“Is this the infamous paeseol everyone’s been talking about?”
“My wife’s been grumbling she can’t find it even with extra money.”
“They say you hear about this paeseol everywhere in Hanyang. Looks like we’re late to the party.”
Meanwhile, others seated nearby were also deep in conversation about the unexpected appearance of this novel.
However, as Park Ji-won read the book he’d received, these men could not simply enjoy discussing the novel as idle chatter.
“How much would it cost if you bought all those from the bookshop? Did I mishear?”
“The readers are raising a ruckus, offering extra money to buy them—who can complain?”
“Those crazy booksellers… greed’s gotten the best of them, huh?”
“Whew… How much did Banggakso make from publishing that?”
That’s right.
Most of those gathered here, if they emptied their pockets, would find nothing but dust.
Even the leader, Park Ji-won—Hanseongbu magistrate—was a poor official whose meager assets were an unremarkable house and a scrap of farmland.
If Park Ji-won, belonging to the prominent Bannam Park clan of the Noron faction, was in such shape, how much worse off were the others, born of secondary status?
Take, for example, Yi Deok-mu, the Gyujanggak proofreader, also of secondary birth.
He was known as the “book-obsessed fool,” with the official nickname of Ganseochi, and was a byword for poverty.
His paltry stipend was so notorious that he couldn’t afford firewood for the ondol in winter, and he was said to have survived cold nights by wrapping himself in a set of Han Shu volumes as if they were a blanket.
Yu Deuk-gong, Baek Dong-su, and Park Je-ga, also of secondary birth, were all equally destitute.
Lee Seo-gu was the only one in better shape—he’d climbed to the position of Royal Secretary and was a legitimate son of a distinguished family—so he played breadwinner for his friends, but even he had his limits.
Thus, these men, who were unknown to no connoisseur in Hanyang, were only now laying hands on the famed novel, their mouths watering.
And not even over the novel’s content, but simply because of the money it was making.
If Wonja had seen this scene, perhaps he would have wept, recalling his own days of hunger as a web novel author.
“Haa. Damn it all. Just recently I sold my seven volumes of to buy a few handfuls of rice.”
“And I, then, sold my to buy you some wine.”
“Thank you, Yeongjae (泠齋, Yu Deuk-gong). Still, there can’t be many who’ve eaten rice and drunk wine bought for them by Master Meng and Master Zuo, right? Isn’t that something?”
“That’s true, heh heh heh.”
Of course, in banter like this, Yi Deok-mu and Yu Deuk-gong had long ago transcended poverty.
After being battered by life so much, they’d reached a kind of spiritual victory—a sublime state, one might say.
Far from resenting life, these men could laugh it all off, calling even hardship another joy of living.
So it was, among these beggarly men—no, among the Baektap faction literati—that a serious debate was underway about just how much was earning.
“Hoo…”
“Yeonam?”
“This is a work of art.”
Park Ji-won, who had been reading with unbroken focus, let out a deep sigh.
It was as if the earlier commotion had never even reached his ears.
“You called it a work of art?”
“You’ve always kept your distance from the vernacular script.”
“You insisted only classical Chinese literature was worthwhile—how is it you…?”
Lee Seo-gu, who had brought the novel, and the rest of the Baektap faction all opened their eyes wide in surprise.
Indeed, Park Ji-won was known for insisting that what mattered was learning from the advanced civilization of the great powers, not the native script. He’d never shown any interest in Hangeul.
For him to praise a vernacular novel—everyone who knew him was stunned.
“But why? You always said vernacular paeseol were beneath you.”
“I did, but it’s simple. This paeseol deserves praise—it’s anything but crude.”
“Eh? It’s that good?”
“Just read it for yourselves, one after another. You’ll see what I mean.”
Soon, the novel passed from Park Ji-won’s hands to the others.
Before long, the room was filled with awed sighs.
“Now do you see what I meant?”
“Indeed. This… isn’t just a simple romance for women, is it?”
Park Je-ga, who had been last to read it, stroked his beard as he replied, clearly caught off guard after underestimating .
