If I did nothing—if I simply drifted along like this—Joseon would fall.
That wasn't a theory. It was a confirmed fact, already written into the history I knew.
Even if the Daewongun pursued different policies, maybe he still wouldn't have been able to right a kingdom already tilting toward collapse.
But that was the realm of possibilities.
The one thing that wasn't debatable was this: if things continued as they were, Joseon would perish.
Of course, saying that in an era before even the Opium War had erupted was a perfect way to be branded a lunatic.
Yi Ha-eung quickly relaxed his gaze again, sighed, and clicked his tongue.
"Your words are so absurd I don't even feel they deserve a reply. In the first place, it isn't the conduct of a gentleman to overreact to the ramblings of a low slave who knows nothing."
"So you won't shout at me for cursing the nation, then?"
"A man with Western blood simply speaks in a way that suits his roots. It isn't infuriating. It's merely laughable."
"Half my blood may be Yeonggilli, but the other half is Joseon. I was born here. I grew up here. Then shouldn't I be considered closer to Joseon as well?"
Yi Ha-eung stared at me as if I'd said something ridiculous.
"If you plant a Western crop in Joseon soil, does that make it wholly Joseon's crop? Roots do not vanish simply because the earth changes."
"Then what of Master Mun Ik-jeom of Goryeo?" I countered. "He brought cotton seeds from Yuan and refined them into something that became ours. Thanks to him, countless commoners escaped the cold. If a seed from abroad can serve this land and contribute greatly, then what else should we call it but Joseon's?"
The story of Mun Ik-jeom hiding cotton seeds inside his brush case was a famous anecdote.
Strictly speaking, historians argued the tale had been embellished—but cotton's widespread adoption was real, and Mun Ik-jeom had been honored for it in Joseon.
Yi Ha-eung couldn't refute that. He nodded slowly.
"You're not wrong. You do have a tongue on you." He studied me for a moment, then went on. "Fine. As you say, if it can devote itself to this land, then where the seed came from becomes meaningless. So in summary… you believe you can become like the cotton seed Master Mun brought."
"Yes."
"Anyone can speak."
"I don't speak words I can't keep." I met his eyes. "And as proof—look at you. You're already speaking to me seriously. You said no one would have a real conversation with someone like me."
If you talked to me even once, your thinking would change.
Yi Ha-eung remembered what he'd said earlier and let out a dry, incredulous laugh.
"It isn't that my thinking has changed… No. You're right—I said no one would talk properly with a low half-blood slave, and I was wrong. I'll admit that much."
"Then will you listen seriously to what I have to say from here on?"
"Perhaps. But there's something we must settle first." His expression sharpened. "If you've heard my name, you likely know who I am. No matter how much learning I gather, I am not someone who can deeply involve himself in the politics of this nation. You probably don't understand that—"
"As a royal kinsman, you cannot hold substantive office beyond honorary posts."
His eyes widened.
"You know that? And yet… knowing that, why are you doing this? I can't even guess."
Since King Sejo, it was rare for royal relatives to hold truly powerful offices.
And this boy—barely ten—couldn't possibly be dreaming of placing his son on the throne someday and ruling through him.
To Yi Ha-eung, I must have looked like some foolish child who thought any royal connection was enough.
The fact that I had pierced that assumption left him visibly thrown off.
For all his precocity, he was still a child.
And no child—no matter how bright—could easily evade the instincts I'd honed by turning the tables on countless "geniuses" in my first life.
"You form ties when no one else is watching," I said calmly, "so that when you rise high, you'll value the ones who reached out first. Even from this short conversation, I'm convinced you're someone destined to become great."
"It doesn't change the law," he muttered, but his lips twitched into a faint smile.
He didn't look offended. If anything, he looked mildly pleased—despite himself.
He was about to speak again when—
"Yoo Seok! Yoo Seok! You little—there you are!"
Seok-san—our household's prized slave, the star pupil, the one Lord Kim favored above all others—came sprinting toward us, gasping for air.
"Hhk—hkk! Yoo Seok—quick, quick. You have to come. My lord—hkk—he's calling for you."
"Hyung-nim, you're going to pass out. Calm down and speak properly. What is it?"
"I don't know!" Seok-san wheezed. "I only heard it in a rush, but it sounds like an important guest has arrived. Just—come first!"
