Black Corporation: Joseon [EN]: Chapter 234

234. School Opening (1)

While the highest levels of the Joseon court were busy creating and implementing plans to counter the Japanese (Waeguk), domestic affairs within Joseon were steadily progressing.

“This has to be the best outcome we’ve achieved through the Gyeongjang [a series of reforms],” Hyang remarked, pleased with the smooth functioning of the court.

* * *

From Hyang’s modern, 21st-century perspective, the court before the Gyeongjang was a hotbed of inefficiencies, with its duties and powers exceeding its actual capabilities.

The founders of Joseon, driven by ‘Confucian idealism’ and the belief that a ‘large government’ was detrimental to the people, intentionally kept the government small.

Before the Gyeongjang, the Joseon government had only about 500 civil service positions.

However, this small government placed excessive demands on its officials. Lower-level officials were rotated every few months, and it was common for higher-ranking officials to hold multiple positions simultaneously.

Even the most capable person has limits. Eventually, a ‘good enough’ mentality took hold, inevitably leading to poor administrative processing.

This situation was a heavy burden for both current and aspiring officials.

Only 33 individuals could pass the Daegwa [the highest civil service exam] through the regular Siknyeonsi [held every three years] examination. Naturally, competition was fierce.

And even after becoming an official, it was difficult to live comfortably on the salary alone.

There were official ranks, but there were also many ‘Cheajik (遞兒職)’ [temporary positions with pay only when working]—many obtained through miscellaneous exams, but as mentioned, even those who passed the regular exams were rotated every 3 to 6 months—as well as many ‘Murokjik (無祿職)’ [unpaid positions].

Most Murokjik positions were honorary roles for elderly people, but many were not.

This salary problem was even more acute for officials who entered through the miscellaneous exams (雜科) of Chaechi (取才) [talent recruitment].

Therefore, excessive workload, frequent job rotations due to the limited number of positions, and inadequate salaries all contributed to poor administration and corruption.

Despite these precarious conditions, the Joseon court somehow managed to function.

The reason was that the king was as overwhelmed with work as the court. Unless the king possessed exceptional abilities, many issues were simply overlooked.

The most glaring example was the assault resulting in death involving Seo Dal, which involved Hwang Hee, Maeng Sa-seong, and Seo Seon before Hyang intervened.

It was an incident that would have been buried had Sejong not ordered a reinvestigation after receiving a fabricated report, saying, ‘This doesn’t match the record I saw earlier.’

As these problems and irrationalities accumulated, they solidified into tradition and precedent, eventually erupting during the chaotic mid-to-late Joseon period.

Hyang recalled a critical evaluation from his high school teacher, Samcheonpo:

“Do you think Joseon ended up in that state because of the Japanese and Manchu invasions? Nonsense! An internal rot consumed Joseon, causing the disasters during those foreign invasions! It’s like dying from the flu because your immune system is terrible!”

Therefore, Hyang had been advocating for ‘expanding the government organization’ since he first voiced his political views.

Sejong, largely agreeing with these views, significantly expanded the court through the Gyeongjang.

* * *

Despite Hyang’s positive assessment, he wasn’t entirely satisfied.

“But it’s still not perfect. We’re hearing complaints about people struggling due to excessive overtime…. This will take time. Perhaps my father will lay the foundation, I will revise it, and my son will refine it further. Only then will it be truly stable for the future.”

Hyang envisioned a court that:

‘Supports rapid development under a wise ruler, enables steady progress under a mediocre ruler, and allows the country and its people to endure even under an incompetent ruler.’

Having organized his plans for the court, Hyang turned to the next issue.

“Once the court is somewhat complete… the next step is to appoint a proper successor, right?”

Muttering the word ‘successor,’ Hyang shook his head.

“That’s an issue for when a successor is born. Right now, the problem is getting one born….”

* * *

It had been over three years since Hyang’s marriage, but there was still no sign of an heir. This worried Sejong and Queen Soheon, and the royal physician frequently visited the Crown Princess, Yangwon, and Yangje to check their pulses. It wasn’t just them; Hyang also had to undergo continuous examinations.

“There are no particular issues. All four of you are very healthy,” the royal physicians reported, deepening Sejong and Queen Soheon’s concerns.

“Then why is there still no heir?”

“You are still young, so you can afford to wait….”

Queen Soheon interjected, “When His Majesty was the Crown Prince’s age, he already had two children.”

“Ahem! Ahem!” Sejong coughed awkwardly.

The first child, Princess Jeongso, was born when Sejong was fifteen, and Hyang was born when Sejong was seventeen.

Hyang was also subtly worried.

“Why? I’m working hard whenever I can, right? Why? Could it be….”

Pondering the reason for not having an heir, Hyang came up with a plausible hypothesis.

“Even if everything seems fine on the surface, is it because my core, my very being, is… irregular?”

Hyang’s worries deepened. Without knowing the answer, he could only conclude:

“Well, nothing can be done. I have no choice but to try harder.”

* * *

As these events unfolded, time passed, and the opening of the Samin Academy [a school for commoners] was fast approaching.

“Thanks to that, I’m dying!” Ye-pan [Minister of Rites] groaned, facing a mountain of documents.

