I Became a Fallen Noble of Goguryeo

Chapter 9: The Merchant

Just before the mushroom harvest.

I visited Munso for the first time in a while.

“Elder Munso.”

“Yes, young master.”

Munso’s reply was curt.

“…Why are you like this again?”

“I originally agreed to teach you the ways of the mountain, forming a bond as a master. But since you no longer climb the mountain, aren’t you just a young master again?”

Apparently, Munso wasn’t pleased that I had stopped climbing the mountain and was holed up at home.

“Come on, don’t be like that, Elder…”

I naturally slipped behind him and began to knead his shoulders.

“Come on, ease up, will you?”

“Do you think this will do anything?”

Munso’s anger wasn’t so easily soothed.

So, in order to show my sincerity, I pressed harder, causing him to scream and jump up.

“Argh, stop, stop! Stop it! My shoulder’s going to pop out!”

Munso reverted to speaking informally again.

As expected, the Confucian scholars’ saying that sincerity moves heaven and earth was true. With enough effort, even a strained relationship can be mended, can’t it?

The ancient Greeks said the first rule of logic is the ‘speaker,’ the second is whether the ‘listener is ready to hear,’ and the third is ‘logic’ itself.

Since I was the speaker, I was full of loyalty, and the listener seemed ready to hear me, I slowly brought out my logic.

“…There’s a reason I stopped climbing the mountain.”

“What reason?”

“Take a look.”

I showed Munso my masterpiece: the Grand King Mushroom cultivation site. The moment he saw it, his eyes bulged.

“This is…!”

“They’re all Grand King Mushrooms. How much do you think this would fetch?”

“This much…? It would easily go for forty seok of millet! How did you do this?”

Forty seok of millet is about three times the annual income of a self-sufficient farming family working like mad on a field the size of two soccer fields an hour away from home.

I proudly said,

“I cultivated the Grand King Mushrooms separately.”

“Cultivated? How?”

“I’d rather not explain it to just one person… Could you gather the villagers?”

Today, I become the god of Bear Village.

The harvest time for grains and mushrooms nearly coincides. In other words, I wasn’t the only one enjoying the joy of harvest.

But unlike me, the villagers couldn’t be entirely happy.

“So, the tax for this village is…”

“Don’t those damn tax guys ever forget even once? Why do they come every year?”

In this era, harvest season is also tax season.

When collecting money, the most important thing is speed, and the best thing is to take it the moment it comes in.

The one who knows my paycheck fastest isn’t me—it’s the credit card company. Isn’t their deduction speed faster than my ability to check it?

“How much did you collect this time?”

“About 16 seok… You?”

“I didn’t do well. Only 13 seok. Nothing left, really.”

“Told you to plant it on the right side of the waterway! I knew this would happen.”

“If you knew, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did! You just didn’t listen!”

Goguryeo’s taxes were pretty harsh.

First of all, each household (호, usually 5 to 8 people) was required to pay 5 seok of millet and 5 bolts of cotton cloth.

Considering that farmers typically harvested about 15 seok a year and women toiled endlessly just to produce 15 bolts of cloth annually, the base tax amounted to about one-third of a household’s income.

And that wasn’t all.

“With household tax it’s five seok of millet… and another half seok for land tax.”

In addition to the household tax, there was also land tax depending on the amount of land owned.

‘And that’s a progressive tax system.’

Households were classified into upper, middle, and lower based on grain yield, and they were additionally taxed 1 seok, 7 mal, and 5 mal respectively.

What more is there to say? It’s because of the war.

‘Goguryeo was a two-front state—China to the north, Silla and Baekje to the south.’

Even the number of fortresses exceeded 150, more than the combined total of Silla and Baekje.

Because of this, nobles served mostly as commanders, and even commoners had to serve in the military in exchange for farming rights or pay exorbitant taxes like this.

But regardless of the reason, one-third taxation is universally outrageous.

“King Gwanggaeto should’ve killed all those Silla bastards back then.”

“If only the Baekje bastards hadn’t stabbed us in the back after pretending to surrender!”

“And what about the western invaders? If the Northern Yan hadn’t invaded, we wouldn’t have had to retreat!”

While the entire village was grumbling about taxes, Munso suddenly said something unbelievable.

“Grand King Mushrooms are growing in bunches?”

“Yes, I saw them at Insam’s house.”

The reaction could only be described as similar to a 21st-century person hearing that a graphics card was spewing money.

In other words—

“Elder Munso, have you gone senile?”

“Senile?! I’m perfectly sound!”

This was the normal reaction.

