TEDKG 01

Chapter 01

When I opened my eyes, the ceiling was far too low.

A young maid was kneeling beside me, staring straight at me. Her eyes were so round and black that she looked as though she had just witnessed something startling.

Where am I?

I stared blankly at the ceiling.

My last memory was of opening a can of beer in front of a convenience store after working overtime. I could still vividly remember the sharp hiss as the carbonation rose, but when I opened my eyes, I found myself in this room.

Is this a dream?

It was far too vivid to be one.

The smells, the chill in the air, and the sound of the wind—all of it felt real. I slowly wiggled my fingers.

“Young Master, have you awakened?”

The maid spoke cautiously.

Only then did I turn my head.

She looked younger than ten, with her hair neatly braided and her knees folded beneath her. She looked exactly like a maid I might have seen in a historical drama.

A historical drama.

The moment that thought crossed my mind, I abruptly raised my upper body.

My heart sank.

I looked down at my hands. They were absurdly small and chubby, like those of a child. I stretched out my arms. They were nothing like an adult’s. Then I pulled back the blanket and looked down at my legs.

They were ridiculously short and slender.

A child’s legs.

“Young Master? Are you feeling unwell?”

The maid leaned forward in alarm.

I couldn’t answer.

Damn it. This isn’t my body. This isn’t my body at all.

Cold sweat trickled down my spine. My breathing quickened, and my hands began to tremble.

The room seemed to spin around me.

I pressed both hands against the floor and forced myself to steady my breathing.

Hey, calm down. Just calm down first.

Whoosh!

I exhaled slowly, breathed in again, and then exhaled once more.

Gradually, the room began to come into focus.

I slowly raised my head and looked around. There were no electrical outlets or fluorescent lights. Everywhere I looked, I saw nothing but wood, earth, and paper.

A wooden cabinet stood against the wall, with an ink stick and an inkstone arranged neatly on top. Beside them were several scroll-shaped books stacked in orderly piles.

Holy shit. This is Joseon.

As that realization solidified into certainty, my mind went completely blank.

How had I gone from opening a can of beer in front of a convenience store to ending up in the Joseon Dynasty?

If this was a dream, it was far too long. If it was reality, it was absurd beyond belief.

How do I get back? What about my family? My job?

My mother’s face came to mind.

My eyes grew hot.

“Young Master, why are you crying? Are you hurt?”

The maid hurriedly approached me.

I wiped my tears with my sleeve and took a deep breath.

Will crying solve anything? Is crying going to get me home? Seriously.

No.

This wasn’t a problem I could solve by crying. The first thing I needed to do was figure out the situation.

I had to find out whose body I had entered, what year it was, and where I was.

I forcibly swallowed my tears and looked at the maid.

“What’s my name?”

The maid’s eyes widened.

“Young Master, your fever was rising earlier. Could it be that your mind has become unwell?”

“I asked you my name. Hurry up and tell me.”

The maid hesitated for a moment before lowering her head.

“Young Master Yi Jae-myeon. You are the eldest son of His Excellency, Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung.”

Yi Jae-myeon.

The moment I heard that name, I froze.

During the reign of King Cheoljong of Joseon, power was firmly held by the Haedong Kim clan, one of the dominant political families of the era.

Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung had survived for years under their domination by pretending to be an incompetent member of the royal family. In reality, however, he was a man who calculated everything, even carefully managing his gaze so that others would never become wary of him.

He had realized early on that if King Cheoljong died without an heir, Queen Dowager Sinjeong would gain the authority to designate his successor.

Queen Dowager Sinjeong, the mother of King Heonjong, had once served as regent before losing power to the Haedong Kim clan. Her resentment toward the powerful family had become deeply rooted.

Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung intended to exploit that resentment to place his own son on the throne.

But in the original course of history, the son chosen was not the eldest, Yi Jae-myeon.

It was his second son, Yi Myeong-bok.

Yi Myeong-bok would later become King Gojong, the twenty-sixth king of Joseon, while his father, Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung, would become the Heungseon Daewongun and rule as regent for nearly a decade.

In short, I had entered the body of the eldest son—the one his father had not chosen.

“How old am I right now?”

“You are nine years old, Young Master.”

“Where is Father?”

“His Excellency, Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung, is in the sarangchae.”

Nine years old.

I sat there in a daze for a moment.

A thirty-two-year-old office worker had entered the body of a nine-year-old Joseon royal, and I was now in 1856 Joseon, with no family, no friends, no smartphone, and no convenience stores.

Ah, damn it. What the hell am I supposed to do?

