‘What should I do?’
After leaving the bundle of paper mulberry at home, Aiman returned to the place where he had been working.
As he walked back, and even after he arrived and resumed cutting paper mulberry, only one thought occupied his mind.
‘How can I learn magic?’
No matter how hard he racked his brains, he could not think of a single viable method.
According to Rick, approaching them without warning and asking to be taught magic was out of the question.
Doing so would endanger not only him but also his parents, Isaac and Teresa.
‘A way to learn magic······.’
As Aiman continued to wonder how he could learn magic, he decided to begin by solving the fundamental problem.
‘The first problem is that I have no money, which is why I am living as a serf.’
Whether it was the world in which Yeongman had lived or the world in which Aiman now lived, money was ultimately the problem.
‘With enough money, I can escape this damned status as a serf. If I am fortunate, I might even be able to buy a title of nobility.’
In other words, he needed to make money.
However, a serf could hardly earn enough to escape his station.
Serfs lived from one day's wages to the next, barely managing to feed themselves.
That was the life of a serf.
At least, that would have been the case if Aiman had been an ordinary serf's son.
The Aiman whom Yeongman had taken over was different.
‘I'll use the paper mulberry to make hanji. Paper is expensive in this world, so I should be able to create a new source of income with it.’
When Aiman first discovered the paper mulberry, he had wanted to turn it into hanji solely so that he could practise origami.
Of course, after learning how expensive paper was in this world, it was not as though he had never considered selling what he made.
Even so, his primary objective had always been to obtain material for his origami.
Then he discovered an entirely new world of origami, unlike anything he had experienced before.
To enter that world, he needed money.
The primary purpose of making hanji had now changed.
‘I will make hanji, earn money from it, and use that money to escape my status as a serf.’
With that decision made, Aiman began preparing to manufacture hanji in earnest.
@
‘Good. Today, I can finally get the toolbox.’
Ever since Yeongman had taken over Aiman's body, he had been saving money to make hanji.
As he had just recalled, the money was intended to cover the fee for borrowing a toolbox.
He needed one to build the equipment required for making hanji.
Paper mulberry could be used to produce hanji, but it was merely the raw material.
The manufacturing process required specialised tools.
He needed a steaming cauldron, a large basin for holding water, a papermaking screen for forming the hanji, and a heavy stone that could apply enough pressure to remove the water from the finished sheets.
Finally, he also needed a drying rack and a place where the paper could be dried.
He had to make all of them.
However, doing so required access to a carpentry workshop, which was also far from inexpensive.
Fortunately, Aiman had managed to persuade a friendly worker at the carpentry workshop to lend him a toolbox.
There was, however, a rental fee.
Today, he would finally have enough money to pay it.
After diligently cutting down the paper mulberry, Aiman gathered it together.
“Phew, this should be enough.”
Aiman bound the paper mulberry he had harvested with his frayed cloth rope.
He slung the bundle over his shoulder and headed towards the carpentry workshop.
When he arrived, the commoners and serfs who worked there greeted him.
“Oh, Aiman.”
“The Withered-Wood Cutter is here?”
The serfs who cut trees or tended the fields called Aiman ‘the boy raising the withered-wood monster,’ but the workers here called him ‘the Withered-Wood Cutter.’
It was a nickname they had given him because he only ever brought in withered wood to sell.
Among them, Ielt, the carpenter who always handled the wood Aiman brought, approached him.
“Uncle Ielt!”
“Are you here to sell that again today, Aiman?”
“Yes. Here it is.”
“This should be worth 1 copper again today.”
Ielt handed Aiman a coin.
After accepting it, Aiman called out to him.
“Uncle, wait a moment!”
“Hm?”
Ielt, who had been about to carry away the paper mulberry, turned and looked at him questioningly.
Aiman rummaged through his pocket. He soon pulled out nine more coins identical to the one Ielt had just given him.
Ten copper coins.
He held them out to Ielt.
“You said you would lend me the toolbox for this much, didn't you?”
“What? You have already saved 10 copper?”
The person at the carpentry workshop who had agreed to lend Yeongman a toolbox was none other than Ielt.
When Aiman held out the 10 copper, Ielt gave a faint smile.
“Wait here for a moment.”
“All right.”
Ielt carried the paper mulberry away somewhere. Before long, he returned holding a box filled with tools instead.
“Here you are.”
“And here is the payment.”
Aiman offered Ielt the 10 copper he had demanded as the rental fee for the toolbox.
Ielt waved his hand dismissively.
“Keep it.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said to keep it. Just use the tools carefully and return them when you are finished.”
“What do you mean······.”
Ielt had told him to save 10 copper if he wanted to borrow the toolbox.
Now that Aiman had finally saved the money, Ielt refused to accept it.
When he saw Aiman's confusion, Ielt slapped him across the back.
SMACK!
“Urgh!”
“I am doing it because I am proud of you.”
“You are proud of me?”
Aiman rubbed the back that had just been struck as he asked the question.
Ielt nodded.
“That is right. There are not many children your age who take an interest in carpentry. I do not know what you intend to make, but use the tools properly and return them when you are done.”
Refusing after Ielt had gone that far would have been more discourteous than accepting.
Aiman expressed his gratitude.
“Understood! Thank you, Uncle.”
“Yes, off you go. I have work to do as well.”
“All right!”
@
‘Good. Now I can make hanji!’
Aiman left the carpentry workshop humming cheerfully after borrowing the toolbox from Ielt for free.
Thinking of Ielt, who had allowed him to borrow it without payment, Aiman made a decision.
