Chapter 1121 - Suwon-dong
Pak Deokmeng walked in and immediately dropped to his knees. The guard moved to stop him, but Feng Zongze waved his hand—let him be.
"Your elder brother has been sentenced to twelve years of hard labor in Taiwan for bribery and corruption. All his property has been confiscated," Feng Zongze said. "That's already the lightest sentence I could manage for him."
Pak Deokmeng remained kneeling. "Thank you, sir, for your magnanimity. My elder brother is guilty—after he serves his sentence, I'll look after him."
His acceptance was immediate and unqualified. Feng Zongze nodded. Unlike Pak Deokhwan, this young man was clever; perhaps he was even worth cultivating.
"Get up. You're a naturalized cadre now—don't kneel every time you see me. It reflects poorly."
Pak Deokmeng rose, head bowed.
"Good that you understand. Your brother did wrong and deserved punishment. He has only himself to blame." Feng Zongze paused. "But you should know—setting aside his corruption, he was truly capable. He actually accomplished things."
He studied Pak Deokmeng. "That's why the sentence was only twelve years, not execution. You should understand that. The Committee distinguishes between those who make mistakes and those who are beyond redemption."
Pak Deokmeng kept his head lowered. "This lowly one understands."
"There's something called 'sentence reduction for good behavior.' If your brother works diligently, he may not have to serve all twelve years. Besides, he's going to Taiwan—he'll be fed well, and life won't be too hard. Once he's built up merit, he'll be released. Perhaps he'll even get a farm plot and a wife. It's up to him."
Feng Zongze paused deliberately. "Do you harbor any resentment?"
"This lowly one dares not." Pak Deokmeng's voice was steady. "My elder brother was corrupted—but I haven't forgotten the hardships we brothers endured together. After he serves his sentence, I will take care of him."
Feng Zongze was very satisfied with this response. Apart from its apparent sincerity, the key was that he had not begged for leniency. This clear-headedness was precisely what Feng Zongze valued.
He nodded approvingly. "Very good. Now—I'm assigning you to the Political Security Bureau. You have aptitude for that kind of work. Just don't make the same mistakes your brother did."
Pak Deokmeng bowed deeply. "This lowly one will never forget the Official's teachings."
Since the arson and poisoning failed, and word arrived that Cho Myeong-gwi and the others had been swept up, the various factions gathered at Lord Kim's Suwon-dong estate were like ants on a hot pan.
Kim Man-il, with his second rank in the nearly ossified social hierarchy of the Yi dynasty, was not merely a great landlord but belonged to the yangban class. Among locals, he was virtually the embodiment of power, wealth, and status.
After Jeju D-Day, he had exploited the chaos to swallow up vast numbers of official horse ranches, acquiring tens of thousands of government horses and cattle. Even the government slaves and garrison soldiers guarding the ranches had been absorbed into his forces. His power and wealth on the island were immense.
The various landlords and ranchers of the interior had always depended on him. Now they followed him even more closely, fearing that in these "troubled times," an insufficient display of loyalty might see their land and wealth swallowed by Lord Kim.
This crowd had gathered at Lord Kim's Suwon-dong estate, ready to follow his every move—not only to ensure their own lives and property but to profit from the chaos. Though most official ranches had fallen into Lord Kim's hands, quite a few around the three cities had been seized by the Dwarf-Crop-Heads. Rumor held they had shipped in many people, provisions, and supplies. If they could finish off these foreign bandits in one stroke—though the lion's share would go to the royal troops and Lord Kim—they could still fish for scraps amid the turmoil.
With this mentality, after Huang Yunyu returned from the peninsula bearing letters from Sin Gyeong-yu, Military Commander of Jeolla Province, Suwon-dong had begun preparing for war, mustering "righteous militia."
The first order of business was requisitioning grain from across the island. "Militia" were cheap—no military pay required, not even postage for conscription notices. One word from the masters, and they came to fight. But even so, men could not fight on empty stomachs—to win, they still had to be fed.
Jeju Island's climate was actually decent, but the soil was poorly suited for rice cultivation. Mostly coarse grains were grown, with low yields. The interior was predominantly pastureland, so each estate's grain stores were limited. Despite their best efforts, they had managed to gather only enough food for four thousand militiamen to eat for half a month.
These activities naturally did not escape the Special Reconnaissance Team's eyes. Since ancient times, grain requisition had been the prelude to war. According to the General Staff's recently issued officer self-study textbook Field Essentials 1632: in agricultural societies, war mobilization typically began with large-scale grain requisition. Once farmers' remaining grain fell below subsistence level, they had to choose between joining the militia, the defense force, or outright rebellion. When the ruling authority had not been destroyed, farmers usually chose the former.
Though the Yi dynasty's local government on Jeju had been destroyed, the interior had been barely touched. And most interior residents were heavily dependent serfs—public and private bondservants and tenant farmers. Their masters were their heaven; whatever they were told to do, they did.
The Special Reconnaissance Team had maintained constant surveillance, watching their every movement.
