Chapter 18: The Principle of Filial Piety

Western Learning (Seohak).

This was the term used to refer to Catholicism during the Joseon Dynasty.

It was called this because the yangban who traveled to the Qing Dynasty secretly brought Catholicism into Joseon under the guise of Western studies.

However, this religion, which entered together with the new things of the New World, would soon scatter much blood across the land of Joseon.

From the 15th year of King Jeongjo to the 3rd year of King Gojong.

Over the course of five persecutions, Catholicism was violently suppressed in Joseon...

But now.

The seed of this first persecution was being sown in Joseon.

It was called the Jinshan Incident, as it occurred in Jinsan, Jeolla Province.

Or, as it happened in the year of Shin-hae, it was known as the Sinhae Persecution.

“Hmmm...”

Tap. Tap.

In the secret study, as I leisurely tapped the pages of , I found myself lost in thought again.

[...Meanwhile, one may find the reason why Jeongjo suddenly began the Munch'e Banjeong in the later years of his reign rather than at the beginning, within the Sinhae Persecution. This is because his trusted favorites, Yi Gwahwan, Jeong Yak-yong, and others...]

Fortunately, this book described the Munch'e Banjeong as quite significant.

The reason was that this incident was the result of many entangled events during the final years of Jeongjo's rule.

For someone like me, who just wanted to write novels but was born under a strict monarch, it was, in a way, a stroke of luck.

Of course, it was easy to simply chalk up my father’s crackdown on novels to “Jeongjo being a stuffy old man.”

Like ending a long and tedious debate with “Just die.” instead of dragging it out with boring scholarly arguments.

However, as mentioned above, the Munch'e Banjeong was a far more complicated affair.

‘If you ask when His Majesty began to suppress the popular tales... Now that I think about it, it hasn't been that long, has it?’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. As I recall, His Majesty didn't say much about it in the early years after his ascension.’

That was how the chief eunuch Lee Yun-muk answered, when I slyly asked about it as if worried about my grandmother and mother, both avid readers of novels.

Since he had served my father since his days as Crown Prince, it was a reliable testimony.

Back then, even if the topic of novels came up, my father would only rebuke us, saying, “What’s so interesting about those? Am I the only one who doesn’t get it?”

Of course, in the midst of that, Lee Yun-muk once told me he thought my father had a kind of PTSD regarding novels.

The point was, Jeongjo was actually a person who respected individual tastes when it came to novels.

He didn't care about his family or subjects reading novels, but oddly enough, he only seemed to go berserk when it came to his officials.

If that’s the case, then the theory written in was likely true.

Well, even if that hypothesis is correct, it doesn’t mean Jeongjo wasn’t an old stick-in-the-mud.

But, if this hypothesis is correct, one thing needs to be clarified.

Namely, who exactly was my father Jeongjo aiming at, when he used novels as a weapon?

According to the book, the story could be traced all the way back to my great-grandfather, King Yeongjo.

Even someone as ignorant of history as I am knows about our Gejang King’s (King Yeongjo’s) policy of using Tangpyeong to appoint members of all political factions.

But once I actually came to Joseon, I realized that, contrary to his grand intentions, the court was running in reverse.

In fact, reality was far more rotten than the textbooks made it sound.

To spare my history-ignorant brain, let’s skip over the complicated events during the reigns of Gyeongjong and Yeongjo.

What matters is that, after events like Yi Injwa’s Rebellion and the Naju Gwaeseo Incident, the Soron and Namin factions were practically wiped out.

That’s right.

It was after the infamous “I haven’t eaten gejang since the year Gapjin!” incident.

As a result,

No matter how much the Gejang King tried to promote mutual checks through his Tangpyeong policy, the court ended up overflowing with only the Noron faction.

Of course, Jeongjo, who succeeded him, made efforts to promote political correctness by actively appointing minority factions like Seomyeongseon, Chae Jegong, and Jeong Yak-yong.

But there was no fixing the problem, and the current court was split between the Noron Sip’a, who followed Tangpyeong, and the Noron Byeokp’a, who opposed it.

