(Chapter 8) 5. Chundangdae Avengers (2)
Before I could even say anything, Eoji charged forward.
But Gwiduseo, true to his boast, seemed to have been formidable in his day. He desperately extended his leg.
Gwiduseo's impressive high kick—or something resembling it—struck Eoji's cheek. To raise his leg that high at that age… he must have trained diligently.
I wondered if Joseon had such martial arts, but as a layman, I could not tell. Everyone trains to beat someone, so naturally, the motions would converge into something similar.
Yet Eoji, struck, merely rolled his eyes like an ox.
Gwiduseo wasn't small, but still, he was only at human-level physique. Martial arts without weapons are designed for human opponents. Against a beast surpassing human physical limits, weapons are prerequisite.
A mere kick might make Eoji's neck muscles cry out, but it would be nearly impossible to strike his brain. Could an adult fall from a perfectly executed right punch from a ten-year-old? Hardly.
"Huff…"
Before Gwiduseo could even retract his leg, Eoji swung his arm—a motion like a bear shaking off a pesky weasel.
It was on a completely different level from how he had struck Jangbok. A taste of one's own medicine. Gwiduseo collapsed, spurting blood with a thundering crash.
Go Bonghwan and I fell silent.
In broad daylight, in front of all these people, we had rendered an employee of one of Joseon's highest officials incapable of rising.
Go Bonghwan hesitated, asking,
"What should we do? I hear he is the master's retainer. Should we move him somewhere—perhaps to Guwan…"
A commotion reached my ears. Those who had been in front of us earlier, struck or pushed by Eoji, were shouting in shock.
"Were you here to take the exam or to slaughter people?"
"That guy—I know him! It's Tagubong Kim Unhaeng, the one who shattered his senior at the government office!"
"What? That's the author? Even bringing along a goblin-like servant… such is the family tradition!"
I made a quick judgment.
"Let's run!"
"Uh… where?"
Obviously.
Hope, future, my advancement—none of it lies behind or beside me. For me, there is only forward.
"Forward! Eoji, carry Jangbok and follow. There isn't much left anyway!"
At this point, I had no choice but to carry out the plan I truly didn't want to.
I thrust my staff forward aggressively.
"I am Kim Unhaeng of Jangdong. Anyone who does not wish to taste my Spear-Staff Fist, step aside!"
Faces paled, and they yielded. Even Eoji, still wary, looked uneasy. Go Bonghwan asked,
"Are you sure this is wise? Getting pushed or stepped on in the exam hall is usual, but now it's too chaotic. Later, surely…"
I had already abandoned my reputation. If I gave up my past here, I'd gain nothing.
I grabbed Go Bonghwan's sleeve. I had already shown restraint at the throat.
"I am risking my life here. If you have the leisure to talk nonsense, then run!"
I had a certain confidence.
Though the fight had been flashy, with tens of thousands present, it was not particularly conspicuous.
Glancing sideways while pushing through, similar fights were erupting throughout. The scholarly zeal of Confucians serving the king and the state manifested in these clashes.
Fortunately, without further incident, we managed to reach the front row.
As hoped, the prime seats, where even the scent of the wood and ink on the exam placards could be discerned.
With Jangbok still unconscious, Eoji barely managed to open an umbrella without breaking it, letting me finally exhale.
I looked around. The relative of Hong Bonghan (likely not a direct descendant; his son Hong Nagin was my age and at Sungkyunkwan) was nowhere to be seen.
Naturally—after the earlier chaos—he had probably been swept away in the crowd. I let Hong Bonghan slip from my mind.
Now, worrying about him would gain me nothing. I could make excuses later.
Meanwhile, Go Bonghwan surveyed the exam placards, clicking his tongue.
"It seems the incident at Seungmunwon has become widely known."
"What?"
