Chapter 5
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 5
Chapter Title: Kunlun Return
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Martial arts novels had one more advantage.
"It requires a ton of prior knowledge, so it's a high barrier to entry even for other authors. But it has a thick fixed readership. As long as you hit the basics, it'll sell." -6
The coolness and romance he talked about were actually one and the same. It took me three more years to understand that.
'Whether it was a dream or I lost my mind or whatever, the results will tell.'
Me, writing something that sells? And sells well? In this era when I'd never even tried writing martial arts in my life?
'It won't take long.'
Start when?
"Right now."
"What the... Are you really crazy?"
I crashed at 6 a.m. but my eyes popped open at 8. Just two hours of sleep, yet a decade of routine hit me like a truck.
'Just a bit more sleep...'
No one's around to nag anymore.
"No way!"
You lazy bastard, slacking off after just one day?
"Ugh..."
Even the Team Leader couldn't blame me for that.
'Time to get up.'
Above all, the communal kitchen was open. I remembered exactly what the goshiwon lady—no, the Saintly Lady—had told me yesterday.
-The kitchen's only open from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m., so stick to that. And if you're caught stealing someone else's side dishes from the fridge, you're out immediately! See the CCTV?
Rice and instant noodles were free.
'Who needs side dishes?'
Try eating nothing but radish strips and shitty soup for ten years. Rice and ramen? That's a feast. 'Free'? No room in my gut for anything else anyway.
"Whoa..."
I shuffled in with messy hair. No Number 7 around, so who cares who sees me.
"Jackpot."
Five kinds of instant noodles. Even black bean flavor. Had to agonize over it. Familiar tastes make it harder.
A massive electric rice cooker brimmed with steaming rice.
The lady—no, the Saintly Lady—must've dragged herself out of bed early morning to cook for wretches like me.
"Who says goshiwons are hell?"
Compared to ten years under the Team Leader's thumb, this was paradise. Even the tiny room was a ploy to conserve my energy for one more word, one more line. At least, that's how I'd see it.
"It's like a stroke of fortune..."
First, I scooped rice into a soup bowl. Then boiled two packs of ramen.
"With rice this good, I could eat it forever."
Falling asleep mid-wuxia brainstorming had tuned my brain to martial arts mode.
Truth be told, my only edge was this focus. No idea how that demon Team Leader knew, but I didn't discover it myself until I was in there.
Not some grand awakening like my protagonists—no, it was just that basic skill everyone has, kicking in when you're cornered.
The difference is realizing you have it...
"Is this what they call free elixirs from spirits?"
Regret washed over me for not sucking up to the Saintly Lady more yesterday.
I slurped down the noodles in a flash, then poured the broth over the rice.
"Ah, pure bliss..."
Twitch!
A presence made me whip around instinctively.
After ten years solo, even tiny sounds set me off—and I screw up like this? Food-blind or not!
"My, you're packing it away. New here?"
When was the last time I chatted with a woman my age? Number 7 was video-only...
'Love? I hadn't even done that before getting dragged in.'
Ahem. A fake cough slipped out.
"Yeah, yesterday."
Nice, natural.
"It's great at first, right? I was the same for a few days. But you get sick of it..."
She pulled a side dish container from the fridge. Name tag attached.
'Ye-jin.'
No family name, but if I ever needed sides, I'd slap my name on one too...
Hold up?
'Damn it.'
Why does thinking names bring up Number 1? I've got one too!
"Hyun-woo."
"Pardon?"
"My name."
"Oh... right. Got it."
Zero interest in her tone, but she continued.
"Make sure to wash your bowls clean and flip them upside down."
"Ah, yes."
Come to think of it.
-How shitty was it, cleaning up after you bastards!
No memory of dishwashing in ten years.
'Nah, that demon probably hired help. Do it himself?'
That efficiency freak!
"He must've at least used disposable plates... Made cleanup easy."
"Pardon?"
"Ah, nothing."
"Sounded like you swore just now..."
"Me? Swear? No way."
"..."
The kitchen wasn't big—max six people. She set down her container and glanced over.
Finish up and get out? You're cramping my style.
I got the hint right away.
'Spotting that means I'm the real deal...'
Army buddies called me oblivious. But a decade staring at monitors and colleagues' faces sharpened my read on expressions without me noticing.
'Goshiwon, sketchy guy, total loser. Saw it in the mirror yesterday.'
I knew. Never even brushed a girl's hand, no chill female friends.
'Oh yeah! Mom!'
It hit me while finishing the dishes.
'Filial failure!'
Thought of Number 7 five hundred times in two days, but forgot Mom.
