Chapter 10

A woman was crying out in distress, sounding for all the world like a newlywed bride who had lost her husband’s hand in the middle of a bustling marketplace.

She was none other than Chu Yong-wol of the Baekseo Merchant Guild—or more precisely, of the Baekseo Antique Bookstore.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Yang-hwi’s mouth as he watched her.

‘First test: passed.’

Just as Jeong In-hwa had pointed out before, pulp novels and frivolous tales were hardly the sort of writing that brought in serious money.

Yet here she was, desperate and breathless. That could only mean one thing: she recognized the worth of what he had written and was confident she could wring a handsome profit from it.

‘She certainly hasn’t lost the sharp commercial instincts she was famous for in my past life.’

While Yang-hwi pondered this, Manager Han Seok-eon stepped forward to confront the flustered guest.

“Who might you be, young lady, to come barging into our clan’s estate and raise such a dreadful racket?”

The sharp question finally snapped Chu Yong-wol back to her senses.

“This humble one is Yong-wol of the Chu Family. I rushed here from the Baekseo Antique Bookstore in Nanchang the moment I received a letter sent from Baek Manor.”

She pressed her hands together, bowing with the utmost deference.

“Please forgive my insolence. My haste got the better of me, and I shamefully forgot basic courtesy.”

Since she had arrived at the crack of dawn, Baek Mu-ryang had been in the middle of drilling the Three Baek Siblings out on the Martial Arts Field.

“It is quite alright. Think nothing of it,” Baek Mu-ryang replied, easily waving off the breach of etiquette.

Manager Han, however, who had come outside to investigate the commotion, was far less inclined to let it slide without answers. “Very well, Young Lady Chu. But what is all this truly about? And what in the world is this ‘Ilpilhwiseo’ you were bellowing at the top of your lungs?”

Chu Yong-wol’s eyes flicked around the courtyard before settling firmly on the manager.

“I must apologize once more. The one who penned the letter stated that this matter required strict confidentiality, and specifically requested a private audience.”

“…Is that so?”

Manager Han frowned, looking faintly annoyed, but Yang-hwi felt another surge of quiet satisfaction.

‘Second test: passed.’

He had never written anything about sworn secrecy in that letter.

Her screaming for Ilpilhwiseo the second she crossed the gates of Baek Manor made that obvious enough.

‘She assumed everyone in the manor was in on it because it bore our seal, but the moment she read the room, she realized she was wrong.’

A quick wit meant an active mind.

Such people made fewer mistakes, suffered fewer setbacks, and were far more capable of devising clever schemes that actually bore fruit.

“Father,” Yang-hwi called out softly.

“Ah, Hwi. So it was you.”

It took only a word for Baek Mu-ryang to grasp the situation.

The moment he spoke, Manager Han’s scowl vanished, replaced by an unmistakable beam of delight.

“You again, Young Master?”

“Well, putting it like that makes it sound as though I’ve caused trouble. But yes… it’s me again.”

A broad grin crept across the manager’s face.

The reason was simple enough.

“And how much is this one worth?”

As the man charged with balancing the books and overseeing the entire household, Manager Han had naturally been tipped off by Baek Mu-ryang about where the generous bonus distributed to the servants a few days prior had actually come from.

From that very hour, he had become Yang-hwi’s most fervent champion.

‘To think of the misery I suffered trying to keep this estate afloat on pennies!’

And yet this boy had brought in a staggering two thousand five hundred taels of silver!

Trapped in the body of a child, he had single-handedly earned half a year’s income for the entire Baek Manor!

Household managers, as a rule, were practical men—they would gladly offer their absolute devotion to a fiend from the Demonic Cult if the wretch lined their coffers with gold.

To Manager Han, the young master could do no wrong.

“At least ten thousand taels,” Yang-hwi whispered leaning close.

Manager Han’s eyes went wide as saucers.

Without a second thought, he nudged the boy firmly toward Chu Yong-wol.

“Ahem! Young Master Hwi, don’t keep our guest waiting. Escort Young Lady Chu inside at once.”

Yet even as he spoke with solemn dignity, the manager’s hand dropped out of Baek Mu-ryang’s line of sight, flashing a frantic, private signal to Yang-hwi.

A gesture that unmistakably meant: *Bleed her dry.*

‘Manager Han… you truly have been through hell, haven’t you?’

To think a dignified gentleman who prized decorum above all else could flash the shameless gesture of a back-alley gambler.

Besides, if the man knew he meant ten thousand taels of gold rather than silver, he would likely drop dead from a heart attack.

