Thursday, November 20, 2025

The Real Ace Behind the Turtle Ship: Panokseon



How the Panokseon Became the True Workhorse of the Imjin War

From Maengseon to Panokseon: The Evolution of Joseon Warships





1. Why Joseon Had to Start by Rebuilding Its Ships

In the early Joseon period, the basic naval platform was the maengseon (“fierce ship”).
Under King Sejo, official military transport ships (byeongjoseon) were standardized as dual-use vessels for both warfare and grain transport, and by the time of the Gyeongguk Daejeon legal code they appear as large, medium, and small maengseon as the standard warships.

That compromise came with serious problems:

  • Because they also had to carry tribute grain, they were heavy and sluggish.

  • In peacetime they were logistics workhorses; in wartime they were expected to double as combat ships, which meant they were far from optimized for battle.

  • From the 16th century, with armed Japanese traders and coastal raiders becoming more dangerous, maengseon were increasingly criticized for lacking both agility and firepower.(위키백과)

Court records from the Seongjong and Jungjong eras already complain that maengseon are too heavy and slow, and various officials propose increasing the number of small, fast craft (so-called “swift ships”). But when fleets shifted toward smaller hulls, another problem appeared: they died quickly under concentrated enemy fire and boarding attacks.

In short:

“Build them heavy and they can’t move. Build them light and they shatter when hit.”

Joseon’s navy lived inside that dilemma through most of the 16th century.

The answer they eventually arrived at was a purpose-built, two-deck fighting ship: the panokseon.


2. From Sejo’s Military Transports to Myeongjong’s Panokseon

(1) The Roots: Byeongjoseon and Maengseon

To be fair, byeongjoseon and maengseon were not useless relics.
Joseon absolutely needed a secure state grain network along the Yellow Sea and South Sea coasts, so “warship that can also haul rice” was the political compromise baked into early designs. For a while that balance worked.

But by the mid-1500s the environment changed:

  • Japanese coastal forces were sailing larger, more heavily armed ships.

  • Fighting was no longer just small raids; larger fleet actions near open water became plausible.

  • Japanese tactics increasingly relied on closing in, grappling, and boarding after a few volleys of gunfire.(Korea.net)

A heavy, half-freighter maengseon was now too slow, too soft, and too low-sided for this new style of war.

(2) The Turning Point: Eulmyo Waebyun and the Demand for a “Tall, Steep Warship”

The large Japanese raid of 1555 (the Eulmyo Waebyun) triggered a serious rethink.
From then on, memorials to the throne start repeating a common theme:

“We need a tall, steep warship so high that the enemy cannot easily jump aboard.”

In design terms, that meant:

  • Higher freeboard and upper structure

  • A weapons deck from which guns and arrows could fire downward

  • Oarsmen protected underneath, instead of being exposed along the sides

The ship that embodied these demands was a big, flat-bottomed, two-deck warship: the panokseon (literally “planked house ship,” from the enclosed upper structure).(위키백과)


3. What Did a Panokseon Actually Look Like?

(1) Flat Bottom, No Keel

The panokseon was a classic Korean coastal warship, part of the broader hanseon tradition. Its key structural traits:

  • Flat bottom (pyeongjeo) for stability in shallow coastal waters

  • No Western-style central keel; instead, a wide bottom plank and side planking

  • Transverse beams tying the sides together in a box-like hull(위키백과)

That meant:

  • It excelled in shallow, tidal waters like those of Korea’s west and south coasts.

  • At low tide it could sit upright on mudflats or be dragged ashore for repair.

  • It was less suitable for blue-water ocean operations, but Joseon’s navy fought mainly in coastal seas and straits, so this trade-off made sense.

Japanese warships, by contrast, tended to have deeper, V-shaped hulls optimized for different kinds of waters, which could be a disadvantage in Korea’s extreme tidal environments.(Korea.net)

(2) Two Decks: Separation of Muscle and Firepower

The real revolution was the two-deck layout:

  • Lower deck: rowers and some support personnel

  • Upper deck (the “panok”): gunners, archers, and melee troops

This gave four big advantages:

  1. Rower protection
    Oarsmen were shielded from arrows, matchlock bullets, and splinters, so the ship could survive longer engagement cycles without losing propulsion.

  2. Higher firing position
    Guns and archers shooting from a raised deck enjoyed better range and plunging fire angles.

  3. Anti-boarding geometry
    Taller sides made it physically harder for Japanese marines to grab the rail and swarm aboard—something Japanese accounts complain about repeatedly during the Imjin War.(Facebook)

  4. Command and visibility
    A small “general’s tower” on top of the upper deck gave the commander clear sightlines for flags, drums, and signals.

(3) Size and Crew

Exact dimensions vary by source, but most reconstructions converge around:

  • Length: roughly 20–30 meters

  • Beam (width): around 8–10 meters

  • Complement: on the order of 100 personnel (rowers, gunners, archers, officers, marines)(위키백과)

In modern terms, think of something comparable in footprint to a small modern tug or coastal patrol boat—but built of thick timber, with two decks and loaded with guns.


4. Panokseon vs. Japanese Warships: Different Ships, Different Ideas of War

(1) Japanese Atakebune and the Boarding Paradigm

In the Sengoku and early Imjin War era, Japanese fleets relied on large command ships like the atakebune, supported by medium and small craft.

Their basic concept of naval combat looked like this:

  1. Fire some arrows and matchlock volleys to soften the target

  2. Close the distance and grapple

  3. Send warriors swarming onto the enemy deck for close-quarters fighting with swords and spears(Korea.net)

In that paradigm, the ship is primarily a floating delivery platform for infantry. Firearms are important, but they are the prelude to boarding, not the main way of deciding the battle.

(2) Joseon’s Alternative: Artillery-First, Keep Them Off the Deck

Joseon, by contrast, had a long record of developing gunpowder artillery well before the Imjin War. Under King Sejong and his successors, several families of cannon—cheonja, jija, hyeonja, and hwangja chongtong—were standardized and progressively lightened for naval use.(uexinja.blogspot.com)

Very roughly:

  • Cheonja (“heaven”) guns: the largest pieces, long range but fewer in number

  • Jija (“earth”) and hyeonja (“black”) guns: medium calibers, the practical workhorses in battle

  • Hwangja (“yellow”) and smaller portable pieces: short-range, multi-shot, or grapeshot-type roles; some overlapped the space where we might put hand-cannon today

Some royal chronicles boast extremely long ranges—far over a kilometer—using idealized “paces” and test shots. Modern analysis is more cautious: effective combat ranges of a few hundred meters are more realistic, but that was still enough to outrange typical Japanese small guns and small-caliber boat guns of the time, especially when firing from a high upper deck.(위키백과)

A panokseon’s layout made full use of this doctrine:

  • Cannons distributed along the bow, stern, and sides so the ship could fire in any direction

  • Space on the upper deck for mixed volleys of cannon and massed archery

  • The ability to create “layers” of fire:

    • Long and mid-range bombardment with artillery

    • Archery as the enemy approached

    • Small guns and anti-personnel rounds if a ship got dangerously close

Where Japanese doctrine said, “Shoot, then board,” Joseon’s answer was:

“Shoot so much, from so far, and from so high that they never get the chance to board at all.”

The panokseon’s tall sides and two-deck layout were the physical hardware behind that idea.


5. Imjin War Case Studies: Where the Panokseon Proved Itself (and Where It Didn’t)

(1) Hansan Island: A Textbook Panokseon Battle

The Battle of Hansan Island (1592) is often cited as the panokseon’s masterpiece.

