Open for Business - 1

"Since the honor of the system's founder demands that he pay the work-study students from his own hand, I shall issue you vouchers to cover their wages in full."

Full funding for their wages? Just how much money are we talking about? Stunned by the Chairman's declaration, I found myself unable to open my mouth.

Granted, the Chairman came from a line of high officials and lived in a splendid mansion—but I hadn't expected him to be this generous.

It was a devilishly tempting proposal.

Daseogak still carried plenty of debt, and with no telling what troubles the future might hold, a coin saved was a coin earned. If I could hire capable workers for nothing, the smart move was to accept on the spot.

But.

"I'm grateful for the offer. However, this is a system I proposed to aid struggling literati. If I pay nothing myself, I fear the whole thing loses its meaning."

Snatching up a good offer the moment it's dangled in front of you? Amateur hour.

No matter how tempting, courtesy demanded one ritual refusal first.

Of course, I had no intention of refusing for good—I'd leave a crack in my logic wide enough for him to pry open and talk me around.

"Was it not you who proposed this work-study system? You drafted it, won over the literati association, proposed how to fund it, and proclaimed it before all. The court itself would count that a meritorious deed. I merely wish to bolster your cause, so think nothing of it."

"You show such generous support to a black-haired barbarian, an outsider to the literati association at that—I hardly know what to do with myself."

Now read the room and close the deal.

I refused a second time with noticeably softened resolve, signaling that one more gentle push and I would fold at once.

"Then don't refuse—take it. In return, gather more money. Work harder at your trade and grow your business."

"I beg your pardon? What do you mean?"

"Did you not say you would run a business that leaves its mark on people, as the Lord of Baek Family Manor once did? Then ought you not build a business as great as the one he built? Are you truly content with merely the finest bookstore in Yichang?"

The Chairman asked in a probing tone, as if to say: Don't you have a grand dream of your own? I know all about it—out with it.

Of course, I had no intention of ending things with a single Daseogak.

Dangga Pungun had certainly been a success. But its reach extended only across Yichang, the neighboring cities of Hubei, and the inner halls of the Sichuan Tang Clan.

To save the heroines' fates, that would never suffice. Even if only for the sake of my reputation stat, I needed to expand the business and raise my wealth and renown.

"I too wish to grow my business and touch the lives of more people. But I am a black-haired barbarian living in the Central Plains. Building a great enterprise amid strangers and the prejudice against black hair presents no small difficulty."

Expanding my business had a problem, all right: people I could trust enough to entrust it to.

Running a single Daseogak I could manage alone, but an enterprise was another beast entirely. If only I had kin or trusted friends to lean on—but what loyal retainers could a barbarian like me possibly have?

Before the Chairman, I beat my chest and poured out my frustration like a young man with grand dreams pinned flat against a wall of cold reality.

"My boy, you know one thing and not two. I understand your plight—no one to trust. But tell me: if your business leaves its mark on people, do you think those people will simply stand idle?"

"You mean the work-study students?"

At my question, the Chairman ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠nodded and went on.

"People, my boy—unless they're the young of beasts, no one forgets who reached out when times were hardest. Some of them may become writers. Some may enter official service. But others will ultimately fold their dreams and turn to earning their bread. And when that day comes, if you extend your hand to them—who would dare refuse?"

Make the work-study students my own people, and build the expansion on their backs. An undeniably sound strategy.

"Thank you for bestowing such profound enlightenment upon a young merchant."

I bowed my head in gratitude for the Chairman's teaching.

"Daseogak, Dangga Pungun, the work-study students, a merchant's creed. Watching you, I finally understand in my bones the old saying that the rear waves of the Yangtze push on the waves before. The old current gets washed away either way, so I shall help one able to carry on the will of the Lord of Baek Family Manor and myself. Give it your best."

The rear waves of the Yangtze push on the waves before. Like the river's currents, the old are in the end driven onward by the new—a saying that no cleverness prevails against the flow of time.

Perhaps the Chairman felt himself becoming one of the old before the tides of the age, for he gazed upon me with a look of pride and smiled a bitter smile.

"I believe the waters ahead of the Yangtze are not driven out by the waters behind, but arrive first at the vast sea—there to prepare a place to embrace the river's flow. That you would embrace so humble a creed of mine, I hardly know where to place myself."

As a man of the new era, I looked upon the Chairman and gave him my thanks.

"Hahahaha. What a blessing I never crossed paths with you while I still held office."

