Chapter 1

Autumn, 1856 — Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung’s Residence, Hanseong

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

A young servant boy was kneeling beside me, staring straight at me. His eyes were so round and black that he looked exactly like someone who had just been startled.

Where am I?

I stared blankly at the ceiling.

My last memory was opening a can of beer in front of a convenience store after finishing overtime at work. I could still vividly remember the psssht! of the carbonation rising from the can, yet when I opened my eyes, I was in this room.

Is this a dream?

It was far too vivid to be a dream.

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

“Young master, have you awakened?”

The servant boy spoke cautiously.

Only then did I turn my head.

He looked younger than ten. His hair was neatly braided and tied up, and the way he knelt before me looked exactly like the servants I had seen in historical dramas.

Historical drama.

The moment that word flashed through my mind, I suddenly sat upright.

My heart sank.

I looked down at my hands.

They were absurdly small and chubby, the hands of a child.

I stretched out my arms. They weren’t an adult’s arms.

I threw off the blanket and looked down at my legs.

They were ridiculously short and thin.

“Young master? Are you uncomfortable anywhere?”

The servant boy leaned forward anxiously.

I couldn’t answer.

Damn it. This isn’t my body. This isn’t my body!

Cold sweat ran down my back. 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.

I exhaled slowly.

Then inhaled.

And exhaled once more.

Little by little, the room became clearer.

I slowly raised my head and looked around.

There were no electrical outlets. No fluorescent lights.

Everywhere I looked, there was only wood, earth, and paper.

On top of a wooden cabinet were an ink stick and an inkstone, neatly placed side by side. Beside them were stacks of books in scroll-like bindings.

This is insane. This is Joseon.

Once that thought solidified into certainty, my mind went completely blank.

How had I gone from opening a 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 far too absurd.

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

My mother’s face came to mind.

My eyes grew hot.

“Young master, why are you crying? Are you ill?”

The servant boy hurried toward me.

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

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

No.

This wasn’t something that could be solved by crying.

First, I had to understand the situation.

Whose body had I entered?

What year was it?

Where was I?

Those were the things I needed to find out first.

I forced back my tears and looked at the servant boy.

“What’s my name?”

The servant boy’s eyes widened.

“Young master, after your fever rose, I feared that perhaps you had lost your senses.”

“I asked you my name. Tell me.”

The servant boy hesitated for a moment before lowering his head.

“You are 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 King Cheoljong’s reign, the real power of Joseon was firmly held by the Haedong Kim clan, a powerful family that controlled the court through in-law politics.

Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung had survived for years under their rule by pretending to be an incompetent member of the royal family.

In reality, however, he was a man who calculated everything, even carefully controlling the slightest movement of his eyes so that others would never become suspicious of him.

He had realized early on that if King Cheoljong died without an heir, Queen Dowager Sinjeong, the mother of the late King Heonjong, would gain the authority to personally designate the next heir.

Queen Dowager Sinjeong had once served as regent as Heonjong’s mother, only to have her power taken away by the Haedong Kim clan. Her resentment toward the powerful family had therefore run deep.

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

But in actual history, the son chosen was not his eldest, Yi Jae-myeon.

It was his second son, Yi Myeong-bok.

Yi Myeong-bok would later become King Gojong, the 26th king of Joseon, while Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung would become the Heungseon Daewongun and rule as regent for nearly a decade.

In other words, I had entered the body of the eldest son whom his own father would ultimately overlook.

“How old am I?”

“You are nine years old, young master.”

“Where is Father?”

“His Excellency Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung is in the men’s quarters.”

Nine years old.

I sat there blankly for a moment.

A thirty-two-year-old office worker had ended up inside the body of a nine-year-old Joseon royal.

There was no family.

No friends.

No smartphone.

No convenience store.

It was Joseon in 1856.

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

A sigh escaped me.

But once the sigh subsided, something in my head began to click rapidly into place.

King Cheoljong was on the throne.

