Moving into the new house went more smoothly than expected.
Since it was a fully furnished mansion, all we had to do was bring over a few personal belongings. That was easy enough for —but for a woman who’d just tasted the bitter sting of the world after falling victim to a deposit scam, it must have been a hard day.
To comfort Im Ha-yeon for making it through such a rough evening and still getting everything done today, I waited for her at the front door.
“You did well today. Co and sit.”
When I greeted her at the entrance, Im Ha-yeon looked surprised. I led her to the dining table in the inner quarters.
“What is all this?”
She stared at the table, piled high with food, and asked in a startled voice.
“The Seocheon Escort Bureau hired servants for us.”
Surprised? So was I.
Who would've thought that just bringing up cooking in front of Ha Pyo-du would result in the Seocheon Escort Bureau imdiately finding us help?
“......”
Im Ha-yeon glanced between the table and , her expression sowhat dissatisfied. Was she not happy with the food?
“What’s that in your hand? Moving luggage?”
“Oh—uh, it’s nothing. This seat is fine, right?”
Startled by my question, she quickly sat down and hid the object by her feet.
Ah. Sothing she doesn’t want anyone to know about.
I get it. When I moved, there were boxes I triple-sealed with tape. Labeled: Do not open. Just leave in the room. I even wrote warnings on them.
“You’ve worked hard today, so let’s eat.”
Out of respect for her privacy, I pushed aside thoughts of whatever she brought and focused on enjoying our first al together in the inner quarters.
-----
The servants’ cooking skills were impressive.
After the al, while sipping tea, I glanced at Im Ha-yeon. She seed to have enjoyed the food more than expected—her previously annoyed expression had softened.
Perfect timing. Ti to bring it up.
I took out the topic I’d prepared to help solve her problem.
“Miss Ha-yeon. Let’s start writing your novel today, just as we discussed.”
Start from the simplest path.
I didn’t know the full truth behind the Wusan Hao Clan incident, nor could I buy her miracle for her. But waiting around aimlessly wasn’t in my nature.
“A novel could be her hope.”
Im Ha-yeon needed sothing to cling to in the face of despair—the despair of being forced to live as a courtesan for the rest of her life.
I’d help her pursue what she most wanted to do since arriving in Yichang. Help her earn money through her own writing. Let her dream of the possibility of saving herself.
It was sothing we could start right away.
“If her novel succeeds, my fa rises too.”
If I could launch both Ho-pil and now Im Ha-yeon, the na of Kang Yun-ho, the manager of Daseogak, would soar even higher.
Of course, I didn’t blindly expect her to write sothing like Storm of the Tang Clan. Even in the original story, she loved reading—but she was a courtesan and the Shadowless Phantom Thief, not a writer.
But giving a hopeless person hope—that was reason enough.
Writing the novel was our safety net.
“If we part now, our connection might break.”
I wasn’t sure how Im Ha-yeon felt about .
I’d claid to be her father’s adopted brother, but she rejected that—because she hated her father. The boss-employee dynamic worked well, but she had mixed feelings about my marketing tactics.
The fact that she asked for help ant she didn’t dislike entirely. Still, there were surely parts of she found off-putting.
If the situation went south, our relationship could be severed. That’s why I proposed the novel.
Editor and author. ntor and ntee. Boss and employee. Housemates. We needed multiple layers to our bond.
“Even in the worst-case scenario, we’ll stay connected.”
As long as she didn’t give up on writing, even if she left for Wuchang, we could still exchange letters. Writing could keep us in touch.
She would challenge herself with hope, and I, as the bookstore owner, would publish her works. A good relationship could continue.
In both the best and worst situations, writing would be our bridge.
“You really think I can do it?”
Im Ha-yeon lowered her shoulders and replied in a hesitant tone.
“If you never start, paper stays blank, and ink remains ink. Better to stain paper with ink than wander the streets with no purpose.”
“But I didn’t win anything at the Yichang Literary Association.”
“You didn’t even make it to the final judging round. For a first draft, that was impressive.”