“That’s right. On the surface it seems like just another paeseol, catering to the reader’s desires, but underneath there’s deep satire.”
“So I wasn’t the only one who sensed it.”
“I’m sure any insightful scholar who reads this will feel the same. Just like… when they read my .”
Park Ji-won smiled slyly, a strange delight in his eyes.
He pointed to a passage in the book, reading aloud for everyone.
[“You ought to be ashamed! While the commoners held back the Yellow River with their bodies and soldiers defended the border with their blood, who, in the court, were those maggots fighting over scraps of the empire in their silk robes?
‘Sa’ (scholar) was originally a title for those who fought bravely in war! Yet on the battlefield, all you see are soldiers from the farmer, artisan, and merchant classes—what in the world is going on?”]
It was a scene where one of the male leads, the Grand General, lambasted the court’s incompetence, pressing the Crown Prince.
Ordinary readers would have seen this only as conflict between rivals fighting over a woman, but for Park Ji-won and the Baektap faction, it was different.
“Ahaha! Is this really the story of Mongolia hundreds of years ago? Ahaha!”
“Hey, Cheongjanggwan (Yi Deok-mu’s courtesy name)! Do you want to lose your job and live on nothing but cold water?”
“Huh? What did I say? I only laughed, ahaha!”
Yi Deok-mu and Yu Deuk-gong kept up their comedic routine, but everyone was thinking the same thing.
Officials who, even as the country teetered on the brink of ruin, refused to stop their factional struggles.
Those who, instead of setting an example, fought for power from safe, comfortable places.
Such a damned reality—nothing had changed from the days of the Yuan dynasty to Joseon now.
Someone was likely thinking of the time when barbarian invaders besieged the king in Namhansanseong.
Someone else was reflecting on how little the court had changed even now.
Everyone present felt as if they’d downed a glass of sparkling water—shocked, bracing, exhilarating.
“Haha… To think such depth was hidden amid what seems like childish entertainment.”
“This was written by a learned man, without a doubt.”
“A story this marketable, with such satire? No ordinary author could have done it.”
The Baektap literati once again passed around , exclaiming in admiration, slapping their knees.
In the midst of this, someone suddenly exclaimed in excitement.
“Come to think of it, isn’t there a rumor that this came from the palace?”
That was Lee Seo-gu, the youngest, who worked in the palace and was always first to pick up on inner-court gossip.
“Really?”
“It first became popular among the court ladies. And who but someone in the palace could write such an elegant romance?”
“Why, couldn’t it be the wife of a noble family? Or perhaps one of the two princesses who married down?”
Park Je-ga, the next eldest, immediately countered Lee Seo-gu’s claim.
The “two princesses” he referred to were Lady Cheongyeon and Lady Cheongseon, King Jeongjo’s sisters, who had left the palace after marrying.
They frequently visited the palace, supposedly under the pretense of seeing their close friends, the queen and Lady Hyegyeong, despite Jeongjo’s disapproval.
“Well, those ladies were famously passionate about paeseol—wasn’t it ?”
“His Majesty abhors paeseol, but the women of the inner court are the opposite—it’s amusing. Oh, and speaking of which, the mother of Wonja agissi also, in the past…”
“Ah, let’s leave that be. Just mentioning her makes me feel like I’m committing a sin against His Majesty.”
Though their conversation drifted off-topic for a moment, the identity of ’s author was a source of amusement for them all.
But the two princesses were far from the critical tone and Confucian values found in the novel.
As for the busy queen or dowager, surely neither had time to write a novel.
So, as with everyone else, their speculation only circled back on itself.
“Then who could it be? Surely my last guess can’t be right.”
“His Majesty the King? Are you mad?”
“But he’s the only man in the palace!”
“The one who demanded even be removed for corrupting the people’s hearts—writing a paeseol?”
“Nonsense! If His Majesty wrote this, I’ll be your family dog, I swear—woof woof!!”
So lacking in candidates were they that even the novel-hating king was, jokingly, among their suspects.
But even as a joke, it was too much.
After some nostalgic complaints about the late King Yeongjo, who had loved novels, they moved on.
“So then, who is the author?”
