The Land (1)
Lee Ho-young, the head of Miho Gallery, hesitated several times before finally placing a call to Kim Yunho.
"The person you are calling is unavailable right now..."
"Oh, come on!"
The deal for the late-Joseon white porcelain had wrapped up successfully. The 1.2 billion won payment had landed in Kim Yunho's hands through the agricultural corporation. That meant Ho-young was now owed his 120-million-won brokerage fee on top of the pending meteorite transaction.
And yet here was this unemployed country layabout, dragging his feet and pushing back appointments as if he had some pressing schedule to keep.
Frankly, it wasn't the fee Ho-young coveted. It was the meteorite. No matter how much money a man had, the hunger for something money couldn't easily buy burned fierce in him. Owning a rare piece like that was what made a person *special* — and the meteorite was exactly the kind of thing that could fill that void.
'I want it so badly I could scream!'
But Kim Yunho, utterly unbothered, kept responding with lukewarm half-measures. What was a man to do?
"Looks like I'll just have to pay a visit to Ugok-ri myself."
The problem was, if he showed up unannounced and soured Kim Yunho's mood, he might never so much as catch a glimpse of the "meteo" in meteorite.
Just then, the name Kim Yunho drifted out of the TV.
'What's this?'
Ho-young straightened up and raised the volume.
Behind the reporter stretched a ridgeline he knew all too well. Ugok 1-ri — the place where Kim Yunho lived.
So that had happened?
When Ho-young searched Ugok 1-ri online, he found every other broadcaster airing live coverage from the scene as well.
On another channel, the camera caught Kim Yunho in a suit.
"My name is Kim Yunho, and I relocated to Pyeongcheong County. The village head granted me permission to harvest pine mushrooms, so I was up on the mountain with the residents when..."
A clean, handsome face and a well-proportioned frame. With a confidence that practically radiated off the screen, Kim Yunho explained the circumstances of his discovery of the fallen soldiers' belongings.
'It's like watching a movie.'
It had the feel of the opening act of a mystery drama — the part where the protagonist moves to the countryside and everything begins.
When Kim Yunho finished, the reporter asked her question.
"Ugok 1-ri currently ranks fourth nationwide for highest average age of its residents. Did you never hesitate to move out here?"
The camera zoomed in, closing tight on Kim Yunho's face.
"Pyeongcheong County offers extensive support programs for newcomers. Especially for someone like me who had never lived in the countryside before — there's an agricultural school, and..."
Watching Kim Yunho reel off his lines so smoothly, Ho-young's eyes narrowed.
'I hadn't noticed it in person, but...'
On the TV screen, Kim Yunho was unmistakably different from ordinary people. It was like looking at a celebrity.
A politician present, the Korean-US recovery team present, reporters swarming everywhere — and yet Kim Yunho neither cowered nor watched anyone's mood. He didn't so much as tremble. Crisp and immaculate as a starched, iron-pressed shirt, he exuded an air of quiet nobility.
And on top of that, without ever putting on airs, he possessed a presence that made everyone around him instinctively defer.
'Where on earth does a person learn to be like that?'
Come to think of it, Kim Yunho had always had a knack for drawing people in — and pushing them back — as easily as breathing. Meeting his eyes alone was enough to feel like your soul was being scanned; Ho-young had flinched under that gaze more times than he cared to count.
'I'm no pushover myself, mind you. But for some reason, I turn to mush in front of that man.'
Not that it was a bad thing. Ho-young had a weakness for the extraordinary, and the mysterious aura Kim Yunho gave off suited his taste perfectly.
"I'd love to get closer to him, but the man never gives me an opening."
Just then — buzz, buzz.
The call was from appraiser Moon Sung-il, the man who had bought the late-Joseon white porcelain from Kim Yunho.
"Yes, sir. I was actually about to contact you myself."
Ho-young and Moon Sung-il lived in a relationship of mutual benefit. Whenever Ho-young acquired relics or antiques through his various channels, Moon Sung-il authenticated them and set their prices, after which they were sold through Moon Sung-il's network of connections. Performing well for him was simply the cost of doing business.
Ho-young kept his voice smooth and pleasant.
"About that Japanese general's dagger — it appears to date from the latter part of the Imjin War. I was wondering whether you'd figured out why it turned up in a Korean's grave."
