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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: Aim for the Top (1)
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Jangbok, who had essentially done nothing at the exam hall, seemed anxious about the public announcement.
That guy bolted off like a shot, saying he had to hurry back and share the good news with the household. From Changgyeong Palace to Jang-dong, it was barely a stroll by Joseon standards—what was the rush?
Anyway, I had no intention of rushing.
My head was full of other thoughts.
I couldn't properly react to Jangbok's ecstatic outburst or Go Bonghwan's hearty congratulations, or even Eoji, who was happy just because everyone else was.
On the way home, I mulled over the Status Window's words.
'Crown Prince and Park Mun-su?'
People everyone knew.
First, Park Mun-su... Yeah. I couldn't claim to have no interest in the very real "Censor Park Mun-su" right in front of my eyes.
But was this the time for me to geek out over history like some excited scholar?
If I didn't become Chief State Councillor before I died, I'd end up as hellfire fuel or something to reverse cosmic entropy—who knew?
In the Noron household where I "grew up," Park Mun-su's reputation wasn't great. Even setting aside that he was from the Soron faction, the criticisms I remembered about him were pretty shocking.
Put most charitably, he was called madly righteous—pure lunacy, but right. In less formal settings, he was compared to beasts. Even Yeongjo, soothing other offended officials, would say Park Mun-su's temper was like a fierce stallion.
He wasn't the type to bicker over political loyalties. He clashed with others over practical policies.
Park Mun-su especially shone in military reforms, naval matters, and local finance management.
Abolishing useless units and offices, ruthlessly stamping out corruption, massive construction and manufacturing projects—he seemed like a regressor himself.
To a modern eye, most of it was spot-on. But those actually having to implement the tough, messy work thought differently.
Imagine a new manager suddenly showing up, flipping the entire workflow for "reforms" when things were running fine enough.
Plus, he was arrogant—glaring stiffly and barking at the king himself (as grave a sin as clapping half-heartedly in front of certain northern figures!), or rudely interrupting senior officials with vicious tones.
The type to make enemies everywhere. Reports from other ministers often called him "ignorant," "radical," "insane."
I didn't want to cross paths with him either. Especially not as my boss.
'Besides, Park Mun-su probably isn't personally interested in me. It's attention from the king.'
In civil servant terms, just checking a "VIP interest item."
Highly instrumental, unlikely to last. Our statuses wouldn't overlap anyway. Why would a sergeant worry about the army chief of staff's mood? Park Mun-su wasn't worth stressing over.
So, the one I really needed to worry about was the Crown Prince.
Right. That Crown Prince Sado Seja, whose descendants even now mock him with "cangue experience" courses at his own tomb, Hwaseong in Suwon, in the 21st century.
Why focus on him over Park Mun-su, whose rank was far lower?
Because the Crown Prince probably wasn't watching me for political reasons.
He was four years younger than me—not that I'd confirmed it since arriving in Joseon. Around eleven or twelve, same age as Park Jiwon, maybe.
Prime age for black dragon energy surging, keeping him up at night. Impossible to predict what he'd do.
Why the young Crown Prince was watching me, I had no clue. But I trusted the Status Window (didn't mean I liked it). The attention was real.
So, he might even ask his father to appoint me to the Crown Prince's educational institute or as an attendant.
Yeongjo might agree. This was before the excessive abuse and pressure drove the Crown Prince mad enough for some psychologist's couch.
Placing a young, promising (ahem!) talent by the heir as playmate, advisor, future policy partner was standard imperial education.
Yeongjo knew that basic tactic. Future powerbroker Hong Guk-yeong was one such case.
Though in Hong's case, it backfired spectacularly—leading to lines like "It's a shame I'm a man and can't bear your child," straight out of some BL manga.
But this Crown Prince was doomed to irreversible, certain, horrific ruin in the future.
Get tangled up, and forget Chief State Councillor—I'd be next to him in cangue No. 2.
'Should I just refuse the post and flop over dramatically?'
If a post didn't suit, skipping work was common for Joseon scholars.
Even my father twice refused the lowly Nangchambong offered when Yeongjo restored our house's status (not mocking anyone), settling for a county magistrate spot. Though grabbing it too eagerly might make the king think, "That punk's getting cocky."
But royal attendants were different. Refusing could be seen as insulting the royal house.
