The Letters - 2
The original protagonist.
For anyone transmigrated into a novel or a game, no existence could be more welcome than the original protagonist.
"We're already deep into the late stages of the story, and the original protagonist, this punk! Why is he still so weak?!"
"I never cared for protagonists in the first place..."
"Ah! I see it now! You lacked effort! As expected of a hopeless original protagonist!"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"All I had was my grueling discipline of waking up at eleven every morning, swallowing the Dragon Heart that happened to be lying there from the very start, gobbling down a mere few dozen hidden pieces, and the small stroke of luck of bonding with the man who was supposed to become your master, until it felt like I'd become the disciple first! Truly, a protagonist carried by raw talent through and through!"
"Guh. I have nothing to say. My apologies."
"Tathagata, Tathagata. I suppose it can't be helped. Step aside, this is a bother! The Demon King's army is coming — slimes that melt your clothes on contact. Take this! Tathagata Divine Palm!"
If the literary world of the twentieth century had The Giving Tree, then the web novel world of the twenty-first had the original protagonist.
"The problem is, none of that has anything to do with me."
The original protagonist. A red-haired lay disciple of the Mount Hua Sect. The martial artist destined to leave the sect after his master's death, become a wandering hero, and one day play a decisive role against the Demonic Cult.
"The original storyline got twisted up because of me, and yet I never got to taste so much as a drop of the honey."
The Heavenly Killing Star. The Poison Butterfly. The Shadowless Divine Thief. The very beings the protagonist was meant to face as enemies in the original story had all vanished.
And I had cleared them away at risk of life and limb, mind you. If you asked whether that robbed him of something he ought to have enjoyed — honestly, aside from fame, there was nothing.
Think a step further, and the real casualty was this: with Moyong Sang-ah's financial troubles erased thanks to me, her main heroine route was all but headed for the scrap heap.
Considering that certain choices in the original game spat out a bad ending, the man deserved hazard pay, if anything.
"What matters is that the protagonist grows up properly. Fame is a secondary stat, so I can live with it."
There had been one mercy.
The main storyline, in which the protagonist holds back the Demonic Cult's uprising. In a wuxia dating sim, even if you fail to meet the stat requirements for romancing a heroine, you still reach an ending so long as you faithfully finish the main story. Even an ending where he crushes the Demonic Cult and wins no heroine's heart at all.
"I launched the Daddy-Long-Legs operation for the protagonist precisely because I refused to watch Demonic Cult bastards swinging swords in front of my bookstore."
Things had gotten a little twisted along the way.
The Daddy-Long-Legs Operation.
I had no intention of refusing any heroine who came to me for help, now or ever. But neither did I intend to obstruct the flow of the protagonist's story. So what was I to do?
'Become the one who funds the original protagonist — the one man who can point his steps in the right direction.'
If all went according to my plan, I could steer the protagonist back onto the original storyline. That had been my conclusion.
Of course, there were problems. I did not live anywhere near Mount Hua. Shaanxi Province, where the mountain stood, and Hubei Province, where I lived, sat a two-month round trip apart.
Send a letter, and it took two months just to hear back.
Far too unwieldy for steady patronage — and hopeless for steering the protagonist as I pleased, or reacting the moment something happened to him.
Not that I'd been without a plan. Anticipating every situation I could think of, I'd left a stack of letters in the Seocheon Escort Agency's keeping, with instructions to deliver the patronage at fixed intervals.
The trouble was, there had been one blind spot.
"To think the letters reached Yichang while my back was turned."
The plan had always been to receive his replies first, then move according to circumstances. I sat alone in the estate's study and let my head sink.
It hadn't exactly been avoidable, though.
The moment I mailed that letter from Wushan, I ran into young lady Ha Yeon. Reopening the Yichang branch, writing the manuscript, the move to Wuhan — and then the endless parade of problems that followed. My days had been devoured by whatever fire was burning hottest.
It felt like leaving auto-hunt running in a mobile game, wandering off to tend to other business, and coming back far, far too late.
