King of Commerce, Yeonsan-gun Ch.2

 Where Am I? Who Am I?

Everything felt strange—awkward words, awkward scenery, an unfamiliar house, an unfamiliar meal, and strange people all around.

Despite the pervasive unfamiliarity, Kyung-sik’s body moved with an odd sense of familiarity.

"Your Majesty, it’s time to visit the royal shrine," someone said.

"Understood. I will be there shortly."

The response came naturally, even though he didn't recognize the person. His mind held no memory of him, yet his body knew to address him as “Head Eunuch.”

Kyung-sik turned to a mirror. Reflected there was 'himself,' but not the 'himself' he knew.

In all his life, Kyung-sik had never looked into a mirror and seen a stranger's face staring back at him. It's said that recognizing oneself in a mirror is a sign of human intelligence, but the face now reflected seemed to belong to someone else.

"...Who are you?" he murmured.

Even his voice sounded unfamiliar, as if someone else was speaking through him.

Who was 'he,' truly?

Accompanied by his wife, Queen Shin, both clad in mourning attire, he made his way to pay respects to the three dowager queens. It was peculiar, this king seemed to have three dowagers. This meant rising before dawn to visit each of them. Kyung-sik couldn't help but think that while the warrior Lu Bu was famed for having three fathers, this king seemed to have three dowager queens.

Regrettably, Kyung-sik’s expertise wasn't in Korean history. People often assumed that history majors knew everything about history, but even specialists have limited knowledge outside their own field. Many can't even recite timelines accurately.

Kyung-sik, in particular, knew little about the genealogy of the Joseon royal family. He found himself naturally addressing the Queen Shin and the dowagers by their titles, though it didn’t align with his modern knowledge.

If someone had asked, "How can you not know this?" Kyung-sik might have retorted, "Honestly, I think that even with all the royal scandals and family trees, Joseon was still a minor nation that couldn't even adopt currency, with its people living in dire poverty and its army being practically non-existent."

Kyung-sik's academic interests lay primarily in modern Western history, particularly socio-economic aspects. His studies on East Asia were more focused on China and Japan's interactions with Western powers, not on a secluded Joseon.

In undergraduate studies, the themes in modern Western history courses typically revolve around 'What is modernity? What are its criteria? And how did humanity transition into modernity?' In Korean educational contexts, world history tends to focus on significant modern states like the UK, France, the US, Germany, and Russia because they achieved strong nation-states through various revolutions and changes.

In contrast, even though Austria was a significant power in early modern Europe, it barely features in Korean history textbooks until its role in World War I, often reduced to being the state that failed to achieve a modern nation-state.

By Kyung-sik's standards, Joseon was another such "minor state." Consequently, he hadn’t paid much attention to it and knew little about it.

Surrounded by unfamiliar people in an unfamiliar world, Kyung-sik’s body seemed to recognize them and acted accordingly. It felt like playing a first-person VR RPG game where the character moves on its own, irrespective of the player’s control.

'At least I’m not going around cluelessly asking, “What’s this? Is this some kind of hilarious period drama set?” Thank goodness for small mercies,' Kyung-sik thought.

Clues about his identity began to emerge quickly.

"Your Majesty, Yoo Ja-gwang has submitted a memorial."

For the first time, a familiar name surfaced. Yoo Ja-gwang! He knew that name! Yoo Ja-gwang was a notorious official from early Joseon, often regarded as a traitor.

Kyung-sik couldn't react as he wanted to, so he controlled his expression and had the scribe read the memorial.

The content was mundane—a matter of prioritizing Yoo’s mother's mourning over the state mourning, which didn't seem significant from a modern perspective. Kyung-sik, focusing on discovering the exact time period he was in, listened with half an ear and eventually instructed, "Handle it as Chief Minister Kim advised."

'If Yoo Ja-gwang was active, it must be during King Sejo's era onwards, right? Since I don't seem to be the one who deposed Danjong, I must be either King Yejong or King Seongjong? No, Seongjong ascended as a child, so not him. Could I be King Yeonsan? I’m not here through a coup, so not King Jungjong either.'

Additional hints soon arrived.

"Sejo ordered not to build a stone chamber for his tomb."

