high expectations—my previous act of smashing a senior's head with a club had already destroyed that.
After Jang-bok left, I lay down in the room.
The room was still dim. But in Joseon, where most people started their day at sunrise, it would soon be morning. If we compare to modern Korea, sunrise is about 9 a.m., and the current time is roughly 7 a.m., when people wake up and start preparing. Jang-bok probably woke early as well, not staying up all night.
I didn't sleep either. I had no desire to. My body was exhausted, but if I slept now, I wouldn't be human.
Instead, I thought about what I needed to do next.
"[He] said I'd be the Chief State Councillor. So I must advance in Joseon, as Jang-bok said."
I combined information from the status window with Kim Un-haeng's memories in a modern-style analysis.
Joseon people didn't study history the way Koreans do now—they didn't memorize the sequence of kings from Taejong to Danjong. Such genealogies were actually standardized only around King Gojong's time.
Fortunately, thanks to being from a yangban family, Kim Un-haeng knew at least the posthumous titles of prior kings.
"The unfortunate king who died early, targeted by the 'unforeseen group,' was King Gyeongjong (景宗)."
"So the current king is Yeongjo."
I didn't care whether Yeongjo achieved the royal succession using fermented crabs and persimmons. What mattered was that Yeongjo lived an exceptionally long life and troubled many people during it.
Who was Yeongjo? A man who successfully reshaped the perception of millions of Koreans. Thanks to him, modern Koreans mistakenly believe that eating crabs and persimmons together kills you, or that rice should be stored in a dwe-ju (rice container). Ask any Korean, and they'd be confused: "Uh… son?"
Especially considering the dwe-ju problem: He starved his only biological son to death. If someone wanted, couldn't they kill anyone? It's no small matter.
In conclusion, relying solely on Kim Un-haeng's skill would make it hard to survive under the insane King Yeongjo and reach the Chief State Councillor position.
If my skill wasn't enough, I'd need family connections—but even that seemed unreliable. I had thought the Andong Kim clan was a powerful family dominating late Joseon, but apparently, either the timing wasn't right or I had misremembered. They weren't particularly influential yet.
To succeed at paying the "tuition" for advancement, even information I knew from Korea's future was essential. To make it compatible, I had to 'translate' Kim Un-haeng's ingrained memories. I felt like I was compiling a test review sheet, and in this moment, even gloomy destiny faded as I focused.
If you ask the average person about events during Yeongjo's reign, most would shrug. Even history buffs would need to think to recall anything beyond the dwe-ju incident. If you mention Lee In-jae's rebellion, then one might call themselves well-versed.
In macro terms, this was a period of relative stability. Previous wars had become the past. Even the Bakssi-jeon was an attempt by the Joseon people to correct reality through mental adaptation.
Of course, not everyone approved of such mental victories. During Yeongjo's reign, there were rare appeals like Kim Yak-haeng's, advocating changing the era name and northern campaigns.
According to Kim Un-haeng, Qing China was fighting a Mongol rebellion. Only after connecting the dots did I realize this was the Qing emperor Qianlong's campaign against the Dzungars.
Typically, when a Chinese dynasty is preoccupied with rebellions, it presents an opportunity for Korea. But Yeongjo and Jeongjo weren't fools; their reigns were considered periods of revival.
Qianlong systematically eliminated all Dzungars—no exceptions. Even if someone argued that negotiating after war could solve the problem, Qianlong wouldn't allow it. He achieved his goals completely, unlike Hitler, who used euphemisms like "final solution."
Captured or surrendered generals were punished; those who killed and burned were rewarded. Through this process, the Dzungars disappeared before the end of Qianlong's reign. The empty lands became Xinjiang, now called Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region—but originally mostly Dzungar territory.
Analogous historical events include Anglo-Saxons wiping out Native Americans or Slavs claiming Siberia as uninhabited.
So Qing wasn't a wounded or limping leopard—they were an enraged African elephant trampling a crocodile, violently punishing anyone who opposed them.
A smart human wouldn't try to outwit such a reptile; you'd need brains. The world's strongest empire—though the British Empire still needed a century to rise—could not hand out "Dzungar killer" and "Joseon killer" achievements simultaneously.
Therefore, I made the same wise judgment as most Joseon people: forget the Manchuria conquest. I lacked the guts of King Injo of the 17th century.
Instead, I focused on internal Joseon affairs. Thanks to external prudence, the country's internal situation was stable: the economy, mainly agriculture, was tolerable.
Soon, during the reign of King Sunjo (the 23rd ruler, Lee Gong, 李玜), a long famine would strike—but for now, the harvest was good. I remembered this as one of my few positive forces: a stable society was essential for advancement.
However, thinking of advancement soon made me depressed. Politically, stability wasn't guaranteed.
By this time, factional politics from King Jungjong onward had evolved into the era of sedo jeongchi (clique politics), marking a significant turning point.
From Kim Un-haeng's childhood lessons, by around ten years before the current moment, four officials—Kim Chang-jip, Lee I-myeong (李頤命), Lee Geon-myeong (李健命), and Jo Tae-chae (趙泰采)—had solidified their positions.
