The Comic Tea House Under Construction
Anyone who has studied civil engineering or architecture knows the truth.
The beginning and the end of any building, the single most critical step where no amount of care is ever wasted, is laying the foundation.
It sounds obvious, but buildings are heavy. Not merely weighty in an everyday sense, but so massive that standard units of measurement require several extra zeroes just to quantify them. And beneath all that weight, the earth is far softer and more fragile than people assume.
This vulnerability varies by region, but the Central Plains is certainly no exception. Soil formed from sediment swept down and deposited by flooded rivers is called alluvial silt, and alluvial silt makes up the vast majority of the Central Plains. Wuhan in particular sits just north of the renowned Yangtze River, meaning virtually every foot of earth here can be considered one massive alluvial plain. And alluvial soil is soft—perilously, deceptively soft.
Erect a building on alluvial soil without knowing what you are doing, and the ground will subside beneath it, bringing the entire structure crashing down in a heap.
That was why humanity devised a solution: foundation work. The logic was simple. If the ground is too soft to support a building, tamp the earth until it is rock-hard before raising a single beam.
At first glance, it sounded straightforward, even stubbornly foolish. Rather than adapting the structure, reshape the very land—a brazen declaration of war against Mother Nature. And yet, it worked.
After generations of builders racked their brains, a marvelous method emerged: pilings fashioned from timber and stone. Workers drove countless piles deep into the earth, creating a rigid bed upon which massive halls could rise. Where loose dirt once shifted and gave way like a boneless creature, the piles acted as an artificial skeleton, pinning the soil firmly in place and halting collapse.
This was the primitive foundation work born in the Central Plains: a man-made bedrock engineered to force the earth to bear the weight of stone and timber, a magnificent leap for humanity emerging victorious in a wrestling match with nature.
"...Isn't this a bit too big?"
Sanwol was left utterly speechless by the foundation laid out before him on the future site of the Comic Tea House.
Even to an untrained eye with zero grasp of civil engineering, a project of this magnitude looked as though it should have taken several months. Yet barely a single month had passed since they broke ground.
Laying such a foundation required demolishing the existing structures, excavating the soil, driving massive pilings into the earth, and backfilling and compacting the dirt. In an era of the Central Plains completely devoid of heavy machinery, it should have been agonizingly grueling, inevitably consuming vast amounts of time. In other words, pure human muscle had finished this colossal undertaking in under thirty days.
"Is foundation work supposed to wrap up this quickly?"
"Hardly, Young Master. Normally it would have taken far longer, but thanks to martial artists pitching in to help, we finished well ahead of schedule."
In short, he had been reverse-pickpocketed with sheer manual labor.
When Sanwol asked for the details, it turned out that martial artists passing through had heard rumors and lent a hand here and there, prompting Noh Sopyeong to simply put them on the payroll. As a result, practically every idle martial artist in Wuhan looking for pocket money had swarmed the site, blitzing through the heavy labor.
Yet another point still puzzled Sanwol: the scale of the building itself.
The rough schematic Sanwol had drawn while explaining his concept to Noh Sopyeong had been nowhere near this immense. To borrow an analogy from his old world, a modest neighborhood corner shop had somehow metastasized into a sprawling department store.
Noh Sopyeong patiently explained every detail so Sanwol could understand.
"After consulting with the master builders, we realized that to utilize the building as you intended, the dimensions had to be far larger than originally assumed."
In essence, the professionals had completely scrapped his initial design and vastly scaled it up. Noh Sopyeong was not embezzling Sanwol's funds or playing a cruel joke; reality had simply forced their hand.
Experts were not called experts for nothing.
In the eyes of the master builders gathered from across Wuhan, Sanwol's schematic was far too cramped for the venture he envisioned. More precisely, the number of potential customers—patrons who were a ninety-nine percent lock to become loyal regulars—vastly outstripped any forecast he had imagined.
Thus, Wuhan's finest architectural minds had spoken with a single voice: every living soul in Wuhan would visit this building! Given how many people clamored to read Nangahyeopjeon, how on earth did he expect to pack them all into a structure no bigger than rat droppings? Furthermore, this was a commercial enterprise; people would inevitably travel from other provincial capitals and distant regions just to see it. Unless his goal was to press the crowd into human paste, expanding the construction was non-negotiable.
One master builder's remark had even become legendary among the crew: Even the jar used to brew Gu poison has more breathing room than this!
That such words were uttered showed just how absurdly tiny Sanwol's original plan had been.
"So that's why the construction costs were so high."
Sanwol finally understood why Noh Sopyeong had demanded such a massive advance for building expenses. With the scope ballooning to such proportions, heavy expenditures were unavoidable.