Seok-san was the slave Lord Kim valued most. I had run errands for him countless times—but the reverse had never happened.
If Seok-san had come to fetch me himself, something big had truly happened.
I glanced back. Yi Ha-eung gestured with his eyes—go.
"If the chance comes, we'll speak again," he said. "If you can truly convince me then, I'll promise to listen to you seriously."
"Yes. Then please excuse me."
I'd already succeeded in the most important part—branding my existence into his mind on our first meeting. From now on, it would be a matter of slowly drawing him in.
There was still a long time before Yi Ha-eung became the man who held the reins of Joseon. I had time to spare.
In the meantime, if I used him to build ties with other powerful figures, manumission would be a matter of moments.
Joseon didn't yet have modern institutions or an industrial structure. It would be difficult to fully apply my expertise here.
But I'd already gotten a feel for the general level of this society.
Taking a sizable cut for myself wouldn't be difficult.
I bade him farewell and watched Yi Ha-eung's back recede into the distance, a strange emotion tightening in my chest.
My life had been long, noisy, and full of trouble.
And at last, after years of stumbling over the same suffocating obstacles—these endless Confucian gatekeepers—something finally felt like it was beginning.
My steps were almost light as I returned home, dreaming of a rosy future.
But the moment I arrived, the atmosphere in the household felt wrong.
Servants were hurrying everywhere, preparing something. No one had idle hands.
I'd seen this enough times to know what it meant.
As Seok-san said—some important guest had arrived.
I moved to help, but Seok-san nearly leapt out of his skin and dragged me in the opposite direction.
"Yoo Seok! This way! Where do you think you're going?"
"Huh? It looks like they're short on hands. I thought I was called because they needed help."
"No—no, what help can you give?" He spoke rapidly, still half-panicked. "Come here—no. Come with me. My lord said to find you quickly, wash you, dress you in good clothes, and bring you in."
"Wash me? Why?"
For a moment I wondered if my persistent attempts at getting people to listen had finally gotten me in trouble—but it didn't fit.
If it were punishment, they'd scold me and be done with it. They wouldn't bathe me and dress me in silk.
"Ah… do I need to be clean because I'm helping with something?"
"That's not it!" Seok-san grimaced. "I don't know the details either, but it seems the visitors came looking for you."
"Looking for me?"
I didn't know anyone in all eight provinces of Joseon.
For a second, I wondered if this was some kind of Joseon-era hidden camera prank—but the frantic bustle of the entire household made that impossible.
Before I knew it, servants had taken hold of me and practically marched me inside.
Even though the weather wasn't cold, they washed me in warm water and dressed me in proper silk.
Apparently the clothing had been rushed over from a noble household that had a boy around my age.
If they were going that far, it truly wasn't ordinary.
And the answer revealed itself the moment I entered the sarangchae, the men's reception quarters.
"Oh! He's here at last. This is the child—this is the one. Come in."
Lord Kim—who had never once spoken to me in anything resembling warmth—welcomed me in the softest tone I had ever heard from him.
In front of him sat a middle-aged man with a queue hairstyle and clothing that screamed, I'm from Qing.
But my attention wasn't drawn to the first Qing man I'd ever seen in Joseon.
From the moment I stepped in, a Western gentleman—dressed in what looked like formal attire popular in the early-to-mid nineteenth century—had been staring at me with wide eyes, as if trying to pierce straight through me.
"How is it?" Lord Kim asked.
His words were spoken in Qing language, then translated into English for the Western gentleman.
"Just by looking at him, you can tell this is certainly the child you were seeking, can you not?"
The gentleman replied in a measured tone, his words carried through translation.
"He's a fine-looking boy. I believe my lord will be very pleased."
"Is that so? Then that is fortunate."
Lord Kim sounded faintly puzzled by the compliment, but in truth… my face in this era was unfairly good.
Maybe the old saying was true—mixed blood produced striking features.
To modern eyes, there wasn't a flaw on my face. It had the clean, almost unnatural symmetry of someone "born to succeed."
If I'd looked like this in my previous life, I wouldn't have needed to run scams at all.
I could've modeled. Acted. Printed money honestly.