I was the eldest son of Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung.

Queen Dowager Sinjeong would designate the next heir in 1863.

I still have seven years.

I slowly raised my eyes.

Seven years was enough.

If I properly used the historical knowledge I possessed, changing the course of events wasn’t impossible.

If King Cheoljong died without an heir, Queen Dowager Sinjeong would gain the decisive authority to choose the successor.

I had to be chosen at that crucial moment.

That meant my direction was clear.

To be used as a weapon against the Haedong Kim clan, I had to appear intelligent but obedient.

I had to act as though I had no desire for power.

And at the decisive moment, I had to become exactly the kind of candidate Queen Dowager Sinjeong wanted.

I rapidly went through the relationships among the major figures of late Joseon in my mind.

King Cheoljong was sickly and had no heir.

If the throne became vacant, a fierce struggle among the members of the royal family was inevitable.

The Haedong Kim clan would try to install a puppet who suited their interests.

Queen Dowager Sinjeong, meanwhile, would have to find another weapon to prevent that.

The problem was that, in the original history, that weapon was my younger brother, Yi Myeong-bok.

If I wanted to defeat Yi Myeong-bok, being his elder brother wouldn’t be enough.

Queen Dowager Sinjeong needed a young king.

Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung needed a son who would be easy to control.

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

In the end, there was only one answer.

I had to become a child who was young but intelligent, intelligent but not irritating, and the most useful card at the decisive moment.

In simple terms—

I had to become a genius who pretended to be a good boy.

I clicked my tongue inwardly.

I never expected the experience I’d gained from watching my superiors’ reactions while submitting proposals at work would be useful here.

If you looked too intelligent when reporting to your boss, you’d attract unwanted attention.

If you looked too stupid, you’d be excluded from important work.

In the end, whether it was a company or the royal court, you had to appear competent enough for those above you to find you useful.

Hah. Great. Joseon-style office politics.

Strangely enough, once I thought about it that way, my mind began working even faster.

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

I slapped both cheeks hard.

Smack!

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

The servant boy covered his mouth in shock.

“Y-Young master? Why did you do that?”

“I’m fine. Bring me a bowl of water.”

“I’ll bring it immediately.”

The servant boy hurried away and returned with water.

I drank slowly.

The cold well water flowed down my throat, and my mind became considerably clearer.

“I should go see him.”

“Pardon? Young master, whom do you mean?”

“My father. His Excellency Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung.”

The servant boy’s expression stiffened.

Apparently, the original Yi Jae-myeon wasn’t the kind of child who went to his father first.

The servant boy merely moved his lips, unsure of what to say.

I ignored him and stood up.

He quickly stepped in front of me, straightened the hem of my robe, firmly tied the straps around my ankles, and placed a bokgeon, a traditional headpiece for boys, on my head.

I glanced at the small mirror on the cabinet.

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

Inside those eyes lived the soul of a thirty-two-year-old office worker.

I gave a faint smile and walked toward the door.

As I headed toward the men’s quarters, I looked around.

The residence was fairly large.

In one corner of the courtyard, a servant was chopping firewood.

Thud! Thud!

The sound of the axe echoed rhythmically.

I had literally walked into a history book.

Before the entrance to the men’s quarters, I stopped for a moment and organized my thoughts about the man known as Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung.

How to deal with this man would be my first hurdle.

He was someone who had survived for years by pretending to be an incompetent royal under the political domination of the Haedong Kim clan.

In reality, he calculated everything, even carefully controlling his eyes so that others would never become wary of him.

I couldn’t let him discover what I truly intended.

At the same time, I had to make him realize that I was a useful card.

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

If I wanted to change that plan, I needed to plant one conviction firmly in his mind:

I am far more useful than Yi Myeong-bok.

There was only one way.

Reveal myself without truly revealing myself.

I had to make Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung reach the conclusion on his own that I was someone worth using.

I spoke clearly from outside the door.

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

A brief silence followed.

