Surviving as a Writer in the British Empire

Trip, not reincarnation

OK, let’s just say one last thing.

My name is Jinhansol. My job is a web novel writer.

He has published quite a few works over the years and is an established writer who can make a living on his own.

This time, while taking a long vacation, I came to England for a reporting trip and a pilgrimage to the Holy Land—I can’t understand why this happened.

“Time shift.”

Besides, it’s all about England from 1.5 centuries ago.

The Victorian era and the Belle Epoque. It doesn’t really matter that it’s a literal end-of-the-century era, just before the First World War, when there was at least a last atmosphere of peace and prosperity in Europe.

More importantly, it is an era where computers do not exist.

From noble mtl dot com

That means that as a web novel writer, all of my filmography is meaningless.

No, in a place where there is no internet or computer, what did a web novel writer fall into like this to do?

furthermore.

“Hey, coolies (苦力: Asian low-wage workers who worked in the English-speaking world)! What are you doing!?”

“If you have time to think about miscellaneous things, carry whatever you carry!!”

“Ah yes! going!!”

Again, what I suffered was not reincarnation or possession, but a trip, or metastasis.

“oh my god. Before the season is over…”

The trend these days is hoebinghwan (reincarnation of regression possessed).

If an artist like me fails, then it is in his own work.

How many people in the same industry have been caught countless times by falling into works like my own children?

No, in fact, it’s okay even if it’s not in my work.

However, if you come to England in the 19th century, isn’t it the rule of the country to be reincarnated or possessed at least as the youngest son of an aristocratic family or a rich and happy middle class?

An Asian who fell to the head of state and the headquarters of imperialism and white supremacy without any ointment or cheats….

What, being treated like a monkey and then dying as a slave?

If there is one thing that is fortunate among misfortunes, it is that even in this era, there are people who do not care what skin color is as long as they do a good job.

And more fortunately, the employer who picked me up was such a case.

“Hanslow! Hanslow, where are you?”

“Yes, my master! I think!!”

I ran when I heard English with a weak American accent calling my name. In fact, Hanslow is a name that was appropriately attached to the US Army unit that I was friendly with when I was a KATUSA Soldier.

Hansol, Hansul, Hanslow, Hanslow.

Well, it’s just a moderate pronunciation like this, but it’s quite useful.

“What are you doing so late?”

“sorry. Mr. Miller.”

Local Keeper, Frederic Alba Miller from Boston, USA.

My hobby is art dealer.

The reason why it’s not a job is that even if you look at it, this nobleman, his main job is just like a nerd.

As soon as I came running to the call, it was just like watching him leisurely smoking a cigar.

“I was late because I was helping with the luggage.”

“That is fine. We have plenty of time anyway, and we don’t have to move everything within today.”

Look at this, you say I’m not a merchant.

As I laughed blankly, Mr. Miller removed the cigar from his mouth and pointed at the painting he was looking at.

It was a clean oriental painting drawn on a hanging scroll.

“Rather than that, could you look at this? It seems like Chinese, but you should be able to understand what kind of writing this is.”

“Can I have a look?”

“What if there is no one else to know but you? You should see it.”

People are definitely good people.

Is it because you’re a gold spoon, or is it because you really like people? people are pure

Look, even a janitor like me doesn’t hesitate to show these expensive-looking paintings.

I, too, nodded my head with gratitude to Mr. Miller and checked the painting, or to be precise, the hanging scroll.

It was a landscape painting painted in a typical oriental style. It consists of large mountains and waterfalls.

If it were only that, I would have no way of knowing what this was, but fortunately, the poem that filled the blank was something I could adequately infer.

“This is a poem written by Lee Tae-baek, a poet who was active in China 1200 years ago. Emei Mountain Moon Song (峨眉山月歌) is a poem written in praise of the scenery of Mount Emei in inland China.”

“Huh, 1200 years ago! It’s been a long time.”

Am I right? I honestly don’t know. In fact, my kanji skills are only level 3, which was obtained by magic Thousand Character Trap in elementary school. The other Chinese characters were familiar to me after writing martial arts.

“Then, is the landscape painting of the mountain together also a painting of that period?”

“It is called ink painting. It is a technique that draws the outline of the mountain only with ink lines and classifies the texture according to the concentration of ink.”

“Awesome. Very unique.”

The same goes for this.

It was thanks to the data I researched while writing a painter possessing modern people.

It’s just a recitation of what I remember moderately in my head, but since I’m begging for food with this, that’s it.

Long live Paraguay Wiki, a treasure trove of systematic knowledge!

Of course, since it is knowledge that is not even at the amateur level, there will be many mistakes.

But, what if they are wrong?

As Mr. Miller said, Asians were rare in the English countryside at the end of the 19th century. Most of them are Indians, and there are a few Chinese, but most of them are black-eyed.

In this situation, no one will notice if I am a little wrong. It’s enough if you decorate it in moderation. What matters is confidence, not content.

“Then what about this? It looks like a very precious pottery to me. I bought it at a high price in Japan.”

“Yes, I don’t know much about it, but it seems to be from the country next door, Joseon, rather than Japan. The seal underneath it…”

Like this.

As it continued, Mr. Miller gradually began to trust me. I was in charge of East Asian-related furniture, ceramics, and paintings. It means that he was hired as a full-time worker from a part-time job as a temporary worker.

