Pull the Aggro

The whole affair dragged on longer than I'd expected.

Jegal Hyeok had sworn — all swagger, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠not a shred of doubt on his face — that he would talk the elders around. Days slipped by after that, and not a whisper of news came back.

Not going well, I take it.

I knew why. The Council of Elders had Jegal Hyeok firmly in their sights. For a family of the Jegal Clan's stature, the cost of printing a book should have been nothing at all. They were refusing his proposal for one reason only: a staring contest between the Clan Leader and the elders, and neither side was willing to blink.

"Hmm... I suppose I could just wait it out."

Judging by how dead-set Jegal Hyeok had been on winning them over, the printing permit would come through eventually if I sat tight. The problem was that living as a guest at the Cheonpung Merchant Guild was starting to get genuinely uncomfortable.

Im Seha had already caught me in the lie about never sitting the provincial exam, and now the Jegal Clan itself had come storming into the guild. How was I supposed to not feel the heat? Thankfully Im Seha seemed to be the only one who knew — the branch manager still looked perfectly clueless — but I was sitting on a cushion of thorns all the same.

"If I just hadn't gotten caught... No. Pointless."

Brooding wouldn't change a thing, so I shoved the thought aside. I had bigger problems right now.

"Hrm... isn't there some way to get that permit faster...?"

I wanted nothing more than to march straight into the Jegal Clan, hurl the book at the elders, and tell them to read it. Once they actually opened it, everything would change.

"Young master!"

That was when Soso called out, holding a letter toward me.

"A letter from the Jegal Clan, for you!"

"Finally!"

I tore it open and read — and I was disappointed.

"Hrrrm..."

This wouldn't do. I could get thrown out of the Cheonpung Merchant Guild any day now. I needed an income, and I needed it fast.

"Is there really no other way?"

"What's going on?"

Soso asked the moment she saw me frowning over the letter.

"A bunch of old fossils are digging their heels in, and I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠can't figure out how to get around them."

"Huh? That's actually really hard, you know. I know because I've lived it. The branch manager and the Young Master had a huge falling-out once, and the manager got so pigheaded about it that me and the other girls spent forever walking on eggshells."

"Yeah? So how did it end?"

"How do you think? The Young Master blew up, threw a stack of documents at the manager, and told him to read them. The manager read them, apologized, and that was that."

"That was it?"

"Yes? Do you have any idea how miserable it was until then?"

"He threw the documents at him, huh..."

So Im Seha had beaten the branch manager over the head with the facts until the man folded. In a situation like that, nothing worked quite as well as a good fact-slap.

A fact-slap, huh...

Wait. If the elders were refusing to print the book... then all I had to do was build a case they couldn't refuse. Say, for instance, the story became so wildly popular that not only the Clan Leader but the people of the Jegal Clan themselves started demanding it go to press.

"Fact? Slap? What's that?"

"It's a thing. Soso, I'm heading out for a bit. I'll be back."

I stepped out into the marketplace and looked around.

"It was around here somewhere..."

I turned my head a few times — and then I had him.

"Found you!"

A man was holding forth at the top of his lungs in the middle of a crowd.

"And then! I saw it! The cold blue steel in the warrior's hand!"

A Seolseoin. A street storyteller — a man who performed tales for a crowd and collected whatever they tossed him. He was exactly who I'd been looking for.

I waited until his story wound down, then walked over.

"Excuse me."

"What can I do for you?"

"How much would it cost to have you tell people a story?"

The Seolseoin's eyes lit up.

"Half a tael of silver a day."

"What? Half a tael? In silver?"

I genuinely doubted my own ears. Half a tael of silver — just to tell a story? For a whole day?

"You're just talking. Why would that cost so much?"

I said it like a protest. The number was so absurd I couldn't help myself.

"Listen here. I could lose money taking on your story, you understand? If I stand up there telling some tale nobody's ever heard of and my crowd dries up, I'm the one who keeps paying for it. Of course it's expensive."

"This is a genuinely good story."

"Oh, enough. Every other person who walks up here says the same thing. Half a tael, flat. I don't go a coin under."

It wasn't that I couldn't afford it. The price was just too steep. I turned and started walking away.

A few steps later, I stopped.

Wait.

There was no reason I couldn't do this myself. I'd been a stage actor, for heaven's sake.

"I should just do it myself."

The thought hit like a lightning bolt. Why hadn't I landed on this immediately?

I decided to start that very day. The venue: somewhere close enough to the Jegal Clan that anyone walking by could stop and watch.

I planted myself where the foot traffic was decent and raised my voice.

"Your attention, please! Attention! This is not a performance you will see every day!"

People drifted over, one and then another.

"Come, come! This humble performer has brought you a story — a very, very entertaining story!"

I kept projecting, and a few more gathered. Compared to the dozens packed around the other Seolseoin, though, my haul was a paltry ten or so. First performance. I couldn't expect a mob.

Still. Ten people was ten people.

And so I began — launching into the tale of The Biography of Zhuge Liang.

