Chapter 21: "Not Bad, Huh?"
“You walk quite well.”
Kang Hyuk panted as he spoke.
Underestimating Paldal Mountain as just a local hill had been his mistake.
Had he known, he would have stopped by his house first.
‘I should’ve just ridden a horse here.’
When was the last time he had walked this much?
Honestly, aside from marching during military training, this was probably his first time.
Meanwhile, Yeon-i was steadily hiking up without any trouble.
She looked back at him as she climbed.
“Yes? Oh, well, I’m used to this.”
Her sweat-dampened appearance somehow seemed a little… sexy.
‘Have I gone mad?’
Kang Hyuk shook his head vigorously, urging his feet to move faster.
“I need to run around the neighborhood or something. I’m really out of shape.”
“Can a nobleman really be seen running around?”
“Still, you can’t be gasping for breath like this.”
“Makbong would probably be sitting over there by now. And you’re carrying that bag, aren’t you, sir?”
Yeon-i grinned and pointed to a stump they’d passed earlier.
True, given Makbong’s short and stout build, he probably wouldn’t have made it far.
“Yeah, I’m definitely doing better than him. Phew, that must be it up ahead.”
Although Yeon-i was ahead of him, Kang Hyuk’s much taller height gave him an advantage.
Because of this, he spotted the magistrate’s party gathered at a small pavilion before Yeon-i did.
Red flowers bloomed beautifully all around, creating a picturesque scene.
Of course, Magistrate Kim Yoon-gil was already sitting with some courtesans.
“We’re late. Let’s go.”
“Yes, sir.”
Kang Hyuk and Yeon-i, still panting heavily, finally reached the pavilion.
In front of it, horses were tied in a row.
It seemed all the other invitees had arrived on horseback, except for Kang Hyuk.
The magistrate, who had been groping a courtesan’s chest, looked up with a welcoming expression.
“Ah, Kang Hyuk, you’ve arrived! Come, take a seat.”
“Yes, Magistrate.”
“As you all know, this young man is none other than the famed Baek Kang-hyuk.”
True to his reputation for taking good care of people, the magistrate didn’t scold him at all for being late.
Instead, he eagerly introduced Kang Hyuk to the others.
“Oh, of course, I know! You’re the son of Lord Baek Seung-mun! I’ve even treated you before.”
The first to speak up excitedly was Lee Jung-bok, a civil official from Suwon.
Hearing the title “official,” Kang Hyuk initially thought he might be some kind of judge.
In fact, he held the rank of a fifth-class official and assisted Magistrate Kim Yoon-gil with administrative duties.
“Ah, yes.”
Responding stiffly was Jeong Chang-gwon, a professor from Suwon’s local government.
As a sixth-class official, his role was to educate students in Confucianism.
Just looking at his face, it seemed like “I’m a Confucian scholar” was written all over it.
He was one of Seung-mun’s students and someone Kang Hyuk had seen several times at his home.
Every time they met, he had a knack for making everyone feel uncomfortable.
The rest were younger Confucian scholars, some around Kang Hyuk’s age or younger.
Since they didn’t pique his interest much, Kang Hyuk exchanged only the most cursory of greetings.
“Alright, now that we’re all here, let’s begin in earnest.”
The magistrate pulled his hands away from the courtesan and put on a more serious expression.
At the same time, the younger Confucian scholars turned pale.
Some of them gulped nervously.
‘Hmm… this is giving me a bad feeling.’
Kang Hyuk had been through his fair share of initiations as a freshman, intern, and resident.
Even if his brain had forgotten, his body still remembered.
The instinct of the underling.
‘They’re definitely going to make us do something.’
Sure enough, the magistrate’s attendants began handing out items.
‘Rice paper, brushes, ink, inkstones…’
It seemed they were actually going to have them write poems, just as the rumor had said.
The magistrate, the official, and the professor were all exempt from this task, of course, since they already held official posts.
As a result, they looked quite pleased with themselves.
“How does the rice paper look to you?”
Before even receiving the paper, the official immediately responded to the magistrate’s question.
“It’s excellent.”
“Indeed, this is high-quality material, personally supplied by the Bureau of Paper.”
Even an amateur like Kang Hyuk could tell the paper was of fine quality.
Though he didn’t know what the Bureau of Paper was.
After all, hadn’t he been in the calligraphy club back in med school?
He had wasted hundreds of sheets of rice paper during that time.
“Hmm… what should the theme be?”
“Magistrate, the flowers today are beautiful.”
“Oh, yes. The red flowers are quite pleasing. Let’s have the theme be flowers.”
At the magistrate’s command, the scholars immediately set to work, trying to conjure poetic inspiration from the flowers.
Meanwhile, Kang Hyuk wore an expression as if he had just swallowed something bitter.
‘Damn it.’
He didn’t know many poems to begin with, and even fewer were about flowers.
If the theme had been open-ended, he could’ve just thrown together some random poem and gotten it over with.
Sneaking a glance, he noticed Professor Jeong Chang-gwon glaring at him with a sharp gaze.
‘Father must’ve told him I wasn’t studying, and now I’m going to get it.’
It seemed like the professor was determined to give him a hard time.
That wouldn’t do.
In his experience, the students who excelled were usually the ones who had more freedom.
If he messed up here, Seung-mun’s nagging would only intensify.
His father had already been pressuring him to stop wasting time on trivial medical work.
‘Brain, activate!’
