Chapter 13
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 13
Chapter Title: As Kim Deok-su Predicted
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After a long tug-of-war with the Heo family that finally resulted in a completed contract, Kim Deok-su rolled up his sleeves and dove into full-scale business preparations.
They say even a thousand pearls are worthless unless strung together.
The value of the same goods can vary wildly depending on how they're handled and by whom.
And after ten days of agonized deliberation on how to sell Culinary Duel: Jang Geum for top dollar, the money-grubbing ghost Kim Deok-su finally arrived at his answer.
"Is everyone here?"
"Yes, we've been gathered and waiting since this morning."
"Good. Grab a book and follow me."
"Yes, sir!"
Kim Deok-su and one servant emerged into the main guild house courtyard carrying books, where the key figures who would drive Hanyang Merchant Guild's future sales awaited.
Their appearances were a motley assortment.
A Taoist with a long white beard, draped in a gray robe, wearing an upturned bamboo hat.
A woman in heavy makeup and a flashy five-color jacket.
A man in a brown overcoat and horsehair hat, fanning himself vigorously.
And others whose status and gender were impossible to discern, all clustered in one corner of the yard.
Kim Deok-su set down the prepared books and addressed them.
"Take one each."
These were crudely bound volumes on rough bark paper, likely made to cut costs as much as possible.
The recipients glanced at the covers and asked,
"Culinary Duel: Jang Geum? Never seen this before."
"What's this book?"
"It's the story you'll be performing from here on out. Just as I mentioned before—one per province, travel your assigned region for a year, and spread the tale."
In Kim Deok-su's judgment, what Culinary Duel: Jang Geum needed most was fame.
Lord Heo Yeop had shelled out a fortune to donate ten pricey copies to the court, but it was nowhere near enough to build buzz for the work.
Word-of-mouth from the yangban who'd seen those ten books would spread slowly, hopping from person to person and region to region until it blanketed all eight provinces of Joseon—how many years would that take?
At best, it wouldn't happen until Kim Deok-su himself kicked the bucket.
In the worst case, it might take as long as it had for tales like Chunhyang or The Rabbit, waiting for eras and dynasties to shift.
But who had time for that?
"Your compensation will be a full year's salary equivalent to one of our guild servants, plus all the proceeds from your performances."
Of course, they couldn't just mass-print those expensive books and flood the eight provinces either.
So he'd brought in the professionals to solve it.
Madang masters, storytellers, reciters, monologuists.
Names varied by era and region, but these communicators—living off their mouths alone since the Three Kingdoms era—were the incarnations of oral tradition.
Overwhelming vocal projection that hooked celadon-eared listeners.
Expressive faces that mesmerized audiences.
Having earned their keep with words their whole lives, they knew instinctively how to spin and pause a tale to make it sing.
If it was fun just reading alone, how much more thrilling would it be to experience it together—watching, listening, laughing, and chattering through a pro's delivery?
"Hmm... but what if the story flops?"
"Right. A guild servant's yearly pay is fine—we could earn that ourselves. If we really hustle on a big hit like Chunhyang, we could make even more. No reason to trek to the boonies and slave away."
"Nothing more grueling than forcing a dud performance."
"Mm."
Of course they wouldn't know.
They hadn't read it yet.
Kim Deok-su chuckled at the monologuists' needless fretting.
"Haha, read it yourselves and decide. We're heading out tomorrow. If you pass, I'll just find someone else—no skin off your backs."
"In that case..."
"I'll give it a look."
"Can we answer by end of day?"
"Yes, but keep one thing in mind. You're free to refuse, but if you do and then perform it anyway, I'll slap the Hanyang Merchant Guild name on it and wipe you off the map. Got it?"
"Yes, sir!"
The monologuists chorused their assent to these eminently fair terms.
Nodding in satisfaction, Kim Deok-su turned to the servant beside him.
"Give them rooms in the guild guesthouse for the night."
"Yes, Head Clerk."
And soon after,
the familiar cry echoed from the guesthouse.
"Next volume!!"
A small town in Anju, Pyongan Province.
A place where you woke, ate, worked, ate again when hungry, worked till sunset, slept—and aside from whoring, there was nothing else to do. Into this sleepy backwater came a minor uproar.
Courtesy of a man who dubbed himself Great Peak Master.
A monk who drank booze, devoured meat, and chased coin—shaved head or not, just a fake priest.
People's eyes locked on the shady outsider.
Then the massive dopamine bomb dropped.
"And get this! That tavern bastard at Bubu Pavilion slipped poison into Jang Geum's tea! Sweet, innocent Jang Geum slurps it down without a second thought—glug glug!!"
"Son of a—!!"
"What'd Jang Geum ever do to deserve this!!"
"Oh, Jang Geum!! Jang Geum!!"
"And after drinking that tea, Jang Geum finally!!"
Splat.
The king of death scenes, Great Peak Master, collapsed dramatically onto the marketplace dirt as if struck dead.
The chill ground bit into his knees and ribs, but glimpses through slitted eyes of piled fabric scraps and grain made it all worthwhile.
A beat's pause.
Tempting to milk it more here?
Nah—this was his third go in this town. Gotta honor the performer's code.
Springing back up, Great Peak Master continued.
"That's when! A voice came from the heavens."
"Jang Geum. Rise, child. Jang Geum."
