Trait Enhancement - 3
"I'm going to step out and take a phone call."
I stepped outside through the front door, heading for the guest room beside the front gate.
The place had originally served as a stable, but I had renovated it from top to bottom until it looked prettier than most pension suites. I'd kept cats out of it on purpose, intending it for my parents whenever they came to visit. For now, though, I'd decided to yield it to Chai. I was using the bedroom myself, and the cats had claimed the study, so there really wasn't anywhere else for him to stay.
Still, no matter how nicely it's furnished, an empty room is bound to feel a little cold.
I figured I should turn on the boiler in advance. Pressing the call button, I crossed the yard.
"Hello, Mr. Moon. Have you had dinner yet?"
"I have a drinks engagement, so I'm on my way there now. And have you eaten, Representative Kim?"
Moon Sung-il, ever the master of social graces, greeted me with impeccable courtesy.
"I'm just about to start on dinner myself."
"I hope you enjoy it. The reason I'm calling so suddenly is—"
His voice took on a serious note; it seemed the real business talk was about to begin.
"I assume you've heard that a buyer has emerged through Representative Lee Ho-young, looking to purchase the Bihwarok. Out of respect for your opinion, we declined — and in response, they've come back with a new condition."
So the four-term National Assembly member had offered three billion won for the Bihwarok? When that offer was rejected, they apparently returned to the table with something else.
"What's the condition?"
"Five hundred million won in exchange for keeping the Bihwarok out of public view for two years. After that, they say they won't care what happens to it."
"So they wouldn't buy it even at three billion, but they'll pay just to have it sit in a drawer?"
"That's right. It seems to be about the election."
The four-term Assemblyman had spent years cultivating an image as a scion of a scholarly family that had devoted itself to the nation since the mid-Joseon period. Now he was apparently planning to make a run for the presidency in the election coming up in a year and a half. Even if he fell short in the party primaries, he could secure another term in the Assembly, and if the government changed hands, he seemed to have his eye on a cabinet post.
And all that is worth five hundred million to him?
In other words, he was offering money in return for an embargo.
Moon Sung-il went on.
"Another buyer has appeared as well. The elder madam of a chaebol family that operates one of Korea's three great museums has offered five billion."
"Five billion."
There really were a lot of wealthy people in this world. Then again, Moon Sung-il himself had paid 1.2 billion for a white porcelain piece just to display in his sitting room, so who was I to talk?
"The elder madam is determined to have it precisely because it's a Bihwarok written in code — the first of its kind in Korea. Drag things out a bit, and we might be able to squeeze out even more."
"No. Let's end it here."
Haggling between a politician and a chaebol matriarch didn't strike me as a good idea — especially not with a document like the Bihwarok, which could become ammunition against a presidential hopeful.
"Let's sell it to the chaebol elder madam for five billion — and on top of that, impose the two-year embargo and collect another five hundred million from the Assemblyman."
"I'm sorry — you want to take money from both of them?"
"Yes."
The four-term Assemblyman had an election in the offing, so he wanted the Bihwarok kept out of the public eye for two years and had put up five hundred million as the price. But notice — he never said the Bihwarok's owner couldn't change hands. And the chaebol elder madam simply wanted the coded Bihwarok from the mid-Joseon period in her possession.
Which means a contract with a clause like "keep it private for two years" won't stop the sale from going through.
So all I had to do was sell to the madam for five billion while stipulating that it remain undisclosed to the world for two years. That was how you collected from both sides without making an enemy of either.
When I finished explaining, Moon Sung-il burst out laughing, declaring himself in awe of my cleverness.
"How do you come up with these things? I'd been thinking it was all or nothing. But done your way, it seems we can have every last bit of the profit."
"Then let's proceed that way."
"I knew partnering with you was the right call, Representative Kim."
He sang my praises for a good while before composing himself.
"Once a letter arrives from the Moritake side, I'll consult you again."