Munso was frustrated. Even though he swore he saw it himself, no one believed him.

“Insam figured out the method. He said he’d explain it when you come.”

“…What nonsense. If that were real, why would he share it?”

“How long do you plan to live like this? Don’t you want to get rich?”

Though everyone shook their heads, thinking it was nonsense, they couldn’t ignore the inner voice whispering, ‘But what if…?’

“Insam, I brought the people!”

“You came… Huh, quite a few, huh?”

A full fifty people.

Considering Bear Village had around sixty to seventy households, almost every adult male had come.

‘So this is the power of tax season.’

According to a study, the highest rate of lottery ticket purchases occurs during tax season.

People, crushed by tax statements, come to scratch off lottery tickets in desperation.

‘Well… not that this applies to me.’

Since I wasn’t yet an adult, I wasn’t considered a household male, and my mother, being a woman, didn’t count either—so we didn’t need to pay the five seok of millet and five bolts of cloth per household.

Moreover, since we had no land, we didn’t have to pay land tax either. For now, I was tax-exempt.

Of course, no one said they envied that.

Not paying taxes meant you had no workers or land at home—basically, that you were a beggar.

‘Though it won’t be like that from now on.’

I showed them the mushroom cultivation site with Grand King Mushrooms hanging in bunches. The people's reactions were similar to Munso's.

“Good heavens, this is insane…”

“Are they really all Grand King Mushrooms?”

Some people even picked and tasted them.

Eating raw mushrooms like that will upset your stomach…

“They’re real! Real Grand King Mushrooms!”

“Good heavens, you actually farmed Grand King Mushrooms?”

I didn’t bother correcting them that mushrooms are closer to animals than plants and that it’s technically ‘cultivation,’ not ‘farming.’ In this era, if it came from the ground, it was a plant.

“Yes, I just wanted to show you.”

“Show us… why?”

“Why do you think?”

I tried my best to appear kind and said,

“To share it with you. Aren’t we neighbors?”

It might look foolish. Why share when I could keep the tech to myself and rake in profits?

But that’s a lack of sensitivity to ancient-era values.

Do you know why so many old stories say that good people got rich? Because all the bad ones who made money ended up dead.

If I monopolized the mushroom cultivation and hoarded profits, I could literally die.

The moment I started piling up wealth, someone would come take it all.

I’d gotten on good terms with people through the rock fight and the bear hunt, but ten years of being a fallen noble doesn’t give me a pass.

Someone might say, ‘That bastard was only poor for ten years, but we’ve been peasants for 500 years… the pain, the history!’ and come at me with a knife.

There’s a reason Laozi said that to accumulate, one must give.

In this era, living sweet alone is the same as asking to die.

To live, we live together as a village; to die, we die alone—that’s the model of this time.

“…And this is the mushroom seed, called spawn (種菌—‘fungus’ originally meant mushroom). You make a wound in well-dried wood, insert this, then strike it twice—it grows great.”

“Why hit it twice?”

“Mushrooms in a man’s groin stand up after a couple smacks, don’t they? Guess it’s the same for these.”

“I don’t stand up though…”

The room grew somber at someone’s comment, but anyway, moving on.

“So all we have to do is plant this spawn?”

“Yes. Around March is good. If you have any trouble, come see me.”

“So how do you make the spawn?”

At that question, I grinned.

“If I tell you that too, how am I supposed to make a living?”

I didn’t plan to become a golden goblin, but I wasn’t going to be a fool who gave everything away either.

What I wanted to be was the goose that lays golden eggs.

To get gold from a golden goblin, you have to split it open. But to get gold from a goose, you have to treat it with care every day, don’t you?

“Besides, what if I go around sharing and it spreads to Tiger Village… that would be a disaster, right?”

“True, true.”

Across time and cultures, people all think the same—“Sweet things are for me alone.”

The fewer people who know a secret, the better.

“Take one jar of spawn each.”

“Can’t I get two?”

“One per person. Even with one, you can grow this much. If someone takes too much, the value drops, right?”

“This really will produce bunches of Grand King Mushrooms?”

“If you follow my instructions. And if you forget anything, come to me—I’ll tell you again.”

“Good heavens, Insam! Thank you! Thank you!”

To put it in refined terms, this situation made me and them an economic union.

Though even within a union, there’s a center and a periphery.

Naturally, I was the center.

And someone who brings in profit?

“You’re a hero, Kim Insam!”

“We knew we could count on you!”

A god, and invincible.

Until yesterday, I was just a good fighter from a fallen noble family in the village—but now, I’d been promoted to the most important person in the village, someone who must never die.

