Chapter 16

Joyful Party (2)

When I returned to the party hall, Dr. Dyke immediately welcomed me.

"Seems your conversation went on for quite a while. Did it go well?"

"Thanks to your consideration, I had a very pleasant discussion. I'm grateful for the opportunity."

"Oh, think nothing of it. Once men reach a certain age, they naturally want to support promising young people. If you gain something meaningful from this evening, that's more than enough for me."

With that, he took hold of my arm and began guiding me elsewhere again.

"While you were in the annex, another guest arrived who wished to meet you."

"Another?"

This time, a Democrat?
Please—please let it be a Democrat.

Of course, the Democratic Party of this era was still largely Southern in character. Woodrow Wilson, the moral schoolmaster, had yet to smooth away the party's harsher edges, and Franklin Roosevelt's sweeping progressive reforms were still decades in the future. Even if a Democrat extended a hand now, I would have to admit my trust would be limited.

But the person waiting for me did not look like a Democrat at all.

"Well now. It's always a delight to see young people gathered together like this."

It was a woman.
And one about my age.

More striking than her elegant dress, however, was the unmistakable color of her skin.

"Hello. I've heard quite a bit about you. My name is Rosamond Song."

Chinese? It seemed so.
Encountering a Chinese woman at a Kansas party was certainly unexpected.

"A pleasure to meet you. I'm Yujin Kim."

"And your name in Korean?"

"Kim Yujin. In Korea, Yujin is used as a given name as well."

"How fascinating. My birth name is Song Qingling ( Soong Ching-ling). Please call me whichever you prefer."

Song Qingling.
No matter how I searched through my memory, nothing surfaced at first.

"Rosamond Song is currently studying at Wesleyan Women's College. Her father is quite progressive—he sent all three of his daughters abroad to Wesleyan."

That sounded faintly familiar…

I decided to take a gamble. Worst case, I would simply embarrass myself.

"Would your esteemed father happen to be Charlie Soong?"

"You know my father? Yes, that's right. I'm the second daughter."

Now it clicked.
Charlie Soong was a prominent businessman and one of the key financial supporters of Sun Yat-sen and the Chinese revolutionary movement.
His three daughters would later leave their names etched in history: the woman before me, Song Qingling, would become Sun Yat-sen's wife; the youngest, Song Meiling, would marry Chiang Kai-shek.

But even granting that—why was she here?

"Well then, I'll leave the young people to talk among themselves. As host, I must attend to my duties. Ha ha."

Whether he noticed my confusion or not, Dr. Dyke briskly excused himself and drifted toward other guests.

And so I was left in this awkward situation, sipping wine aimlessly.
Conversing with elderly gentlemen in tailored suits posed no difficulty, but when it came to a woman my own age, I had no idea where to begin.

"You seem rather quiet."

"Oh, not at all. It's simply that meeting a fellow Asian—such a beautiful one at that—on American soil for the first time leaves me unsure how to start. Ha ha."

She was ruthless.
To open with "you're quiet"—being struck by facts has irritated people in every era.

"And how do you happen to know my father?"

"Isn't Charlie Soong already a renowned figure? Any Oriental hoping to make his mark in the United States ought at least to be familiar with the names of men recognized as titans here."

"So you don't actually know him personally."

"Of course not. I'm Korean, not Chinese. It's not as though we've ever met."

"It's just that I received a letter as well, which is why I came here tonight."

"A letter?"

"Yes."

She handed me a small folded sheet of paper.
After glancing around discreetly, I unfolded the creased page. Dense cursive English filled the sheet.

"…From Teacher Unam to Mr. Charlie Soong?"

She answered with a silent nod.

"This may not be ideal to discuss where others can hear. Perhaps we should—"

"Let's speak here."

When I replied in Chinese, a flicker of surprise crossed her eyes.

"You speak Chinese quite well."

"A Korean born and raised in San Francisco generally manages at least four languages."

"I see. As the letter states, my father reacted rather positively to your idea regarding the firearms business you've been contemplating."

"I haven't explained any business model, nor even what kind of product I intend to manufacture."

It made no sense.
A Chinese businessman making blind investments like that?
Please. I'd sooner believe I'd received a donation from a philanthropist without conditions.

"Of course not. This is an investment in you—and in the Korean community. The success or failure of the business itself is not especially important. What matters is that in this vast foreign land called the United States, the Han Chinese and the Koreans must be Asians who cooperate rather than oppose one another."

"So… a gesture of cooperation."

A headache was coming on.
Why was this being proposed directly to me, through her, rather than through the Korean National Association?

The man behind this was no amateur. He was a battle-hardened businessman and revolutionary who had survived every conceivable storm.

Even setting aside my knowledge of the future, the very idea that I could accurately read the intentions of a titan like Charlie Soong was absurd.

So there was only one option.
Throw something out and see how it landed.

"Your esteemed father's vision is worthy of the highest respect. However, I regret to say that I am not in any position to represent the Korean people. It would be more appropriate to consult figures such as Teacher Unam or Teacher Dosan—those who truly lead our community."

"Oh, I was told you would say exactly that."

Of course.
I knew virtually nothing about them, while they had clearly investigated me before extending this proposal.

In situations like this, the best strategy is one of the Thirty-Six Stratagems: retreat.
As in Joseon tradition—like Seonjo and Syngman Rhee before him—running is often the correct answer.

"My father is convinced that the one who will lead the Korean community in the future is you."

"Cough—! Cough!!"

That nearly made me choke on my wine.

"I don't understand. I'm merely a cadet."

"'Merely a cadet'? A West Point cadet holds tremendous status. Please don't say such things."

