Chapter 11 – Aim for the Top (3)
The people around me assumed my restless pacing while waiting for the examination results was nothing more than the natural anxiety of a past examinee.
So when I threw a fit, wandering around the yard under the moonlight and screaming at nothing, they indulged me.
No one cared, except for Eoji, who pressed a hidden rice cake into my hand with a determined expression, asking, "Hungry?"
Even Jangbok's face was painted with an overly practiced smile; whatever I said, he just responded with a mechanical, "Yes, yes." Might as well plug your ears, you fool.
Everyone seemed convinced they understood my worry. The truth being the exact opposite nearly drove me insane.
Fortunately, the results were announced shortly afterward.
If I imagined the notice being delivered to my home, that was absurd. Who would dare sit at home and receive such an honor?
Of course, I had to go.
Curse the royalist scoundrels. Ah, let them fail—after I become Yeonguijeong.
The ceremonial procedures were much the same as during the examination.
The only difference this time was that, being a pure award ceremony, they had a "rehearsal" beforehand.
Well, naturally. No one wants a candidate to burst into tears before the king, or for someone to cheer loudly at winning top honors—chaos like that would be unacceptable.
Did anyone in Joseon behave that way? Emotions are hardly controllable. There was even Shin Sook-ju, drunk, who attempted a joint lock on the king.
For reference, that king had a habit of smashing someone's head with a mace if displeased. Ah, don't confuse him with Taejong; many kings had such tendencies.
Either way, utmost care was necessary at royal events.
So, before the king appeared, we first received our ranks from the officials of the Ministry of Personnel.
The top position was obvious. It had to go to the child of a high-ranking official, unless they were a powerful partisan. What mattered was whether I could place within the first three.
I imagined the best-case scenario my status allowed: becoming the third-ranked, a Tamwhalang (探花郎).
Tamwhalang literally means "one who seeks flowers." No hidden meaning—it's the person who delivers the king's bestowed flowers to the top examinees.
A welcome role. A misstep before such distinguished figures would be unfortunate.
Ugh, even this is stressful. At least there's a rehearsal.
Then, I heard a commotion.
"Son of Kim Yong-gyeom, deputy official of the First Ministry, Kim Unhaeng! First place in the civil service examination (Jangwon). When the singing officer calls during the ceremony, rise!"
Silence followed.
"Kim Unhaeng! Step forward and pay close attention to the proceedings!"
What? Why didn't anyone respond? Didn't they know leaving a three-second pause on the radio counts as a broadcast accident? If this were live, heads might literally have rolled.
Hurry up. They said I was the top. I don't care who that brat is.
Suddenly, a sharp poke in my side startled me.
Someone whispered, low and forceful:
"Why do you hesitate to step forward? Are you fainting in surprise?"
I pointed at my own face, bewildered. He returned a look that said, Are you crazy?
Everyone has experienced this: a moment when your brain hasn't processed something you heard a few seconds earlier, but somehow understands it afterward.
That was what had happened to me.
And the next moment, I nearly fainted.
After being scolded like a fool for underestimating the court, what happened next is a blur.
It was only when the live ceremony began that I realized I hadn't made a single mistake, thankfully.
Mistakes were unlikely anyway. In this award ceremony—the Bangbangui—there is no moment where the king directly bestows anything while exclaiming the top examinee's greatness.
You just bow, receive your award, bow again, and leave. That's it.
Music played between the steps, but with no modern equipment and poor acoustics, it sounded faint to my ears.
Yeongjo and Crown Prince Sado? I didn't see their faces. Closer than before, but I couldn't look up.
That was a disappointment. I wanted to see the king and crown prince up close, maybe exchange a few words.
My answers weren't worthy of first place. Clearly, some political intention was at play.
But it didn't matter.
What does the king think of me? What is the crown prince really thinking?
There was no way to know. The subtle glances of hint and encouragement were meaningless.
If anyone spoke, it would be the final ceremony when the ceremonial officer addressed the king on behalf of the examinees. Even then, it was not a statement of gratitude, just congratulating the king for selecting capable talent.
Afterward, I finally got to experience what it meant to be a top examinee.
The state gifted me a horse. Of course, I also received the official flowers and certificate of passing.
Wow, so this is what it's like to parade through the town with flowers in my hair.
I hesitated to dress up, but Jangbok was already outside Changdeok Palace, ready to accompany me.
And then, finally, the status window appeared.
