A problem arose as the delegates prolonged their stay in Seoul.
It was the issue of accommodation costs.
The empire operated guest houses for delegates visiting the empire.
While delegates used their own money for banquets they held and diplomatic gatherings at gisaeng houses, all costs for maintaining the guest houses where they stayed were covered by the empire’s budget.
Since this represented the empire’s face to foreign delegates, everything—ingredients, tableware, bedding, and furniture—was of the highest quality.
Moreover, all staff working in the guest houses were ranked officials and properly trained professionals.
Thanks to this, the budget allocated to guest houses was substantial. However, looking at year-end settlements each year, they barely avoided deficits.
This was because quite a few delegates visited the empire for various reasons.
Officials from the Treasury and Foreign Affairs who received the guest houses’ balance sheets each year-end sighed and muttered.
“At least we’re thankful we don’t receive tribute…”
If they had conducted tributary diplomacy like Ming used to do, expenses would have been several times higher.
However, the delegates who visited citing Sejong’s critical condition broke all records.
Both the number of countries that visited the empire and their personnel reached maximum numbers, and their stay duration also set the longest record.
Consequently, the year’s budget allocated to guest houses disappeared in less than three months, forcing the emperor to order the Treasury to establish an emergency budget.
“At least the tribal chiefs from New Frontier and their entourages are using administrative quarters, which is fortunate.”
At Hwangbo In’s complaint after receiving the emperor’s order, Kim Jong-seo shook his head.
“That side has also nearly exhausted its budget. Soon we’ll receive reports full of complaints.”
“Sigh…”
After letting out a long sigh, Hwangbo In clicked his tongue.
“Tsk. We need to prepare for that as well.”
At Hwangbo In’s words, Kim Jong-seo responded with a face full of dissatisfaction.
“All these people, this one and that one, only care about the feast, not the ritual…”
***
About a month after Hyang hurriedly returned to the mainland, tribal chiefs from New Frontier also arrived en masse.
Most of them were those who had formed connections with Sejong during New Frontier’s expansion.
—Those who didn’t enjoy New Frontier Gyeokbang with the Venerable Emperor shouldn’t call themselves chiefs anywhere.
Chiefs with such deep connections to Sejong that this saying circulated immediately boarded ships bound for the mainland upon hearing he was critically ill, packing bundles filled with medicinal materials and talismans.
It wasn’t just the chiefs. Next-generation chief candidates, shamans, and native administrators with high potential for advancement in New Frontier also lined up to board ships heading for the mainland.
Those other than chiefs all had their own purposes.
The next chief candidates aimed to get face-to-face recognition from the emperor while building connections with high-ranking mainland officials who held real power. Shamans came to obtain the latest medical knowledge. Native administrators wanted to learn methods for managing the ever-expanding New Frontier effectively and efficiently while making their presence known to high-ranking mainland officials.
They sought to highlight their enthusiasm and abilities to increase their chances of rising to high administrative positions in New Frontier, even slightly.
Kim Jong-seo grumbled watching the behavior of envoys desperately trying to extract empire secrets including the Challenge Records, and New Frontier natives busily moving for their own advancement.
***
Amid this bustling crowd of people moving to secure their own interests, Sejong’s death was announced.
The mainland and northern territories connected by land received the news immediately through the optical communication network, while regions requiring sea crossings like Jeju Island and Daeseol Island received the news after one to five days.
Government offices and military units that received the death notice immediately posted proclamations announcing Sejong’s death on bulletin boards and changed their clothing.
All officials working in government offices wore white official robes and caps, plain black belts, and plain black leather shoes without patterns.
The imperial army wore dress uniforms instead of combat uniforms and wrapped around their left arms armbands made of hemp cloth inscribed with the words “In Mourning.”
It wasn’t just about changing clothes.
Imperial forces facing Mongols or Oirats in the north immediately sent envoys.
—We hope to avoid any conflicts for the next fifteen days.
The documents the envoys carried contained much longer text, but the above was the summary.
Among the Mongol or Oirat tribal chiefs who received the documents, some provoked the imperial envoys.
“What if we refuse this proposal? This might be a good opportunity for us?”
The provoked imperial envoy didn’t even blink before responding.
“Try facing imperial forces that give their absolute best.”
“…Understood. Honoring the dead is something we also value. We accept the empire’s proposal.”
The tribal chiefs who had provoked immediately had to back down at the imperial envoy’s answer.
***
Upon hearing of Sejong’s death, people immediately flocked to Gyeongbok Palace.
The people gathered in front of Gyeongbok Palace all sat on the ground and began wailing.
“Oh no, Your Majesty~”
“Oh no~ Oh no~”
Those wailing in front of Gyeongbok Palace weren’t only Seoul residents.
Initially, residents from areas near Seoul came, then after some time, people from the southern three provinces and northern territories took the iron horse to gather in front of Gyeongbok Palace to wail.
Those unable to come to Seoul due to circumstances wore mourning clothes made of coarse hemp and sat in front of local government offices to wail.