Ten thousand taels of gold was a fortune vast enough to give even the Five Great Families pause.

And yet, the venture they were about to embark on had the potential to yield far more.

“Young Lady Chu.”

Yang-hwi addressed her, offering a polite fist-and-palm salute.

A sharp spark of curiosity flickered in Chu Yong-wol’s eyes.

“And who might you be, young master?”

“I am Yang-hwi of the Baek Clan. I know where to find the person you seek, so please, follow me.”

Chu Yong-wol cast another sweeping glance across the courtyard, the intrigue in her gaze sharpening.

‘A mere child takes the lead, while the men who seem to be the Patriarch and the Chief Manager stand aside without a word… This boy is no ordinary child.’

“You have my gratitude, young master.”

Yang-hwi led her straight to his private quarters and pulled the door firmly shut, ensuring no sound would carry outside.

“Young master? You said you knew where to find Ilpilhwiseo, yet there is no one here but the two of us.”

She put on a convincing display of bewilderment, but Yang-hwi could tell she had already worked it out.

After testing the waters earlier, she had been careful not to utter that pen name once, yet now she used it freely.

“‘Where there is emptiness, there is no reservation.'”

It was a line from Dongbang Seoto, the very manuscript Yang-hwi had sent her—a piece of dialogue spoken between the protagonist and his master, Il-il-i-haeng, citing open-hearted candor.

Chu Yong-wol froze, her face locking in pure astonishment.

Even so, a stubborn shred of skepticism lingered.

“You know a passage from Dongbang Seoto. But that alone does not prove whether you are truly Ilpilhwiseo, or merely his proxy. Will you indulge me with proof?”

She wanted him to prove his identity. That was easy enough.

He drew out a blank notebook he had prepared in advance and readied his brush and inkstone.

It took Yang-hwi less than an hour to lay down the entirety of the third installment across the pristine pages.

“The title… is Righteous Sword Ten Thousand Li. Please, have a read, Young Lady.”

Accepting the manuscript with trembling fingers, Chu Yong-wol began to read.

A tremor soon ran through her whole frame.

When she finally turned the last page, she let out a long, shuddering breath.

“Is this… why you call yourself Ilpilhwiseo? One stroke of the brush?”

To dash off an entire, flawless manuscript in a single sitting without breaking stride was a miraculous feat worthy of the name Ilpilhwiseo.

All the more so when the writing itself brimmed with profound wit and effortless charm.

“To think I would witness a marvel I can scarcely believe with my own eyes. How could one so young achieve such mastery…?”

“Vast as this world is, prodigies capable of astonishing the realm have always walked under the heavens.”

Though it was entirely owed to the memories of his previous life, Yang-hwi offered the explanation with brazen, unshakable confidence.

Chu Yong-wol let out another defeated sigh.

“Are you calling yourself a World-Unrivaled Talent? And yet, I cannot even accuse you of arrogance. Tell me, young master—why did you send that letter to me?”

Now the real business began.

“To sell books and make money, of course.”

“Are you aware that frivolous tales and popular novels are almost never bound into books, but are instead recited aloud by traveling storytellers?”

“Naturally.”

“To sell books, one must commission carvers to etch thousands of delicate characters into wooden printing blocks. Then comes the cost of fine paper, printing, and binding.”

In other words: the upfront costs were ruinous.

“Even if we print such tales, common folk would rather pay a copper to hear a storyteller recount them than purchase a book of their own.”

She wasn’t wrong. By conventional wisdom, printing popular fiction was an unprofitable venture with severe limits—hardly a sound merchant’s trade.

And yet…

‘In my past life, the real Ilpilhwiseo shattered every single one of those limitations. Armed with nothing more than the sheer brilliance of his craft.’

It was the exact reason Chu Yong-wol had rushed to Baek Manor at the crack of dawn.

She knew what the story was worth. She smelled the fortune waiting to be made.

All this pessimism was merely the calculated posturing of a merchant driving down the price before striking a bargain.

“If that is truly what you believe, why did you come at all?”

“…My curiosity got the better of me. It has been far too long since I encountered a story so thoroughly engrossing.”

‘Trying another angle, are you? Don’t think I’ll yield an inch, young lady.’

“Ah, I see. You merely wanted to lay eyes on the author. In that case, since your curiosity is satisfied, will you be taking your leave?”

“……”

Chu Yong-wol could not bring herself to say yes.

Watching her squirm, Yang-hwi offered a knowing grin.