"Of course. Call me anytime."
"Ah — one more thing! The Moritake side has sent a gift, apparently."
I'd already heard about it through Lee Ho-young, so I answered with a light laugh.
"Something like that, yes."
"You can look forward to it. I only heard a little myself, but — wow. It's extraordinary. I'll keep quiet about what it is, so you can be moved by it in person."
Was he trying to kill me with curiosity? Still, I'd decided not to ask. A deal worth 5.5 billion was taking shape on the strength of a few words from me right now. Half the profit was mine, and no matter how fine a gift might be, it wasn't going to be worth 2.7 billion. Besides, if the Moritake side had sent it, it would arrive soon enough.
Brrr. It's cold.
Stepping into the guest room, I was grateful at least to be out of the wind. My ears were so cold they throbbed. The weather had warmed briefly during the day, only for a brutal cold snap to crash back down. If Chai had spent a night like this one hiding inside the closet of an abandoned house, he could easily have suffered frostbite or hypothermia — real harm.
As I switched on the boiler mounted on the wall, I spoke into the phone.
"By any chance, could you recommend a capable detective or lawyer? It seems there's an assault case and a fraud case involving a foreign worker that need looking into."
"A foreign worker?"
"Yes."
I gave him a brief account of my encounter with Chai. Having listened calmly all the way through, Moon Sung-il said:
"Times like this, Representative Kim, you really do seem hopelessly pure and kind-hearted."
Who's pure? Just as I opened my mouth to explain that I was no such person—
"And yet at other times you strike me as a schemer, coldly rational without a trace of blood or tears."
You're no pushover yourself, Mr. Moon. Ha.
I laughed.
"Depends on who I'm dealing with. I believe in showing the weak a chance, and showing the wicked a bitter taste."
"Truly admirable! And you can afford to do it, since you have the means."
"Well, you've built me up this much — I suppose I'll have to see it through to the end. I do want to help Chai."
"I've heard that violent crimes — assault, drugs, fraud — are only increasing among foreign workers. There's an extremely capable lawyer I've been working with on exactly these matters."
Moon Sung-il's connections never failed to impress. He said he would ask after the lawyer's schedule by tomorrow at the latest and have him contact me.
"Then I'll leave it in your hands."
After hanging up with Moon Sung-il, I went back inside. The sweet-and-sour aroma of pad thai brushed pleasantly against my nose.
"There you are. This fellow stir-fried us some noodles — an awfully curious flavor, I'd say. It suits soju better than makgeolli, if you ask me, but give it a try."
"Yes, sir."
The pad thai Chai had whipped up was genuinely delicious.
"It tastes just like what I've had at Thai restaurants."
"Boss, it's good? I make again tomorrow."
"Please do. I'll take care of the legal matters myself, nice and slow, so don't you worry."
"Thank you, Boss. No— Yoonho hyung."
Chai's eyes reddened as he bowed his head toward me again and again.
"Come, come! Everyone, a toast. I don't know how long you'll be staying, but — anyone who eats at the same table is family."
"Yes, sir."
"You do jjak, right? One shot! I know this one."
"You know that? Well then, you've learned everything."
Grandpa Hosik clinked his cup against Chai's and my makgeolli bowls with a cheerful tung.
What will it taste like?
I'd tried the soju he brewed himself, but never his makgeolli. Curious, I took a mouthful.
Low on fizz. Definitely less sweet than the makgeolli you'd buy at the store. But what was this? The aroma of fermentation nunung through my mouth was wonderfully smooth. With no aspartame in it, there was a faint bitterness — yet not the slightest heavy, cloying aftertaste.
It's a bit like... rice wine blended with makgeolli?
I was on my second sip when I suddenly looked up.
"It might taste even better mixed with cider — you know, the lemon-lime soda — or maybe sparkling water."
"Really? Go on then, mix it yourself and let's see. Truth be told, every time I drink my own makgeolli I've thought something about it was missing."
