A New Encounter - 1
I have to write novels and become famous.
Whether to survive in this world or to save the heroines from their cursed fates, I ultimately have to pile up fame and capital.
“Must be all the worrying. Even dreaming nonsense,” I muttered to myself as I sat on the bed in the early morning, dry-washing my face.
In the middle of the night I had dreamed of sitting in a strangely familiar room, gorging myself on every exquisite delicacy prepared just for me.
To eat a meal like that in a room like that, just how much Maedamja work would I have to do? Maybe the two holes punched through my body and the endless diet of bland patient gruel—plus all the fretting—had finally cooked up this ridiculous dream.
I had the vague feeling I had seen something else besides the food, but a dream was a dream. Dwelling on it would only cost me.
Before I knew it, a full month had passed since I parted ways with Sohee.
At last my body had returned to normal and I could move without difficulty. It was time to throw off the covers, get up, and take up brush and ink again.
What kind of novel should I write to become famous?
Should I write The Wind and Cloud Heroes?
The first novel I had ever written in this world. The Wind and Cloud Heroes.
Of course, I had produced other writings as a scribe after arriving here—the Collection of Joseon Tales, the Guide to the Conduct of Joseon Women, even that fake diary—but the only work I could truly call a novel as a web-novel author was The Wind and Cloud Heroes.
What is chivalry? My first martial-arts novel, built under the pillar of Wuxia itself.
Should I write that novel again?
Not on the cheap materials I used last time, but on crisp, clean paper with fine ink, so that anyone could tell at a glance it was a brand-new release.
Forget The Wind and Cloud Heroes for now.
I considered it for a moment, then set the attachment aside. What I had confirmed in Chilgok County was that stories of Murim people were not exactly a major genre in this world.
It was not that I lacked confidence in my writing, but if the genre truly was that unpopular, even a sequel would end up like one of those authentic-fantasy doorstoppers back in the real world—sought out only by a dedicated few.
Not that it would be uninteresting, just hard to read lightly, the sort of book that sits on a shelf like a piece of furniture.
Copying is a problem too.
Even rewriting The Wind and Cloud Heroes would not be easy. Once I finished the book I would have to produce copies.
Becoming famous with a single volume would take forever, but if I sold multiple copies to bookstores and even one or two caught on, fame would follow quickly.
Copying by hand is hard labor. Even back home, transcribing famous novelists’ work on a computer to improve my craft had been exhausting and time-consuming. Here I would have to do it all by hand.
I would have to write the book and then personally copy at least thirty volumes. Just thinking about it made the effort and time required feel enormous.
What if the copies failed?
The time spent writing, the time spent making copies, the cost of paper and ink, the living expenses while I worked—all of it would go up in smoke.
The thought alone was terrifying. All that effort, sleeves stained with ink, reduced to pure wasted labor.
In the end, I had to write a book that would absolutely take off on the first try.
“Might as well start writing.”
Even if I had to scrap it a few times, I would write a novel that could securely make me famous. With that resolve I began grinding the ink.
“Maedamja! We’ve got a problem!”
Just as I was about to write, the door opened and the man who managed the Salmak safehouse walked in.
He had brought medicine and applied salves in Sohee’s place, so we had grown fairly close.
“What is the matter?”
“You have to pack up and leave by tomorrow!”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Urgent word just came from the Salmak!”
Had the Salmak ordered them to throw me out?
“Don’t tell me they said to kick me out because I’m not one of theirs? I’m Kang Yunho. Sworn siblings with Cheon Sal-seong. Sohee left strict instructions, didn’t she?”
In truth they had been giving me looks even before this. Still, they had not coldly driven me out while I needed to recover. Now that I seemed better, were they finally ready to boot me?
I had to hold on.
Free lodging. I was not leaving easily.
“I know. That’s why we let you stay another month and treated you, isn’t it?”
“Then why are you doing this?”
“Well… as of today the lease on this safehouse is up.”
“What? The lease?”
The full story was this.
Daeheung County was not a place that brought in much assassin work, so the Salmak had not bought a safehouse; they had simply leased one. They had expected to renew without trouble, but a redevelopment boom had suddenly hit Daeheung County.
With the rent rising and no suitable alternative nearby, the Salmak had decided to pull out of the safehouse entirely.
“They won’t even extend it a month?”
“To extend a month they want this much. Would you pay it?”
The Salmak man showed me a document with the extension fee written on it.
“Oof. I’ll just leave.”
With that kind of money I could stay two months in a decent, cost-effective business-hotel-style inn.
“Sorry about this.”
“It’s fine. I’ll just move to a nearby inn.”
I hated spending money on lodging, but I had enough for an inn.
“When you pack up tomorrow, don’t go to a nearby inn. Leave Daeheung County.”
The Salmak man advised me with a serious face.
“What? Can’t I just stay in Daeheung County?”
“The Murim Alliance has dispatched an investigation team for the Seong Family Manor incident. If word of the Maedamja who was present somehow reaches the investigators’ ears, things could get needlessly complicated. Best to get out of Daeheung County.”
“Then I’ll do that.”
The next day I finished packing and prepared to leave the Salmak safehouse.
“If it looks like you’ll settle in one place for a long time, look up the Salmak.”
The safehouse manager carefully explained how to contact the local Salmak branch.
