King of Commerce, Yeonsan-gun Ch.21
Common People - Part 1
‘So, this is how it turned out...’
After a year in Joseon, Kyung-sik had adapted to the local customs and nuances, using his modern 'self' and 'knowledge' to navigate this world.
He now understood that the unexpected resistance from mid-level officials and Confucian scholars meant that even the senior officials were hesitant to continue with the reforms without first calming the unrest.
Upon reflection, the officials had a point.
While Kyung-sik had implemented a modern tax system, the current reforms were pursued with a single-minded focus on results, often disregarding the accompanying disruptions and breakdowns in the established order. The outcome was highly successful, but without that success, he could have been seen in the same light as the infamous regent Daewon-gun.
‘Still, the administrative burden might have been less than under the old system...’
Despite the extensive demands placed on them, the administrative burden had, in some ways, been reduced. The aim was indeed to simplify the process.
By standardizing the land tax to a fixed rate of 10 jeon per gyeol (approximately 30 acres), the collection process became straightforward.
Even areas previously exempt from land tax, such as the northern frontier regions, were now successfully taxed without significant issues, resulting in a substantial revenue of around 14 million jeon.
The main burden on the Ministry of Taxation (Hojo) had been dealing with budget allocations and managing the warehouse and auction operations.
The rapid deployment of hastily trained clerks to manage these operations had somewhat resolved these issues. The real challenge lay in budget allocation.
Under the new land tax structure, it was still unclear how the budget should be distributed.
Previously, taxes were collected in kind (goods), but now, with taxes collected in cash based on production, the amount of money needed fluctuated with the prices of goods.
It wasn’t just rice prices; the limited scope of commerce meant that whether a ship arrived at the ports on the Han River (Gyeonggang Sam-bang) could cause significant price swings.
During the era of in-kind taxes, the people suffered from being required to provide goods they couldn’t produce. Now, if the government needed items that were in short supply, the budget was strained.
Although a price disclosure system was established and records were kept, the data covered less than a year and was largely from a period before the currency had stabilized, making it insufficient for budget planning.
Additionally, the forced allocation of debt to stimulate spending further complicated future budgeting.
Unfortunately, the Ministry of Taxation would have to endure more hardships.
This was not a problem that could be solved merely by increasing the number of clerks. They handled public services, warehouse management, and accounting, but not budget formulation.
Recognizing the strain his policies had placed on the officials, the King took a step back.
Officials who had been demoted to clerk positions for angering the King were promoted back to their regular posts. Although they remained within the Ministry of Taxation, a promotion was still a promotion.
In various offices where there had been clashes between the “King’s loyalists” (though not officially) and the existing clerks, a separation and reorganization were undertaken.
However, No Sa-shin and Lee Geuk-don noticed a concerning pattern: many of the King’s loyalists had been placed in the auction offices.
‘Ultimately, His Majesty will control the auction offices...’
Regarding the appointment of clerks as inspectors (chalbang), it was decided to stick with tradition and promote those from aristocratic backgrounds for now. In exchange, the clerks were allowed to rise to the 6th rank based on their service days, giving them a future path to become inspectors, with the requirement that they serve significantly longer before promotion.
‘Over time, His Majesty’s protégés will undoubtedly fill the court...’
With this realization, the senior officials offered an unexpected suggestion.
“Going forward, how about teaching practical skills to those who pass the state exams (gwaye) at the Hongmungwan (Office of Special Advisors) before appointing them to official positions?”
Kyung-sik was surprised to hear this, having only encountered resistance to practical training from the officials before.
The senior officials knew that the King had a particular disdain for officials lacking practical skills.
Though merit and performance were recognized as valid criteria for appointments in Joseon, familial connections often took precedence.
In Joseon, practical skills were ultimately judged by putting someone to work directly.
While the country hired people based on the state exams, there was skepticism about how much a written exam could reveal about a person’s capabilities, a sentiment that still holds relevance in the 21st century.
The argument against relying solely on exams to gauge a person's abilities was not without merit.
However, testing individuals directly through work was problematic due to the limited number of positions and the time required for such evaluations.
Moreover, how could new officials gain the opportunity to be assessed through practical work if the King preferred using clerks?
Thus, the senior officials proposed a compromise.
They suggested transforming the Hongmungwan into a training center.
Currently, the Hongmungwan was mainly engaged in research after being sidelined along with the Censorate during the King’s purge of the opposition.
