Novelist Running Through Time

Chapter 12: Cause of Death

Fear stems from ignorance.

People fear what they dont know.

The reason is simple.

The primitive people who entered a cave without knowing what was inside all became snacks for wild bears.

Only those who watched from outside while their comrades went into the cave and then ran away at the sound of screams inside, survived and left descendants.

They were our ancestors.

As can be understood from this scientific fact, fear was an instinctual sense for survival.

To put it the other way around, the peers and teachers who I was extremely afraid of around the age of 13 were gradually killing me.

The peers made my school life hell with violence and group bullying, and the teachers at the school and orphanage forced me to attend.

But now, its different.

Knowledge has driven out ignorance.

I know that my peers are not invincible monsters but just children receiving school meals.

I know that teachers are not absolute authorities but wage workers.

The fact that I know I dont have to obey that authority has set me free.

Truth has finally made me free.

Thats why I didnt go to school.

Hey In-seop How about trying to go to school now?

Teacher Bang Jeong-ah tried to persuade me, but I just shook my head.

I still cant forget the shocking incidents that happened at school

But Its too much to skip school two or three times a week. The other kids are questioning why only you dont have to go to school

Then, I cant help it. I will go to school, haunted by the painful memories, for Teacher Bang Jeong-ahs convenient work life

Aaack! No! No! Its okay!

Teacher Bang Jeong-ah left today again with a sullen face.

I spent a leisurely time at the New Light Spring Orphanage, which was finally quiet.

The morning sun shone warmly.

The other kids were at school, other teachers were busy taking care of preschool children, and Director Moon Chung-jae had gone out again today to solicit donations.

There was no one left to stop me.

So, I wrote in the empty study room, in a 4-person room without roommates, on a tree stump in the yard, and sometimes in the bathroom to avoid the teachers eyes.

It was an ordinary day, just like any other.

But when it was about time for the primary school kids to come home from school, I remembered Teacher Bang Jeong-ahs words and decided to pretend I had gone to school.

Cowards. Are they so bothered that a friend doesnt go to school that they complain to the teacher, asking why I dont attend?

To prevent such a disgusting behavior, I put on my backpack.

And went outside, intending to casually bump into the kids coming home from school.

Oh?

But what I encountered was Lim Yang-wook, just entering the orphanage.

What brings you here?

I have something to tell you.

EP 1 Cause of Death

The caf, just before lunchtime, is bustling with people. Its the so-called brunch time.

Numerous conversations become noise rather than information. We might as well have been in a private room.

We were not having a Japanese restaurant course meal but sipping Americano while discussing a tight business plan.

So

Lim Yang-wook explained his business idea to me. It was evident that he had prepared an explanation simple enough for even a primary school student to understand.

Naturally, it didnt take me long to grasp his concept. I summarized his plan in one sentence.

Noise marketing, right?

Thats right. You know it well?

1. Buy a literary award with money.

2. Use the name value of the literary award to distribute books nationwide.

3. Anonymously expose the fact that the literary award was purchased.

4. In the center of controversy, reveal that the author is a primary school student.

5. Prodigy. Descent.

The core of this plan was me, and without my cooperation, the plan couldnt proceed smoothly. So, I answered without hesitation.

I cant do it.

However, Lim Yang-wook had already created a situation without my knowledge and could accomplish this plan by suddenly pushing me in front of the camera.

Even so, before starting the plan, he asked for my opinion. He treated me not as a minor but as an adult with decision-making power.

Therefore, I didnt throw a tantrum but tried to persuade him.

This isnt about my writing becoming famous, but just about a child becoming famous for writing well.

That was exactly why I didnt participate in the childrens literary award. I wanted to be recognized as an author, not just as a kid who writes well.

A child famous for writing well.

The public viewing that child with amazement,

How is that different from watching a monkey performing tricks in a zoo?

I explained this as calmly as possible.

Lim Yang-wook listened to my story and then murmured,

A fascinating monkey, huh

Was my expression too harsh? I apologize if it sounded rude.

No. It seemed like an accurate description, so I was just pondering it.

But Lim Yang-wook countered with this.

Yes. Right. The admiration for a young prodigy is superficially similar to the feeling of watching a monkey perform tricks. And there are many such fascinating monkeys in this field.

.

Children in pretty clothes performing complex military dances, someone who has never killed a person imitating a serial killer, a person gathering hundreds of thousands in a concert hall just with a beautiful voice. Thats the world of these performing monkeys, the world of culture and arts.

!

I was shocked by his words.

Yes. He was right.

I wanted to be the best performing monkey in the world. If people laughed at me, that was enough.

But that was only when I was a child.

For me, writing was survival.

Since the act of living was slowly killing me, I overcame sorrow and pain through writing.

Thats why writing had a greater meaning for me.

Thats why Lim Yang-wooks words were terrifying.

I was afraid.

Its a bit scary.

