Chapter 10
Chapter 10: Third-rate Martial Family Becomes the Best Under Heaven
“Ilpilhwiseo! Author of Eastern Lands, Western Earth, show yourself this instant!”
A frantic wail tore through the air, carrying the raw, desperate panic of a newlywed separated from her groom amid a thrashing market crowd.
The caller was none other than Chu Yongwol, representing the Baekseo Merchant Guild—or more accurately, the Baekseo antiquarian bookshop.
Observing her flustered arrival, Yanghwi allowed a faint smirk to touch his lips.
The first test is cleared.
Jeong Inhwa had pointed out earlier that popular fiction and pulp tales were hardly a reliable path to wealth. For this woman to rush here with such frantic urgency meant she understood the immense artistic weight of the manuscript he had penned—and harbored absolute confidence in her ability to wring a fortune from it.
Just as expected from someone celebrated across the realm for commercial brilliance in my previous existence.
As Yanghwi considered this, Steward Han Seok’eon stepped into Chu Yongwol’s path with a furrowed brow.
“Who are you, young lady, to barge onto our clan’s grounds and raise such a scandalous racket?”
Only with this reprimand did Chu Yongwol seem to regain her composure.
“This humble maiden is Chu Yongwol of the Chu household. I have journeyed without pause from Nanchang’s Baekseo antiquarian bookshop after receiving an urgent missive from the Baek Estate.”
She pressed her palms together, bowing low in an elaborate display of penitence.
“Above all else, I must plead for your clemency regarding my disgraceful entry. My haste was so overwhelming that common manners slipped my mind entirely.”
Her arrival had coincided with early morning, catching Baek Muryang in the middle of drilling the three young heirs on the family training grounds.
“Do not fret over it,” Baek Muryang said dismissively. “Such mishaps occur.”
Yet while the clan head was willing to let the discourtesy pass, Steward Han—drawn out by the clamor—was far less inclined to let the matter drop without answers.
“Very well, Young Mistress Chu. What urgent business brings you across provinces in such distress? And precisely who or what is this ‘Ilpilhwiseo’ you were just screaming for at the top of your lungs?”
Chu Yongwol’s eyes darted across the grounds, scanning the surrounding faces before locking onto Steward Han once more.
“I must offer my apologies yet again. The author who penned the letter emphasized absolute discretion and requested a private hearing.”
“…Is that so?”
Steward Han’s brow twitched with doubt, but Yanghwi felt another surge of quiet approval.
Second test cleared.
In truth, Yanghwi had never written a single word demanding confidentiality. The sheer fact that Chu Yongwol had hollered for Ilpilhwiseo upon entering proved she had anticipated no secrecy.
She had yelled because she assumed the household was already aware of the correspondence; the instant she gauged the atmosphere, she realized her mistake and pivoted smoothly.
Such quick wits revealed a sharp, calculating mind. That quality made an ally vastly less likely to stumble into ruin, ensuring every maneuver was steered deliberately toward gain.
“Father.”
“Ah, Hwi. It was your doing, then.”
The boy had barely spoken a word, yet Baek Muryang grasped the situation at once. In that breath, the solemn line of Steward Han’s mouth broke into unvarnished delight.
“The young master again?”
“Well… phrased like that, it sounds as if I have stirred up another disaster. But indeed, it is my doing.”
A broad, involuntary grin split Steward Han’s face. His reaction stemmed from a very practical consideration.
“How much profit are we speaking of this time?”
Steward Han bore the burden of maintaining the estate, balancing domestic disbursements, and guarding the treasury. Naturally, Baek Muryang had already taken him aside to reveal the true origin of the silver distributed among the clan’s retainers days prior. Ever since that revelation, the steward had become Yanghwi’s most devoted partisan.
What agony it had been, counting every stray coin just to keep the household from collapsing under anemic revenues!
Yet this boy had brought in two thousand five hundred silver nyang in a single stroke! A mere youth, procuring half a year’s operational wealth for the Baek Estate single-handedly!
A proper steward would pledge unending devotion to a scion of the Demonic Cult itself if that demon filled the coffer with coin. Naturally, Yanghwi was now the greatest treasure in Steward Han’s eyes.
“Ten thousand nyang, at the very least.”
Hearing Yanghwi’s quiet whisper, Steward Han’s eyes nearly bulged from their sockets. Without a moment’s hesitation, he nudged the boy forward toward Chu Yongwol.
“Ahem. Young Master Hwi. Escort Young Mistress Chu inside without delay.”
While his spoken tone remained thoroughly courteous and dignified, the steward’s hand flicked a sharp, covert gesture behind Baek Muryang’s back, visible solely to Yanghwi. It was an unmistakable directive to squeeze the merchant dry of every single copper coin.
Steward Han… how intensely you must have suffered over the accounts all these years.
