The Poem Thief (2)
My shout startled one of the men there, causing him to slip off the scaffold he'd been climbing onto.
“Gah—!”
In the process, his neck got caught in a rope looped over a hook on the building's wooden frame.
The Seo-u Warrior reacted immediately, firing a slash of sword energy.
Shing—!
The sword energy severed the rope around the man's neck, and he plummeted straight down.
Thud—!
“Huff! Huff!”
I rushed over to him.
“Are you all right?”
“……Yes. I'm fine.”
Thanks to the Seo-u Warrior's quick action, his neck hadn't been constricted for long.
His bruised rear from the fall probably hurt more.
I looked at him and asked, “Were you trying to take your own life?”
“…….”
No answer. Just as I'd suspected.
More importantly, where the hell had the guard supposed to be watching this place gone?
I'd look into that later. First, I needed to figure out why this man in front of me had tried to kill himself.
“This is the construction site for the Eunhae Merchant Group's Beijing branch. I don't know your story, but trying to off yourself here? Don't you think that's going to cause us a ton of trouble?”
At my scolding, he prostrated himself in apology.
“I'm sorry. Truly sorry!”
His blackened, lifeless eyes spoke of deep despair.
“Sigh, what on earth is going on with you?”
“……I don't want to talk about it.”
“Fine, then. Palgap, report it to the local yamen. Tell them there's a trespasser on private property.”
“Got it, young master.”
“And since he snuck in so cleverly just to kill himself here, it might be an attempt to damage the Eunhae Merchant Group. Ask them to investigate thoroughly.”
I continued, “Do you know how much money we've poured into this Beijing branch so far? If word gets out that someone died here, it's all up in smoke!”
It wasn't hyperbole.
If this guy had died here…… I didn't even want to imagine it.
“As you say, young master, this is serious.”
“We almost had a huge problem on our hands!”
“Exactly, so we need a full investigation! Once the yamen interrogates him, he'll spill even if he doesn't want to.”
I turned to Palgap. “What are you waiting for? Report it now.”
As Palgap started to leave, the man cried out desperately.
“N-no, you can't!”
He grabbed my pant leg and begged. “I-I was wrong.”
Now we're getting somewhere.
His clothes were shabby, but he wore a scholar's turban—clearly a man who lived by the written word.
“So, what is it? Why were you trying to kill yourself?”
“Well……”
He let out a deep sigh and pulled a book from his bosom.
“It's because of this book.”
I took it and glanced at the cover—and froze.
Huh? This book…… why this one?
“Oh, it's the newly published poetry anthology everyone's talking about,” the Yeo Eung-am Warrior remarked.
“It's getting rave reviews these days. They say it captures the pinnacle of beauty in poetry.”
The Yeo Eung-am Warrior was a martial artist, but coming from the prestigious Sacheon Tang Clan, he often read poetry and literature.
That's how he recognized it.
But I was shocked for a different reason—not because it was popular.
The title was Ilgong Poetry Anthology.
Author: Chui Il-gong.
Right—Chui Il-gong was the bastard who'd stolen poems from Inner Supervisor Yu So-ak in my past life and published them under his own name.
But in this life, I'd struck first.
I'd co-published the So-ak Poetry Anthology with Supervisor Yu. That had earned me a connection with the Jegal Supreme Patriarch, and Yu was still in touch with him.
At the Yeo Eung-am Warrior's words, the man burst into tearful sobs.
“No! Sob! That anthology isn't his! More than half the poems in it…… are mine!”
“What?”
The Yeo Eung-am Warrior blinked in surprise.
“So you're saying Chui Il-gong stole your poems?”
The man nodded through his sobs.
Sigh, a leopard can't change its spots.
I'd thought that by publishing Yu's poems first, Chui Il-gong wouldn't stoop to plagiarism again.
But he'd just found someone else to steal from.
Of course, this man might be lying…… but the odds of someone sobbing like this and attempting suicide being a liar were low.
Given Chui Il-gong's history, it made sense.
Damn, what a piece of trash.
“So I went to him…… sniff! And protested. But…… he treated me like……”
“A madman, right?”
He nodded vigorously at my words.
“It was so unfair, so……”
“You wanted to prove your innocence through death.”
As I spoke, I picked up his suicide note—it had fallen when he pulled out the anthology.
I unfolded it.
It matched what he'd said: overwhelmed by the injustice of Chui Il-gong stealing his poems, he was killing himself to prove his innocence.
“Sigh, how foolish.”
He bristled at my words.
“It might look like a worm wriggling to you, but this is the best I could do! Don't mock me!”
“Who said I'm mocking you? I just stated the facts.”