[Additional Selection Objective: Passed the Examination in the First Rank (Achieved)]
[Reward: 40 Mage Coins for achieving additional objective (Balance: 70)]
Hmm. Whether during the Chundang Daeshi or now, Bangbang appears to be the verification point.
Coins steadily accumulate. First rank and top honors—what else?
As if reading my thoughts, another message appeared:
['Top Examinee' Special Reward ('Prescience'): Hidden bonus objectives will now be visible.]
Yes! This is what I wanted!
To accomplish objectives efficiently, I needed to accumulate coins.
To earn coins, I had to complete bonus objectives.
To do that, I first needed to know what the objectives were.
In this merciless game, information was everything.
Surely, after all this effort, there were still elements I hadn't grasped.
Coins suggested one thing first: shop content. Not yet unlocked, but it would come. Perhaps a coin threshold was required.
The status window continued:
[Reputation greatly increases from being Top Examinee.]
[The following figures are now paying attention to you: Left Chamchan Won Gyeong-ha, Daesaheon Lee Jong-baek, Confucian scholar Hong Dae-yong … (more)]
More? That many?
I realized the status window was touch-enabled.
Touching the names revealed all were famous high officials. Among them, I only knew Hong Dae-yong from the future.
Hong Dae-yong, a contemporary of mine, wasn't yet a famous scientist. He was a student of my clan's elder Kim Won-haeng.
The more I learned, the more I saw how tightly Joseon scholars were entangled through academic, regional, and familial networks. Few were truly unknown.
Similarly, the number of those who disliked me had multiplied.
Mostly the Hong Bong-han faction, Soron, and Nam-in, but unexpectedly, even within Noron allies, there were many.
Hmm. This needs verifying.
In politics, the key is not having many friends, but having no enemies.
Could it be jealousy over my top rank?
The scene in Jangdong felt like a festival after defeating a demon, with villagers celebrating three days later.
I was congratulated by so many people, it was almost overwhelming.
Even my father, barely keeping his composure, was thrilled; my mother wept. I had too many greetings to return to ponder the status window.
Among the well-wishers was, of course, my young friend Park Ji-won.
After delivering his congratulations, he quietly tugged at my sleeve:
"By the way, the one who selected your exam paper this time was His Highness the Crown Prince."
I snapped to attention.
"What?"
"I hear there's quite an uproar in court. Your social rank isn't high, and your literary skills aren't remarkable—not my words, but the ministers'. They were adamant that you couldn't possibly top the exam. Particularly, Hong Bong-han even petitioned for an investigation, claiming his seal matched your answers."
I flinched. This country, though seeming loose, was far from lax.
"And?"
"The king said, 'Pushing and stumbling during examinations has happened since olden times. A seasoned official admonishing a young man is inappropriate.' Furthermore, since the Crown Prince selected Kim Unhaeng as the top candidate, His Majesty approved it, seeing the logic in it."
Chills ran down my spine.
Amid all this noise, I could hear the swallow of my own saliva.
Why?
I understood the Crown Prince was paying attention via the status window—but how could Yeongjo support me?
My family was Noron, but others were far more influential.
To oppose powerful officials, especially the partisan Hong Bong-han, and have the king defend me simply because the Crown Prince chose me?
Their relationship wasn't close—finding a pair more hostile would be difficult. At best, a father and his rebellious son, like Lü Bu?
Objectively, Yeongjo wouldn't go out of his way for me.
I held no real influence in court and no prospects.
Top Examinees? Jeong Mong-ju, Seong Sam-mun, Heo Gyun, Yi I-cheom—all were top examinees. Even in the modern era, Kim Ok-gyun.
Notice a pattern? They all had brilliant yet short-lived careers.
By contrast, Yi Hwang, Ryu Seong-ryong, Hwang Hee—all renowned later—barely ranked high.
Especially Ryu Seong-ryong, though he passed the military exam, became the youngest Grand Scholar. Rank didn't guarantee success.
Wait.
I realized that even my perceived lack of value could be an advantage.
Stocks are bought at their lowest. If the king raised me regardless of talent, creating enemies along the way isn't bad—it ensures loyalty.
Hence, traditional rulers favor officials like partisans or eunuchs, hated by many.
In this setup, those opposing me would resent me, not the king—Hong Bong-han's faction included.
Yeongjo, feigning indifference, subtly nurtured the Andong Kim clan I represented. This avoided forming a concentrated power base and dispersed rival factions.
