King of Commerce, Yeonsan-gun Ch.37
Happy Birthday
As Queen Shin’s due date approached, the king became more anxious than usual.
He ordered that not only the royal physicians but all the palace attendants passing through the inner court wash their clothes and bodies thoroughly with soap. He insisted that before delivering the baby, they should wash not just their hands but also all nearby objects with liquor.
Additionally, he summoned the royal doctors to the council chamber and had them study medical texts on obstetrics.
When the younger officials, less experienced in facing the king’s wrath and still steeped in Neo-Confucianism, argued that they should focus on Confucian classics rather than this “miscellaneous knowledge,” the king retorted, “Didn’t King Sejo also study a wide range of subjects? Why not us?” Ignoring their objections.
The officials found it peculiar. Although the king had already fathered three children and lost two before they reached maturity, he behaved as if this was his first child.
From Kyungsik's perspective, this behavior made sense.
Subconsciously, he knew that Prince Yeonsan had fathered children before he assumed control. Yet, from Kyungsik’s standpoint, it felt like he was experiencing fatherhood for the first time.
Moreover, given that two of his previous children had died as infants—one of whom was the Crown Prince—Kyungsik was especially worried.
In an era with high infant mortality rates and risks during childbirth, he feared losing both Queen Shin and the future crown prince if he didn’t take action.
Unfortunately, Kyungsik wasn’t particularly knowledgeable about obstetrics.
The extent of his modern knowledge was that Ignaz Semmelweis advocated for handwashing before delivering babies, only to be ridiculed and dismissed.
Even though this alone could have been a groundbreaking measure, it wasn’t something the royal doctors were entirely convinced of yet. Besides, since the people of Joseon didn’t disregard hygiene as blatantly as physicians did in Semmelweis’s time, the changes wouldn’t be as dramatic.(*1)
At least Kyungsik could identify and eliminate some of the superstitions, such as altering the fetus's gender or putting cinnabar in a newborn’s mouth to remove toxins.
Joseon’s medicine was riddled with various superstitions, such as placing a white horsehide under the mother to ensure a pain-free and speedy delivery.
The royal physicians couldn’t fathom why a king with no formal medical training confidently revised their practices, but they complied quietly, fearing his wrath.
“By the way, do the female physicians and common women also learn these practices well? Spreading this knowledge could contribute to population growth,” Kyungsik inquired.
“We select young servants among the palace slaves and educate them at the Hyeiminseo (a public medical institution), where those who are literate learn about pulse diagnosis, medical formulas, acupuncture, obstetrics, and gynecology.”
‘Oh... So they were already recruiting from among the palace slaves. I thought they were trained like other miscellaneous scholars.’
Even with his limited medical understanding, Kyungsik realized that Joseon had already established systems he could improve.
The Joseon Kyungsik envisioned had more wealth (compared to historical records).
This meant they could afford to recruit more people.
Currently, there were about 30 female physicians in Seoul, including trainees.
He decided to increase this number to around 300 and gradually place them in major provincial cities. With the available funds, this expansion was feasible.
By recruiting more personnel, tightening medical administration, forming research societies, and uncovering traditional childbirth practices passed down as family secrets, they might eventually find ways to reduce infant and maternal mortality rates.
Kyungsik vaguely remembered that Dae Jang Geum, the legendary female physician, was from this era (at least 18 years in the future). Perhaps she was already in the royal kitchen (not really).
Determined, he decided to create his own Dae Jang Geum.
“MBC! Watch over me! I’ll provide future generations with material for a historical drama!”
This is why one shouldn’t learn history from dramas.
In reality, Queen Shin was far from the delicate figure Kyungsik imagined. Historically, she bore eight children with Prince Yeonsan, often one each year. She was simply a strong woman.
“The king inspected the court ladies entering the inner court again?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. For over two or three months, he has been obsessing over whether they wash their hands and clothes properly.”
Moreover, he issued orders on how to clean the delivery room, constantly reviewed medical texts on obstetrics, and personally oversaw the queen’s meals. It was difficult to tell if he was the king or a eunuch.
Usually, he would reduce the number of dishes on his table, citing the people’s hardships, causing officials and palace attendants to feel uncomfortable. But for the queen, he insisted on serving seaweed or kelp even in winter.
Queen Shin couldn’t help but smile, remembering the king’s fussiness.