"Since I gave no separate instructions, the Seocheon Escort Agency must have simply been sending the original protagonist greetings and money... Please, let the plan not have warped out of shape."
— The First Letter —
Perhaps the mix-up had embarrassed the Seocheon Escort Agency as well, for the letters had been sorted in the order of their arrival. What on earth did they contain?
With care, I broke open the first letter from the original protagonist.
To Zhiyu,
Might this have been sent to me by mistake? I believe some error has occurred.
I am the disciple of Master Jinmu.
"Whew... what a relief. So the original protagonist does exist."
I had genuinely been bracing for the worst-case scenario — that the original protagonist simply didn't exist in this world. I pressed a hand to my chest and exhaled in relief.
"Well, I can hardly blame the original protagonist for being confused."
Before he ever set foot in the jianghu, he had lived alone with his master in a hermitage hidden deep within Mount Hua.
The only people he knew belonged to the Mount Hua Sect. Of course the poor man panicked when money suddenly arrived from a total stranger.
"A course of regular financial therapy should sort that out."
It's not as though I'd be filing a donation deduction claim with the magistrate's office, after all. Now go on — please, do your part and stop the Demonic Cult.
"Then again, this is remarkably graceful penmanship for a murim man."
Knowing the letter came from the protagonist, I found myself studying the hand with fascination.
They say a swordsman's way bleeds into his writing, so men of the blade tend to produce strokes that are forceful and blade-edged — but the protagonist's hand was smooth and flowing.
Was that the Mount Hua upbringing showing through? Come to think of it, the strokes did have a whiff of plum blossom about them. After studying the letter a while longer, I opened the next.
— The Second Letter —
The next letter had been written in a state of considerable urgency — even the handwriting betrayed how hastily it had been scrawled.
To Zhiyu,
I am sorry. My master has begun coughing blood. We are in desperate need of medicine. I have no money to buy expensive medicinal herbs.
I have agonized over this countless times. My master instructed me not to spend it, saying it must have been sent in error. But I am my master's disciple. I have to save him. If it turns out the money truly was misdelivered, then I will accept whatever punishment comes. I am sorry.
"Good. He spent it."
The protagonist was an orphan, and his ailing master had fallen out of favor with the wider Mount Hua lineage. With no outside support to be had, of course the boy would spend the money the moment his master's life hung in the balance.
And once he had spent it, refusing my help from then on would not be easy.
— The Third Letter —
I opened the next letter.
To Zhiyu,
My master's complexion has improved. It is all thanks to you. Thank you.
P.S. My master is without guilt. Even now he does not know where the medicine came from. Should you come to pass judgment, I ask that you take only me.
"Truly, a chivalrous hero in the making."
A laugh escaped me before I knew it.
— The Fourth Letter —
I received your second letter.
"Hm? My second letter? Wait—?!"
What was the second letter I'd sent again? I raked through my memory until it surfaced.
I heard your master has fallen ill. It is a modest sum, but buy medicine with it — and if anything remains, buy yourself something good to eat.
"He agonized that much over a single letter?"
So he really had torn himself apart between the windfall and his master's health. All I'd done was tell the Seocheon Escort Agency to space the deliveries out. Apparently I'd made the poor boy suffer more than I intended.
In my heart I had already begun preparing to bid my master farewell, so I was a little glad. But when I told him the truth, he scolded me for it.
"Ha."
The sulkiness came through the page in its entirety. Like watching a kid who'd blown the change from an errand and gotten caught red-handed by his mother.
Write plenty, my friend. Spend it freely. Until the day you can never again refuse a favor of mine.
— The Fifth Letter —
There were still so many left. It felt oddly like opening the gift boxes heaped up in a gacha game's inbox after months away.
To the honorable Zhiyu,
Thank you once again for your letter of greeting.
After discussing the matter with my master, I came to understand that these letters must indeed have been meant for me. Lay disciples are, on rare occasion, supported from outside through patronage.