It was strategic genius.
No way… this bastard…
Petty yet brilliant. Yeongjo had deliberately let the Crown Prince make the choice, likely hinting at my exam paper.
If the king had chosen, ministers could argue. But with the Crown Prince's decision approved, resistance would falter.
Power and psychology are hilarious. Ministers would think: Let the Crown Prince have his say. It's just an exam.
Even I had to admire the cunning.
And now, I'm inevitably entangled with Crown Prince Sado.
For Yeongjo, a mere side effect. For me, a serious problem.
Quantum entanglement, anyone? Simply put, measuring one of two linked states instantaneously determines the other.
I thought of this in light of Yeongjo, the scientific ruler.
Suppose he ran the Schrödinger's Sado Prince experiment, superposing his son's life and death. When the wave function collapses, my entangled state collapses simultaneously.
Alive, I live with him; dead, I die with him. We might as well swear brotherhood beneath a blossoming peach tree.
Park Ji-won, concerned, asked:
"Brother, why are you sweating so?"
"Uh, what?"
He grasped my sleeve knowingly.
"No need to worry. Hong Bong-han has nothing to fear. Traditionally, a wise king avoids getting close to partisans. Your success simply underlines His Majesty's clever decision. In a sense, you've put that man in his place. Ha!"
I abandoned my attempt to explain—what was I saying to a twelve-year-old?
Moreover, much of my speculation concerned the royal family—it would be unwise to let it reach Park Pil-gyun, his grandfather, a minister of rites.
And I didn't want to stir the pot. Nothing urgent had happened.
The temporary banquet hall, spanning my home and next door, overflowed with food fit for dozens.
I couldn't just attend to Park Ji-won. Countless people arrived, acting as lifelong friends across generations.
My father was already well past tipsy. My top-ranking son had risen four steps in one go to Jeong 6th Rank. Though currently dismissed, he was expecting to be called by the king soon. Tomorrow, my elder brother would come to celebrate.
I sighed with a laugh.
Today, I would not complain about Joseon's rough cuisine.
I told myself: Uneasy as it is, let it go. I've succeeded here, under harder conditions, where I had never before in Korea.
Seunggyeongdo was a game to enjoy the process. Worst-case scenarios rarely occurred as I imagined. If needed, I could remain in public longer—though not leave office entirely.
I resolved not to yield to those 'company' types, who would gleefully see me fall. I drank in genuine joy.
But reality soon intruded. Damn it.
No money at home…?
Father held office, but regular salary was almost nonexistent.
High-ranking officials relied on gifts to maintain households. Who would gift a low-ranking official like my father?
We weren't direct descendants of Kim Chang-jip's line. Any inheritance was negligible—and already gone.
No, worse. There was debt.
From payments to Go Bong-hwan, to supporting Eoji, and the expenses of the banquet—my top rank made modest celebration impossible.
Was this banquet necessary?
I shook my head at my own foolishness.
It was necessary. There was no choice. This was Joseon. In past exams, if father and son passed simultaneously, it was considered moral decay. Achieving success without giving back to the community wasn't mere pettiness—it threatened survival.
In premodern society, severed relationships weren't mere loneliness—they were life or death.
Various reasons existed, but mainly because public service as a concept didn't exist.
To survive, one relied on friends, neighbors, relatives. Not emergencies—just life itself.
Crossed relations meant biological death.
Hence, except for a few extraordinary figures, people had to be diligent in giving and acknowledging.
If my predictions were correct, navigating court would be harsh. The banquet was non-negotiable.
Maybe I should've negotiated with Go Bong-hwan a bit more.
The difference in mindset while going to and returning from the bathroom? Apparently so. But money already given was gone.
Joseon debt didn't register as a mere loan.
Government loans charged 20% annual interest; private loans 50% per year; typically doubled annually. Compared to Joseon loan sharks, the Seoul Tower of Despair was almost charitable.
Even if there were tanks to buy with a credit card, this country legally protects debt collection. Nonpayment dictated how many blows to deliver. Nobles and commoners alike treated finance as a numbers game.
Damn, where was the "second son of a chaebol" skill?
While pondering, a sudden realization struck me.
Wait, why can't I do what Go Bong-hwan did?
Of course, I wasn't planning to chase someone else's exam.
A current official making a scene was dangerous. No time for that.
I grabbed a brush and notebook.
Time to earn money, like a true scholar.