Treasure Map — 4
"Could you tell me why?"
Bang Jeongsou had to leave for work before dawn, so the village head had taken it upon himself to escort middle schooler Bang Seongeun to and from school.
And honestly, it was hardly an easy thing for a seventy-three-year-old man to walk a child to school every single day.
But setting the village head aside, I was the one who needed a worker. Someone who could watch the house for several days at a stretch, who wouldn't ride Chai like a typical overseer just because he was a foreign laborer, and who would take good care of my cats while they were at it.
Having observed Bang Jeongsoo for nearly six months now, I could say this much: he wasn't capable or particularly quick-witted, but he was a good man.
Too good, in fact. That was the problem.
Which was exactly why I was curious. This good man clearly knew I meant to show him kindness — and he'd turned it down flat, without hesitation.
It couldn't have been an easy refusal.
There had to be a reason. And I had a feeling that reason had nothing to do with his own interests.
I took a sip of coffee before speaking.
"Seongeun's mother was so happy when she heard her husband would be working with me. And now you're refusing like this... It just occurred to me — will you really be all right?"
What I meant was: how much of a scolding do you expect to take from your wife over this?
"Ah, ah..."
It seemed Bang Jeongsoo had been so focused on refusing my offer that he hadn't thought at all about how he would explain it to his wife.
He moistened his dry lips.
"I'll... I'll explain the situation to her properly. I'll make her understand."
"Then at least tell me your reason. You turned me down without even hearing my terms, so forgive me if I'm a little taken aback."
"I made a serious mistake. That's the only reason."
"Won't you tell me what kind of mistake? We could discuss how to fix it together, couldn't we?"
This wasn't some act of charity born from the selflessness Monk Bo-eun had left me as a parting gift. No — watching Bang Jeongsoo just now had reminded me of my own first days at the bank, when I'd made a terrible blunder.
I'd mistyped the vault's security code, tripped the alarm at the security company, and the police had actually shown up. I remembered how panicky I'd been, how my mind had gone completely white. That was the moment I truly understood what it meant for your head to empty out entirely.
Once it's over, it feels like nothing at all. But in the moment, it feels like being shoved off the edge of a cliff.
If the man sitting across from me was in that kind of position, then at the very least, I could listen. I could offer advice, and maybe even help.
"Is it because I'm young? Does that make you uncomfortable?"
"No, no! Not at all. I think you're remarkable. Buying twelve empty houses and restoring them, being so good to my children..."
But the longer he talked, the more his shoulders curled forward. Compared to me, he was nothing, he said. He was indebted to me and couldn't repay it, and the guilt and shame of it left him at a loss — he looked genuinely pained.
"I'm truly sorry."
He bowed his head so low I could see the crown of it.
And the deeper he bowed, the calmer I became.
"Forget all that and just think about your kids for a moment. What exactly was this mistake of yours?"
"Well, the truth is... the farm I work at has an automatic irrigation system, and I broke it..."
It was a farm that grew tomatoes and European vegetables, apparently. They'd built a facility spanning several thousand pyeong, running the whole operation on an automated system that dispensed water and fertilizer.
Bang Jeongsoo's job was to pick and sort the tomatoes, pack them into delivery boxes, harvest the European salad greens and sort those too, and plant seedlings. When all that was done, he was supposed to shut off the groundwater valves and lock up.
"The groundwater gets purified, then the machine mixes in fertilizer and various chemicals. The machine handles all of it, but since nothing gets watered at night, the valves absolutely have to be closed."
"And then?"
"And... I touched something I shouldn't have, and they say the machine broke. The repair bill alone is supposedly 100 million won..."
"A hundred million?"
Hwang Yu-hyeon's greenhouse at farming school had been equipped with similar machinery — a system that drew up groundwater, purified it, and automatically mixed in fertilizer and chemicals before misting the crops. There was no way that entire setup cost 100 million won. If it did, there'd be nothing left over after installation. And how could a repair bill possibly reach that figure?
