Chapter 63: Such a Cruel Heart
The meditation room was quiet. After a long silence, Xie Yan finally managed to speak, his voice weak: “It’s not what you think.”
Han Min was still sitting on the floor, staring straight at him. He held out his hand. “Let me see.”
Feeling guilty, Xie Yan took a few steps back and shook his head. “Don’t be like this.”
Han Min stood up, dusted off his clothes, and held his hand out again. “Let me see.”
Xie Yan retreated again, softened his tone, and called his name, “Han Min.”
“So you do remember I’m Han Min? Who was the one who taught you how to write storybooks, hand over hand? Without me, could you have published your first volume? Now you use the techniques I taught you to write about me—do you think that’s appropriate?”
Step by step, he advanced, forcing Xie Yan to retreat until his back hit the wall.
Han Min repeated, “Do you think this is appropriate?”
Xie Yan stammered, “…It’s not appropriate, but—”
Han Min cut him off, “But since Chu Zhuoshi told you to write it, you just wrote it.”
“…Mm.”
“Mm? Of course. You’re close with him. Whatever he says, you treat it like an imperial decree. You never listen to me. Back then you even hid your true identity—Young Master Xie Dingyuan—from me.”
“It’s not like that.”
“In my opinion, you only need one friend—Chu Zhuoshi. Fine then. Let’s break off our friendship. The gifts I brought you from Tongzhou— I’ll throw them into Mandarin Duck Lake. You won’t get any of it.”
He lifted the gift box and made to leave. Xie Yan quickly grabbed his sleeve, “Hey—don’t be angry.”
Han Min pouted, rolled his eyes, and held out his hand again, “Then let me see it. If you let me see, I won’t tell anyone.”
Xie Yan immediately refused, “No.”
“You’re as stubborn as a rock!”
Han Min sat on the couch in frustration. Xie Yan stood awkwardly in front of him for a while, then cautiously sat beside him and whispered, “…Han Min?”
Han Min didn’t answer. Inwardly, he was grinding his teeth.
Once he calmed down, he thought it through more carefully.
After all—he was the one who first wrote storybooks about the Censor and the Ranked Third-Rank Scholar. Now those two and Xie Yan had turned around to write a storybook about the imperial Record Officer. Strictly speaking, he didn’t have the moral high ground.
So Han Min asked, “How much have you written?”
Afraid of angering him, Xie Yan scooted a little farther away. “Almost finished.”
Almost finished? ALMOST FINISHED?
Han Min clenched his fists. Seeing this, Xie Yan scooted even farther, “But Lord Wen’s part is still missing some. He keeps rewriting it because he’s not satisfied.”
Quite meticulous, actually.
Han Min loosened his fists, took out the gift box meant for Xie Yan, and tossed it to him.
“This is for you.”
He stood to leave, but Xie Yan grabbed him again.
“You’re not really mad, right? Chu Yu was just messing around.”
Han Min looked back and nodded. “No. I’m going to see Mr. Ge.”
Xie Yan saw his expression wasn’t fake and finally let him go.
Han Min carried his things and headed toward Baishi Bookstore.
That day happened to be the release day of “The Emperor and the Chancellor: A Few Matters”, Volume One.
Before going to Tongzhou, afraid he wouldn’t return in time to write, he rushed to finish two volumes. This was one of them.
Today, Baishi Bookstore had printed it, and the front entrance was packed with people.
Before Han Min even approached, he saw a burly man banging a gong:
“Pine Smoke Ink Guest, you little brat!!”
Han Min instinctively dodged aside and hid behind a fish vendor’s stall. He smiled politely at the vendor. “What’s wrong with him?”
The vendor fanned himself with his sleeve, “Oh, Pine Smoke Ink Guest released a new book again… and switched characters again. People who liked the Third-Rank Scholar are upset.”
“I see.”
The burly man yelled again, “Why change again?! WHY did you change again?! What’s wrong with the Third-Rank Scholar?! Pine Smoke Ink Guest, I know you’re here somewhere! Tell me—WHAT’S WRONG WITH HIM?!”
Han Min stared at him, suddenly thinking he looked familiar, “…Didn’t he previously like the Censor?”
Last time at Zuixian Tavern, when he was with the real-life Censor Wen Yan, they’d seen this same man beating a gong and shouting about the Censor.
Yet now he was yelling about the Third-Rank Scholar.
The vendor laughed, “Pine Smoke Ink Guest stopped writing the Censor. What else can fans do except follow whatever he writes next?”
He pulled out a small stool and set it behind Han Min. “Come, sit. This is going to take a while.”
Han Min sat and watched the man raging in the street.
The vendor continued, “To be honest, it’s not like other bookshops and storytellers haven’t tried copying him. They’ve churned out stuff like ‘Five or Six Matters of the Emperor and the Censor’, ‘Seven or Eight Matters’, even ‘A Hundred Thousand Matters’.”
Han Min hesitated.
“And…?”
“They’re all—”
The vendor grimaced in disgust.
“How do I put it…”
“Their writing is fake. If they write the Emperor, he’s either a spoiled landlord’s son or a terrifying underworld king. They insist he must wear gold head to toe—even his toothpicks must be solid gold!—to show he’s noble. And no matter what, he must execute someone’s entire family with one sentence so people will think he’s powerful. He always carries himself so stiffly—afraid no one knows he’s the Emperor.”
The vendor shivered, “And the Censor? In Pine Smoke Ink Guest’s stories he’s clearly cold-natured. But in the knockoff versions, he cries at the drop of a hat—tears flowing like a moat. He has a mouth but says nothing except ‘boo-hoo-hoo.’ Who is that supposed to be?!”
