Chapter 13: Resurrection

“What?”

And so, while those pitiful beggars were being battered with money—

I’d sent Chief Court Lady Choi off to Tapgol and was deep in conversation with Buyong.

Ever since  had become a hit, we’d milked it for all it was worth with spin-offs, so we were in the middle of discussing possible plots for the next project.

“‘That Person’ is planning to sponsor other writers?”

It was during a short break.

When Buyong heard about how I’d smacked the Baektappa crowd with a hundred nyang promissory note, her eyes grew round with surprise.

Of course, as always, I pretended I’d only heard it from ‘That Person.’

“Yeah. Maybe they want to discover writers who can create interesting novels?”

“Discover? Even with how busy That Person is, they want to read new stories?”

“That’s exactly why they make time to write novels themselves. Silly.”

“What!!”

Well, my explanation was half true, half not.

It was true that I wanted to recruit people with writing talent as authors.

I’d even thought about gathering up historically outstanding writers to try and spark a literary renaissance.

For now, there was no word in court about King Jeongjo erupting in fury and launching the Literary Purification Campaign.

That meant novels and writers hadn’t yet become full-scale targets of suppression.

So my first goal was to somehow gather up the promising ones into my shadowy organization before that happened.

I didn’t have a concrete plan just yet, but I felt like I’d come up with an idea that might even erase the Literary Purification from history entirely.

And second.

The writers known as the Baektappa all shared a common trait.

They were open to advanced cultures thanks to their experiences—like serving on diplomatic missions to the Qing Dynasty.

Because of that, they led difficult lives as outsiders, both in the original history and now.

But if I were to become king and reform the country like a novel protagonist, these people would be invaluable allies.

In short, they were talents who would be a double boon for both literature and reform.

Moreover, with a few exceptions, they were all in such dire straits that throwing money at them was the perfect tactic.

The best way to deflect, “Are you trying to buy me with money?” was to offer so much that it couldn’t possibly be scolded.

Of course, there were some among them known for their stubborn personalities, so this method wouldn’t work on everyone.

“Is that so?”

Anyway, outwardly, I disguised my reason for recruiting them as being solely for the sake of novels.

Buyong, listening to my explanation, tilted her head, her braided hair swaying.

Did this kid, surprisingly sharp, see through my real intentions?

“Then… Summoner…”

Honestly, it was a bit nerve-wracking, since she was ridiculously smart for her age.

But Buyong was still Buyong.

“I-I want to do it too!!”

“What? Do what?”

“I want to be one of ‘That Person’s’ authors! I’m confident I can write good stories too!”

Grab.

Suddenly, something soft and warm clamped onto my hand.

Buyong, now starting to beg, was using the dirty trick of gripping my hand tightly.

“Hey, let go, will you? And why would That Person pick you?”

“I helped so much with  last time! You even said it was really helpful!!”

“That’s true, but… Hey, shouldn’t you consider your age at least?”

“I’m not any younger than you!!”

Now her eyes had glazed over.

She was comparing herself to me, despite my years as a reincarnator and web novel writer.

Well, she’d never in a million years guess my true identity anyway.

You don’t even know that you’re irreverently holding hands for the first time with someone you really shouldn’t, sigh.

“Hey! I’m just running errands, you know? That’s not the same as asking That Person to train you.”

“That’s true… but it’s not like I’m asking to write right away!! Don’t you think I’m talented enough to be trained?”

Is this a person, or a tick disguised as a girl?

I struggled to free my hand from her grip, but it was no use.

What on earth do you eat to get this strong, kid?

So, I had to wrestle with the giant tick for a long time.

In the end, after she pulled out her ‘lifelong wish’ card, I had no choice but to give in.

“Y-you mean it!! You promised, right??”

“I’m just passing on your message. Whether you get permission is up to That Person.”

Well, if I thought about it, training Buyong as a writer from a young age wasn’t a bad idea.

Once you develop writing habits, they’re hard to break.

It’s much easier to sketch the right foundation on a completely blank canvas.

So, if I were to train any writer besides myself, there was no better candidate than Buyong.

The Baektappa people I’d just recruited would be tough to manage since I couldn’t leave the palace anyway.

Now that I think about it, when I was writing , I did consider training her as a romance writer.

A little calculation spun in my head.

The result: teaching novel writing to Kim Buyong was decided.

If she couldn’t keep up or didn’t show improvement, I could just drop her later anyway.

But just as I finished my mental calculation—

Suddenly, warmth wrapped all around me.

It was Buyong’s bad habit of hugging people when she was extremely happy.

“Thank you, Summoner!! Really, really!!”

You… have you forgotten you’re a girl, even if you’re a brat? In this Confucian-Taliban country?

Quietly, I added today’s incident to my mental Death Note.

Never mind teaching writing—just wait till later, Kim Buyong. Geez.

So recruiting new writers and accepting a tomboy disciple came to an end.

But, in the midst of all that, there was someone whose response I hadn’t expected…

---

“No, Yeonam!! Why did you turn down the offer?”

Yi Deokmu, his face gleaming with oil, made a fuss.

Looks like he’d filled his empty stomach right after getting the contract money.

“Didn’t we tell you all about our group trip to the Gyeonggi Banggakso?”

“We heard such great things there, so why did you refuse?”

Yoo Deukgong and Lee Seogu, whose spirits had changed, asked in bewilderment.

They too seemed astonished that Park Ji-won had refused the offer.