"Good grief, forget the dagger. I've been wracked with nightmares and pain every single day — I feel like I'm dying. That's why I called."
Moon Sung-il's voice was utterly drained.
"I'm sorry — suddenly? What do you mean?"
"The same thing happened to you out of nowhere before, didn't it?"
"Oh! You mean back when the Malgal general's longsword was on display in my office?"
Back then, he'd been assailed by relentless headaches to the point of living on painkillers. The medicine would dull it briefly, but then the pain would come pounding back like a hammer driving into his skull. The horrific nightmares on top of it had made him wonder if something was genuinely wrong with his mind.
"Keeping that longsword close doesn't strike me as a good idea."
With those words, Kim Yunho had reached out and swept his hand in a light pass over the top of Ho-young's head — and the headache had vanished without a trace. More astonishing still, the symptoms had cleared up completely after Kim Yunho's visit ended. That was why Ho-young believed Kim Yunho had cleansed the malevolent energy dwelling in the blade.
But now —
"Following Mr. Kim's advice, I tried moving the longsword into the vault. The hilt had corroded and broke away in my hands — and with that, the symptoms vanished entirely."
That much and no more, Ho-young told Moon Sung-il. The man would likely never believe the full truth, so a tidy half-story seemed the wiser course.
"The hilt broke?"
"Yes, sir. It was a longsword from the late Goguryeo period, and fine cracks had already formed during shipping from poor handling by the trader who brought it into the country. Those splits widened further, and at this point it's effectively snapped in two."
He had since donated it to a museum, where it was undergoing restoration.
'And that donation carved a fine image of my company into their minds while I was at it.'
The antique trade was an extremely small world. Buying and selling relics for profit mattered, yes, but you had to make the occasional donation too — otherwise the industry would blacklist you.
'Cast a small lure, land a big fish. That's the whole game!'
Anyway.
"Sir, I'd suggest you keep the Japanese dagger at a distance for now and consider donating it later. Like Mr. Kim said, I don't think it's wise to keep something that has killed so many people close at hand and study it day after day."
"That's precisely why I already did. I moved it to the vault in the basement — and far from the symptoms disappearing, I feel like the pain is going to kill me."
Even mid-call, Moon Sung-il was groaning between sentences.
"I keep having the same ghastly nightmare over and over. I believe I've been struck by an unclean spirit."
"I'm sorry — an unclean spirit?"
"It's... you may not believe me, but outside of the nightmares — in waking reality — I'm seeing things. Hearing things. It's getting to that point."
He was saying he could hear ghosts?
A cold shiver ran down Ho-young's spine.
"S-sir, why don't you simply donate the dagger and be done with it?"
"And what if my illness only grows worse for it, hm? That woman did the same thing. She said that unless she was released, I would know no peace even after I died."
Moon Sung-il was rambling so incoherently that Ho-young couldn't piece together the full picture. All he could gather was that a woman was appearing to the man in broad daylight, demanding something of him.
'That is deeply, deeply creepy.'
Ho-young shifted his grip on the phone and asked, his palm so damp he had to rub it dry against his trousers.
"Sir — is it perhaps Mr. Kim Yunho's help you're hoping for?"
"Could you manage it? I have no personal connection to the man whatsoever, so I'd like you to act as the go-between."
Sir, I'm not exactly close with Kim Yunho either.
And that man was not one to grant favors easily. Still, admitting to Moon Sung-il that he had no real relationship with Kim Yunho felt equally unpalatable.
"I-I'll give Mr. Kim a call for now and see what I can do."
"Thank you. Truly, thank you!"
The moment he hung up with Moon Sung-il, Ho-young dialed Kim Yunho directly.
"The person you are calling is unavailable right..."
The automated message cut in immediately. It seemed he really would have to head down to Ugok 1-ri in person.
The recovery team's formal declaration concluding the Ugok 1-ri excavation had ended, along with the ceremony honoring those recognized for their contributions.
'Please, everyone, hurry home!'
The sudden flood of people swarming the quiet village made the place look oddly vibrant, but to Yunho it registered mostly as a low-grade headache.
"Yunho, my heartfelt congratulations on your commendation."
Governor Na Jeong-hwan approached with an outstretched hand.
