Chapter 38: The Emperor, Destroyer of Art, Becomes Obsessed

"Truthfully, I cannot resolve Your Majesty’s question!!"

"What…?"

A thick vein bulged on Emperor Qianlong's forehead.

Was it because he couldn't reveal the identity of the toy he’d so eagerly anticipated?

The Emperor's capricious anger was now aimed squarely at Kim Jo-sun.

"You, envoy from Joseon. You had best choose your next words carefully."

Even before the interpreter could relay his words, Qianlong’s frigid voice pierced Kim Jo-sun’s chest.

The Emperor’s words were brief, but Kim Jo-sun understood their implications precisely.

After all, this was Qianlong, who liked to call himself the Lord of All Under Heaven—a king of the world, master of humanity.

For such a proud Emperor to set his sights, after a long while, on a new target—if he were to block Qianlong, whose collector's obsession was aflame, it would be no exaggeration to say he might be torn to pieces.

"…!!"
"Daegyo Kim!!"

So it was only natural that, as soon as the Emperor's words were interpreted, Park Je-ga and Jeong Yak-yong were aghast.

But Kim Jo-sun was a man who had once already risked his life.

And the benefactor who had pulled him from the abyss was precisely the person now being targeted by Qianlong.

No matter if he faced the owner of an empire—even if it cost him his life, now was the time to stand his ground without retreating.

And in that moment—

With a sound as if something solid shattered within him, Kim Jo-sun's eyes flashed.

Perhaps the very talent for survival, for which he was famed in the original history, awakened at this moment of crisis.

"Your Majesty."

Feeling his tongue dry up, Kim Jo-sun spoke up.

"Speak."

"I kneel before you and humbly ask, might Your Majesty acknowledge the differences between the Great Qing and Joseon?"

"Difference?"

Qianlong's aggressive momentum waned at Kim Jo-sun’s remark about the fundamental differences between their countries.

"For example, take only the current matter at hand—the controversial tale. This is my second diplomatic mission to Beijing, so I dare say I know a little of the circumstances here…"

Thus, Kim Jo-sun began to explain slowly, carefully avoiding Qianlong’s wrath.

There was a marked difference in the publishing worlds of Qing and Joseon—even a modern person would notice it.

Take, for example, the greatest masterpiece of this era, .

Anyone could easily find out the name of the author who wrote this work.

Even in these times, everyone in Qing knew that  was penned by the scholar Cao Xueqin.

And of course, the author of , who openly served as Vice Minister of Rites, was common knowledge, and  was also widely known to be the work of the scholar Pu Songling from the Shunzhi–Kangxi reigns.

This was because Qing’s publishing market was massive, and the profession of writer was not looked down upon.

But what of Joseon?

Even modern people who’d barely skimmed classical literature in school know that most classical Joseon novels have ‘unknown author.’

Kim Man-jung, author of , was a rare exception. Most Joseon authors of the time scrupulously concealed their identities.

This was likely because fiction was considered a lowly hobby, and various societal pressures of rigid Joseon society played a role.

Kim Man-jung himself wrote  only after being completely exiled from the capital.

Well, thanks to that, Wonja was also able to hide her identity and act from behind the scenes.

"What…?"

When Kim Jo-sun spoke these facts aloud, Qianlong looked truly shocked.

"I stake my neck on it; this is the absolute truth."

"I, Park Je-ga, also pledge my head!!"
"S-So do I…"

To Qianlong, unfamiliar with the affairs of a mere vassal state, this came as an utter surprise.

Seeing the shaken Emperor, Park Je-ga and Jeong Yak-yong lent further weight to Kim Jo-sun’s words.

"Even if they write such remarkable works, in Joseon people are ashamed of it?"

"Yes. And if the writer Your Majesty praised so highly is indeed a great scholar or calligrapher, then all the more so…"

Recalling how the original Young Miss Wonja could never reveal herself because her father despised novels, Kim Jo-sun gave a meaningful smile.

Of course, the meaning seemed to have been interpreted somewhat differently by Qianlong.

"Indeed! If a gentleman of Joseon reached such heights at the ages of ‘study’ (15) or ‘youth’ (20), then perhaps so…!"

"Exactly. Such talent would certainly be expected to serve in office. If writing fiction became a stain, wouldn’t that be problematic?"

"Ha! To think that fine calligraphy and writing could be a stain! If Minister Ji Yun heard this, he’d be up in arms!"

Before long, the Emperor’s intimidating presence vanished.