  • Admiral Yi Sun-sin deployed a panokseon fleet in his famous crane-wing formation, curving around the Japanese fleet.

  • As the Japanese ships pressed inward, they sailed deeper into overlapping fields of cannon and arrow fire from both “wings.”(Facebook)

In this battle, the famous turtle ships (geobukseon) were shock units used for disruption and breakthrough. The bulk of the destruction was delivered by panokseon squadrons firing in disciplined waves.

(2) Myeongnyang: Ship Design Meets Geography

At Myeongnyang Strait (1597), Admiral Yi faced an overwhelming numerical disadvantage. He compensated with:

  • Violent tidal currents in a narrow passage

  • Flat-bottomed, strongly built panokseon that could better ride those currents and pivot quickly

  • Concentrated fire from upper decks against Japanese ships thrown into chaos by the water(Facebook)

Again, the panokseon was not a magic weapon by itself, but its structural traits matched the environment almost perfectly.

(3) Not an Invincible “Wonder Ship”

It is important not to over-mythologize:

  • Joseon cannons still faced limitations in powder quality, metallurgy, and aiming; they required extensive training and maintenance.

  • The panokseon’s flat bottom, while ideal for coastal waters and tidal straits, made it less suitable for the open ocean and heavy swell.

  • The Japanese navy evolved too, experimenting with heavier guns and modified warships after the shock of early defeats.(Korea.net)

So the panokseon’s superiority was not that “one ship class was absolutely the strongest in the world,” but that:

  1. Its hull form fit Korea’s coastal geography,

  2. Its two-deck layout fit Joseon artillery doctrine, and

  3. It matured inside a navy that had trained with gunpowder weapons for decades.

Those three layers together created the edge we see in the historical record.


6. Blog-Friendly Takeaways: Why the Panokseon Matters

If you want to distill this into a punchy blog conclusion, these are solid anchor points:

  1. Joseon’s naval victories were not lucky accidents.
    The panokseon was the result of several decades of thinking about:

    • Heavy vs. light hulls

    • Transport duties vs. pure combat roles

    • How to counter Japanese boarding tactics with artillery and height

  2. The turtle ship was the symbol; the panokseon was the day-to-day firepower.
    Turtle ships were few in number and highly specialized.
    The panokseon carried most of the fleet’s guns, most of the sailors, and did most of the actual fighting.

  3. “Local design beats imported templates.”
    The panokseon’s flat bottom, no-keel box hull, and double-deck structure look alien next to Western sailing ships of the same era.
    But for the shallow, tidal, island-strewn seas of Korea—and for a doctrine built around artillery rather than heroic boarding parties—it was exactly the right tool.

If you frame it that way, your article naturally shifts from:

“We had a cool ship once”

to:

“Here is how a small country, stuck between powerful neighbors, used ship design, geography, and doctrine to punch far above its weight at sea.”

And in that story, the quiet MVP is not the spiky turtle ship on the movie poster,
but the panokseon, the real workhorse of the Imjin War.




Wednesday, November 19, 2025

Thirty Years of Korean-Style Neoliberalism



IMF, the Republic of Irregular Work, Platform Labor, and the Future of Young People

From the 1997 “Gold-Collecting Campaign” to the N-Po Generation of the 2020s:
Rewinding the structural changes we actually lived through, with data and lived examples.




1. After the 1997 IMF Crisis: How Korean-Style Neoliberalism Was Installed

The 1997 Asian Financial Crisis wasn’t just an economic shock.
It was a regime change in the rules of the game.

The IMF bailout came with a familiar set of conditions:

  • Accelerated liberalization of finance and capital markets

  • Privatization and restructuring of state-owned enterprises and financial institutions

  • Labor market flexibilization – in plain language, making it easier to hire and fire

In 1998, amendments to the Labor Standards Act and the Dispatch (temp agency) Act brought in:

  • “Managerial” mass layoffs – the legal basis for firing people “for business reasons”

  • Dispatch and subcontracting as fully legalized, mainstream employment forms

Of course, layoffs and temporary jobs existed before then.
But the rulebook changed:

From “once you get in, you more or less stay” + a peripheral layer of temps
to “permanent restructuring + permanent precarity.”

Through the 2000s, the Korean economy:

  • Recovered fast as an export-led, chaebol-centric economy, and

  • Enjoyed growth built on finance and real-estate bubbles

But something snapped:

  • A company’s crisis was treated as everyone’s crisis,

  • Yet a company’s recovery no longer translated into a recovery of ordinary people’s lives.

That asymmetry is basically the starting point of Korean-style neoliberalism.


2. The “Republic of Irregular Work”: Season 1 in Numbers

2.1 Irregular Work Becomes the Norm, Not the Exception

According to Statistics Korea’s supplementary survey on non-regular workers (2023):

  • Non-regular workers: about 8.12 million people

  • Share of all wage-workers: around 37%

Right after the crisis, the share was in the low-20% range.

By the mid-2000s it had jumped to around 35%,
and since then it has hovered in the one-third to close-to-40% band.

So instead of:

“Regular workers + a small fringe of non-regulars”

what we actually got is:

Roughly “6 regular : 4 non-regular”, a dual structure that has been locked in for over 20 years.

2.2 Wages and Benefits: Same Work, Different Planet

If you pool data from government and research institutes (numbers vary slightly by year), you get something like:

  • Hourly wage of non-regulars: about 65–70% of regular workers

  • Severance pay, bonuses, welfare benefits: often less than half of regular levels

  • Unionization rate: less than one-third that of regular employees

Same work, same workplace – but if your contract type is different, then:

  • Your pay,

  • Your benefits,

  • Your promotion path

are basically on a completely different track.

For firms, this is “cost savings + flexible adjustment of manpower.”
For individuals, it is a life in which long-term planning is structurally impossible.

2.3 Income and Wealth Inequality: Both Deepen Together

The income quintile ratio (top 20% vs bottom 20%) sits around 5–6 to 1 in recent years – stubbornly high.

On the asset side, household finance and welfare surveys show:

  • The top 10% of households own over half (around 60%) of all net assets.

In one line:

30 years after IMF:
“Big corporations and asset-owners became structurally stronger,
while the lower and precarious tiers became structurally poorer.”


3. Platform Labor: The Face of Season 2

If irregular work was Season 1 of Korean neoliberalism in the 2000s,
then in the late 2010s and 2020s, platform labor is clearly Season 2.

3.1 The Numbers

Surveys by the Korea Employment Information Service and the Korea Labor Institute suggest roughly:

  • 2021: about 2.2 million platform workers

  • 2022: around 2.92 million – a **32.9% jump in just one year

Depending on how you define it, 8–10% of all workers now earn income through platforms.

Examples:

  • Delivery riders, quick-service drivers, designated drivers, app-based couriers

  • Warehouse pickers/packers for Coupang, Market Kurly, etc.

  • Online freelancers on platforms like Kmong or Soomgo (design, coding, translation, tutoring…)

  • Content creators and influencers on YouTube, Instagram, TikTok, etc.

3.2 Called “Boss,” Treated Like a Worker – With Fewer Rights

The contract logic goes roughly like this:

  • No 4 major insurances, no severance pay, no guaranteed minimum wage

  • Officially: “self-employed” or “individual contractor”

  • In reality: your work volume, pay rate, and rating are controlled by an algorithm

In other words:

You’re managed like an employee,
but your legal status is downgraded to that of a fragile micro-business.

Platform labor doesn’t just extend the old regular vs non-regular divide.
It complicates it:

  • Risk and costs are offloaded onto individuals

  • Profits and data are concentrated in the platform

That is the core architecture of Neoliberalism 2.0.