To think a gentleman so obsessed with traditional propriety would mimic the crude hand signals of a street-corner cardsharp.
If I were to clarify that my estimate was ten thousand gold nyang rather than silver, the poor man might collapse cold on the paving stones.
Ten thousand gold nyang was a staggering fortune that would give even the Five Great Houses pause, yet the real worth of the venture before them eclipsed that figure by far.
“Young Mistress Chu.”
Yanghwi offered a tidy fist-and-palm greeting. Chu Yongwol looked down at him, an inquisitive light brightening her gaze.
“Who might you be, little master?”
“I am Yanghwi of the Baek clan. I can take you directly to the individual you seek, so please accompany me.”
Chu Yongwol swept her eyes across the courtyard one final time, her curiosity sharpening into intense focus.
For a child of his age to step forward while the family patriarch and senior steward stand back without intervening… this is certainly no ordinary youth.
“I am grateful for your guidance, young master.”
Yanghwi led Chu Yongwol toward his private quarters, shutting the wooden door firmly behind them to guarantee absolute privacy.
“Young master? You claimed you would lead me to Ilpilhwiseo. Yet there is nobody present aside from us.”
Chu Yongwol put on a display of mild bewilderment, though Yanghwi saw through the facade immediately. After assessing the crowd outside, she had taken care not to mention the pen name again, yet here in private, she had uttered it without hesitation.
“‘Emptiness leaves no room for hesitation.'”
When the heart is empty, uncertainty cannot take root. It was a pivotal line from Eastern Lands, Western Earth, an exchange between the central figure and his guide, Ilillihaeng, reflecting on an unfettered mind.
The color instantly drained from Chu Yongwol’s face as genuine shock took hold. Even so, her mercantile skepticism refused to fade entirely.
“You are familiar with the lines of Eastern Lands, Western Earth. Still, that alone does not prove whether you are Ilpilhwiseo or merely a child delivering his words. Would you be willing to present clear proof?”
She was demanding undeniable evidence of his authorship. For him, nothing could be simpler.
Yanghwi retrieved a fresh, blank volume prepared beforehand, ground his ink, and took up the brush. In the brief span of two meal’s time, his brush raced across the clean sheets, transcribing the entire narrative of the third chronicle from memory.
“The title… we shall style it Righteous Sword for Ten Thousand Li. Please examine it, young mistress.”
Chu Yongwol accepted the unbound sheets with utmost reverence, scanning the fresh characters line by line. Soon, a visible shiver ran down her shoulders. Reaching the final page, she released an unsteady, protracted sigh.
“Is this the reason you chose the title of Ilpilhwiseo—the One Brush Stroke?”
To produce a fully realized, masterful text in a solitary sitting without a single pause was a miraculous feat worthy of the name Ilpilhwiseo. Even more astounding was that the tale balanced profound philosophical depths with sheer, intoxicating excitement.
“To think I would witness such an incomprehensible miracle with my own eyes. How can a boy of your tender years possess such mastery…?”
“Broad though this world may be, the realm has always seen prodigies capable of astonishing all under heaven.”
In truth, the achievement belonged to the accumulated experiences of his prior lifetime, yet Yanghwi offered the explanation with complete composure. Chu Yongwol let out another quiet, resigned breath as she studied him.
“You truly present yourself as a generational prodigy? Given what I have seen, one cannot even call it vanity. Tell me, young master: why did you dispatch that missive to my establishment?”
Now the true trade began.
“To market the texts and secure wealth, naturally.”
“Are you not aware that printed fiction rarely sells as bound literature? The vast majority of such works circulate entirely through the voices of oral storytellers.”
“I am well aware.”
“Producing bound volumes requires hiring skilled craftsmen to engrave thousands upon thousands of ideograms onto wooden printing plates. Following that, one must invest in fine paper and professional binding.”
In short, the upfront costs were ruinous.
“Even if such tales were placed on shelves as bound books, the common folk would still prefer gathering to hear a storyteller recite the narrative.”
Her assessment was undeniably accurate. Venturing into the printing of pulp fiction was notoriously unprofitable, hemmed in by harsh commercial realities. Yet conventional industry logic was meaningless here.
In my former life, Ilpilhwiseo obliterated every single one of those commercial barriers through the pure, undeniable brilliance of his storytelling.
That undeniable draw was the exact reason Chu Yongwol had raced toward the Baek Estate before dawn broke. She recognized the manuscript’s sheer value. Her sharp eyes had already discerned the river of gold waiting beneath the surface. Her current pessimism was nothing more than an opening posture meant to depress the price before bargaining.
“If you truly held that conviction, why make the journey here at all?”
“…My curiosity was piqued. It has been years since I encountered a tale with such undeniable power.”
Still trying to maintain leverage, are you? I will not be the one to back down, young mistress.
“I see. You merely wished to gaze upon the creator. In that case, having satisfied your curiosity, you can return to your shop.”
