The Porcelain Deal
"One hundred million won! I'll buy this porcelain from you. Name your price!"
Lee Ho-young clutched the white porcelain to his chest, his possessiveness on full display.
"A hundred million?"
"Haha, surprised, aren't you? I've always been a man of big appetites... Gahk!"
I yanked the porcelain out of his arms without waiting to hear the rest of it and tucked it back inside the tent.
"Get out."
"Wait, why—"
"Why?"
I could only snort at the sheer absurdity of it. This was a late-Joseon blue-and-white porcelain piece that would have gone under the hammer in New York for at least 980 million won. Not that I insisted on being paid that exact price, mind you.
A fair value would be determined by its worth at the time of creation, its state of preservation, its artistic merit, and so on. A proper appraisal from an antique specialist would settle on an appropriate figure. But even so, the mere fact that a late-Joseon porcelain had survived intact had to count for something, didn't it?
Where on earth he'd pulled the number "one hundred million" from, I had no idea.
And besides, I can't exactly claim the porcelain as mine.
It was a gift former village chief Jeon had given to the go-stop granny. He'd told her that caring for her husband, felled by a stroke, would be too much for her—so here, use this as a chamber pot.
Then when the husband passed away, the granny had given the thing a cursory rinse and left it out by the peddler's stand.
Which means, if we're being strict about ownership, the go-stop granny is the rightful owner.
Granted, she had shoved the porcelain into my hands just last night, telling me to take it. But that didn't mean I could go declaring it mine on the spot. It wasn't like the thing was rotting away, and it certainly didn't have legs to run off on its own.
I figured I needed to sit on this for a while. Antiques only appreciate with time, after all.
"Who cares about reasons? I'm telling you I'm not selling."
"And I'm asking why not?"
"Because I don't feel like it. I cleaned up that metal detector over there for you, so take it and go."
I pointed at the metal detector I'd left neatly under the tarp.
"So you didn't find the meteorite either?"
"Even if I had, I wouldn't do business with you, Mr. Lee."
"What? Why not?"
"Because I don't feel like it."
I stretched, stoked charcoal into the brazier, and lit a fire. I'd been brewing the reishi mushrooms an elderly villager had given me and drinking the broth, gently reheated, every morning.
At first I'd thrown in so many mushrooms it was undrinkably bitter. Wasn't there a saying that too much of anything makes you sick? After a bout of stomach pain, I cut the amount down to a quarter and added dried jujubes and dried persimmons.
The jujubes and persimmons had dried on their own after I picked them from the trees and laid them out. Sunshine, wind, and crisp autumn air—nature's own generosity.
"Ahh, that's the stuff."
I blew on the warmed reishi brew and took a sip, and warmth spread through my body. My stomach glowed, a light sheen of sweat formed at the tip of my nose, and my sluggish body felt like it was waking back to life.
"Two hundred million."
"Go on, get out."
"Three hundred million."
"Hah—seriously!"
I glared at him, my face twisted in a scowl.
"At least five hundred—"
"Oh, come on!"
Only when I picked up a stone did Lee Ho-young finally lower himself, crouching down to the ground.
"I-I'm not trying to lowball you, honestly. I majored in philosophy, so I'm not a certified antique appraiser. Ancient texts I can authenticate—I've studied those hard. But the porcelain's exact price is... hard to state right now."
"Honghak University, Philosophy, Class of 2014."
"Gahk!"
As I rattled off his alma mater without missing a beat, astonishment washed over Lee Ho-young's face.
"How did you—"
"The internet!"
I'd done a little digging using the business card he'd given me. Whether Miho Gallery was a properly registered business, how many employees it had. Details on Lee Ho-young himself, too.
Seriously, he registered himself in that Naver people dictionary and then acts all shocked? Unbelievable.
Granted, his profile only listed his university. He'd kept his class year private since it would reveal his age. But a quick rummage through his Facebook and Byulstar turned up his class year soon enough.
"I went to Sogwang University, right next to Honghak, history department. So going strictly by class year, I'm your senior, Mr. Lee."
"Ah-ha. I see."
It was a connection with absolutely nothing behind it. The sum total of it was that Honghak University and Sogwang University happened to be near each other.
But it reinforced the point: what we had between us wasn't just a chance meeting in some backwater village.