4. A Generation’s Story: From IMF Kids to Platform Kids

4.1 Official Youth Unemployment Doesn’t Tell the Whole Story

The headline youth unemployment rate (ages 15–29) in 2023 was around 6–7%.
On paper, that looks “manageable”.

But if you look at the broader “employment supplementary indicator 3” – often called youth “felt” unemployment

  • The rate is above 20% (roughly 21–22%).

This bucket includes:

  • Involuntary part-time and under-employed workers

  • People preparing for jobs but not counted as “unemployed”

  • NEETs who have effectively dropped out of job searching

So in practical terms:

More than 1 in 5 young people are outside anything resembling a decent job.

4.2 “Good Jobs Are Narrow, My Own Home Is Distant”

What 30 years of neoliberalism feels like to Korean youth can be summed up pretty simply:

  • Regular, stable jobs: fewer and harder to get

  • Even if you get in: overtime, low pay, and performance pressure as default settings

  • Seoul/metro housing prices climbing far faster than wages

  • Starting adulthood with student loans, jeonse loans, overdrafts

Hence the keywords we all know:

  • Hell Joseon,

  • the N-Po generation (the “give-up-N-things” generation),

  • yeongkkeul (all-in mortgage leverage),

  • byeorak-geoji (sudden “poverty” after missing the asset boom),

  • the “villa-king” and jeonse fraud scandals…

And holding it all up in the background is:

  • One of the highest household debt levels in the world,

  • A society built on leverage into real estate and stocks.

4.3 A Generation of Both Cynicism and Protest

There’s a paradox here.

On the one hand, this generation is soaked in political cynicism and disgust.
On the other, it has been front and center in nearly every major movement:

  • The candlelight protests,

  • Riders’ and platform-workers’ unions,

  • Feminist movements, climate activism, and new political experiments.

So this is a generation that has:

“Hyper-individualized survival competition” and “collective resistance memories”
burned into its DNA at the same time.

That mix may turn out to be the critical variable in reshaping Korean politics and society.


5. Thirty Years of Korean Neoliberalism: The Report Card

5.1 What It Gave Us

Export, digital, and platform power

  • IT, semiconductors, smartphones, games, K-pop, dramas –
    Korea undeniably climbed into the top tier of global competitiveness in many sectors.

A dramatic rise in per-capita income and material living standards

  • From around $10,000 per capita in 1997

  • To the mid-$30,000 range today

That is a real, tangible achievement.
Saying “everything just collapsed” simply isn’t accurate.

5.2 What It Took Away

But the price paid has been heavy.

The stability of work and life

  • Irregular, platform, freelance work has become a default, not an exception.

Deeply entrenched income and wealth inequality

  • Top deciles have secured a long-term lock on income and assets.

A growth model running on household debt

  • A “leverage society” where almost everything depends on real estate and financial speculation.

Structural despair among the young

  • Specs race + unstable jobs + housing crisis
    the collapse of any believable future narrative.

In short:

Korean-style neoliberalism succeeded in “growth,”
but failed spectacularly in “stability of life” and “hope for the future.”


6. Minimum Conditions for Imagining a Post-Neoliberal Korea

If we want to change this, the answer cannot just be
“try harder” or “be more efficient.”

We have to rewrite the rules themselves.
For a blog-friendly checklist, at least four pillars are hard to dodge.

6.1 Resetting Labor Rules – Ending “Boss-Cosplay Work”

Expand protections for platform, “special-type,” and freelance workers

  • Gradually extend basic safety nets (industrial accident insurance, employment insurance, minimum wage)
    regardless of contract form.

Tighten the rules on using non-regulars and strengthen conversion to open-ended contracts

  • “Non-regular as a cheap disposable category” should shrink,

  • And temporary contracts should be clearly limited to situations where they are genuinely needed.

6.2 Redistributing Income and Wealth – Because Wages Alone Won’t Cut It

Normalize taxation on assets and unearned income

  • Slightly stronger, fairer taxation on non-labor income
    from real estate, stocks, inheritance, and gifts.

Scale up public and long-term rental housing for youth and the housing-poor

  • Shift from “no home unless you inherit assets”

  • To at least “everyone can secure a place to live without life-ruining debt.”

6.3 Welfare State 2.0 – Not Just Handouts, but “Basic Infrastructure”

Cash transfers alone won’t change the structure.
We need a “basic infrastructure state”:

  • Healthcare, education, care work, housing, and transport
    closer to public goods than luxury items.

Only when “it is actually livable” can markets and individuals function without burning out.

6.4 Bringing the Young to the Center of Politics

Lower the barriers to youth participation in parties and policymaking

  • Party membership, candidate registration, access to policy budgets, etc.

Public support for organizing youth, platform workers, and freelancers

  • Not just traditional unions,

  • but also new forms of co-ops, guilds, and professional associations.


7. Conclusion – “Can We End This Regime?” Is the Wrong Question

If we grade 30 years of Korean neoliberalism, the report roughly looks like this:

  • Economic growth and global competitiveness: B+ to A-

  • Stability of life, equality, and the future of the young: D

The real issue is not:

“Can we overthrow this system overnight?”

but rather:

“Do we have the imagination and political will
to upgrade this system into something fairer?”

The good news is that the raw materials for that upgrade are already here:

  • The memory of the candlelight movement,

  • The small but persistent strikes and organizing efforts of platform workers,

  • The political experiments of young people, women, and the climate generation.

They are, in a sense, the trailer for whatever comes after Korean-style neoliberalism.

What the full movie looks like
will depend on what choices we make now.



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Is Neoliberalism Really Over?





China, Africa, Automation – Reading the Next Round of the Global Economy


If you had to pick one word that haunted the global economy for the last 40 years, a lot of economists would still say:

“Neoliberalism.”

Deregulation, privatization, free trade, small government.
On paper it sounds like “efficiency and growth.”
On the ground, it often felt more like this:

  • Restructuring and mass layoffs,

  • Precarious contracts and gig work,

  • The constant fear of being fired “at any time,”

  • Soaring housing and education costs,

  • While your paycheck hardly moves.

Bundle all of that together and you get what many now call:

“The dark side of the neoliberal order.”

So how long does this system last?
Is it really about to collapse and be replaced by something completely different?

Rather than shouting “it’s all doomed” or “everything’s fine”,
this piece takes a slower walk through what is actually changing right now –
and what those changes might mean for a “post-neoliberal” world.


1. Neoliberalism: What Was the Actual Problem?

Very roughly, neoliberalism pushed four big ideas as policy:

  1. Free movement of capital
    – Looser controls on cross-border investment and finance.

  2. Shrinking the public sector
    – Privatization, selling state-owned firms, marketizing public services.

  3. Labor market “flexibility”
    – Easier layoffs, more temp and contract work, wage restraint.

  4. Fiscal austerity
    – Smaller welfare states, tighter budgets, cutting social spending.

The result, in many countries:

  • The top 1% saw their share of income and wealth grow,

  • The middle saw wages stagnate or slide,

  • Insecure work became a normal life condition, not an exception,

  • And even with all that, growth was often weaker than promised.

In other words:
the pain was widely socialized, the gains were highly concentrated.


2. China, India and the Limits of the “Cheap Labor” Model

The first playground for global capital under neoliberal rules was simple:

“Go where labor is cheap and plentiful.”

China, after “reform and opening,” rode that wave for decades with near double-digit growth.
India plugged itself into global value chains through IT and services.

But that model is now hitting its limits:

  • Wages in China have steadily risen,

  • Environmental rules are tighter,

  • Labor rights claims and social tensions are growing.

