The Merchant's Code - 1
Scholar Hwang made his way to Daseogak once more today.
The Multibook Society's boycott was proving far more effective than anyone had anticipated.
People from every walk of life in Yichang bought books, of course, but who purchased the most volumes by far? Scholars. Precisely that.
Scholar Hwang and the other members of the Multibook Society had been working on their classmates and teachers alike, persuading them to take their business anywhere but the rival bookstores—anywhere except Daseogak.
A writer who had been buried in obscurity and was only now beginning to blossom was being tormented by the dirty tricks of thugs. And a single action—a boycott—could help him. How could anyone refuse to lend a hand?
In the end, every shop sold books at roughly the same price. In a trade like this, reputation was everything. The scholars chose to walk a little farther if it meant giving their custom to Daseogak rather than anywhere else.
“I only hope Author Hopil can find the strength to rise again.”
Word had reached them that the man had stopped eating and taken to his bed. Scholar Hwang pushed open the door of Daseogak, praying that Hopil would recover his spirits.
The moment he stepped inside he saw more than a dozen Multibook Society members standing by the entrance instead of heading upstairs.
“Why are you all lingering here instead of going up?”
He asked a member he usually got along with.
“The manager says he’s going to post a new letter from Author Hopil.”
“A new letter from Hopil? D-don’t tell me it’s the announcement that Volume Two is coming out?”
“Could be Volume Two. Could also be a retirement notice. Nobody knows, which is why everyone’s just standing here.”
“Please let it be the release date for Volume Two.”
“Here comes the manager.”
The black-haired shopkeeper gave the Multibook Society members a polite nod, then began fixing a large letter to the notice board.
“Let’s read it together!”
“Get your head out of the way!”
It felt exactly like the old examination-result postings. The members could not wait for the manager to finish; they started reading the moment each line was stuck up.
This is Hopil…
I intended to lay down my brush forever. After such devastating news, I had been unable to repay the people who came to my aid. With what face could I continue living? I had stopped eating and drinking; the will to live had left me entirely.
“Hahaha. So the manager wasn’t exaggerating. Author Hopil really took it hard.”
“Of course he did. Having your own writing stolen would crush anyone.”
“Don’t tell me he’s actually retiring for good.”
The Multibook Society’s despair evaporated with the very next lines.
That was before I heard news of my readers.
I had resolved to stop writing, yet the news filled me with such joy that I broke my own solemn vow and cowardly took a single spoonful of porridge. That one spoonful brought my strength flooding back. I could feel the encouragement of every reader.
“Author Hopil has recovered!”
“That’s right—he says he recovered because of us. Is he finally going to write again?”
At the same time, a new wave of despair washed over me.
Once I finish this porridge, what then? I had thought that if I succeeded I could eat something as humble as plain noodles without a second thought—now even lifting a single spoon of porridge frightens me. Daseogak has offered to help, but what right does this Hopil have to accept their money?
The thought that my own hard work only fattens the purses of those scoundrels leaves my chest so tight I can scarcely breathe. For now I can only avert my eyes from the bleak road ahead, tend to my body, and wait for further news from my dear readers.
Hopil’s letter ended there.
“Plain noodles?! Author Hopil can’t even eat plain noodles!”
“Good heavens! Something as simple and tasteless as noodles! We should at least be feeding him Napolitan spaghetti!”
“What on earth is Napolitan spaghetti? Recommending some foreign dish to Author Hopil—have you lost your mind? For him it has to be a proper carbonara with rich cream sauce!”
“Carbonara with cream sauce?! That’s heretical nonsense! That isn’t even real pasta!”
“Heresy? A man who eats Napolitan spaghetti has no right to talk! Taste actual cream before you open your mouth!”
“Is this really the time to fight over food?”
Scholar Hwang barely managed to drag the two Multibook Society members apart before they seized each other by the collars over the true definition of pasta.
“So the encouragement gave him strength… but his income still hasn’t improved at all.”
One member finished reading Hopil’s letter with calm composure and let out a long sigh.
“For Author Hopil’s sake I’ll buy ten copies of Dangga Pungun at Daseogak today.”
“Ten? I’ll buy more than twenty!”
“Is he saying he’ll write, or that he won’t?”
“Isn’t it obvious? As long as those other bookstores keep selling Dangga Pungun, he refuses to write another word!”
“This is all the bookstores’ fault! We have to teach them a lesson.”