The remaining Soron and Namin were barely surviving under my father’s protection.

But no matter how much people have, they are never satisfied.

Among them, it was especially the Noron Byeokp’a, who had lost royal favor, that felt this way.

Unlike the Sip’a, who enjoyed a happy “favorite subject life” alongside Jeongjo, the inflexible Byeokp’a were itching to crush what little remained of the Soron and Namin.

It was almost like, “I’ll destroy those Namin bastards who stole the King’s favor that should have been mine.”

At this point, one of the weapons they pulled out to eliminate their opponents was Seohak.

As you can see from Jeong Yak-yong, many of the promising Namin were either believers in Catholicism or related to it.

Later, after Jeongjo’s death, when the Queen Dowager took over as regent, these people would again instigate a Catholic persecution, using it as an excuse to purge their opponents.

But.

When the Noron attacked, claiming they needed to punish those heretical Namin who dared study the learning of barbarians, Jeongjo replied thus:

‘If you’re going to ban Western learning, you should first ban miscellaneous stories, and if you ban those, you’ll have to ban all the Ming-Qing literary works as well, wouldn’t you?’

In other words, Jeongjo—being a master at political maneuvering—tried to protect his favored retainers by watering down the issue.

Whether you’re reading novels or they’re studying Seohak, it’s all the same, isn’t it?

To put it simply, that’s what he was getting at.

But the problem was, while Jeongjo was desperately shielding them, some fools made an irreparable mess.

The main culprits behind the Jinshan Incident, which triggered the Sinhae Persecution, were none other than Yun Ji-chung and Gwon Sang-yeon.

In brief, what they did was this:

Their mother passed away, so they had to prepare a memorial tablet and hold ancestral rites.

But, being a devout Catholic, their mother left a will saying not to make a memorial tablet.

As devout Catholics themselves, after some hesitation, they ended up burning the memorial tablet!

Of course, I have no intention of mocking their deep faith and religious conviction.

But when you consider the bloodshed that their rash actions brought upon fellow believers… well.

As I said before, Joseon is a land of filial piety.

Even the old-fashioned Jeongjo, who had an allergy to novels, couldn’t say a word when Lady Hyegyeong read them.

In later years, this was a country that, upon seeing blue-eyed, big-nosed monsters writing letters to their mothers out of filial devotion, would immediately declare them qualified as proper humans.

But to burn the spirit of one’s parent embodied in a memorial tablet?

To reject the Confucian ancestral rites, which were a foundation of the country?

If the local yangban had dragged Yun Ji-chung and Gwon Sang-yeon out and strung them up in front of angry neighbors, no one would have considered it a crime.

Filial piety meant that much in Joseon, and what they had done was a crime so serious that an entire village could be punished by association or banned from taking the civil service exam.

Alright. I think that’s enough to explain what burning a memorial tablet meant in Joseon.

Now, let’s return to the dry tale of Noron, Soron, and Namin factions.

But the important thing is, Yun Ji-chung and Gwon Sang-yeon, who caused this incident, were Namins.

And they were connected to many other promising Namin on their way up in the court.

So what did the Noron, especially the Byeokp’a, do when they saw this?

Of course, they rose up, demanding that these “failures as humans who know neither parent nor sovereign”—the Namin—be punished.

Jeongjo, when he saw the trouble spreading to the Namins he cherished, tried desperately to shield them, but in the end, he couldn’t overcome the Noron’s justification.

Thus, the Namins and Soron involved lost their posts in droves, Jeongjo’s faction crumbled, and the balance of the court collapsed yet again.

The problem is that the mark of the “faithless Western-learning heretic, without parent or king” branded at this time would follow Jeong Yak-yong and other promising men for life.

And with even Jeongjo, who cherished them, dying at a relatively young age, Joseon lost an invaluable talent pool.

What’s more, since these men had experienced and accepted Western learning from the Qing, they were open to new things.

At the same time, Joseon lost its engine for reform—a painful result.

And after this incident, perhaps Jeongjo truly turned dark.

As if to take revenge, or as if to restore the collapsed balance, he began ruthlessly striking down the Noron.