They had met for the first time when they were both children.
When they were still too young to understand propriety, the then-future king had toddled into her house, babbling as he sat beside her. This memory lingered faintly in her mind.
Later, she learned from her father that the future king had been temporarily entrusted to their care.
While the king claimed he had no memory of these early days, it suggested that she had matured slightly faster.
Their second encounter also involved her father, who was selected as an instructor for the Crown Prince’s education. The lessons were held at her home.
Though they were older, neither was yet ten years old, and it was only then they began to hear about the importance of propriety between boys and girls.
However, stern warnings from her father kept her confined to the inner quarters, until one day the Crown Prince sneaked out of the study to find her in the back garden.
Recognizing him from her father’s stories, she knew instantly who he was.
So, she tried to observe propriety, but the boy nervously shuffled his feet before clearing his throat and approaching her.
“Ahem, are you the daughter of the Lord of Geochang?”
“Yes, Your Highness, the Crown Prince.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“How could I not, with my father serving as your tutor in the Crown Prince’s academy?”
Hearing this, the Crown Prince pouted, muttering, “I wanted to surprise you…”
What kind of surprise he had in mind, she never learned.
The Crown Prince then seemed to remember something, his expression turning mischievous as he smiled.
“You only know what has happened, but I know what will happen to you in the future.”
Puzzled by his cryptic words, she stared at him until he asked, “Would you like to hear?”
But before she could answer, the academy officials, realizing the Crown Prince had sneaked out, began calling, “Your Highness! Where are you?”
“Hmm, I had something important to tell you, but now I must go. We shall meet again soon,” he said.
She wondered when they would meet again, as they were now at the age when propriety dictated they should keep their distance.
For a child, a year felt like an eternity. When two years passed without seeing the Crown Prince, she thought they would never meet again, despite his words.
Then, the announcement of a royal marriage selection brought his words back to mind.
When they finally met again, the Crown Prince, now with a mischievous smile, said, “See? I told you we’d meet again soon.”
How he had known always piqued her curiosity, but whenever she asked, he would just laugh and evade the question, so she eventually gave up.
After becoming the Crown Princess, she saw the Crown Prince’s playful nature often. Although he was still a child, he frequently skipped lessons, claiming illness, much to the frustration of her father, who was his tutor. When she urged him to attend the lessons,
“Ha! I already know everything about Confucius and Mencius! I’m avoiding lessons because if I learn too quickly, they’ll force even more difficult things on me!” he would boast.
Although the Crown Prince, now king, had matured considerably, his current behavior suggested otherwise.
He was acting just as he had when she bore their second and third children, both of whom had died.
Interestingly, he had been less frantic with their first child, perhaps because he had not yet grasped the reality of having a child.
In any case, it was clear that the king’s affection for her remained as strong as ever, just as it had from the moment they met as Crown Prince and Crown Princess.
Even though producing heirs was a crucial duty for the king, and winter offered fewer tasks for an agrarian kingdom, some were displeased with the king’s involvement in what they saw as matters for eunuchs or female physicians.
As with the young Confucian scholars and officials who had previously clashed with the king, the younger officials were the ones complaining this time.
In the current Joseon, Neo-Confucianism was a hot, revolutionary ideology among the youth, making young Confucian scholars appear more conservative than older officials to modern eyes.
“While the birth of a royal heir is undoubtedly important, it is shameful to neglect mourning during a period of national mourning. Moreover, is it appropriate for His Majesty to involve himself in tasks better suited to court ladies?”
Fearful that an angry king might send the entire Seonggyungwan (Confucian Academy) to the northern banks of the Tumen River, the senior officials quickly proposed a compromise.
“While His Majesty and the Queen are young, ensuring the royal succession is robust is of paramount importance. Is it not appropriate for the sovereign to take an interest in this matter? However, as a monarch overseeing all affairs, it is crucial to balance priorities. When the inner court is expecting, establish a temporary office to manage these matters. Given that we are still in mourning, it would be prudent to implement this for future royal births.”
While it was true that there was no direct heir and the Great Council had been purged, making it unwise to oppose the king openly, it was indeed inappropriate to have a child during the mourning period.
Thus, when a child was conceived or born during a period of national mourning, it wasn’t recorded in the official annals. Indirect hints would be provided instead.