And with this confidence as an opportunity, I reached out to the other side as well.

“Henslow, success!! That, Gogh in the Netherlands? gow? An exhibition of a painter to be authorized was held! The price of the painting is going up!”

“Congratulations, Mr. Miller!”

“This is not the time. I’ll have to go to Holland right away and sell all the paintings you asked me to buy! Would you like to come with me?”

“As much as you like.”

“Okay, on this business trip, as promised, I’ll give you the picture you want as an incentive!”

“Thank you, Mr. Miller!!”

In the 21st century, it is in the realm of common sense beyond culture, but in the 1890s, it has not yet been excavated, or the paintings of masters who are mediocre even if they are well beaten.

In 200 years, those artworks that soar to billions can be obtained at a price comparable to toilet paper at this time.

then?

“But, is it really only going to be that kind of work? If it were you, I would buy something much more expensive if you told me…”

“Ugh, no. I like this the best.”

“But… it’s a picture of just one sunflower. Well, it does have a unique taste.”

Of course you have to buy full.

Is the coin any different? This is a raw coin. If left alone for a few years, the price will increase hundreds of thousands of times.

One picture of this sunflower is worth tens of billions!?

“hehehehe.”

While taking such legitimate back money one by one, I made sure to prepare for my old age.

I’m not sure when, but I’m sure it’s something destined to end up being a cake in the end.

Until then, just relax and wait…

“Handle, handle!!”

“Let’s play! Give me a thirst! Neck horse!”

“One by one, Miss Madge! Master Monty!! Get on board one by one! One by one!!”

Suddenly, two children came running towards me.

He reflexively accepts the two children.

Mr. Miller’s daughter Margaret Miller, who is in elementary school. and Louis Monty Miller, a son one year younger than him.

Two children are clinging to one side of my shoulder.

Mr. Miller runs an art dealer out of your Ashfield mansion.

So, talking about a full-time job, at the same time means being a servant at the Ashfield Mansion.

It was good for the first time.

The times when Mr. Miller was courting me and the times when I played with them and became friendly coincided like ghosts.

Was it worthwhile to make use of the experience of playing with my older cousins?

But, even if they like me, I like them too much.

Aren’t they all grown up in the 3rd or 4th grade of elementary school? The neck is a bit too much now. The waist goes out, the waist…!

“It was just fine. Hanslow, would you mind watching the house with the kids for a while?”

Mr. Miller, who approached me who was suffering from the kids like that, said.

“Are you going to town?”

“hmm. Clara’s recuperation isn’t over yet, so you should stay by her side.”

He is also a good man with great energy.

I said to the children after struggling to see off the energetic employer who had made his wife pregnant with the third child even though the children were this big.

“Now, let’s get up soon.”

“no! I want to do more!”

“Then shall we just do this for today and move on?”

“Pi… Handsle! So instead, do more today than yesterday!”

“Yes, yes, then let’s all join hands and go in.”

“and!”

Maybe it’s because there’s been a lot of this lately, I’ve been taking care of the house with my two children, taking care of the nanny, butler, and tutor.

Of course, it was outside of working hours, but I have no complaints.

This Ashfield mansion was a mansion with a very wide and vast estate, and the garden attached to it was almost like a forest.

If you go to the end of the cliff, the view of the river with yachts floating is also amazing.

Children who sit on a green meadow and laugh and play when a picture book is read to them.

I’ve thought that my taste is more about convenience like a business hotel, but if I’m enjoying my days like a vacation in a movie with two rabbit-like kids in a place like this without thinking… I feel refreshed.

If there were gimbap and ramen here, it would have been the icing on the cake, but I can’t help it.

Substitute bacon sandwiches and dried fruit.

Perhaps because the recipe is simple, it’s delicious enough to eat in England.

Feeling satisfied every day.

By the time the calendar slowly turns over to the idyllic life in Ashfield, where everyone is happy.

“excuse me. I heard that teacher Hanslow Jene was here, so I came here.”

One day a typical English city gentleman, rare in Torquay, came to visit.

No, more than that… What?

“Henslow is me, but… are you a teacher?”

“Oh, oh! Oh oh!!”

That was the moment.

The nobleman, whom I thought was a gentleman, suddenly knelt down and crawled to my feet as if to kiss me.

No, what are you doing to make it embarrassing to show the kids?

From noble mtl dot com

and.

“teacher!! No, author!! See you now!!”

“······Writer?”

what the hell is this At me who was dumbfounded by the incomprehensible sound, he made exaggerated gestures with his eyes shining.

“Yes, aren’t you the author of this novel!?”

He immediately pulled out a thin book from his bosom and showed it. I couldn’t help but stare at the title of the book as if it were nailed to it.

＜Peter Perry and the Fairies’ Forest＞.

“This, this.”

Due to my profession, I can say that I know almost all the books published in this era.

But in my knowledge of the future, there is no fact that a book like this was published at this time.

That’s right.

“What is this?”

It was a book that I wrote for the children to see when I came here!

But why is this coming out of that gentleman’s arms? And that’s with the title in fancy cursive script adorned with glittering gold leaf?

To me who was still in a daze, the gentleman shouted like thunder.

“Why are you asking such an obvious thing? Isn’t that the most popular novel in London right now, sir!”

“······yes?”

What kind of ghost wash is this?