Looking at the placards, it read:
"The Great Learning says: 'Do not use what you dislike in your superiors to instruct those below, nor what you dislike in subordinates to serve those above.' Recently, hierarchical laws have collapsed; under the name of maintaining appearances, the property and even lives of students were destroyed, and they have dared to insult and assault their seniors. How should such principles be rectified and order restored in the court?"
Naturally, the question reflected the day's special exam, though it was unusually tricky… this bastard really leaves an aftertaste.
Normally, topics for the final exam come from the Confucian classics. This problem was more suited to the preparatory text, not the final.
Yet the Chundangdae exam was decisive in a single day. The king might pose unusual questions. As the Great Learning is part of the classics, it was plausible.
I was flustered. Was the king truly concerned with such matters?
Go Bonghwan shook his head.
"Not likely. A king with all the resources at hand would hardly be so idle. This is connected to the intent behind the Tangpyeong policy, subtly embedded in a question about appearances. Anyone discussing trivial evils or promotion order would fail."
A trap question, then. The insight of Go Bonghwan and the final boss-level judgment of the king—both admirable.
He continued casually:
"Though the exam mentions hierarchical laws, in the past, when the question was suddenly changed or subtly scolding, students sometimes threw tiles and stones in protest."
What? Really? I had never heard of that in Korea.
I looked around frantically. The king's palace was Changdeokgung; this was Changgyeonggung. If that many people started hurling stones, it would be a massive revolt.
Still, Go Bonghwan smiled.
"Yes, it happened in distant Gyeongsang rural exams, not here. Leave it to me. I roughly understand the king's intention."
I nodded in relief.
"So we can answer?"
"Of course."
No one criticized us calmly discussing the placards. Everyone was doing the same.
As Go Bonghwan wrote deftly, I briefly stepped aside.
To get here, I had to break through chaos, but vendors had already set up their stalls even before the exam hall opened. Even if I knew, it was infuriating—but there was no reason to cause a ruckus now.
I bought some snacks and a few bowls of rice wine. Jangbok unconscious, Eoji could not fetch them, so I went. Eoji likely enjoyed his first taste of wine fetched by his master.
By the time Eoji devoured rice cakes and wine, and Jangbok regained consciousness, Go Bonghwan's answer sheet was nearly complete.
Reading it, I gasped.
How could there be a text so… perfect for a superior's taste? Flattery is not easy.
You must subtly point out facts a superior cannot say aloud, lightly criticize what cannot be directly condemned, without overstepping. Yet one must not guess the king's intention too clearly—even in praise. A subordinate appearing smarter than the king risks sounding sarcastic.
Could a boss really be that twisted? Indeed. The king now is such a person.
From observation and my historical knowledge as a Korean, I could surmise.
King Yeongjo survived a perilous political situation during Gyeongjong's reign purely by caution. His long reign without mishap was nearly miraculous.
If Dr. Lee Geum's medical experiments were true, Yeongjo's timing was like a genius, observing the opportunity and acting at the perfect moment.
Yet even after his accession, Yeongjo never relaxed. He managed political factions rationally, though with extreme mood swings and unpredictability.
He could verbally attack bothersome ministers or impose severe punishment for minor issues. Yet at times, he refrained from punishing major cases. He often reversed judgments, repeatedly tested subordinates' loyalty… tales even say he once cried and jumped into a pond.
While some might have died naturally, Yeongjo's decisions, even favoring old-line ministers like Hong Bonghan, marked the beginning of the later corrupt politics.
In sum: Yeongjo's discernment and personal biases were extreme. He managed royal family matters arbitrarily, often causing disasters.
Go Bonghwan's answer, however, skillfully navigated this final-boss-level trap of Yeongjo's temperament.
He subtly connected the Myeonsinrye incident with factional disputes. Ancient and modern rulers were referenced to conclude that all in court must unite in front of the king.
It resembled a slogan of the people uniting under a leader—but without blatant flattery. Critically, it satisfied Yeongjo's desire to balance moral cultivation with control.
I was satisfied and unfolded the paper.
