02. Born as Admiral Yi Sun-sin’s Grandson (1)
What happens when you die?
There are many religions in the world, but Confucius said:
“I don’t know. Just live well for now.”
Thanks to that teaching, I never had a religion in my life.
I wasn’t the kind of scholar who made a show of his topknot and hat; I simply didn’t believe in anything I couldn’t see.
However, the scene before me was so shocking that it could physically slap the face of the German philosopher who proclaimed, “God is dead.”
“Please leave your number ticket there. Yes, hello. Oh my, you passed away at a young age?”
“Uh? Ah, yes.”
“Nothing serious. Think of it as just going through the reincarnation procedure.”
“Reincarnation?”
“Yes. Do you have any particular place you’d like to go?”
I died young.
I got into college, served in the military, and graduated six years later. Then I spent a year wandering, trying to find my life’s purpose. After that, I studied hard for the civil service exam and passed in one year.
At 28, fueled by a sense of duty to my empty bank account and first job, I was hit by a truck and died.
Perhaps the alcohol I drank to celebrate passing the exam dulled my senses.
I tried to avoid the truck by hardening myself and taking less damage, but it was useless—I died instantly.
“Uh… there’s nothing here.”
“You have no particular requests. Well, would you like anything? I see you’ve checked blood donation and organ donation, so you’re eligible for options.”
“Hm… then perhaps a life where I can have a clear goal from the start would be good.”
“Understood. Nothing else?”
“No.”
The tone was polite but mechanical.
A reincarnation office where the afterlife is just a ticket number and waiting in line—it was absurd.
I still had a headache and reached to hold my head.
“Uh… no hands either.”
“Alright, we’ll finish the procedure and send you right away. Have a good life.”
I should have realized from the polite yet mechanical demeanor.
When he scribbled something down, barely listening to me, I should have realized.
He was a civil servant.
And civil servants always forget one thing.
“Wah-eh”
He didn’t erase my memories.
Second life.
I didn’t expect flames to shoot from my palm, or for my mother to have blonde hair and elf-like ears.
Seeing the familiar black hair and black eyes, along with the crumpled hanbok I wore, I realized I was either in Joseon or a folk village.
Better to think I went to the past than that I was trapped in some Truman Show in Joseon. I concluded I had gone to the past.
“You little rascal, hurry up and grow so you can help the governor!”
“Wah-eh?”
“Yes, that’s a diligent answer. Serve your governor well; that’s your duty.”
My father spoke to me with a kind and warm face.
Even when I gently touched his cheek with my fingertip, it was firm.
I tried holding his long, thick finger with mine, realizing he must be used to physical labor.
“Look at you… I understand you well. Sorry your mother left you and went so far away.”
Ah, my mother isn’t here.
I wasn’t too surprised. This wasn’t Joseon. In a premodern society, there was no sanitation, no proper obstetrics. I might not even survive.
“Father, the child needs to feed. Here you go.”
“Yes, go eat. Eat well so you can grow quickly.”
“Wah-eh.”
Even a small movement could exhaust a child’s body beyond recovery.
Though my mind and reasoning were alert, there was little I could do.
Better to think inwardly than to speak and arouse suspicion.
By the time I was seven, I learned that Heo Jun, the royal physician in Hanyang, had passed away. That confirmed I lived during King Seonjo–Gwanghaegun’s era.
I was a Deoksu Yi. My father was Yi Hun, my uncle Yi Wan. The current year: Jeongsa (정사년).
Putting it together, born in 1610, I was seven and likely Admiral Yi Sun-sin’s grandson.
Although my father seemed to be Yi Sun-sin’s eldest son.
“Seong-ah, have you been well?”
“Yes, uncle. I was just about to pay my respects.”
“Forget that. Come, sit. Let’s see how much you’ve grown before breakfast.”
My uncle Yi Wan had been governor of Nampo but was dismissed after being falsely accused by the Saheonbu, remaining in Hanyang for some time.
