How to Get a Job More Easily Than Eating Cake (1)
"Uheheheheh."
No matter how many times I practiced circulation and breathing, I never got tired of it. The sensation of my pea-sized inner energy flowing along my meridians was truly addictive.
Even though I had practiced all night, my body felt lighter and more refreshed than ever.
"I should give it a test."
I wanted to unleash this overflowing internal power all at once. A destructive impulse surged wildly inside me.
But there was nothing to break in this shack, and if I did break something, that was money gone. In this world, not even a single plank of wood lay around without value. Everything cost money.
Looking at the shabby wooden walls with drafts seeping through them, I suddenly remembered how, as a kid, I'd punch walls when I was angry, and my mom would yell, "You little punk! This place is rented!" The memory made me feel oddly sentimental.
'My goal now is to own a house with a training yard.'
In this martial world, every successful person had a training yard at home. It was like having a swimming pool in America.
No matter where you went, real estate was always the symbol of success.
Imagining how much a house with a training yard might cost, I headed to the vacant lot behind the house.
The open space, with sparse weeds growing here and there, was wide enough—perfect for swinging a blade.
I picked up the large saber I had looted from a bandit during a previous escort mission and swung it a few times. A rough sound tore through the air.
Whooom! Whooom!
"The sound's completely different."
Before, it had been the sound of cutting through air. Now, it was the sound of slicing through wind.
Such power was only possible for someone with two years' worth of internal energy.
Feeling deeply satisfied with my clearly improved martial arts, I slowly ran my fingers along the blade—and felt something rough.
Rust. The saber had not been properly maintained. On top of that, it hadn't been sharpened in time, so the edge had dulled considerably.
'Well, if bandits were good at maintenance, they wouldn't be bandits.'
Blades needed to be regularly sharpened on a whetstone and wiped with oiled cotton cloth. Otherwise, the edge dulled quickly and rust formed.
Iron, by nature, corroded and deteriorated easily. It required careful maintenance from its owner.
But this saber hadn't been cared for properly, and rust was beginning to appear in places. In this primitive world, there was no such thing as stainless steel.
I briefly considered maintaining it myself and carrying it around, but in this backward world without anti-rust oil or WD-40, it didn't seem worth the trouble.
'No choice. I'll just sell it and switch to a sword.'
It was too big to carry around anyway.
The biggest difference between a sword and a saber was how cumbersome it was.
You had to hang it from your waist, and this saber was far too heavy and bulky for that.
That was the very reason the sword had become the mainstream weapon of the martial world.
If you judged purely by offensive power, many other weapons were far superior.
Take the long spear, for example. Or the seven-section whip or flail—they could thrash swordsmen down to their souls.
It wasn't even a fair fight.
Of course, at the level of true masters, things might be different. But among ordinary fighters, the longer weapon was king.
I once saw a martial artist wielding a flail in a street fight. The swordsman couldn't even extend his blade properly before getting beaten like a dog. The flail smashed into his head with brutal precision. The image had been quite striking.
But none of those weapons could beat the sword's greatest advantage.
Portability.
The right weight and length to hang at the waist. Adequate offensive power. All of it was just right for martial artists.
They were still people, after all. Weapons like spears, staves, or flails that had to be gripped in hand constantly were incredibly inconvenient.
Imagine having to hold a rifle 24 hours a day because there was no sling. How annoying would that be?
Where would you put it every time you ate? Your hands would get tired. Even when staying a night at an inn, you'd be warned not to scratch the ceiling with the spear tip.
That was why such long weapons, despite their power, weren't popular.
Axes and sabers had strong offensive power too, but their weight was the issue. Though often worn at the waist, the sheer amount of metal made them heavy.
It was like carrying a K3 machine gun strapped to your belt. It was doable—but your back would ache.
A sword, on the other hand, wasn't that heavy. You could run with it hanging from your waist without much burden. Its offensive power was respectable too. That was why the sword ultimately became the dominant weapon of the martial world.
Sometimes, portability and convenience mattered more than the essence of a weapon itself.
I immediately took the saber to the local blacksmith and, after a brief negotiation, completed a one-to-one trade for a sword of appropriate length.
It wasn't anything extraordinary, but when I held it, the weight, length, and balance were decent. Hanging it from my waist didn't feel particularly burdensome either.
'Very nice.'
Now all that remained was preparing for the interview.
What is the most important thing in an interview?
Some would say academic background. Others would say ability. Some might mention character.
But they'd all be wrong.
The most important thing—
"Hahaha, Brother Samaryul, you really drink boldly! My heart burns just watching you!"
"Khahaha!! You're no lightweight yourself, little brother!"
"Oh, I'm embarrassed. Hahaha!!"
Connections. It's all about connections.
After drinking with Samaryul for about two days and building rapport, we were already calling each other brothers.
The power of a proper drinking session.
I downed my liquor in one go and let out a long breath.
"Maybe it's because I'm drinking with you, brother, but the liquor tastes extra good today!"
"Is that so? Is it? Khahahaha!!"
The liquor I was drinking was baijiu—basically sorghum-based strong liquor. Its alcohol content was higher than original soju, so honestly, it was a bit much to gulp down.
I subtly circulated my internal energy to suppress the alcohol's effects and poured Samaryul another cup.
"Bottoms up!"
"Bottoms up!!"
Shouting a somewhat dangerous drinking chant, we downed our cups.
Whew, it's hitting me. I don't even remember the last time I drank—it must have been months ago. Glancing sideways, I saw Samaryul was nicely drunk—just the right level.
