8. Cleanly, Clearly, Confidently (2)
Alright. I won't deny that I also intended to make money here.
The governors and local officials of this era are like tigers and hyenas competing over the same prey.
In early Joseon, both local magistrates and hyangri (local clerks) were positions everyone avoided.
That's why a rule was established requiring one to serve in an external post before rising to the higher ranks.
There was even a regulation rewarding those who captured hyangri who tried to flee, claiming they couldn't bear being a clerk.
But what about now?
Local magistrates are highly coveted even at court, and there are lines of people willing to serve as clerks.
Why? Because the money is plentiful.
Joseon's state finances may be poor, but the country's potential is by no means low.
A stable agrarian country with ten million people in the pre-modern era was not common.
How much potential was there? There's a record of a single county's military officials illegally seizing property worth 60,000 nyang.
Joseon's approximate annual budget was 1.5 million seok of rice, which converts to about 6–7 million nyang.
For comparison, South Korea's annual budget is around 500 trillion won, so it's like local commanders embezzling 4–5 trillion won.
I'm not pointing out the evil of embezzlement. Nor am I glorifying the "masculinity" of Joseon officials who dared think they could take 1% of the national budget.
Flies need corpses to gather; Joseon had that much potential wealth. That's what I focused on.
Of course, Joseon's government was extremely small compared to modern South Korea.
Since explicit public finance made up a small proportion of the economy, such simple comparisons are mostly for curiosity.
Even in the previous example, the 4 trillion is exaggerated when compared to the national budget; in real terms adjusted for prices, it would be more like 10–20 billion won.
Still, it's a lot.
No matter how you look at it, it's a huge chunk of meat.
Do you think the likes of the original evil hyangri (元惡鄕吏, "source of all evil hyangri") would let you take it?
Of course, I'm not planning simple tricks like making up crimes for fines, selling fertile land near state reservoirs at a high price, or performing alchemy on grains like turning sand in spring into rice by autumn.
I'm merely correcting these malpractices, governing arrogant clerks appropriately, and taking a portion of the enriched treasury as performance pay.
Even in modern South Korea, officials who save the budget receive part of it as a bonus.
As someone who has returned in time, it's only natural that I introduce the advanced systems I know from the future to Joseon.
It is the unavoidable responsibility of a person from the future.
This "county manual" is practically a classic of bribery.
Yes, the book I wrote. Any rookie governor could read it and follow it.
But it's a completely different level than cheating on exams.
I thought that I could not stop basic embezzlement like rice loans or warehouse theft.
If that had been all, to be honest, I would have just gone along and turned a blind eye.
Clerks didn't get salaries. In early Joseon, corruption was largely about survival.
But the records in this manual—and the crimes naturally inferred from them—had long surpassed that level.
I've done sly things, and I intended to continue doing so here.
But, I did not kill anyone.
I am not opposed to murder in principle. Depending on the reason, I believe there can even be "good" killings.
But your reasons are utterly contemptible.
You fabricate crimes to ransack houses, assault prominent women, beat anyone who resists to death, and manipulate records to cover it up.
You arrest anyone, collect fees for prison use, meals, tobacco, firewood, and even charge families for disposing of bodies. Joseon law doesn't permit this, so all profit goes to them.
It's not just punishment. Even routine surveys like censuses or famine damage investigations are used as excuses to turn households into wastelands.
They eat while they destroy livelihoods, and take whatever catches their eye.
Show the slightest resistance? "Oops, my hand slipped," they'll say while breaking everything in sight—including people.
If one of them is caught, there's even a duty officer who can manipulate documents to release him.
They even decide who lives and dies, since they control what gets reported to the provincial governor.
And what I've just described is just a tiny fraction—like picking up a single grain of sand in a desert.
This was Joseon's centralized local administration.
Most infuriating of all, that idiot Lee Bang casually handed me the county manual at the tavern.
Did he think I'd just be slightly uncomfortable like past magistrates and then comply?
He must have thought that, being the omnipotent local power, I wouldn't dare resist.
It's like what I've seen in modern times: students laughing in middle school at a teacher giving a warning, "So what? Wanna fight?"
This was their way of confirming confidence that, under the magistrate, they were effectively the superior ones.
Morality aside, it pissed me off.
You're dead.
As I told Jangbok, a magistrate's duty is to educate the common people.
And Joseon governors don't have to worry about lawsuits over every word like 21st-century teachers.
