119

Chapter 119 - Publication - Part 1

Printing.

I compose the contents of the novel in a word processor and press the print button. It only takes a few seconds for my writing to appear on the A4 paper. Punching holes in the stack of paper with a perforator and hastily binding them together, and the creation of a single novel is complete.

'Here, I'd have to start by finding type made of lead.'

Thousands of neatly arranged printing types are in the corner of the print shop.

Among these types, I did the arduous task of letter-picking, selecting each character in order that I needed for the novel, and thought of the advanced printing technologies of the modern world.

Every time I do this, it feels like my eyeballs might fall out. If you don't look closely, they all seem too similar.

"Hwarin, I've finished selecting the types for one page. Please move on to the typesetting."

"...Okay."

Why does her reply sound so lifeless?

Hwarin started typesetting with a slight slouch, arranging the characters I picked out to make the printing plate.

Is she tired?

Sorting through books and ledgers, cleaning, and handling all sorts of miscellaneous tasks. Even though the elder employees and I try to help, it's true that the workload is heavy.

She'd feel better if she could just get some early sleep when fatigued. But for some reason, lately, Hwarin doesn't sleep until I've finished writing. Although, proofreading and checking for typos doesn't need to happen every day.

'Danggafungun' is scheduled to start selling tomorrow, but once it's somewhat finished, I'll have to make sure Hwarin gets some rest.

"Hwarin, we're short on types. Is there a spare set somewhere?"

"There's some in that box."

"Found them."

In a corner box, I found bundles of frequently used types. It's a relief at least I don't have to deal with casting when it comes to printing.

Casting is the process of melting lead alloy to create the desired types with a casting machine.

One is generally supposed to start with the casting process when it comes to printing. But casting requires delicate skills as it involves the creation of types.

I never imagined there could be anything harder than changing printer toner in printing work.

An old retiree who used to dabble in casting for fun helps us now, thankfully making surplus types we need just with the cost of materials.

'Hwarin's maternal grandfather really was a person with great connections.'

As I fetched the types, I realized once again how important connections are in this world.

Just the fact that Hwarin is the granddaughter of the Baek family makes most people in this printing shop willing to give her a hand if she needs it. Of course, money is a different issue.

"Hwarin, I've finished the letter-picking, so I'll help you now."

Maybe she's tired. Hwarin's hands seem slower than usual today. Having finished selecting the types, I went over to help Hwarin with the typesetting.

"...Okay."

Up close, Hwarin's face seemed not so much tired as shadowed. Maybe something upset her.

She was in high spirits during the Chilbo case earlier today.

"Hwarin, do I smell funny or something?"

I deliberately sniffed my sleeve exaggeratedly in front of her.

"No, why?"

"Hahaha, thought I might smell bad because of the incident today."

I brought up the funniest incident of the day, trying to brighten up Hwarin's gloomy demeanor.

"I don't smell anything."

Hwarin's pale complexion grew even more shadowed, and she replied lethargically.

Why though? You seemed quite amused. That lady was a sight to see, blushing so hard while I was cleaning up after the mess.

Of course, I did scold her lightly, reminding her to consider the other patrons around next time. Maybe that's what's bothering her.

"That aside! It was just so hilarious, right?"

I deliberately laughed out loud, trying to act as if I didn't take the aftermath of the incident too seriously.

Hwarin, let's brush off the bad mood by talking about the fun things that happened today. But Hwarin looked up at me and cautiously opened her mouth.

"...Do you often get guests like that?"

Maybe she's talking about the female customer who was smiling strangely during the conversation.

"How could I? People like them hardly approach a dark-haired barbarian like me. It's a blessing if they don't mock me from behind. Some young ladies even came by recently, giggling and pointing fingers, saying things about me to each other. If they weren't customers, really..."

I said with a genuinely aggrieved expression to Hwarin. The content is predictable; it's something I'm used to.

- Look, there goes your boyfriend.

- Where? Oh, you must be crazy. He's your boyfriend.

At the very least, they could be discreet. That unattractive man they're mocking could also be a person who feels hurt, not just a man unworthy by their standards.

Of course, since coming to this world, my appearance has improved. But that's only when acting as a charming foreign entertainer, Maedamja.

The fact that I'm a despised and discriminated-against barbarian with dark hair in this Central Plains hasn't changed.

"It doesn't seem like that's the reason."

