Qi-Rich Trash and a Spitting Image
Suhyeon strolled slowly through the herbal medicine market in Jegi-dong, scrutinizing each shop with meticulous care. Countless herbs were laid out on the display tables outside, but not a single one pulsed with proper qi. He stepped into several larger, more promising stores, yet the herbs inside were no different. Ginseng, red ginseng, lingzhi, goji berries, licorice— they all looked fine at a glance, but the qi within them was utterly negligible.
They'd help with general health, but nothing for building neigong. No way a shopkeeper's pulling out centuries-old wild ginseng for a first-time customer like me... Not that such treasures are common anyway.
He'd come to the market with some expectations, only to feel a pang of disappointment at the lack of quality herbs. Just as he turned to leave, a surge of remarkably abundant qi flowing through the air caught his senses. Startled, he scanned the area and spotted it: a large sack overflowing with qi.
Herbs protruded from the sack's mouth, suggesting it was stuffed full. It had been shoved into a dusty corner of one shop's display like worthless garbage, yet qi poured out from it in waves. Suhyeon approached cautiously, cracked open the top, and peered inside.
Cynanchum, pueraria root, deodeok, bellflower... A jumble of mountain herbs. The variety doesn't matter to me—what counts is the qi saturation. This'll have real effects. Who knew Korea still hid herbs this brimming with qi? Incredible.
Suhyeon entered the shop and asked the elderly man who seemed to be the owner, "Excuse me, sir. How much for those mixed herbs in the big sack over there?"
"The sack? Oh, that. Not for sale."
"Not for sale? Why not?"
"Those are useless herbs."
"Pardon? They looked fine to me. What's wrong with them?"
"They're Chinese imports... sprayed with pesticides."
"Ah, Chinese, huh. Do they even spray pesticides on herbs these days?"
"It's a long story..."
"That's fine. I'm curious, so could you explain?"
"Word is, those came from North Koreans digging them up under tough conditions up there. They sold them to China for cash or food, but the Chinese doused them in pesticides under the guise of pest control. Probably to protect their own herbal markets. That's all I know..."
No wonder the qi was so vibrant—North Korean grown. Their untouched mountains still yield prime herbs.
"I see. But why's it here, then?"
"Came mixed in with a shipment from China yesterday. I asked the supplier what the hell it was, and they explained... then asked me to just toss it since they didn't want it."
As the owner spoke, Suhyeon inwardly thrilled at the irony: to others, trash unfit for consumption; to him, a heaven-sent treasure. But he kept his cool, not wanting to tip off the owner and inflate the price. "Got it."
"Think about it. People buy herbs for health— who wants pesticide-soaked junk? If I sold it quietly and someone got sick, I'd be the one hauled off by the cops. So I'm dumping it soon."
"Then sell it to me. I'll take it."
"You want that thing? No way. How could I trust you with it? What if you chop it up and peddle it as premium to strangers? I'd take the fall."
Suhyeon paused at the owner's firm refusal, then spoke. "Then smash the herbs to bits so no one could sell them as food, and hand it over. I'll pay extra for the trouble."
"Hmm. What on earth do you want it for? It's not fit for humans."
"For an installation art piece. Something where the herb scent wafts up close. Not for eating, so sell it worry-free. You're tossing it anyway—100,000 won."
Lies piling up by the day.
Soon after, Suhyeon loaded the sack of pulverized herbs into his car trunk and headed home.
At home, he filled a large rubber tub in the bathroom halfway with water and dumped the entire sack in. He stirred vigorously with both hands to disperse the herbs evenly, muttering, "Even if I'm not eating them raw, better wash off the pesticides first. Lucky to snag quality like this. Used right, I could wrap up Meridian Washing quick and hit Microcosmic Orbit soon."
After drying his hands and leaving the bathroom, Suhyeon answered a call from Park Sil-jang moments later.
"Yes, Sil-jang."
[Suhyeon, got everything you asked for yesterday. Can you come to the office now?]
"Already?"
[Wasn't expensive or hard to find. No reason it'd take long.]
"Understood. On my way."
Shortly after arriving at the YK Building, Suhyeon headed to Park Sil-jang's office.
"Come in, Suhyeon. You were spot on yesterday."
Suhyeon sat on the reception sofa. "Really?"
Park Sil-jang approached with two thick, album-like books in hand and sat. "Checked them right after getting them. Take a look yourself."
Suhyeon picked up the two albums. "I only asked for the 1988 Yeonje University Business Administration graduation album... but there's an extra."
"1984 Gyeongin High School graduation album. Figured might as well grab the high school one too."
"Sorry for the hassle."
"At my age and position, elite high school and university grads are everywhere. Just a few calls last night. No big deal—go ahead and look."
Moments later, Suhyeon gazed at photos of a young man in the album and spoke. "Not just similar. This is identical..."
"Spitting image, right? Like the saying, you can't steal bloodlines. Marvin and that man in his youth—exact copies. Shocked me too."
"Hm. My hypothesis checks out perfectly."
"Hypothesis? What hypothesis? I thought you wanted the albums to confirm Marvin and the deceased were father and son."
"That was part of it. The grainy black-and-white news photo from twenty years ago online was low-res. Enough to infer he was Marvin's father, but I needed one more confirmation."
"What?"
"Curious? Spill it."
Suhyeon smiled faintly at Park Sil-jang. "Sil-jang, do you think Hanho Group Chairman Yi Yeong-ho knew about Marvin?"
"Hm... Logically, no. Men in their mid-sixties live for grandkids. If he knew, he'd have snatched Marvin up or done something by now. No way he'd ignore it."
"Right. At 82, news of a grandson would cause an uproar. So he didn't know. But why, right after he collapsed, have these bizarre incidents hit Marvin one after another?"
"Hm... Can't figure it."
"Simple logic. Chairman collapses, rushed to hospital. No surgery needed, but total bed rest. Picture it?"
"Picture what?"
"A workaholic tycoon suddenly bedridden. An 82-year-old playing games on a smartphone all day?"
"No. Probably... watches TV."
"Exactly. TV. My guess: Hospitalized, he starts watching TV nonstop—stuff he never saw before. Not news, but music shows or variety. Then..."
"Ah! He catches Marvin on a music program he never watches. Triggers memories of his late second son. The resemblance is uncanny..."
"Spot on, Sil-jang. Can't swear to it without witnessing, but something like that happened. But my hypothesis has one key prerequisite."
"Marvin must be the spitting image of his second son, Yi Jeong-seok, in youth."
"As wise as ever, Sil-jang."
"Teasing your elder? You explained it all."
"Never. Anyway... Chairman probably muttered something like, 'That young guy's the spitting image of Jeong-seok back in the day.' Then orders someone to look into him—or an aide overhears and panics."
"Makes sense."
"That's when things started for Marvin. One certainty..."
"What's that?"
"Chairman Yi still doesn't know exactly who Marvin is. So we proceed on two tracks."
"Two tracks?"
"Details later, based on developments."
"Hm. Fine. You're the brains—handle it. But..."
"Yes, Sil-jang."
[Handle the Refrigerator]
Made contact there, but filming to broadcast takes time. Won't the secret leak? Crew and cast aren't few...
"I have a plan for that. Don't worry. Just set up a meeting with the PD."
"Easy enough."
"If the PD's discreet and sharp, we can negotiate secrecy. I've got it covered."
"Alright."
After the meeting, Suhyeon returned home, fished the herbs from the tub, shook off the water, bagged them in a large pouch, and headed out again.
Process them before the qi fades. Gangwon-do trip means flooring it.