A Mysterious Benefactor.

That's what they called him.

In the novel of the same name, the protagonist, an orphaned girl, referred to the anonymous man who supported her financially as "Daddy-Long-Legs."

The story got so famous that now, worldwide, "Daddy-Long-Legs" is used to mean any unknown benefactor.

When I was a kid, I saw it in short comics or fairy tale books and thought it was just about some kind adult helping poor kids.

Then I grew up.

Turns out, Daddy-Long-Legs is actually a romance novel about a girl and her older sponsor. Like, significantly older. The kind of "he waited until she grew up" romance. No wonder it became a classic trope in subculture—where it's either about an older guy waiting for the heroine to grow up (classic grooming plot), or the grown-up heroine taking charge and flipping it around (reverse grooming). Yeah, it's that kind of story.

It’s no wonder so many people only remember the beginning, like that tale of Jean Valjean and the silver candlesticks, and have no clue what happens later.

Anyway, in a weird way, I guess it was ahead of its time.

“I’m going to become the protagonist’s Daddy-Long-Legs.”

I muttered my plan again.

Of course, I don’t mean I’m going to groom him or get groomed. What kind of nightmare is that? Just thinking about it gives me chills. He’s a guy, for fuck’s sake.

The only thing the original protagonist should be growing up to catch are demonic cultists and villains. I’ll be his anonymous backer, that’s it.

I’m not doing this out of some noble obligation or whatever. I’m barely scraping by myself, with debt collectors probably knocking soon. But I’m more than willing to support the protagonist.

It’s not like sponsoring a starving kid in Somalia and then worrying he’ll grow up to be a pirate king with a magic wand of Allah or some nonsense. Supporting the original protagonist? He’s going to grow up to be the hero who saves this world.

“The story hasn’t kicked off yet. There’s still time.”

Plenty of time to build a good relationship with him through sponsorship.

“The problem is, just supporting him financially won’t be enough to control him.”

You can’t just throw money at a guy like him and expect him to act like some kind of Pokémon.

“Go, Protagonistmon! Flame Slash! Thunderbolt! Dragon Snot!”

Yeah, no.

Sure, he might grant a favor or two. I remember when I got outside scholarships in school—I had to write thank-you letters or show up at ceremonies. But risking your life? That’s another matter.

What I need is for the protagonist to be unable to refuse me.

That’s tough. But there’s a way.

A way only I can pull off.

“There’s no one in this world who knows him better than me.”

I grinned, grinding the ink stick against the stone in silence.

I know everything about him. His past. His present. His future. I’ve repeated every character’s backstory to myself over and over, but the protagonist? I’ve got him memorized to the bone.

His master’s sick, and they’re both out of favor with the main sect at Mount Hua.

He’s an orphan with no support, living in hardship with his master.

He only steps into the world after his master dies.

“I’ll write a bunch of letters in advance, and have them delivered over time.”

Where I am in Yichang, and Mount Hua in Shaanxi—it’s over a month by land. Just hearing back that a letter was delivered would take over two months. Better to assume it’ll arrive and prepare the letters now, staggered over time.

“Start simple. A friendly message and some money.”

It has to feel mysterious.

A brief greeting, wishing him well, and include just enough money—not too much, not too little.

The first letter, second, and third—all simple greetings, with money.

At first, he’ll wonder where the hell it’s coming from.

Then, after the second one comes, he’ll start thinking it’s some kind of steady support.

I heard your master is ill. Please use this small amount for medicine. If there’s any left, get yourself something good to eat.

By the third letter, he’ll start to think, "Can I really use this money?"—and he’ll use it.

“Once someone starts spending, it’s hard to go back.”

Like when a broke guy living on fifty bucks a week finally gets a job, his spending goes up, and now he’s stuck in the rat race, scared to quit.

Soon, the original protagonist won’t be able to live without my money.

And then—

“I’ll cut him off.”

Just like that, no more letters.

Why aren’t they coming? Did something happen? Was this all temporary?

Why didn’t I save the money better? Why did I spend it so freely?

And right when he’s full of regret—

“I double the amount.”

Send him a letter with twice the money. Make him realize the sweet life he was enjoying came from someone’s kindness. He’ll cherish it more. And wonder:

Who the hell is doing this for me?

He’s just an orphan.

“This is when I throw in a connection to the past.”

Stay healthy, always. Fifteen years ago, the black threads of fate—

The original protagonist will remember, instantly.

That Joseon man from his childhood, the one who saved him. The one who gave him money and helped him become a disciple.

“It’s him. You think that, don’t you?”

The benefactor from his past. The reason he ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) wants to become a hero. The one who’s been supporting him all this time.

Let him believe it.

“The story never has them reunite anyway, so who cares.”

Lying to someone like this?

For a man of honor and integrity like Kang Yun-ho, it should tear me apart—but whatever, I’m adding good to good.

Slowly, through letters, I’ll nudge him. Touch on his past. Steer him in the right direction.

Even if the heroine routes are ruined, if I say, “Go there, for your benefactor,” he won’t have a reason to say no.

If I can just get him to the right place at the right time, the events will unfold on their own.

Unless his personality’s changed, I won’t need to give orders. He’ll act just as I need him to.

The protagonist will grow stronger, face off against the Demonic Sect, and follow a story not exactly like the original—but close enough.

“I get the glory and the gains.”

He gets strong and smashes the Demonic Sect, I get famous from writing my stories.

Perfect.

I started writing out months’ worth of letters to set the plan in motion.

Now, the real problem’s if he finds out who I really am—but I’ve got a plan for that too.

First things first—write the damn letters.

---------------

“We have to leave today, or we won’t make it!”

“My goods are rotting here! I’m begging you!”

