Chapter 4
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: That's Me
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"Are you in?"
"Who is it?"
"I've come to look at books, so open the door."
"...You?"
The cold gaze of the bearded man blocking the door turned toward Dori. He looked like a commoner at first glance. Did this guy even know where he was?
His hand was inching slyly toward his waist, ready to pull out a club at the slightest provocation. Seeing this, Dori flashed a broad grin as if he understood perfectly and replied.
"Heh heh, brother, you think I'd come to look at books? Of course it's our young master. Young master, we've arrived, so come on down."
"Huh? Already here?"
Poke.
At Dori's voice, I wriggled on his back and stuck my head out.
Something told me this was it. That 'wild tale' Dori mentioned felt like it would fix my utterly blocked otaku life.
A gut instinct that digging just a little deeper here would reveal the solution.
Without delay, I urged Dori on toward the nearby bookstore. The bearded man alternated glances between me peeking out and Dori, then withdrew his hand from his waist and asked casually.
"Who might this young master be?"
"This is Young Master Heo Gyun, the third son of Lord Heo Yeop, who served as Second Minister of the Royal Secretariat and Third Minister of Works. He's just started learning to read and came to browse books, so please let us through. Here's his identification tag."
"Ah... My apologies. Please, come in."
This must be why they say even servitude is better in a lord's house. The bearded man checked the tag, bowed his head, and opened the bookstore door. Dori's shoulders puffed up with pride.
"After you."
"Yeah, let's go. Thanks, mister."
I hopped down from Dori's back and greeted the bearded man, whose eyes widened in surprise. Maybe because I used polite speech. Who knows. To me, commoner or outcast didn't matter—respect for elders came first. It was just easier that way.
Waving my tiny hand like that, I stepped inside, where the musty scent of aged paper tickled my nose.
At the same time, the shopkeeper sitting in one corner rubbed his hands and approached me. Having overheard the exchange outside, his attitude was exceedingly polite.
"Thank you for visiting Bomundang. What are you looking for? Scriptures or classics are on the left, poems or sijo on the right shelves. If you need primers like Thousand Character Classic or Elementary Learning..."
"Shopkeeper, never mind that. Do you have any novels?"
"Pardon? Novels?"
I'd carefully phrased it as 'novels' instead of wild tales to respect the family standing, but the reaction was odd.
Hmm, what now?
"Novels. Novels."
"Well... by novels, do you mean perhaps tabloid literature or popular fiction? Like wild tales?"
"Yes! That's what I'm after!"
Jackpot. Hand it over quick.
But contrary to my expectations, the shopkeeper leisurely stroked his beard and stared at me.
A tiny young master, maybe five years old. From the conversation outside, he'd just begun learning letters. No wonder he wouldn't know. The shopkeeper smiled brightly and said.
"Young master, I'm sorry, but Bomundang doesn't carry popular fiction. Most bookstores in Hanyang don't either. I've heard there are collections of wild tales and tabloids, but they're not sold openly—you'd have to commission a book peddler directly."
"Huh? Why? Dori said he saw some here."
"Dori?"
At my words, the shopkeeper whipped his head around to stare at the dazed Dori.
Literate slaves are expensive. A lord's house is different, alright. Anyway, I got the picture. The shopkeeper turned straight to Dori.
"Dori, was it? What wild tale did you see?"
"Uh... I saw a fox spirit story."
"How many pages?"
"Well? It was so long ago, I don't remember well, but three pages? Something like that."
"Yellowed paper, with black mold after a few days?"
"Yes, exactly. I read it until the ink faded. How did you know?"
"Heh heh, lad, I've run this bookstore for thirty years—think I wouldn't know?"
Books handled by slaves are obvious. Crude things written on cheap straw paper woven from rice stalks to quickly teach letter meanings through titillating popular fiction. Barely worthy of being called books.
"As you heard, young master, that's not a proper book. Too few pages, and it starts rotting after a few days, so no shop carries them. And what you're after isn't some three-page wild tale, right?"
"True, but..."
I just wanted a normal novel like back in modern times.
Really none? Why not? As question marks floated over my head, the shopkeeper asked.
"Curious why not?"
"Yes..."
"Simple reason. Let me see... this book should do. You'll read it soon enough in your studies. The famous classic, Great Learning."
The shopkeeper pulled a book from the opposite shelf and handed it to me. About 300 pages thick? Exactly what I had in mind.
"What do you think this costs, young master?"
"...No idea?"
"We sell it for seven bolts of cotton cloth."
"Gasp!"
Dori let out a shriek at the shopkeeper's words.
