Chapter 8
I can see why King Sejong had corrupt ministers like Hwang Hui and Jo Mal-saeng pay for their crimes with a lifelong menial-labor sentence.
After I let the clerks' bribery slide and declared that I'd decide whether to spare them depending on how they worked from here on out.
The clerks started thrashing about and working like mad, like fish that'd just found water.
Watching that, I understood it instinctively.
"Oh, please stop, Master Hobang. We'll carry those things ourselves."
"You're making my stomach turn watching you haul things. When I was young, huh? I used to carry two sacks of rice at once and fly around!"
It's such a rare and precious sight to see the Hobang, the head of the military office—roughly a company executive—doing hauling chores himself.
I didn't even tell those guys to do this, and they're working themselves to the bone on their own.
No, if their work ever displeased me, they'd be sending a tear-stained complaint to the king at any moment. They're begging for their lives with every fiber of their being. A tearful groveling show.
I can almost see some comedian behind them saying, "I'll show you what I can do."
So who told you to team up with those phony monks and fleece everyone so thoroughly?
When the loach kicks up a fuss, the cuttlefish does too, and the junior military clerk chewed out by the Hobang started barking at the soldiers below him.
"If you don't finish today's assigned quota, I die and you die! Don't forget my fist reaches you faster than military law—or any law—does!"
"Yes, sir!"
"Do I look like a joke because I only speak in today's slang? If not, then run for your lives! Run so fast your soles can't be seen! Hey, Jangbok! I told you not to put that there—did you hear me with your ears, or with your toes?"
"I'm sorry!"
"Does saying sorry get you out of military service?! Move it there right now!"
Honestly, before I started this whole affair, I really didn't harass the local magistrate or the Hobang. I only said that if they didn't like it, they'd have to file a memorial to the king.
But the deeper this goes, the more it feels like they're bullying people too hard... Should I tell them to tone it down a bit?
And even if the clerks are guilty scumbags who've embezzled plenty, what crime have the soldiers and servants committed, being bullied to death while doing hard labor?
They only worked because the bigwigs told them to.
I spent two years grinding it out in the army too, so I know their pain and sorrow. It's about time to step in and show the magistrate's mercy by letting them have some makgeolli and good food.
"Magistrate, Magistrate..."
Kim Ibang hurried in, calling out to me. Had something bad happened?
Right now, our county was the kind of place where, no matter where you went, people shouted, "Long live the magistrate!" and with the commoners' huge tribute burden eased, they were probably living pretty comfortably...
"Magistrate, Magistrate! We've finally finished putting all the market-related systems in order!"
Dark circles hung under Kim Ibang's eyes.
His eyes were so bloodshot that he must not have slept at all for days.
This is a time without fluorescent lights, so he must have been doing paperwork by candlelight... no wonder his eyes are a mess.
If you were going to commit survival-driven graft, you should've at least done it in moderation.
Once a person commits a crime, they have nothing to say even if they're worked to death. On the other hand, what about me?
I'm not doing a single thing that could get me on the wrong side of the law just to keep King Sejong—who works his ministers like slaves so brutally that even professors who grind graduate students into the dirt would give him a standing ovation—from finding fault with me. I'm no pitiable wretch.
"You've worked hard. Tell me the specifics."
"Yes, Magistrate. For merchants who want to do business in the market, we plan to charge two doe of rice a month as the stall fee; for commoners, two hop of rice. And as you said, if someone who's skipped the stall fee does business, we'll confiscate everything they're selling and drive them out."
"...Confiscation, huh? Isn't that a little severe?"
"That kind of strictness is necessary, or thieves will sneak into the market pretending to be poor, hide who they are, and start trouble. Anyone paying the stall fee—even if they're a thief—will at least know enough to fear the county office."
In dramas set in late Joseon, there are plenty of scenes where traveling merchants sit around in taverns waiting for one day, two days, three days. That's absolutely not because those people are lazy.
It's because real dangers lurk on the mountain roads. There are huge beasts like tigers, leopards, bears, and wolves, and plenty of people who've turned to banditry because making a living was too hard.
Bandits can't survive on stolen goods alone, so when a market opens, they haul the stolen goods out and sell them.
Trying to sort all that out one by one would be impossible even if we mobilized all of Joseon's administrative power... so this is the realistic alternative.
"However, there is one problem."
"Yes, Magistrate."
Quite a few of the people setting up unauthorized stalls at the market are folks who don't have enough food to get by right now, so they're selling firewood, wild greens, straw sandals, and the like. For those people, even two hop of rice would be a burden. If their household register says they're from Jinhae-hyeon, then exempt them from the stall fee.