In other words:

“Just being the world’s cheap factory floor”
is no longer a stable long-term strategy.

Factories have already started shifting to:

  • India,

  • Southeast Asia,

  • Bangladesh,

  • Vietnam…

But we only have one planet.
You can’t keep outrunning rising wages forever by moving to “the next cheap place.”
At some point, there is no “next.”


3. Is Africa the “Last Labor Reservoir”?

The original post that inspired this essay imagined a grim scenario:
global capital “invading Africa” as the final reservoir of cheap labor.

Reality is messier.

  • Africa’s population is already about 1.4 billion,

  • And is projected to reach 2.5 billion by 2050.

So the issue isn’t “too few people.”
The real problem is:

Jobs, education and infrastructure are not keeping up with that population growth.

At the same time, Africa today is not just a passive victim of “foreign exploitation”:

  • China is funding railways, ports and industrial zones,

  • Western governments and firms are pushing renewables and digital infrastructure,

  • Local fintech, agri-tech and other startups are popping up and drawing capital.

Are there new forms of inequality and conflict in that process? Absolutely.
Do many projects fail? Of course.

But the simplistic vision –

“One day the US sends in troops and runs the whole continent like a giant colony”

– really doesn’t match what’s happening on the ground.


4. Automation and AI: The End of Work, or Just a Re-Shuffle?

The original piece we’re riffing on argued:

“Science will reduce the need for labor so much that permanent mass unemployment becomes inevitable.”

That’s overstated, but the direction of concern is worth taking seriously.

Robots, factory automation and AI are already:

  • Replacing repetitive manual tasks,

  • Eating into middle-skill office and technical jobs,

  • And reshaping whole sectors at high speed.

That does not mean “all jobs disappear.”
New technologies always create new types of work too.

The deeper problem is this:

The new jobs often demand more education and higher skills,
and those who can’t clear that bar fall into even more precarious work.

The classic neoliberal answer was:

“Reskill yourself. Compete harder. Survive as an individual.”

But in many countries, we’ve reached the political and social limits of that mantra.

People increasingly feel:

  • The risks are individualized,

  • While the gains are privatized.

That’s a recipe for backlash.


5. Is Neoliberalism Really Heading for an End?

Since the 2008 financial crisis, then COVID-19, the climate crisis, and rising US–China tensions, the global landscape has shifted a lot.

We now see:

  • The US and EU returning to industrial policy and subsidies,

  • Supply chains being treated as national security assets,

  • Welfare, emergency income support and public healthcare being politically rehabilitated.

What’s striking is that these moves aren’t just coming from left-leaning governments.
Even many conservatives now accept that:

The era of shouting “markets solve everything” is over.

We’re in a post-neoliberal mood, where:

  • The state is expected to step back in strategically.

But this doesn’t mean:

  • Capitalism collapses tomorrow,

  • And Marx’s final stage communism rolls in automatically.

A more realistic picture:

  • Some regions drift toward “repaired capitalism” – more welfare, more regulation.

  • Others evolve into “neo-capitalist blocs” – heavy state intervention plus digital surveillance and authoritarian controls.

  • Still others experiment with hybrid models that don’t fit any neat textbook.

So instead of:

“One Great Depression → Worldwide Revolution → One New System”

we’re more likely entering a long, messy multipolar contest among several kinds of regimes.


6. So What Should We Actually Be Thinking About?

The original article ends with a big claim:

“We need a globally unified planned economy under the banner of humanism.”

As an ideal, that sounds noble.
As a realistic political program, it feels… very far away.

Still, there are concrete questions we can extract and actually work with:

1. In an age of “growth without jobs,” how do we share income?

  • Universal basic income?

  • Social dividends from natural resources or data?

  • Shorter working hours?

  • Stronger regulation of platform work?

2. How do we rebuild welfare states without repeating past inefficiencies?

  • How do we tax large corporations and ultra-wealthy households effectively, not symbolically?

  • How do we guarantee quality in public services while keeping them democratically accountable?

3. Can we redefine “growth” under climate and resource constraints?

  • Is there a model that prioritizes quality of life, safety and ecological sustainability
    over just “a bigger number each year”?

4. How do we stop AI and automation from becoming a pure monopoly game?

  • Rules for data as a public resource,

  • Transparency and fairness in algorithms,

  • Support for open-source ecosystems and public interest tech.

Depending on how societies answer these, the “end of neoliberalism” could mean:

  • A transition to a more just and stable order,

  • Or a slide into something more unequal, more repressive, and more brittle.

The direction is not predetermined. It’s a political choice.


7. In the End, It’s Not “Will It Collapse?” but “How Do We Change It?”

One healthy instinct in the original piece is this:

It refuses to believe that the current system will last forever.

Where it trips up a bit is here:

  • A hyper-dramatic Africa invasion scenario,

  • A binary choice between “human extinction or world revolution,”

  • Old numbers and very absolute, prophetic language.

For today’s readers, that can start to feel like:

“Retro left-wing sci-fi” rather than serious analysis.

If you’re writing this for an ad-driven blog, you’re usually better off if you:

  • Update facts and figures with the latest data,

  • Offer scenarios and options, not “I alone know the future,”

  • End with concrete questions that readers can relate back to their own lives
    – housing, job insecurity, pensions, student debt, and so on.

Use the reframed structure above as your backbone,
then wrap it with:

  • A few of your own experiences,

  • Some vivid examples from Korean society (real estate, temp work, pension debates…).

That alone is enough to build a piece that grabs clicks and reading time,
without sacrificing depth or honesty.



From Seungja Chongtong to Cheonbochong How Joseon Learned the Firepower Lessons of the Imjin War



1) “Arquebus Shock”: When One Weapon Tilted the Battlefield


Any time Koreans talk about the Imjin War, one phrase pops up without fail:

“조총 쇼크 – the arquebus shock.”

The matchlock arquebus (조총, tanegashima) that Japanese forces brought to Korea was, from Joseon’s point of view, a completely different beast. The Annals of the Joseon Dynasty even record claims that the arquebus could:

“Hit birds flying in the forest,”
and that “eight or nine out of ten shots would find their mark.”

If we blamed Joseon’s early defeats at Busan, Dongnae, Sangju, and at the Tangeumdae battlefield only on Japanese guns, that would be an oversimplification. Command, logistics, and mobilization all collapsed together.

But it’s equally hard to deny this:

Against an army built around bows and spears, the Japanese matchlock squads put a new level of concentrated firepower on the field.

The story doesn’t end there, though.

As the war dragged on:

  • Joseon captured Japanese guns and reverse-engineered them,

  • Studied Chinese and Japanese firearms side-by-side,

  • And began producing Korean-pattern matchlocks in quantity.

By the later Imjin phase, through the Jeongyu War (the later invasion), and into the Manchu and northern campaigns, gunners (포수, 銃手) had become the core of Joseon’s field firepower.

In other words, the Imjin War was both:

  • the war where Joseon was knocked down by arquebuses,

  • and the war where Joseon learned to shoot back.


2) Korean Matchlocks and the Cheonbochong: The Age of Range Wars

After any major war, generals everywhere ask the same question:

“Can we shoot farther and harder than the other side next time?”

Joseon was no exception.
After the Imjin War, Korean gunsmiths took a hard look at Japanese long guns (장총) and started developing their own long-range matchlocks.

In the records we see names like:

  • Daejochong (大鳥銃) – “great bird gun,”

  • Cheonbochong (千步銃) – literally “thousand-pace gun.”