Another failed deflection.
It felt as though my avenues of retreat were steadily being sealed off.

She quickly summarized the essence of the proposal.
A Chinese firearms engineer could be provided.
A small factory in San Francisco could be made available.
Funding for prototypes and pilot production could be arranged.

"If all of that can be provided… wouldn't it make more sense for your side to simply run the business yourselves?"

"Because business alone is not the objective."

Right. I'd already heard that.

It was too sweet an offer.
The moment I accepted, I would become, in effect, bound to Charlie Soong—business partner, investor… perhaps even patron.

If things unfolded as I envisioned—if I could unveil the 'Chicago Typewriter' the moment the United States entered the Great War—then I could cement my standing within the U.S. Army.

But in exchange, I would be deeply indebted to Charlie Soong.

"I'll need some time to think."

"Of course. Just send me a letter when you've decided. I'll give you the address."

She handed it over with a polite bow.

Whew.
My back felt damp with sweat.
It was nothing like when I'd spoken with Senator Curtis. This was the kind of pressure that tightened around your throat.

"For a conversation between a young man and woman in the prime of youth, the atmosphere seems rather unusual. It looks less like flirtation and more like the old men of D.C. scheming."

"—!"

The voice from behind startled me so badly I nearly jumped.
When did he even approach?

"Senator, we meet again."

"Ha ha. Forgive me for interrupting such a serious discussion."

Curiously, only Dorothy—the youngest—stood beside him this time.

"And your other children…?"

"They came here to enjoy themselves. They can hardly remain glued to my side all evening. I've already detained them long enough."

Then why is the young lady beside you not enjoying herself?

It must have been written plainly across my face, because Senator Curtis grinned.
An ominous feeling rose again.
Here, too, perhaps I should follow the wisdom of the ancients—last time I chose the 'Injo ending,' but this time perhaps I should emulate King Seonjo and make a strategic retreat—

"If it wouldn't trouble you, might you keep Dorothy company for a while?"

Another failed retreat.

Perhaps my tactical ability was lacking.
Had I survived thus far only through mental age and future knowledge? What if, stripped of those advantages, my actual stats were on par with some incompetent general?

A flicker of regret passed through me.

I should have slipped behind the garden and whispered, "Status window!"
If I'd been reincarnated, who's to say I didn't have one?

"Ha ha. Of course. Miss Dorothy, may I have the honor of escorting you?"

"Certainly. I look forward to it."

Contrary to my chaotic thoughts, my body—thoroughly trained by institutional discipline—moved with impeccable manners.

With a final, "I leave her in your care," Senator Curtis disappeared, and the darkness closed in around my vision.

"Shall we have a dance?"

"I'd love to."

Miss Dorothy gave the impression of being quite gentle. That was some relief.
We'd dance a little, make small talk, and then she'd drift off in search of some tall white gentleman.

Or so I believed.

There was a time when I truly thought that.

At some point, after chatting at length, we found ourselves out in the garden.
Perhaps it was the tension—or perhaps it was the wine I'd kept drinking to soothe my throat—but I could barely remember what I'd been saying.
Since the lady in front of me hadn't slapped me yet, I must not have committed any catastrophic blunder. She was smiling, at least. That had to be a good sign.

"By the way… what is your relationship with that young woman from earlier?"

That young woman? Who?

"Ah—you mean Rosamond Song."

"Yes, yes. The Asian lady."

"We met for the first time tonight. I had asked some elders in the Korean community to introduce me to a few people, and through that connection we happened to meet."

"May I ask what sort of matter it concerned?"

Dorothy's eyes brightened with curiosity.

Hmm. Would there be any harm in answering?
If I said I was preparing grand designs to make a name for myself in anticipation of a coming Great War, she'd surely assume I was puffing myself up to impress her.

It was absolutely not the alcohol dulling my judgment.
Absolutely not.

"…So I thought I might try developing firearms."

"Wow. You've certainly been thinking about many things."

I had, of course, phrased it more tactfully than that—but her reaction was… subtle.

"So if I summarize, you want to earn money, make a name for yourself, and build prestige among Koreans?"

Her ability to strike directly at the core was impressive.
Are all politicians' daughters like this?

I gave a small nod.

"Then why are you hesitating?"

"Because it exceeds the capacity of the Korean community alone. And the Chinese could certainly serve as a base of support."

"Hmm… I may be mistaken since I'm not Asian."

Unlike earlier, her voice was now clear and sharp.

"If you collaborate with the Chinese—no, from what you described, it would effectively be one-sided investment—are Koreans generally on good terms with the Chinese?"

It felt like being struck in the head.

"No. I'd be accused of lining my pockets with Chinese money."

"Then there's no need to hesitate, is there?"

"Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha ha…"

Damn it.
Blinded by the carrot of massive investment, I had overlooked the most crucial factor.

If Prince Charlie had anticipated even this, then he truly was formidable.
No—of course he had. The moment I accepted, if I ever tried to lead the Korean community, this would be used against me again and again.

"To be honest, if a young woman speaks like this at a party, most people would consider her arrogant or improper… Does it trouble you?"

"In this day and age, who would dare say such nonsense? I'm only grateful for your insight. You've sobered me instantly."

"Oh dear. It's too early to sober up. May we continue our conversation a bit longer?"

Of course. When someone saves you from drowning, you don't refuse them.

"I've been standing too long. My legs and back are starting to ache. Would you mind if we went inside to talk?"

"Not at all. Perhaps we may each take a glass of wine?"

I followed her as she led the way back toward the annex.

It would become one of the most regrettable decisions of my life.