I fetched the soda from the refrigerator and poured it into my makgeolli. One taste, and my eyes went wide — it was that good.
"That's it. Sweetness and fizz. Try it."
I urged them to sample the concoction I'd just mixed.
"Oh! That's good!"
"Delicious, Yoonho hyung!"
Chai, too, was raving about the soda-spiked makgeolli — apparently it suited his palate.
"Well then — shall we toast again, as a nation?"
"Why not?"
Cheers!
With the homemade makgeolli, Chai's pad thai, and the kimchi pancakes I'd whipped up on the spot, the dinner table carried on late into the evening.
"Shall I put on some music?"
I had finally finished assembling my vacuum tube amplifier a little while ago. I'd debated going with a transistor amp, but I loved classical music, and so I'd chosen tubes. When you power them on, the filament inside a vacuum tube heats up and releases electrons, and that warmth lends the sound a soft, gentle quality. It was the magic that only a tube amp could conjure.
Tonight's selection: Andrea Bocelli's Caruso.
Andrea Bocelli had lost his sight completely to congenital glaucoma, yet his beautiful voice had moved countless people around the world.
And I count myself among them.
The moment I switched on the power, Bocelli's tenor flowed gently through the tubes and out into the room.
"Well, I'll be! Can't make out a blessed word of it, and still it cuts right to the heart."
"It's a beautiful song."
"Yes. A truly beautiful piece."
Outside the window, snowflakes had begun to drift down without my noticing. I took a sip of makgeolli and savored the night.
What a truly wonderful night this is.
A little while later, Grandpa Hosik rubbed his sleepy eyes and headed home, and I guided Chai to the guest room.
"You'll stay here for the time being."
"You be blessed, Yoonho hyung. I pray blessing for you."
"Oh, hush. Get some sleep."
Just as I turned to leave, Chai spoke up quickly.
"Um, hyung. Can I make shrine?"
"A shrine?"
"San Phra Phuum. Must pray, then ancestor protect me. Phi Tai Hong scary. People die."
It seemed to be a traditional Thai belief. According to Chai, you built a little spirit house out of wood and placed a figure of the guardian spirit inside. That structure was the San Phra Phuum — and only by offering clean water, flowers, and food at the shrine and praying would the ancestor spirit protect you.
"Must make shrine and pray."
"There's no shrine here yet, so just leave out some water and food and sleep. Tomorrow morning I'll go to the township center and buy everything you need to build one."
"Okay."
Only then did Chai relax, breaking into a bright smile.
"Oh — one more thing. When you left the farm in Ugok 2-ri, did you happen to see any strangers?"
The tomb robber who had stolen the reliquary artifacts from Wol-sang Temple had last been traced to Ugok 2-ri. Chai had lived there for the past three years, so if any unfamiliar faces had shown up, he would surely have noticed.
"Saw strangers. Came down mountain secret, went up."
"Strangers — more than one?"
Not just one person, but several? At my question, Chai nodded.
"They come down from mountain, then go back up. Boss owner say to me: what you looking at! Look somewhere else!"
"Who's this boss owner? I should have asked before. You said you grew watermelons and tomatoes in Ugok 2-ri for three years. Whose farm was it?"
"Boss Ma Chang-guk."
The name rang a bell.
Where did I hear that?
As I frowned, trying to place it, Chai answered.
"Village chief. He my village chief."
"That's right — Ma Chang-guk!"
The village chief of Ugok 2-ri, the man who had shown up when I went to receive first prize at the mountain trout festival — his name had been Ma Chang-guk. And supposedly, a religious organization called Cheonrigyo was headquartered in the mountains of Ugok 2-ri.
Was the tomb robber connected to Cheonrigyo? I was just thinking that the strangers Chai had seen might not have been the robber at all, but Cheonrigyo's people—
"There was woman's earring inside the Buddha statue."