17. Honest Settlement
After confirming the successful launch of my new work, I returned to Cheongryong Mugwan with light steps. Thanks to that, I enjoyed a pleasant day. Even the delinquent students snoring away during my literature class seemed endearing today.
Having finished all my duties, the red sunset had faded, and thick darkness blanketed the main hall of the mugwan. It was evening.
Screeech, screeech.
A dull frictional sound of old wheels rolling came from beyond the paper window. Soon, the creaking stopped right in front of my door.
"Teacher Yeon."
A raspy, elderly voice called from outside. It was the trash collector grandma who made her rounds every evening through the old halls of Cheongryong Mugwan, gathering the burnable waste.
"Ah, yes! Coming right out!"
I grabbed the bundle of burnable trash I'd gathered last night and carefully opened the door to step out.
Under the dim lantern light, the grandma stood beside her rickety cart, wearing her usual kind, honest smile. I naturally handed her the bundle.
But today, her actions were different from usual. Normally, she would snatch the trash and shove it deep into her cart without a second thought. Today, however, she took the bundle with both hands and suddenly rummaged through it.
"Uh... looking for something...?"
I asked, flustered, and an unexpected reply popped from her mouth.
"Teacher, this isn't burnable trash."
She spoke in a stern tone, as if scolding me for botching the sorting and handing over improper waste. What she returned to me was a thick, securely sealed paper envelope.
I swear I'd never given her something like this as trash. So where did it come from?
Just now, while pretending to dig through my trash, she'd slipped her hand deep into the pocket of her shabby outer robe.
Swish.
And out came a thick, securely sealed paper envelope. She pressed it into my hand, avoided my eyes, gripped the handle of her creaking cart, and leisurely vanished into the darkness toward the other halls.
It was a completely alien demeanor from her usual self.
Until now, this silent trash collector grandma had quietly taken only the manuscript bundles I smuggled out at the risk of my life or actual burnable trash—never once handing me anything directly.
When Danga Sangdan's sub-branch leader Danche Ryeong had words for me or a brutal deadline reminder, she always sent it via the porridge auntie at the cafeteria, written on sweet dessert packaging.
But today, instead of the porridge auntie, this taciturn trash grandma personally delivered this thick, heavy paper envelope and left.
'What the hell could be inside...?'
A bad premonition and insane curiosity hammered my brain simultaneously. I slipped back into my room as nonchalantly as possible, like nothing happened.
Click.
I locked the door tight, triple-checked the windows, and only then sat at my desk.
With trembling hands, I lit a candle and cautiously opened the mysterious envelope the grandma had given me.
Inside was a high-grade letter wafting a faint ink scent, some unknown papers, and a thin iron plate engraved with a toad shape and gold-plated—a token?
Your first blood-and-sweat work, Regressor Sword God, This Life Fist King, Volumes 1-30 total sales and corresponding profits have been meticulously calculated as follows.
Pursuant to our initial contract's ruthless 1:9 profit split—naturally, 1 to you, 9 to the Sangdan—the portion allotted to you yields the following result:
Even this absurd 1/10 share alone fully repays the astronomical private debt squandered and accrued by your body's previous owner—not just the principal, but the snowballing murderous interest as well, with ample surplus!
Thus, all your debts are hereby perfectly cleared as of today.
The remaining pure profit after deducting principal and interest has been safely deposited in your name at the Nakyang branch of Gold Frog Money House, the world's most trusted financial institution. Present the enclosed token anytime to access as needed.
Furthermore, all massive future profits from the new work Murim Solver Jin Hoseong, which began exploding in sales today, shall be deposited into the same account without the slightest discrepancy, per the agreed split.
The elegant yet sharp handwriting on the letter was unmistakably Danche Ryeong's. I swallowed hard and read her message line by line.
'What... what the hell is this?'
The content, meticulously written in red ink, boiled down to this:
I was stunned—shocked for exactly two reasons by Danche Ryeong's outrageous, unbelievable letter.
First, this underworld loan shark had honestly split the massive sales profits—amounts I had no way to verify—without cheating me a single coin.