That was part of why I encouraged her to write. Her very first attempt had barely missed the final selection.
Most of the finalists won awards. So, if you think of the original story, the odds were low—but it was still worth trying.
And I had a way to boost her odds.
“Still...”
“And most importantly, you’ve got .”
Who do you think I am?
I looked at her worried face and spoke with conviction.
“......”
She looked into my confident eyes.
“Storm «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» of the Tang Clan may have co from Ho-pil’s hands, but I’m the one whose eyes and mouth made it sell. If you write it, I can take care of the rest.”
Kang Yun-ho is the sum of Ho-pil and the bookstore manager. No need to ntion that aloud.
“The manager who backed Ho-pil and discovered Storm of the Tang Clan... is offering to review my novel...”
I saw hope bloom in her once-defeated expression.
Now to fan the flas.
“Take this with you when you return to your room.”
I handed her the box I had prepared in advance.
“What is it?”
She looked at the beautifully wrapped package and asked.
“Writing tools.”
“Writing tools?”
“Didn’t the rain ruin your old ones? I happened to acquire so fine tools from Sichuan and thought of you.”
I’d received way too many gifts of writing tools as an author from the Tang Clan. I still had the ones Hwa-rin gave —I didn’t need the rest.
You take them.
“Wow...”
Ha-yeon carefully unwrapped the box. Her eyes widened at the contents.
It was worth being surprised. The tools were clearly high-end. Sothing only a noble scholar might receive as a gift.
No need to get too emotional over hand--downs, though. But her eyes shimred as she looked between and the writing set.
“Haha. Is it not to your liking? If you’d prefer sothing else, I can give you a version with throwing-knife functionality.”
I teased her lightly, shaking her just as she was on the verge of being moved.
“I-it’s not that I don’t like it! ...Thank you. I’ll treasure it. I’ll give it my best.”
“You can do it, Miss Ha-yeon.”
Sotis, all it takes to lift a fallen writer—is a single warm word.
------------
It had already been fifteen days since Im Ha-yeon moved in with .
Unless sothing dramatic happens, a working person’s daily routine tends to repeat itself. And such calm, repetitive days have a way of helping soone return to normalcy.
Im Ha-yeon, who once looked like she could be dragged away any second, now wore a noticeably more relaxed expression. Hope had returned, and with no sign of movent from the Hao Clan in fifteen days, her anxiety had settled.
As for , I now got to walk side by side every day with a beauty in a qipao—a sight no man could resist glancing at at least once—and I indulged in a small sense of superiority.
“You did well today.”
I offered a word of encouragent to the visibly tired Im Ha-yeon as we walked ho together.
“Ugh... I have to write as soon as I get ho.”
It had been fifteen days since she started feeling the pain of being a part-ti writer. Just last night, I heard her muttering miserably to herself, seemingly stuck on her writing.
“Why not just write a little and show what you’ve got?”
I smiled as I spoke to her, who was grumbling about the hardships of juggling two jobs.
“I’ve only just figured out the premise and built the frawork of the story. I’ll show you once I’ve written at least half a volu.”
She didn’t want help with the beginning. Said that if she got help there, it wouldn’t feel like her own work. Im Ha-yeon was adamant about this, so I hadn’t seen any of her writing yet.
“Co to think of it, what were you saying to the servants yesterday?”
I saw her talking with one of the house servants in a strangely earnest tone by the corner of the inner courtyard. Was there sothing she needed to say?
“You saw that?!”
“How could I not? The printing shop isn’t that big.”
“Ugh... I-I was just talking about the al arrangents.”
Im Ha-yeon briefly pressed a hand to her forehead, flustered that she’d been seen, then gave her answer.
“Ah.”
The servants cooked well. No horrifying fried early-morning fish from hell, no mackerel fillets with bone shards, no soup that looked like sewage.
Maybe she told them not to serve sothing she didn’t like?
“Could it be...”
