The Outcast Writer of a Martial Arts Visual Novel-Chapter 221: New Employee - 7

“This one can work the front counter, and that one... maybe assign to field errands.”

Now that Im Ha-yeon had left Daseogak, I was looking ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) through the application forms, figuring out how best to assign the new hires.

I thought there would be at least a few dropouts, but everyone applied. The number of people is more than enough.

Guess I’ll need to balance things out—keep the easier roles consistent, and for the tougher ones, rotate staff, give them earlier shifts off, or even throw in a day off now and then.

“Im Ha-yeon should mostly work on the second floor.”

I grinned, staring at the paperwork for the biggest catch in Daseogak’s freelance hiring history.

A woman so beautiful, anyone who laid eyes on her would have her face lingering in their mind for the rest of the day.

If she were a full-fledged courtesan, you’d have to throw down a mountain of gold just to see her. But now, as long as she shows up to Daseogak—you can meet her.

And being courtesan-trained, she’s probably got the perfect service industry mindset. She’s the ideal staffer to serve tea at Daseogak!

Once we reopen, I might just start raking in money by the shovel.

“Manager Kang! Thank goodness you’re still here!”

As I was fantasizing about shoveling up piles of gold, a member of the Literary Society burst through the door of Daseogak.

“What brings you here?”

“The chairman of the Literary Society is requesting your presence.”

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What’s this about?

I headed straight over to the chairman’s residence.

Things were about to get busy again, but when the benefactor who’s helping fund wages and staffing calls—you don’t say no.

Was it because I kept dodging his seat at the drinking party, pretending I was headed elsewhere? Or because I poured booze down my sleeve instead of drinking, afraid I might screw up if I got drunk?

Or maybe it was when I swapped his drink for water and silently held out?

I didn’t do anything wrong, but him calling me in out of the blue had me on edge.

“I’ve kept you waiting.”

The chairman entered the room I was sitting in and took the upper seat.

“I just got here, sir.”

“You stayed through the entire Literary Society event. I truly appreciate it. You could’ve treated it like someone else’s business—but you didn’t.”

I mean... they let me pick my own staff. Of course I stuck around.

This wasn’t some lottery draw—I got to see everyone’s face and handpick the best candidates. That alone made it worth the effort.

But seriously—he called me here just to say that?

“It wasn’t someone else’s business, sir. How could I see the search for Yichang’s future literary giants as anything but my own responsibility?”

I smiled politely, as if hurt that he’d say such a thing, even though internally I was wondering why I was wasting my time here.

“Haha. You have quite the way with words. But I didn’t call you just to thank you—I have an apology to make. About the work-study program.”

His chuckle gave way to a serious tone.

Apology? About the scholarship?

Don’t tell me he’s upset that my fame is growing because of the program—that Daseogak is benefiting from the talent pool, and that we’re splitting wages with the Literary Society.

A bad feeling crept in.

Surely he’s not about to say they’ll withdraw support... or shut the whole thing down?

“An apology?”

“When you first proposed the work-study scholarship, I thought you were simply asking for help hiring staff.”

“...That’s true.”

“But it seems I misunderstood.”

“Misunderstood, sir?”

I tilted my head and looked at him.

“What you said from the stage that day... it really struck a chord. You said that even people worrying about tomorrow’s meals should still be allowed to dream of becoming writers—and you meant it. It wasn’t just formal politeness. I could hear it in your voice.”

Of course I meant it. I’ve gone hungry before.

When I got thrown into this world, I had to claw my way up from the bottom just to become a writer. Putting emotion into those words wasn’t hard.

“As a bookstore owner, I’ve seen firsthand how hard life can be for writers. I lived through hard times myself before I managed to find some stability. So it didn’t feel like someone else’s problem.”

Sure, my top priority was catching Im Ha-yeon—but hiring struggling writers and giving them a hand up was always part of the plan.

“Exactly. I don’t know if you saw it, but one of the scholarship recipients came to me in tears to thank me. Said he was ready to give up entirely after failing, but your program gave him the courage to try again. It made me wonder if I’ve been lacking something all this time.”

The chairman looked genuinely weighed down by the memory.

“How could you say that, sir? I’ve never seen a support program for new writers like the one run by the Literary Society—not even in all of Hubei Province. And you selected every winner purely based on merit. They’ll surely become Yichang’s next literary giants.”

If I’d heard about a contest like this during my storyteller days, I would’ve headed to Yichang without a second thought.

That’s how bold and rare the Literary Society’s program is.

“...Is that so.”

“Of course. Some people run toward the prize wearing quality shoes, well-fed and well-rested. But others are running barefoot, carrying their sick parents on their backs. I’m no match for you, sir—but I just wanted to support those who are struggling to reach their goal.”