Feeling the air lighten, Kim Jo-sun drew a deep breath.

"Therefore, I too have never tried to reveal the author’s identity while distributing the tales in secret."

"Are you truly saying so?"

Of course.

When Kim Jo-sun claimed he never even tried to find the author of such a delightful novel, Qianlong protested once.

"Indeed! I am a man who strictly separates public and private matters!! This manuscript too was submitted under strict anonymity…"

Fortunately, the crisis ended there.

Thus, using his newly awakened survival skills and excuses honed before Confucian elders, Kim Jo-sun soothed the old Emperor.

Soon, Qianlong accepted Kim Jo-sun’s explanation that he could not identify the authors of  and .

If Wonja had heard Kim Jo-sun’s shameless justification of his professionalism, she would have given a withering smile.

"So, you are Kim Jo-sun, correct?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. After my mission is finished and I return to Joseon, I swear to seek out the author of these works, as Your Majesty’s confidant desires."

"Ho…?"

With Kim Jo-sun’s deft maneuver, as if reading his mind, the Emperor couldn’t help but be impressed.

It was hard to believe this was the same old man who moments ago failed to control his rage.

"Is everything you’ve said thus far true?"

And, when Qianlong gave one final intimidating glare, Kim Jo-sun prostrated himself, bowing deeply three times.

His skills, honed under King Jeongjo, shone till the very end.

"Good. I understand."

At last, the Emperor’s anger abated.

Yet, even so, Qianlong still clutched Wonja’s calligraphy and poetry like precious treasures.

"Since the Joseon envoy answered honestly, let the Emperor of the Great Qing bestow his benevolence."

Slumping into his seat, the Emperor pulled out his seal and inkstone.

The three envoys could not yet relax their guard.

But Qianlong only summoned an attendant for brush and ink, then seriously wrote out a document.

Of course, the envoys could not dare stare at the Emperor while he wrote, so they all respectfully kept their eyes lowered.

After a familiar thump, the Emperor’s writing time was over.

"Take it."

Qianlong handed the document to Kim Jo-sun, who had, with quick wit, knelt before the throne in anticipation of a reward.

"Huk!!"

But as Kim Jo-sun respectfully accepted the document with both hands, a startled cry burst from him.

It was understandable.

For the document bore the imperial jade seal, entwined with two dragons…

"It says: 'During the stay of the Joseon envoys bearing this decree, every possible convenience shall be afforded…?'"

"Naturally! It is only fitting that those who brought these wonderful works from afar should be suitably rewarded, if I am to be a ruler worthy of the title Lord of All Under Heaven, don't you think?"

Qianlong, looking quite satisfied, waved his hand.

This gesture meant the Emperor was truly pleased.

Receiving the decree, both Kim Jo-sun and Jeong Yak-yong instantly felt their spirits lift.

It was akin to possessing a royal command-token—any trouble in Qing, and you could say, "Go ask the Forbidden City."

For Kim Jo-sun, tasked by ‘that person,’ and Jeong Yak-yong, who anticipated many obstacles in his Catholic affairs, this was undoubtedly a great boon.

But then—

"Huh…?"

Kim Jo-sun, still awash with emotion from receiving Qing’s version of the golden imperial edict, uttered a dumbfounded sound.

"Of course, not just anyone receives this reward… Hohohoho…"

The old Emperor let out a sly laugh, his earlier sharpness vanished.

"Y-Your Majesty…?"

Kim Jo-sun, struck by this unexpected calamity, managed to look up at the Emperor, his eyes trembling.

Rustle.

A new document slid out from the back of the imperial decree Kim Jo-sun was holding.

"Did you not just swear to seek out the author of this calligraphy and poetry with utmost sincerity…?"

Qianlong laughed, passing over a small brush that had been on the desk.

On the back of the decree that guaranteed their privileges, there was a second document.

This showed Qianlong would not give up on unmasking ‘that person.’

[By Heaven’s Mandate, the Emperor proclaims:
Kim Jo-sun and the three envoys from Joseon shall, until the next mission arrives in Beijing, search for the mysterious calligrapher and poet and report their identity to Us.
Let it be announced to all under Heaven, so all may know.
Qianlong, 57th year, Month X, Day X.]

No matter how severe a verbal command, a written order weighed far more.

Qianlong’s obsession with the talented calligrapher and poet was truly at this level.

"Now, leave your signatures…"

And Qianlong even produced a copy, collecting their signatures.