Educating people is called "hundo (薰陶)," meaning to shape a person's character through pain and discipline.
It will hurt like burning.
I made my decision.
I then threw the county manual into the brazier in front of the clerks.
It burned well.
The head clerk, the military clerk, the yugbang—they were all shocked.
"Your Excellency! How could you burn an official document!"
Of course, I'm not the king. That's why they dare shout at me like that, ignorant and rude.
"Do not raise your voice," I said quietly.
"You are called cunning clerks and malicious hyangri, yet your arrogance knows no bounds. Is that a government document or a bandit notice? Do you not realize that you cannot excuse yourselves simply for writing that? To dare shout at a government official over it—if I were to execute all of you here, it would not be unjust."
None of the clerks hung their heads in shame.
They just stared at me with expressions saying, "Is this guy crazy?"
Yes, they stared directly. Their eyes no longer blinked.
As my relative once said, "These days, clerks don't even dismount when meeting a yangban," and he was right. I now roughly understood the power of local forces.
Bring it on. Who will strike first?
Lee Bang Shin Manheung stepped forward. Oh, an elite mob from the start.
He looked as if born to be a local enforcer—a natural enforcer.
He cleared his throat grandly.
Did this guy just cough in front of the magistrate? A thousand years ago, I would have smashed his head with a mace.
"Ahem. It seems our young magistrate cannot contain his fury, for which the lower officers apologize. Excessive emotion can disrupt one's qi and harm the body, so it should be calmed."
I raised my chin. "Do you have a better solution?"
A look of pride flashed across Shin Manheung's face. He spoke excitedly:
"It is not my intention to interfere, but I offer counsel to prevent Your Excellency from incurring unintended sin. In principle, apologies can only be decided by the Supreme, and even major thieves require provincial approval according to strict law."
Absurd. Just hearing this twists my qi with rage. Are you trying to lecture me on law? Do you have ties with the provincial governor?
Shin Manheung tried to reason with me:
"Therefore, calm yourself first. Sudden changes in expression call for 'apgyeongju,' a special wine. Newly appointed magistrates historically offered wine and food to the elders of the county to inquire about local conditions, and you might consider following this precedent."
He paused, lowering his voice.
"Though it may not suit the formality of the office, the local notables' prestige is high, so inviting them is reasonable. How can one refuse congratulations on the magistrate's arrival?"
Ah, a desire to try a different kind of governance rises in me. A skill like "summon artillery" or "Aoji mine" would be fun.
He must have overheard my previous conversation at that tavern. I counted three quietly in my mind, then softened my expression:
"As Lee Bang said, apgyeongju is a prescription to calm agitated qi. There's a record of Jin Emperor Wanyan Wuqimai using it—are you aware?"
Shin Manheung hesitated, then answered:
"I'm a lowly clerk, so I do not know."
"So you don't know why Emperor Jin drank that wine either?"
"Yes. What lesson do you intend to give?"
"The Jin Emperor secretly used the treasury for drinking. His elder brother, the founder Aguda, decreed by law that any misuse of the treasury warrants 20 lashes. The wine was to calm his shock."
Shin Manheung only realized something was going wrong. Excellent innate perception.
I stood before he could say more:
"You arrogantly mention law; I shall enforce it properly. By this county manual, those who exploit the people and connive to cooperate commit the sin of apology. I will submit it for royal approval in Seoul, and then deal with those sins I can decide on myself."
"No, Your Excellency…"
"Clerks and subordinates insulting a fifth-rank superior? 100 lashes. Reduced to 70 for a sixth-rank magistrate. Lee Bang, don't worry. Afterward, I'll provide the apgyeongju in top quality!"
The strict rules of the Daemyeong Code were repeated.
This time, I truly intended to enforce them.
Shin Manheung did not kneel or despair.
He looked like a spoiled child witnessing chaos. He was confident no one in this county could touch him.
Ah, yes. That's the way it is here.
The soldiers and jailers in charge of punishment are not trained professionals. They are local thugs who applied hoping for scraps.
This is not my prejudice—it's Jeong Yak-yong's observation.
Clerks use such people as their hands.
So, in this county, no one else can enforce punishment.
But outside, there are those who can.
"What are you doing, officer!"
At my cue, the enforcer appeared, carrying a huge law-enforcing club.
As expected.
