The Mysterious Brush

When I stepped off the plane at Fukuoka Airport, the first thing that awakened my senses was the scent of the air. The faint aroma of the sea, the smell of wood so old it felt as if it might crumble, and the humid, heavy heat characteristic of summer all slowly seeped deep into my lungs. I hoisted my camera bag higher on my shoulder and let out a long breath. "Ah, this is nice. Fukuoka really is something else."

The moment I stepped out of the airport gate, a sweltering breeze tickled my face. I had visited Japan several times since my study-abroad days, but strangely, the feeling I got whenever I arrived in this city was different every time. Tokyo was too flashy, making it hard to breathe; Osaka was so frantically noisy that my ears felt stuffed; and while Kyoto was beautiful, it carried the heavy, artificial scent of a tourist trap. But Fukuoka was different. It was a little slower, appropriately weathered, and because of that, it was brimming with the genuine scent of human life.

My name is Han Doyun. I’m twenty-seven years old, a healthy South Korean man. My profession is a freelance photographer. To put it grandly, that is, but in reality, I’m closer to a semi-unemployed person who makes ends meet by uploading photos to stock sites or shooting product photos for various clients. Still, I earn enough not to starve, so this life isn't too bad. A wandering life, leaving on a whim whenever my heart pulls me, and spending the whole day pressing the camera shutter whenever I encounter a landscape I like.

The place I had come to this time was Tosu City in Saga Prefecture. I had seen a single photo of this place on the internet by chance, and the atmosphere in that picture lingered in my mind in a strange way. That was why I had come all the way here without any particular reason. I’m the kind of person who moves like this.

After riding the bus for a long time, I arrived in Tosu in the afternoon. It was a small city with a rural feel. Low buildings, quiet alleys, and students riding bicycles—a relaxed air permeated the entire city. I dropped my luggage at the accommodation and headed straight out with my camera. My destination was a shrine located not far from where I was staying.

The shrine was halfway up a mountain. A long stone staircase stretched out between red torii gates, and the old trees on both sides blocked the sky as if to embrace the shrine. Closing my eyes and listening, the sound of leaves brushing against each other whenever the wind blew, accompanied by the faint ringing of a small wind chime, echoed softly.

Click. The sound of the camera shutter always makes me feel good. Everything was perfect. The sunlight peeking through the trees, the moss settled on the old stone steps—I loved it all. I took photos frantically for a long time. I captured the shrine’s weathered roof, the old altar, and even a bird perched on a tree. When I was taking pictures, my mind strangely went quiet. Worries about making a living, the future, human relationships—everything was pushed behind the sound of the shutter.

Before I knew it, the sun was setting. "Alright. That’s enough for today." I started down the mountain path in a satisfied mood, and that was when I discovered a small shop in an alley next to the shrine. It was an old wooden building. Inside the glass window, antique items like old Japanese dolls, teacups, and incense burners were packed tightly.

I paused for a moment. It’s hard to just walk past places like this. I love old Japanese items and that unique atmosphere they possess. When I opened the door, a small bell rang with a clink.

"Welcome." The owner, sitting in the back of the shop, slowly lifted his head. He was an old man with deep wrinkles and neat white hair that left an impression. After greeting him lightly, I slowly looked around the shop. All sorts of items were scattered about: an old samurai helmet, incense burners, hanging scrolls, old books. The smell of dust and old wood hung heavily in the air.

Then, suddenly, a brush placed in one corner caught my eye in a strange way. It didn't have the flashy nature typical of Japanese brushes; it had a simple, neat feeling, like a brush from the Joseon Dynasty. Faint Chinese characters were engraved on the handle, but they were too old to be seen clearly. I inadvertently picked up the brush. At that moment, a strange sensation brushed against my fingertips.

"...Huh?" It was mysterious. It felt as if the brush had been waiting for me. I smiled and held the brush out to the shop owner. "How much is this?"

He stiffened for a brief moment upon seeing the brush, then smiled and said, "One thousand yen."

"Really? It’s cheaper than I thought."