Just from the name, the image writes itself:

  • A gun with a longer barrel than standard arquebuses,

  • Packing more powder,

  • Designed to push the effective range out to several hundred meters
    a deliberate counter to Japanese long guns.

Exact numbers differ from source to source, but the very phrase “cheonbo – a thousand paces” tells us this was a serious long-range weapon by the standards of the time.

As for patriotic claims like:

“Joseon completely outclassed Japanese gun tech after the war!”

that’s where we need to tap the brakes a bit.

From what modern research can reconstruct, it’s safer to say:

  • In range, accuracy, and production quality,

  • Joseon and Japan were constantly leapfrogging each other,

  • Each tuning their guns to their own terrain and tactics, rather than one side clearly “winning the arms race.”

Still, the very fact that Joseon responded to arquebus shock by developing its own long guns is a crucial part of the story.


3) Seungja Chongtong: Gun or Cannon?

One of the most heated internet arguments is about the Seungja Chongtong (勝字銃筒).

Some insist:

“There’s no way that thing was fired by hand. It’s a small cannon, period.”

Measured against modern scholarship, that’s… half true and half exaggerated.

So what was the Seungja Chongtong?

Roughly:

  • Length: about 75–80 cm,

  • Bore: around 2 cm,

  • Function: a small artillery piece that could fire

    • multiple lead balls at once, or

    • special arrow-like bolts.

It had:

  • A wooden shaft (stock) fitted into the rear, so a single soldier could carry and aim it,

  • And could also be mounted on tripods, battlements, or ship railings.

In modern terms, it sits somewhere between:

“oversized personal firearm” and “miniature cannon.”

You could aim it like a gun,
but in terms of structure, ammo, and employment, it was closer to artillery.

So was it fired from the shoulder, or braced?

From surviving examples and period notes:

  • The long wooden stock suggests it was at least partly shoulder- or hip-fired,

  • But due to recoil, it was often braced against a wall, parapet, ship’s side, or carriage.

So:

  • Calling it a “light, shoulder-fired arquebus” is misleading.

  • But saying, “It’s a full-blown cannon; no one could ever fire it by hand” is also too absolute.

The most honest, blog-friendly description is something like:

“Seungja Chongtong: a portable small cannon — a Korean hand-cannon.”


4) Cheonja, Jija, Hyeonja, Hwangja, and the Folangji: How Big Guns Really Worked

As the forum post that inspired this piece notes, Joseon already had a famous “four-tier” artillery system by the Imjin War:

  • Cheonja (天字)

  • Jija (地字)

  • Hyeonja (玄字)

  • Hwangja (黃字) Chongtong

These were the pinnacle of the late Goryeo / early Joseon gunpowder artillery tradition:

  • Impressive range and hitting power,

  • Very effective in fortresses and on warships,

  • But enormously heavy—not something you drag around for mobile field battles.

On land, what really shone were lighter, more mobile guns. The star of that show:

The Folangji gun (佛郎機砲) – often just called bulranggi.

The Folangji was a Western-derived, breech-loading small cannon:

  • Short, relatively light barrel,

  • A breech chamber you could swap in and out for speedy reloading,

  • Perfect for mounting on castle walls, ship railings, carts, or makeshift tripods.

Yes, breech-loading at the time meant:

  • Leaky gas,

  • Less power than a solid-breech heavy cannon.

But as a mobile, quick-firing gun that could keep up with troops, it was loved by Joseon commanders.

If you think in game terms:

  • Cheonja / Jija / Hyeonja / Hwangja were the “on paper” S-tier units—massive stats, but expensive and sluggish.

  • The Folangji was the meta-defining unit for actual field fights: not the biggest numbers, but the most practical.


5) Janggunjeon, Singijeon, Land Mines: Flashy Weapons vs. Cold Numbers

Some weapons are guaranteed to start a fight in any history forum:

  • Janggunjeon / Daejanggunjeon – massive arrow or rocket-assisted bolts,

  • Singijeon – the legendary “rocket arrows” fired from hwacha (rocket carts),

  • Jirwipo / flying thunder bombs – early bomb and “land mine”-style weapons.

In paintings and museum displays, they look spectacular.
You can’t help but think:

“Surely one volley of that must have wiped out entire Japanese formations.”

But when we look at production numbers and actual deployment,
a more sober picture emerges. These were more “special effects” than “main damage dealers.”

Low production volume

  • Janggunjeon-type heavy bolts consumed a lot of high-quality materials and labor.

  • Some studies even suggest that, when you compare pre-war and post-war inventories,
    the number of these “prestige arrows” actually declined during the war,
    because they were so hard to replenish.

Hard to aim and control

  • Rocket arrows look amazing in flight, but:

    • Their trajectory is at the mercy of burn rate, wind, and manufacturing inconsistencies.

  • Gunners didn’t have infinite time or powder to train only with these exotic projectiles.

Their real value: “psychological weapons” and niche tools

  • At night or during fortress defense,
    the noise, flame, and smoke from rocket arrows and bombs could seriously rattle the enemy.

  • They were great for:

    • Panic,

    • Confusion,

    • Setting fires,

    • Breaking up tightly packed formations.

But the day-to-day killing power on the battlefield still came from:

  • Matchlocks,

  • Seungja chongtong hand-cannons,

  • Folangji guns,

  • And the classic Chongtong artillery.

As for Jirwipo and “land mines”, most scholars agree these were closer to:

“Bombs fired from guns that exploded on or near the ground,”

rather than modern buried land mines.
Again: useful in specific situations, but not the main pillar of Joseon’s firepower.


6) Bows and Guns Together: The Imjin War’s Real Takeaway

People like to summarize the Imjin War with lines like:

“Japan was strong because of guns.
Joseon was strong because of cannons.”

That’s… half right and half wrong.

If you look at the units that actually performed well in battle, you see a pattern:

They used bows, spears, guns, and cannons together.

  • In mountain ambushes, bows and light arrows (like pyeonjeon, short armor-piercing shafts) were still brutally effective.

  • On plains and in siege warfare,

    • arquebuses,

    • Seungja chongtong,

    • Folangji,

    • And the heavier Chongtong provided the backbone of firepower.

Famous victories like Kwon Yul’s defense at Haengju combined:

  • Close-range aimed volleys from firearms,

  • Massed longbow and pyeonjeon fire,

  • And cannon fire into a layered defensive system.

Joseon adopted new weapons fast—but didn’t throw away the old ones.

King Seonjo himself, for all his flaws, recognized the power of the arquebus,
yet he and his officers never stopped thinking about how to use bows and pyeonjeon to their advantage.

Later, during King Hyojong’s northern-campaign plans,
there were even proposals to reorganize artillery units as mixed gun-and-bow formations
(called sapo chambandae, 사포참반대) rather than pure gunner units.

In the end, the key wasn’t the type of weapon, but the ability to use it properly.

  • Give the same matchlock to two armies:

    • If one has poor training, command, supply, and terrain usage,
      its “firepower advantage” evaporates.

    • If the other knows how to combine its weapons and exploit the terrain,
      it can hold out even without the very latest gear.

So perhaps we should stop telling the story as:

“A tragic tale of a kingdom crushed by one foreign gun.”

and instead say:

“The Imjin War was the moment Joseon threw every bit of its centuries-old gunpowder and archery tradition into the forge,
and hammered old and new weapons into a new kind of combined-arms warfare.”




The Bronze Age Just Got 500 Years Older?



Did the 10th-Century BCE Bronze Age Theory Really Collapse?

How Namgang, Gangneung and Sokcho Are Rewriting Korea’s Prehistory


“The Bronze Age on the Korean Peninsula begins around the 10th century BCE.”

