Chapter 88: Mail and the End of Rest

The next day.

Kim Jo-sun, looking triumphant, came to see me at the palace.

Just by his expression, I could tell his plan had been a success.

“I carried out everything as you instructed, Young Master.”

“And the result?”

“Of course, a huge success!”

He fussed over how happy he was to have proven why I entrusted him with the mission.

Honestly, I never expected things to snowball this much.

Somehow, this matter had escalated all the way to the court through my father, and it had ended up related to the business expansion of the newly-established bank.

Hmm… No, wait.

Trying to introduce a modern system that never existed here before—it was natural that the existing social structure couldn’t handle it.

Come to think of it, every time I wrote a novel, voluntarily or not, Joseon society always changed drastically.

Ever since the past system was reformed through , for example.

So, even though my attempt to introduce just a copyright concept had ballooned into something huge…

Maybe because I’d been through similar experiences, I was able to stay calm and quietly nudge the reforms from the shadows as always.

And there was a reason I sent Kim Jo-sun, a man who could slaughter a cow with a single swing, to the mere founding of the National Publishers’ Association.

“Thanks to Young Master’s plan, Sangpyeongcheong’s Eunhang (Bank) business can now expand nationwide!!”

“Did the merchants agree to cooperate willingly?”

“Of course!! They already saw the need for fast exchange between the newly-established local publishing guild branches, after all!”

“Right. To send new publications to Hanyang for review, or to receive reviewed manuscripts, it’s only natural.”

With the association established, publishers across the country were tied together around Hanyang, and they’d all agreed to share in its benefits.

But to deliver those benefits quickly to the provinces, a system to deliver them had to be established as well.

Until now, publishers had relied on informal messengers or even gone themselves—a primitive method, really…

“But using the old ways would cost quite a bit, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes. Unless it’s official business, I believe the market rate is thirty coins for every hundred li traveled by a messenger.”

That meant, to send someone far away personally, you’d need thirty Sangpyeong Tongbo coins for every 40 kilometers.

For example, sending a person to Jeonju, the city most in contact with Hanyang’s Gyedeok Merchant and decently far away.

The distance to Jeonju is about 560 li—sending one person would cost well over one nyang and five bun.

That much money was about half the monthly salary of a low-level official.

Last time Gyedeok Merchant gathered strong men to destroy the printing shop in Jeonju, it was a lavish expense that made him weep tears of blood.

Well, seeing how obsessed that penny-pincher is with , I managed to squeeze out maybe a quarter-drop of crocodile tears myself, but still.

Now, however, association business meant people had to travel frequently between regions.

Hiring messengers or staff as before?

Does labor fall out of the sky or something?

...Hanyang’s greatest penny-pincher would flatly refuse such an idea, no doubt.

If that happened, the image I wanted—‘publishers and merchants swearing loyalty to the association on their own’—would fall apart.

Let’s be honest: the difference in efficiency between people working of their own will and those forced from above is like heaven and earth.

Just look at Kim Buyong—if you dangle a delicious treat as a reward, she moves at lightning speed compared to usual.

But, even with the meager economics I learned as a humble undergrad…

There was one breakthrough the theory taught for this kind of problem.

That was the concept of ‘economies of scale’.

If demand grows and supply follows, the cost per unit can go down.

“But, that much cost only applies when you’re hiring someone on your own.”

“Exactly. Now, with the explosion of logistics across Joseon, the demand for communication is also surging.”

“And the need for people to travel isn’t limited to publishers.”

“Heh. That’s why merchants and I attended that meeting.”

Kim Jo-sun, unusually cheerful, said he’d finally slept well after a big problem was solved.

Well, given how he always managed to create work for himself…

Having gotten over a big hump, it was understandable that he looked so relieved.

The fact that this matter snowballed so much—

And that Kim Jo-sun, growing as an economic official, had to be caught up in unexpected business—was all due to the surge of economic development.

Now Joseon had a proper central bank, merchants were becoming aware of financial business and creating new demand.

Especially the Sangpyeong Promissory Note—effectively paper money, guaranteed by the state—was incredibly popular with merchants.

Even just the travel expenses for a long journey would easily exceed a hundred coins.

Moreover, carrying nothing but heavy coins for local transactions was impossible due to their weight, so they were already using promissory notes.

I read somewhere that later, tavern alliances would introduce a primitive debit card system: pooling money in one place and settling up later.

With the boom in logistics and demand for promissory notes, merchants were setting up branches in Hanyang or stationing staff there to settle notes.

That meant merchant groups also needed regular communications between Hanyang and the provinces.

The Joseon court did have a courier system, ‘Pabal’, but it was reserved for urgent military matters.

Increasing communication with the provinces would only benefit the government.

And private demand was another factor.

As Kim Jo-sun said, the market rate per 100 li was already set because hiring porters or day laborers for long trips had become common.

The need for inter-regional communication was not just for publishers, who now had to work together as one.

If all the rapidly increasing social and economic demand could be gathered into one…

That would be ‘mail’, and a ‘post office’.

To modern eyes used to the internet and smartphones, mail and post offices seem trivial.

But premodern mail was a major economic outlet, a channel for revitalizing the economy.

And from a ruler’s perspective, it was a superb means of monopolizing communication and information.

In the Yuan interference section of , it was written that the relay station system was one of the Mongol Empire’s keys to success.

It meant that even a vast land could be governed as long as communication was smooth, even then.

Let alone this tiny Korean Peninsula?

Extending the administrative reach from just Hanyang’s vicinity out to the provinces was only natural.