“Author Hopil finally ate something! Let’s push even harder!”
“Before he actually retires for good, let’s show those bookstore bastards what real force looks like!”
After a heated debate over the newly posted letter, the Multibook Society dispersed for the day.
Hope had returned. Author Hopil had found his strength again. All that remained was revenge against the bookstores.
For the Multibook Society, the only thing left was an even greater show of force.
The first step in that show of force was to intensify the boycott.
One scholar glanced carefully around, then slipped into a certain bookstore.
“What do you think you’re doing in here right now?!”
A Multibook Society scholar, face flushed with quiet anger, confronted him the moment he started browsing the shelves.
“Y-you—how are you here?”
The first scholar’s voice trembled with shock.
“I should be the one asking you that.”
“I heard this place is selling books at a twenty-percent discount these days… I was just looking.”
“I know money’s been tight for you. But what you’re doing right now is selling your conscience at a discount!”
“What kind of outrageous thing is that to say?!”
“How many meals have I bought you because you were hard up? How much wine? And now a little discount is enough for you to break faith?”
Shame made the scholar drop his head. While his classmates were maintaining the boycott, he had let a mere discount blind him.
“You’re right. I was thinking foolishly.”
“Customer, we’re offering a full twenty-percent discount!”
The clerk, overjoyed at the rare sight of a customer, turned ashen the moment the scholar set the book back down.
“Come on. Today we’ll buy our books at Daseogak.”
“Customer! Sir!”
The scholar paid no attention to the clerk’s stricken face and simply left the shop.
“I’ve got business elsewhere today, so I can’t go with you. Instead, here’s a gift for a friend who kept his principles.”
The Multibook Society scholar pulled a book from his robes and pressed it into his companion’s hands.
“What’s this?”
“Dangga Pungun.”
“Is this the famous Dangga Pungun?! Embarrassing as it is to admit, I’ve been too poor even to dream of buying a copy. A-are you really giving this to me?”
“I’ve already bought dozens for missionary work. Take it without worry.”
“Thank you. I’ll head to Daseogak right away.”
The Multibook Society scholar walked his friend a short distance toward Daseogak, then returned to the shadowy alley that overlooked the bookstore that had violated the merchant’s code and settled in once more.
“I’ll have to keep watching until the relief shift arrives.”
Multibook Society
Boycott Surveillance in Progress
“They did this shit again!”
Every morning for days now, the bookstore owners of Yichang had been greeting the dawn with the exact same scream.
“Who the hell is dumping all this garbage every single night?!”
Night after night, mountains of trash were being left in front of their shops—small refuse, large refuse, even kitchen waste. The stench and the sheer ugliness were so bad that people walking the streets at first light detoured around the bookstores entirely.
“Morning trade is ruined. Ruined again.”
No customer was going to pick their way through garbage that might stain their clothes or cling to their nose. The owner began the daily chore of clearing the mess that had become part of his routine.
If only a single culprit were dumping the trash, they could catch the bastard and thrash him. The truly vicious part was that it was never just one or two people.
Someone would fling refuse in front of a shop. Someone else would arrive and add more. The same act repeated itself until, in the blink of an eye, the entrance had become a dump.
When a furious owner finally grabbed one of the dumpers, the man had the gall to say:
“There was already trash lying there, so I figured this was the place for it. You ought to clean up once in a while.”
Enraged, the owner dragged the fellow to the yamen—only for a crowd of scholars to gather outside and protest that locking a friend up for tossing a little garbage was an outrage. Faced with organized scholar activism over a minor misdemeanor, the official simply patted the junior on the shoulder, told him not to do it again, and released him without charge.
For the bookstore owners it was enough to drive a man mad. They had been warned to beware of academic ties, local ties, and blood ties. Even when they were wronged, there was nowhere to turn.
In the end the owner could only clear the mountain of trash from his shop every morning.
“If it had been just one bastard I could at least catch him. Ack! What the hell is this?!”
While he was still clearing the refuse, a rotten egg came flying from somewhere and smashed against him.
“Save Author Hopil! Bookstores must uphold the merchant’s code!”
“You little—!”
The owner chased the fleeing man, but there was no outrunning young legs. Wiping the reeking mess from his forehead, he could only heave a long sigh.
“This is bad. Really bad. I need to meet the other owners and find a way out of this.”
At this rate the shops could genuinely go under.
Forcing down the uneasy premonition rising in his chest, the bookstore owner hurried off to gather his fellows.