You’ll still find that line in plenty of textbooks and introductory histories.
It’s basically the opening sentence of “official” Korean history.

But since the 2000s, radiocarbon (C-14) dates from sites in the Namgang Dam reservoir, along the Gangwon East Coast, and around Honam/Yeongnam have started to shake that orthodoxy.

Some settlements now date back to the 15th century BCE.
Dolmens containing bronze axes and bipa-shaped bronze daggers are consistently falling in the 10th century BCE—or even earlier.

So what do we do with a timeline like that?

This article is not a “who wins, North vs South academia” match report.
Instead, it’s a humanities-style field note on three questions:

  1. How did the “10th century BCE” Bronze Age orthodox view emerge in the first place?

  2. What exactly are these new C-14 dates telling us?

  3. Where is a reasonable middle ground in current scholarship?


1. How Did the Textbook “10th-Century BCE Bronze Age” Come to Be?

Let’s start with the orthodox position.

The Encyclopedia of Korean Culture (published by the Academy of Korean Studies) defines the Bronze Age in South Korea roughly like this:

“A period centered on the early 1st millennium BCE, during which plain pottery (Mumun pottery) was in full use, bronze artifacts were produced and used, and dolmens were constructed in large numbers.”

In other words, three key markers:

  • Full-scale use of Mumun (plain) pottery,

  • Bronze tools and weapons such as axes, daggers and spearheads,

  • Dolmens and other large burial monuments.

The moment these three elements appear together in a stable, systematic way across much of the peninsula
was rounded off as “around the 10th century BCE.”

Why that date?

  • Up until the 1960s–80s, there was very little in the way of absolute dating.

  • Archaeologists mostly relied on:

    • Pottery and weapon typology,

    • Stratigraphy (which layer lies above which),

    • And relative comparison with northeast China and Liaodong.

With so much uncertainty, the general mood was:

“Let’s err on the conservative side, not drag things too far back.”

That’s how the start of the Bronze Age in the central and southern peninsula ended up as the nice round number:

“roughly the 10th century BCE.”


2. The Surprise Numbers from Namgang, Gangneung and Sokcho

2-1. Namgang Dam reservoir: house floors pointing to the 16th–14th centuries BCE

In the 2000s, large-scale excavations around the Namgang Dam in Jinju, Gyeongsangnam-do began to shift the mood.

At sites like Okbang and Daepyeong, archaeologists uncovered very large dwelling sites—some with sides over 15 meters long.
Charcoal from the house floors was sent for radiocarbon dating.

The results?

  • ca. 1590–1310 BCE

  • ca. 1620–1400 BCE

Originally, the excavation team had thought these houses were maybe 5th–4th century BCE.
The radiocarbon dates pulled them back by almost a thousand years.

Other sites in the same reservoir area repeatedly yielded dates in the 14th–11th centuries BCE.

Taken together, these results strongly suggest that in the Namgang basin,
a Mumun pottery + early bronze + dolmen(-like) cultural package was already present
by around the 14th–12th centuries BCE.

2-2. Gangwon & Honam: older lights along the East Coast

Similar signals show up on the Gangwon East Coast and in Honam.

Bronze Age settlement sites at Gyodong and Bangnae-ri in Gangneung:

  • return radiocarbon dates in the 19th–15th centuries BCE,

  • and even under cautious interpretation, most scholars now place them around the 15th century BCE.

In Juknae-ri, Suncheon (Jeollanam-do), a Bronze Age dwelling has yielded C-14 dates in the 16th–15th centuries BCE in overseas lab analyses.

Put simply, along a belt running:

Gangwon East Coast → Namgang region in Gyeongnam → eastern Jeonnam,

there is now a high probability that:

  • Mumun pottery,

  • simple early bronzes,

  • and the earliest dolmen-style mortuary practices

were already present by the 15th century BCE.

2-3. A bronze axe from Sokcho: evidence of “already mastered” technology

The Joyang-dong site in Sokcho is one of the rare South Korean sites where a bronze axe has been found in a clear context.

Radiocarbon dating at the site places the relevant layer before the 9th century BCE,
i.e. roughly 3,000 years ago.

The important point here is the quality of the artifact.

  • The Joyang-dong axe is not a crude, experimental piece.

  • It shows refined casting technique—it’s closer to a “mature type” of bronze artifact.

If a bronze like that already exists by the 10th–9th centuries BCE,
then more primitive early bronzes almost certainly existed earlier
very likely before the 10th century BCE.

In the same vein:

  • Bipa-shaped bronze daggers and bronze axes from Birae-dong in Daejeon,
    found in dolmen contexts,

  • are now being dated to roughly the 10th–9th centuries BCE.

Putting this all together:

  • Settlement layers at Namgang, Gangneung, Suncheon15th century BCE,

  • Dolmens and bronze weaponry at Joyang-dong, Birae-dongaround the 10th–9th centuries BCE,

we get a picture where:

“A fairly advanced Bronze Age culture already existed considerably earlier than once thought.”


3. So Do We Now Just Declare a “15th-Century BCE Bronze Age”?

Here comes the key question:

“So should we simply rewrite the textbooks to:
‘The Korean Bronze Age begins in the 15th century BCE’?”

Most specialists would currently answer:

“Not yet.”

Roughly for three reasons.

3-1. Radiocarbon dates are ranges, not pinpoint years

C-14 dating produces results like:

  • 1620–1400 BCE (95% confidence interval)

It’s not saying:

“This house was built exactly in 1620 BCE,”

but rather:

“There is a 95% probability that it dates somewhere within this band.”

So you can’t take a handful of early dates and immediately proclaim:

“The entire Korean Peninsula’s Bronze Age starts in the 16th century BCE.”

The data simply aren’t that neat.

3-2. Different regions, different speeds

Resources like Our History Net (우리역사넷) summarize the Bronze Age of Liaodong, Liaoxi and Manchuria as:

  • largely emerging around the 13th century BCE,

  • and, after calibration, potentially traceable back to the 15th century BCE in some areas.

For the Korean Peninsula, it’s becoming likely that:

  • Northern regions / parts of the East Coast were early adopters,

  • while central inland and southwestern coastal areas picked it up somewhat later.

In other words, we may be looking at a “step-wise spread”:

  • 15th–13th centuries BCE: early Bronze + Mumun cultures in leading regions,

  • 12th–10th centuries BCE: diffusion to the south, consolidation into a “classic” Bronze Age society.

So rather than rewriting one line from:

“Bronze Age starts ca. 10th century BCE”

to:

“Bronze Age starts ca. 15th century BCE,”

it’s more accurate to say:

“Bronze Age cultures developed regionally between the 15th and 10th centuries BCE.”

3-3. The very definition of “Bronze Age” is changing

In the past, the rule of thumb was simple:

“If you find bronze, you’re in the Bronze Age.”

Today, that’s no longer enough.

Researchers now look at whole social packages:

  • Level of agriculture,

  • Signs of social stratification,

  • Dolmens / stone mounds and other monumental tombs,

  • Size of settlements and presence of defensive works,

and then ask:

“When do all these elements come together in a robust way?”

That’s when many would mark the “practical” beginning of the Bronze Age.

From that angle:

  • The 10th century BCE in older literature is still a “safe lower bound,”

  • While the Namgang–Gangneung–Suncheon C-14 dates are candidates for a plausible upper bound.


4. North vs South: Less About “Who Was Right” and More About “Who Can Adjust”

Online discussions often boil this debate down to something like:

“The North has said ‘20th century BCE’ since ages ago.
The South insisted on ‘10th century BCE’ and got wrecked by C-14.”