After the 3.20 incident, the atmosphere around Suwon-dong suddenly grew tense. Not only were large numbers of militia concentrating there daily, but the Team also observed the owners of smaller estates "relocating"—transporting their property and families to the Suwon-dong estate.
Their supposedly "flawless" plan had ended in complete defeat. This threw the interior gentry into panic. Some advocated concentrating forces to defend the better-fortified major estates while sending envoys to appeal to Sin Gyeong-yu for help, waiting for reinforcements before rising to join them.
Others argued that since the mask was already off, waiting for royal troops was waiting to die—who knew if they would even come? The only option was to conscript every able-bodied man for a fight to the death while the Japanese raiders had not yet consolidated their position.
Though the raiders were formidable in pitched battle and possessed many firearms, some recalled how during the Three Ports Japanese Incursion, just a few hundred Jeju militia had routed the invaders. Even if these mysterious raiders were fiercer, they now had ten times the "militia"—if they could not annihilate them in one blow, they could at least cripple them—at worst, make them fearful of invading the interior. Once the Court's army arrived, they could reassess.
After much debate, the consensus favored caution—after all, the Dwarf-Crop-Heads' reputation had reached the interior, and most were somewhat uneasy. Fighting in the interior meant familiar terrain, easier maintenance of militia morale, and savings on grain and transport.
The conscripted militiamen set about large-scale repairs to defensive fortifications. While they were working feverishly, a Special Expeditionary Punitive Column had already arrived quietly at Suwon-dong.
Suwon-dong was the nerve center of all resistance forces on the island. Knocking out this place and capturing Kim Man-il alive would be a "decapitation" of the remaining Yi dynasty local powers on the island.
Therefore, this Special Expeditionary Column included three four-man assault teams—other punitive columns had only one team serving as guides, scouts, and snipers.
The Special Expeditionary Punitive Column was built around one platoon of Fupo Army, reinforced with one company each of Japanese Public Security, White Horse Battalion, and National Army Jeju Expeditionary Column. Two 12-pounder mountain howitzers were added as siege weapons.
Committee members generally felt that using formed Special Reconnaissance units with modern weapons in conventional warfare was like playing a game with cheats enabled. Using the Recon Team on Jeju—where the enemy's combat power was a joke—was like playing an easy mode of a very stupid game while cheating. They would be laughed at for life. But Xue Ziliang judged this operation vital to island-wide security enforcement and had to be executed with overwhelming force—a tiger pouncing on sheep.
On a mountain at Suwon-dong, two men trudged through the forest. From their ragged clothes and exhausted faces, they were clearly locals who had been in the mountains for some time.
"Dad, we won't run into Japanese raiders, will we?"
"Don't talk nonsense. Find the path."
The father-and-son pair—Kim Dae-ok and Kim Tae-da—carried axes and freshly-cut timber, searching for a way down the mountain. Thick mist had shrouded the mountains for days. These two militiamen who had gone up with a logging team seemed to have gotten lost. Too frightened of encountering raiders to leave the forest easily, they groped their way forward. Before they knew it, darkness was approaching.
Names often embody family hopes. Chinese commoners liked to name children "Treasure," "Wealth," or "Noble"; wealthy families preferred "Culture," "Martial," or "Dynasty"; official families used "Virtue," "Talent," "Sage"—basically naming for what was lacking. People think alike—Koreans were the same. From these names, one could tell this family was dirt poor. As tenant farmers, they did not even own the land beneath their house.
Last year's grain had not been enough to eat after paying rent; come spring, they had faced famine. Just as they were desperately struggling through, they heard raiders had come from the sea. The estate owner lent them two and a half dou of coarse grain on condition they serve as militia. Not only would they eat well, but half this year's rent would be waived.
Eating well and reduced rent sounded nice. But what father and son cared about most was this: if they really got their heads chopped off by raiders, the estate owner would assume they had fled. The wife and younger siblings at home would not survive the winter.
The words had barely left his mouth when suddenly they heard a gong, followed by the wailing of a conch horn. Fourteen-year-old Kim Tae-da tried to run but suddenly found his legs would not obey. His father, in his thirties, gritted his teeth and dragged his son stumbling out of the forest. Then came the crack of a rifle shot—Kim Dae-ok's legs froze too—then he felt himself kicked hard and went tumbling to the ground.
Yahei approached with his rifle, leading three or four men down from the ridge. The wounded elder Kim had already wet himself, blood mixing with urine and staining his trousers. Now it was the son dragging his father, crawling and scrambling forward, tears and snot streaming down his face. In the blink of an eye, the raiders had caught up. A kick sent them both sprawling. Yahei reflected to himself: eating the Australians' rice and fish every day really gave you strength. Back at Tennōzan, he had fled the same way—pissing himself, tumbling and crawling. Unfortunately, his old man had not made it out.
Were it not for that strange moment of distraction, the Kim father and son would already have lost their heads. Since the Officials showed no particular interest in head-taking, there was no point using it for merit. But Yahei, from a samurai family, was straightforward as a donkey—he always itched to chop off enemy heads.
(End of Chapter)