“Come in.”

Creak!

The old door opened.

Inside the men’s quarters sat Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung, who appeared to be in his mid-thirties.

He held a brush in his hand and had apparently been writing a letter.

Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung put down his 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 weren’t feeling well. Why have you come out?”

“I am completely recovered. I came because there is something I wish to say to you, Father.”

Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung’s eyebrow rose slightly.

He seemed to have noticed that the way I spoke was different from usual.

“You have something to say to me?”

His voice sounded as though he were lightly amused, but his eyes weren’t smiling.

He was sizing me up.

I sat neatly and spoke clearly.

“Father, while I had a fever, I had a dream.”

“A dream?”

“Yes. It was a long dream. In the dream, Father eventually took charge of great affairs of the country. But in that dream, I was not by your side.”

Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung narrowed his eyes.

“Young as you are, you speak of such absurd things.”

“It wasn’t absurd. In the dream, Father definitely carried out those things. But I wasn’t by your side.”

The men’s quarters fell silent.

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

His eyes questioned whether the words coming from a child’s mouth could possibly be true.

I did not avert my gaze.

Instead, I met his eyes directly.

“Did you come to your father merely to tell me about a dream?”

“No.”

I paused.

“I came to tell you that I want to remain by your side.”

“Remain 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 do, Father, I want to remain by your side and 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 too.

Slowly, the corners of Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung’s lips rose.

“All right. If you wish to remain by your father’s side, then you should.”

His words were gentle.

But I knew that some kind of decision was contained within them.

Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung had probably begun placing me on a scale, weighing whether I was useful or useless.

As I left the men’s quarters, I thought once again of the name Yi Myeong-bok.

For now, he was merely my young younger brother.

But in a few years, he could become the child who took the place that should have been mine.

According to the original history, he would become King Gojong, while Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung would become the Heungseon Daewongun and begin ruling as regent.

Joseon would then be swept into a turbulent period.

I knew that course of history.

That meant what I had to do now was also clear.

I had to treat my younger brother as an enemy while never allowing it to show on the surface.

I had to behave like a proper older brother.

I had to be kind.

When necessary, I even had to pretend to give way to him.

The more someone desired the throne, the more they had to wear the face of someone who did not desire it.

Getting onto the scale was only the first step.

From now on, my task was simple.

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

The throne was my goal.

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

And I had exactly one thing on my side.

The history of this country that I knew.

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

I’m going in there.

My heart pounded.

I wasn’t frightened.

Nor did it feel absurd.

Instead, my fingertips tingled with excitement.

All right. For now, I’ll just stay alive. I can figure out the rest while I’m alive.

Was becoming king while trapped in the body of a nine-year-old reckless?

Not at all.

I was the only person in this entire game who already knew how it would end.

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

It was the Analects of Confucius.

There were signs that Yi Jae-myeon had already read roughly half of it.

But reading something and understanding it were two different things.

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

I opened the first page.

“To learn and, from time to time, practice what one has learned—is that not a pleasure?”

I’m not supposed to simply memorize this.

I need to understand why Confucius opened the Analects with these words.

The way a modern person approached classical texts was different from that of the Joseon scholars.

Rather than mindlessly memorizing each passage, I first tried to understand why the passage existed within the larger context.

Then I attached the language to that structure.

It was the same method I’d used at work when memorizing hundreds of pages of reports.

Build the structure first.

Then fill it with content.

Twenty books of the Analects.

One book of the Great Learning.

One book of the Doctrine of the Mean.

Three days would be enough to grasp the overall structure.

Ten days would be enough to extract all the major passages.

At that level, I could easily impress Heungseon-gun Yi Ha-eung.

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

The servant boy cautiously approached and lit the oil lamp.

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

“I’ll eat a little later. It’s fine if you serve dinner late tonight.”

“But the dishes will get cold. Are you sure that’s all right?”

“It’s fine.”

I turned my eyes back to the Analects.

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