Kang Hyuk grabbed a honeyed snack from the tray in front of him and began chewing it, hoping the sugar would fuel his brain.
‘Alright, I’m starting to think.’
Kang Hyuk, always quick-witted, began piecing together fragments of knowledge.
‘Let’s see, the current king is Seonjo, so it’s around the late 16th century, right?’
In that case, he had to avoid writing a poem from after that period.
Plagiarism, whether in the past or present, was a serious crime.
‘Who are the poets from mid to late Joseon?’
The first name that came to mind was Kim Satgat.
But the only poem he could remember from him was the bold “Cursing the Confucian School.”
‘Damn, not that one…’
That was practically profanity.
Even if its meaning wasn’t actually offensive, he couldn’t possibly recite that in front of the magistrate.
‘The magistrate might let it slide, but that professor would have a fit.’
And it wasn’t even a poem about flowers.
Kang Hyuk continued to rack his brain desperately.
‘Ah, there’s Park Je-ga!’
Though he was an 18th-century poet, at least there would be no plagiarism issue.
And he happened to know a poem by Park Je-ga about red flowers.
‘Alright, let’s do this.’
Looking around, he saw that some of the scholars were already furiously writing away.
Curious, he peeked at what they were writing, but most of it was illegible.
‘Eh, whatever.’
He wasn’t aiming to be the best anyway.
He just needed to get through this without drawing too much attention.
At least his penmanship wasn’t terrible.
It might even be more accurate to say he “drew” the characters rather than writing them.
In any case, he finally finished his poem.
“Hmm. It seems like most of you are done. Let’s see…”
The magistrate, growing impatient, began urging them to wrap things up.
Those who weren’t finished yet hurried to complete their poems.
“Alright, let’s hear them one by one.”
The magistrate pointed to a scholar, who stood up nervously.
He held his paper up so the magistrate and the others could see it.
‘Ah, so that’s the polite way to do it.’
Grateful he wasn’t the first to go, Kang Hyuk watched the scholar closely.
“Surrounded by red flowers, my heart is moved. I wield my brush, intoxicated by their fragrance. I long for the rosy cheeks of my love.”
To Kang Hyuk, it didn’t sound like a bad poem.
The magistrate seemed to agree, nodding his head.
“Hmm.”
But to Professor Chang-gwon, a Confucian scholar to his core, it didn’t seem to sound right.
“A scholar still in his studies, writing such frivolous poetry?”
“I’m sorry.”
The professor’s scolding and nitpicking continued for a while.
The scholars, one after another, returned to their seats looking as though they had bitten into something sour.
By this point, it was hard to tell if this was a poetry gathering or some kind of punishment.
The magistrate, however, seemed to find the spectacle amusing.
‘Man, the Joseon-era conservatives are no joke.’
Kang Hyuk glanced at the stiff-faced Professor Chang-gwon.
In a way, this was a blessing in disguise.
Since everyone was getting scolded, he wouldn’t stand out much.
“Today’s poems have been quite disappointing. Now, let’s hear from… Kang Hyuk.”
Upon hearing his name, Kang Hyuk quickly stood up.
Being a tall man, he naturally commanded attention just by standing.
“Hmm-hmm.”
Clearing his throat, he unfolded his paper.
While it wasn’t a masterpiece, it wasn’t a mess either.
At least it looked better than the rumors about him might suggest.
The magistrate’s expression relaxed as he looked at Kang Hyuk.
“Your handwriting is neat. Now, let’s hear the content.”
“Though it’s lacking, I’ll give it a try.”
“Go ahead.”
Kang Hyuk cautiously began reciting the poem.
With Professor Chang-gwon glaring at him, his nerves were even more on edge.
“Don’t call everything red just because it’s red. Flowers have different stamens. Look closely and see the difference.”
It was a poem by Park Je-ga, one of the greatest poets of mid-Joseon.
Its slightly cynical tone was what made it witty and appealing.
Kang Hyuk had felt that way when he first memorized it.
‘Why is it so quiet? Was this poem too ahead of its time?’
Looking around, he saw that the magistrate was quietly staring at him.
After a long silence, he finally spoke.
“Good. Very good. While others merely listed red flowers, you cleverly pointed out the differences.”
The official immediately chimed in.
“It’s the best poem I’ve heard today.”
“No, no, it’s the best poem I’ve heard all year. What do you think, Chang-gwon?”
The magistrate subtly sought Chang-gwon’s opinion, aware that despite his lower rank, the professor’s scholarly authority was undeniable.
“It’s not bad. There’s a refined sharpness to it.”
“Then it’s settled. Kang Hyuk is today’s winner. Come, come here and receive your drink.”
True art transcends time, they say.
‘Thank you, Park Je-ga.’
Kang Hyuk rushed forward to receive his drink.
The magistrate poured the wine generously, laughing heartily.
“The Baek family sure has a gifted son. Not only is your medical skill top-notch, but your poetry is excellent as well.”
“You’re too kind.”
Feigning modesty was something Kang Hyuk had long mastered.
He downed the drink in one go, wearing an expression of utter nonchalance.
His boldness only endeared him further to the magistrate.
“No, no, it’s not flattery. Ah, by the way, Chang-gwon, could you finally let go of your stubbornness and do me a favor?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your daughter, of course. Hasn’t she been running a high fever these past few days? If Kang Hyuk takes a look at her, she’ll be cured in no time.”