"Did you damage it badly enough that the whole thing has to be torn out and reinstalled?"
"No, but... apparently a lot of things went wrong."
"It's not as if you took an axe to the machinery. I can't imagine what could have gone so catastrophically wrong."
"The valves broke, and... So I've been working overtime to pay off the repair costs."
He couldn't reduce the monthly salary he brought home to Han Mija — she'd be disappointed in him. Which meant he couldn't tell her he'd broken equipment at the farm either.
"I couldn't put my wife and kids through that heartache. So I've been going in an hour early and staying an hour late... I figured someday it'd be paid off..."
"You mean to pay off a 100 million won repair bill with two hours of extra work a day?"
"It's the only thing I can do right now."
His head sank even lower.
Bang Jeongsoo seemed like the kind of man who, when something went wrong, looked for the cause in himself. He never blamed others — instead, he blamed himself. And whenever hardship came, he'd wrap his arms around it and strain with everything he had to overcome it alone. Only he suffered for it. His life must have been hell.
My pity curdled into anger. If you don't know something, ask. If you still can't manage it, reach out for help. How hard could that be?
"Seongeun's father."
I leaned forward to meet his eyes.
"The farm owner never mentioned insurance? Normally, when you sink that kind of money into a facility, you insure it. So that if flood, storm, or fire destroys the equipment, you can at least recoup the principal."
"No. I never heard anything like that."
"Then I'd say you've been swindled."
"Excuse me? Swindled?"
Since I'd attended agricultural school, I bluffed that I knew roughly what irrigation equipment for Korean greenhouses cost.
Not that whether the machine was worth 100 million won was even the point right now.
No matter how large the farm or how impressive the facility, you couldn't demand 100 million won in repairs from a day laborer.
"If one carelessly closed valve produces a repair bill of 100 million won, that's the owner's burden to carry — not something you pass to a worker earning daily wages. Don't you think?"
"But... but because of my mistake, the European vegetables withered and died."
Bang Jeongsoo pulled out his phone and showed me photos of the shriveled crops.
"Look at this. He said the buyer nearly cut us off because of me."
This is what happens when you run chemicals too strong through an irrigation system. Even so, it looked like maybe a million won's worth of vegetables had died.
And in exchange, out of guilt, he'd gained himself a slave willing to work two extra hours a day, every day, for free? From a predatory farm owner's perspective, that was pure profit.
"If you believe this is what binds you to that farm, I'll resolve it for you."
"I'm sorry — you'll resolve it?"
"Yes."
I leaned back against my chair.
"Facility greenhouses in Pyeongcheong County receive government subsidies. They've taken out loans, too. So if we visit the county office, there should be records on file — which company installed the facility, how much it cost, even whether repairs have ever been carried out. All of it."
A call to the agricultural technology center would get us the contractor's phone number as well.
"Just give me the farm's address and the owner's name. If he lied about making you pay for repairs, we can sue him for extortion."
"Then... then I don't have to pay back the 100 million?"
"Probably? No — almost certainly not."
At my certainty, Bang Jeongsoo bit his lip hard and bowed his head. Thick tears dropped, one after another, onto his clasped hands.
"I was so terrified of falling into debt again. Of coming all this way, only to be seized by the collar as a debtor..."
When nothing in life goes right, you start doubting your own abilities. And you begin to accept being a victim as simply your due. I'm the kind of man who fails wherever he goes — blaming yourself like that, over and over.
That was Bang Jeongsoo, through and through.
"It won't happen anymore. From now on, only good things are coming your way. Trust me."
"Thank you. You really are... extraordinary."
"If you think that highly of me, then quit that farm and come work with me."
"I... I'd love nothing more, but..."
"I'll handle that part. Don't worry about it."
The farm where Bang Jeongsoo worked was in Ugok 3-ri.
The Pyeongcheong River side of Ugok 3-ri is packed with pensions and restaurants, but up in the hills is where the greenhouse farms cluster.