Not surprising, since the terms offered along with the 100-nyang promissory note were so generous it would be strange to refuse.

‘We are not simply trying to buy your works, gentlemen.’

‘“That Person” has merely ordered us to support those who write well, with no strings attached…’

‘If you would entrust us with your treasured books from the bottom of your hearts, we would gladly accept them.’

‘We were instructed that it’s fine even if you never write a single new line after accepting this.’

Poor as they were, the Baektappa writers were scholars and gentlemen first.

At first, they were swayed by Chief Court Lady Choi’s huge promissory note, but in truth, these were people who kept their pride even while living on nothing but cold water.

Of course, if you kept pressing with money, they’d give in eventually, but that could sour feelings.

By preserving the dignity of these noble paupers, Yi Deokmu, Yoo Deukgong, and Lee Seogu were all taken in by what the Banggakso owner had said.

The problem was with the stubborn ones for whom ‘You can’t buy people with money!’ still held true.

“You can’t help it. Cheongjanggwan (Yi Deokmu’s pen name), you were so worried about not even having money for medicine for your illness, weren’t you?”

“T-that’s…”

“I haven’t had a day’s peace since I heard you, at your age, were sleeping on ice-cold floors. Please take the money and live long—for your friend’s sake.”

Out of concern for his friend Yi Deokmu, Park Ji-won finally spoke.

He’d failed to help Deokmu through many hardships, having his own problems to deal with.

Yi Deokmu, who’d led such a hard life, had passed away barely into his fifties even in the original timeline, so Park Ji-won’s concern was justified.

“Yeongjae (Yoo Deukgong’s pen name), the same goes for you. You’ve spent your money supporting people here, and Cheokjae (Lee Seogu’s pen name) as well.”

Seduced by sweet promises, Yoo Deukgong and Lee Seogu scratched their heads sheepishly.

But Park Ji-won didn’t blame them.

No one knew better than he how much hardship these outsiders, cut off from the mainstream of Joseon, had endured.

“But I won’t accept that offer.”

“Yeonam!!”

“Given my family’s situation, I should accept like you, but… there’s just something I feel.”

With his already raised eyebrows climbing higher, Park Ji-won chuckled.

“What do you mean, ‘feel’?”

“In my rash youth, I wrote all sorts of biting stories in true script (classical Chinese), but lately I rarely even pick up my brush. Do you know why?”

“Well, you gave up your stubborn refusal to enter government and accepted the king’s appointment, so—”

“No.”

Park Ji-won cut off Yi Deokmu’s guess like a knife.

Apparently, he refused to use his official duties—like serving as Hansungbu magistrate—as an excuse for having no time.

“That’s because, the moment I entered office, the fire burning in my chest was extinguished.”

“…”

“As you know, countless injustices are carried out in Joseon, most of them by those who swagger around as yangban.”

“Yeonam…”

“In my passionate youth, I didn’t hesitate to criticize such things, but in the end, what can a man say when he’s surrendered to the world and joined the class of yangban?”

This was why Park Ji-won left so few works in his later years.

As he said, young Park Ji-won had the stubbornness to top the civil service exam and then throw down a blank sheet at the next and storm out.

It wasn’t until nearly fifty that he finally accepted Jeongjo’s summons and took office.

Ever since making peace with the world like that, whether his conscience was pricked or he was disappointed in himself, his writing had dried up.

For someone in office to criticize other officials—just saying it was a paradox for Park Ji-won.

Seeing this side of his friend, Yi Deokmu’s lips curled up slightly.

It must have pleased him greatly to see the embers left in his old friend’s heart flare up again.

“That vulgar story  written in the vernacular really did something big, huh?”

“I-it’s not because of that story!! It’s just that some thoughts I’d been having recently happened to surface while reading a line from it…!!”

“Sure, sure. So, you want to go back to being the Yeonam I used to know? And you can’t accept rice from the enemy, right?”

“‘Enemy’? Cheongjanggwan!! And who knows if I can be like I was, but I have to try.”

Clearly, Park Ji-won had his own reasons for refusing ‘That Person’s’ offer.

Maybe, rather than eating meat that had dropped from the sky, he wanted to hunt and eat his own catch.

At the edge of middle age, the novelist’s eyes were shining brightly.

His lightly clenched fist trembled slightly—his determination was clear.

“And Chojeong (Bak Jega’s pen name).”

Resolved, Park Ji-won turned to the second-youngest, Bak Jega.

Along with Park Ji-won, he was the only other Baektappa to refuse ‘That Person’s’ offer.

“Yes, teacher.”

“I know your stubbornness matches mine, but there’s no need to be so wary of them.”

“…Pardon?”

“I didn’t refuse out of suspicion toward ‘That Person,’ as you think.”

Did Bak Jega think his teacher had rejected the offer because he was wary, and was trying to follow suit?

Park Ji-won didn’t want his disciple to miss out because of such stubbornness.

And then—

“I simply want…”

Park Ji-won now wanted only one thing.

“…to cross brushes fairly with ‘That Person,’ in a true contest of writing.”

Opening up an old sheet of paper, Park Ji-won smiled with one corner of his lips raised.

---

Some time later.

Strange rumors began to circulate in the book district of Hanyang.

They were about an unusual novel, written in a peculiar style, that was slowly gaining popularity.

Unusually, this story was packed with social criticism rarely seen elsewhere.

A witty, corrupt official named Kim Chunsik tossed out barbed jokes throughout, and the novel spread like wildfire across Hanyang, becoming all the rage.