"Ah — thank you. I know how busy you must be. I'm grateful you made time to attend."
"Haha, isn't that the line I'm supposed to be saying?"
Behind Na Jeong-hwan, the camera had its lens locked on my face.
'How long exactly am I supposed to be PR Ambassador for this county?'
During the interview earlier, they'd asked me to say a few good words about Pyeongcheong. It wasn't anything difficult, so I'd obliged... though now I worried I'd laid the PR bit on a bit thick.
Apparently my interview had pleased the governor immensely, because he clasped both of my hands in his and beamed.
"If anything difficult ever comes up, contact me directly. Here's hoping many joyful and happy things happen to you, Yunho — our proud resident of Pyeongcheong County."
The man's lines were more than a little cringe-inducing, but I could tell the sincerity behind them was real, so I answered with a smile of my own.
"Well, ever since I moved to Pyeongcheong, every single moment has been a joy and a blessing."
"Haha. Is that so?"
Na Jeong-hwan drifted casually over to a spot with a clear view of my house and kept the conversation going.
"So the abandoned house you renovated is that place up on the hill, is it? Good heavens — I'd never believe it used to be a ruin."
Oh, for heaven's sake.
How awkward can this get!
But the cameras kept rolling, so what choice did I have? It was time to play my part in the duet.
"I tried not to spoil the village's scenery too much, though it does stand out a bit. My house is just too pretty, you see."
"Haha, that it is. One might mistake it for a pension or a café."
The camera swung around to film my house.
'People aren't going to start showing up here, are they?'
Honestly, a part of me did want to show off how beautifully the place had been restored — but the thought of strangers traipsing into my yard snapping photos was unbearable even to imagine. The one consolation was that the event grounds were far enough from my house that the details stayed hidden.
"The village roads will be paved starting soon, and the water system construction finishes next spring, so it's only going to get more livable from here. Hahaha!"
"All thanks to you, Governor. Thank you for everything you've poured into Ugok 1-ri. We're grateful, always."
Somebody, please, just yell "Cut!" or "That's a wrap!"
I was about to curl up and vanish from sheer embarrassment.
"Governor, you should be heading to the county office now."
An aide stepped close and murmured into Na Jeong-hwan's ear. The governor looked like he'd happily chatter on with me a while longer, but with even the district's National Assembly member in attendance, duty called. He gave a small nod, then turned back to me.
"We'll be getting heavy snow next month. With the year's end drawing near, we've planned a snow festival with pets to promote the county."
About the only thing Pyeongcheong had in abundance was mountains and open fields. And in winter, the snow reportedly piled up to an adult's knees. So the plan was to let people run free through the snow-covered hills and fields with their pets, play games, and hand out prizes.
"I hear you keep a cat, Yunho. I do hope you'll attend."
"Ah — well, it's less that I keep a cat and more that a stray has taken up residence at my house."
"Meow."
No. 1 materialized out of nowhere, turning on the cuteness as he slinked smoothly between my legs.
"Haha, a stray, you say? He seems quite tame and adorable to me."
"Wh-what? No. He is not."
"Meeeow."
As if to brand my words a lie, No. 1 flopped over on the spot. Na Jeong-hwan burst out laughing.
"And plenty of charm, too? I have no doubt you'll join us at the pet festival. Oh, right — your electronics, including the big smart TV, will be delivered to your house tomorrow."
Get the goods, show your face — that was Na Jeong-hwan's unsubtle message, and I had no choice but to nod.
"Yes, understood."
"Then I'll see you at the pet festival."
The moment the governor climbed into his car with his aide, I scooped No. 1 up into my arms.
'Listen, you. There are going to be some big dogs at that pet festival. What are you going to do if you get bit acting up for no reason?'
"You think I'd be scared of a few mutts? I am the blade of Yeon Chumo, the..."
I had zero desire to sit through the ear-numbing self-praise to the end, so I dropped him back on the ground.
'Fine, fine. You're the greatest!'
"Yes, I am rather magnificent, aren't I? Hahaha!"
No. 1 held his tail bolt upright and padded off, his gait practically oozing self-satisfaction.
'What is with him?'
Had boredom finally addled my brain? I was still staring in the direction No. 1 had vanished when I spotted a truck barreling up the road toward my house — Carpenter Jang's truck.