"If I dig a little deeper, I bet I'd turn up at least ten people who know both you and me. So let's not try to scam each other, shall we?"
"I-I'm not trying to scam anyone, I genuinely don't know the price. We'd need a professional appraisal to get an accurate figure, that's all."
"Then why are you just throwing numbers around?"
What I'd learned from staying up all night with bloodshot eyes was exactly how antique transactions were actually conducted. High-value antiques or artworks almost never changed hands directly between private parties.
For one thing, there was a high chance of counterfeits, and there were cases where an authentic piece got swapped for a fake somewhere in the middle. Above all, enormous sums of cash moved around, and the deals closed in secret.
The moment a transaction went public, you inherited a whole tangle of problems—security, taxes, and more. That was why galleries and dealers acted as intermediaries, to keep things from going wrong in high-value deals.
I took another sip of the reishi brew and spoke in a leisurely tone.
"If it goes through an auction house as an intermediary, I might consider it."
"A-an auction house?"
"A firm that belongs to the Korean Antique Association would be fine."
I was a former banker. I'd seen countless people go bankrupt over a single misplaced signature on a loan document.
I'd watched people get robbed blind with their eyes wide open more times than I could count. So my philosophy was simple: never, ever enter a risky transaction.
"Safe trading is best, no? Even on Carrot Market, that's rule number one."
I fetched another cup and poured some of the reishi tea into it.
"That said—depending on how my junior here conducts himself, he might just get a chance to touch that meteorite."
"I knew it! I had a feeling you'd found the meteorite, Sunbae-nim. That's exactly why I left the metal detector behind."
"I know."
I nodded and handed the cup to Lee Ho-young.
"You didn't want to let on in front of your companions that I might have it, right? Then competitors would spring up."
"Precisely. That's why I told all my friends we were leaving and that I'd come back for the metal detector. I was hoping you'd catch the meaning behind those words."
Lee Ho-young swallowed hard, drooling at the prospect of a meteorite deal.
"So make it airtight."
"Yes sir! We'll bring in a trustworthy firm as intermediary, have the porcelain formally appraised, then close the deal."
"Honestly, can't you understand plain language!"
I furrowed my brow.
"Mr. Lee, you just take your commission."
"I'm sorry? I'm not buying the porcelain?"
"Ha—this guy. Hey! Class of 2014, Lee Ho-young!"
Angry that the man simply could not let go of his greed, I hardened my expression.
"I could get it appraised and sell it through the auction house myself. Could I not?"
"W-well, yes."
"Then why would I go out of my way to insert you into the deal?"
"Th-that would be to... keep my identity from being exposed... and to get a somewhat higher price?"
"Exactly. So all you do is broker."
The moment Lee Ho-young decided he wanted to buy the porcelain himself, he'd try every trick to hammer the price down. But sitting in the position where he collected a brokerage fee, he'd be motivated to engineer the highest possible sale.
And since I know next to nothing about antiques, if he handles the legwork, I won't have to worry about a thing.
In exchange—
"Here's the deal: satisfy me with the porcelain transaction, and you might get the chance to buy the meteorite."
"A-aaah."
For the porcelain, commission only—nothing more. Even that alone was pure profit for Lee Ho-young. Do that job well, and the meteorite could be his.
Having belatedly grasped my meaning, Lee Ho-young nodded his head vigorously.
"Understood. If you give me your number, I'll head straight up to Seoul and keep you updated on how things are progressing."
"Sounds good."
I found Lee Ho-young's number—already saved in my phone—and pressed the call button.
Ziiing, ziiing.
When his phone buzzed, I spoke.
"That's my number. I'd advise you not to get any funny ideas. I have a very, very powerful backing behind me."
And what a backing it was—a whole host of ghosts were watching over me. The grandmother's spirit dwelling in the porcelain had even said the energy of the universe itself was aligned with me.
"Ah, I did suspect as much. Rare porcelain like that doesn't fall into just anyone's hands. But where on earth did you come by it?"
I couldn't exactly tell him it had been sitting at the go-stop granny's place disguised as a chamber pot.
"Trade secret."
"Ah, of course, of course."
"Finish that and get moving, would you? I'm a busy man."
I've got a pot of rice to cook, after all.
