Chapter 5
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 5
Chapter Title: Let's Make Some Food Waste
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"What should I write?"
With a blank sheet of paper in front of me, I adjusted my posture and sank into thought.
Truth be told, writing itself wasn't a big deal. My only experiences with writing were book reports from school days and the essay exam in my senior year of high school, but since I wasn't planning to sell this book anywhere, I could just extract the essence from all the webnovels, dramas, and movies I'd seen in my previous life and cobble together a whole volume in no time.
"Hmm... Let's decide on the genre first."
That said, I couldn't just scribble nonsense on this expensive paper worth two sacks of rice.
After organizing my thoughts for a moment, I gripped my wolf-hair brush and began jotting down ideas as they came to mind.
Fantasy, martial arts, romance, modern, gender-swap, alternate history, high-heat.
That's a lot.
When there are too many options, elimination method it is.
First off, romance is out.
They say boys and girls shouldn't sit together at seven, and I'm only five.
High-heat is out too.
This is a novel my parents will read—I don't want them discovering my secret tastes.
Gender-swap is out.
If I released something like that into the world, I might not be a Heo anymore.
Left with fantasy, martial arts, modern, and alternate history.
I carefully weighed these four remaining options before drawing a line through alternate history.
I barely know Joseon—Goryeo or Three Kingdoms alternate history? No way.
Besides, Joseon is a land of Neo-Confucianism, and my parents are at the vanguard of the yangban class.
Alternate history inevitably involves the ideologies of that era, and if I tackled it with my half-baked knowledge, I'd probably get caned—not spanked—for ruining the family name as an unfilial heretic.
Alternate history is out.
"So, fantasy, martial arts, or modern."
Now it gets tricky.
The classic fantasy where the hero defeats the demon king after eons of effort—history has proven its perfection.
The righteous path where good triumphs, emphasizing human virtue, fits seamlessly with Joseon's current ethos—no rough edges.
Fantasy passes.
Martial arts is good too.
Who’s stronger, the Heavenly Demon or the Martial Alliance Leader?
If the Nine Great Sects, Heavenly Demon Cult, and Five Great Families stripped their ranks and fought—who’d win?
Just watching the fights is fun, with sword auras, lightness skills, and masters flying everywhere.
It's the combo of eternal box-office hit "versus" matchups across time and cultures, plus power battles that any man goes crazy for. No wonder martial arts sells.
The only worry is it being too fantastical, but even Hong Gildong uses spells and earth-shrinking arts these days, so no issue.
Martial arts passes.
Modern (Joseon) isn't bad either.
The strength of modern novels is relatability. Sharing the same knowledge as readers builds empathy easily, and following that keeps the story on track.
If I balance the material and protagonist to draw my parents' empathy, then on the next new moon when two sacks of rice are due, I might dodge a spanking and get away with just a deep sigh.
"Ah, this is tough."
It was pure hell, like picking dinner from a menu.
Swords and magic, orcs and elves, heroes and demon kings—the fresh thrill of first-slice pizza fantasy.
Heavenly Demon or Alliance Leader, sauce on top or dipped—like sweet-and-sour pork at a feast. Martial arts.
Ripened kimchi, tender pork belly, springy tofu bubbling away. You know it's bad, but you can't stop. Modern.
I agonized over those three for a while before a massive realization hit me.
"Oh no!"
A stern shout!!
Get it together, Heo Gyun, you idiot.
Five years since possession, and you're still trapped in that previous life's obsession with doing your best?
You've steeled yourself for a beating, caused trouble, and now you're agonizing over how to write it well? What contradiction is this?
What you need to write isn't a masterpiece to wow the yangban—it's MSG-overloaded smut to thrill the illiterate masses!
"Whoa, shit, that was close."
With that flash of insight and deep self-reflection, I decided the genre on the spot.
Fusion fantasy.
Nice.
Kimchi, pizza, sweet-and-sour pork—all jammed into one pot. Time to make some real food waste.
Genre set—now for material and protagonist.
"Hmm."
This one's trickier than expected.
Sure, pulling from past-life knowledge would solve it easily, but the problem is I'm five years old.
Even a standard trope—a warrior protagonist enduring trials, growing, winning the war, saving the nation—is too much for a five-year-old to digest.
If asked how I know such things, I'd have no answer. Worst case, "Our son cares more about martial tales than studies—wants to join the army?" Disaster.
If simple stuff like that is indigestible, forget medicine, politics, society, courtroom dramas.
"What could work?"
Okay, rewind time.
Pick material from my five years here.
What did I do? Wake up, eat, fly kites with neighborhood kids, then hold hands with Father and little brother touring Gangneung eateries when they returned.
Just eat and shit. Yeah. Is this life?
"Huh?"
The answer hit simultaneously.
I really just ate and shat for five years.
Can't write about shitting, so one option left.
Food.
"I'll write a cooking novel."
A cooking story excuses any five-year-old writing it—hand-wave it as kid stuff.
No special knowledge needed; everyone gets it.
Plus, Father Heo Yeop of Grass Hall wasn't satisfied with Joseon's finest tofu and made his own, naming it after his studio—he's dead serious about gourmet eats. Our family, raised under him, hunts restaurants everywhere. Mix this right, and I might avoid the rod.
"Done."
Genre and material set.
And the protagonist of the Joseon cooking novel I know? Only one.
I picked up my brush right away.
- Long ago, beneath Hanyang's Samgaksan Mountain, lived a girl with absolute taste.
- Her name was Jang Geum.
Time passed, and the new moon arrived.
The day came. As Heo Gyun predicted, a thunderous command rang out at Heo Yeop's Hanyang main house.
"What did you just say?"
"...The accounts are off, my lord. You need to pay two more sacks of rice."
"What nonsense is this? I prepared exactly as agreed."
Tsk, merchants.
I calculated based on market rates, and now this.
In the courtyard settling payment, Heo Yeop didn't hide his displeasure and shot back.
"The inkstones and groceries last time were two bolts of cloth and two sacks of rice—you said the price yourself. Now hiking it after the sale? Does that make sense?"
"Sir, it's not like that."
"Not like that?! Did prices skyrocket since? Even if they did, jacking up after delivery—that your vaunted merchant honor?!"
At Heo Yeop's fury, Kim the head clerk of the Hanyang guild waved his hands in panic.
Something was seriously off. Frantically racking his brain, Kim found the cause and called a worker.
"Sir, big misunderstanding—hold on. Eopbok! Eopbok! Fetch that book quick."
"Yes, sir!"
Eopbok dumped the load and pulled out a book fast.
Kim took it and offered it politely with both hands to Heo Yeop.
"What is this?"
"The book ordered from your house, sir. A hundred blank sheets bound into a volume—two sacks of rice total, agreed for today. Trust me."
"What? What...?"
Stunned by the unheard claim, Heo Yeop took the book in bewilderment.
Brand new, spotless.
Hundred sheets plus binding? Two sacks isn't unreasonable.
Problem: he'd never written or ordered such a book.
"Who ordered this? Bong? Seong? Choehui?"
They wouldn't order behind his back.
And a surprising answer came.
"Not them, sir... Dori who works here ordered it. On the young master's errand..."
"What? Gyun?"
Absurd.
A mere five-year-old writing and ordering a book?
Flabbergasted, Heo Yeop examined it.
On glossy hanji paper, title in Hangul:
Culinary Duel: Jang Geum