This was the kind of state you needed to get things done.
"Brother, about that offer you made—I really thought about it seriously. I really want to join Baekun Escort Agency. I love it. Totally love it! But, you know, if someone gave me a little push, huh? Then getting in would be a bit smoother, right?"
There were no clear subjects or objects in my sentence—just verbs and adjectives—but Samaryul nodded as if he understood perfectly.
"Mm! Right, right! That's true!"
"So if I just, you know, stick close behind you, brother, and help out and all—wouldn't that work out nicely?"
"Right, right!"
"Oh, truly, you're the only one who understands my heart, brother. Really! Here, have another drink."
"Khahahaha!!"
As I deepened our bond over drinks, and the alcohol thickened in the air, I figured it was time to lay the groundwork. I took out what I had secretly prepared in my bundle and handed it to him.
"Brother, it's just a small token…"
"What's this?"
"Oh, I just thought maybe your nephew could get some new clothes, hehe. The cotton from my hometown is really good for children's clothes. So I prepared a bit."
This was my hidden card.
When Samaryul saw the two bolts of Joseon cotton I was offering, his eyes turned red with emotion.
"You don't have the money for something like this…"
"Oh, come on. What's money compared to making one outfit for your nephew? Please, take it, brother. My arms are about to fall off."
Unlike modern fabrics that had become dirt cheap after the Industrial Revolution, cloth in this era was valuable enough to be used as currency.
Roughly speaking, four bolts of cotton were worth one nyang of silver. So I had basically slipped him the equivalent of about seventy to eighty thousand won.
No wonder his eyes looked so affectionate.
"When a little brother shows such sincerity, how can this big brother not use some influence? The interview's the day after tomorrow—come to the agency then! I'll have a very nice word with the head escort tomorrow!"
"Thank you, brother. Take care on your way!"
Man, interviews are tough as hell.
I bent at the waist to ninety degrees to see him off. Only after he disappeared from sight did I straighten up.
'The oil's been applied. Now all that's left is the interview….'
There's a reason I can't afford to relax, even after thoroughly greasing the wheels.
For one thing, there are no résumés in the martial world. So how do they hire people?
Connections.
You know—guanxi.
You get introduced through word of mouth, or you present a letter of recommendation, then go through an interview. If they find you acceptable, you're hired.
But there's one thing you mustn't misunderstand: being introduced doesn't guarantee employment.
What matters is the status of the person who made the introduction.
For example, suppose I show up with a recommendation letter from a massive martial sect.
Then even if I'm missing an arm and a leg, they'll take me. Ignoring that letter would be the same as ignoring the sect itself.
But what if the person who introduced you isn't anyone significant?
Then they judge based on that person's social standing and reputation. If the introducer is just a low-ranking escort, then frankly speaking, they can ignore it without much consequence.
Sure, things might get a little awkward later—but compared to the trouble caused by hiring the wrong person, that's nothing.
That's why I can't feel safe just because I've done a little greasing.
'After all, that brother is just an escort.'
Still, considering that Baekun Escort Agency had recently lost four escorts, it was some comfort to think I probably wouldn't get cut at the document screening stage.
'Better prepare for the interview, too.'
Thinking about interviews reminded me of my very first one back in Korea.
I somehow managed to get through the beginning, and was passionately talking about my aspirations when—
Because I was so nervous, I bit my tongue. Hard. So hard that I actually spat blood mid-sentence.
The problem was that the line I was delivering at that exact moment was:
"If I join this company, I will shed blood and sweat—!"
When the interviewer burst out laughing and said, "Why are you shedding blood and sweat already?"—well…
I'd rather not think about it.
It was a chaotic memory that I now almost missed.
'I wonder if I'll look back fondly on this life someday, too.'
I gave a bitter smile at the thought.
I was strolling leisurely down the long, moonlit street on my way back to my cozy shack.
From the darkness, a human figure approached stealthily.
He was so discreet that, in my drunken state, I almost failed to notice him. The only reason I did was thanks to the heightened senses that came with possessing two years of internal energy.
'So it's finally here.'
Suppressing the alcohol, I assumed the confident posture of a master and spoke.
"I've noticed you. You may come out."
"…As expected, it's you."
A man stepped out of the darkness.
Sharp features. White martial robes. Eyes as keen as a polished blade.
Fortunately, he wasn't here to ambush me. He was someone I knew.
He looked me up and down with sharp eyes before speaking.
"So. Was the item of any help?"
'So he came to check whether I skimmed any off the top.'
I cupped my fists respectfully and bowed.
"Of course. Without the cotton you provided, it would have been difficult to grease the wheels."
"Heh heh. This should make the achievement of our great cause easier."
He chuckled briefly. Rarely did he look to be in such a good mood.
"I will not forget the favor of the Association."
"Is that even something that needs saying? From now on, you must also remember to help your juniors."
"How could I ever forget?"
He nodded in satisfaction.
"We must push and pull for one another. Only then can our compatriots survive in this distant foreign land."
"I will remember."
"Good. Everything for the Joseon people!"
After that short slogan, he disappeared back into the darkness.
—The Joseon Hometown Association!
A secret organization of Joseon people formed back in the Yuan dynasty. The cotton I used this time had been prepared by them.
Otherwise, where would I have gotten the money?
For the record, they had also paid for the drinks.
Without their support, getting into Baekun Escort Agency this time would have been extremely difficult.
"As expected, when you go abroad, the first thing to do is join the hometown association."
Nodding to myself, I returned home.
Now, only the interview remained.