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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: The 19th Century and Joseon (1)
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In the modern world, there are countless ways to kill time.
Come to think of it, my old job often involved indefinite waiting.
How tedious it was, waiting for a call to confirm that the target had taken the bait.
During those times, I would occasionally watch dramas on streaming services or read novels.
Among them, the most ridiculous plots were the ones about dying in an accident or being killed, only to regress, be transmigrated, or get reincarnated.
The worlds they ended up in were diverse, too.
Some went to the past, some were born in entirely different worlds, and some even entered the books they were reading. At this point, I wondered if there was anywhere they *couldn't* go.
It even went beyond being reborn as a human; many became other creatures.
No, reincarnation became so common that it wasn't unusual to see characters reborn as inanimate objects.
In the past, I used to scoff, "When you die, that's the end. What's all this nonsense about regression, transmigration, and reincarnation?" and would only choose works without such themes.
But to think that absurd scenario would become my own story.
If that were all, it might have been manageable, but unfortunately, the world I found myself in was not so forgiving.
* * *
"Gasp!"
I woke up from the same dream again.
It's been years since my memories returned in this godforsaken land, yet I still periodically relive that day in my dreams.
The memory of being murdered by strangers in a foreign land, without even knowing why.
A chill runs down my spine every time I re-experience that horrific moment when the anesthetic kicked in and my consciousness faded.
It was the dead of dawn when not even the roosters crowed.
The sun had yet to rise, but I forced myself out of bed.
On days I have this dream, I can't fall back asleep anyway.
Since I was already up, fetching water early was the best way to ensure a somewhat peaceful morning.
I threw on some clothes that, despite being mended several times, weren't yet torn, and went outside.
Before leaving, I glanced back to see the other live-in slaves still snoring, showing no signs of waking.
That's right. Live-in slaves... literally, slaves who reside in the master's house and provide direct labor.
They were also called household slaves, but the essence was the same.
It was a truly absurd situation, but my status, living alongside them, was no different from theirs.
By the time my memories returned, she had already passed away, so I never met her, but the one who gave birth to me in this era was a slave of a noble family.
According to the law that a child inherits the mother's status, the child of a slave was also a slave, so I was born a slave.
If I had been the master's son, I might have been a slave in name only and lived a decent life as an illegitimate child, but I wasn't even that.
My name is Yuseok. A slave, about ten years old, who doesn't even know his parents' faces.
This was the label attached to me in my second life.
At first, I was honestly a little scared, given the images I'd seen in the media.
In dramas, masters would sometimes beat their slaves to death on a whim. What if that happened to me?
But living it, I realized that dramas were just dramas, and reality was quite different.
After a little digging, the reason wasn't hard to find.
The number of slaves had significantly decreased over time.
When demand is high and supply is low, value naturally increases.
My own master, for instance, couldn't function without the slaves who took care of the household chores.
When he went on an outing, he needed someone to lead the horse and guide the way. When he wrote a letter, someone had to deliver it. And how could he possibly manage the household or the farming himself?
Moreover, the more powerful the noble family, the more they desired clever and capable slaves. Among the already scarce slave population, such high-caliber individuals were treated very well.
Seok-san, the one snoring over there, is a good example.
That fellow is so smart he taught himself to read, earning the master's immense favor and even receiving his own plot of farmland.
He went beyond just writing letters for the master; he could also draft petitions and handle official business at the government office. Need I say more?
The value of such an exceptional slave was incomparable to a modern-day limited-edition luxury watch, and masters took great care to ensure their health, lest any harm come to them.
Just last winter, when that guy was burning with a high fever, the master had the whole neighborhood searched in the freezing cold to find medicine for him.
Of course, no matter how good the treatment, a slave is still a slave.
To overcome the limitations of my status and climb higher, I had to make my presence known.
Ever since I became aware of my past life, I mobilized all my memories to figure out the exact time period I was in.
Fortunately, having once posed as a history professor, I had amassed enough general knowledge that it wasn't a difficult task.
The current king didn't use a temple name since he was still alive, but his predecessor was a monarch famous enough that most Koreans would have heard of him.
He was called King Jeongjo the Great, which made it easy to estimate the era.
Joseon in the 19th century.
That was where my second life began.
Given that the current king had been on the throne for about thirty years, I could guess it was around the 1830s.
It meant the tumultuous and chaotic end of the Joseon era was just around the corner.
In that case, couldn't even a slave like me find an opportunity to reverse my fortunes?
At first, I thought of using my knowledge of the future to be freed from slavery, build strong connections, and become a powerful figure.
I even harbored the ambition of becoming a great historical figure who successfully modernized Joseon and changed its grim future.
But unfortunately, my circumstances were not so simple.
"Hey! There goes the goblin!"
"His eyes are blue again today. What do you have to eat to grow up so grotesque?"
"It's not what he ate, it's because he's the seed of a barbarian. A Western barbarian, at that."
"But they say Westerners eat people. What if he eats us later?"
Unfortunately, I wasn't 100 percent pure Joseon stock like everyone else.
A foreigner—no, a half-breed slave with the blood of a Westerner. That was my identity.
Being a slave was bad enough, but what kind of social perception would a slave with Western blood face?