His falsetto imitation of a woman's voice should've been awkward, but the pro nailed it—warm as a mother's, solemn as a bodhisattva's.
"Sob!! Mother!!"
"Mother! Are you well in the afterlife?!"
"Mom! Waaah!!"
Great Peak Master grinned at the marketplace wails filling the air.
Their tears were his treasure.
A few months of gigs had already netted him a full year's take from Hanyang. Add the promised servant's salary, and with the year not even half done, it was multiples more.
And Culinary Duel: Jang Geum was a serial!
Come back next year with fresh chapters!
The year after with more!
Stack coin for years—buy a fine house in Hanyang, a fat plot of land nearby, snag a pretty retired courtesan!
The wine pools and meat forests he'd vowed upon leaving the temple seemed within reach.
What a fake priest.
Perhaps Buddha, watching from above, took offense—and a voice boomed to punish the fraud.
"Halt! You're under arrest for sedition and leading the masses astray. Bind him and drag him to the yamen!"
"Yes, Captain!!"
As burly runners charged, Great Peak Master rolled his eyes, scanning the scene.
True masters recognize each other.
That snake-eyed sneer from behind the tree? Culprit.
Fellow performer, yet so stingy. It was the last day anyway.
Veteran of such scraps, he said coolly,
"I'm innocent—I'll walk myself. Which way's the yamen?"
"Shut up and move!"
"Got it."
Great Peak Master strode to the yamen with dignified steps.
Kneeling before the magistrate, he began,
"Your Honor, there's been a misunderstanding."
"Misunderstanding? Word on the street says you're a seditious rabble-rouser. This informer confirmed it—some vulgar vernacular trash. Where's the misunderstanding?"
Informer's in cahoots with Snake-eyes.
Informer's after my take from the gigs; Snake-eyes wants the competition gone.
Pfft, no biggie.
"All a mistake, Your Honor. Search my bosom—pull out the book. It's the Culinary Duel: Jang Geum I performed today. Flip to the last page, and it'll clear everything."
"Book? Fetch it."
A runner yanked the book from Great Peak Master's robes.
Cheap bark paper instead of fine white stock, words faded in spots.
The magistrate checked the cover, then the final page.
"Culinary Duel: Jang Geum, huh? This seal..."
"Correct. Bureau of Books and National Academy stamps."
Who'd call a book certified by the censors and endorsed by the academy seditious?
The magistrate double-checked the seals—yep, legit.
"They check out. Informer, explain this."
"Uh... well..."
Explain? You're screwed.
Surging up like a spring—kneeling had built momentum—Great Peak Master declared,
"That book's by the youngest son of Senior Secretary Heo Yeop, former Vice Minister of Rites and Minister of Works. Lord Heo Yeop himself contracted with Hanyang Merchant Guild to hire us performers and spread the tale across the eight provinces."
"Lord Heo Yeop?! The Yangcheon Heo clan's Heo Yeop?!"
"Yes. Search my luggage—you'll find the contract from Hanyang Merchant Guild."
"No need. We're good."
Almost stepped in it.
Label a rank-2 minister's son's book seditious? Backlash would end your career in screams.
Even if fake, those seals made it ironclad.
So,
"Tch, informer—what kind of bungling is this?!"
"But... I..."
Even a midday stray knows where to lie.
This fool's worse.
Obviously blinded by greed, stirring trouble unasked.
Face ashen on the informer, the magistrate bellowed,
"Round up whoever framed him by tomorrow. I'll interrogate and punish them myself. And if you're involved, informer, you'll answer too. How dare you slander a rank-2 minister's house?!"
"Eek!!"
Good enough?
The magistrate pondered, then shook his head.
With Yangcheon Heo and Lord Heo Yeop involved, better scrub clean.
Prove zero connection to the frame-up.
"Hey, Great Peak Master, was it?"
"Yes, Your Honor."
"Thinking of a small gathering with local scholars tonight. Care to perform?"
"Wouldn't miss it, milord."
Yangban gigs paid top coin.
One step closer to wine pools and meat forests for Great Peak Master.
Just wait a bit longer, Chohyang of Myeongwol House. Your Great Peak Master is coming.
Scenes like this were unfolding across the eight provinces.
And so time passed.
A massive crowd swarmed the entrance of Hanyang Merchant Guild's main branch.
"Damn it, the money's here! Take my money!! And gimme the book!!"
"Hey, Kim, Head Clerk—how can you swallow a goldmine whole without sharing? Cut us traders in. We go way back!!"
"Sell us the Golden Fried Chicken recipe! Our brothel's on the brink!!"
Truly heartwarming cries.
Sipping tea leisurely amid the pleas outside, Kim Deok-su took up his brush.
With meticulous care, he inscribed on pristine white paper, then called a servant.
"Hang this outside."
"Yes, sir."
The servant, arms full of paper and paste, shouldered through the mob and plastered it up.
♚ All First Reader Token Subscribers Get It Release Day ♚
♚ Inquiries: Kim Deok-su, Hanyang Merchant Guild ♚
♜ All Recipes Provided Free Upon Franchising ♜
♜ Inquiries: Yeonkwangjeong Brothel, Pyongyang ♜
"Gasp!! It's up!!!"
"Finally!!! Finally!!"
"The money's here, you bastards!!!"
As Kim Deok-su predicted,
the eight provinces' wealth began pouring into Hanyang Merchant Guild.