The So-ron faction called them the Sa-hyung (Four Evils).
Calling them the Four Evils didn't mean they were martial arts masters of a demonic cult. They were the senior ministers who essentially made Yeongjo king (the No-ron faction called them the Four Loyalists).
It wasn't simply "Yeongjo became king, so he rewarded those who supported him." The four ministers had advised the young king to appoint the crown prince immediately after King Gyeongjong's ascension, and even requested regency, which he accepted.
In modern terms, it's like saying, "Your Majesty, please hurry and die for us."
Of course, those four eventually died. They had underestimated the king—Gyeongjong was also the son of King Sukjong.
Their posthumous titles explain it: "Suk" (肅) refers to a purified/cleansing monarch. Factional politics were trivial compared to the royal purges.
At that time, the royal court trembled at Gyeongjong's wrath. (One of the No-ron ministers, Lee Geon-myeong, mentioned this.) He didn't use poison but natural death claimed him.
Had Gyeongjong paid more attention to food hygiene, he might have truly exhibited the qualities of a cleansing monarch. But he didn't, so even he followed the fate of those four ministers.
When Yeongjo ascended, if he immediately restored the four ministers' honor, it would be akin to confessing himself as the "Crab King" while also becoming the No-ron puppet king.
The sequence mattered greatly: one must prove one's innocence first, then restore the ministers' honor. Not the other way around.
Thus began a two-decade-long struggle of checks, balances, and subtle maneuvering. Like King Seonjo, abdications and tearful performances were rampant. Prince Sado, kneeling repeatedly, was pitiful.
The royal court and officials anxiously monitored the legitimacy of Yeongjo's succession. The long conflict over the "Sam-su-yeok-an" (a plot to assassinate Gyeongjong) ended when the records were completely burned.
All four ministers eventually regained honor. In other words, the Crab King incident never existed in history. Yeongjo rightfully succeeded his brother.
The 1740 Gyeongshin Punishment finalized this. Kim Un-haeng's father—Kim Yong-gyeom, or "my father" as it felt—was the nephew of Kim Chang-jip.
So my grand-uncle had effectively lost his head to Gyeongjong. Naturally, our family was exiled as well.
After Yeongjo's ascension, our family regained hope. But due to circumstances, Yeongjo couldn't immediately reinstate us. Only after the Gyeongshin Punishment could we reclaim our positions in Seoul.
Fortunately, we eventually saw the light. After my father took the post of Seong-gong-gam Gam-yeok, I entered the Seungmunwon. The household celebrated.
However, ten days after my appointment—on the very day of Myeonshin-rye—I had smashed a senior's head with a club.
Considering this, Jang-bok called me at the door. His voice and expression were uneasy, completely different from before.
He must have guessed the situation. I smiled bitterly. News must have already reached him.
"Stay out of trouble. I told them you were running an errand…"
Jang-bok, having served nearly twenty years, quickly understood and vanished quietly.
Of course, my father Kim Yong-gyeom was a composed and wise man. He wouldn't take out his anger on a servant.
But punishment—rightful correction for mismanaging a master—meant Jang-bok might get a few hits. This is Joseon, after all. And I couldn't just let it go.
"Surely he won't tell me to enter a dwe-ju."
As expected, my father didn't act like a shaman whispering through the stars of a dead wife and tie his son up.
He simply stared at the brazier pipe for a long time. Then, suddenly, he spoke:
"Someone from the Seungmunwon came. You must have made quite a scene."
They had reported everything at dawn.
At this point, Kim Un-haeng couldn't argue or justify himself. That's how a Joseon son behaves.
Moreover, as a modern Korean, I had no words either. In Joseon or Korea, it was utter humiliation.
All I could do was kneel, bow my head, and press my hands against the floor.
Then, the status window appeared before me, on the cold wooden floor.
I summoned all my self-control to keep from screaming. If I had, I would have been confirmed as insane, combining last night's events with this.
My eyes were bloodshot.
[Tutorial CompletedMandatory Goal: Return home (Success)Optional Goal: Pass Myeonshin-rye (Failure)]
[Active Skill 'Han Seok-bong's Handwriting' has been unlocked.]
[Optional Goal Failure prevents bonus skills from unlocking.]
Why is this popping up now? Is this mocking me? And why is the skill like this? I practically need "Mass Mind Control" or "Total Hypnosis," I thought.
In my paranoia, I found a satisfying explanation: the definition of "return home" was judged as the time I reported to my parents. Even the status window was faithful to the Joseon era.
I couldn't dwell on such trivial thoughts, because another crucial message immediately appeared.
['Seung-gyeong-do' activation starting.]
Then, for the first time, a form—not text—appeared in the status window.
A crude cuboid, vaguely resembling a Yut stick.
But to my eyes, it looked like a symbol of my current predicament—like a body part described in an old curse—dropping and rolling onto the floor.
It was disgusting. Truly.
A refreshingly sharp alert tone sounded.
[Origin: Namhaeng (entered office without passing civil service exam, e.g., by recommendation)Position: Young Scholar (幼學)]
[Main goal for clearing 'Seung-gyeong-do' is now active.]
In the next moment, the first mission was engraved on the floor.