Calculating the due date, it seemed that the hundred-day celebration for the new child would coincide with the end of King Seongjong’s mourning period.
The officials presented a proposal that aimed to appease the king while aligning with Confucian principles.
The king, feeling somewhat guilty, accepted their suggestion.
Despite knowing little about formal Confucian ethics, Kyungsik felt a twinge of guilt.
The child was conceived during a royal inspection tour, when Kyungsik, disguised and roaming the city, had been tempted by courtesans but refused, citing his father’s mourning.
Returning to the palace that night, he had visited the queen to bring her a gift, leading to the child’s conception.
Although only a few guards accompanying him knew the details and no official records would be made, it would become a laughingstock if anyone ever found out, even in a future where Confucian morals were more relaxed.
As the officials cast wary glances, Kyungsik’s fussiness subsided, only to resurface on the day of the birth.
The king, neglecting his duties, paced nervously outside the queen’s chambers all day, causing the court historians to debate whether documenting this would violate the decorum of recording the birth during mourning.
“Wouldn’t recording this be akin to noting the birth of a child during mourning?”
“But leaving the chronicles blank is also not an option…”
Queen Shin safely delivered a baby girl.
Kyungsik, again forgetting Joseon’s strict etiquette, proposed celebrating with a special examination, only to be dissuaded by the officials.
Although Joseon could not celebrate the birth of a royal daughter during mourning, it had to honor the birthday of the Ming Crown Prince.
Even during mourning, when alcohol was typically avoided, the king had to drink in the presence of Ming envoys.
It might seem contradictory, but then, they could have avoided this by not becoming a tributary state.
Pointing out this contradiction—whether loyalty to the sovereign or filial piety to the deceased father was more important—would leave Confucian scholars as perplexed as a child asked to choose between their mother and father.
After the birth of the royal daughter, envoys sent to celebrate the Ming Crown Prince’s birthday returned, and preparations for the Jeongjosa (tribute mission) were almost complete.
Joseon sent three delegations to Ming China each year, with each journey taking at least four months, creating a continuous rotation of missions.
Watching the preparations, Kyungsik suddenly had a revelation.
“How much personal trading are these people doing during these trips?”
Each delegation included nearly a thousand people, including officials, clerks, and disguised merchants, significantly raising the prices of luxury goods, especially ginseng and mink pelts, in Seoul during their preparations.
Despite the already high domestic prices, the profit margins from selling these goods in China suggested substantial gains.
Kyungsik realized it was fortunate that Joseon hadn’t implemented a gold or silver standard.
Even industrialized Britain struggled to maintain its silver reserves during trade with China, resorting to the opium trade to balance the drain. For Joseon, adopting precious metal currencies would have led to a rapid depletion through smuggling and a collapse of its monetary system.(*2)
Joseon didn’t mine gold or silver extensively due to Ming China’s demands for these metals as tribute, leading to a system where it couldn’t establish a precious metal currency.
Kyungsik recalled seeing discussions online about how this tribute policy shaped Joseon’s economic system, but in hindsight, it seemed unfounded.
Introducing precious metal currency now would have caused severe deflation, making current fiscal policies impossible.
“To prevent anyone from proposing adopting silver currency like China in the future, I should teach them about the impossible trinity in the Mundell-Fleming model to discourage any such attempts.”
Kyungsik was enjoying using economic theories to challenge the officials' thinking.
Ginseng and mink pelts weren’t the only commodities.
Among the returning envoys was Nam Gon—a name Kyungsik thought he had heard somewhere—who reported,
“During my travels to and from China, I noticed that those who went often profited from trading pepper. Given its small size and light weight, it can be easily concealed, evading inspection by even the strictest officials. Though pepper is not produced in our country, its excessive trade for profit makes it scarce for domestic use. I humbly request that this practice be strictly prohibited.”
Pepper? This man just mentioned pepper!
It appeared that Joseon was involved in the pepper trade as well.
“Now that I think about it, where do we import pepper from since it doesn’t grow in our country?”
Reflecting on the times he had encountered pepper in his meals, Kyungsik realized he had never inquired about its price or source.
The reason was simple: it had never been reported to him.
The commodities for which he received price reports from the auction houses were those previously collected as tribute, and pepper was not among them.
‘...How could I have missed such a significant gap in my policies?’
Kyungsik realized the oversight.