‘If anyone tries to harm me, fifty young men from the village will show up and beat them to rags.’

With just one mushroom spawn, I had gained fifty private soldiers willing to risk their lives to protect me and my property.

The secret technique of mushrooms and the household soldiers who would protect me.

I, once a fallen noble, was slowly taking on the air of a true noble.

Bear Village had around 70 households and about 500 people. They raised about ten cows.

Since it wasn’t a hereditary allotment held by a noble, no noble or their agent lived here except me. So there were no horses or slaves.

That meant the people here had little connection to the nobility.

Why mention this now?

“Who are we going to sell these to?”

Because of the issue with selling the mushrooms.

Selling Grand King Mushrooms nearby was impossible.

In this era, Grand King Mushrooms were luxury goods. Trying to sell them in a rural village was like selling caviar in the countryside.

And we couldn’t trust itinerant merchants.

Two-thirds of them were thugs, and two-thirds were con artists.

That’s not a math error.

Many were both thugs and con artists.

Villagers only bought toys or trinkets from them. For expensive stuff like the bear carcass or ginseng, they went to Pyeongyang themselves.

“Then there’s only one option. We have to go to Pyeongyang.”

“Yeah, that’s best.”

The villagers nodded.

“I’ll go. I went to Pyeongyang before.”

“Elder Munso should go too.”

“Perfect.”

…Huh?

I was a little startled by the conversation.

“It’s my goods, so I should go. Why you guys?”

At that, the villagers blinked. Their faces said, “What nonsense is that?”

“What good is there in going?”

“You just keep making that mushroom spawn quietly. Leave the selling to us!”

Even though it was my product, they were adamantly opposed to me going to sell it.

From what they said, it sounded less like going to Pyeongyang and more like walking into hell… but they had their reasons.

“Right now, Pyeongyang Fortress is dominated by the Pyeongyang faction. You’re a fallen noble of the Domestic Fortress faction.”

Ah, I see… They were worried that the golden goose—that is, me—might get gutted if I went to Pyeongyang.

“We’ll take care of the complicated stuff. You stay home and watch your mushrooms. I’ll go to Pyeongyang.”

“That won’t do.”

I shook my head.

Not because I didn’t trust them.

But because I had a reason to go to Pyeongyang.

My goal wasn’t to end up as a local influencer of Bear Village. I wanted to rise and thrive.

To succeed in this era, I’d have to go to Pyeongyang eventually, so gathering some intel now wouldn’t hurt.

The villagers’ opposition?

Who cares? I’m the god of this village—making them money with spawn.

Also—

“If you don’t let me go, I won’t make any more spawn.”

“What?”

“If I can’t even sell my own stuff, what’s the point? I’d rather quit.”

I wasn’t a righteous god—I was a god in the body of a 14-year-old brat. And if a brat throws a fit saying “I’m not doing it!”—what can you do?

“That’s…”

As they hesitated, I nailed it in.

“Remember when the Grand King came hunting and some Domestic Fortress nobles were with him?”

The tiger hunt in Bear Village.

At that time, King Pyeongwon Go Yangseong brought along a few Domestic Fortress nobles, even if it was a small number.

The rumor had already spread in Pyeongyang Fortress for the first time in 20 years that Domestic Fortress nobles were rising again, so the villagers were vaguely aware.

“And since the King’s will is supreme, even the nobles of Pyeongyang Fortress won’t dare mess with me openly.”

“Uh…”

Of course, the people here didn’t know much about politics. So, as is usual for the politically ignorant, they replied,

“Sounds reasonable. Now that I think of it, Jeongbok from the next village said something like that too.”

“The people from Tiger Village are closer to dogs than tigers, but Jeongbok is trustworthy. Yeah.”

In short, they pretended to understand. Eventually, the villagers held a meeting about my Pyeongyang trip—without me.

“But Pyeongyang Fortress is well-policed…”

“What if he really stops making spawn?”

“Then should we soak him in water and give him a few whacks?”

“Is he the spawn? What if he dies?”

“You think he’d die?”

“Stop talking nonsense. Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll take all the big guys along. If all the village men go, no one will mess with him, right?”

“Right. He’s just a fallen noble… The Pyeongyang nobles probably don’t even know his family. Didn’t the Domestic Fortress nobles from before say they didn’t know who he was?”

Some of it hurt to hear, but in the end, my trip to Pyeongyang was approved.

Originally, I planned to go alone, but now I had an escort. Still, having more people on the road in Goguryeo wasn’t a bad thing.