Rushed to the rooftop and grabbed my phone. Saintly Lady said long calls in thin-walled rooms? Do it up here.
-What's up this early? Broke already?
"...You healthy?"
-Of course! Why the sudden concern? Never heard that from you before.
Rambled incoherently for like thirty minutes.
"Don't get sick, Mom."
-You stop living on ramen every day! Eat rice! Rice!
Ah, just scarfed two packs.
"Got it."
Grown son, worthless—no job.
'Not worthless.'
If I'd tried, anywhere would've taken me. Factory, trade skills. Just procrastinated. Know that now.
"Whew..."
Seoul skyline from the roof finally made it real.
I'm free.
"Hoo..."
But wallowing's harder than expected.
'No time for this.'
One more word. That's all I have.
Tak!
Back to my room, sat at the desk. Backrest against the bed—no leaning further, but cozy.
'Review yesterday's progress.'
Not long, but a solid early framework stared back.
'Keywords first.'
How to structure a wuxia?
Was tough at first. But studying other authors' styles, I learned—and forged my own.
'Nail the regression hook. Mixing more breeds rejection.'
In 2023, we'd mash regression, possession, reincarnation, even villain returns. Too ahead here—pure poison.
'Orthodox or unorthodox sects. The genre's foundation.'
Social trends shape protags more each year.
A few years on, hyper-personal, self-centered leads will rule. Solo households rise, relations sour—tone shifts.
'Orthodox for now.'
Locked orthodox? Pick the sect.
'Kunlun's solid.'
Sect doesn't matter much. Wuxia lives in massive cliches—deliver fun faithfully. Martial arts? Just skin.
Coolness and romance! That's the flavor!
'Demonic Cult invading Central Plains? Kunlun's the first gate to smash.'
Got this far? Sort keywords. Added till I slept—now prune.
Regression. The Kunlun Sect. The Demonic Cult’s invasion. The Kunlun massacre… The Imperial Palace. A dark conspiracy. The Martial Alliance.
'Imperial Palace too far?'
Need a heroine or two. Hero-harem genres, or pure monogamy—both work.
But Kunlun's vibe? Better preserve it.
'Sect leader protag? Forced stodgy personality. Daoists gonna Daoist. Side character growth fits regression tropes—needs leadership.'
So?
'Top-tier genius among late-stage wanderers. Grand Senior Brother mastering Kunlun arts by 36.'
Write a novel on this skimpy setup?
"Good enough."
I can. Minimal setup and world—flesh out logic and lore while writing. Epics? Over-detail early is poison.
'Prologue: Kunlun massacre.'
End with throat slit by Heavenly Demon, or rewind to twenty years prior?
Author's call—faster choice, faster pace.
'Title...'
Later fine, but keywords galore, and ten years back? Wuxia-friendly easy pick.
'Kunlun Return.'
Clean. Wuxia tough for drama/film adaptations, but games viable—huge market standalone.
'Returned to Kunlun. Kunlun Madman. Back to Kunlun. Sentence titles trend later—no need now.'
Barbarbarbarbar!
Keyboard screamed like it'd shatter.
Love blue-orange mechanicals, but this cheap gaming one. Preference aside, reaction speed, future joint health—invest in good ones first post-payday.
"..."
Flash of me wiping blood off keys mid-work. Grit teeth, dive back in.
No clue yet on reception, or if this is real past.
But losing track of time in writing? Reality sank in.
"...Whew."
If all a dream, could I write like this?
"First draft done."
Checked time. Prologue—4,500 characters sans spaces. Exactly 1 hour 11 minutes.
'This pace? Seven chapters today.'
Four days to finish a volume.
[Like this... dying?]
"Ugh, annoying."
Deeper into protag, more it felt like my story—rage bubbled.
"Hmm, watch word choice."
Trends differ by era. "Whatever-TV" slips? No one gets it.
[Heavenly Demon! Don't think this is the end!]
No, too old-school.
[Even if I fall, Kunlun... Kunlun! Will endure forever!]
Protagonist's last words pre-decapitation. Hmm, Team Leader—no, Heavenly Demon needs a retort.
[Kuhahaha, think I don't know your two junior brothers headed to the sect leader and Ami Sect? I'll slaughter them all, not one spared!]
Slash—!
"Arghhhh! You bastard! Not the juniors!"
Damn, over-immersed, typo city.
Bam.
Foot slammed desk underside into wall unknowingly.
"...Shit, that hurts..."
Clutching toes, holding back tears—knock at the door.
"...!?"
Bang bang.
Heart dropped.