“I don’t think I’ll need anyone killed.”
“Haha! Not that. That’s how Number Five will know where you’re living.”
“If that’s the reason, I’ll keep it in mind.”
I had thought Sohee would have no way of knowing where I lived until I became famous. If this method existed, nothing could be better.
“Since we’re parting, let me give you one piece of life advice.”
The safehouse manager suddenly wore the same face as a department head who laughs and chats over drinks and then turns serious about life.
“Yes. I’ll take it to heart.”
“The Salmak has no marriage leave or retirement.”
“That sounds rough.”
Between the leases and everything else, the Salmak was starting to feel like a mid-sized company with a “we’re a family” vibe. The people seemed decent enough, so maybe it really was a family-like mid-sized company.
“But there is retirement for pregnancy, so keep that in mind.”
“What?”
“When you’ve made up your mind, don’t fuss over procedures or process like some kid. Just slam the seal down in one go. Got it?”
The manager clapped my shoulder a few times as if to cheer me on, then vanished.
Well. I roughly understood what he meant, but we weren’t that far yet.
To leave Daeheung County I joined a merchant caravan and walked for ten days until we reached another county.
“Welcome!”
I entered an inn for a meal and a waiter greeted me.
“What’s cheap and good to eat here?”
In a classic martial-arts novel I would have ordered something like plain noodles and dumplings. But every inn specialized in different dishes, so I had to ask the annoying question.
“Our stir-fried pork and pork cutlets are popular!”
Right. Of course a martial-arts world would have stir-fried pork and pork cutlets.
Was there really no inn anywhere that specialized in plain noodles, dumplings, and bamboo-leaf green wine?
“How much?”
Looking on the bright side, my luck with inns seemed good. Two of every office worker’s favorite dishes as the house specialties.
“Stir-fried pork is 35 coppers! Pork cutlet is 40 coppers!”
In Chilgok County a hangover soup thick with broth and generous meat had been 30 coppers. Expensive. Even here, soup rice was still the value play.
“One stir-fried pork.”
“Yes. That’ll be 35 coppers in advance.”
I pulled the money from my pouch, paid, and flopped into a chair.
Ten days already.
Having trained in martial arts, my body had improved to something like Kang Yunho plus two levels of strength, yet a ten-day long-distance walk on foot still wore a man out.
If I had come this far from Daeheung County, no annoying complications from the Seong Family Manor business should find me.
Maybe I should stop traveling and take a long stay here while I wrote.
“Stir-fried pork’s ready!”
While I was thinking, the waiter already brought the dish.
Fast. With stir-fried pork the time to the table really is life itself. Yet something about the dish he set down felt off.
“Waiter. I think this is the wrong food?”
Thankfully it was not the disaster of ordering stir-fried pork at a new place only to discover rice cost extra.
I sometimes think places that serve stir-fried pork without rice should be put on a special list. The price looks fine so you order the pork, and then they want separate money for rice? That makes no sense.
This inn’s stir-fried pork came with both rice and meat, but there was one extra item I had not ordered.
“Ah! You mean the fried egg?”
“Yeah. I didn’t order this.”
“It’s a service we give to first-time guests or regulars!”
“Ah… service.”
I barely restrained the urge to clap a hand to my forehead.
I had gotten used to the food and planned not to complain, but this world even used the word “service.” Ha. Really. Service in a martial-arts world.
“Enjoy your meal, and if you like it, please order again next time!”
The waiter gave a cheerful bow and returned to his post.
I brought my chopsticks to the food with a complicated expression.
Today’s meal.
The stir-fried pork of a Murim dating sim.
Charred flavor, delicious.
I felt like leaving a review that said I would definitely buy again.
“The room charge is a week overdue! When are you going to pay?”
“I said I’ll pay!”
“Everyone who came with you disappeared and you’ve been alone for over a week already. Are you really going to pay?”
After a satisfying meal I sat with a glass of water when the sound of a man and woman fighting drifted down from above.
Had the woman fallen behind on her room fee?
I knew that feeling. Back in college when my rent was late I had the same dread. Waiting another week for part-time pay while carefully avoiding the landlady—working or studying in the library and only sneaking home late at night.
“Pay right now! Where’s your purse?”
“Don’t touch my clothes!”
“Wh-what the hell! This woman—why’s her skin like that! Shit! Is this the plague?”
“What the hell! That woman!”
Upstairs the crowd grew rapidly agitated.
“It’s not contagious.”
“Everybody get back! You’ll catch it!”
“Call the manager! There’s a plague-ridden bitch in the inn!”
What? Had someone with a contagious disease been staying at the inn?
I had planned to take a long stay and write here after that satisfying meal, but I would have to give up. Had the plague-stricken person just coughed? Better get up before I heard it.
I hurriedly rose, prepared to leave, then glanced toward the source of the noise.
The inn was built in a square “ㅁ” shape with the center open all the way to the roof, so finding the center of the disturbance was easy.
Men clustered on one side and a woman with her head bowed in an aggrieved expression.
Wait. That’s…
“Shit. I said it’s not the plague…”
Parted purple hair. Sharp eyes. Delinquent looks. Skin of a different color from the jaw down.
The woman I had met by chance at the Seong Family Manor.
A character from the Murim dating sim.
Dokjeop. Dang Hwarin.