The Chairman's eyes flew wide at my words, and then he threw his head back and roared with laughter.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I would have made you my man by any means necessary. Or else, by the principle of swallow the sweet and spit out the bitter, I'd have counseled His Majesty never to heed a single word from your mouth."

"Thank you for the compliment."

"Hahaha. Right, then. I'll draw up the wage vouchers at once—take them with you."

"We'll begin with introductions. Just your name and age will do."

The next day, I gathered the work-study students at Daseogak and subjected them to the sacred unspoken ritual of every new semester: self-introductions.

Starting with the most familiar face—Lim Hayeon.

"Me? I go first?"

When I pointed at her, Lim Hayeon's eyes flew wide in alarm.

"I, I'm Du Eunghyang."

Oh, come on. At least be creative with the alias. Du Eunghyang, of all names, at Daseogak.

"Pfft!"

"Really?"

"My, the young lady opens with quite the joke."

"Big Sis, then should I be Gu Sookjeong?"

"Ah, I, um, actually my name is Im—"

A runaway courtesan, about to give her real name. This girl was seconds away from catastrophe.

Granted, I knew the agony of your usual handle popping up as "already taken," and naming a character was no joke either—but your real name was a step too dangerous.

"Ahem!"

I let out a conspicuously loud fake cough to snag Lim Hayeon's attention.

She turned to me with bewildered eyes. Pick another name. Soso. Yeongyeong. Common names are a dime a dozen.

I shook my head firmly, silently begging her to stop.

"I, I'm Kang Hayeon. Nineteen years old. A pleasure to meet you all."

A slightly incredulous laugh escaped me.

Why the Kang surname? If you're changing it anyway, change the whole thing. She's not working as a courtesan anymore—just at a bookstore—so a different family name alone probably passes for an alias. Still...

Come to think of it, Lim Hayeon was nineteen? Same age as Sohee.

Well, she had said she was a courtesan apprentice—no way she was past twenty. Just as idols debut in their late teens, courtesans in this world earned their full status in their late teens too.

"My ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠name is Gu Sookjeong! Wait, no—Ha Soso! I'm eighteen! Pleasure to meet you!"

"My name is..."

"My name is..."

Perhaps Lim Hayeon's blunder had melted the stiff atmosphere, for everyone after that introduced themselves without a hitch.

"Now, let's get cleaning!"

With introductions concluded, I set to work alongside the staff.

"Move every piece of furniture and clean the dust wedged into every crack—and I want a proper damp mop on top of that."

"How did this much dust pile up on the books?"

"It gathers because they're books. They need to look like merchandise worth buying, so dust them with loving care."

This is why manpower is a beautiful thing. We'll be done in no time.

"We'll finish early today."

One more day of cleaning, and we could open the doors again.

The sun had yet to set. Seeing our progress run far ahead of schedule, I halted the work and declared an early dismissal.

"Really?"

"Woo! Done early!"

"I'll head out first!"

"Miss Hayeon."

I called out to Lim Hayeon just as she was stepping out of Daseogak.

"What."

Caught mid-escape, with me looming over her like a tyrant boss—Lim Hayeon eyed me with naked distrust.

Bam. I could always order overtime. I briefly entertained showing her the tyranny of the employer, then decided to demonstrate the employer's competence as planned instead.

"Take this."

I pulled a small bundle from a corner.

"What is it?"

"Mandu. I bought them at the restaurant earlier."

"Why are you giving these to me?"

"I trust you'll be in no hardship until next month's wages. See that you eat properly."

She had arrived in Yichang without a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠single coin to her name. I'd given her a little money, but between her splurge on brushes, ink, and paper, she was likely skipping meals to scrape by.

"You really don't have to—"

I watched you inhale jajangmyeon at lunch, you know. And your hands moved faster than your eyes the moment the sweet and sour pork landed. Steal like that and you could pick a murim warrior's purse clean.

Lim Hayeon, still reluctant to accept my help, took a step back.

Is that so? Then I have a way around that too.

"It's so you don't wobble on the job."

I'd more or less figured out how to handle you. Give her a logic she can accept, and she says yes.

So all I had to say was: this isn't your father's agenda—this is your employer looking after his worker.

"Then hand it over."

The logic had landed. Lim Hayeon nodded, accepted the bundle, and headed home.

She really is an employee who makes kindness exhausting.

"I've lost my mind!"

Back in her shabby inn room, Lim Hayeon shrieked, hammering her pillow with both fists.

