In the year 1623, the Year of Gye-hae, Joseon was awash in the tumultuous aftermath of the Restoration.

While the Prince of the Continental Covenant—who possessed a suspiciously intimate knowledge of Joseon’s rites and culinary customs—was busy upending the gastronomic world by spearheading kitchen operations, he was far from the only source of excitement. In the heart of the capital, the commoners’ days were filled with the grisly but satisfying spectacle of daily execution ceremonies for the rebels. Simultaneously, a massive redistribution of the traitors’ seized assets took place; numerous scholars who had “won” the lottery for Hanyang’s prime real estate filled the air with joyous shouts. With both the high-born and the low-born shouting “Long live the King” in unison, the nation finally seemed to have found peace.

Yet, the relentless momentum of Yi Hon—the people-loving monarch who took such meticulous care of his subjects—did not stop there.

“Having erected several majestic palaces, including Ingyeonggung, the people at every level have finally realized the greatness of their sovereign,” the King declared during an audience. “However, it is not my intent for the commoners to suffer under the weight of forced labor. Therefore, distribute the cotton we received as tribute to those performing labor so they may sustain their livelihoods.”

It was a revolutionary move: the implementation of “paid labor” for the citizenry, a concept unprecedented in the nation’s history. The staggering quantity of cotton bestowed by the Continental Covenant rivaled Joseon’s entire annual budget. By distributing this wealth to the people, Yi Hon was hailed once again as a sage.

Even after such largesse, the Joseon government remained wealthier than at any point in its history. As they distributed the new flintlock muskets provided by the Covenant, the musketeers of Joseon—who had melted away like sugar during the Battle of Sarhu—began to rematerialize. When luxuries such as pepper and sugar were scattered throughout the land, a sudden and fervent loyalty toward the “fratricidal son of a bitch” began to sprout in the hearts of the literati.

Yi Hon felt as if he had activated an infinite-wealth cheat code. Seeing the majority of the problems that had long plagued him vanish so easily, he concluded that there was truly nothing money could not solve. Likewise, the scholars of the Great Northerners faction, who had received immense gifts of luxuries along with the estates and farmlands of the rebels, reached the peak of their influence. They felt as though they were finally being rewarded for their years of hardship. King Seonjo, watching from the heavens as those he despised flourished, was surely weeping tears of blood. As the lethal traps Seonjo had left to ruin his son were dismantled one by one, both the King and the Great Northerners finally breathed a sigh of relief.

***

Lee Yi-cheom finished his meal by taking a bite of the spicy napa cabbage Kimchi sent as a gift from the Prince of the Continental Covenant and ordered the table cleared. The sharp, pungent heat set his nerves on edge, putting him in the perfect state of mind to focus on state affairs. When a table of drinks was brought in, he poured a cup for the elderly scholar sitting across from him.

“Now that the pack of wildcats has been purged and the nation’s fortune is renewed daily, it is all thanks to the righteousness established by virtuous scholars like yourself, Your Excellency.”

“Do not call me ‘Your Excellency,’ Deuk-yeo,” the old man replied in a stiff, uncompromising tone. He stroked his beard and let out a heavy sigh, his eyes falling on Lee Yi-cheom’s left hand, which still trembled from the lingering effects of torture. “I am but a sinful scholar who did nothing until the nation was engulfed in turmoil.”

“You once sat in the seat of the Chief State Councilor and led the civil and military officials,” Lee Yi-cheom countered smoothly. “How could I not address you as such?”

“No,” Jeong In-hong, the venerable elder of the Great Northerners, shook his head. “Since there are so few scholars in this land who truly understand Orthodox Learning, is it not the fault of old ministers like me for being negligent in teaching our juniors?”

Lee Yi-cheom scrutinized the hidden meaning behind those words. Currently, the court was occupied solely by the Great Northerners and their collaborators. Jeong In-hong was the spiritual pillar of the faction and the direct successor to the academic lineage of Jo Sik. He had come to the home of Lee Yi-cheom, the man who had regained the King’s favor and maintained his position as the political leader of the Great Northerners. In this room, the spiritual foundation and the political head of Joseon’s scholars had met.

“Indeed… we must continue the education of the next generation,” Jeong In-hong said.