Second, she immediately notified me, without hesitation, that my debts were fully paid, ending our toxic debtor relationship completely.
What if I were in her position as a capitalist? Wouldn't I have stuffed the slave contract with cunning poison clauses, made excuses, and kept you slaving in a basement dungeon forever?
Wouldn't I have hidden the debt clearance fact to the end, squeezing every last drop of your blood?
Yet she showed unexpected integrity beyond imagination, perfectly upholding her merchant credibility.
In this brutal, tearless murim underworld, to receive such transparent, honest accounting!
'Crazy... this woman’s the real deal?'
I couldn't hold back my admiration, bursting into empty laughter.
Memories from my past life as an Earth web novel author flashed by like a lantern show—the horrific ordeals.
The ugly faces of those sleazy management companies scamming rookie writers, faking statements, withholding payments with excuses, then vanishing.
This horrific irony: a murim underworld loan shark stabbing bellies is a hundred, a thousand times better than those trash modern black companies!
Though the split was a measly 1/10, I had zero life-debts left now. Every word from my pen henceforth would be my own flesh, blood, and wealth straight to my pocket.
Earn as much as I write! This primal capitalist truth slammed my skull, igniting massive motivation and dopamine from my depths.
"Kuhahaha! Fine, I'll grind my bones to sweep every coin from this murim world!"
I shot up, clutching the worn brush on my desk.
Deadlines were no longer terror. Pure greed for money maxed my typing—no, brush speed.
That night, I cut sleep, madly grinding ink and blackening paper.
The explosive zeal's result was miraculous.
Before the deadline even neared, I finished Volumes 2 and 3 of Murim Solver Jin Hoseong.
Hearing of my terrifying writing speed and burning passion, Danche Ryeong threw all Sangdan scriptoriums into overdrive, perfectly matching my rampage.
Two weeks later, per schedule, Volume 3 launched successfully across Nakyang.
As expected, the market reaction wasn't explosive—it was nuclear. Reading groups that wilted post-first novel finale roared back to life, multiplying hundreds-fold.
To witness the fervor firsthand, I revisited Chwiseonru, Nakyang's top inn, late evening.
The first-floor hall was packed tighter than a sauna, buzzing with martial artists. I sat in a corner, ordered takju, perked my ears, and eavesdropped delightedly on readers' heated debates.
"No way, even so! Would a famed righteous sect like Cheonghyeon Sword Sect order such horrific, vile slaughter?"
A vein-popping man slammed the table, raising his voice. It was fierce debate over my new work's Volume 3 climax: protagonist Murim Solver Jin Hoseong pinpointing Cheonghyeon Sword Sect as the culprit behind a small sect massacre.
To his rigid rebuttal, the scarred man opposite smirked leisurely, arms crossed.
"Tsk tsk, still clinging to naive thoughts? Who knows! Our great Master Yulgong will surely smack our backsides with a massive twist right here."
Surrounding readers nodded in unison.
"Hmm... yeah, can't flatly deny it."
"Right! Who'd have imagined that loyalist Gam Uhyeok was a Blood Cult demon in the last work? No law says famed sects have clean backs!"
"In Master Yulgong's tales, suspect the most trustworthy, righteous bastard first! That's the truth!"
Behold this splendid sight! No longer the naive, rigid murim idiots drawing swords over Gam Uhyeok the betrayer.
They'd sprouted the suspicion seeds I planted, digging plot underbellies, savoring twist delights—evolved into sharp, awakened readers!
"Kuhuhu... this is why I write."
I grinned, downing cool dwaebyeongcheong.
Not a breath disturbed the horrific silence.
In a pitch-black secret chamber lit by a single flickering candle.
Flip, flip.
Dry, chill air sliced only by slow, irritable page-turns filling the ominous space.
The book finally reached its last page.
Seeing the protagonist finger Cheonghyeon Sword Sect as the small sect slayer...
Bam!
The shadow violently slammed the book shut. The thud echoed eerily.
"Yulgong, huh..."
Under that pale palm lay none other than today's Nakyang scorcher: Murim Solver Jin Hoseong, Volume 3.