Hwarin looked at me with a skeptical tone.

"What do you mean? That's just the facts. I've made myself presentable. At least it reduces the prejudice a bit. Try living like a ragged barbarian in the Central Plains. The whole world feels like it's against me."

A panorama of the scorn and discrimination I faced living as a barbarian flashed through my mind. Days when people would purposely dump the bowl I had, as little as it was, for a meal onto the dirt floor, just because of my barbarian status.

To think I've become a shop manager after enduring such disgraceful times. Life is truly unpredictable.

"...It's better if you keep thinking that way."

"What do you mean, 'thinking that way'? It's the truth."

"Chuckle. Sure, sure."

Hwarin looked at my indignant face and laughed softly. Perhaps my self-deprecation made her feel a bit better.

Her expression hadn't completely lost its shadow, but it seemed a bit more relaxed.

With the atmosphere lightened a bit, we could carry on with the remaining work for tomorrow's publication.

------------------

Printing and Binding.

We busily applied ink to the types and bound the pages to complete the book.

'Finally, it's finished.'

Danggafungun.

Gazing at the proudly written title on the cover, I feel something welling up in my chest. It's impossible to describe how much has happened to get here.

'It would have taken an eternity if I had copied it by hand.'

Behind the book I was holding, hundreds of copies of Danggafungun could be seen. Ddeokhyeopji. I looked at the novels that will be called Seokhyeopji in this place and smiled.

Now all I needed to do is take one final step and place the books on the first floor, after which sales could commence tomorrow.

"Hwarin, you've worked hard. I'll take care of the rest."

"If you're going to do it, let's finish it together. What kind of talk is that?"

"You're tired. Go rest."

"That's okay."

"I'm okay too."

I exaggerated her intonation and gestures as I mimicked her words.

"What's that? Chortle."

Unable to restrain her laughter at my antics, Hwarin finally showed the brightest expression since entering the printing room.

"The binding's finished. We just need to stamp it and organize it on the first floor. Go up and rest first."

"Alright. I will."

Hwarin nodded as if convinced by my determination.

As she nodded, a black smudge on her skin, barely noticeable under the light and the mottled skin, caught my eye.

"Hwarin, you have ink on your face... Ah!"

As I reached out to wipe her face with the towel I was holding, Hwarin abruptly grasped my wrist.

"Ah! Sorry."

It seemed more like an instinctive defense, and as I winced in pain, Hwarin quickly released my wrist.

"It's okay. I was too thoughtless."

Her face was an area of complex sensitivity unlike any other. I had been too rash to touch it. That part of her, subject to mockery, could make anyone soil themselves in seven steps from the disturbance. 

Holding the wrist that had been seized, I bowed my head and apologized. Hwarin gazed at my wrist with a look of regret before meeting my eyes.

"Yoon Ho."

Hwarin looked at me with eyes that seemed to convey a momentous decision.

"Yes?"

"Please."

The embarrassment clear on her face, Hwarin then closed her eyes and pushed her chin out to me.

"Huh? O-oh, okay. I'll wipe it."

Carefully holding Hwarin's chin with one hand, I brought the towel to her face with the other to rub off the stain.

The silent printing room. The two of us, having finished our work. As the towel touched her skin, Hwarin flinched subtly and then, with a strangely flushed face, accepted my touch.

The atmosphere was odd. Awkward.

"Yoon Ho."

"Huh? Oh!"

I was slightly startled and responded to her call.

"The medicine you gave me helped, it doesn't hurt."

"That's good."

I replied absent-mindedly as I continued to wipe the ink from her cheek.

"Thanks to you, we were able to keep this bookstore going."

"That's good."

"Thanks to you, the bookstore is doing well."

"That's good."

"I don't know if that book will succeed, but…"

"Haha. I'll make sure we don't end up with stock."

"Thank you."

Hwarin gently stroked the wrist she had clutched just moments ago.

"This is what friends are for."

"Right. Because we're friends..."

Hwarin's voice sounded somewhat deflated.

"Hwarin?"

"It's nothing. I'm just being ridiculous today. I'll go up. Please finish up."

Without looking back, Hwarin left the printing room.

"Why is she like that...?"

*******

Hwarin hurriedly ascended to the attic and headed for the bathroom.

She gazed at her own face reflected in the mirror.

The grotesque face beneath her nose. Her mottled and messy skin was clean only at the neck, but lifting her top would reveal her upper body was similar.