Was she embarrassed that I’d found out she was picky with food? She suddenly walked two steps ahead of and, in a careful tone, asked:
“Hmm?”
“Do you... have any favorite foods?”
“I don’t really have preferences. If I had to say... maybe food from back ho?”
In this wuxia dating-sim world, I never really thought about food in terms of favorites.
Sure, I missed the bland comfort of ho cooking—but there was no one to make that for anyway.
“You an Joseon cuisine?”
Why the shock? Im Ha-yeon turned around with a conflicted expression on her face.
“Sothing like that. If you’re going to tell the servants, don’t bother asking for Joseon food specifically. I’m fine with anything aty.”
She probably felt bad for asking the servants herself. But if she tells them “Joseon food,” they might bring out sothing weird—no need for that.
Give so pork cutlet or spicy pork stir-fry and I’m good.
“Joseon food... got it. I’ll rember.”
Im Ha-yeon clenched her tiny fist and nodded like she had made a decision, then turned her body. She didn’t need to burden the servants over this.
Ho-cooked food is great and all, but she should focus on writing. Otherwise, she’s going to gain weight.
I held back the dangerous remark that would have earned a death glare and walked with her toward our ho.
------------
No matter how many tis you tell people to keep their mouths shut, gossip always spreads.
Before I knew it, the rumor that Im Ha-yeon and I were living together had made its rounds among the staff.
“Manager. Is Sister Ha-yeon late again today?”
Ha So-so asked without hesitation, as if it was completely normal that Im Ha-yeon hadn’t been seen this morning.
“She had a rough night. I told her to rest today.”
I had gently opened the door this morning to find her asleep at her desk. No need to deny anything—I simply passed the ssage along.
Lately, she’d been gaining montum in her writing. The lights in her room stayed on all night, and she seed to be burning through energy while working. I’d seen her wandering into the kitchen late at night, maybe craving a snack.
Should I warn her before she ends up losing the battle against a writer’s worst enemy—weight gain?
“She had a rough night?!”
Ha So-so stared at in shock.
“She’s been low on sleep lately.”
“Low on... Ahahaha...”
Did that not clear things up? Ha So-so laughed awkwardly, backing away from .
What’s up with her?
Before I knew it, she’d gone to whisper sothing in another female staff mber’s ear. Soon, they all wore the sa expression as So-so and started murmuring among themselves.
“So the rumors are true...”
“And Ha-yeon kept denying it so adamantly...”
“But bad enough she can’t co out at all today?”
“The manager’s got black hair, after all.”
“Ah... yeah. No wonder she can’t move today.”
“The male staff said they saw it in the restroom—a snake, huge...”
“No way?! Seriously?!”
“I heard secondhand—there’s not just one. Minimum two, maybe three...”
“I think I’ve heard that too.”
The female employees all glanced in my direction—more precisely, at a certain part of —with a mix of shock and awe.
All I said was that she had a rough night, and now it was blowing into this kind of misunderstanding.
“Manager...”
Ha So-so approached again with a concerned face.
“So-so, I think there’s a strange rumor going around.”
“Even if you’re from Joseon, Ha-yeon is from the Central Plains... You need to be really considerate of those differences.”
She looked at like a worried little sister thinking of her suffering older sibling married off to a hard life.
“It’s a misunderstanding.”
“The other girls were saying... Even with martial arts, sotis it’s not enough on your own. Right now, she’s practically doing the work of two, three people...”
It’s not like that.
I had been about to let it slide, but this needed to be corrected.
“Who’s the manager here?!”
Just as I was about to confront So-so, the front doors of Daseogak flew open—and a group of ard martial artists stord in.
“What’s the matter?”
Who were they?
Three martial artists entered, each wearing a sword. They looked like they hadn’t bathed in days, faces grimy, beards unkempt. Their appearance suited cheap liquor and gambling dens more than tea and books.
Puzzled, I stepped forward and asked. One of them glared threateningly and dropped a bombshell I hadn’t expected.
“We heard a courtesan who ran away from our pleasure house is working here.”
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