This wasn’t simply following etiquette. Etiquette contained no norm mandating such behavior when a king died.
This was a heartfelt act by people who loved and respected Sejong.
Wan conveyed this news to Hyang, who was keeping vigil at Sejong’s coffin. After hearing the story, Hyang looked once toward where Sejong lay and smiled sadly.
“Did you endure until autumn for this very reason? Were you worried people might overexert themselves in summer’s heat?”
***
The people’s reaction didn’t end with wailing.
Among those who had retired from military and administrative public service, some began taking their own lives.
—Having served the Venerable Emperor in life, I shall serve him in death.
Those writing such brief final letters and committing ritual suicide soon began increasing in number.
The increase in suicides had three main causes. One was loyalty to Sejong, another was pride, and the last was personal and family honor.
—Someone with lower rank than me, who couldn’t even do their job properly, gets praise for committing ritual suicide? This cannot be!
Eventually, while ‘loyalty’ was the pretext, as suicides motivated by personal desires increased, Wan had to urgently post a proclamation.
—Your loyalty is extremely beautiful, but suicide is regrettable. Therefore, this is forbidden.
This is an imperial command.
Though Wan’s imperial command reduced suicides, they continued occurring.
At this, Hyang stepped forward and posted a proclamation in the name of the Crown Prince.
—The loyalty of wishing to serve the Venerable Emperor even in death is truly beautiful.
However, ending one’s remaining life is truly regrettable.
No one who experienced the Venerable Emperor, including myself, wouldn’t know his character.
Do you think the Venerable Emperor would view favorably those who take their own lives to follow him?
Will you create something that would make the Venerable Emperor click his tongue even in death!
If such is your loyalty, rather engage in voluntary service without rank!
Don’t expect compensation and pass your experience to successors!
With your experience as fertilizer, successors will create an even greater and more beautiful empire!
This is the proper way to express loyalty to the Venerable Emperor!
Former officials who read Hyang’s proclamation, especially those who had worked in central government, nodded.
“The Venerable Emperor would indeed do that. No, he’d do that and more.”
“That tongue-clicking sound… Ugh! Even now I get chills all over…”
Ultimately, after Hyang’s proclamation was posted, no more suicides were reported.
Instead, people began registering their names with the ‘Advisory Council’ that Hyang had established through Wan.
***
The last day of the fifteen-day funeral period.
The funeral bier carrying Sejong’s remains left Sugang Palace and headed for Dongjaegi.
In Dongjaegi—called Dongjak-dong or incorporated into Sadang-dong in the 21st century when Hyang had lived—stood the Imperial National Memorial Cemetery.
At this auspicious site with mountains on three sides centered on Peacock Peak at the foot of Mount Gwanak and the Han River flowing in front, they had created a massive shared cemetery where those who fought and died for the empire, those who died while serving as imperial officials, and emperors and empresses would be buried.
***
When Hyang first submitted the proposal about the memorial cemetery and imperial burial grounds, Sejong’s reaction was cautious.
“Your opinion is good. Since they died serving the country, it’s indeed beautiful for the nation to honor them. However, many will oppose burying kings and queens together with them. They’ll say building separate royal tombs would be better.”
At Sejong’s point, Hyang answered firmly.
“Without people, there are no kings. Having lived with the people, isn’t it natural to be with them in death? Moreover, no matter how much the land belongs to the king, finding auspicious sites for royal tombs and building them troubles the people. I don’t think this is proper.”
“You’re right!”
Thus, the National Memorial Cemetery was born.
***
“Oh no~ Oh no~”
“Oh no~ Oh no~”
As the funeral bier leaving Sugang Palace proceeded along Jongno Street, all the people gathered along the road sat on the ground and wailed.
As the bier gradually moved forward, people rose from their spots and followed behind it.
As the bier crossed the bridge over the Han River toward the National Memorial Cemetery, a massive procession of following people formed a long, long line behind it.
“At-ten-tion!”
The soldiers guarding the entrance to the National Memorial Cemetery all saluted in unison upon seeing the funeral bier.
As the bier passed through the cemetery entrance, people gathered in front of the entrance to wail.
Thus, the funeral of Yi Do, the First Emperor of the Great Han Federal Empire, was conducted.
With the adoption of imperial titles and the abolition of posthumous names and era names under the pretext that imperial protocol couldn’t follow Chinese customs, he became the ‘First Emperor.’
***
After Sejong’s funeral ended, the empire slowly began returning to normal.
Hyang also began preparing to return to New Frontier.
“The problem is this…”
Hyang looked at the letter before him with a tense face.
It was the letter Sejong had left for Hyang alone to read.
“I have no idea what might be written inside…”
Hyang’s worry stemmed from Sejong’s Miscellaneous Thoughts Record.
Sejong, who had used his leisure time for contemplation to create the Miscellaneous Thoughts Record—that fantastic, no, terrifyingly advanced work—had specifically entrusted this letter for Hyang alone.