I pressed on. “You think writing a note and hanging yourself will make him bat an eye?”
“…….”
“If you're lucky, he won't just mock you as a fool who cracked under pressure.”
He clawed at the ground with his nails, blood trickling from them, but I didn't stop.
“If he were the type to reflect on your death, he wouldn't have stolen your poems in the first place.”
“Then what am I supposed to do? There's no way to clear this injustice!”
A raw wail of despair.
Truth be told, it wasn't hopeless.
But those paths took time and money—realities that crushed ordinary folk.
“Before that, one question.”
“What?”
“Why here, of all places? Plenty of other spots to die.”
“Because this is the Eunhae Merchant Group's site.”
What?
“The Group has high prestige now. And the third young division head is a famous hero of the jianghu. I figured my note wouldn't be ignored.”
“…….”
“And you'd give me a proper funeral. My family's poor…… we couldn't afford one.”
Hold up.
I'd been enjoying the praise until the funeral bit soured my mood.
Hey.
Did we look like a free funeral service?
But…… family?
“You have family?”
“Parents are gone. Just my wife and four-year-old son……”
I couldn't hold back and smacked his shoulder.
Smack!
“Ow!”
He tumbled to the ground.
“W-what was that for?”
“Sorry. Hearing the head of a household try to kill himself with a wife and kid…… got me mad.”
“…….”
“What about them? How are they supposed to live?”
“T-that's……”
His face flushed, then he hung his head.
I could guess why he'd chosen this. Utter devastation.
Sometimes people see only one thing, blinded to everything else.
When that vanishes, so does life's meaning.
For him, it was poetry.
Still……
We can't ignore the pain left for survivors.
I told him, “Well, since we've crossed paths, compose a poem.”
“Pardon?”
“To prove you have real talent.”
“Why should I show you?”
“If you're lying, you're off to the yamen right now.”
“……!”
He flinched, cleared his throat cautiously. “Ahem. You need to give a theme.”
“Theme……”
I looked up. Winter's chill had brought clear stars.
“Stars and the night sky.”
He closed his eyes and began reciting.
Each line was exquisite.
Yu So-ak's poems were beautiful, but so were these.
It painted the night sky in words.
But this poem…… felt familiar. Like one from my past life?
A writer's style carries their unique scent.
Even under a false name, experts recognize it.
The Yeo Eung-am Warrior frowned midway, then shouted as he finished.
“This poem resembles one from the Ilgong anthology!”
“Of course! He stole it!”
I nodded calmly and asked, “Beautiful work. You have real skill. What's your name?”
He hesitated, then said, “Song Lok.”
“……!”
I was stunned.
Song Lok? The tragic poet Song Lok?
In my past life, a scandal rocked the world over a poetry anthology.
Its elegant verses led people to hunt down the author.
But he denied it: “Not mine. It's my father's collected works.”
They asked about the father—he took them to an ancestral tablet.
“His dying wish.”
Engraved: Song Lok.
So, it was the late poet's legacy.
Yes.
This man before me had only gained fame in death.
How did that bastard Chui Il-gong find these people?
Yu in one life, Song Lok in this.
Sigh, can't let this slide.
Song Lok asked, “Who are you, anyway?”
“Me?”
I told him. “Eun Seo-ho. Third young division head of the Eunhae Merchant Group.”
“……!”
He jolted, bowed his head frantically. “F-forgive my insolence, young master.”
At least he knew his words were out of line.
Anyway, time to clean up the trash.
“I'll help you.”
“Pardon?”
“I'll clear your injustice.”
“Th-thank you! As expected of Seonhyeopmirang.”
No.
Not heroism.
Payback for insulting Yu as talentless, stealing his work in my past life.
“No need for that. You'll have to work for it anyway.”
And if this wrapped up well, I'd hire him—take a cut.
I recalled his son's words from my past life.
“Father lived for poetry. Just a rice-waster. Mother suffered, and I started earning young. Don't ask me to write—poetry makes me sick.”
Not pretty, but his family deserved better. And his talent was wasted.
Work him hard, and they won't starve.
Beijing's winter this year bit harder than last.
But an event overshadowed the cold.
It started with a single proclamation.
Poets! Elevate your honor across the Empire!
Poets' hefty backsides began to stir, eager to make their names empire-wide.
The prize money lit the fire.
“Heard about the imperial poetry contest prize? It's massive!”
Chui Il-gong and his friends chatted about Beijing's hot topic.
Chui feigned nonchalance. “Ahem! I'm not interested in prizes.”
His work wasn't his own.
“True poet, as expected. So I got you a gift.”
“Gift?”
His friend handed over a paper.
“Entry for the contest. I signed you up. Haha!”
“…….”