‘Once the hanji is finished, I should give Uncle Ielt a sheet as a gift.’
The moment he arrived home, Aiman began working on the equipment needed to make hanji.
Before beginning, he spread out his fingers.
“Let me see. I already built the paper-mulberry steaming cauldron over there.”
He folded down one finger and glanced towards a deserted place near a stream.
That was the location he had chosen for his hanji workshop.
Ever since discovering the paper mulberry, he had kept hanji production in mind and had gradually prepared several things in advance.
The steaming cauldron and the workshop site were two such preparations.
For now, the important matter was deciding what he needed to make with the toolbox, so he quickly turned his attention towards the paper mulberry.
Looking over the bundles he had sorted, he began counting the required items one by one.
“A lid for the steaming cauldron, a drying rack, a basin, a sieve, a papermaking screen, and a screen frame. Those six should be enough.”
He had made hanji himself before, so he reviewed every step of the process and determined which tools he needed to construct.
One by one, he folded the small fingers of his childlike hand as he listed the equipment.
A lid to cover the paper-mulberry steaming cauldron.
A drying rack for drying the paper mulberry.
A basin in which he could stir the fibres apart and hold the hibiscus mucilage.
A sieve to filter the mucilage from the sunset hibiscus roots he had already gathered.
Finally, a papermaking screen that would transform the paper mulberry fibres into hanji, along with a frame to hold it.
Once Aiman had finished organising everything he needed, he immediately began making the tools.
Aiman was skilled not only at origami but also at many other forms of craftsmanship.
It did not take him long to make everything he required.
By the time he finished, beads of sweat had formed across his forehead.
Wiping them away with the back of his hand, Aiman spoke.
“Phew, I should move the tools tomorrow.”
He had chosen a separate location for making the hanji.
The following day, Aiman transported the tools he had made to the workshop.
“Good, that is everything.”
Once he arrived at the workshop, Aiman began producing hanji.
Using the site he had prepared in advance and the tools required for the process, he steamed the paper mulberry, peeled away the bark, dried it, washed it in lye water, removed the moisture, beat the fibres, and loosened them in water before using a papermaking screen treated with hibiscus mucilage.
He suspended the screen from a single cord and shook it forwards, backwards, left, and right, allowing the fibres to intertwine and form a sheet of paper.
Finally, he pressed down firmly on the water-soaked sheet to remove the remaining moisture.
And with that, it was complete.
Hanji.
“Finished!”
Aiman held up a sheet of hanji almost as large as his upper body and proudly raised it towards the sunlight.
The hanji looked exceptionally beautiful with the sunlight shining through it.
After admiring it with satisfaction, Aiman sank into thought.
“But how should I sell this?”
He had previously seen the paper sold at the general store.
A single A4-sized sheet cost 1 gold.
In terms of modern currency, 1 gold was worth roughly one million won.
In other words, a single sheet of paper was worth approximately one million won.
However, the hanji Aiman had made was four times larger than the sheets sold at the general store.
‘That means a single sheet should be worth around 4 gold······.’
Yeongman, who now inhabited Aiman's body, had worked as a sales representative.
Therefore, he could not calculate its value based solely on the retail price charged to customers at the general store.
‘Paper is produced exclusively by a trading company called Paper Farm. They sell it for 40 silver, the wholesalers who distribute it to the general stores in each territory inflate the price to 70 silver, and the general stores sell it for 1 gold······.’
Realistically, Aiman's hanji could be valued at 1 gold and 60 silver, four times the amount Paper Farm charged when it first sold its paper.
And if he wanted to sell it to the general store at an appropriate price······.
‘At the wholesalers' rate, it would be worth 2 gold and 80 silver. But if I charge the same amount, the general store will have no reason to buy from me. Wouldn't 2 gold and 50 silver be reasonable?’
He had made one hundred sheets of hanji.
However, Aiman took only three with him.
‘I will take these and prove that my hanji has commercial value. Then I will offer it for less than the amount the general stores pay their wholesalers.’
Nothing had been decided yet, so there was no reason to reveal all one hundred sheets.
It would be better to use the remaining stock only after confirming that the general store was willing to purchase and sell the hanji he produced.
If the owner discovered that Aiman had a considerable supply, he might use the promise of a bulk purchase to demand a lower price.
Holding three sheets of hanji, Aiman headed towards the general store.
@
JINGLE.
The bell above the door rang when Aiman entered the general store.
Rakhoop, the shopkeeper, looked towards the boy who had just walked inside.
“Welco······ Hm? It is you, Aiman.”
Despite his words, Rakhoop cursed inwardly.
‘Tsk. Of all people, the first person to enter my shop today had to be a damned serf. If he bothers me again, I will throw him out.’
Aiman had visited the general store before to learn what paper was like in this world.
Rakhoop habitually looked down on serfs, so Aiman's questions had irritated him.
Even so, he could not openly berate a child. He had answered Aiman's questions half-heartedly before sending him away.
All the while, he had mocked the boy for showing interest in paper that a mere serf could never afford.
Seeing Aiman return, Rakhoop considered driving him out immediately.
He did not want serfs who contributed nothing to his business lingering inside his shop.
Then he noticed what Aiman was holding and tilted his head.
‘What is that?’
The object in Aiman's hands caught Rakhoop's attention.
“Hello, sir.”
“Yes. What are you holding?”
It looked somewhat different from the products sold in the general store, but Rakhoop was certain that Aiman was holding paper.
He could not understand why a serf had paper in his possession.
Aiman, meanwhile, casually held up the hanji for him to see.
“This? It is paper.”