Previously, new civil service exam passers worked without pay as aides while being assessed for suitability. With more funds available now, the proposal was to implement a more structured assessment system.
“This is a good plan. Presently, legal studies are taught at the Ministry of Justice, mathematics at the Ministry of Taxation, and administration at the Ministry of Rites. We could centralize this training at the Hongmungwan. Those who excel in each subject can then be appointed by the respective ministries.”
“But if we do that, won't everyone avoid studying mathematics? How will we manage this?”
The aversion to mathematics transcends time and place. Human brains aren’t naturally designed for complex calculations.
The Ministry of Taxation was worried that no one would want to join their ranks.
“Set a standard whereby those who do not meet the required score in mathematics cannot be appointed anywhere.”
The King, keen on this aspect, was particularly generous.
“And the Bureau of Equalization should compile and present my principles on statecraft as discussed in the lectures (gyeongyeon).”
The officials, who still hadn't fully grasped the King’s teachings, were flustered by this sudden assignment.
“Minister Lee Geuk-gyu is well-versed in Your Majesty’s principles on statecraft and would be most suitable for this task. But why suddenly focus on compiling this now?”
“Why? Because the Hongmungwan will need to teach it. Anyone lacking in this subject should not be appointed to the Ministry of Taxation.”
What... does he mean...?
‘How are we supposed to understand that...?’
The Ministry of Taxation worried about their future recruits potentially avoiding them altogether.
Adjusting the Pace
Thus, the reforms took a more measured approach, with some compromises.
‘It's winter, after all. We can’t do construction work, the river is frozen, preventing ship traffic, and we can’t even make paper. It’s a good time to slow down.’
Kyung-sik, having lived in Joseon for a full year, clearly felt the rhythm dictated by the seasons in a pre-modern state.
The busiest time for the Ministry of Taxation was just after the autumn harvest, while the rest of the year was relatively calm. Market prices for most goods were lowest during their harvest seasons and highest just before winter.
Even something as simple as a straw mat followed this seasonal rhythm.
The price of straw mats was lowest just before winter because that was when farmers, after harvesting, made mats from the straw.
Living in tune with nature wasn’t bad. Winter had fewer activities, allowing for leisurely strolls around the palace garden, giving a sense of tranquility.
Of course, part of this tranquility came from delegating significant responsibilities to the officials for better work-life balance.
Kyung-sik focused on his major projects, leaving other matters to the respective departments or the State Council (Uijeongbu) to handle.
This approach was actually the standard process in Joseon, so the officials couldn’t complain.
As a result, while the officials were engaged in heated debates reminiscent of future parliamentary sessions over budget and fiscal planning, Kyung-sik found himself not overly busy.
He had instructed the Three Grand Councillors to consolidate their proposals into three different plans and present them to him later. Being a king before experiencing office life, Kyung-sik didn't realize how burdensome such orders were for the officials.
Leaving the squabbling officials behind, Kyung-sik set out on a rare incognito trip.
When Kim Mak-dong (*1) saw the King’s face again after a long time, he was pale with fear.
“S...Sir...”
“Mak-dong, you’ve been through a lot. How have things been lately?”
Since the biggest event in the past year was losing track of the King’s previous escape, this encounter was immediately the second most significant.
“You’ve been on guard duty this time last year, in the summer, and now again. How is that? Are you not rotating shifts?”
“W...Well, sir, I’m currently filling in for another guard who received paper money to substitute for him...”
In Joseon, military service was conducted on a rotational basis known as the beon-sang system.
To alleviate the people’s burdens, the service period was shortened to two months, and soldiers were divided into eight groups for rotation.
With 80,000 soldiers on the rolls, about 10,000 served at any given time.
However, this rotation caused significant hardships, especially for those who had to travel from distant regions to Seoul for their service. As a result, many paid others to serve in their place.
‘If utilized well, this could potentially transition to a professional military system...’
The refugees had been utilized for labor until just before winter, and now, with winter setting in, it was impractical to expel them suddenly, leaving them in a state of limbo.
Of the roughly 10,000 active soldiers in Joseon, about 3,000 were stationed in the capital, Hanyang.
With the sudden addition of approximately 20,000 refugees (or about 10,000 able-bodied men), providing even a minimal standard of living, albeit with small stipends, posed a significant burden on Joseon's rapidly expanding finances.
Finding a productive use for them this year was crucial.
They needed to be trained into actual soldiers or placed in jobs somehow.