"It’s an unpopular item. My conscience pricks me to charge much for it. I’ll just take enough to cover the storage fee."

I tilted my head inwardly. Is it an item that holds no appeal to the eyes of Japanese people? Regardless, I felt good thinking I could buy such a wonderful brush for cheap. After handing over the thousand yen and packing the brush, I was about to leave the shop when the owner’s voice came from behind.

"Customer." When I turned back, the shop owner looked at me for a moment and said in a quiet voice, "Please treat that brush with care."

"Pardon?"

"Because it is an item that has been waiting for its owner for a long time."

Thinking it was a romantic line fitting for an antique shop owner, I nodded with a small smile. After carefully sliding the brush into the inner part of my camera bag, I left a light greeting and walked out of the shop. As the door closed, the small bell rang again from behind—clink—and faded away.

The accommodation where I was staying was an old minshuku (guesthouse) where the traces of time were romantically embedded. I had impulsively booked it, lured by the description that it provided neat, home-cooked Japanese meals. When I opened the front door, the owner of the guesthouse welcomed me warmly.

"Did you take ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠many photos?"

"Yes. The neighborhood is quiet and truly beautiful. I took many good pictures."

The owner of the guesthouse appeared to be a man in his late fifties. He was short and slight, but he had a strange charm where his eyes crinkled like a Hahoe mask when he smiled, making even a first-time guest feel instantly comfortable. He introduced himself as 'Fujiwara'. Even though his pronunciation was a bit slurred, Mr. Fujiwara guided me to my room while speaking quite natural Korean.

"Dinner will be ready soon. Other guests will be coming down as well."

After lightly unpacking in my room and finishing a quick shower, I went down to the living room on the floor below, where dinner was set, to fill my hungry stomach. A large wooden dining table was placed in the center of the living room, and several guests were already gathered, chatting. I sat down in an empty seat and naturally cast my gaze toward the person sitting across from me.

At that moment, my breath hitched slightly without me realizing it. Smooth black hair flowing down to her waist. Skin like white jade, shining transparently under the light. Even the innocent atmosphere created by her large eyes. In a word, an unrealistically beautiful woman was sitting across from me.

Mr. Fujiwara must have noticed my reaction, as he smiled and introduced her. "This is Mina-san, who is traveling from Tokyo."

She softly crinkled her eyes and bowed her head lightly toward me. "Hello. I’m Mina."

Even her clear, elegant voice that tickled my ears was at a cheat-code level. I felt nervous at the sudden appearance of this peerless beauty. I straightened my posture and cleared my throat, trying to act calm.

"Ah, yes. I’m Han Doyun. It’s a pleasure to meet you."

The situation of sitting and eating with people I was seeing for the first time was a bit awkward, but thanks to the sociable Mr. Fujiwara, the atmosphere soon became lively. The dinner spread was better than expected. Deep-flavored miso soup, golden-grilled fish, fluffy Japanese-style rolled omelets, and charming side dishes filled the table. As the atmosphere mellowed, Mr. Fujiwara brought over a bottle of chilled sake and shouted, "Now! Those who want to drink, please help yourselves!"

As the sake cups went back and forth and the intoxication set in, comfortable smiles bloomed on people’s faces. Each person’s travel story and my photography tales naturally opened the conversation. Naturally, I listened to the story of Mina, who was sitting across from me. She said she was attending a famous prestigious university in Tokyo and was traveling alone in Fukuoka during this vacation to clear her head. Perhaps because she was bold enough to go on a solo backpacking trip despite the title of a prestigious university student, confidence and intellectual ease permeated every one of Mina’s gestures. That made her look even more attractive.

"Doyun-san, you seem to be doing such a wonderful job. I usually like taking pictures too, but... catching the composition is really difficult."

"I’m not that good at it either. I have to take hundreds of shots to get one that I like."

Perhaps because the sake was circulating pleasantly, contrary to my worries, the conversation with her flowed smoothly. As we talked, my heart began to flutter little by little at the strange charm I felt from her. Right then, someone sitting next to me asked a playful question.