"Why did I?! Why?! Of all names—Kang Hayeon?! Uuuugh!"

The man's grinning face floated up behind her eyes. He had definitely noticed where she'd filched that surname from.

Self-introductions? Who on earth came up with such a thing? Had Kang Yunho invented the whole ritual purely to torment her? Her teeth chattered at the memory of what had just happened.

An ambush of a start, and her very first turn to speak, no less. She had never stood a chance.

With no alias prepared, she had blurted out Du Eunghyang—the fake name she'd used before—and instantly became a laughingstock. Then should she give her real name? Panic had whitewashed her mind in an instant.

If the man hadn't warned her off, she would have clumsily announced her actual name to the room.

What do I do? I panicked so badly. In that bleached-white head, only two things remained: herself, and that man Kang Yunho.

What name was I supposed to say?

The alias she had finally, barely, squeezed out was Kang Hayeon.

'I hear that in some foreign lands, a woman takes her husband's family name when she marries. What if he's taken some absurd misunderstanding like that?'

That man was black-haired—he might well fall into exactly such a mistaken notion. Lim Hayeon flopped onto the bed and kicked her feet in agony.

Don't misunderstand. I didn't say it thinking that. I only said it because I panicked. Should I go tell him? No. Absolutely not. That would just look like I care for no reason at all.

'Uuugh! Honestly! It's all because I blew so much money on brushes, ink, and paper for nothing!'

Lim Hayeon glared at the fine brushes, ink, and paper—glaringly out of place in her shabby room.

An event that countless literati had entered. Any judge worth his salt could tell at a glance whether quality brushes, ink, and paper had gone into a submitted work.

Afraid that cheap materials would cost her points, Lim Hayeon had emptied her purse to buy the finest she could afford.

'And I failed anyway.'

The moment the fact of her rejection resurfaced, her turbulent heart sank flat.

She had thought she'd written something fun. She had believed it might even win a prize. In reality, she hadn't managed so much as an honorable mention.

The despair she'd thought she'd barely buried pressed down heavy on her chest once more.

'What would have become of me if I hadn't applied for the work-study program?'

Was it truly right to work under Kang Yunho? She had agonized over that question without end before submitting her application.

Then what else would you do? Go back to courtesan work and be exposed as a runaway in a single stroke?

Then thieving? No. I refuse to live like that man. I will not live a life that wrings tears from other people's eyes.

She wanted to become a writer. How could someone who covets other people's possessions ever bring joy to another soul?

Then what was I supposed to do? Those two trades were all I ever learned in my life. And I'd spent nearly every coin I had.

There was nothing left I could do.

'Apply for the work-study program.'

In the end, the only road left open to her had been the work-study application.

It's the literati association sponsoring it. That man only helped out on the side. Lim Hayeon set about rationalizing with all her might.

What if—just what if—Kang Yunho had built this whole system for her sake? Half hoping, half doubting, she found herself recalling the man who, strangely enough, always appeared before her whenever she needed help.

'Is he... perhaps not a bad person, underneath it all?'

Lim Hayeon recalled his words at the literati association.

Words of sincere conviction that struck bone-deep—enough to make her wonder whether he had once dreamed of being a writer himself.

The notion that he had created the work-study system because of her was a thought gone a bridge too far. And yet, like Dang Jeong of Dangga Pungun, the story she loved, he had reached out his hand to people in despair.

Maybe that branch manager uncle was right, and he's simply a master of trade rather than an outright wicked merchant...

The instant the thought reached that far, Lim Hayeon jolted upright in horror.

"Ngh! A wicked merchant who exploits Author Hopil! I will not let my guard down!"

It's all that man's scheme. Wasn't he certified the worst man alive? And on top of that, a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wicked merchant exploiting the very author I revere—Hopil himself!

Stay vigilant, Lim Hayeon!

"I'm hungry..."

All that thinking had worked up an appetite.

Lim Hayeon rose from the bed, untied the bundle Kang Yunho had given her, and bit into a kimchi mandu.

Was it because she'd worked so hard that day? Or because the man had chosen tasty mandu?

Somehow, they tasted better today than ever before.

In the end, we finished the cleaning in just two days.

"Cleaning's done!"

"Boss! It's all finished!"

"Wonderful work, everyone. Now we can finally hang this sign."

I drew the sign I had prepared from inside my coat and hung it where every passerby before Daseogak's entrance could not fail to see it.

At long last, it was time to begin again.