There was a villa district there too, along with country homes, making it the most densely populated area nearby. Prices were so high that Park Seoktae had fled his rented villa the moment he got his hands on a shipping container. Choi Hogyeong's farmland was there as well.
I'd entrusted her with the coffee packaging design, along with the website design for Ugok's Courtyard. So I set out to visit her farm — partly to check on the design work, and partly to gather information about the farm owner who'd been tormenting Bang Jeongsoo.
Following the signpost for the natural dyeing workshop, Yeon-du, I wound my way up the single-lane road for about ten minutes before Choi Hogyeong's farmhouse came into view.
In the yard, fabric dyed yellow and green hung fluttering from clotheslines. They'd been strung up to air-dry, naturally, but the way they danced in the wind was beautiful enough to feel almost dreamlike.
"Welcome."
Choi Hogyeong had been out picking and drying yellow dandelions; hearing my car, she came toward me smiling. Her long hair was pulled back tight, and she wore black from head to toe. Her apron was splashed with colorful dyes — very befitting the owner of a natural dyeing workshop.
"Not farming today, just dyeing? Why aren't you out in the fields?"
"That's rich, coming from you, Mr. Always-Out-And-About. I'm all for this coffee business of yours, but aren't you getting a little too polished for a farmer?"
It was true that I'd dressed up a bit — there was a chance I'd be facing the farm owner who'd been squeezing Bang Jeongsoo today. Black suit pants, a white shirt, and even the TAG Heuer watch and luxury belt Lee Ho-young had recently left behind, claiming it was a gift. When dealing with people who believed appearances were everything, you had to dress the part.
"I might be meeting someone. Anyway, the soybeans are doing well? You've thinned them out?"
"Of course I have."
Choi Hogyeong brought over her laptop and showed me several coffee packaging designs. Simple yet eye-catching — and incredibly, she'd finished three of them.
"This is a problem."
"Why? You don't like them?"
"No, I like all of them. That's the problem."
"Then use all three. You're only selling one type of bean anyway."
Choi Hogyeong, it turned out, had to do business — in design, if not in farming or dyeing. She'd made three designs and was now angling to sell me every single one.
"I was planning to buy just one design and print different labels on it, but... you've gone and made all three this pretty. Do I really have to buy them all?"
"I'll charge you for two and throw the third in as a gift."
"Getting a gift somehow doesn't sit right with me. I only meant to buy one... So this is what they mean by losing your nose while your eyes are open, huh."
"Oh, come on."
Caught revealing her true intentions, Choi Hogyeong burst out laughing.
"Actually, wait right here. I've been preparing something — I want to try selling tea as a product too."
She darted into the kitchen and came back pouring hot water from a teapot to steep a cup. A faint mugwort fragrance brushed my nose.
"Mugwort?"
"Yes. I roasted young mugwort leaves into tea. How is it?"
"Can I be honest? It's... there's really no taste at all."
Bitter and astringent. It was supposed to be young mugwort — why was the grassy bite so overpowering?
"Ha... everyone says the same thing. What am I doing wrong?"
"Mugwort is for rice cakes. Or use it for dyeing — that green. It's gorgeous."
The green fabric swaying on the clothesline — dyed with mugwort, by the look of it. Every time the wind stirred, a soft mugwort scent drifted through the air. Gazing at that fresh green, I felt my whole mood brighten.
But only for a moment.
"Oh, right. The owner of that plot of land on the way to Seoktae's field — the one growing tomatoes and European vegetables to sell. Did you look into his reputation around the village?"
"You mean Ju Mandeok's farm? He doesn't hire any of the locals. Only outsiders work there."
Choi Hogyeong took a sip of her mugwort tea, grimaced hard, and went on.
"So I couldn't exactly ask around about his reputation, could I? Ju Mandeok is an outsider himself. They say he held some kind of position in Seoul before moving to the countryside three years ago."