"Ah, yes. Gulp! Wait, isn't this reishi? Wild-grown, surely? Thank you."
Lee Ho-young drained the reishi brew I'd handed him in one go and headed back to Seoul.
He would surely hunt down every avenue to broker the porcelain at a handsome price and pocket his commission. And then he'd come straight back to me for the meteorite deal.
One was all I needed to sell. The remaining three meteorites I could sell later, or leave to my descendants.
The money from the porcelain—best to give it to the go-stop granny.
I was already rich. The 1.5 billion won I'd invested through a carefully built portfolio was growing all on its own. And the four meteorites sitting in my personal safe would transform into a fortune the moment they saw the light of day.
"Let's not get greedy."
Having made my decision, my heart felt lighter.
Come to think of it, I'm getting hungry.
I scooped the rice I'd soaked the day before into a pot, set it on the charcoal fire, and headed down to the stream.
The morning air was turning colder by the day, yet for some reason the stream water was lukewarm.
Maybe it's from that spring-fed vein?
I washed my face and dug up some dalrae wild chives sprawling all over the ground.
Only found out recently that this stuff is called dalrae, haha.
The thread-thin leaves drooped every which way, so I'd assumed it was just weeds—until I saw an old woman digging it up, calling it dalrae. I dug up a few roots alongside her and found the bulbs perfectly round, with an incredible fragrance.
"Go pick some zucchini and peppers and eat them. Along with the peppers."
There was a plot near the stream that Madam Han Su-ja tended. She'd told me to come help myself anytime I wanted, as much as I liked—so I picked a squash and some peppers and headed back to the tent.
"Wow, the rice came out perfectly!"
I'd used only a little charcoal and plugged the holes of the brazier, and somewhere in between, a pot of sticky, glossy rice had finished cooking.
Now for the stew. I poured water into a pot, added anchovies and kelp, and built up the charcoal fire.
There was still plenty of the cheonggukjang the village granny had given me a while back. She'd said she'd boiled soybeans she grew herself and fermented them with rice straw.
When I first received it, the sticky strands were all clumped together; now it had fermented properly, giving off that distinctive sharp, pungent cheonggukjang aroma.
"If I made this at home back in the city, the neighbors would lose their minds."
Once the water came to a boil, I fished out the kelp and dissolved in the cheonggukjang. I chopped the squash and peppers into hearty chunks and snipped the dalrae into fat pieces with scissors.
It already smells amazing?
I'd been setting aside a little of my dinner each evening for the folks in the abandoned house, leaving it in the kitchen.
The old man in the New Village cap told me to do it only until they moved in, but I've been making sure they get a meal every single day.
My own peace of mind came first, after all. One meal a day—consider it intermittent fasting on their part.
Breakfast is mine alone to enjoy.
While the cheonggukjang bubbled, I mixed soy sauce with sesame oil, sugar, and chili flakes, sliced the dalrae into it, and folded it over the rice. A sigh of admiration escaped me on its own.
"Ah, this is delicious."
As the stew came to a rolling boil, the rich fragrance of dalrae filled the air.
"Ooh, hot, hot! Aaah—now this is the taste."
Fresh-cooked rice with cheonggukjang and dalrae sauce—it went down without end. And yet my stomach felt light. It even warmed my heart.
"I'm happy!"
After breakfast, I lingered over a cup of coffee, savoring the moment. The weather was spectacular, and the wind blew just pleasantly enough.
Rattle-rattle, rattle-rattle.
From up in the mountains came the sound of chestnuts and acorns dropping. Tomorrow I'd gather chestnuts and toss a fistful into the rice pot. Just thinking about sweet, fluffy chestnut rice put a smile on my face.
"Let's go do the dishes at the go-stop granny's place today."
I could just as easily wash up at the stream, but I needed to see her. To figure out what to do once the substantial money from the porcelain sale came in, it seemed best to hear her thoughts and lay out a plan in advance.
Time to put my banker skills to work and build her a proper portfolio.
People won the lottery only for knife fights to break out between family members; couples who'd lived happily for decades ended up divorced. When money set children against each other, sometimes it was better not to have any at all.
I should share some with her children too, and get her house repaired...
If I could make her remaining years comfortable and abundant, I was sure it would gladden my heart as well.
But then—
"G-Granny? Why do you have a flower in your hair?"