He launched a movement to burn both Seohak and novels, and return to the purest classical style of old.

That was the Munch'e Banjeong.

Given that the main victims were Noron like Park Ji-won and Kim Jo-sun, this theory had significant weight.

But, what if—

What if the Sinhae Persecution itself had never happened?

If, for some reason, Yun Ji-chung and Gwon Sang-eon had changed their minds and didn’t burn the memorial tablet?

If, by chance, someone had subtly suggested a way for their faith and Confucian order not to conflict?

If so, then the “justification” Jeongjo wielded to strike the Noron, and his crackdown on novels, would have no reason to arise, would it?

[...However, at the time, there was one way to save them. In fact, according to the decree issued by Pope Clement XI in 1715...]

And I knew the answer.

A few lines of commentary in contained an unexpected solution.

That was why I urgently rewrote the latest episode of .

And that was why I bestowed the complete set, including the latest volume, of to Jeong Yak-yong.

And Jeong Yak-yong met my expectations perfectly.

The very next day, he applied for an urgent leave and did not show up to work.

“Muyong! (Jeong Yak-yong’s courtesy name!) How did you get here...?”

Seeing Jeong Yak-yong suddenly appear in Jinshan (present-day Geumsan, Chungcheongnam-do), Yun Ji-chung’s eyes widened.

No wonder, since he’d assumed his cousin was busy working hard under His Majesty in Hanyang, only to have him suddenly show up.

But Jeong Yak-yong did not answer.

Perhaps from hurrying all the way to Jinshan, his already dark circles seemed about to swallow his cheeks.

“Is something wrong? Don’t tell me you ran away from Hanyang?”

“...Is your mother still in critical condition?”

“Yes... judging by her condition, I think she will pass away soon... But why are you suddenly asking after my mother?”

“Let’s go somewhere quiet. Now!”

But there was no time for further questions.

After only asking about the condition of Madam Kwon, Jeong Yak-yong immediately dragged Yun Ji-chung away.

Soon after, the two of them sat in a small room, away from others.

At the sight of Jeong Yak-yong looking so intensely anxious, Yun Ji-chung’s throat went dry.

“Are you... still thinking the same as before?”

“As before? Ah...”

“When your mother passes, are you still determined not to erect a memorial tablet, as you said?”

At this point, Jeong Yak-yong was still a Catholic, not yet an apostate.

And Yun Ji-chung had learned the doctrine from Jeong Yak-yong’s third brother, Jeong Yak-jong, and received baptism with his second brother, Jeong Yak-jeon, as sponsor.

So it was only natural that they’d previously agonized over such matters of faith.

“Hm. The teachings of the Lord are clear, and my mother’s wishes are firm...”

Yet, despite Jeong Yak-yong’s urgent questioning, Yun Ji-chung showed little sign of changing his mind.

After all, he’d already mastered Confucianism enough to pass the licensing exams, and had still burned the memorial tablet.

Yun Ji-chung’s faith was deep enough to transcend his very life.

“Hoo...”

Seeing his cousin like that, Jeong Yak-yong let out a deep sigh.

But there was an unexpected emotion within it.

It was the feeling of relief—almost as if he was glad he’d made it in time.

“Postpone that decision for a moment.”

“Why? Why would you say that? Are you worried for my life?”

“...”

“For my faith, I am ready to choose martyrdom. Since I began to believe in the Lord, I have emerged from darkness...”

“You’re basing that decision on what the bishop in Beijing declared, aren’t you?”

What Jeong Yak-yong meant was the ban on ancestral rites, issued in 1790 by Bishop Gouvea of the Beijing diocese for the Catholics of Joseon.

A papal decree issued nearly half a century before had finally made its way to Joseon, by way of the Qing.

“That’s right.”

“You know that many other noble believers abandoned their faith because of that?”

“Of course. But I do not intend to criticize those who put filial piety first. If not for my mother’s wishes, I would have done the same.”

As they said, when the order banning ancestral rites was issued, a great number of Joseon’s Catholics left the faith.

This ban remained in force until 1939; because of this blunder, China became barren ground for Catholicism and countless lives were lost in Joseon.

