Chapter 198

Born into the prestigious Haenam Yun clan, Yun Seondo feared nothing in this world. With a great-grandfather who had studied under the legendary Jo Gwang-jo and a grandfather who stood as a colossus of the Sarim faction, a certain fearless arrogance was practically his birthright. So, when Lee Yi-cheom started making things fucking irritating for him, Yun decided to take a shot at the man. He had assumed he would be fine.

He wasn’t.

However, Lee Yi-cheom proved to be a “Great Man,” much as the public perceived him, and he refrained from casually executing a scion of such a prominent family. Instead, he opted to inject some manners into the young man through a harsh stint of exile. Over the course of eight years, spent shuttling between the northernmost and southernmost reaches of the peninsula, that fiery temperament was thoroughly “cured.”

“To—to speak of Heaven and Hell is nothing but the delusional prattle of heretics!”

Yet, as he found himself starring in a bizarre drama of confinement and brainwashing, Yun felt his old temper beginning to flare up for the first time in years.

“When the ancients spoke of serving the Lord of Heaven, they did not mean there was an actual judge residing in the sky! Furthermore, how could it possibly make sense for the Lord to descend in human form and die in our stead?”

“Exactly! And the idea of a Father and Son being one and the same! This is the talk of those who know no father and no King!”

The scholars, including Yun Seondo, were aghast. To them, this was not “True Learning”; it was a superstition no different from the White Lotus Sect or the most degenerate forms of Buddhism. Spreading such beliefs would not only block their path to officialdom—it would likely sever their very windpipes. They began to vociferously refute the words spilling from Oitotan’s mouth, both out of academic integrity and the desperate political need to prove their “innocence” so they might survive another day.

“Everyone… really… think that?” Oitotan asked, his voice low.

“Of course! No scholar who has mastered Orthodox Learning could ever revere such theories! This destruction of human relations is far worse than even the heresies of Yang and Mo—”

Thud!

“This is list,” Oitotan interrupted, slamming a document onto the table. “The list where you wrote your names, saying you believe our teachings.”

“…”

“If you keep talking,” Oitotan continued with a sinister glint in his eye, “I give this to King. I tell him this is the list of people who must be killed.”

The room went silent.

Upon further reflection, the scholars realized that the more they pondered these words, the more beautiful and profound they seemed. It was almost hard to believe such wisdom came from a barbarian. The Ten Commandments, in particular, seemed perfectly suited for honoring Heaven, cultivating one’s character, and bringing peace to the world.

Yun Seondo nodded, convinced with lightning speed. If his years of exile had taught him anything, it was the importance of knowing when to bend. He and his comrades, their minds suddenly becoming “flexible,” embraced the mysteries of Catholicism.

“Wait, isn’t the talk of Paradise and Hell derived from Buddhism? Those who speak of eternal bliss have always been the leaders of those who delude the masses.”

“Hahaha,” Oitotan chuckled. “Read it again. And remember… the list…”

“Ah! To have the Lord with us is bliss and Heaven itself! To be without Him is Hell! A realization has struck this foolish body like a bolt of lightning!”

For weeks, the scholars repeated this cycle—pointing out flaws in Christian doctrine only to refute them themselves in a desperate struggle for survival.

“Now, today we shall hold a poetry contest,” Oitotan announced. “The topic is why Catholicism is essential for maintaining the True Way.”

“…”

“The name of the winner might find its way to the King’s ear…”

“Ooooh!”

By the end of the month, they had all become staunch believers, diving headlong into the teachings of the Holy Church and concepts like “justification by faith.” First came the fear of death, then the desire for office, and finally, a slow, creeping brainwashing that made them believe they had accepted these teachings of their own free will.

In Yun Seondo’s case, he wasn’t particularly desperate for power. Even after the Restoration, he had refused several recommendations for office out of hatred for the Westerners who had seized control. But the situation was different now. This was a matter of life or death.

“Aaaaagh! I cannot endure this! How can you preach such things to a scholar?”

