The New Employee — 6
A person is not a creature that lives to eat and sleep. A person is a creature that lives to dream.
Simply providing Lim Hayeon with food, clothing, and shelter would never bring her to me.
I had to make working at Daseogak look like the only path by which her dream could ever be realized.
From her point of view, it had to appear as a rope of hope — one she needed to seize firmly and never let go of, even if it meant setting aside a few personal feelings.
And now, the only rope of hope had been cast out.
Lim Hayeon. Now you have no choice but to grab hold, do you?
The moment I described the benefits awaiting those selected as outstanding work-study scholars at Daseogak, the hall erupted into an uproar.
"Writer Hopil himself will help with revisions?!"
"Hoh. Isn't that a finer prize than the award itself?"
"Oh, come off it! Prize winners receive support from the literary association — what is there even to compare?"
"That's the sort of thing you write with a warm back and a full belly, is it?! You write to make your name known to the world! Writer Hopil — a man whose name no one in Yichang doesn't know — is offering to review your manuscripts. What benefit anywhere could possibly top that!"
"Hearing it out, I'd say he has a point."
"Writer Hopil's revisions, and a published book..."
"Why isn't my name on that list?"
"Oh, you! Go ask that belly of yours, the one that eats meat three square meals a day!"
"Grrr. Why did my grandfather have to retire from office, and my father settle into being a landowner?! The world is unjust!"
Some strange noises rose in response to my announcement, but for the most part, the reaction was favorable.
"That concludes the introduction of the work-study scholarship program. Those of you named as scholarship candidates who are interested, please gather before me once the event ends. I will hand out application forms bearing your names; fill them out and submit them by sunset tomorrow."
I brought it to a close in high spirits and stepped down from the stage.
The moment the literary association event ended and I laid out the prepared documents, the scholarship candidates came swarming.
"Judge Kang! I'm one of the scholarship candidates you called!"
"Take an application form."
"Give me one too!"
After a breathless scramble of checking personal details and handing out nearly every form, the fish I most wanted to hook finally swam up.
"So Miss Lim Hayeon has come as well. Take one."
A fish is always at its most wary right before it takes the bait.
There was no need to go grinning ear to ear for no reason. Like Grand Duke Jiang calmly dangling his fishing line, I held the documents out to her, mechanical and unhurried.
...
Not taking it?
Lim Hayeon hesitated like a fish agonizing to the very last moment over whether swallowing the bait would kill it — her hand darted toward the papers, then pulled back, then wavered again.
"I'm busy, so if you can't decide whether you're taking it or not, step aside. Next applicant, please."
I don't particularly care about you, you know. With a show of mild irritation, I told her so and swept her documents off to the side.
Startled, perhaps, by my tone, Lim Hayeon shrank back a little and stepped away.
"I have a question."
As Lim Hayeon withdrew to the side, a man came up to me.
"Are you an applicant?"
His was not a face I remembered from among those I'd intended to select as work-study scholars.
"No, sir. I'm one of today's award winners — I just received an encouragement prize."
"Ah! I was so dazed up on that stage that I failed to place your face. My apologies. What can I do for you?"
What business could he possibly have, when I was supposed to be enjoying a live broadcast of the Shadowless Divine Thief chomping down on my bait?
This was a man who, having won his prize, could live out his days in comfort as a kept guest of the literary association — three square meals a day, pocket money on top, a face welcome at every drinking party — and all he'd have to do was write.
While I fumed inwardly without letting a trace of it show, the man posed a most unexpected question.
"Might I also apply for the work-study scholarship?"
Why on earth would a prize winner want a work-study scholarship?
"I beg your pardon? Did you not receive an encouragement prize? The scholarship is intended for those who failed to win an award. Winners receive separate support from the literary association."
"If I were to give up the prize benefits, could I then receive Writer Hopil's revisions?"
So that was what he was after.
"Haha. Is there truly any need to go to such lengths? With the association's support and the leisure to write in comfort, better work will come of you naturally."
