Surviving as a Plagiarist in Another World

Chapter: 72

It might come as a surprise, but I went out quite often.

I visited the publishing house and the academy every week, and I genuinely enjoyed the thrill of picking out new books at the bookstore whenever fresh releases came out. Of course, when it came to translating plagiarized works, Sion usually handled most of it while I was blissfully ignorant about current events or social issues, relying on him to fill me in.

But even while casually browsing for books, some things managed to catch my ear.

“The yellow wall is broken?”
“Yep, apparently Brother Paul smashed it to bits with a hammer.”

Most of these rumors were so shocking and outrageous that they circulated all day long.

It was shocking to hear that the most respected monk in the empire suddenly decided to take a hammer to a wall in the capital, and now he was facing a fine for vandalism.

“No way! Why would he do that? It’s not exactly a barrier, so what’s the point in demolishing it?”
“How can we even pretend to know what he’s thinking? He’s dedicated his life to service and faith… Maybe he’s unhappy with the Empire’s policies regarding the Order and just had to express it in a dramatic way.”

“Wow.”
“If you’re curious, why not go check out the fallen wall together?”

“That could be interesting. Now that you mention it, I’ve never even seen what’s beyond that yellow wall. It’s just a bit taller than eye level, right?”
“Are there really only a couple of walls like that in the Empire? I thought the only ones curious enough to peek over them were little kids wanting to climb.”

“True that.”

I had zero interest in such matters.

I’d just shrug it off and think, “Well, that’s just how things are.” The troubles and chaos of the world had no impact on my reading habits.

But just because I didn’t care didn’t mean it wouldn’t affect me.

Sure, I wasn’t interested in the issues.

Sometimes, the issues decided to pay me a visit.

“Hey, writer! We have a guest from the church!”
“Oh, is Cardinal Garnier here? I didn’t hear anything about that…”

“Nope! It’s Brother Paul from the Order!”
“Wait, what?”

The monk who had been fined for breaking the “yellow wall” in the capital had come to the publishing house.

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[“As long as they remain free men, no learning will feed them. In the end, they’ll lay their freedom at our feet and plead, ‘We’d prefer to be enslaved, just please give us some food!’”]

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“Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Homer. My name is Paul—I’m a monk.”
“Good to meet you!”

His request for a meeting seemed a bit off, but since I already had a decent connection with the Church, I accepted without much thought. I had heard some stories about him from Protestant priests and Cardinal Garnier.

Brilliant scholar, austere monk, pious priest, devoted servant.

Paul was the most faithful monk symbolizing the monastery of the Empire. While the parish priest guides the faith of the average churchgoers, the monk embodies that faith through his very existence.

So obviously, I had no reason not to meet him.

“I hope you don’t mind that I stopped by.”
“Oh, not at all—”
“I must confess, I’m about to ask for a rather rude favor.”
“Excuse me?”

“I’d like to borrow your writer’s name.”

I blinked at him, completely confused.

The monk seemed to expect me to ask for clarification, so he jumped right into it.

“Recently, I got punished by the Church for breaking the yellow wall. Being a monk, the Church covered the fine—it’s part of the job. However, do you know anything about ‘beyond the yellow wall’?”
“Um, not really. I know it exists, but…”

“Really? That’s surprising! I thought you wrote ‘The Brothers Karamazov’ after seeing it.”
“I… what?”

“Well, maybe it was the Holy Spirit guiding me, but the ‘yellow wall’ separates the poor from the regular citizens. It’s where the ‘non-workers’ hang out, living off food rations. They don’t step inside the yellow wall; they stick to the ground like shadows in return for their handouts.”

The monk went on to explain everything about the yellow wall—its role, its history, every little detail that isn’t commonly known.

That was when it hit me, I finally understood the “unease” I had felt in the capital before.

I had finally pieced together why the capital could maintain such a lively atmosphere without any visible signs of disability, poverty, or helplessness.

“It’s a policy of separation… regarding unproductive citizens…”

The world was subtler than I’d ever imagined.