Reality is, as usual, more complicated.

  • North Korean archaeology has indeed argued since the 1960s
    that the Korean Bronze Age began as early as the 20th century BCE
    (this predates even the famous “Dangun tomb” claims).

  • South Korean archaeology, hampered by lack of data and lab tools,
    settled on the 10th century BCE as a cautious baseline.

If you only look at the direction of the new data, you could say:

  • The North’s “much earlier than you think” instinct was closer to the eventual trend,

  • While the South’s “10th century BCE and not much earlier” is clearly in need of adjustment.

But:

  • There is still nowhere near enough data to simply rubber-stamp “20th century BCE”.

  • Even if we gather all the radiocarbon results so far, the safest statement is something like:

“In certain leading regions, early Bronze-age cultures appear around the 15th–13th centuries BCE.”

So the real test isn’t:

“Who predicted an older date first?”

but:

“When new evidence appears, can we revise our narratives regardless of ideology?”

C-14 dating, cross-lab checks, and sending samples overseas are all part of that maturing process.


5. Three Big Questions Raised by a Moving Timeline

The exact number of centuries is interesting, but maybe not the most interesting part.
The deeper questions lie underneath.

5-1. If the Korean Bronze Age started “earlier than we thought,” what kind of society was it?

If Mumun villages, early bronze artifacts and dolmens are in place by the 15th century BCE,
then the Korean Peninsula–Manchuria zone was not just a scatter of tiny hamlets.

It implies a society that:

  • Had significantly adapted to agriculture,

  • Could mobilize large labor groups to build massive stone tombs,

  • And took part in metalworking networks that spanned multiple regions.

Regardless of what we think about “Dangun Joseon” as a historical state,
we are getting more and more grounds to imagine:

“Some form of complex early polities or confederations” in this area.

5-2. Where does the peninsula sit on the Bronze Age map of Northeast Asia?

If we line this up with:

  • Liaodong–Liaoxi–Liaoning Bronze Ages starting in the 13th century BCE,
    (again, potentially back to the 15th after calibration),

then a picture starts to emerge of:

A very early Bronze Age corridor running
Manchuria → Korean East Coast → South Sea coast.

In that scenario, the Korean Peninsula wasn’t just a passive endpoint receiving “civilization” from China.

It was more like one active node in a larger Northeast Asian network of:

  • bronze technology,

  • pottery styles,

  • and megalithic funerary culture.

5-3. How might textbooks change?

Instead of one neat, definitive line like:

“The Bronze Age on the Korean Peninsula began around the 10th century BCE.”

we’ll likely see more nuanced phrasing such as:

“Bronze Age cultures developed between the 15th and 10th centuries BCE,
with regional variation in timing.”

For students and readers, that’s a small but meaningful shift:

from “history as a set of fixed dates to memorize”
to “history as a timeline constantly revised by new data.”


6. Summary: Where the Debate Stands Right Now

To wrap up, here’s the current situation in one view.

Old orthodoxy

  • South Korean textbooks:
    Start of the Bronze Age (especially in the central–southern peninsula) =
    around the 10th century BCE.

New C-14 data

  • Multiple settlement sites in Namgang reservoir, Gangneung, Suncheon, etc.
    dating to the 16th–14th centuries BCE.

  • Dolmens and bronzes (axes, bipa-shaped daggers) from Joyang-dong (Sokcho) and Birae-dong (Daejeon)
    falling around the 10th–9th centuries BCE.

Direction of interpretation

  • We cannot yet safely declare:

    “The Korean Bronze Age starts in the 15th century BCE, full stop.”

  • But it is increasingly persuasive that:

    • In some leading regions,

    • early Bronze-Age cultures were already present by the 15th–13th centuries BCE.

What it means

  • Social complexity on the peninsula and in Manchuria emerged earlier than once assumed.

  • We gain more grounds to see Korea not as a “passive fringe,”
    but as an active axis in the Bronze Age landscape of Northeast Asia.

So the headline “The 10th-century BCE Bronze Age theory has collapsed!”
is a bit overdramatic.

A more precise summary would be:

“The 10th century BCE remains a solid lower bound,
but the upper bound has now been pushed back to around the 15th century BCE.”

History, in the end, is not a finished answer key.
It’s the ongoing work of quietly erasing and rewriting numbers
every time a new charred beam, a stray seed, or a cracked bronze blade
comes out of the ground and into the lab.

The Korean Bronze Age dating debate is simply one vivid example
that we’re standing right in the middle of that process.





Tuesday, November 18, 2025

A Northern Song Emperor’s Tomb in Hoeryeong?



A Northern Song Emperor’s Tomb in Hoeryeong?




Chasing the Mystery of Undusan Fortress and “Wuguo Fortress”

“Somewhere in the hills along the Tumen River, there lies the tomb of a Northern Song emperor.”

At first glance it sounds less like a documentary and more like the title of a light novel.
But this line actually comes from a late Joseon scholar’s own written account.
And behind that one line lies a long shadow of Northeast Asian border history:
the fall of the Northern Song, the rise of Jin, and the tangled frontier of Goguryeo–Jurchen–Joseon–Qing.

In this piece, instead of jumping straight to

“This is DEFINITELY the Northern Song imperial mausoleum!”

we’ll take a slower route:

  1. What do the actual historical sources say?

  2. How does modern scholarship interpret them?

  3. And why is the Hoeryeong theory such an intriguing little mystery?


1. The “Tomb of the Song Emperor” Puzzle in Taengniji

The late Joseon geographer Yi Jung-hwan, author of the famous geography book Taengniji (택리지), passed through Hoeryeong in Hamgyeong Province and left a curious note. Summarized:

  • If you follow the Tumen River upstream to Undusan Fortress near Hoeryeong,
    you’ll find several large burial mounds on a hill outside the fortress.

  • Local people call these mounds “Hwangjerung” – the Emperor’s tombs.”

  • In 1712, when the Qing envoy Mukedeng (穆克登) visited to set up the border stele for the Tumen and Yalu,
    his party saw these tombs and tried to open one.

  • In the process, they found a small, short stele. On it were carved four characters:
    “宋帝之墓” – “Tomb of the Emperor of Song.”

  • Mukedeng then ordered the grave to be repaired and the mound rebuilt on a grander scale before leaving.

Because of this, the rumor that

“This might be the tomb of a Northern Song emperor”

spread widely around Hoeryeong. Yi Jung-hwan himself notes that he doesn’t know exactly which emperor it might be, but the idea stuck with him.

If we then add later Joseon and early modern gazetteers, travelogues, and even Japanese colonial-era photographs, we get at least this much:

  • Inside Undusan Fortress at Hoeryeong, there was an old cluster of tomb mounds
    traditionally called “Hwangjerung” or “Tomb of the Song Emperor.”

  • Japanese investigators even photographed it, labeling the images
    “皇帝塚 (Emperor’s Mound)” or “宋皇帝塚 (Tomb of the Song Emperor)” in the captions.

So far, so good. The place existed, and the name existed.

Which naturally raises the next question:

Then which “Song emperor” is this supposed to be?

Of course, it could simply be a tomb of some local elite from the Song region.
But popular imagination jumped straight to the two tragic last emperors of the Northern Song.


2. The Fall of the Northern Song and the Two Emperors’ Bitter End

The Northern Song collapsed in 1127 when the Jurchen Jin dynasty stormed the capital in what is known as the Jingkang Incident (靖康之變).

  • Emperor Huizong (徽宗, Zhao Ji) and his son

  • Emperor Qinzong (欽宗, Zhao Huan)

were both captured and taken north by the Jin.