The reason for his visit was clear.

“Yes,” Lee Yi-cheom replied without hesitation, forgoing any circuitous talk. “Until now, we were in no position to focus on our juniors.”

Jeong In-hong offered a bitter smile and nodded. Yi Hon and the Great Northerners had moved as one to kill the King’s elder brother, his younger brother, and to imprison his stepmother. The problem, however, was that Joseon was a nation of Neo-Confucian morality, founded upon the pillars of loyalty and filial piety.

Deposing the Mother.

Those two words were the fatal weakness of the Great Northerners, who had seized power in a country where morality was everything. Filial piety was not just a word in the classics; it was the cornerstone of the state. By advocating for the deposition of the King’s adoptive mother, the Great Northerners had essentially forfeited their legitimacy to lead the nation. Having discarded filial piety, only loyalty remained.

For the Great Northerners to maintain their hold on power, they had to cling to “loyalty toward the sovereign” as their sole justification. Naturally, this “loyalty” also included fealty toward the Ming Emperor. Consequently, whenever Yi Hon tried to balance his foreign policy with the Jurchens of Later Jin, the Great Northerners had reacted with frothing rage, essentially screaming: ‘Are you trying to turn us into bastards with no parents and no King? If we fall, you fall with us!’

But that was no longer the case. The fear of being impeached for disloyalty toward the Ming Emperor had vanished—those who would have impeached them had already been “disassembled” and displayed on the city gates. Now, they were free to seek practical benefits in alignment with Yi Hon’s foreign policy. Instead of brandishing morality to defend themselves against other factions, they had gained the luxury of bending morality for the sake of pragmatism.

Having confirmed this consensus among both the elders and the younger members of the faction, Lee Yi-cheom bolted to the King to report his findings. As the King and Lee Yi-cheom locked eyes, their thoughts resonated in perfect harmony.

“The Jurchens of Later Jin will one day strike at our court,” the King stated.

“That is indeed the case, Your Majesty.”

One day, the Jurchens would come for Joseon. The Ming Dynasty was shaking at its foundation, while the Jurchens had established the state of Jin and were rising in power. Ming intended to throw Joseon before the Jurchens as a shield to buy time; the Jurchens intended to crush Joseon from the rear to secure their future. Joseon stood caught in the middle.

Even if Yi Hon and the Great Northerners employed impossible diplomatic feats to persuade Ming and appease Jin, it was ultimately only a way to buy time. Disaster was inevitable.

And toward that inevitable destiny…

“However,” Lee Yi-cheom continued, “if we import the muskets of the Continental Covenant to train our elite troops, and if we purchase sulfur and saltpeter to manufacture gunpowder, how could those barbarians not flee in terror at the majesty of our cannons?”

“Your strategy is sound.”

The Continental Covenant had entered the fray. They were capable of supplying Joseon with a sufficient quantity of strategic materials—a fact already proven by their recent gifts. Yi Hon would abandon his neutral diplomacy, for it was merely a temporary delay.

“Oitotan mentioned needing silk thread to sell in Japan,” the King noted. “This is also a point worth considering.”

They would import weapons from the Covenant to raise an army to guard against the Jurchens. In exchange for guarding the border, they would demand expanded trade from Ming and import massive quantities of silk thread. They would then use that silk to import more weapons from the Covenant, further strengthening their defense against the Jurchens. They would expand trade and use the profits to protect the nation. The Great Northerners would gain the reputation of having maintained their loyalty to Ming, while Yi Hon would wash away the infamy of having been lukewarm toward the Emperor.

Politically, diplomatically, and strategically—it was a perfect solution.

While Joseon’s northern policy and the geopolitical landscape of East Asia were shifting, the man who had started it all—Nemo, also known as Kim Lee-sang, the Prince of the Continental Covenant—had…

“Damn, this Kimchi turned out too well…!”

…not a single thought in his head, remarkably enough.

***

In truth, Nemo had nothing more to think about. He had achieved everything he set out to do: secured a gateway for trade with Great Ming and established a solid relationship with Joseon. But most importantly…

White rice.

Completely satisfied, Nemo was spending his time in Joseon leisurely enjoying a variety of delicacies. It was a vacation the likes of which he hadn’t tasted in a long time.

