Poetry Thief (5)
Regardless of what Chui Il-gong was thinking, the poetry contest began.
“This round’s theme is……”
The host announced the theme chosen by the Emperor.
“Wind and snow.”
Dang!
The bell rang out.
Chui Il-gong stared at his paper, racking his brains.
Let’s see…… Among that guy’s poems, which one used wind and snow as the theme?
……
……
……
Chui Il-gong had risen through the ranks at the National Academy, from student to instructor, before being posted to a provincial office.
He’d even climbed as high as county magistrate, but in the end, his greed for bribes tripped him up.
The Emperor had issued an edict demanding he cough up every last bit.
But he’d only spat out about a third and resigned.
Even so, it was more than enough to live lavishly.
No matter how I think about it, I’m just too clever.
Back in the civil service exams, he’d snuck a peek at someone else’s answers and passed.
When postings came up, a bottle of fine liquor to the right people smoothed his promotions.
When that became an issue, he’d bolted to the provinces—and this time, he’d kept enough to live on before quitting.
No regrets about retirement.
Office had just been a way to rake in a fortune, after all.
The world should live like me, Chui Il-gong.
But once out of office, a nagging regret crept in: no one to appreciate him.
Retirees were supposed to bask in admirers’ praise, living leisurely.
Of course, he had a plan for that too.
Fame through poetry.
That junior of mine, Yu So-ak—his poems were decent.
It wasn’t jealousy over his shining talent that made him undermine the kid.
He’d planned to steal them from the start……
That’s when his retirement scheme took shape.
Someone recognized Yu So-ak’s worth, and a collection hit the shelves.
It blew up, just as he’d predicted.
Even now, it stung.
That fame should’ve been mine! Grr! Still pisses me off.
But wallowing wouldn’t help, so he hunted for another mark.
His brain wasn’t dull—just specialized in the wrong direction.
Like a loach, he’d wriggled through life, grabbing only the profitable bits.
Those who knew him well called him “Chui-eo”—loach.
He didn’t care what they called him.
That one-track mind left his literary talent in the gutter.
Still, he’d thrived at the academy by flattering superiors and exploiting juniors.
But he had a reason for chasing poet fame now.
Poets got treated well.
Why else bestow titles like Poetry Sage on the gifted?
Wandering in search of prey, he finally struck gold.
“I met someone who writes poems like a master. Want to meet him?”
The moment he heard Song Lok’s verses—recommended by an acquaintance—chills ran down his spine.
Ecstasy.
This is the one!
He sweet-talked the man into churning out poems, picked the best, and published under his own name.
Song Lok protested, of course, but Chui ignored him.
Who’d believe the guy over him?
The world trusts the slick talker.
Truth gets buried under appearances. Heh heh heh.
Annoy him too much? Make him vanish.
Days blurred into praise for his “genius,” until lightning struck.
This damned poetry contest.
Well, it had come, so he’d wriggle through like always.
Realizing he couldn’t dodge it, he’d prepared: memorize Song Lok’s entire repertoire and submit those.
Chui scribbled one down and turned it in.
The reader began reciting.
“The song of the wind seeps into my heart……”
Chui tilted his head at the poem.
Huh? Sounds familiar……
The audience was awestruck.
“What beautiful poetry!”
“As expected from Poet Mi Si-gak Chui Il-gong!”
“Such elegance……”
No.
That wasn’t his poem.
The second round ended, and the third—Chui’s submission—was read.
“Hm?”
Connoisseurs in the crowd spotted the oddity right away.
“Feels familiar……”
“Yeah……”
“Imitating Mi Si-gak?”
“Right—the earlier ones felt more polished.”
“This one’s a copycat?”
“No way!”
“So brazen! Mimicking Mi Si-gak here?”
They mistook the first for Mi Si-gak’s.
That last one was mine……
Chui sensed things slipping from his control.
***
I smiled at the murmuring crowd.
Perfect—right on plan.
I’d anticipated this reaction. Chui’s tricks were predictable.
He’d built his fame on Song Lok’s poems, so of course he’d memorized them.
Song Lok had written heaps while stuck at his place.
But Chui overlooked two things.
First: Song Lok himself had entered the contest.
The entry fee was steep.
No issue for the well-off or officials, but brutal for a poor poet like him.
Gripes about the fee hadn’t stopped it.
Had to filter out the riffraff somehow.