The Jin first kept them near the capital area, then transferred them:

  1. To Shangjing (上京),

  2. Then to Hanzhou (韓州, roughly in modern Jilin Province),

  3. And finally to a fortress called “Wuguo Fortress” (五國城).

According to the standard Chinese histories (Song History, Jin History and related texts):

  • Huizong died in Wuguo Fortress in 1135.

  • Qinzong lived longer, dying sometime in the 1160s, also within Jin territory.

Later, in the south, the newly established Southern Song under Emperor Gaozong (Zhao Gou) negotiated with Jin to reclaim Huizong’s coffin.

  • Huizong’s remains were then ceremonially reburied in Song territory,
    at Yongyou Mausoleum (永祐陵) near modern Shaoxing in Zhejiang.

Put together, the standard storyline is:

  • Both emperors spent their final years near Wuguo Fortress, under Jin control;

  • At least Huizong’s coffin was later moved south and reinterred in a newly built imperial tomb in Zhejiang.

On paper, this sounds neat and tidy:

The “final resting place” is in Zhejiang – end of story.

But the trouble starts when we ask:

“Okay, then where exactly was Wuguo Fortress?”


3. Where Was Wuguo Fortress? – Majority vs Minority Views

3-1. Majority view: Near Yilan in Heilongjiang

Most Chinese and Korean scholars today identify Wuguo Fortress with a site near Yilan (依蘭) in Heilongjiang Province.

  • Near the confluence of the Heilong (Amur) and Songhua Rivers,
    there is a Jin-period fortress site with visible walls and moats.

  • This site is officially listed and marked as “Wuguo Fortress Ruins (五国城遗址)”,
    protected by the local authorities.

When you combine:

  • The geographical hints in Song History, Jin History, and other old gazetteers, and

  • Modern mapping of the Songhua–Mudan River region,

the Yilan area matches quite well. That’s why, at present, the Yilan identification carries the most academic weight.

3-2. Why the confusion? Conflicting coordinates in old texts

Even so, it’s hard to slam the gavel and declare,

“Case closed. Wuguo Fortress = Yilan and nowhere else.”

Why?

Because over the Jin–Yuan–Ming centuries, different gazetteers gave slightly different descriptions of Wuguo Fortress:

  • Some texts place it “a few hundred li toward Liaodong,”

  • Others say “near the border with Joseon,”

and so on. The distances and directions don’t always line up cleanly,
which left plenty of room for later scholars to get confused.

Out of that fog of ambiguous coordinates came the question:

“Is it possible there was another fortress called Wuguo closer to the Joseon border—say, right across the Tumen River?”

3-3. Minority view: Undusan Fortress at Hoeryeong = Wuguo Fortress?

That’s where the “Hoeryeong Undusan Fortress = Wuguo Fortress” hypothesis steps in.

Undusan Fortress (sometimes also called Oguk Fortress / O-guk-seong (五國山城) in some older materials) is:

  • A massive stone fortress clinging to cliffs along the Tumen River,

  • With a perimeter of about 6 km.

  • Its gates, command posts, and water gates are clearly laid out,
    marking it as a key node in the northeastern defense line, likely of Goguryeo origin.

On the hill near this fortress is a group of large tomb mounds that:

  • Were already known in late Joseon times as “Hwangjerung” (Emperor’s tomb),

  • And, according to Taengniji, bore the stele inscription “Tomb of the Emperor of Song (宋帝之墓).”

Some Korean researchers take this a step further and argue:

  • If we re-read the fuzzy coordinates in the old texts,
    it’s possible to interpret Wuguo Fortress as not only the Songhua–Heilongjiang region,
    but also the Tumen–Hoeryeong region.

  • Therefore, the fortress where Huizong and Qinzong spent their final years could be Undusan Fortress,
    and the “Tomb of the Song Emperor” stele might refer to one of these two captured emperors.

This is very much a minority hypothesis, not a mainstream conclusion.

Still, it’s a fascinating thought experiment at the crossroads of:

  • Border fortresses,

  • Old tombs and local legends,

  • Joseon scholars’ field notes, and

  • The fall of the Northern Song.


4. So What Is Actually in Hoeryeong?

Time for the practical question:

“Okay, but what is that ‘Emperor’s tomb’ on the hill at Undusan Fortress?”

4-1. Could it really be a “true” Northern Song imperial tomb?

Based on what we know so far,
the chances that this is the final, primary tomb of a Northern Song emperor are extremely low.

  • We already have records that Huizong’s coffin was brought south in the Southern Song era
    and reburied at Yongyou Mausoleum near modern Shaoxing.

  • That tomb complex, although looted and damaged many times over the centuries,
    has remained known and locatable in historical memory.

If the Hoeryeong mound were actually the real burial site of the emperor’s remains,
we’d have to assume that the Southern Song court:

  • Faked the location of the imperial tomb, or

  • Entirely fabricated a major part of their own ritual record.

That would require a huge historical conspiracy—and we currently have no solid evidence to support anything that dramatic.

4-2. More plausible: a cenotaph, symbolic tomb, or later memorial

Still, the stele inscription “Tomb of the Emperor of Song” is not something we can shrug off.
If we force ourselves to map out a few plausible scenarios:

1. Memorial or cenotaph

  • At some point in the Jin–Yuan–Ming–Qing continuum, someone—
    perhaps officials or migrants with a cultural memory of the Song—
    might have erected a symbolic tomb or memorial without actual imperial remains.

  • Both in China and Korea, building “empty tombs” (가묘) or symbolic shrines
    for fallen dynasties and exiled rulers was not unheard of.

2. Tomb of a local elite claiming Song heritage

  • It’s also possible that some local power-holder or community in the north,
    of Song origin or loyalist sentiment,
    used the title “Emperor of Song” for themselves or for a revered ancestor.

  • But we have no corroborating texts or inscriptions supporting this scenario yet.

3. Misreading, exaggeration, or later reinterpretation

  • The original stele is now lost; we only have Yi Jung-hwan’s transcription from Taengniji.

  • It’s entirely possible that “宋帝之墓” was:

    • Misread in the field,

    • Mis-copied later, or

    • Interpreted in a way the original stone never intended.

  • In late Joseon popular speech, titles like “emperor,” “princess,” “general” were often used loosely.
    The label “Hwangjerung (Emperor’s tomb)” may itself be a product of such loose, legendary naming.

4-3. The core problem: we lack decisive archaeological data

The biggest issue is this:

There has never been a fully published, modern archaeological excavation
of the Undusan fortress tomb cluster that answers the key questions.

From:

  • Late Joseon texts,

  • Japanese colonial-era photos,

  • and some North Korean heritage designations,

we know only that:

  • There are large mounds,

  • They were locally known as the Emperor’s Tomb / Song Emperor’s Tomb, and

  • The Taengniji records a stele reading “Tomb of the Emperor of Song.”

But we still don’t have:

  • A detailed excavation report,

  • Clear plans of the internal structure,

  • Artifact lists,

  • Radiocarbon dates,

  • Or stratigraphic analysis.

So, as of today, the most academically honest conclusion is something like this:

“The ‘Emperor’s tomb’ on the hill at Undusan Fortress in Hoeryeong
is undoubtedly a historically interesting site with a rich local tradition.
However, there is currently no hard evidence that it is the actual primary tomb
of a Northern Song emperor.
Even if it does have some connection to the Northern Song,
it is safer to treat it as a possible cenotaph or later memorial
rather than a confirmed imperial mausoleum.”

And that, for now, is where the mystery quietly sits—
half in the documents, half in the earth, and very much still open to future digging,
both literal and scholarly.




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