When I came back to the Western Sichuan Escort Bureau, it was still chaos.

“Please deliver these letters to Mount Hua in Shaanxi.”

I handed the stack to a courier, one by one.

“All of these?”

The courier looked stunned at the amount.

“There’s money, too.”

I handed over the list I’d prepared, showing exactly how much to include with each letter, along with the cash itself.

My hands trembled. Sure, it’s necessary spending—but it still hurts. I’ll have to hustle hard to pay off debts once I get back to Yichang.

This kind of money? I could’ve had a damn fine night with a woman, good food, drinks, a little flirting, some skinship.

But every woman I’ve got the guts to try that with is far away, and here I am, giving a fortune to some guy.

“This much money? Do you have family in Mount Hua?”

“No. A friend.”

No one in this world knows the original protagonist better than me. Let’s just call him a friend.

“Ah, a friend. What’s his name?”

“His name...”

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

“You don’t even know your friend’s name?”

The courier looked at me, puzzled, as I hesitated.

Of course I don’t.

When I first started the game, I thought maybe, just maybe, the protagonist had a preset name, like some silent hero waiting at Silver Mountain. So I tested it.

But all I got was one line.

Please enter the protagonist’s name.

No way his name is Kang Yun-ho too, right?

Naturally, I punched in my own name, bold as hell. It’s a visual novel, right? You’re supposed to use your own name to really get into it.

“I only remember his childhood name. He might be using something different now.”

Some regions in the Central Plains believe that giving a child a pretty name invites an early death.

I gave the courier a sheepish look, hinting that the kid might’ve gone from something like Little Dung to Big Dung, or something just as ridiculous.

“Well, how do we deliver this? We at least need a name.”

“I heard he became the sole disciple of someone named Jin-mu at Mount Hua.”

I don’t know the protagonist’s name. But I doubt they changed the master’s.

“Ah, that’s enough. We can find him.”

“No sender listed. Should we say it’s from Young Master Kang Yun-ho?”

“No. Use a different name.”

“What name should we put?”

What name indeed.

For all I know, the protagonist’s name could be Kang Yun-ho.

Kang Yun-ho sending letters to Kang Yun-ho? It’d look like a bad joke—or worse, make him suspicious.

Better to use something more anonymous.

I gave the courier the name I’d prepared.

“Paper Friend.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Just say it’s from Ji-u. Paper Friend.”

-----------------

“The ship has arrived.”

The next day, someone from the Western Sichuan Escort Bureau came with the news.

When we hauled our luggage down to the port, there it was—a large ship, clearly one of the bureau’s.

“Bigger than I expected.”

It was about the size of a small cruise ship.

“This is one of the Western Sichuan Escort Bureau’s finest vessels. It’s built to withstand even the sudden rapids of the Yangtze.”

The shipmaster, or Bureau Chief, spotted us and boasted proudly about the vessel.

“Please wait a moment while we finish loading the cargo, and then we’ll clear space for you.”

The dock was bustling with workers hauling goods nonstop onto the ship.

Just get on the damn ship already and head to Yichang. It’s been a long road.

“Stop everything!! We need to inspect the cargo!”

As I absentmindedly watched the cargo being loaded, a group of armed warriors suddenly appeared.

“Who the hell are you to inspect our cargo?”

“There’s someone our Sabomun is looking for. We got word they’re trying to sneak onto this ship. We need to check.”

“This cargo belongs to the Western Sichuan Escort Bureau. You can’t just break the seals on contracted cargo!”

Exactly. Only the sender or the receiver opens the package. Who do these guys think they are?

I nodded in approval from the sidelines as the Bureau Chief barked back.

“Western Sichuan Escort Bureau? Isn’t that run by the Tang Clan?”

“Sir...”

“This ship belongs to the Western Sichuan Escort Bureau?”

The moment they heard it was backed by the Tang Clan, rulers of Sichuan, the intruders lost some of their fire.

Exactly. If you’re gonna be someone’s servant, make sure it’s for a noble house.

“That’s right! Are you seriously thinking of messing with cargo handled by the mighty Tang Clan?”

The Bureau Chief, sensing victory, raised his voice confidently.

“Sir, we have to find them. We can’t let them get away.”

“If we piss off the Tang Clan...”

“What’s the big deal about just checking? It’s not like we’re asking for much.”

The group murmured and bickered among themselves, hesitant.

“If no one’s hiding anyone, just let us check for broken seals! If there’s nothing, fine!”

“No one who isn’t with the bureau can touch this cargo!”

“Just let us check!”

In this world, the escort bureau is the ultimate delivery service. Trust is everything. If some random guy walks up and wants to check the goods? That’s a hard no.

The tension between the bureau staff and the armed warriors was growing.

Were they really going to fight?

Even the Tang Clan’s own martial artists around me started to approach the scene, sensing the danger.

Sabomun, Sabotage, whatever—they sounded obscure. I doubt this will turn into something huge, but still, I’m not about to get stabbed by some stray sword. Best keep my distance.

I moved over to where some giant wine jars were stacked—big enough I couldn’t even wrap my arms around them.

Who the hell are they looking for?

With how tightly secured the cargo is, and the security on this ship, there’s no way someone just snuck in here...

“Wait.”

Among the wine jars stacked in a messy pile—

One had its seal broken.

No way.

Knock knock.

Empty. I tapped on it, and instead of the heavy sound of liquid, I heard it echo—like it was hollow inside.

Knock knock.

I tapped again.

“No one’s here...”

Knock knock knock.

“I said, no one’s in here.”

I pulled the lid off the jar without hesitation.

Instead of the strong scent of alcohol, what hit me was the sight of a very flustered woman’s face.

“There’s someone in here...”

Now why the hell are you in there?