"No. I know my own writing best. This piece is one I poured years of labor into. I cannot imagine for a moment that support money would make it any better. If it comes to a choice, giving up the benefits and receiving Writer Hopil's revisions would be a hundred, a thousand times the better bargain."
You're desperate for feedback, aren't you.
Write alone long enough, and moments come when you feel utterly lost. You can seek counsel then from family, friends, acquaintances — but even that is often out of reach, or the advice falls short of what you need.
I understand your situation, truly, but still.
"The positions are limited, and there are matters of fairness to consider. I'm afraid it would be difficult."
No. You're not some destitute aspiring writer — you won an award, and support is yours for the taking.
There are so many aspiring writers out there who genuinely need the help. What I want are writers in desperate straits — people who need to become Daseogak employees to keep body and soul together.
"Is there truly no way it could be arranged?"
No. There isn't. I was about to fire back the refusal when, for an instant, I caught sight of Lim Hayeon's expression.
Still dithering, is she? She wore the look of someone who had been debating whether or not to have ramyeon, then watched the person beside them slurp theirs down so deliciously that they began to think maybe they should order some too — the face of a hand hovering just short of the bowl.
Keep dithering like that, and a fine method occurs to me.
"Well, there is a way — erasing the name from the form of someone who has given up their scholarship application and writing yours in its place. Only, everyone has already collected theirs, and this single sheet is all that remains."
The method of having your ramyeon snatched away just as you were about to eat it, that is.
I let my fingers drift, ever so casually, toward Lim Hayeon's form.
"Is the form with 'Lim Hayeon' written on it the one belonging to someone who has withdrawn their application? Then I shall erase the name and—"
"Wh-what do you think you're doing?!"
Lim Hayeon snatched the form up with a jolt of alarm in her voice.
"I thought you had no intention of taking it?"
"Goodness, no! I was thinking about something else! Give it here!"
"Here you are. Submissions close at sunset tomorrow — and I won't be waiting this time. Come submit it promptly."
"Hmph!"
Like someone who had just recovered a prize nearly stolen from under her nose, she hugged the form to her chest and scurried off.
Dithering like that when she meant to take it all along.
"Um... if you do that, will there be no form left for me to write my name on?"
"That one just now was the last."
"Ah..."
The next day.
Doing my level best not to betray the hangover I'd earned drinking with the literary association crowd the night before, I arrived at Daseogak.
Would it be wiser to drive the alcohol out of my system with internal energy, or to spend my meager reserves restoring my vitality so I could receive the documents?
While I deliberated like a gamer agonizing over the right moment to pop his precious consumable item, the applicants came flooding in.
"I've brought my application!"
"Mine as well."
"Here it is!"
Every last one of them filled out their form.
Well, of course they did.
Because I had personally vetted every one of them.
Using the personal information the contest applicants had submitted in advance, I had sized up each individual's family circumstances.
Lest any applicant turn out to be the type to shout "flex!" every day of the week yet write my family was poor... thank you, Mother in their personal details, I had received each submission in person, comparing whether their dress was shabby or fine.
And at the last, with the literary association's help, I had even completed a round of verification.
The system might have been built to hook Lim Hayeon, but I had, without question, chosen people whose need for help was genuine.
"Am I not late?"
A man flung open Daseogak's door and strode in.
"Lunchtime isn't even over — how could you be late? Your documents, please."
"You truly mean to pay a porter's monthly wage?"
The man asked in a tone of sheer disbelief.
"Of course. On an ordinary inn waiter's monthly pay, you can't even keep yourself fed, let alone make a living — isn't that so?"
The waiters one sees at inns are mostly lads in their teens. However hard they work, their "wages" amount in truth to meals and a sliver of pocket money — nothing that could properly be called pay at all.
Porters, by contrast, are the cargo-bearers of the escort agencies. Hauling heavy loads back and forth over long distances is punishing work, but it is a trade that puts into one's hands money enough to feed a family.