All that remained was to copy it neatly onto my answer sheet. Like a chef following a recipe, I avoided "adding my own flavor." The copier, that is me, now assumed the role.
I drew my brush like a sword.
[Active Skill 'Han Seokbong's Calligraphy' has been activated.]
Chundangdae exams are same-day, one-shot affairs. The king's favor is displayed by announcing results that same day. Often, the king isn't even present.
Having trained my skill, I strategically submitted seventh to avoid attention, then left the market with companions.
I pondered that neither the king nor senior ministers were present.
The final exam, even with the king, requires recognition of top scorers. Today, however, it was a pre-exam granting direct entry—no need for such rituals.
Yet my thoughts on Yeongjo's temperament led me elsewhere.
The king likely understood the Myeonsinrye incident politically. Seeing the clash of factions, he used this exam as a subtle warning: he is not a pushover but has shown favor; heed it.
As I contemplated, Jangbok grabbed my sleeve.
"Master, master! What are you thinking? The results are out. You must see!"
I jerked my head up.
Finally, the first target's result was revealed.
But ahead, countless others blocked the way. Eoji couldn't be used, so I said out of habit:
"This will take a while. Jangbok, go and report back. What, not running?"
Even now, Eoji did not move. I realized my mistake.
Even if I did not teach a servant literacy, he should know his master's name.
"Let's go together."
I pushed through the crowd with everyone. Many, having felt Eoji's fists, stepped aside.
At the exam hall, tension made me unable to open my eyes. Go Bonghwan laughed at my clenched chest.
"Even if you fail this year, you can try again next year. Most never pass the threshold by forty. Why so anxious, Tagubong?"
I had no reason to worry about this absurd exam. Faust-level misfortune could be avoided by simple care.
Then a sharp voice rang beside me.
"This is wrong! Kim Unhaeng, how can that rogue get on the placard?"
I blinked and looked—Gwiduseo, stuffing paper into his nose, stood there. Likely a relative of Hong Bonghan.
I felt relief so strongly it physically lightened me. Two reasons:
First, he was not a close relative of Hong Bonghan, so he would have naturally passed if he could write the Thousand Character Classic. His tantrum showed he likely failed.
Second, my first objective was achieved.
A status window appeared, congratulating me.
[First Mandatory Objective: Pass the Civil Examination (Achieved)]
[Tuition Accumulated: 1/12]
[Active Skill 'Yi Seonggye's Archery' unlocked]
[Passive Skill 'Vitality Boost' unlocked]
[Reputation greatly increased.
Noted by: Crown Prince Ihwon, Minister of Revenue Park Munsu.
Disliked by: Gyeonggi Inspector Hong Bonghan]
Despite useless skills, there was no time to dwell.
Another message appeared:
[Additional Objective Achieved: Submitted answer within top 10.]
[Reward: 30 Horse-hoof Silver (Majeun)]
Ah, so that was the hidden bonus.
Quick submission of answers could be achieved with the new calligraphy skill. This game, Seunggyeongdo, is unfriendly but guides you toward the ultimate goal: Chief State Councillor.
Then:
[Optional Objective: Achieve First-Class (Gapgwa) or higher in the Palace Exam]
As expected, the next objective appeared.
Historical Notes / Author References
Shin Chiun instigated the "Answer Sheet Alteration Incident," inspired by the Naju Gwaeseo event—more a collective desperation than actual armed rebellion. Yeongjo forbade recording it in the Annals, yet references to horse-hoofed silver persisted.
Han Ho Seokbong's calligraphy was highly technical rather than artistic; some scholars of the era did not appreciate it.
Stone and tile throwing by students occurred at the 1606 Gyeongsang rural exam, due to frustration over sudden question changes and governmental mismanagement.
Crown Prince Sado's name is read as Lee Seon or Ihwon; in this work, Ihwon is used as the royal-approved pronunciation. Park Munsu had already been granted an official title.
Majeun (horse-hoof silver) refers to horseshoe-shaped silver pieces, commonly used in Qing China.