A Side-Hustle Windfall - 6

"Pyeongcheong County carries wild animal damage insurance. If, say, a wild boar shows up like this and shatters your sunroom glass or breaks your furniture, just report the damage and we'll process your compensation promptly."

The camera, which had been filming the county office employee, swung around and pointed straight at my face.

Do a reaction!

The director mouthed silently. I swallowed my awkward expression and gave my answer.

"You really do that sort of thing?"

"Of course. We're planning to sign up for storm and flood insurance next year, too. Pyeongcheong County always does its best for its residents."

Local governments taking out insurance to protect their citizens was more common than people realized. Nowon and Geumcheon districts in Seoul offered bicycle insurance, Jeju covered 55 percent of storm-and-flood premiums, and a number of county offices in North Gyeongsang and Jeolla provinces had wild animal damage coverage.

Pyeongcheong County's insurance covered damage from wildlife, and better yet, repairs or new construction were compensated completely free of charge.

Which makes sense — the more people who move out here to build or renovate a home, the better.

From my standpoint, it was as if I'd tripped and fallen right on top of a pile of money. Honestly, the sunroom had been my one big regret after finishing the house repairs. The elders had all told me that building the house and the sunroom small kept the heating bills low, and I'd followed their advice — but once it was done, I couldn't help wishing I'd gone bigger.

Building materials these days were so good that the house held an even twenty degrees Celsius all day without the boiler running, though of course the temperature dipped once the sun went down. The sunroom was much the same. Between the double-glazed windows, the wood-burning stove, and the inner door that filtered the outside air one more time, stepping into it on even the bitterest cold days brought a rush of warmth. At some point, I'd stopped using the indoor kitchen for anything but boiling water for coffee. Grilling meat and fish in the sunroom while a pot of soup bubbled away in the cauldron out back had simply become our way of life.

I'll layer my own money on top of the county's compensation and build the sunroom bigger than before.

A wide sunroom would let me string up a hammock to sleep in come spring and fall, and maybe carve out a little spot for watching movies. Falling asleep under the stars with a film still playing — it sounded perfect.

So I turned to the camera, beamed my brightest smile, and delivered the line.

"Pyeongcheong County really is a wonderful place to live! I'm so glad I decided to settle down here."

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"Cut!"

The director reviewed the footage, then walked over to me wearing a satisfied smile.

"I'm sorry for the sudden shoot today. We've had nothing to film since the Pet Festival, and it was putting me in a tight spot."

So a wild boar crashing through my house counted as content now. Well, fair enough — I was Pyeongcheong County's first PR Ambassador. They needed a polished promotional video with me at the center of it to keep booking me for future shoots. Municipal projects almost never fell through, and once you earned a reputation for getting things done, the contracts kept coming.

The director spoke up cautiously.

"The village head mentioned you nearly got yourself killed trying to save cats when the boar charged. Would it be all right if we edited that into its own segment? It's a lovely story."

"Ah, yes... feel free to use it if you need it."

A lovely story, was it? It only happened because No. 1 dragged Chai home in the first place. But the director, apparently, had me filed away as an animal lover — a full-blown cat devotee, no less.

"I never could have done what you did, Ambassador. A boar huffing and snorting right in front of you, and you scoop up the cats and run inside? I'd have been too scared to protect anything, myself included."

"Ah, yes, well... they were pregnant cats."

"I knew it! That explains it. I couldn't imagine anyone hurling themselves into danger for stray cats otherwise."

"W-wait, just a moment."

The county employee stepped in carefully. I tilted my head.

"Is there more paperwork you need? I already submitted everything for the claim."

"No, nothing like that. We were wondering if we might use that story of yours as well."

"The county office?"

"Yes. Ever since the cat abuser made the news at the Pet Festival, searching for Pyeongcheong County brings up cat abuse as a related search term."

He went on, clearly upset that people might come away thinking an animal abuser lived in Pyeongcheong County.

"With your permission, Ambassador, we'd like to run the story as a feel-good piece in the Gangwon Shinmun and the Pyeongcheong Ilbo."

I was the one who'd caught the cat abuser at the Pet Festival, and now the whole county was getting a black eye over it. I couldn't very well refuse.

"Yes, go ahead. It's hardly some heroic tale, but if it helps people understand that Pyeongcheong County has nothing to do with cat abuse, I'm all for it."

"Thank you."

Just then, the county's PR team leader, who'd been standing behind the employee, stepped forward.

"Why don't you include a space for the cats in the sunroom renovation? You have cats due to give birth, after all. How many?"

"Three."

"Goodness, how many lives have you saved, exactly? Haha. If you're building room for kittens that haven't even been born yet, the sunroom will need to be quite a bit bigger. One moment."

The team leader picked up a landline and dialed the construction department.

"Yes, Kim Yunho's place in Ugok 1-ri. How large is the plot? Ah, uh-huh. Got it. Okay."

Hanging up, the team leader turned back to me.

"Your entire 200-pyeong field is zoned as residential land, Mr. Kim, so according to the floor area ratio, the sunroom could double in size without violating the Building Act. If you're willing, we'd like to move forward with that."

"By 'move forward,' you mean...?"

"We'll find a way to cover it as part of the county's compensation. It should take nothing more than adding a little budget on top of the insurance payout."