“No one ever wrote stories like this before. Pine Smoke Ink Guest spoiled us. Once you read his, nothing else compares. In the end, no matter how many imitations we try, we come crawling back. So whoever Pine Smoke Ink Guest writes about—we follow.”
Han Min couldn’t help laughing. He straightened up and said solemnly, “Well, it can’t be helped.”
“But he keeps switching characters—who can withstand that?!”
And with that, the vendor suddenly collapsed onto Han Min’s shoulder and cried.
Han Min patted him awkwardly, “There, there, don’t be sad…”
Just then, the gong-wielding man approached. Han Min panicked, thinking he’d been discovered. But he forced himself to sit still.
The fish vendor had tubs of live fish. The burly man crouched down and silently stroked the fish.
A tough man, crying.
He muttered, “I get it now. The Censor, the Third-Rank Scholar, and the new Chancellor… they’re all fish in this tub. And beyond them, there are countless more fish. Your Majesty, how cruel…”
Han Min was about to comfort him when suddenly the man shouted:
“No—NOT the Emperor. It’s Pine Smoke Ink Guest!”
“Pine Smoke Ink Guest, you have such a cruel heart!!”
Han Min nearly fell off the stool.
The vendor and the burly man clung to each other, wailing, “Pine Smoke Ink Guest has such a cruel heart!!”
Han Min didn’t dare say another word. He quietly stood and retreated.
— It’s not me. I didn’t do anything…
Despite knowing the author had switched protagonists again, crowds still gathered to buy the books.
Han Min slipped into the back courtyard. Mr. Ge wasn’t drinking for once; he was reading manuscripts. Seeing Han Min, he waved him over.
“I heard you returned days ago. I’ve been to Tongzhou before—just came from there before the New Year. Why bring me gifts?”
Han Min handed him the gifts, chatted a bit, then said, “For the later volumes… maybe we should add ‘This story is purely fictional’ on the cover?”
Mr. Ge poured tea. “The bookstore agrees.”
“What happened?”
“Your books are getting too popular. The authorities might take notice. Just in case, we’ll add that line.”
Han Min nodded. “Good.”
“You signed a contract—three more books, right? That will complete the ten-volume series?”
“Yes.”
“And after that? Still plan to write more?”
Han Min thought for a moment. “Probably not.”
“The Emperor found out? Told you to stop?”
“…How do you know he recognized…”
“Chu Yu told me last time.” Mr. Ge chuckled. “Writing these stories right under His Majesty’s nose—you must’ve had a hard time hiding it.”
Han Min coughed awkwardly. “It wasn’t too bad. Either way, I won’t write more after this.”
Mr. Ge laughed. “Good. Once you’re done, I won’t have to keep watch over the contract. And I can retire.”
Han Min was startled. “You’re leaving? Going where?”
He pointed to the corner. Han Min noticed the old fortune-teller banner—“Zhuge Half-Immortal”—neatly packed away, along with all the fortune-telling tools.
“I was wealthy in Song. I called myself a talent scout—spent my fortune helping poor scholars. When Xie Yan was exiled ten years ago, I followed him to Qi.”
“Scholars in Song say Qi is uncultured and crude. I believed it too. After failing to find Xie Yan, I wandered around… until I met you in Tongzhou.”
“I still remember—you were curled in a tattered quilt, frozen to tears, practicing calligraphy with your left hand. I asked why you didn’t use your right. You said it was broken. I thought—ah, truly a star of literature.”
“When you wrote your first story, you said: ‘How can there be ranks among writers? How can words be noble or base?’ That sentence—you should say it to every Song scholar who thinks himself orthodox.”
Mr. Ge grasped his hand. Han Min lowered his gaze. “Sir, you flatter me.”
“I wanted to roam the world helping impoverished scholars. But I’ve stayed here too long. Now that you’re secure, and Xie Yan has found his circle of literary friends, it’s time for me to leave.”
Han Min rubbed his sore nose. “Then I won’t try to stop you.”
Mr. Ge smiled. “No hurry. Let me wait until you finish the last three books.”
After a pause, he added, “But your grandfather’s manuscripts—they’re likely lost for good.”
Han Min rubbed his eyes. “It’s fine.”
After eating lunch at the bookstore, Han Min remembered something.
“Sir, are Zhuoshi and the others writing a book called ‘The Emperor and the Record Officer: A Few Matters’?”
Mr. Ge froze. “What? No—what Record Officer? I don’t know anything.”
“I saw it at Xie Yan’s place.”
“Well…”
“I wrote about them, they write about me. It’s fair. But I have a request.”
“Say it.”
“When their book is printed, it must be released on the same day as my new one.”
“What for? Competing with them?”
“When my book releases, no one will pay attention to theirs. Then no one will notice ‘The Imperial Record Officer’. Not an excessive request, right?”
Mr. Ge sighed. “What kind of scheme is this?”
Han Min tugged his sleeve.
“Please, Old Ge, I knew you first—show some favoritism. If our books sell on the same day, I’m actually giving them free traffic! They’re busy with their own lives. Writing this was just a whim—if sales are bad, they’ll stop.”
Unable to refuse, Mr. Get relented. “Fine, fine. But if ‘The Imperial Record Officer’ becomes popular, don’t complain.”
Han Min grinned. “No problem.”
He would quickly finish Volume Two of The Chancellor. On release day, he’d simply overshadow The Imperial Record Officer.
Pine Smoke Ink Guest really was a little troublemaker.
Author’s Note:
Min-min: Everything is going according to plan ?
Vendors & burly men:
“Pine Smoke Ink Guest has such a cruel heart!! (…Look at this new book ‘The Imperial Record Officer’!) The Emperor and the Record Officer are the real couple!! (After countless detours, we’ve finally found the correct ship!)”