Since writing letters of thanks is the only repayment I can offer, my master has instructed me to write diligently. And so I intend to write regularly from now on. Though of course, it is not as though I failed to write regularly before, either.
A person who sponsors me, of all things. Could you perhaps be someone who has seen me before? I rarely go near the main hall these days, so where might you have laid eyes on me? Or could it be that you actually know me?
To think someone would sponsor me. Nothing like this has ever happened in my life. It makes me happy — and yet, precisely because it is a first, my heart trembles with a strange feeling.
If by chance you are someone of our sect aiding me in secret, I will be at Jipseodang on the next full moon. I would be honored if you would come.
P.S. Might "honorable" be displeasing to you? I have heard that "dear" is also used, but it struck me as rather presumptuous. I would be grateful if you would write back and tell me which form of address you would prefer.
"And now he's fond of me. Excellent."
His wariness had turned to affection and curiosity. At this rate, refusing my patronage going forward was off the table.
Money truly is a wondrous thing. Hand a kid a million won while shouting "Live an upright life!" and they'll take you for a genuinely righteous elder — and all I had sent was money and well-wishes. Raising his affection would only get easier from here.
— The Sixth Letter —
To the honorable Zhiyu,
I went out on the night of the full moon twice, but you did not come. An elder passing by barked at me, demanding to know why I was prowling about after dark.
Could it be that my letters never reached you? I am told the first letter in fact arrived in winter. It was already spring, the snow long melted, by the time I came down the mountain. If my reply to your first letter came too late and angered you, I am sorry.
Please do not misunderstand. Thanks to you, my master's cough has eased of late. Thank you, truly.
"He received the letter in spring?"
I murmured, startled.
I had mailed my letters around the new year. If the original protagonist received them in spring, after the snowmelt — then barely half a year had passed since.
Eyes wide, I turned my gaze on the bundle of letters spread across the desk. I had given clear instructions: greetings and money, once a month.
And in just half a year he had written this many replies? Had something happened to drive him to write? I clamped down on the sudden urge to skip straight to the very last letter, and opened the next one.
— The Seventh Letter —
To the honorable Zhiyu,
My master scolded me as well.
The problem was that I stayed the night at Jipseodang twice — not once, but twice — without my master's knowledge. Several elders of the sect saw me there, and it seems they took my master to task over it.
All I wanted was to learn who you were. Yet when I told the truth, the scolding only grew worse. I was simply afraid that if the money ever stopped, I would be unable to buy my master's medicine. It seems the fault was mine after all.
"He's pouting."
Perhaps it stung because he had acted in good faith and gone unacknowledged. Wherever he mentioned his fault, the hand differed from his usual — his turmoil was plain at a glance.
The corner of my mouth curled up despite myself.
Have you ever seen Mount Hua blanketed in snow? The mountain is beautiful when the plum blossoms bloom, but it is beautiful too, bowed beneath the weight of winter, blooming with flowers of frost.
My master lies ill indoors, and when I stand alone in our secluded hermitage gazing at the mountain, there are moments when I feel I am alone in all the world.
Zhiyu — a friend of paper. I wonder who this paper friend might be. I have no friends, you see. Lately, looking upon that name stirs a strange feeling in me.
You have given no answer yet, but you did call yourself my friend. As I understand it, friends may bare their hearts to one another.
"Huh?"
Perhaps because he had been scolded so harshly by the only person he trusted and relied upon, an unexpected loneliness bled through the letter — keen, and aching.
Might I pour my heart out to you in my letters, from this silent hermitage?
"Fine by me."
All I had done was send greeting letters and money — who knew it would cut straight to the heart of the protagonist's loneliness?
This is why pen names matter, I keep telling you.
Zhiyu — a friend of paper. Even at a glance, the name radiated diligence and dependability. The name of someone who would honor a trust to the very end.
I'd figured winning the protagonist's affection would take years. It might not take nearly so long after all.
"Though honestly, it's about time he gave me his name."
I wanted to know the original protagonist's name. I hurried to break open the next letter.