“Hmph... I thought I’d found a good merchant who could spot commercially viable writing when I met Ho-pil. But it turns out, you’re a far more thoughtful young man than I expected.”

The chairman stroked his beard and gave me a look that said he was seeing me in a new light.

Right. From his perspective, I probably looked like just another bookstore owner with a good eye for marketable writing.

I need to maintain a good relationship with the Literary Society from here on out.

They’re one of the most influential groups in Yichang. Staying on their good side will never be a bad investment.

‘Let’s keep the image he has of me but steer it in the direction I want.’

When someone openly says, “I see you differently now,” it doesn’t just mean their favorability has gone up—it also means they’ve let their guard down enough for me to push it even higher.

I can’t stop at just being seen as a sharp merchant with a good eye. I need the chairman of the Literary Society to remember me.

Because it’s only then they’ll write good things about me, help with recruitment, and keep funding those salaries.

So I opened my mouth to reel him in further.

“There’s a saying in Joseon: ‘Earn like a dog, spend like a noble.’”

Start with an unfamiliar proverb—spark some curiosity.

“What does that mean?”

“It means one shouldn’t shy away from even the dirtiest work when earning money, but when it comes time to spend, spend it with dignity.”

“Even if you earn it through lowly work, spend it meaningfully?”

Just hearing dog-like earning probably reminded the chairman of me, the man he just called sharp and business-minded.

His words, my proverb—linked by a simple bridge. Now I just needed to show him the noble spender side of Kang Yun-ho.

“I’m a merchant. I do my best to earn money through honest trade. But just because I work hard to earn it doesn’t mean I plan to stack it up to the heavens or take it with me to the afterlife. That’s why I have a guiding principle when I do business.”

“And what principle is that?”

“That business is about leaving behind people.”

“Leaving behind... people?”

“Yes. Now that I’ve begun this work, I’ll be supporting countless writers in many ways. I’ll spread great books across the land, increase joy and knowledge among the people. The more I earn, the more people I’ll be able to support. What else is business but a way to leave behind people?”

Simply hoarding wealth rubs literary folk the wrong way. Especially the well-educated—many of them carry a deep-rooted distaste for merchants.

There’s a reason merchants were ranked dead last in Joseon’s four social classes: scholar, farmer, artisan, merchant.

But if you say you earn to give—that’s a different story.

My speech from the platform, the scholarship proposal, even this conversation—all of it would convince the chairman that I truly lived by this ideal.

And besides, I have to build fame while I earn anyway.

If I want a legacy, I need to leave behind people who respect me.

“To leave behind people through business... haha. Seems like the person who should’ve been speaking to the attendees yesterday wasn’t me, but you.”

“How could I dare, sir? You once worked in the Imperial Court. I’m just the owner of a bookstore in Yichang, trying to do what I can with conviction.”

So please, keep supporting me going forward.

With a solemn expression, I bowed slightly, like I was making a vow.

The chairman looked at me for a moment, then spoke in a warm tone.

“...The former head of Baek Family’s bookstore used to say the exact same thing.”

Tang Hwa-rin’s grandfather?

“You knew the former master of the Baek Family?”

“He supported me in my youth.”

“I had no idea you had such a history together.”

“There was a time I couldn’t afford to buy even a few books. I spent half a day in the Baek bookstore just trying to choose one. When I finally picked one by sunset, the old master picked up the others and handed them to me. Said, ‘I’ll pay for these. I’ll do it again next time, so don’t be a stranger.’”

“...Wow.”

The more I learn about that old man, the more stories like this I hear.

“I returned to my hometown and began supporting young writers because of what he did for me back then.”

“I didn’t know it went that deep.”

“You’re the one who said you’re engaged to his granddaughter, yes?”

“Yes. I’m running Daseogak now, which was entrusted to me by Hwa-rin, the granddaughter of the late master of the Baek Family.”

“His only remaining grandchild... and her husband-to-be carrying on his legacy this well? If he could see you now, he’d be proud beyond words.”

The chairman smiled at me like he was the old master himself.

I came here hoping to make an impression—and ended up stamping something straight onto his heart.

That went better than expected.

What’s the best response I can give him right now?

“As the owner of Yichang’s most representative bookstore, I will make sure I never disgrace the name of Master Baek, the former keeper of Daseogak.”

I bowed my head low, as though the weight of that legacy sat squarely on my shoulders.

“Yes... For a moment there, it truly felt like the old master had returned. Yes, I can’t just sit still now. I should do more... Let’s see...”

He’s already helped so much and now he wants to do more?

I had to fight the urge to cheer.

What was he going to give me now?

The chairman thought for a moment, then finally declared:

“I’ll cover the entire wage for the work-study scholars.”