No good ideas came. I decided to dodge the issue.
'I'll think about it when the time comes.'
Worst case, fake parents' illness and bolt home. As a late child, and with their age, they'd have some ailment like anyone elderly. Come to think of it, Mother had neuralgia maybe.
But upon arriving home, my plan needed tweaking.
My parents looked a decade younger from the exam news. Seeing Father dash out spryly, faking illness anytime soon seemed tough.
Filo wasn't something you faked easily. I gazed pitifully at the sky.
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"Well done! Excellent!"
Though dusk had fallen, no one in the house had gone to bed. Jangbok must've taken a direct route to deliver the news promptly.
Always seeming a bit short on something, but handy to have around. Whatever pressure he applied, the mood was like a triumphant general receiving ministers' homage.
As servants cheered me enthusiastically into the inner quarters, Mother dabbed tears with her sleeve to greet me.
"Now our house will shine again. All thanks to the ancestors watching over us..."
Father, seated beside her, hid his joy behind a grave expression. The family head's burden.
"Given your immature scholarship and tender age, this is fortune beyond your station. No arrogance—be humble, ever more diligent..."
"You and your talk! Is that all you have to say to a son who aced the exam after all that study? Someone might think you were a nine-time top scorer!"
Mother scolded; Father, never a passer, cleared his throat awkwardly.
Surprising thing I learned in Joseon: even principal wives had say. Not equality—formal marriages often had the bride from higher status.
Anyway, glad they were happy.
Though I'd never admit how I passed.
Officially, I earned it myself.
Eoji and Jangbok knew nothing of the ploy. Go Bonghwan had to keep quiet to keep ghostwriting gigs.
Quick-witted Jangbok might've suspected during the exam, but luckily knocked out by the exam clerk, missing Go's handwriting.
He probably thought Go a book-finder or mentor—harmless. Oh, Eoji saw? Fine by me.
Good allies are skill too. Was Liu Bang a genius commander to unify China?
Embarrassed, Father changed topics.
"So, when's the audience exam?"
"Passers can't easily return from hometowns, so to avoid burden, it's in a few days."
"Indeed. Truly our king's benevolent rule."
Joseon folk had to praise like this whenever possible. Who knew who was listening? Like North Korea auto-dripping Dear Leader art praise.
"Even from the provinces, you're an 8th-grade official now. Unlikely, but topping the A-grade means 3-rank promotion—out of six, straight to junior senior official."
Father mentioning "out of six" was relatable for Koreans.
Heard it in civil service forums: (for non-passerbies) local 6th grade, central 5th are key hurdles.
Joseon's "out of six" 6-rank jump equivalent.
Only A-grade 1st, the top scholar, skips straight to 6th.
Plus immediate appointment perk. Exams gave qualification, not jobs—big deal.
Incumbents got 4-rank jumps for top. Father's point.
A-grade 3 ranks, B 2. Why incumbents clamored for exams.
"Yes. I'll strive to top A-grade."
Unaware of my situation, Father cautioned my zeal.
"Arrogance breeds envy, ruining you. Even C-grade, be grateful. Better that way—rough stone gets the chisel."
Quite right, sir. Model scholar.
But I need that coin... er, majeyoon or whatever, Father.
I clearly recalled the Status Window's reward after Crown Prince and Park Mun-su: hidden bonus complete, majeyoon dropped. Coin, probably. Calling it coin.
Main goal rewards skills, bonus coins, seems.
Tutorial said bonus skill... Game logic: early "means," later "rewards." Makes sense splitting main quests thus.
This coin usable somehow, but unknown. Status Window ignores questions, just monologues.
Anyway, currency exchanges. Skill? Goal substitute? Extra life? One thing sure:
Stockpile as much as possible. I knew heavy spenders vs. F2P gaps in mobile games.
Game? Just pay. Soul on line—what to spare?
Here, only via bonus goals.
Audience exam just ranks—no red plaque goal for me originally.
Now different.
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Unlike Chundangdae, this audience exam had the king personally overseeing.
Thus, scrutiny incomparable. Few candidates—no cheating room. No raid team crashing like last time.
So, till exam, I near-lived with Go Bonghwan. Neighborhood buzz: Kim magistrate's second son studies hard.
Tutor fee: Father scraped to celebrate modestly with relatives.