Given Yoo Ja-gwang's presence and that he didn't ascend through a coup but succeeded after his father's death, there were only two possibilities: Yejong and Yeonsan. Seongjong succeeded his brother and was a child when he ascended. The previous king, referred to as 'the late king' without an established posthumous title, narrowed it down further.

By elimination, the answer was clear.

'Yeonsan!'

Why on earth did it have to be King Yeonsan? What was the professor implying with this choice?

Part of Kyung-sik felt relieved. As Yeonsan, he figured he could do a better job than the historical Yeonsan did. After all, he had no particular urge to reform Joseon extensively. So, what did the professor expect him to do here?

While discussing funeral arrangements, Kyung-sik’s sudden pause to think aroused suspicion among the ministers.

"Your Majesty?"

"Oh, apologies. We will follow King Sejo's wishes."

"Then how about building only the foundational stones?"

"Proceed as you have advised."

Brushing off the discussions, Kyung-sik focused on recollecting his modern knowledge about King Yeonsan's reign.

Hmm… other than the purges of scholars and the discovery of silver and mercury mining techniques, nothing else comes to mind. Globally, Spain would be discovering the Americas around this time.

Domestically, nothing seemed particularly pressing or in need of drastic change. With Yeonsan now possessed by me, there wouldn't be any significant problems arising.

On the international front, the Western powers hadn’t even made significant inroads into East Asia yet. The northern Jurchens were still fragmented tribes. The Ming Dynasty was maintaining its maritime ban, uninterested in foreign affairs, and had no conflicts with Joseon. Japan was yet to be unified, and the Imjin War was far in the future.

This really was an era with not much to do. It felt like a genuine "now what?" moment.

However, it didn’t take long for that notion to be challenged.

"The Analects say that to not change a father’s ways for three years is filial piety. The late king declared that there was nothing to gain from venerating Buddha and abolished the Buddhist ceremonies. Your Majesty is well aware of this.

Yet we hear that Your Majesty has ordered a Buddhist service, claiming that the late king himself held such services. This, however, was because King Yejong had just ascended and Queen Dowager Janghee managed state affairs.

Given the late king's wishes, why would Your Majesty take such actions?"

The state council presented a lengthy memorial, summarized to this effect. Essentially, they argued against holding a Buddhist ceremony, as was characteristic of staunch Confucianists.

‘Did I do that?’

The problem was that Kyung-sik had no recollection of such actions.

Clearly, it was something the possessed Yeonsan must have done just before Kyung-sik took over. The historical Yeonsan didn’t seem particularly religious, so why suggest a Buddhist ceremony for his father, who was the epitome of a Confucian monarch?

Whether it was a Buddhist or Confucian ceremony wasn’t particularly important to Kyung-sik, who had grown up in a secular future. While curious to see what a traditional Buddhist ceremony might look like, it wasn’t worth the hassle.

"The state council's point is valid. Cancel the ceremony."

But saying "cancel it" didn't simply resolve the issue. The state council, honed in the tradition of "criticize anything and everything," began to push further.

"Also, punish the ministers who suggested the ceremony. They seek to manipulate Your Majesty to seize power."

Why? Who will handle the funeral arrangements if the ministers are punished? Am I supposed to dig the grave myself?

"We’ve already canceled the ceremony. Why punish the ministers? The officers in charge of the royal tomb cannot be punished."

"However, we must remember that No Sa-shin, who once interpreted Buddhist scriptures for King Sejo, is trying to deceive Your Majesty again. Punish him severely to uphold the nation’s integrity."

"We are in the midst of national mourning. How can you suggest punishing the ministers now? Enough. Dismissed."

Having dismissed the state council, more pragmatic discussions emerged with the ministers.

"I heard you ordered the cancellation of the ceremony. This is a wise decision. The three provinces of Hwanghae, Chungcheong, and Gyeonggi have suffered poor harvests, so it’s best to save costs."

This was a report from Minister of Taxation Hong Gwi-dal, who immediately focused on financial concerns.

"You canceled the ceremony in response to the state council, but originally intended to follow ancestral traditions. This doesn’t mean Your Majesty supports Buddhism. Holding a single ceremony wouldn’t impact the nation's prosperity.

Your Majesty is deeply grieving, but the state council gathers merely to argue. I find their stance erroneous, and believe there’s no need to respond further."