Yun Ji-chung, too, could faintly predict the consequences of his actions.

After all, the yangban of Joseon moved as a family unit.

If one did not perform the rites or destroyed the memorial tablet, it would not escape the notice of the family.

His faith was more important than bearing all that.

But, at that moment.

Something sliced through the air, and a resounding slap rang out in the room.

“Mu—Muyong! What is this...?!”

Startled, Yun Ji-chung could not finish his sentence.

Something unbelievable had just occurred.

The always quiet and reserved Jeong Yak-yong had raised his hand and struck his cousin across the face.

It was something unthinkable for him.

“You fool...! How can you decide something so important as your life so lightly?”

“Wha—what?! What are you—!”

“As a learned man, have you not heard of ‘Sasamu Beommueun’ (事師無犯無隱)?”

Sasamu Beommueun.

It means that when your teacher makes a mistake, you should respectfully point it out and never turn a blind eye to it.

The words that even a teacher can be wrong pierced Yun Ji-chung’s heart.

Clearly, in this case, the “teacher” meant Bishop Gouvea, who had issued the ban on ancestral rites.

Moreover, this was a saying from the Dan’gung chapter of the Book of Rites.

There’s no way Yun Ji-chung, a Confucian scholar, would not know it.

In fact, it was something even the great Silhak scholar of the Namin, Seongho Yi Ik, had emphasized.

“And what did Paul, the apostle of Jesus, teach in Second Corinthians? Do you remember the fifth verse of Chapter Thirteen?”

“...That, that’s...”

“Test yourselves to see if you are in the faith. Examine yourselves. Do you not realize that Jesus Christ is in you...”

Jeong Yak-yong then proceeded to recite Bible verses one after another, shaking Yun Ji-chung’s resolve.

This too was a passage exhorting one to always check whether one’s faith was true and sincere.

It was a rebuke for Yun Ji-chung’s blind acceptance of Catholic doctrine.

As a result, Yun Ji-chung was left frozen in shock.

As if he’d been waiting for this moment, Jeong Yak-yong pulled a book from his luggage and threw it before Yun Ji-chung.

It was .

“What is this?”

“Don’t dismiss it as childish nonsense—read it. This is why I came to see you.”

At Jeong Yak-yong’s urging, Yun Ji-chung had no choice but to read the book, even with his cheek still stinging.

But only for a moment.

Soon, Yun Ji-chung was so engrossed in the book’s contents that he forgot his cheek was swelling up.

“Mu—Muyong... This...”

“Isn’t it chilling, almost frighteningly so?”

“How... How is this...”

The page Yun Ji-chung opened was the very same episode that Jeong Yak-yong’s son Hak-yu had been reading.

It was the part of Cheonjamun where the character for “faith” (信) is emphasized in the phrase, “Faith can be trusted, the vessel’s measure is hard to gauge.”

In this episode, Sun Wukong visits a villain to deliver punishment, but upon seeing the villain burn a memorial tablet, he thrashes him with the Ruyi Jingu Bang in comic fashion.

[“You who claim to believe in the Lord—how could news reach me later than you?!”

With the Great Sage’s shout, heaven and earth trembled.

“You fools! That is called blind faith! Don’t you know that, once news crosses mountains and rivers, it can get twisted?!”

The merchant cowered at the thunderous voice.

“You, who know less than a stranger like me, believe something so important without even checking! Fools with shallow vessels!”

A document fluttered in the Great Sage’s hand. It was a letter he had personally delivered to the King by teleportation...]

“Is this for real?”

Ordinarily, he would have complained about being slapped over a children’s story.

But the narrative, as if he himself had been transported into the story, left Yun Ji-chung’s face pale.

What’s more, the novel strangely depicted the world of Zhongyuan so vividly that it was hard to doubt.

Inside was information that Joseon’s Catholics could never have accessed.

“And as for the ancestral rites... If you write ‘Principle of Filial Piety toward Parents according to Catholicism’ (天主敎孝敬父母之道理) on the memorial tablet, then it would not conflict with doctrine...?”