My father quietly said this, thinking I was asleep, but I knew the truth.
My uncle’s dismissal wasn’t due to real wrongdoing.
After the war, Joseon’s law and order was chaotic. People suspected each other of being spies, and some truly were.
A trustworthy descendant of Admiral Yi, with proven administration and military ability from Nampo, was a reliable asset in the chaotic Hanyang under Gwanghaegun.
“You’ve grown again. Hurry and grow more.”
“Yes, uncle.”
“Now, I want to ask something. Tell me what you think.”
“Yes.”
Though my uncle looked perfect, having served in the war and passed military exams, he wasn’t as cold and strict as Admiral Yi Sun-sin.
“Do you remember the earthquake at Seongjeo Ten Li recently?”
“Yes, I remember. I comforted the crying children at the site.”
“You remember that too? You’re smart.”
It was less than a month ago. The earthquake occurred in mid-September, the first in three years since 1613.
At three, I was too small to do anything. This time was different—I helped calm the children, so I’d done my part.
“Twenty orphans were collected. Luckily they’re around your age, so it’s manageable for now, but the future is uncertain.”
“What were your original plans?”
“At first, I tried to find relatives for them, but it’s not easy. With winter coming, I can’t leave them on the streets.”
“Then make them slaves.”
We couldn’t adopt all twenty as children. They were clever enough to talk back now, and no one would take them otherwise.
Occasionally, someone claimed, “They’re my children!” but they only wanted to take them to sell. My uncle had many worries.
So the simple solution: adopt them as slaves. Soldiers weren’t allowed, but slaves were fine.
“If you hadn’t adopted them, they’d have died or been sold as slaves. Who do you think they owe their decent clothes to?”
“I’ll think about that too. Alright.”
“They may cause trouble now, but I’ll make sure they earn their keep.”
“Yes, even words of thanks are appreciated.”
It wasn’t just words.
The Jeongmyo War had swept away my entire family. I had to survive by any means.
Early training of child soldiers? A so-called private army?
I’d do whatever it took to save my family.
In 1618, I turned nine.
My uncle, quietly distinguished, was now free to resume official posts.
He became the commander of the Pyongan Province garrison, a third-rank military official known as the Pyongan Commander.
Our family moved to Pyongyang to follow him.
Sudden promotion from a fifth-rank local governor to this rank caused some resentment—but what can you do? Ability speaks.
“You must know the governor is busy now. He can’t care for everything as before, so be cautious.”
“Yes, father.”
“And don’t neglect your studies. Too many friends aren’t good either.”
“Friends? They are my subordinates.”
“Just as I thought.”
Two years ago, my uncle had adopted orphans as slaves.
I planned the best training method to turn them into elite child soldiers.
Adults saw it as childish war games, but all twenty volunteered willingly.
“Hey! Get up from the floor!”
“I can’t do it! I can’t!”
“One goes down, two come up! Can’t you do that? Do you want eight sets of exercises?”
“Nooo!”
Near the Pothong River in Pyongyang, children often escaped their schools to play here.
Despite the peaceful scenery, the ground was full of children wrestling with the earth itself.
“Rest.”
“Water! Water! Water!”
“Go drink nearby, don’t come back begging as last time.”
“Those running for water seem to have extra energy.”
“Everyone drinking water gets extra reps.”
As they say, physical strength is national strength.
I trained with them by the river.
Some might say, “What is a noble child doing this?” But I was a secondary child, and my 21st-century instincts made this easy.
Grow quickly. Make spear-tips from long spears, crush skulls with threshing poles—you’ll need these for war.
Though my plan to train child soldiers sounded harsh, every one of the twenty volunteered willingly.
Then, suddenly, a man strolled by the river and clicked his tongue in disdain.
“Tsk tsk tsk… Pyongyang has good scenery, yet what a grim sight this is.”
Who the hell is this?