Not a trace of Sogachon's past remained before his eyes. Only the wide, cleared lot of the Comic Tea House sprawled outward, bristling with wooden pilings driven into the earth.
Was this how a man who had gone bald felt when looking in a mirror, reminiscing about the lush hair of his youth? Just as Sanwol was sinking into rather treasonous thoughts, Noh Sopyeong quietly stepped up beside him.
"Now that we must raise the building itself, I believe it would be best for you to review the blueprints personally, Young Master."
This was the real reason Noh Sopyeong had brought Sanwol here. Ultimately, Sanwol was the project's supreme patron and client. While the foundation work might be left to the laborers, the structure and aesthetic form of the building had to be chosen by Sanwol himself.
"Where are the architects, then?"
"Ahem, well... about that."
When Sanwol moved to meet them immediately, Noh Sopyeong averted his gaze, his voice trailing off. Why was this usually crisp, decisive old gentleman suddenly hesitating? Sanwol asked again, a hint of unease in his eyes.
Noh Sopyeong opened his mouth with obvious difficulty.
"Given the sheer magnitude of the project, we invited the most renowned master builders in Wuhan... but they cannot seem to find any common ground."
In plain terms, a flock of prominent architects had gathered and were now tearing at each other's throats over whose blueprint reigned supreme.
Sanwol felt a headache coming on already, but what choice did he have? Noh Sopyeong had merely been entrusted with site management; the patron commissioning the project and the ultimate decision-maker was Sanwol. In the end, it was up to Sanwol to step in and decree which blueprint would shape the tea house.
Sanwol headed toward the temporary meeting pavilion—a large canvas pavilion where the architects were locked in heated debate.
"You call this garbage a blueprint?!"
"And you! How do you expect anyone to run a tea house in a monstrosity like that?!"
"Shut up, both of you! Slapping on pretenses of aesthetics and philosophy won't solve a damn thing!"
"In the first place, Young Hero Dokgo gave us his own design! All we have to do is build from his reference!"
Shouts rang out loud and clear from several dozen paces away. Sanwol immediately understood why Noh Sopyeong had hemmed and hawed, and strode forward into the tent.
"Now then, exchanging opinions is all well and good, but let's not raise our voices so high."
"We're busy right now, so come back—gah?!"
"The... the Client!"
"Forgive us if we were loud! We simply could not bridge our differences, and things got out of hand..."
Caught completely off guard by the sudden appearance of their patron, the hot-headed architect who had nearly told him to get lost swallowed his words with a choke. The others hurriedly clasped their hands in apology, lowering their voices to a sheepish murmur.
"Elder Noh already told me that you couldn't reach a consensus."
"Well, you see..."
"I'd like to resolve this as quickly as possible so we can break ground on the building."
At Sanwol's blunt diagnosis, the architects flinched, offering excuses like schoolboys caught in the act. Yet Sanwol had no intention of dismissing their perspectives out of hand. Architecture was, by its very nature, an endeavor capable of accommodating multiple minds.
He spoke in a calm, soothing tone, coaxing them along.
"There is no need to apologize. A building is a work of art, so of course each of you takes fierce pride in your own design. Besides, architectural work isn't something that wraps up in a day or two, is it?"
"Cough, ahem. That is true."
"We are deeply grateful that the client understands our position."
Human hearts naturally leaned toward those who stroked their egos and validated their struggles rather than scolding them. Watching the tense atmosphere melt into cordial warmth, Sanwol smiled internally.
"Even so, since I am the one commissioning the construction, I hope you will give my wishes some consideration as well."
"Of course! Who would object?"
"Indeed, indeed! One cannot call himself an architect if he ignores his client's wishes!"
With Sanwol adopting such an accommodating stance, the very men who had been shouting at the top of their lungs moments ago nodded vigorously in agreement.
"First, hand me the blueprints each of you has prepared. I will examine them one by one, and then make the final call."
An abrupt declaration that the client would personally inspect them.
Yet to the architects deadlocked in bitter debate, this was a welcome relief. Sanwol was immediately handed what looked like an entire volume. Or more accurately, a stack of blueprints thick enough to rival an encyclopedia.
"Here you are."
"...These are all blueprints?"
To reiterate, Sanwol had never majored in civil engineering or architecture. Thus, he had no inkling that a single construction project could generate dozens of technical drawings for a single structure. Worse, because the building Sanwol intended to erect was monstrously huge, the volume of documentation was several times greater than usual.
Sanwol’s face crumpled as he found himself saddled with the grim duty of reviewing hundreds of architectural plans sheet by sheet.
It was, quite literally, a disaster entirely of his own making.