The performance went better than I'd expected.

"So what happens to this Zhuge Liang fellow?"

"That's already the end?"

"When do we get the next part?"

Even after I finished, a handful of them refused to leave, pelting me with questions. The trouble was... by the time I wrapped up, the audience was still only about ten people. A successful first showing of The Biography of Zhuge Liang or not, at this rate it was going to take forever.

The answer... is aggro, isn't it?

It worked the same way with web novels. Those lurid, grab-you-by-the-collar titles designed to haul readers in. Never mind what was actually inside — the title alone made you click or die trying. The views that aggro generated pulled in still more readers, because people were strange that way: they always wanted to know what the crowd was looking at.

Popularity was never just about the content. First you had to catch their eyes and refuse to let go.

"Hrm... so I need to draw a crowd. How do I pull the aggro?"

A live performance couldn't lean ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on a clickbait title the way a web novel could. Ordinarily you'd circulate handbills and let people know a show was happening — but in this era, that kind of advertising cost real money.

I was turning it over when a thought flashed through my head.

Do I really need to start telling the story from the beginning?

The next day, I returned to the same spot and found two of yesterday's listeners already waiting.

"Good to see you."

"Haha! Young man, that story of yours kept me up half the night!"

"Today's will be just as good. I hope you'll look forward to it."

"Yesterday was a delight, so today's bound to be too! But what's that you've got there?"

One of them had spotted the gong I'd brought, and curiosity got the better of him.

"A prop. For before the performance. It may get loud — you'd best step back."

I struck the gong.

CLAAAAANG~!

It was a big instrument, and the sound rolled out across the packed earth of the marketplace. Heads turned toward the source of that ear-catching roar. For one clean instant, every gaze in earshot locked onto me.

This. This was what I'd wanted.

I didn't waste the moment. I drew a breath from my dantian and belted it out at the top of my lungs.

The opening theme of the Three Kingdoms cartoon I'd watched as a child — that chest-thumping, blood-stirring song — came pouring out of my mouth. I struck the gong again as I sang. The crash was part of the original arrangement, and it made what I was doing sound every bit as grand as the real thing.

The crowd started to murmur.

"Who's Liu Bei?"

"Some new rising expert, maybe?"

"Zhang Fei? Now that's a peculiar name."

The song rolled on, and people kept drifting in. I had been worried I'd forgotten the lyrics after so many years, but the melody was burned into my brain. It came out clean, as if I'd never stopped singing it.

"What a song! Catches the ear and won't let go — gets the blood up, it does! Here, I'll pay. Sing it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠again!"

They liked it enough to start digging for coins and demanding an encore. Of course they did. This was the Ming Dynasty, an age stuffed with dry, scholarly dirges. A song that made the endorphins kick like this was nothing short of a sensation.

I did not sing it again. An opening is an opening. You sing it when the curtain rises, or it loses the taste. They could wait for the next one.

"I'm sorry, but please put your money away. I don't take payment. What I would ask is that you tell the people who aren't here today — tell them the finest Seolseoin in the city is standing right here!"

My only goal was to make The Biography of Zhuge Liang a success and drive it straight into the heart of the Jegal Clan. A handful of coins today mattered far less than holding every eye in the street.

"And now! The tale of heroes and champions... begins!!!"

I looked over the people who had packed in around me. The gong and the song had done their work. Yesterday I'd had ten. Today, more than thirty were already standing there — three times the crowd, in a single day.

I talked without stopping, and the crowd kept swelling. Before long nearly fifty people had gathered — in just two performances, I had matched the Seolseoin who worked the main market street.

"And thus began the Longzhong Plan that Zhuge Liang laid before Liu Bei!"

For a moment they stared at me as if their souls had left their bodies.

And then—

"That's... that's the end?"

One of them asked it like a man under a spell.

"That's all I prepared for today."

"What? You can't be serious!"

"It was just getting good!"

"So does this Liu Bei become emperor, or not?"

"And who's Cao Cao supposed to be? Who's Sun Quan?!"

They were all talking over each other, voices climbing, and I smiled on the inside.

Got them.

This reaction. This was exactly the reaction I'd been fishing for. They wouldn't be able to stand not knowing what came next. They would be back tomorrow. They wouldn't be able to help themselves.

"I'm sorry. I'll tell you the rest tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"How are we supposed to wait until then!"

"I'll pay you — keep going right now!"

A few of them even pulled coins from their robes. I shook my head. My purpose had never been a pocketful of change.

"A story is always tastier when the time is right."

When I finished, disappointment sat heavy on every face in front of me. I let my gaze travel slowly around the circle.

Yesterday, ten. Today, fifty. Five times the crowd in a single day. A deeply satisfying rate of growth.

And people who heard a good story could never keep it to themselves. They would talk. They always talked. The rumor would run from mouth to mouth, link by link, until it reached the Jegal Clan itself — a rumor that right in the clan's own front yard, a Seolseoin was telling the story of a man who bore the Jegal name.