A sigh escaped me.

But as the sigh faded, something began to click rapidly into place in my mind.

1856. During King Cheoljong’s reign. The eldest son of Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung. Queen Dowager Sinjeong’s appointment of a successor would come in 1863.

I still have seven years.

I slowly raised my eyes.

Seven years would be enough.

If I properly used the historical knowledge I possessed, turning the tables wasn’t impossible. If King Cheoljong died without an heir, Queen Dowager Sinjeong would hold the authority to personally designate his successor.

I needed to be chosen at that decisive moment.

The direction was clear.

To be used as a pawn against the Haedong Kim clan, I needed to appear intelligent but obedient. I had to act as though I had no ambition for power, while positioning myself to become exactly the kind of candidate Queen Dowager Sinjeong wanted.

I quickly reviewed the relationships among the major figures of late Joseon in my mind.

King Cheoljong was frail and had no heir, so if the throne became vacant, a brutal struggle among the royal relatives was inevitable.

The Haedong Kim clan would try to install a puppet of their own choosing. Queen Dowager Sinjeong, on the other hand, would need to find another blade to prevent that from happening.

The problem was that, in the original course of history, that blade had been my younger brother, Yi Myeong-bok.

If I wanted to beat Yi Myeong-bok, simply being the older brother wouldn’t be enough.

Queen Dowager Sinjeong needed a young king, while Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung needed a son he could easily control.

I had to satisfy both of them, yet somehow claim the crown at the final moment.

In the end, there was only one answer.

I needed to be young but brilliant, brilliant but unthreatening, and the most useful card on the table when the decisive moment arrived.

In simple terms, I had to become a genius who pretended to be a good boy.

I clicked my tongue inwardly.

Who would have thought the experience of constantly watching my superiors while submitting proposals at the office would come in handy here?

When presenting a report, if you looked too competent, people started seeing you as a threat. If you looked too incompetent, you were left out of important work.

In the end, you had to appear competent enough to be useful to your superiors.

The royal court wasn’t so different from the corporate world.

Ha. Great. So this is office politics, Joseon-style.

Strangely enough, that thought made my mind work even faster.

I’ll think about how to get home later. Surviving comes first, you idiot.

I slapped both cheeks hard.

Smack!

My cheeks stung, but the pain helped clear my head a little.

The maid covered her mouth in shock.

“Y-Young Master? Why are you doing that?”

“I’m fine. Bring me a bowl of water.”

“I shall bring it immediately.”

The maid hurriedly fetched some water.

I drank slowly.

As the cold well water slid down my throat, my mind became much clearer.

“I should go see him.”

“Pardon? Whom do you mean, Young Master?”

“Father. His Excellency, Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung.”

The maid’s expression stiffened.

Apparently, the original Yi Jae-myeon wasn’t the sort of child who went to see his father on his own. The maid simply moved her lips, unsure what to say.

I paid her no mind and rose to my feet.

The maid quickly stepped in front of me, straightened the folds of my robe, tightened the ties around my ankles, and placed a bokgeon—a traditional cloth cap—on my head in place of a small gat.

I glanced at the little mirror on the cabinet.

A nine-year-old boy with chubby cheeks and dark, round eyes stood in the reflection.

And inside those eyes was the soul of a thirty-two-year-old office worker.

I chuckled and walked toward the door.

As I headed toward the sarangchae, I glanced around.

The residence was fairly large, and in one corner of the courtyard, a servant was chopping firewood.

Thwack! Thwack!

The sound of the axe rang out at regular intervals.

I had walked straight into a history textbook.

I paused for a moment in front of the sarangchae and mentally reviewed the man known as Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung.

Figuring out how to deal with this man was my first hurdle.

He had survived for years under the political domination of the Haedong Kim clan by pretending to be an incompetent royal. In reality, he was someone who calculated everything, even carefully managing his gaze so that others would never become wary of him.

I couldn’t let him discover my true intentions.

At the same time, I needed to make him recognize that I was a useful card.

Right now, Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung’s plan was to put his second son, Yi Myeong-bok, on the throne.

To change that plan, I needed to plant the conviction in his mind that I was far more useful than Yi Myeong-bok.

There was only one way to do that.

Reveal without revealing.

I needed to make Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung arrive at the conclusion himself that I was someone worth using.

Standing before the door, I spoke clearly.

“Father, it is Jae-myeon. May I come in?”

A brief silence followed.

“Come in.”

Creak!

The old door opened.

Inside the sarangchae sat Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung, who appeared to be in his mid-thirties. He held a brush in his hand and seemed to have been writing a letter.