The already heavy weight of the Emperor’s command became even more burdensome for Kim Jo-sun, Jeong Yak-yong, and Park Je-ga.

"It has been an enjoyable conversation after so long… Now, you may withdraw…"

Thus, the three envoys had no choice but to leave the old Emperor, feeling as if they had received both an unexpected gift and a thunderbolt.

Their faces as they left Jianqing Palace were white as if bleached.

* * *

"What…?"

Wait, what kind of disaster is this??

No sooner had I sent the Kim & Jeong duo as envoys than I found myself bombarded with my nagging father’s neo-Confucianist attacks.

An urgent courier arrived from Beijing with a letter from Kim Jo-sun.

[…My apologies. With a little wit, I seem to have overcome the first crisis… I will do what I can to weather the ones to come as well…]

Why on earth did that crazy scribbler—whose misdeeds even a history novice like me has heard of—fixate on me…?

Well, it made sense that since discovering my identity, the now-complete disciple Kim Jo-sun would take my calligraphy to Qing.

To be honest, I too had wondered whether my skills could move those literati of the vast continent, or if my works could conquer their publishing world, dozens of times bigger than Joseon’s.

But then… Why did Brother Hongli have to get involved?

Why is that notorious destroyer of art obsessing over me?

First, I got a headache just thinking about him slamming his seal onto my calligraphy.

And then, hearing that he’d stamped all over Kim Jo-sun’s rough translation of ’s poems, I got another headache.

What did my manuscript ever do to deserve this?

But Qianlong’s obsession didn’t end there.

He went so far as to issue an imperial edict, just to unmask the identity of a mere Joseon writer?

Isn’t that just psycho behavior?

Of course, Kim Jo-sun seems to have done everything possible to hide me.

Thanks to his efforts, he managed to buy me some time from Qianlong.

But all he bought was time.

The Emperor of Qing, far away, was now eyeing my shadow like a hawk.

Now I realized why the phrase ‘golden rice chest’ had surfaced in my mind.

If I made one wrong move, I’d either be forced to churn out calligraphy and poems for Qianlong until I died, or in the worst case, actually be dragged off to Beijing.

But wait—

The poems included in  weren’t even mine to begin with.

"Damn it… Here we go again."

That poem, about protecting the buds of flowers that would bloom again even if the flowers themselves fell, was actually written during a day when I was being tortured by my father’s endless neo-Confucian homework.

I was suffering under the mountain of Confucian texts Jeongjo had assigned me.

The desk wobbled from their weight, so I crawled under it, pride forgotten, to find the cause.

And there, supporting a leg of the desk, I saw something unexpected—a rather thick file folder.

I must have put it there ages ago, to prop up the desk.

"Oh… This brings back memories…"

In that file, marked with my university’s seal, were relics of my diligent days—notes and essays from my classical literature classes.

It was packed with my painstaking reports and classical literature materials.

Among those materials were, of course, Chinese poems from later periods.

For instance, the works of Gong Zizhen, a master from a little later than this era.

That’s right.

That poignant poem about protecting the bud of a flower, so it may bloom again even if it falls.

It was around then that Kim Jo-sun reported he’d translate  into literary Chinese.

And so, the Northern Prince’s poem vowing to risk his life to protect Lady Ami could appear in .

But who could have guessed that would draw the aggro of that art-destroying madman?

The calligraphy, sure—I did write that. But this part is so unfair. Boohoo.

Sigh.

But it’s not like I’m doomed.

As far as I know, and as I’ve heard, Qianlong is already over eighty.

Considering the average lifespan of this era, he could drop dead any day.

So, in the worst case, if I just ‘endure’ long enough, the boss enemy will collapse on his own.

And even if disaster struck, as the saying goes, ‘when the sky falls, there’s always a hole to crawl through.’

I had a few cunning plans brewing in my head, just in case the art catastrophe ever crashed down on me.

Really, I wasn’t like this to begin with.

The adorable Wonja must have grown twisted, surviving the deadly Joseon palace and a nagging old-school father. Sob.

Still.

This imperial aggro wasn’t all bad news.

[…Thanks to His Majesty’s decree, the task you assigned is proceeding much more smoothly. This too may be your grace…]

Thanks to the special privileges Kim Jo-sun earned by wrangling with the aggro, the missions I’d assigned him were progressing remarkably well…

[This Jeong Yak-yong owes Young Miss a debt I could never repay in a lifetime…]

Thanks to that, even Jeong Yak-yong’s affairs seemed to be getting sorted out easily.