Even the Joseon officials were unclear about the origin of their pepper supply.
According to the reports, “It is said that Ryukyu buys it from southern nations, and the Japanese purchase it from Ryukyu, which we then buy from the Japanese at the trading post.”
“So, we are paying inflated prices after it has been marked up twice, yet still profitably trading it to China?”
Due to the influx of merchants buying pepper for the missions to China, the price of pepper in Seoul had soared to 3 jeon per doe.
Kyungsik, accustomed to discussing millions in state finances, struggled to grasp the enormity of this sum, but roughly converting 1 jeon to around 50,000 won gave him perspective.
Currently, pepper in Seoul was affordable for the wealthy but, by modern standards, extraordinarily expensive.
Kyungsik recalled reading studies on the spice trade in the Mediterranean from the 14th to 16th centuries during his history studies.(*3)
While the idea of pepper being as valuable as gold and driving the Age of Exploration was exaggerated, the spice trade did significantly shape global markets.
‘Wasn’t it about 50 ducats for 120 kg during normal times? That’s about 200 geun in Joseon. I could compare Joseon’s purchasing power and prices to those in Europe…’
Pepper, while the cheapest of spices, was still within reach of small farmers in Venice, who could occasionally afford modest amounts.
Pepper was even included in recipes for prisoners and in commoners’ recipes in cookbooks.
While it might seem insignificant, Portuguese traders sold pepper in Europe at margins 60 times its purchase price in India, illustrating its immense importance in connecting global markets.
Even without knowing where pepper came from, Joseon was buying it at inflated prices from Japan and still making a profit selling it in China.
Kyungsik gained a newfound respect for the Portuguese.
They had risked navigating around Africa for the lucrative spice trade, a venture that eventually strained their resources to the point of collapse.
This realization hinted that even during this so-called isolationist period, Joseon was involved in international trade to some extent.
Earlier this summer, hadn’t the officials discussed ways to smuggle goods from China into the palace during their debates?
Kyungsik thought he might be able to persuade the officials to expand trade logically (and through sheer authority).
‘Speaking of which, I wonder what the Wi Musa are up to… With proper utilization, they could become a key player in international trade. But the communication delays make it challenging to get timely reports…’
Despite Joseon’s overall resistance to deep-seated changes, significant transformations were happening. The bustling markets and the establishment of auction houses in about 30 out of 330 administrative regions, including Seoul and Pyongyang, indicated this shift.
Combining all these urban areas accounted for only about 5% of Joseon’s population.
Even these markets operated only once every ten days, in sync with the itinerant traders' schedules.
In most regions, rice and cloth were still bartered as payment, and many auction houses opened only in alignment with the market cycle rather than daily.
Apart from large cities like Seoul and Pyongyang, most auction houses showed numerous blanks in the price listings for over 200 to 300 goods due to the lack of transactions.
From Kyungsik’s perspective, relying on centralized statistics, it might seem that Joseon had not changed much.
But statistics could be misleading.
While 80% of Joseon’s population remained largely untouched by these changes, living as they always had without exposure to money, the remaining 20% were proactive, rational economic actors driving (pre-modern) economic activities.
And even 20% was enough to cause significant disruptions. A wise ninja once said that in any group of five, one is bound to cause trouble.
Kyungsik’s emissaries, Yun Pil-sang and Hwang Hyeong, epitomized this active 20%, making them invaluable in navigating and leveraging these changes.
Notes:
The extreme reaction to Semmelweis's ideas stemmed from the medical community’s adherence to the miasma theory, where they believed disease was spread through “bad air,” not by contact with infected materials. Therefore, the idea of cleaning hands or tools seemed irrelevant. However, midwives, who followed traditional practices of cleanliness, had significantly lower maternal mortality rates. Following Semmelweis's hygiene practices reduced maternal mortality to 12.7 per thousand births, a third of the previous rate.
This issue actually arose in late Joseon. After the Imjin War, Joseon began to engage in international trade, particularly in silver, with Japan. This influx of silver facilitated intermediary trade between China and Japan, leading to economic growth during the reigns of Kings Sukjong and Yeongjo. However, when China and Japan began trading directly, the flow of silver into Joseon dried up, causing economic isolation.
Kyungsik is likely referring to existing scholarly works that detail the economic impact of the spice trade in medieval Europe.
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