It makes sense. You have to go in front of the camera and face countless people. Thats why I came to talk to you today to prepare together.

Its not the fear of going in front of people. I have a job where I write my deepest emotions and show them to people. Would I be scared of facing them?

Think about it. If you decide to hide your name and publish a book to get a fair evaluation That will never succeed. No matter how good the reviews are, no matter how high-quality the writing is, people dont buy books to read them anymore. Why read books when theres Netflix.

Success? Fame? Im not even scared of not achieving those. I have traveled back in time. To me, who has done that, worldly values are useless.

Im not talking about stocks or Bitcoin. Im someone who has experienced the world changing overnight due to incomprehensible miracles.

No matter how much wealth and fame one has, they are like gold coins in an illusion, rice cakes in a painting. They can vanish meaninglessly with a snap of someones fingers.

But people are enthralled by young prodigies. Even though it has nothing to do with them, they feel good knowing that theres such a prodigy in their country. They will like you even if they dont know your book. And obviously, those who know your book will like you even more. In-seop, your talent is that great. All we have to do is show you to people. I could bet my entire fortune on that.

Its really simple, isnt it?

Yes! Its simple, isnt it? If I were to express it in web novel terms, it would be a kid who writes books well or something like that. Please, you understand everything Im saying, right? Just do as I say this one time. Then your life will change completely!

This was what I feared the most.

It was too easy.

I feared that all the efforts I had made so far, my life, seemed meaningless. Writing was survival for me. If survival became meaningless, all that would be left was death.

Just by going back in time, a hopeful who barely passed a major literary award became an unparalleled genius.

My very existence was a guarantee of success, a walking talent.

If I had been born this way, I would have thanked God and enjoyed life happily.

But I had traveled back in time.

I remember my past life, no, my past.

If success as an author was as easy as winning a childrens literary award, what did all the efforts of my past self mean?

I dedicated my entire short life of 22 years to it.

To be recognized.

To gain money and fame.

To boast to everyone who bullied and despised me, saying I was a not nobody without parents, that I was this great.

Please, recognize me.

Please, award my writing.

I wrote with a begging, pleading heart.

But all that came back to me was lymphatic cancer diagnosed at 22. That happened just a year after receiving the Baekhak Literary Award.

I thought my life was just beginning, but it turned out it was already over. That drove me crazy.

I was unbearably aggrieved.

So, I took a knife and went out to kill those who had tormented me. My life was already over, so I had nothing to fear.

But when I just opened the door and went out, I saw a world covered in white snow. Christmas carols were playing, and the white snow endlessly covered a world filled with darkness.

Christmas Eve.

The day before the birth of God.

At that moment, I felt the order of this world.

Looking back, so many things were determined the moment I was born.

The era I would be born in, the color of my skin, my gender, whom I would love among men and women, the family I would be born into.

Everything was already decided.

Becoming an orphan, being bullied for being an orphan, hearing from the parents of the girl I had been with for 7 years and thought I would be with forever that dating was fine but marriage was not, and being born with the genes for lymphatic cancer at 22.

None of it was my will.

It was just like that.

That was the order of this world, the natural law, and if there is a God it was what that God had decided.

This isnt just about me.

Everyone lives like this.

Tied to the chain of fate, fortune, or spoon from the moment of birth, thrown into the mighty river of life.

And struggling to survive all their lives, they die, sinking with a gurgle when they get tired and lose strength.

Then what can I possibly do?

There was nothing.

This cursed world had snatched away my only struggle, my dream, with lymphatic cancer.

And it wasnt due to someones malice, it was just something that happened.

The only thing I could do was to end this miserable life a little earlier.

That is my Cause of Death.

* * *

Are you okay?

Ah. I was just lost in thought. What were we talking about?

Instead of answering my question, Lim Yang-wook, with a perplexed expression, handed me a tissue.

Tears had unknowingly started flowing down my cheeks. I calmly collected myself and wiped away the moisture.

That Sorry. I made the plan too one-sidedly and put pressure on you

Its not because of that.

Thats right

Lim Yang-wook seemed to think that I was making excuses because I was embarrassed about crying.

He wasnt wrong. Everything was an excuse. I didnt even fully understand my own thoughts. I was just sad about various things.

I was sad that the depression from my past life, my past, was still consuming me, and the loneliness of feeling left alone in the strange flow of time.

But the saddest thing was that I didnt know when my precious dream had become so distorted.

The dream I had when I was young was really a modest and pure desire.

But now, all I had was something black and sticky like tar dried up in my lungs.

Suddenly resenting the world, I looked at the sky beyond the window. The sky was so blue and vast. White clouds floated serenely, and birds flew between the buildings.

And then, the focus shifts.

Now reflected in the window was not the outside but a 13-year-old child. The boy had dead eyes.

The moment I locked eyes with that boy.

I had a thought.

It was a thought I had around this age.

I wanted to show good writing to others.

If they smiled reading it, that was enough.

That was my original intention, the essence of my dream.