Yun Seondo, never one to hold his tongue, exploded in rage, arguing against Oitotan’s logic. “This is not the Way of the sages! This is a malady that uses the promise of fortune and the threat of calamity to blackmail the people! When the Book of Changes speaks of ‘offering to the High Heavens’ and the Classic of Poetry mentions ‘serving the Lord on High,’ how can you claim they refer to your Lord of Heaven?”

Oitotan remained silent for a moment before speaking. “‘Seeing that Lee Yi-cheom is endangering the state, yet failing to speak out with righteous words and risk one’s life to contest him…'”

Yun Seondo froze. He knew those words better than anyone; he had never forgotten a single syllable of the petition that had first marked him as a “silver-tongued devil.”

“What makes no sense,” Oitotan grunted, “is you. Writing such a petition… and still breathing.”

“…”

“Yun Seondo, was it? Lee Yi-cheom… he would be very happy… to hear of this.”

Had the Injo Restoration succeeded, those words would have been remembered as the “petition of a loyal scholar” that restored his family’s honor. But now, that hope was dead. Yun Seondo was destined to be remembered as nothing more than a meddling scholar who had wagged his tongue out of jealousy for a loyal subject.

“…Upon further reflection, it seems I am too foolish to fully grasp the ancient scriptures,” Yun said, his mind cooling instantly at the thought of his mortality. “Please… enlighten me once more.”

The choice was clear: embrace Oitotan’s teachings to win the King’s favor and return to the path of officialdom, or meet a gruesome end and watch his family fall. Choosing death felt like a mistake. Didn’t the Bible say “Thou shalt not kill”? If he committed suicide through his own stubbornness, wouldn’t that be a sin?

…Regardless.

“Proverbs 15, verse 29,” Oitotan prompted.

“‘The Lord is far from the wicked, but He hears the prayer of the righteous’?”

“Congratulations, Peter Yun. You have learned it all.”

“T-t-thank you! I offer all this glory to the Lord!”

And so, after a long ordeal, “Peter” Yun Seondo became a staunch member of the Unnamed Church. Having completed his training, he knelt before the cross and wept. Soon after, news arrived that he had been recommended for a post in the court.

Ah! It had taken a long time for him to grasp the meaning of sacrifice hidden within that crucifix. What a cruel and futile misunderstanding! To have stubbornly lived a life of exile, wandering outside the Lord’s loving embrace!

But everything was fine now.

He had finally triumphed in his long struggle.

He loved Jesus Christ.

***

“Lord Oitotan, is that the truth? Did they truly utter such arrogant and presumptuous words?”

“I heard it… with my own ears,” Oitotan replied. “Dutchmen are liars, but this is certain.”

“…”

“In Japan… they said Joseon was their vassal.”

The Joseon court was well aware of the Japanese tendency for bluster. In the original timeline, when Hendrik Hamel was shipwrecked, the Japanese had even claimed to the Joseon people that “the Netherlands is our dependency.” It was easy to guess what they might be saying about Joseon to outsiders.

But that was just a guess. One could dismiss it as the Japanese playing their usual games of declaring themselves emperors and claiming everyone else as vassals. After all, Joseon said plenty of things for internal consumption as well.

“Have we not just heard news that the Great Lord of Japan has changed?”

“That is true. Why don’t we send a diplomatic mission as they requested and lodge a formal protest regarding this matter?”

But that was back when it was just an “educated guess.” Now that the “Guardian of the Royal Ancestral Shrine,” Oitotan, had arrived and confirmed it as a fact—announcing it right in front of the King—failing to respond would mean a catastrophic loss of face. Since a new Shogun had ascended, they had to send a Tongsinsa mission anyway. They could just lodge the protest then.

Looking at it that way, it seemed like a good opportunity to gain a diplomatic edge. They had no idea that Oitotan’s “hidden agenda” included that very suggestion to send the mission. Even without that, they had to consult Oitotan or Nemo for information, as the two had recently traveled to Japan.

“Ah, speaking of which,” Oitotan said, “there is something to know about Japan.”

“What is it?”

“Some monks… followers of our sages… caused trouble in Japan. They were all expelled.”

“Hmm… monks. It seems there are those who spread strange laws in that land as well.”

“Yes. But the people under them… they are dying. It is very sad. Please… say a word for them.”