“How much do you receive for serving as a substitute?”
“I receive about 20 jeon in paper money.”
‘...How does he manage to live on that?’
“Where do you live in Seoul?”
“I am living in the quarters that Your Majesty graciously built for us. I am truly thankful for the King’s generosity. Haha.”
Ah, so even regular soldiers were staying in the barracks built to accommodate the refugees under the guise of military facilities.
“I’ve heard many in these barracks are studying at the academies to become clerks. Have you considered that?”
“I have thought about taking the military clerk exam, but without a horse or a sword, how can I even begin?”
“What? You lack what?”
“To take the military exam, one needs to be skilled in mounted archery or combat, but without a horse to practice on or to rent, it’s nearly impossible. Horses are very expensive to rent.”
It turned out Mak-dong was a cavalryman (* Gijeongbyeong: conscripted cavalry from the commoners).
Given his rank, he received higher pay and support than infantry, which explained his modest paper armor (literally made of paper), a sword (which resembled a toy lightsaber), and access to proper weapons like bows and spears (borrowed from the armory).
As seen earlier, the average soldier in Joseon had the combat effectiveness of an SCV from StarCraft.
Even though he had shown leniency to that filial son who lost his father, Mak-dong’s competence as a guard should have been noted earlier.
Mak-dong was, in fact, one of the elite soldiers among the commoners.
“Come to think of it, don't the regular soldiers now receive wages from the state?”
“Oh, yes! It’s all thanks to the King’s boundless grace!”
Of course, the wages were minimal. About 15 jeon per month. This roughly equated to 75,000 won in modern terms (*2).
Legally, cavalrymen could receive three bolts of cloth per month from their assigned farms, and with the cloth valued at about 5 jeon each, their pay was set this way.
In reality, due to the widespread practice of hiring substitutes, regular soldiers typically paid about 8-9 bolts of cloth per month to those serving in their place.
‘...Where did he find a gap to receive just 20 jeon? Generally, 40-45 jeon should be enough to maintain this level of equipment.’
If training 20,000 men as soldiers cost the same as maintaining this level of equipment for infantry, how much more would it be for cavalry?
Engrossed in these calculations, Kyung-sik fell silent, prompting Mak-dong to feel puzzled.
“Sir?”
“Oh, sorry. I was heading out, but I interrupted your duties to chat.”
He handed Mak-dong some taffy and went to check on the refugee camp, which had been a recent headache.
The official name was Jeongbyeongyeong (Regular Army Camp), but in Kyung-sik’s mind, it was just the refugee camp. Despite its designation, it lacked walls or guard posts.
As he stepped into the village, the residents greeted him with suspicion and fear in their eyes.
“...Why is the atmosphere like this, Inspector Choi?”
Kyung-sik asked one of the guards from the Bureau of Palace Security.
“Since many people from this place have caused trouble as clerks, they might feel guilty.”
One of the officers from the Bureau of Palace Security added,
“When high-ranking officials suddenly appear here, they likely fear some form of retribution.”
Seeing the state of the village, Kyung-sik realized immediate action was needed to manage the situation before it spiraled out of control.
Although it was ostensibly a military camp, it was intended to house refugees, so every effort was made within time and budget constraints to build it properly.
Despite being hurriedly built by unskilled labor, the structures were wooden, not shacks, and had proper roofs, drainage systems, and organized plots.
However, the original plan to accommodate 500 people in each of the 20 camps near the capital quickly became overwhelmed.
Huts designed for 20 people were now crammed with twice that number, with makeshift tents set up in any available space. The occupants huddled around small fires, sharing thin blankets stuffed with feathers and straw, trying to endure the winter.
Even the better barracks, occupied by soldiers, were only less crowded but far from ideal.
‘How could they speak of royal grace while living like this...?’
As Kyung-sik pondered how to address these issues, some able-bodied villagers gathered around him.
“What brings such distinguished officials to our humble camp?”
Though polite, their tone was far from welcoming and felt rather menacing.
“Who dares to threaten His Majesty’s presence!”
Kyung-sik held back his guards, who were about to shout, and spoke himself.
“I am Officer Lee from the Royal Treasury, sent by the King to check on the welfare of the people in this camp. His Majesty is concerned for your well-being and has sent me to see how you are living.”
Claiming to be from the Royal Treasury, which had no jurisdiction over the camps, and pretending to be here to check on the people’s welfare instead of extracting taxes or resources, was a story that those familiar with the Treasury would find ludicrous.