How was this any different from a magnificent sunroom just dropping out of the sky? Just like Grandfather Sang-jong said — I'd stumbled into a windfall.

"Yes, then please do."

Once No. 1's three wives gave birth, I'd have to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠protect the wiggling little things until they were weaned, and right now there was nowhere proper for the mothers and kittens to stay. But with the county offering to build space into the sunroom, that worry evaporated on the spot.

"We'll cover it with the Pet Festival proceeds. Oh! And the cat tower you won as first prize in the cat tunnel game should be delivered within the week."

The vendor was shipping the solid-wood cat tower directly, apparently, and it was due this week.

"When we send the tower, we'll throw in the leftover treats and supplies from the Pet Festival as well."

They had really decided to shower me with goodies, hadn't they?

"Thank you very much."

On the way out of the county office, the director spoke up.

"S-say, if you're not in a hurry today, could you stop by the smelt festival in Ugok 2-ri? Like I said, we're desperate for things to film."

"Can't you just shoot the mushroom farm tour I have scheduled for next week?"

"Oh, we'll film that too, of course. It's just... if we want to plant a little fantasy in the hearts of city folks dreaming of country life, we need some fun activities in the mix."

I glanced down at my wristwatch.

"I left the pregnant cats at the animal hospital for their checkup. I need to know when the due dates are so I can prepare."

The ultrasound could only be done at the animal hospital in the county seat, so that morning I'd loaded all three of them — No. 1 included — into the car and dropped them off for their appointment.

"Then just one hour of your time, that's all I ask. Hold a fishing rod, deliver one line. The smelt festival ends this Sunday."

"Hold on. Let me call and check on the cats first."

"What a devoted cat parent you are."

Aside from No. 1, the other cats were tolerable enough. The calico third wife, whom No. 1 guarded so jealously, was even rather pretty, I supposed.

According to the hospital, all three pregnant cats had come through their ultrasound with no issues, and they'd give me the details in person. The cats were all currently snacking and resting, the vet ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠said, so it would be better for them to settle a bit before riding home rather than being scooped up right away.

"All right, then. I'll see you in an hour and a half."

After hanging up with the animal hospital, I turned to the director.

"Looks like I can go catch some smelt. I've got an hour to spare, so let's hurry."

"Yes! Excellent!"

Didn't they get into an actual fistfight not long ago?

On the road to the Ugok 2-ri smelt festival grounds. The story went that a few restaurants near the Pyeongcheong River used to catch smelt and fry or slice them fresh for customers, and the word-of-mouth drew such crowds that they began releasing smelt fingerlings into the river to keep the supply going — which, over time, grew into the festival of today.

Apparently the newcomers and old-timers had pooled their efforts this year to put the event together. I'd spotted them chatting along the road, whistles in hand, working side by side.

So the religious group is the only one they can't get along with?

The access road leading to the land the religious organization had bought up was barricaded with concrete structures, and men stood guard in front of them. Hung from the roadside trees were banners emblazoned with words like ERADICATE and OVERTHROW.

This dispute is going to drag on for a long time.

I counted myself lucky nothing like that had broken out in our village. And a bitter taste crept into my mouth at the thought of people fighting like that while living with this beautiful nature outside their windows every single day. How could anyone?

"We're almost there. Wow, look at all those people."

Even on a weekday, the festival parking lot was nearly full. Music blared, the smell of fried smelt hung in the air, and announcements crackled over the loudspeakers. An electric, festive energy pulsed through everything, punctuated by the nonstop laughter of tourists.

"It's a workday. Don't any of these people have jobs?"

Never mind that I was the one standing here on a weekday, saying it. It just never stopped fascinating me, watching people play and lounge about while the rest of the world worked.

"I've heard some families take a day off and come out for the festival midweek, just because they want to enjoy it without the crowds."

"There's that much to see at a smelt festival?"

"Plenty to eat, that's for sure. Look over there!"

Food trucks stood in a long line along the frozen-white sweep of the Pyeongcheong River, and inside the festival grounds, more stalls churned out food in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠every direction. Crowds of people huddled together on the river ice, crouched in front of holes drilled through it.

Wiggle a fake lure into the hole and the smelt would snap at it instantly. A quick tug on the line, and up came a fish thick as a grown man's forearm.

"Dad! I caught a fish!"

"Wow, what a big one! Ask them to fry it up."

"Yeah! Sweet and sour smelt!"

"Haha. Sure, kiddo. Sweet and sour pork it is."

Bring your catch to a stall and they cleaned and fried it right there on the spot. The stall next door bustled with workers slicing smelt for raw fish, and the one beside that sold smelt-shaped fish cakes on a stick.

"I'd better get my line in the water, too."

I wanted to try the crispy fried smelt, and I was genuinely curious what raw smelt tasted like.

"Haha, you're going to be so glad you came. Oh, and one more thing — they say if you catch a smelt with a gold ring on its tail, you win the Golden Turtle."

The director pointed at the signboard.

Hook a smelt with a gold ring on its tail, and the Golden Turtle was yours.

Lucky as I supposedly am, there's no way I'm catching that.

I snorted quietly, baited my hook with the plastic lure, and dropped my line into an ice hole.