"By the way, for someone as pretty as Mina-san to travel alone, do you happen to not have a boyfriend?"

I glanced at Mina’s reaction and swallowed dryly. Inwardly, I was hoping for an answer that she was single. Mina smiled lightly and replied, "I have one. We attend the same university."

Thud. The tower of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠expectations I had carefully built in a corner of my heart collapsed noisily. Of course, there was no way a beauty of this level would be single. I smacked my lips bitterly and downed the bitter sake in one gulp. The stinging alcohol went down my throat, but the hollowness that had sunk deep into my chest didn't go away.

After the drinking party ended, I returned to my room in a slightly intoxicated state. While lying spread-eagle on the futon and flipping through the photos I had taken today on my camera, I suddenly remembered the brush I had bought at the antique shop during the day. I took the brush out from deep inside my bag and examined it carefully from all angles.

"It’s too excellent for something that cost a thousand yen... When I go back to Korea, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I should get it appraised in a place like Insadong."

As I fiddled with the brush, the sake’s effect hit me late, and my eyelids became heavy as lead. I placed the brush on the table by my bedside and drifted into a deep sleep.

. . . . . .

Chirp, chirp. The sound of fresh mountain birds pierced my ears noisily. The moment I regained consciousness, pushing up my heavy eyelids, a sense of something being wrong made the nerves all over my body stand on edge.

"...Huh?" The ceiling was different. It was definitely not the ceiling of the guesthouse, which had been neatly covered with modern wallpaper. Goosebumps broke out on my skin, and I reflexively sat up. A floor made of tatami. The air was thick with the smell of old wood, and the surroundings were connected by paper-textured sliding doors between wooden pillars. Moreover, the moment I moved my body to hurry out of the bed, the texture of the fabric touching my skin was also strange. As I slowly lowered my gaze, an unfamiliar white garment I had never worn before was draped over my body. It was a silk hanbok. I was wearing a white hanbok.

My breath hitched. "...What is this?"

At that moment, a small mirror placed on a table against one wall caught my eye. The moment I staggered toward the mirror and faced my reflection, my mind went blank as if struck by lightning. My hair... was tied in a topknot. That topknot hair, which I had only seen in historical dramas and which Joseon Dynasty scholars used to wear, was perfectly fixed on my head.

"Crazy... This makes no sense...."

At that moment, an unrealistic, translucent blue system window floated up in the center of my vision.

"...What? A brush? And what is this about Joseon Court Painter Seomun Jin?!" I reflexively swung my hand roughly at the system window. But my hand cut through the air, and instead of disappearing, the letters trailed downward, one after another.

Seeing the system window etched into my retina made my head spin. "Viewpoint synchronization? What on earth does that mean!" As if to answer my shout, the letters on the system window turned red and drove a wedge into my mind.

"No way! So you’re saying I’ve time-slipped into the past, and to Edo-period Japan at that?!" Fear and trembling washed over me. Suddenly, I saw something on the table against one wall. The brush I had bought yesterday was sitting there, emitting a faint energy. The conviction that it wasn't just a simple antique brush struck my brain.

Right then, cautious footsteps and a familiar voice came from beyond the sliding door. "Painter-nim. Are you awake?"

"...Pardon?"

"Breakfast is ready."

I slowly opened the sliding door with trembling hands. And my thought process completely stopped at the scene unfolding outside the door. Standing in front of the door was the owner who had smiled and offered me sake at the guesthouse last night, Mr. Fujiwara. But his appearance was completely different from yesterday. Dressed neatly in traditional Japanese Edo-period clothing, with his hair styled in a chonmage with the top of his head shaved, Mr. Fujiwara was wearing his characteristic, benevolent Hahoe-mask-like smile. He looked so natural, as if he had been a person of this era from the beginning. He bowed deeply and said politely, "It is better to eat before it gets cold. Doyun Hwawon-nim."

"... ..."

As I stared at him, out of my mind, a blue system window floated up before my eyes.