Meager vs. Go's aid, but he seemed fine. Betting on future favors beyond cash if I rise.
Me, zero interest in clean officialdom? Big welcome.
Go, opposite me professionally:
"This is true essay. Skip platitudes like 'harmonize heaven-earth, govern via benevolence.' They ask what court tried but failed."
Like firms outsourcing logos/slogans when internal ideas flop? Just like Korea.
"So, follow memorials closely, eavesdrop ministers' plans—easy guess. But like old King Gwanghae asking 'Why sad on last day of twelfth lunar month?'—review Tang poetry too. I'll pick some."
"I'll study diligently."
Fortnight later, amid family cheers, I entered Changdeok Palace's Injeong Hall.
Why "hall exam"? Held in the hall.
King "Your Highness" because all meet him below the hall. Originally, inferior me speaking up.
We 33 knelt spaced on cushions, awaiting king.
He was late. King dawdles? Nothing to do.
Just as I thought maybe he skipped home, herald announced entry. We stiffened.
Pin-drop silence filled with presences.
No peeking. Seeing king's face: favor for beloved ministers. Even they needed permission to look up in audience.
Soon, reader and proclaimer emerged for exam.
Proclaimer's "Bow! Four bows! Rise! Straighten!"—we scholars saluted king.
Curiosity won; I sneaked a glance his way.
King not front-row like dramas. Surrounded by supervisors, rites/personnel brass, armed guards—head up, still no face visible.
Sensible security. Who knows if some nut hurls brick yelling "Usurping fratricide!" Bricks hurt; facts more.
But oddly, in that glimpse:
Faces indistinct, but attendants' formation unnatural. Not just encircling king—one more VIP near-equal.
'No way... Brought the Crown Prince?'
Confirmed soon. Before topic, king's edict via reader:
"His Majesty graciously brings Crown Prince to oversee, encourage scholars, review essays. Though His Highness young, since age three masterful in letters—peerless scholarship. All strive harder."
For now, me Korean Kim Unhaeng and Joseon examinees shared one thought:
'Why?'
Exam symbolizes personnel power, king's control over yangban. Never joke-share with others. Hence king presides.
Knew Yeongjo show-boated succession/prelistening whole reign—but this groundwork?
Couldn't hold back; pretended eyeing reader, briefly lifted head.
Yeongjo lounged pillow-propped on throne; Crown Prince rigidly stood beside.
Power dynamic clear.
No matter tantrums for "real" succession—obvious even to fools. They'd a cappella comprehend in chorus. Lukewarm voices? Fired.
Plus, post-Chundangdae clash with Hong Bonghan's man, I read deeper:
Boost to Crown Prince's in-law "traitor"—support and warning. Authority given, but I'm boss—don't get cocky.
Our king must be exhausted. Every act layers signals hidden/revealed.
Makes late-life madness understandable. Unlike early-retire kings, endured long reign—how not crack?
But I shoved royal thoughts aside.
Yeongjo using son as pawn for "royal power"? Not my business.
Status Window said so, but felt gaze from prince's side—ignored.
First, top A-grade for coin.
Till I grasp devil-game rules fully, secure resources for edge.
I eyed the announced topic.
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1. In text, "out of six" likened to 5-6 grade jumps, but senior official rank fits high civil servant promotion better. Above, senior ministers blend bureaucrat-politician. Joseon's fewer, higher-status officials than modern Korea.
2. As known, king not in Gyeongbokgung then. Burned in war, unrestored till Gojong; later kings used Changdeok as main palace.
3. Hong Guk-yeong's line from Jeongjo 3rd year resignation plea. Full: "As man, can't plan heirs for Your Highness, but sister entered palace—may prosper offspring, aid Three Halls' joy, delay sage-bright worries. (Sadly, she died young.)" Seems he'd have borne if possible.
4. "National bow, four bows, rise, straighten"—Joseon protocol for king events. Officer calls, subordinates bow/rise accordingly. Same in exams.
4. Gwanghae really asked "Why sad on lunar New Year's eve?" in 1608 augmentation hall exam. Emotional.
Prior 1605: orthodox "Most urgent state matter?" Scholar Im Suk-yeong: "You're it, king." (Passed, initially top—Gwanghae enraged, demoted to C. Would've topped sans fury.)
No proof, but trauma sparked emo question?
6. Aim for the Top (2)