What? Are seven bolts of cotton that expensive? I had scraps in my drawer. Living off the house, my sense of money was shot.
Dori hurried over and whispered in my ear.
"Young master, put that book down quick. If it gets damaged, we're in trouble."
"That pricey?"
"Insanely so. That's five sacks of rice."
Oof.
Way too expensive.
No wonder the bearded guy was eyeing the door with a club.
As I fidgeted and stealthily returned the book, the shopkeeper beamed.
"Ha ha."
Now what?
A child lord and young slave.
Clearly not big spenders today.
But the family was Heo, and just starting letters—sending them away empty-handed felt like a missed opportunity.
Sell one Great Learning and eat for a month. Guide them to a big one like Ten Manuals for the People, and a year's profit in one go. Couldn't let potential whales slip.
Fine. No customers anyway—might as well chat over tea.
Decision made, the shopkeeper flashed a sly salesman's smile and pointed to a table in the corner.
"Since you're here, have some tea before you go. You seem interested in books; I'll explain all I know."
"Thank you, shopkeeper."
"No trouble. All your questions answered?"
"Yes!"
Truly enlightening time.
Joseon common sense filling the gaps in my head. I bowed gratefully to the shopkeeper, who bowed back.
"See you next time, young master."
"Yes! I'll come here to buy books next time."
"Heh heh, much appreciated."
Exchanging farewells, we waved to the bearded man outside and headed home. After a few steps from the shop, Dori finally sighed deeply.
"Phew, tense about messing up a book—my head hurts. What kind of book costs that much? First I knew."
"Yeah."
Me too.
One Joseon fact from the shopkeeper chat.
Books in Joseon are expensive. Insanely so. I thought Great Learning pricey as a classic anthology, but no—the paper itself costs a fortune, and copying scribes' labor too.
"Young master, so no more wild tales?"
"Nah, shopkeeper said even searching won't find any."
According to him, most market books are study classics. Otherwise, just essays and memoirs self-published by highborn yangban sharing exploits.
If creative urge burned too hot, they'd pen compact poems for flair. Too long for verse? Passed down orally or via pansori like Chunhyangga or Simcheongga. Less worthy stuff circulated as wild tales.
No wonder no novels.
Joseon Omniscent Reader's Viewpoint. Sounds fun.
But five million won a pop.
Hands shake just holding it.
Even if you splurge on publishing one,
Oh, that pathetic yangban wasting on frivolities instead of setting example for commoners.
This guy's novel? Unsound ideology—impeach him!
You scoundrel! Bewitching the people with nonsense—neck him now!
Bashed like that, obvious. Why most Joseon novels are anonymous.
"Hm."
Recalling the chat while walking, thoughts settled.
Finally grasped how to keep my otaku life going.
I snapped my head up to Dori.
"Dori. One errand before home."
"Yes, anything."
"Sneak some paper from your old merchant guild."
My life's guide, the masterpiece piercing Joseon history, 'Joseon through Heo Gyun's Eyes,' said:
In this harsh era, one writer boldly used his name, invested big, published a novel, circulated it—defying the times.
Korea's first Hangul novel.
The famous Tale of Hong Gildong.
Courtesy name: Gyun. Pen name: Gyo-san. Gyo-san Heo Gyun.
That's me.
"Wonder when he'll be back."
Home, I burrowed under the blanket, wiggling toes, waiting for Dori.
Plan ahead was simple.
Operation: 'Our kid's smart and loves books but sucks at studying.'
Most hearing it assume fantasy or wuxia—cliché guess. Ironically, steady-seller all parents fall for unanimously.
Yes, chance to impress parents. You can do it.
"Young master, it's Dori."
"Come in. Come in."
Errand done, Dori arrived, tiptoeing quietly lest caught, opened my door, pulled pristine white paper from his bosom, set on table.
"Got it, but..."
"How much?"
"100 sheets plus binding: two sacks rice. Settle on next month's ledger day. Finish writing, bring back—they'll bind into book."
"Good job. Thanks."
"But what're you planning? Lord finds out, big scolding."
"It's fine, fine."
What else?
Steal two rice sacks worth paper behind Father's back to scribble wild tale scraps?
Get whipped. Guaranteed. Parents disappointed, 'Our son's no scholar.' Butt swells till bursts.
So what? Better than limbs torn off.
"Hee hee hee."
Ahh, visible again. My rose-tinted future.
No studying, no office, blow house money, live lavish happy end.
"You, go rest."
"Yes... young master."
Dori left with worried look. Watching his back, I settled at table.
'Our kid's smart and loves books but sucks at studying.'
Operation start.