“Come now, Young Lady. Between two people who know the trade, let’s skip the tedious games and get down to brass tacks.”

A sudden, dizzying thought crossed her mind.

*Between two people who know the trade? Is that really coming from a child who hasn’t even seen his tenth winter?*

“…You are, in every possible sense, quite unlike any child I have ever met.”

“I take that as a compliment. Now, let us speak frankly.”

“Very well. To put it bluntly: I wish to print and publish your stories as bound volumes through our Baekseo Antique Bookstore.”

“Agreed.”

Yang-hwi’s instantaneous acceptance left her momentarily stunned.

To see someone who had parried her moves like a sly old fox suddenly close the deal without a hint of hesitation felt almost disorienting.

“I never had any intention of partnering with anyone other than the Baekseo Antique Bookstore. Yours was the only door I knocked on.”

Though Chu Yong-wol fought to keep her expression neutral, Yang-hwi caught the subtle shift in her eyes.

Satisfaction. And a flicker of pride.

‘She has her youth, after all. But this is more than adequate. Now, let us see if she passes the final test.’

Yang-hwi fixed her with a steady, unblinking gaze.

A moment later, he felt a surge of quiet approval.

“Forty percent of the net profits. That is the very best term our Baekseo Antique Bookstore can offer.”

“You pass.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing. Just a slip of the tongue—I meant to say it sounds fair.”

The reason he had accepted so readily, making sure she knew his letter had gone only to her, was simple.

He was showing her that while he could have looked elsewhere, he had no interest in wasting time haggling over pennies.

And Chu Yong-wol had read his message loud and clear.

“Forty percent. It’s a deal.”

Once the fine details of the agreement were drawn up, Yang-hwi posed a question.

“Now that our pact is sealed, might I ask how you intend to sell the books?”

“I plan to display all three volumes in the most prominent section of our Baekseo Antique Bookstore.”

“The traditional approach, then.”

“Do you have a better idea in mind, young master?”

Naturally he did. Though strictly speaking, it wasn’t his invention, but the very scheme Ilpilhwiseo would pioneer in the years to come.

“You mentioned woodblock printing. If demand surges, you will produce additional runs, correct?”

“Naturally. Printing vast quantities all at once requires far too much initial capital.”

“If it were me, I would mark each run in the order it was pressed—a first edition, a second edition, and so forth.”

Sharp as ever, Chu Yong-wol grasped the premise immediately.

“Creating artificial value through numerical scarcity… What a brilliant stroke!”

“Furthermore, I intend to personally brush my signature on precisely ten copies of each edition.”

Lifting his brush once more, Yang-hwi effortlessly penned eight sweeping characters across the page.

*Penned by the Author: Ilpilhwiseo.*

The calligraphy was so fluid and masterful it seemed impossible it had been drawn by the hand of an eight-year-old child.

“Those signed copies will be granted solely to the first ten patrons to purchase each run.”

“…Young master.”

“Go on.”

“Would you have any interest in joining the Baekseo Antique Bookstore as a partner?”

Chu Yong-wol was gazing at him in genuine awe of his commercial genius.

By imparting singular prestige to a select few copies, the perceived value of the entire work would skyrocket. It would ignite an insatiable desire to collect them all.

She saw the core of his design with absolute clarity.

“You aren’t merely trying to sell bound stories. You are using the medium of the book to sell an intangible prestige.”

To sell stories of peerless brilliance in physical form.

To make every soul under heaven burn with the desire to own them.

So that merely listening to a storyteller on the street would no longer feel like enough.

How much more could they earn by turning literature into a coveted treasure?

“It is brilliant. Truly brilliant! If that’s our aim, then we must bind them in fine covers threaded with gold! We must make them utterly luxurious, elevating their worth even further!”

“And the price must rise accordingly. Which will widen our margins all the more.”

“We could even establish a registry for private subscribers… No, that would be difficult to implement right away. But taking this approach will require a vastly larger sum of seed capital… And yet… and yet…”

Chu Yong-wol paced the floor, muttering feverishly as she mapped out the logistics.

Watching her passion ignite, Yang-hwi smiled warmly.

“Young Lady Chu. I would like to propose one more contract.”

“Pardon? What sort of contract?”

“Crafting such luxurious editions will place a heavy financial burden on the Baekseo Antique Bookstore. I wish to share that burden. I will invest four thousand taels of silver into your bookstore directly.”

“…What?!”

Chu Yong-wol’s eyes nearly bulged straight out of her head.