Real talent finds sponsors easy enough.
Desperate times call for measures.
Second: Song Lok’s passion.
“I wrote a ton while at that bastard’s house—over a hundred a day.”
“How long were you there?”
“About a fortnight.”
“……”
“That’s when I honed my basics.”
Meaning most poems Chui had were raw early drafts.
For revenge, Song Lok had polished relentlessly, perfecting his art.
The judges deliberated.
“Hm, this poem……”
“Heh! Where’d this talent come from……”
“But this one feels derivative……”
“Even as imitation, pulling it off takes skill……”
They looked uneasy too.
Still, rules were rules: judge the poems, cut two of four.
Song Lok and Chui advanced from round one.
Next round followed.
***
Night fell, and Chui sighed in relief.
He’d survived all three rounds today.
“Whoa! True to your reputation!”
“Right?!”
He gave his cronies an awkward grin amid the praise.
“Hahaha, you guys! What do you take my skill for? Child’s play!”
“Exactly!”
His friend—who’d entered for him—chimed in.
“Spreading your genius to the world! Glad I signed you up.”
Chui swallowed rage at the man.
Ugh, if not for this idiot……!
Couldn’t show it, though—just kept smiling stiffly.
“How about tonight? My treat!”
“Sweet!”
“Gold Moon Pavilion? Heard the new courtesan’s a knockout.”
Chui shook his head.
“Sorry, heading home. Wrote too much today—need to gather my thoughts.”
“Fair, poets are sensitive.”
“Must be wiped from the rounds.”
“Rest up.”
He headed “home,” but his feet took him elsewhere.
“Been a while.”
A den of “fixers.”
He’d learned of it during his official days, used them a few times.
Murder or whatever—for the right price.
Needed them now.
He knocked on the inn’s back door.
Knock knock.
A small hatch opened above.
“What’ll you buy?”
“Three jars of liquor, four pheasants.”
“Short one jar.”
“Didn’t you already drink it?”
Password exchanged, another voice.
“The job?”
“Need a life taken.”
“Whose?”
“Song Lok. Just a scholar.”
Chui’s eyes gleamed viciously. By contest’s end, he’d learned Song Lok had entered.
“Fee: twenty silver taels.”
“One more: tonight.”
“Extra five taels.”
“……Deal.”
It hurt—twenty-five taels bought two fine thatched homes.
All my hard-earned coin!
No choice.
One slip, and he’d lose everything.
If his theft went public……
Horrifying.
Had to eliminate the threat.
Regretted not killing him sooner.
Voice from inside: “Payment within a fortnight, or your head’s next. You know how it works.”
“No worries.”
Chui glanced around and left.
***
First day’s rounds ended.
Despite high fees and short notice, entries flooded in—contest stretched three days.
Meaning hefty fees collected.
The Emperor was thrilled.
Palace coffers split roughly three ways.
Most for national expenses.
Rest: imperial and royal kin funds.
Royal kin got a cut to live without work.
By law, reclaimable after a century—no emperor then.
Mostly to deter rebellion: “We’ll keep you comfy—don’t rock the boat.”
But greedy royals wouldn’t bite.
“Here’s some land—live quietly”? Laughable when the throne meant all lands.
The Emperor outdid my cynicism.
Seized all kin funds, swapped for monthly stipends.
“Save and buy land if you want.”
But spendthrifts with no earning habit? Impossible.
They’d cling to his purse, dancing to his tune.
Truly terrifying.
He could afford it—imperial wealth overflowed.
Without it, he’d beg ministers for extras, losing leverage.
His fortune freed him: no bowing to officials, lavish rewards for obedient kin.
Smart kin obeyed.
Now, in my temporary quarters.
No slacking on palace martial arts, contest or not.
“Thank you for the lesson.”
“Faster progress than I expected. Teaching the realm’s prodigy—true joy of mastery.”
I humbly deflected Jin Yeong Daehyeop’s praise.
“You overstate.”
Then Jin Yu Warrior approached.
Hm?
I’d tasked him with watching Chui—just in case.
His arrival meant trouble.
“S-sorry, urgent matter……”
Jin Yeong Daehyeop grinned, turning away.
“Busy? I’ll leave you to it.”
“Take care.”
Once he was gone, I asked Jin Yu.
“What’s happened?”
“Chui Il-gong put a hit on Poet Song Lok.”
“Hah……”
That guy really tried everything.