The common folk will be moved by the magistrate's warm heart.
"His Majesty sent me here to do exactly this, so as a subject, shouldn't I be looking after everyone?"
When I first came here as magistrate, all I thought about was smashing the rotten system and normalizing the county so I wouldn't disappoint Hwang Hui and Heo Jo.
But after seeing the people happy with my own eyes, and hearing that they were even holding village feasts because life had gotten better thanks to me...
Before I knew it, a sense of compassion for the people had begun to grow inside me.
Not some filthy corrupt politician who's only worried about lining his own pockets. A magistrate who truly cares for the people—wouldn't it be okay if there were at least one like that?
"And as per your instructions, I plan to make a distinction between merchants and farmers when it comes to participating in the market. Merchants will be allowed to set up their shops as close to the magistrate's office as possible, while commoners will be placed farther out. In addition, merchants will be able to sell every day, while farmers will only be able to sell goods on the 5th, 15th, and 25th of each month."
Law offices, tax offices, and accounting offices are all clustered together. You might think that's less advantageous, but in fact it's said to be more advantageous.
Because all the specialized offices in that neighborhood are gathered together, if you need an accountant you'll go there... and then you'll pick one of the more noticeable shops and hire them.
The goods farmers sell at the market are obvious anyway. So if they can, it's better for them to gather and do business together.
If they come all the way to sell straw sandals and manage to sell them all, how nice would it be if they could use the money to buy some wild greens and head home?
"Well done. And one thing you absolutely have to keep an eye on is merchants banding together to sell goods at absurd prices or cheat people. Clamp down on that immediately."
"Of course."
The yibang looked very confident, as if he'd steeled himself to do a good job.
Well, if he doesn't want to die, he'll work hard... as if.
A guy who has done something bad once doesn't find it hard to do it a second or third time.
I'm not Confucius or anything. How am I supposed to reform corrupt, greedy officials?
"First, beat them up. If that doesn't work, then we'll talk with swords."
"If I hear that you’re even half-assing your work, something extremely unpleasant will happen."
Joseon clerks are basically local civil servants. In premodern society, even the lowest-ranking civil servants had a status roughly comparable to everyone except lawyers and doctors.
In a country that can't even pay those people proper salaries, trying to stop them from receiving personal gifts?
I can't even imagine what would happen. So wiping out corruption completely is impossible.
All I can do now is keep it within manageable bounds.
"...... There's no way that would happen."
"Kim Ibang."
"Yes, Magistrate."
I set my sights on high office, took the civil service exam in hopes of becoming a minister, and even came in first. But if I can't keep my principles, I'd rather retire to my hometown.
The most frightening person in the military is a career officer who has given up on promotion. The reason is simple. If a lieutenant or sergeant who's given up on promotion hands unit records over to the military security command...
Everyone, including the battalion commander, is going to die. He'd gain enough leverage to affect even whether the regimental commander gets a star.
Much less a county magistrate who's given up on promotion? If that bastard were my superior, just thinking about it is terrifying.
"......"
"If you can't keep your loyalty to His Majesty, then you're a treacherous retainer, not a loyal one?"
In Joseon, the word "treacherous retainer" is just a polished way of saying traitor.
And in Joseon, traitors are supposed to have their entire three generations wiped out. That's me showing I'm willing to work with my family's lives on the line.
"I'll be watching. And one more thing—don't work yourselves to the bone; go home and rest a bit too. But before that, make sure the soldiers and servants who've been working there all day get a generous spread of makgeolli, rice, doenjang, and plenty of greens for wrapping. I can't bear to watch them work while going hungry."
"Of course."
"If word gets out that the people doing the work are going hungry, I'll be very disappointed."
After saying that and returning to the magistrate's office, an unexpected visitor appeared.
I thought maybe the county scholars had come because they thought my recent policies made no sense...
but he wasn't a scholar, nor was he a wronged commoner... he was a merchant.
"I am the merchant Kim Mandeok, who deals in anchovies and dried persimmons on a small scale. I have come with a humble request, fair and righteous Magistrate."
...... Judging by the merchant's expression, it didn't seem like they were here to ask for a favor. So what on earth had they come for?
And if the clerks had even allowed them to meet me, they were probably a heavyweight with the financial clout of a local notable.
Naturally, they must have come knowing that if I took a dislike to them, I could have them flogged—or whatever else—for the sheer audacity of a lowly merchant asking to speak with the magistrate.
"Let's hear it."
People like that are usually good sorts who bring some benefit...