“Very well.”

“And can we send our scholars along? To help them? To educate the ones who remain?”

“…I shall speak with His Majesty.”

There was no reason to refuse. It wasn’t a losing deal for Joseon, and given the massive political and economic debt they owed the Covenant, it was the least they could do. The fact that Oitotan called the Catholic missionaries “monks” while calling his own “scholars” was irrelevant to the Joseon people.

This was the early seventeenth century. The situation was vastly different from the nineteenth century, when followers of “Western Learning” would be accused of inviting foreign invasion. Right now, those who believed in Yaso were the heroes who had saved the nation.

“We shall appoint Oh Yung-gyeom as the Chief Envoy, and for the Deputy Envoy…”

When it came time to form the mission, the members of the Great Northerners—the core of the government—were hesitant to go. It meant a long voyage across the sea. Thus, the roles were handed off to the Southerners and Westerners who had been mercifully kept alive for just such a purpose. Yun Seondo was chosen as the Jesulgwan (Literary Official) for his exceptional literary skill.

Naturally, every one of them was a man who had “fallen” into the mysteries of Catholicism.

“Ah! I hear those Japanese treat those who revere the Lord as enemies and persecute them!”

“They force Christians to trample upon the crucifix to spare their lives!”

“That is not all! I heard they destroy chapels and slaughter people like dogs!”

It was hard to believe these were the same men who, just a short time ago, had recoiled at the mere mention of the “Jesus Sect.” Their brainwashing was magnificent.

“Let us go,” Peter Yun Seondo said, leading the way. “Since they say every follower of Catholicism shall be beheaded, is it not the duty of a man to go and risk his life for the Gospel?”

“Truly, a scion of a noble house knows the True Way. I shall put my trust in you.”

***

The post of Jesulgwan was, literally, an official whose duty was to compose and write. The reason for such a specialized post was clear.

“Look! It’s the mission from Joseon!”

The Japanese found it difficult to import Chinese culture and scholarship directly. In this corner of the world, many wished to be seen as men of civilization, making the poems and calligraphy of Joseon scholars highly valuable. Thus, the Jesulgwan was essentially a human photocopier, tasked with producing writing for every Japanese person who approached them.

That person was Yun Seondo.

Despite his grueling daily schedule, his efforts were not without fruit.

“Are you a brother from Joseon?” a man whispered. “When did the Gospel spread to your land?”

“Recently,” Yun Seondo replied, “we found the path to salvation under the Lord’s guidance.”

Yun was able to contact the underground Christians in Japan with ease. Since the Shogunate’s persecution had not yet reached its peak, he was able to gain access by producing writings for several influential figures.

“There is a priest here as well.”

“…Do you honor the Holy Mother and follow the liturgical calendar?”

“Pardon? Of course. How could one not honor the Queen of Heaven?”

“…”

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” the man said, his face brightening as he rushed out of the room. “I shall bring the villagers.”

He soon returned with a group of believers who had been hiding nearby. Before Yun could even process their numbers, they swarmed him, desperate to meet the “priest.”

“Please, speak to the high officials of the Shogunate! We wish to prove that we are good and honest people!”

Good and honest? Yun thought. You burned down temples and shrines while acting as foreign spies—persecution seems fair enough. But the “priest” said nothing.

He was indeed a priest who believed in Catholic doctrine. He honored the Virgin Mary, followed the calendar, and remained celibate. However, he was a member of the Unnamed Church.

“Now, you shall be able to witness the Mass and worship the Lord once more! For Joseon shall negotiate on our behalf!”

“Ah, so that’s why this mission…!”

“Therefore, conduct yourselves with care. According to the Church’s policy, you no longer need to hesitate to visit temples or shrines. Live among the others without worry.”

The Japanese Christians felt a twinge of unease, but they dismissed it as their imagination. Most of the Jesuit friars had already been expelled. There was no one left to verify whether this strange missionary was Protestant or not.

And so, the Japanese church, planted and nurtured by Saint Francis Xavier, began to be swallowed whole by the Unnamed Church. It was a sight that would have made the Jesuit friars, expelled by the Edo Shogunate, weep tears of blood.