Unfortunately, in Joseon, the more handsome a half-blood was, the more you were simply labeled "a pale-skinned goblin with big eyes."
"In any case," Lord Kim continued smoothly, "the child has grown quite healthy, so I have fulfilled my duty. Shall you take him today?"
"Of course," the gentleman answered. "My lord wishes to see his son as soon as possible. We will not be stingy in compensation for the years you have cared for him."
Lord Kim cleared his throat.
"Ahem. I am not trying to boast, but the child is unusually bright, so I… grew quite attached. You can see that even from the clothes he wears."
"Yes. We are only grateful."
So that was why they'd scrubbed me clean and wrapped me in silk.
Naturally. A man who rose to high office could lie without even wetting his tongue.
While I stared in disbelief, the three men in front of me were already finishing their calculations.
"Now, you haven't forgotten my contribution," the Qing official interjected. "It was I who brought your agent from Qing to Joseon the moment I heard the information."
"Of course," the gentleman replied. "My lord keeps his promises. We will allocate the goods meant for this side to you first, in priority."
"Good. Very good."
"Then shouldn't you explain the situation to the boy?" the gentleman asked. "He likely doesn't understand what is happening."
"I will explain it myself!" Lord Kim said quickly, perhaps afraid a lie might be uncovered. "I've raised him this far, after all."
He assumed, of course, that I couldn't understand English.
And with a broad smile, he addressed me in the most affectionate tone I'd ever heard from him.
"Yoo Seok. This gentleman is a representative of your father, who resides far away in Yeonggilli. He learned that you were here and has come to take you."
"My father… the Yeonggilli nobleman?"
"Yes, yes. And I hear he has no other children of his blood. None at all. That is why he has come all this way—searching for his only lineage."
With that explanation, everything clicked into place.
My father—who had come to Qing as a diplomat—spent one night with the attendant of a Joseon envoy, then returned home.
At the time, perhaps it meant little.
But years passed.
He reached an age where producing an heir grew uncertain, and he began to panic.
Early-to-mid nineteenth century or not, it was still an era where aristocrats clung to bloodlines with iron hands. Having no heir was the abnormality.
Then, on a later visit to Qing, he heard a peculiar rumor from the official he'd once known:
—It seems there was a woman who became pregnant after that night, some years ago.
Technically, that made me a bastard.
But if you had wealth and influence, a "bastard" could be cleaned up with the right paperwork, the right story, the right pressure.
A man who had been resigned to dying without an heir chose instead to gamble.
He promised enormous benefits to that Qing official, and sent an agent all the way to Joseon to find me.
Lord Kim benefited too—he could sell off the nuisance child he'd never wanted for a handsome price.
The Qing official got his promised advantage.
And my father—bastard or not—got his only blood.
A perfect outcome.
Everyone satisfied.
"Then… am I leaving today? To go with him to Yeonggilli?"
"Yes," Lord Kim said briskly. "First you will return to Qing, and from there you will take a ship to Yeonggilli. You may have grown up here, but your roots are Yeonggilli regardless, are they not? You will be far happier there than in Joseon."
Was he wrong?
Not even a commoner in the West—my father was a noble of the British Empire.
Whatever my status as a bastard, it couldn't even be compared to being a slave in Joseon.
And Britain—unlike this country—was surging through industrialization at a terrifying pace.
In a land like that, might I finally be able to use my expertise properly?
"Thank you for raising me, my lord."
"Hahaha. Yes, yes." Lord Kim beamed. "Though I may have been… slightly lacking in some regards, was it not still my duty to feed you and house you until you grew? So if you have any resentment, throw it away and begin anew in your new land."
Slightly lacking.
I could still feel the years of contempt—years of being treated as less than human because I was "Western blood."
And in his mind, that had been only a minor shortcoming.
Of course it had.
There was no point arguing now. I matched his smile and laughed along.
If we ever met again, I wondered if we'd still be laughing.
But that was a pleasure I could leave for the future.
Soon after, I greeted the gentleman who claimed to be my father's representative—and boarded the ship bound for Qing with him.
When I glanced back, Joseon's coastline—this land I might never see again—receded quickly into the distance.
And strangely…
I didn't feel even a trace of regret.
All I felt was curiosity.
In the far future, what kind of face would this land wear when it finally met me again?