He set down the brush and slowly raised his head to look at me.

His gaze was sharp.

It was the gaze of a man who intended to miss nothing.

“I heard you were unwell. Why have you come out?”

“I have fully recovered. There is something I wish to say to you, Father.”

Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung’s eyebrows rose ever so slightly.

He seemed to have noticed that the child’s manner of speaking was different from usual.

“You have something to say to me?”

His tone carried a hint of amusement, but his eyes were not smiling.

He was sizing me up.

I sat down neatly and spoke in a clear, measured voice.

“Father, I had a dream while I was suffering from a fever.”

“A dream?”

“Yes. It was a long dream. In it, I saw you taking charge of great affairs of the nation in the future. But in that dream, I was not by your side.”

Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung’s eyes narrowed.

“Young children say such fanciful things.”

“It wasn’t fanciful. In the dream, you certainly accomplished those great things. But I was not by your side.”

The sarangchae fell silent.

Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung stared at me without a word.

His gaze suggested that he doubted whether what I was saying was true, but I did not avert my eyes. I met his gaze directly.

“Did you come to your father just to tell him about a dream?”

“No. I came to tell you that I want to stay by your side.”

“Stay by my side.”

Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung repeated the words quietly.

His eyes seemed to ask whether I understood what I was saying.

“Yes. Whatever you may do, Father, I want to be useful to you.”

Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung stared at me for a long time.

I could feel something turning rapidly behind his gaze.

I thought to myself:

Father, I’m calculating you right now, too.

Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung slowly raised the corners of his mouth.

“Very well. If you wish to stay by your father’s side, then you shall.”

His words were gentle, but I knew they carried a decision.

Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung had begun placing me on the scales, weighing whether I was useful or not.

As I left the sarangchae, I thought once more of the name Yi Myeong-bok.

He was still just a young younger brother, but in a few years, he might take the position that could have been mine.

According to the original course of history, he would become King Gojong, while Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung would become the Heungseon Daewongun and begin his regency.

Joseon would then be swept into a turbulent era.

I knew that course of history, so what I needed to do now was clear.

I had to treat my younger brother as a rival, but never let it show.

I needed to behave like a proper older brother, be kind to him, and, when necessary, even pretend to yield.

The person aiming for the throne had to wear the face of someone who had no desire for it.

Being placed on the scales was the first step.

From now on, my task was simple.

I had to prove to Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung that I weighed more than Yi Myeong-bok on those scales.

The throne was my goal.

The obstacles in my way were Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung, Queen Dowager Sinjeong, and my younger brother, Yi Myeong-bok.

And I had only one thing in my possession.

The history of this country, which I already knew.

I walked across the courtyard and looked up at the sky.

I’m going to enter that world.

My heart raced.

I wasn’t afraid, nor was I overwhelmed by the absurdity of it all.

Instead, my fingertips tingled with excitement.

All right. Let’s just survive first. I can figure out the rest as I go.

Becoming king with the body of a nine-year-old was reckless?

Not at all.

I was the only person in this game who already knew how it ended.

When I returned to my room, I opened one of the books on the cabinet.

It was the Analects, and there were signs that Yi Jae-myeon had already read about half of it.

But having read something and understanding it were two different things.

The gap between merely following the words and truly grasping their meaning was particularly wide with this book.

I opened the first page.

Xue er shi xi zhi, bu yi yue hu.

To learn and, at due times, practice what one has learned—is that not a pleasure?

You don’t just memorize this. You have to understand why Confucius began the Analects with these words.

The way a modern person approached the classics was different from how Joseon scholars did.

Rather than mechanically memorizing each passage, I first needed to understand why it appeared where it did within the larger context. Only then would I attach the words to that understanding.

It was the same method I had used at work to absorb hundreds of pages of reports.

Build the structure first, then fill in the details.

Twenty books of the Analects, one book of the Great Learning, and one book of the Doctrine of the Mean.

Three days would be enough to grasp their overall structures, and ten days would be enough to extract all the major passages.

That level of knowledge would be more than sufficient to impress Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung.

If a nine-year-old can recite the Analects and explain their meaning, Father will have no choice but to reassess me.

The maid approached cautiously and lit the oil lamp.

“Young Master, shouldn’t you have your evening meal?”

“I’ll eat a little later. You can serve it late tonight.”

“But the food will get cold. Will that be all right?”

“It’s fine.”

I turned my eyes back to the Analects.

A thirty-two-year-old modern man, sitting inside the body of a nine-year-old Joseon royal, had begun his first night on the path toward the throne.