“Well, if it’s a man, there’s always Wonja agissi.”
“Are you out of your mind? How old is agissi?”
“Couldn’t Wonja be a prodigy? Mi-yong (美庸, Jeong Yak-yong) never tires of praising him.”
“Even so, that’s a stretch…”
Even by their standards, it was unthinkable that the young Wonja could have authored such a brilliant novel as .
Thus, the most progressive scholars in Hanyang were deep in lively debate over the mystery of .
Knock, knock.
Someone rapped urgently on the gate of Park Ji-won’s small house, startling everyone into action.
But the person waiting outside was someone they never expected.
A young woman, seemingly in her thirties, stood there radiating an air that marked her as no ordinary commoner.
“Is this the home of Master Yeonam?”
“It is. What brings you here?”
“I see you are all together. Are these gentlemen your associates, Master Yeonam?”
As if it was just as well, the woman smiled lightly.
It seemed she had business with every last one of these down-and-out scholars.
“What do you mean…? Isn’t it proper that you first state your business in coming here?”
The impatient warrior Baek Dong-su growled first.
But instead of being startled, the woman simply smiled more deeply.
She acted as if she’d dealt with far rougher men before.
“One moment.”
Unable to stand it any longer, the youngest, Lee Seo-gu, stepped forward.
But the woman’s reaction was unexpected.
“Are you not Royal Secretary?”
“You know me? Now that you mention it, your face does seem familiar…”
“Yes, I saw you a few times passing by in the palace. My apologies for the late introduction. I am Senior Court Lady Choi.”
At the mention of “court lady,” the literati’s guard instantly lowered.
At least as a palace worker, she was unlikely to be up to anything foolish.
“But what brings a Senior Court Lady here?”
“My mistress sent me with a command—to deliver this proposal to you all.”
A proposal?
The abrupt words left everyone wide-eyed.
But Court Lady Choi, businesslike, simply handed out sealed letters to each man, as if it were nothing more than distributing snacks to favored maids in the palace.
“Uh, uh…?”
The first outcry came from Yi Deok-mu, who trembled as he held the slip of paper in his hand.
“Cheongjanggwan, what is it?”
“This, this…!!”
He was so startled, he could barely speak.
But there was no need for the others to ask what had him tongue-tied.
They, too, soon wore the same shocked expressions.
“A hundred nyang, as a signing bonus…?”
“A hundred nyang—such a sum…?”
The slips in their hands were promissory notes.
‘That person’ whom Court Lady Choi served was apparently scouting the Baektap faction, handing each a contract advance.
And a hundred nyang was a fortune beyond their wildest dreams.
Just recently, poor Yi Deok-mu had gotten only two nyang from selling his used set of .
His monthly stipend as a Gyujanggak proofreader came to about four nyang, depending on the grain market.
No wonder these bookish beggars, who had little but their books and their brains, trembled as they clutched the notes.
“W-why… such a huge sum…?”
“For what reason would anyone give us, of all people, a hundred nyang each?”
“And who is this ‘person’?”
It was only natural for them to be in disbelief at such sudden fortune.
But Court Lady Choi expertly used their astonishment to her advantage.
“You will find out in time.”
“What? But still—!”
“Is this any way to do things? Why would anyone give such a sum to us low-ranking officials?”
“What could anyone possibly gain from handing us this kind of money!”
Bombarded with questions by these suddenly rich men, she was ready with her answer—as ‘that person’ had anticipated.
“Well…”
As she murmured softly, all eyes fixed on her.
Smiling as if she relished their suspense, Court Lady Choi slowly spoke as instructed.
“Isn’t it all of you who will remain?”
---
Author’s Note
The tearful anecdote of Yi Deok-mu and Yu Deuk-gong, selling their books for food and drink, is taken from their actual letters.
The salaries mentioned are based on the , the diary of Yi Jae Hwang Yun-seok, a contemporary, used for reference.
References:
“Hwang Yun-seok’s Monetary Life in the 18th Century: Centered on the 1769 Ijaenango Diary,” Jeong Su-hwan, Korean Society of Old Documents, 2002.
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