“Your Majesty,” Oitotan said during one of their many meetings, “we wish to expand the estate where we are staying.”

“Chief State Councilor,” he added later, “is there nothing else in Joseon worth buying?”

Consequently, all the tedious administrative work fell to Oitotan. He handled the negotiations regarding the Covenant navy’s activities in Joseon, the groundwork for future trade, and the logistical arrangements to ensure Nemo and his party could maintain their standard of living. Though he was incredibly busy, Oitotan didn’t complain.

Lord Nemo has granted me full discretionary power over Asian diplomacy, he thought proudly. He is intentionally acting like a loafer to reduce the pressure on me. (He was wrong.) Therefore, I must achieve the maximum possible results to meet his expectations.

“Son, look,” Oitotan said to Philip during a break. “How does that nobleman’s expression look to you?”

“…He looks slightly angry because he keeps being ignored,” Philip replied, “but it seems he’s barely holding it back since you’re an envoy from a foreign land.”

“Correct. His pride is wounded because I keep subtly implying he’s poor. In that state, a man loses his reason and becomes emotionally swayed by his opponent. That is the perfect time to strike a deal. Of course, if you push him just a little bit more, he’ll explode, and the negotiations will fall through, so be careful.”

“Excuse me,” the nobleman interrupted, glaring at them. “What on earth are you two saying right in front of me?”

“Haha… my apologies. Well then, let us decide on the price of the marten furs.”

Between educating his son on diplomatic negotiations and trade, Oitotan was leading a very productive life. However, one day, he found himself lost in a deep, brooding concern.

“Hmm…”

“Father, what’s wrong?” Philip asked.

“Philip, come and think about this with me.”

As the Chief of Diplomacy and the Grand Master of the Agricultural Knights of the Continental Covenant, it was a profound worry regarding the nation’s future and its diplomatic relations.

“How can I swindle the East India Company even more?”

…Or perhaps not.

Oitotan wasn’t thinking this way simply because he was a terrible person. The trade agreement between the Continental Covenant and the Dutch East India Company (VOC) was roughly as follows:

• The VOC shall provide all conveniences for the Continental Covenant’s voyages.
• The VOC gains the right to handle the Continental Covenant’s goods in Asia.
• If the Continental Covenant enters a market directly to sell goods, they must sell a portion (30–40%) to the VOC.
• The selling price of the goods shall be decided by mutual agreement.

Naturally, this was an unequal treaty overwhelmingly disadvantageous to the Dutch. Yet, Oitotan still found points that dissatisfied him.

Why should we give away things we can sell ourselves just to benefit others? To the VOC, who was providing every port and supply, such a thought would have been infuriating, but Oitotan didn’t care. The East India Company hadn’t exactly asked the natives for their consent before enslaving them, after all.

Above all, he was about to sell a massive amount of cotton to Joseon, and it felt like a total waste to give the Dutch a cut of the profits. Furthermore, the idea of having to agree on the price of the cotton with the Dutch was repulsive. Oitotan shook his head and pondered for a long time before calling for his son.

“You have more of a talent for money-making than I do.”

To be honest, Philip wanted to point out that it was hard to be less talented than a man who dumped his entire fortune into a single trade the moment a market opened. However, since the results of that recent “gamble” had been legendary, he kept his mouth shut.

Finally, Philip—the son of Oitotan, the “Guardian of the Royal Ancestral Shrine and State Altars”—thought for a moment and spoke.

“Father.”

“Yes?”

“Why are the things we brought to Joseon called ‘goods’?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Joseon’s rites and civilization are comparable to those of the Middle Kingdom,” Philip said, his eyes gleaming. “The Chinese have long called this the ‘Land of Gentlemen’ and ‘Little Ming.’ The fragrant scholarship of a gentleman moves the ordinary people around him. Furthermore, we are of the bloodline of the ‘Guardian of the Royal Ancestral Shrine and State Altars.'”

“Go on.”

“Are those not… ‘tribute’?”

Ah.

Oitotan immediately rewrote the ledger. Now, there were no “goods” being sold to Joseon. How could a gentleman like Oitotan speak of such base commerce? The list of goods to be shared with the Dutch evaporated in an instant.

Truly, a tiger father does not sire a dog of a son.