Those not affiliated with the government claimed they could not execute punishment.
Fine. I appointed the enforcer as a gate official on the spot.
Shin Manheung and his loyal soldiers were beaten by the enforcer (ridiculous—were they trying a rebellion?) and then tied to the execution frame.
The clerks panicked to save their own heads.
"You said punishment, Your Excellency! But clubs can't be used for ordinary crimes!"
"Only provincial inspectors or military commanders may use them, and only by regulation!"
Ha. They cite law only when it suits them.
But if they followed it, why is the club in the magistrate's office? They used it freely before.
Principally, they are correct. Magistrates shouldn't normally use the club.
But historical dramas show any magistrate using one? True—they did.
Joseon law was like that.
Some magistrates whipped nearly 30 people to death during a short tenure.
Laws against citizen complaints? Those were violated, but they were strictly enforced until Joseon fell.
So they received exactly what they deserved.
Unfair and unjust violence based on rank.
Joseon's system allowed clerks to kill freely—but the same also allowed me, a higher authority, to punish them safely.
Yet I could not play like them. I am a magistrate with honor.
Even if they cheat, I must act cleanly. Pride matters.
I nodded to their legal counsel:
"You are correct. Remove the club and bring the proper stick."
The enforcer did so. He snapped the thick club like a broomstick.
The clerks looked like their necks had snapped.
Now, it no longer mattered what would be used for punishment.
The enforcer followed orders and brought a legal stick.
Shin Manheung could not endure even seven strikes and fainted.
I commanded the rest to continue. I rose, sleeves swinging.
The clerks hadn't misbehaved particularly—they were just caught in my plan.
I had intended from the moment I saw the county manual to choose someone as a demonstration, wait for a crime, and then punish them.
Too modern thinking? This is Joseon: you must strike first to reveal the crime.
Otherwise, nothing hidden below can be discovered.
This was more defensive than offensive. The soldiers who resisted were evidence.
Control comes first, procedure second.
Like Seomunpyo capturing the shaman without formalities—procedure first would have required civil war.
My ambush succeeded.
Lee Bang was spared at home, but his subordinates were almost killed and locked in prison.
Death was just accepted as a possibility.
I cleared the local government hall and dismissed everyone.
I sent a good bottle of wine to Shin Manheung's home, keeping my promise.
Silence returned. Only Jangbok's commands could be heard.
I habitually sought a fan to organize my thoughts, then realized Yeon had taken it. No spare fan—time to work for performance pay.
The real fight begins now.
Lee Bang had feigned much, but less than ten strikes—he wouldn't die.
After a few days of groaning, he would return to work and feign obedience. His charm would be fully on display—but he will still receive seventy lashes.
Behind the scenes, his network would attempt to manipulate connections with the court.
Local clerks often build networks by favoring exiled scholars.
Even high officials in Seoul are often not native.
But my strength? My clan's influence in the capital.
No matter how experienced you are, I have more friends in Hansung than you.
Current rank is important, but in this era, "hometown" is the most powerful weapon.
I had prior knowledge of the Crown Prince and Princess's planned actions—do you think I neglected the information on high officials?
Thanks, Ji-won. I won't reveal anything about your lover.
One of Mokcheon's four kings is already my ally.
Yeon isn't foolish enough to side with Shin Manheung.
If he betrays? I'll enforce the law strictly on the shaman.
It's not a contest of strength.
Ah, freedom from Yeongjo feels amazing.
These clerks are mere minions compared to a scientific ruler. No future knowledge is needed here.
I sat alone in the guest hall, smiling.
I pulled out the true original county manual, memoranda from Seoul, and various letters and documents.
I began reading them quietly again.
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Notes / Historical References:
Strictly, a governor's authority under contemporary law only allowed corporal punishment up to 50 lashes; all else required delegation. The novel skips these details for storytelling.
The story of Jin Emperor Wanyan Wuqimai is historical (from 金史). The wine (apgyeongju) was used to calm shock after punishment.
The magistrate who whipped nearly 30 people was Lee Yeojeol of Changwon during King Jeongjo's reign. He repeatedly abused authority, even coercing confessions from innocent bystanders.
The "Prohibition on Citizen Complaints" law (Sejong 2nd year) prevented citizens from suing officials; it was enforced until Joseon's fall.
Hyangri were deeply rooted local power since the Three Kingdoms; strict countermeasures were necessary to maintain centralization.