There were documents related to the selection of envoys to be secretly dispatched to Japan (Waeguk) and the selection of Tongsinsa [official diplomatic missions] to be openly sent. There was also a pile of the latest intelligence on trends in Ming China, sent from the Sanggwan [trade delegation] established there.

And, of course, piles of reports on the Samin Academy.

“At least the number of reports will decrease once the Samin Academy opens….”

Ye-pan’s eyes drifted to another pile of documents—those related to the establishment of the Jung Hakdang (中學堂) [a secondary school] and the Gunhakwon (軍學院) [military academy], both scheduled to open the following year.

“The Gunhakwon is fine…. We’ve been preparing for that step by step, so it’s manageable…. But the Jung Hakdang is….”

Ye-pan gnashed his teeth while examining the documents.

“Damn bastards! Why did they have to start a rebellion!”

Ye-pan’s anger was directed at those who had rebelled in the year Giyu (Sejong 11, 1429).

Before the rebellion, the Ministry of Rites had planned:

‘The Samin Academy will be newly built and teach children there. Those who want to learn more after finishing the Samin Academy will study at Hyanggyo [local schools], and the teachers will be recruited from talented members of the local Hyangban [local gentry].’

However, the rebellion disrupted everything.

In particular, the purge of Yangban who participated in the rebellion left no one to take charge of the Jung Hakdang.

Therefore, the establishment of the Jung Hakdang, initially planned to coincide with the Samin Academy, was delayed by a year.

It was a project that would have ideally taken at least three more years, but Sejong’s pressure forced them to complete it in one.

The officials of the Ministry of Rites were suffering from immense stress.

“But now the Samin Academy is opening! We’ve overcome one hurdle!” Positive officials rejoiced.

However, the faces of pessimistic officials darkened further.

“And now there will be a mountain of reports on unexpected problems. And we’ll suffer trying to find solutions….”

* * *

Sejong also had a keen interest in the Samin Academy.

“The condition of the building is satisfactory, and the placement of teachers is well-managed,” he observed, reviewing the report.

Hyang, watching Sejong, asked, “Is there something you don’t like?”

“No.”

“Something seems to be bothering you.”

Sejong sighed. “Hoo~. There’s a slight issue with the teachers who will be teaching the girls.”

“There doesn’t seem to be a problem with their qualifications?” Hyang pointed out.

Sejong nodded. “Their qualifications are fine. It’s just….”

After hesitating, Sejong sighed deeply again. “The constraints are too heavy.”

“Ah….” Hyang groaned softly and nodded.

The women educating the girls at the Samin Academy were women who had received titles of virtuous women and filial daughters from their respective districts. Those with deep knowledge taught academics, while those with less knowledge taught weaving and other essential life skills.

The ‘constraints’ Sejong mentioned were the social norms surrounding women.

Because they were women, they couldn’t easily leave their hometowns. This made efficient placement impossible, and in areas with many such women, the number of male teachers had to be reduced.

This was a somewhat daring endeavor.

“What! A woman teaching boys!” When the initial placement announcement was made, many protested.

However, Sejong refused to allow opposition.

“It was Mencius’ mother who raised Mencius! The content of the teaching is what matters, not the gender of the teacher!” With this justification, one problem was overcome, but Sejong had no answer to another.

That problem was the ‘Sangpije (相避制)’ [system of avoiding appointments in one’s home area].

Because the teachers were also government officials, they were subject to the Sangpije.

This was where the problem arose.

For male teachers, placement outside their hometowns was not an issue. They were even assigned official residences (官舍) and servants to help with chores.

However, women could not do that.

“I have to protect my family.”

“I have to support my elderly parents-in-law.”

Because all the female teachers were virtuous women and filial daughters, the Sangpije could not be applied.

Therefore, in areas with many such women, the number of male teachers had to be reduced.

“Should we recruit unmarried women from now on?” Sejong suggested.

Hyang immediately shook his head. “There will be an uproar about blocking their marriage prospects.”

“That’s right…. Hoo~.” Sejong sighed.

Sejong had anticipated this.

Sending unmarried female teachers to other regions by applying the Sangpije would cause an immediate uproar.

The Office of the Inspector General and the Office of Censors would raise concerns about Cheongsin (淸身) [purity of body] and Jeongjo (貞操) [chastity], creating chaos from the start.

To prevent this, the security of the women’s residences would have to be strictly enforced, which would be an unnecessary waste.

While the rights and freedoms of women were still relatively guaranteed compared to the later Joseon period, sending women to other regions was still a risky move.

‘Wait? No…. No….’

After considering various factors, Hyang came up with a compromise.

“Father, unmarried women may not be possible, but what about married women?”

“Huh?”

“Right now, teachers have been recruited from virtuous women and filial daughters. However, as time passes, they will retire due to age. As the population increases, the number of students will also increase, and vacancies will continue to arise.”

“That’s true.”

“It’s impossible to fill these vacancies only with virtuous women and filial daughters, isn’t it?”

“That’s right.”

“Therefore, we select and fill talents from among married women.”

“Select married women?”

“That’s right. After all, official residences are provided. In that case, there’s no problem even if a couple moves in, is there?”

“Wait? Wait….” Sejong began to seriously consider the possibilities.