It’s a world where, because of ‘magic’, statistical methods took precedence over scientific ones, and ‘beyond the yellow wall’ became a meticulously crafted means of governance based on those statistics. They created a place “in the capital, but not of it” to reduce crime rates and boost productivity.

They’d managed to “tame” the poor through food rationing and the Church, making sure those segregation policies wouldn’t raise any red flags.

I wasn’t sure if this should even be viewed as a problem.

It wasn’t a racist policy like apartheid, nor was it a “show” policy like wartime dictatorships either. It was more like a labor division based literally on “productivity” and “social value”.

This policy allowed those unable to work to make a living while letting the citizens work with pride and security in a stable, low-crime city.

Of course, even this isn’t an ideal policy. Policies evolve along with time and trends, and neither the Eternal King nor the Great Empire can devise an ideal policy. In that sense, it was simply… a very reasonable policy.

“I think we need to get rid of this current yellow wall.”
“Um, why do you think that?”

“Because we need the truth. People must understand that blocking their view with a wall doesn’t mean the folks on the other side cease to exist.”

The monk insisted that this “yellow wall” must come down.

He had a clear and very simple reason, entirely disregarding worldly policies. It’s ‘the truth’, and therefore, people need to be aware of it, he argued.

“Do you believe priests should also fully expose uncomfortable truths?”
“There’s no discomfort in truth. It’s the persistent, trusted lies that make people uncomfortable.”

“Hm…”
“Do you think I’m wrong?”

“Nope! You’re spot on.”

I agreed with his perspective. A policy that leans on ignorance will ultimately aim to keep people uninformed.

As it stands, the view is merely blocked by a wall, slightly taller than eye level.

But when people grow taller, do we just make the wall taller too? Should we throw barbed wire up there when people start scaling it, or ban filming over it just because technology improves?

In the end, that wall would either become redundant or, worse, serve as a firmer barrier to isolate the less productive citizens.

And the outcome would probably resemble a “barrier.”

Just like discrimination spawns segregation, segregation breeds discrimination. The wall of ignorance is, in itself, a form of discrimination and hatred.

“So, I would like you to lend me your name. Using the resources of your welfare foundation, Homeros, I want to dismantle the ‘yellow wall’ and expand the mission of the church’s existing charity houses, splitting them into ‘almshouses’ and ‘charity centers,’ aiming for a society within the capital where everyone knows and supports one another—.”
“That sounds tough.”

“What?”
“Ex-convicts, drug addicts, the poor, the disabled… They’d never fit in with the vibe of the capital. The Empire, wary of social disturbance, wouldn’t accept it, nor would the citizens who are already accustomed to this.”

“…Still, it’s necessary. Given enough time, we can eventually—.”
“Right, time is needed. But it should be time to accept the existence of ‘truth’, not adjust to the chaos and discomfort of society.”

At my response, Brother Paul lowered his head.

In reality, he probably knew this already. Society isn’t keen on publicly addressing the existence of ‘people who can thrive without working’. Standing around isn’t the same as being visible and part of the community.

If there are people envious of those who work hard, there will also be those envious of those who don’t.

This could deliver a lethal blow to the Empire’s productivity, resulting in a society unable to assist the poor—no matter how much charity one offers.

“What should I do then?”
“There’s only one way to turn the truth into a scandal.”

“Excuse me?”

And there it was.

All these issues—policy, social, moral, theological, economic, ethical problems—were not my concern.

The only thing I cared about was the story of Brother Paul about the people “beyond the wall.” It seemed quite intriguing to me.

“Let’s write a book about it. Everything you’ve seen, heard, and felt beyond the yellow wall!”
“…Will people actually read that?”

“If it’s about publishing, I’d happily lend you my name. If you want, I can make sure every reader in the Empire knows about the book you write. I’ll even provide a recommendation!”

Literature has the power to turn ignorance into a scandal.

And thus, the most potent literature is, in essence, “truth.”

“Let’s write a book.”

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