Yuseok of old man Kim's house—everyone in this village knew the name. I was a local spectacle.
In a way, I might be more famous than my master, Kim, who had risen to the rank of Vice Minister of Rites.
No, at least in this area, I was definitely more famous.
The problem was that this fame was by no means a positive thing.
"Sigh. Whatever. Let's just go our separate ways."
This is why I tried to fetch water before dawn, but it seems those guys don't sleep.
Everywhere I go, groups of people follow me, asking why my nose is so high or why my eyes are so big and blue. I've been hearing it for years.
If they were just curious, I could ignore it, but of course, our benevolent and tolerant Joseon society wouldn't let it be.
"Hey, hey, can you really shoot fire from your mouth?"
"They say Westerners don't even recognize their own parents. Are you like that too?"
"Oh, yeah. I can shoot fire not just from my mouth, but from my hands, too. And I eat people indiscriminately, so how about you get lost? Should I test it out by eating your arm first?"
"Aaaah! Stay away, you goblin!"
"Throw rocks at him so he can't get closer! Rocks!"
As the days, months, and years passed here, my ambition to somehow lead Joseon to a better future melted away like cotton candy.
Even within the household, the other slaves looked down on me, so I didn't even get angry at those kids anymore.
No matter how I showed my intelligence, no matter how I tried to prove my competence, I was never given a chance. What was I to do?
If it were anyone else, maybe, but a slave with Western blood being smart was just unsettling, and showing any exceptional ability was met with a snort of derision.
This was truly a hopeless situation.
I felt like I could take off if I could just get to the starting line, but I was being turned away at the gate of the racetrack.
A slave? A butcher? I guarantee, if you searched all eight provinces of Joseon, you wouldn't find anyone with a lower social standing than me.
If they held a World's Most Unfortunate Person competition, I'd win first place, no questions asked.
They say what's important is to never give up, but... I can't. I think I'm really about to break.
Still, for now, I keep moving diligently.
There's no other reason.
It's the desperation of knowing that if I truly give up, I'll be stuck in this gutter of a life forever.
Even in this stifling Joseon era, surely there might be someone with an open mind who likes unusual things and would listen to me.
You know, they say even heaven is moved by utmost sincerity, so if I keep trying, maybe...
"Hahahaha! You have a way to double my fortune, and you want me to hear it? Spoken like a true child of a lowly Westerner, what a ridiculous joke. Men, drag him out!"
Okay. I tried every single day for three years, and today I succeeded in proving once again that not a single person with such an open mind exists.
I've been through this so many times that my body now reacts on its own.
The moment I was thrown to the ground, I skillfully broke my fall and got up. It didn't even hurt much.
My skin has grown thick enough that I can now casually ignore the stares of the nobleman and his slaves, who look at me like I'm some kind of madman.
They say a dog at a village school can recite poetry after three years, but is it just my imagination that the only skill I'm improving is getting rejected?
"Hoo... Still, if I keep chipping away like this, one of these trees has to fall eventually, right? Where should I go tomorrow?"
Just as I was about to steel my resolve with a shout.
A reply I hadn't asked for, which poured cold water on my determination, came from behind me.
"You truly are engaged in a hopeless endeavor. It is but a futile effort, so why not give up and go back to sleep?"
It wasn't the first time some know-it-all had offered me sage-like advice as I lay sprawled on the ground.
If it were another slave, I could just ignore them and leave, but if it was a nobleman, he might cause more trouble.
I politely turned around and checked the person's attire. While not overly extravagant, it clearly belonged to a noble family.
He even looked to be about my age, so I did my best to control my expression so as not to provoke him and bowed my head.
In these situations, the best course of action is to play along, placate them, and send them on their way.
"Still, don't you think there might be a gentleman out there who might take a liking to an oddity like me? Hahaha."
"No. I assure you. There isn't a single one in all of Joseon, so you should quietly give up. Or perhaps try crossing over to the Qing Dynasty."
"Ah, is that so? If a young master such as yourself says so, there must be a good reason."
"Indeed. And yet, whether you are foolish or just stubborn, you have not grasped this simple principle and have been seeking people out for years, I hear. That's why I became curious and came to see what kind of face you have. Just as I heard, you speak the Joseon tongue fluently, yet your eyes are blue. How strange."
"As I said, there might be a master out there who truly appreciates the peculiar. And your name, Young Master... I am called Yuseok."
The young nobleman, who was observing me like a curious zoo monkey, smiled a half-mocking, half-curious smile.
"My family name is Yi, and my given name is Ha-eung."
"Yes, Young Master Ha-eung. Well…"
As I was about to continue, I paused, struck by a sense of déjà vu.
Yi Ha-eung? I felt like I had heard that name many times somewhere before… Ah! I remember.
A young boy, around ten years old, in the early 19th century. And the name Yi Ha-eung.
My reaction was a bit slow because he was more famous by another title.
Should I call this a coincidence or fate?
I, a half-breed with Western blood, shunned and called a foreigner.
And standing before me, watching, was the very figure who would champion an isolationist policy and stand at the forefront of the anti-Western movement.
The man who would later be known as Heungseon Daewongun, a titan of history, stood there watching me.