Fortunately, these refugees knew nothing of the sort.
Instead, they had only heard heroic tales from their fellow villagers who had become clerks, boasting about their battles against corrupt officials alongside the Treasury officers.
The villagers quickly dropped their guard and began to greet Kyung-sik and his guards with bows and hospitality.
“Yes, yes. How have you been sustaining yourselves? With the whole country enjoying a good harvest, it must be different for you, unable to farm while living here.”
“We are getting by well! Selling straw mats can feed us for several days, and even making brooms allows us to earn enough for a day’s meals. It’s all thanks to His Majesty’s grace!”
While straw mats and brooms might seem trivial, they were essential items in daily life in Joseon.
Both were also among the items that various government offices had complained about lacking last year and that were burdensome for Gyeonggi residents to provide as tribute.
In fact, straw mats were so commonly made that even impoverished or retired lower-ranking yangban (scholar-officials) would often make and sell them for a living, much like modern-day retirees opening small businesses.
Kyung-sik had found this realization disheartening when he first adjusted to Joseon, but it was an essential part of the economy.
The refugees’ stories of their livelihoods were similarly modest.
“Since millet is cheap, we sell the rice given as military rations and buy millet to eat.”
“Even collecting scraps to sell to paper mills brings some money, so we make do with scavenging.”
These people had already integrated into Hanyang's urban economy, living as the lowest rung in society.
While farmers lamented the low rice prices during the bountiful harvest, those like the refugees, who had little connection to farming and survived in the city’s economy, found themselves relatively better off when food was abundant.
Despite their abject living conditions, they seemed content, considering their current situation better than before.
But their lives were far from easy.
“In Seoul, we could earn a daily wage for public works, but with no construction in winter, there’s no work and no income.”
The women also shared their hardships.
“We used to take in laundry to supplement our income, but with winter, there’s no laundry to do, and now we do sewing. But there are too many doing sewing work, so the pay keeps dropping, and needles are expensive, leaving us with little profit.”
Once the floodgates of their grievances opened, stories of their harsh lives poured out.
Many sick people, unable to afford even a shaman, let alone a doctor, were left to die in their makeshift tents. The haphazardly constructed shelters Kyung-sik saw were for these people.
Winter had already claimed many lives.
Firewood was expensive in winter, forcing them to gather reeds by the river to burn. Illegal logging was common, often leading to clashes with officials sent to crack down on it.
The life of a wanderer in Joseon was filled with such scenes.
The guards accompanying the King were stunned to see him weep for the first time. It wasn’t awkward to see tears from the eyes that usually only radiated fury; they saw it as a sign of his deep empathy.
“I will personally convey your stories to the King. He will never abandon you.”
Returning to the palace, Kyung-sik ordered firewood to be sent to the refugee camps.
“This amount should cut their use of reeds by half.”
“Even this isn't enough...”
Even the King, with his personal funds, couldn’t ensure a warm winter for a single refugee camp.
‘If I just use a little less firewood myself...’ He tried to allocate more, but the officials discovered it and scolded him, urging him to preserve his health for the sake of the state.
Fortunately, the officials, having some sense of noble duty, discreetly contributed their own firewood to the refugee camp.
This experience gave Kyung-sik much to ponder as a king.
While charity was a personal act, a king could transform a nation through policy.
Kyung-sik remembered a principle he had learned in economics.
The goal of economics is to enrich human lives.
Now, that knowledge, the strength humanity had fought hard to gain over centuries, would be used to change Joseon.
Notes:
*1: Kim Mak-dong is a character who appeared in Chapter 5, “Guard (侍衛) Demonstration (示威).” He was the righteous soldier who moved by the filial piety of a young man who had lost his father, opened the city gates past curfew.
*2: In pre-modern times, agricultural products typically had very low prices, while industrial goods were costly. This was because most people were engaged in agriculture, making agricultural labor cheap and industrial production capabilities limited, thus driving up the price of manufactured goods. In contrast, modern urban economies in advanced nations have much higher food prices due to greater purchasing power and significantly lower prices for industrial goods. Therefore, equating pre-modern currency values to modern ones is inherently problematic. In the story, valuing a jeon as roughly equivalent to 50,000 KRW (approximately 50 USD) is a simplification to aid future readers' understanding. Although this conversion may seem disconnected from the actual economic realities of the past, it serves as a useful reference point for comprehending the text.
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