"Yes, that is so. But to pay that much to a mere servant boy — forgive me, I am simply dumbfounded."
"Daseogak is the finest bookstore in Yichang — we can well afford that wage. And if we help writers in straitened circumstances, they will not forget it; they will repay us with fine works. How could I possibly refuse to help?"
In truth, those wages were split half by the Yichang literary association and half by me.
Since I had proposed the work-study scholarship system in the first place, and the outstanding-scholar benefits came out of my own pocket as well, I supposed I had earned the right to a little of the credit.
"Of course. Though my dress is shabby, I am no beast that forgets a kindness."
"Good. I'll hold you to it. In return — when you are working, you will work, not drift off dreaming about your writing."
Getting caught scribbling story ideas on the side during work hours and losing everything for it — Writer Kangmo is cautionary example enough.
"Yes, sir! Of course!"
Lunchtime came and went, and most of the applicants submitted their documents and departed.
All but one woman.
Why aren't you coming, Lim Hayeon?
So she isn't coming after all.
Looking out the door, I watched the sun begin its slow descent.
I had hoped Lim Hayeon would come flying in, pink pigtails streaming behind her — but in the end, she never appeared.
This is as far as my outstretched hand goes, Lim Hayeon.
I had done all that was mine to do. If she still would not come, then clinging to any further hope would only be a loss.
After all, I had already secured the staff Daseogak needed. There remained the matter of the martially trained employee — and of the previous Shadowless Divine Thief — but I could always spend extra coin to hire a guard.
Time to close up, then.
The very moment I moved to cast off my lingering hope—
"I'm not late today, am I?"
The pink-haired woman poked her head out from beyond the door.
"Aren't you late a little too often?"
I asked her, lacing the words with a small complaint.
"The sun has only just begun to set."
She thrust out her lips as though I'd accused her of some great injustice.
"Your application, please."
The moment I held out my hand, she swept into Daseogak in a single bound and planted herself before me.
"...You really are paying as much as a porter earns, aren't you?"
She spoke with studied composure, but her face and eyes were brimming over with anxiety.
"That's right."
I declared it firmly, as though to sweep her anxiety far away.
"And if I become an outstanding work-study scholar, you'll publish my book as well?"
"That's right."
"And Writer Hopil will help with my revisions — that's true too, isn't it?"
"If you write hard enough that he decides it's worth reading."
"I'll work hard."
"Then..."
Just give me the documents. When I held out my hand, she abruptly seized my wrist with both of hers.
What are you doing?
I have no interest in your hand. What I need is your documents.
"I really will work hard."
...
Lim Hayeon said it looking me full in the face.
There was nothing frightened in her expression, none of her usual wariness toward me, none of that clownish mask — only the will of a woman who, though her dream was still uncertain, was determined to make it come true somehow, whatever it took.
"I'll work hard, and... I'm going to become a writer."
Was this the face of a track athlete declaring, with everything they had poured out, that they would take that medal if it killed them?
Lim Hayeon's eyes held nothing but resolute determination.
"Then I'll be rooting for you."
As a senior writer. As a patron backing the future of a woman full of dreams.
I cheered her on, gazing at her with nothing but sincerity.
Lim Hayeon looked back at me, and her eyes widened slightly.
Did she have something to say? She soon ducked away from my gaze, her lips working soundlessly for a moment — then she bowed her head and held out the documents.
"...Here."
The instant I took the papers from her, Lim Hayeon flew out of Daseogak as if the building were on fire.
If she could move that fast, why was she late every single time?
Was it the same principle as that friend of mine who lived five minutes from the school gate and still managed to be late every morning?
I lifted the documents she had handed me high overhead.
Work-Study Scholarship Applicant — Lim Hayeon
At last, I had it in my hands. Just how much suffering had gone into obtaining this one wretched sheet of paper?
In the end, I had succeeded in capturing her. Picturing her now, soon to toil away diligently at Daseogak, I let out a small declaration of victory.
"Lim Hayeon. You're mine."