“…”
Chu Yongwol found her tongue tied, incapable of uttering an agreement. Yanghwi let a subtle, knowing smile show.
“Let us dispense with the theatrical posturing when we both understand the underlying reality, young mistress.”
Chu Yongwol stared at him, bewildered thoughts racing through her head.
Understand the underlying reality? Is that genuinely the phrasing of a child under ten years old?
“…Your maturity is truly terrifying, young master.”
“I accept the compliment. Now, let us negotiate plainly.”
“Very well. I shall speak without evasion. I want the Baekseo antiquarian bookshop to carve the plates, bind the volumes, and manage distribution.”
“Agreed.”
Chu Yongwol blinked, taken aback by his effortless concession. After parrying like a seasoned schemer, he had yielded without offering the slightest resistance.
“From the very beginning, I had no desire to enter into an agreement with any establishment other than the Baekseo antiquarian bookshop. You were the sole recipient of my missive, young mistress.”
Though Chu Yongwol kept her features strictly composed, Yanghwi caught the underlying flicker of gratification and pride illuminating her face.
She is still quite young, after all. Yet her talent is undeniable. Still, the final hurdle remains.
Yanghwi maintained an unblinking gaze upon her. A heartbeat later, an inner sense of approval settled within him.
“Forty percent of net returns. That is the absolute limit the Baekseo antiquarian bookshop can provide.”
“Passed.”
“Excuse me?”
“Pay it no mind. I intended to say ‘agreed,’ but misspoke.”
By accepting her original premise immediately and revealing that she was his sole correspondent, he had subtly implied that his prospects were vast and that he refused to squabble over minor percentages. Chu Yongwol had accurately deciphered the implicit message and offered a generous, equitable split.
“Forty percent of the returns. A satisfactory arrangement.”
Once the primary provisions of the covenant were committed to paper, Yanghwi raised a practical inquiry.
“Now that our pact is sealed, how do you intend to bring these texts to market?”
“I intend to showcase all three narratives in the most prominent alcove of our establishment.”
“The conventional approach, then.”
“Do you have a superior scheme in mind, young master?”
Naturally he did. To be precise, it was not his own invention, but the very commercial strategy Ilpilhwiseo would pioneer in the years to come.
“Given your reliance on woodblocks, you will inevitably commission further pressings if the volumes find success, correct?”
“That is so. Committing to a massive print run at the outset demands far too much reserve capital.”
“Were I in your shoes, I would institute a different tactic: imprint each production run with a definitive numerical designation—first edition, second edition, and onward.”
Given her natural commercial instincts, Chu Yongwol grasped the implication in a flash.
“Granting artificial scarcity and prestige through chronological order. What a dazzling concept!”
“In addition, I shall apply my personal brushwork to merely ten volumes from each individual pressing.”
Picking up the brush, Yanghwi inscribed eight characters in a single, unbroken rhythm of flowing ink:
Author’s Name (筆者之名) Ilpilhwiseo (一筆揮書).
The calligraphy radiated a refined grace that seemed entirely impossible for an eight-year-old child to produce.
“Those consecrated volumes will be granted exclusively to the initial ten patrons who purchase from that specific run.”
“…Young master.”
“Speak your mind.”
“Would you consider entering into an association with our Baekseo antiquarian bookshop directly?”
Chu Yongwol looked upon the boy with genuine reverence for his commercial foresight. Bestowing select artifacts with singular distinction and scarcity drove up the perceived value of the entire catalog, aggressively provoking the wealthy’s urge to collect. The ultimate consequence was glaringly obvious.
“You are not simply seeking to distribute printed pages, young master. You are forging and marketing an elite pedigree through them.”
To offer an unmatched narrative bound within exquisite covers. To compel every reader across the land to possess the physical volume as a status symbol, rendering the oral recitations of itinerant storytellers wholly inadequate.
Would this not harvest fortunes beyond reckoning?
“It is an astonishing concept. In that case… we ought to bind these exclusive copies with real gold thread, using lavish materials so this superior status is visually unmistakable.”
“And the price must be adjusted upward in kind. That will swell our margins even further.”
“We could also restrict initial sales to exclusive clientele… No, that method would be premature for our current scale. Yet funding all this will demand vastly greater operating capital… And yet… and yet…”
Chu Yongwol began pacing the floorboards, muttering rapidly as one commercial maneuver spawned another. Watching her feverish calculations, Yanghwi’s satisfaction deepened.
“Young Mistress Chu. I would like to propose a secondary agreement.”
“What might that entail?”
“Should we commit to deluxe bindings and premium paper, the operational strain on the Baekseo antiquarian bookshop will become immense. I have no wish to leave that burden entirely upon your shoulders. I will inject four thousand silver nyang into the enterprise.”
“What?!”
Chu Yongwol’s eyes went wide, frozen in utter disbelief.
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