On the other hand, Left State Councilor No Sa-shin criticized the state council. To summarize, he argued, "Will holding one ceremony ruin the country?"

From Kyung-sik's perspective (largely indifferent to religious matters), this was a reasonable sentiment. However, the staunch Confucianists felt otherwise, believing it could indeed ruin the nation.

"What? No Sa-shin?"

"I knew it! Hasn’t he been a traitor since King Sejo’s time?"

"This is our chance! We must act to eradicate Buddhism from Joseon once and for all!"

The next morning, as soon as the sun rose, students from Sungkyunkwan flooded the palace gates, staging a surprise protest and demanding punishment for the ministers. They especially targeted No Sa-shin with their criticisms.

Still dressed in mourning, Kyung-sik was shocked to hear the "Please heed our advice" chants, which he had only ever seen in historical dramas.

In response, No Sa-shin and the other ministers offered their resignations, creating a chaotic situation.

"How could they not be frustrated if someone interfered with their mourning within three days? It seems I am unworthy of these roles, and therefore I must resign."

Wow, they’re resigning with such bitterness. Is this a ploy for me to refuse their resignation? I remember reading somewhere that the famous “I do not accept your resignation” scene with Sejong and Hwang Hee was actually a political show of support.

Ultimately, Kyung-sik had to resort to the expected response, "However, I do not grant permission."

Politicians are inherently combative, but they seemed to spend each day in endless disputes. Before one round of conflict could even conclude, another would begin.

"The late king should be posthumously named ‘In’ to reflect his virtue. Although the Chinese Emperor Renzong held this title, there’s no better way to express our late king’s virtues."

"How can we use a title already held by a Chinese emperor when we serve China? ‘Seong’ is sufficient to express his virtues."

"The posthumous title should endure for centuries. How could you suggest otherwise?"

"‘Seong’ is not a minor title, and we have already included ‘In’ in the honorary title. There’s no need to insist on this."

From the perspective of the king—Kyung-sik—it was dreadfully boring. He had thought the ceremonial protocol disputes were tedious, but these arguments seemed to fill the entirety of Joseon’s history. Thinking of it this way gave him a headache.

Old men, listen up. From my future perspective, not even 500 years later, no one cares what these posthumous titles mean. I learned that Sejong’s posthumous title meant "Conqueror" from an internet meme. Even Injo, who was given a highly honorable title, is mocked as "the one who couldn't even run properly" in the future. People say things like “He bowed so much to the Qing Dynasty that his back became a bow.”

These thoughts filled Kyung-sik with an odd sense of guilt about suggesting "In" as a posthumous title.

"...I think ‘Seong’ is indeed more appropriate."

And once again, the state council staged another protest.

'We impeach at any opportunity!' 'Punish those who propose ‘Seong’ as the posthumous title!'

Every time, the ministers would respond with, "These stubborn folks are so unbearable, I think I should resign," in an elaborate display.

At that point, Kyung-sik felt as if something within him—whether it was the repressed rage of the historical Yeonsan or his own mounting frustration—was about to explode.

‘Should I just wipe them all out? Initiate a purge and silence them completely?’

Kyung-sik struggled to suppress this growing urge. He remembered that Yeonsan was initially considered relatively stable in the early years of his reign. Likely, he hadn’t started the purges immediately upon ascending the throne.

After enduring this turmoil for the first month of his reign, Kyung-sik began to form a clearer sense of what he truly desired in this era.

‘I want to be free!’

Life in Joseon, even as a king, was evidently far less comfortable than modern life. Though the inconveniences of Joseon living had a certain antiquated charm that Kyung-sik, as a history enthusiast, could appreciate, he yearned for freedom. Despite being a king, he was still besieged by his officials and confined within the palace.

Having been thrust into this era, Kyung-sik wanted to experience more of it. He longed to see the lives of the nobility, the commoners, the vibrancy of Hanyang, and even the rural areas and foreign lands beyond the palace walls.

To achieve this, the current Joseon needed drastic changes. Everything about the country would need reform. Simply traveling domestically was difficult as a king, let alone thinking about venturing abroad. The Joseon people’s knowledge of foreign countries was limited to Southeast Asia and, at best, Tibet.

Alright, then. How do I go about transforming Joseon so I can gain my freedom? With three years of mourning ahead, I have time to plan.

Chapter 1        Chapter 3