"Between friends."

Hwarin started thinking about the first friend she had made, her expression bitter as she stared into the mirror.

Something she truly desired.

Not because of her background, but an outsider who came to her for who she was.

Someone who reached out gently when she was struggling and feeling down.

A friend who made a disappointed face and asked why she didn't seek help when she lost everything and being by her side could only be a loss.

When Hwarin saw the man writing late into the night for her sake, her heart warmed.

Continually, she thought about the man who filled her head.

"This is the life that I wanted."

A bird escaping from its cage had finally found its own nest.

Being with him made her feel like an ordinary person. Living with a friend who shared her heart was happier than the rich life of the Sang family.

A precious routine she barely obtained.

But she had been feeling increasingly stifled lately.

"Don't mistake it because of such a face."

Hwarin warned herself while looking in the mirror.

Yoon Ho had a painful past. The sorrow of losing his close friend.

It was due to the guilt he felt over his dead friend that they had this relationship.

Yoon Ho could only treat her as ordinary because he had that barbarian friend. It was a form of penance to be kind to her, as much as he hadn't been to his friend.

She must not misunderstand his kindness.

"Don't mistake it, Hwarin."

"Don't. I like it the way it is now."

Hwarin warned herself once more.

The unease in her heart. An emotion she couldn't yet articulate fully. Releasing it in front of him could shatter even the relationship they had now.

As she ignored the emotion slowly blossoming in her heart, she began to wash her body.

No matter how much she washed, though the ink stains disappeared, the stains on her skin did not.

**********

Final Touch of the Dragon's Eye.

Just one last thing and everything would be finished.

I found myself engulfed in a huge dilemma for the dragon in my dreams awaiting that final touch.

That dilemma was:

'Pen name. What should it be?'

A nickname is important.

A wrongly chosen nickname could lead to misunderstandings, like burly men calling each other 'Tinkerbell' at online game fan meetups or 'the fairy of love.'

On web novel platforms or management company servers, there could be awkward greetings like: "Hello, Mr. 'Cheap Breast Man.' Haha. Hello, Mr. 'Breasts Are Justice.' Oh, you changed your nickname?"

A nickname is another name for myself.

It can't be chosen carelessly. It must be chosen with care.

'Even with a pen name, my prestige will rise.'

That had already been proven by my act under the pseudonym of the dark-haired Maedamja Kang Mo, where I had suppressed the murderous intent of Cheonsalseong and alleviated the pain of the barbarian.

The question at hand was what pen name to use next.

It would be best not to use Kang Mo any longer. It had the potential to be linked with the Heukhojae in one way or another.

'Maybe I should use my real name.'

Suddenly, an image of a woman who had bid me farewell in tears in the distant Yodong Province of Hubei flashed through my mind.

"Hoo…"

I let out a deep sigh.

If I became famous, I would eventually have to face her. However, there was no need to rush that meeting.

'Maybe I should borrow the pen names of the famous seniors from my original world.'

The great martial art genre writers who established and revived the foundations of contemporary wuxia.

When it comes to wuxia ancestors, there's the author Wang Ryongsaeng. Since Ddeokhyeopji has the author Wang Ryonggang, should I consider Wang Ryongho? No, something's missing.

'How about Jiyu, meaning "friend of paper"?'

It sounded like a pen name that would be too ordinary and mundane. It just didn't fit me.

No matter how much I pondered, a conclusion didn't come easily.

"I am rich in worries."

I chuckled to myself at the absurdity of my own contemplation.

It seemed like only yesterday I was going to sleep worried and clutching my hungry stomach, wondering if I would have a meal the next day.

As I told Hwarin, this world was cruel to barbarians.

Even if Kang Yoon Ho became famous for his writing, there would still be those who would point fingers and label him a barbarian.

"I've got a good pen name now."

Smiling, I pulled out two characters to make a stamp and pressed the pen name onto the book's cover.

The two characters I chose.

Another name for myself.

Barbarian, 'Ho' (胡).

Brush, 'Pil' (筆).

"Hopil (胡筆)."

The dark-haired barbarian.

The foreigner who had been reincarnated into this other world.

No matter what I say or write, one indisputable fact remains.

So then, I shall make this my pen name.

Yes. Now I am a wuxia webnovelist—the barbarian writer of unreleased dreams.