I loved books. I loved writing.

Thats why I wanted to share good things with others and rejoice.

This is the right path.

Theres nothing to be ashamed of if you dont stray from the right path.

Whats the source of my anguish? The shame that succeeding through noise marketing is similar to winning a childrens literary award.

Its the self-loathing that my efforts fruits are so easily obtained, the powerlessness that my dream becomes meaningless.

But these are the confusions that arise from walking the wrong path. Then, I should walk the right path.

A novelist writes novels.

And an artist creates art.

* * *

The boys eyes changed.

Lim Yang-wook instinctively felt it.

After crying with his eyes closed for a long time, the boy suddenly opened his eyes wide, looked up at the sky, and asked him in a resolute voice.

Editor Lim Yang-wook.

Ye-yes?

About my writing being good do you really mean it?

Lim Yang-wook could answer without hesitation.

Although he had no choice but to prepare a pathetic noise marketing plan focusing more on the authors age than the content of the writing

Still, as an editor, he was certain.

Yes. You are a writer who writes good stories.

The boy nodded.

And after counting on his fingers for a moment, he said,

There are fifteen more good stories.

What-!!!

Stories Ive written so far in my life, or rather, stories that are good enough to be published in books. There are only about four volumes written on manuscript paper, but I can write down the rest right away. They are all full-length novels.

That, thats! How is that even possible?!

Writing novels is not an easy task. It takes years for some people to write a single novel. Creating, refining, and revising writing is a painstaking process.

Yes. Logically, it doesnt make sense.

Do you have paper and a pen? A laptop is fine too.

But the boy requested writing materials like Guan Yu promising to bring back Hua Xiongs head before the wine cooled. (TL: Guan Yu was a Chinese military general during the late Eastern Han dynasty. Hua Xiong was also a military general but he was serving under the warlord Dong Zhuo whereas Guan Yu under warlord Liu Bei)

And so it happened.

My, my, my God, how is this possible!

It took two hours.

The boy, the author Moon In-seop, completed an entire full-length novel in just two hours. Lim Yang-wook felt like he was dreaming.

How. How can a human do such a thing?

There was no hesitation in the boys writing. As if an entire world already existed in his head, and he was merely transcribing it

(This is it)

You really had sixteen novels?

I had written them a long time ago. They might not have been put on paper, but they are all in my head.

Lim Yang-wook felt like he wanted to kneel down. Begging to please publish these books. He would invest all his wealth, just please.

The boy then said to him,

There is one condition.

Whatever it is! I will absolutely comply!

The boys requirement was this.

Writing must not become a means to an end.

What?

Writing must always be the goal itself, not a means to gain fame or make money.

Lim Yang-wook was thrown into confusion. What did he mean? Was he suggesting publishing anonymously?

Fortunately, his confusion didnt last long. The boy clearly stated what he wanted.

You said we should buy the literary award for Cause of Death? I feel a bit presumptuous for saying this without having money, but can you also buy awards for the other novels?

You You cant be serious.

If we are going to create a scandal, lets do it right. Buying one literary award might be a trick, but buying sixteen is art. Lets turn the world upside down. And then ask people. Literary awards? Who cares about that. But what do you think of my writing? What do you consider good writing?

Lim Yang-wook felt a shock as if he had been hit on the head with a hammer. Yes, this is it. Buying one literary award is noise marketing, but buying sixteen is performance art.

The boy was now proposing not marketing, but art.

Lim Yang-wook, with trembling lips, pulled up into a broad smile, showing his white teeth. Sweat was trickling down his smooth scalp.

Man. I didnt want to say this to a primary school student, but are you really crazy?

Lets just try it once, shall we?

That sounds good?

* * *

They did it.

They actually did it.

They committed to it.

Lim Yang-wook, looking at the books piled up like a mountain in hardcover in front of him, let out an evil laugh.

This springs Annual Spring Literary Contest is ours, you bastards

Lim Yang-wook attached this phrase to the 50,000 books he printed after investing his entire fortune.

16 simultaneous literary award-winning author.

Moon In-seop.

Cause of Death, Grand Prize.

Urban Jungle Crow, Grand Prize.

Tree Ablaze, Grand Prize.

Tokyo Longing, Grand Prize.

Cease Writing, Grand Prize.

Age of Madness, Grand Prize.

Slayer of the Century, Grand Prize.

Adult Child, Grand Prize.

Notebookist, Grand Prize.

Whale Swimming in the Desert, Grand Prize.

Firelight, Grand Prize.

Sunset Hill of Sea Clouds, Grand Prize.

Lady of Spring, Grand Prize.

Delusional Obsession, Grand Prize.

Red Hunter, Grand Prize.

Match Seller at Aomori Station, Grand Prize.

This was their all-out effort.

Lim Yang-wook poured in all his wealth,

And the boy poured in all his writings.

Together, they confronted the world head-on.

Now it was time for the world to respond.

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