And there would come a time when commoners, not just local officials and aristocrats, could use the mail to reveal all sorts of secrets, like heartfelt letters.

Anyway, things had gotten bigger than expected.

But in every way, this mail system was essential to both the public and private sectors of today’s Joseon.

To be honest, now that demand was exploding, as long as postage fees were reasonable, it probably wouldn’t even run a deficit.

That’s why this matter ended up being passed from Kim Jo-sun to my father.

At first, I only meant to recruit the various merchant guilds as official suppliers and arrange private communication lines for them.

‘Hmm… This could speed up communication with talented officials who had to be sent out as local magistrates, couldn’t it?’

However, according to Kim Jo-sun’s vivid description, King Jeongjo had fixated on an unexpected benefit of the mail system.

‘Those talented officials, forced to serve out in the provinces by custom, have always bothered me!’

“Your Majesty…?”

My father had always grumbled—even in front of his only son—about how much he hated this custom.

It was the unwritten rule that to rise to high office, an official must serve both in the central government and as a provincial magistrate.

So even those whose talents should be kept in the capital had to be sent out eventually.

Even Jeong Yak-yong, who had risen rapidly, was being bombarded with petitions to serve as a local magistrate now.

Well, part of the reason was my father’s tendency to favor his loyalists too much, but still.

Anyway, Jeongjo seemed to want to keep his favorite talented subordinates close in Hanyang for as long as possible.

And the list of those he didn’t want sent away included Kim Jo-sun, of course.

‘If this new system could replace the Pabal and be used easily, even loyalists sent to the provinces could handle state affairs using the power of ‘mail’…’

The rest of the conversation was lost to me, since Kim Jo-sun had turned pale and trembled so much.

But maybe it was because I inherited my father’s blood…

I could easily guess the rest of the story.

Royal favor is never free, Jo-sun.

In any case, Jeongjo seemed determined to introduce a mail system to Joseon.

At first, he planned to set up post offices only in key provincial cities.

But eventually, his goal was to let people send mail from anywhere in the Eight Provinces of Joseon.

“Ah, anyway… the matter got a bit bigger, but at least the operation of the Joseon Publishing Association is no longer a problem, Young Master.”

“Well, it does feel like the tail’s now wagging the dog, haha.”

“Leave the rest to Gye Daebang. As always, that man will handle things well.”

“Still, I shouldn’t have Lady Choi stop keeping an eye on things.”

“Most wise, Young Master. Hehe.”

Thus, my attempt to found a nationwide publishing association and introduce the concept of copyright in Joseon—

Unexpectedly snowballed into the early adoption of a mail system across the country.

Well, thanks to the efforts of Kim Jo-sun, Gye Deok-sang, and myself, the national publishing system was now running smoothly.

And after that, no more of those ‘questionable novels’ ever appeared openly in broad daylight.

* * *

Some time later.

Those who had gathered in Hanyang over the copyright and mail issues finished their business and scattered to their respective regions.

And at that time—

After receiving the report that the group had disbanded, I was sitting in thought in front of two documents…

‘Of course, any clever person would pledge their loyalty. Of course, he still hasn’t guessed the real identity of ‘that person’…’

Im Sang-ok had formally joined my side.

After the meeting, he’d been invited by Kim Jo-sun for a long, secret discussion, and pledged himself to serve me.

In truth, he’d been working under my orders since he started the ginseng business.

One of the documents in front of me was the blood oath that Im Sang-ok had sent through Kim Jo-sun.

Despite being a merchant, his abilities were such that he merited a dedicated section in —I had no doubts about him.

Still, seeing that he’d sent a blood oath seemed a bit excessive—almost worrying.

Anyway, with the newly established mail system, I’d now receive regular reports about events in Pyeongan Province.

It was time to plant a loyal subordinate in that direction.

This, too, was because of the future I’d seen in .

And then.

“Well, that matter can wait a bit. But, hmm…”

My gaze slowly turned to the other document.

It was something I’d pestered my father to lend me for a while.

It was a collection of records from a certain great figure, whom King Jeongjo admired so much he never hesitated to praise.

It was about to be edited and published as a separate book by the Royal Printing Office.

“Since His Majesty unexpectedly approved the mail project so readily, I suppose I should give him a present in return…?”

Just in time, my rest period was about over, and it was almost time to start my next novel.

Since finishing  and using the excuse of facing Emperor Qianlong, my hiatus had been quite long.

Seeing Kim Jo-sun coming and going from Junghuidang with puppy-dog eyes lately, it was clear that even the dogs of Hanyang were starving for new content.

Tsk, at this rate it’ll look like I’m writing a new work to reward Father for his efforts on the mail system!

Truth is, I’d been planning this subject even before Emperor Qianlong showed up in Joseon.

Still—

There was absolutely no reason for me to change my material over something so petty.

Just as I’d brought Im Sang-ok under my wing, and to solve the future problem in Pyeongan Province, I needed to carry this topic through.

I was now beginning what might become my most sensational new work.

Frankly, this subject—

It’s the ultimate cheat key that broke all box office records even in modern times.

Besides, at this point, that great legacy still shone brightly, meaning it could stir the hearts of Joseon people even more.

Just imagining how much more powerful the effect would be made my heart pound.

The narrative I’d mix in was also proven—drawn from the story of the most successful foreign film ever.

And considering the experience and reputation I’d built as a writer in Joseon, failure didn’t even cross my mind.

“All right, let’s write!!”

※ Author’s Note

The cost for sending a person far away was referenced from .