Living Happily
A week of America flexing its muscles.
Thanks to that, the Korean stock market had turned into a total shitshow.
Foreign investors pulled out like the tide in response to the news of America's harsh sanctions. Of course, the root cause was the government's and Ministry of Gender Equality's fuckups, but for the small-time retail investors watching their accounts melt away, some even spat curses laced with resentment at Ji-hoon.
Things were starting to recover now, but the fallout from that week still lingered heavily.
Especially the state of the US stock gallery, where mental states had been pulverized into dust—pure devastation.
Yes. They were losing their minds.
Dank memes everywhere, mockery and self-deprecation mixed into chaotic pandemonium. With money on the line, the rawest human emotions poured out in hilariously twisted drips from the depths of despair.
Of course, even amid the madness, there were winners.
Unlike the stock gallery showing collective psychosis from being bagholders, general communities were abuzz with renewed awe at America's overwhelming influence.
Honestly, if these sanctions had lasted just one more month, half of Korea's export industry would've collapsed.
A country that doesn't produce a drop of oil. A nation with nothing but its people and technology—it was a brutal lesson in how much it could stagger under a single sanction from the issuer of the world's reserve currency.
And the government.
They too shifted abruptly from half-assed neutral diplomacy to hardcore pragmatic realpolitik because of this incident.
If America had slapped sanctions like a random thug with no reason, anti-American sentiment would've exploded.
But this time, the justification was ironclad. 'Protecting its citizens.'
Korea had crossed a line an ally shouldn't, so the public blamed the government that caused it rather than America.
In fact, this sparked a widespread realization that you gotta stay on America's good side to eat and live, flipping attitudes even more pro-US in the free world camp.
And the most flustered by Korea's sudden pro-US pivot?
China, watching from the sidelines.
Beijing, China, Ministry of State Security (MSS) secret conference room.
The room thick with cigarette smoke was shrouded in suffocating silence.
"So..."
The old man at the head table set down his teacup and spoke.
He was Wang Hao, a top-tier figure in the Chinese Communist Party top 20, and the overall head of Korean operations.
"You're saying Korean public opinion has completely flipped?"
"......Yes."
Director Jang, the Korean branch handler standing opposite, bowed his head, sweat beading coldly.
"What the hell are the National Assembly members and activist groups we've been nurturing doing? Tell them to get off their asses and lead anti-US protests! Chant for US troop withdrawal—we've shoveled them so much cash!"
Wang Hao's voice rose.
But Director Jang replied with a troubled expression.
"That's... we can't reach them."
"What?"
"Precisely, they're dodging contact. Even the politicians and NGO leaders who've been pocketing our money are tucking tail, saying it's impossible right now, stepping up means getting buried."
"These ungrateful bastards!"
Bang!
Wang Hao slammed the desk.
Decades of slush funds poured in. Cultivating pro-China politicians, buying media, deploying comment brigades to stoke anti-US sentiment in Korea.
The result: Korea's ambiguous 'security with America, economy with China' stance, slowly tilting toward China.
Yet that towering edifice of effort crumbled overnight.
"What's the reason? Why the sudden change?"
Director Jang swallowed dryly and pulled up a photo on the screen.
Ji-hoon's photo.
"This man... Kim Ji-hoon."
"A whole nation's course changes because of one guy? Writing fiction?"
"When he was illegally detained by Korean police, America pulled out ultra-heavy sanctions: visa restrictions and deportations."
Director Jang flipped through the report, continuing.
"The moment US sanctions hit, Korean stocks tanked and the exchange rate skyrocketed. The public woke up. Realized it's not China, but America, that holds their economy by the balls."
"......"
"Ideology crumbles before hunger. With companies on the brink of bankruptcy, even pro-China folks flipped pro-US to survive. Shout anti-US in Korea now, and you're branded a traitor."
Wang Hao's face hardened coldly.
Infuriating.
Northeast Project, cultural infiltration, real estate buys... All those meticulously laid plans to turn Korea into a vassal state, undone by one man's butterfly effect.
As long as America doesn't ditch Korea, and Korea doesn't forget America's might, touching Korea was off-limits for the foreseeable future.
"Kim Ji-hoon..."
Wang Hao glared piercingly at the photo.
Quiet, but murderous intent flickered in his eyes.
"This one fucker... set our great cause back five years."
He irritably ground out his cigarette in the ashtray.
The ember crushed and died.
"Director Jang."
"Yes."
"Dig into this guy."
Wang Hao's voice dropped low.
"Is he just a lucky bastard, or America's planted pawn? Ransack down to his eighth cousin."
"Understood. Dispatching agents immediately."
"And."
Wang Hao stood and gazed out the window.
"Monitor him. What he does back in America. If necessary..."
He trailed off, but Director Jang got the message.
Anyone obstructing the Chinese Communist Party was never safe, wherever they were.
"Kim Ji-hoon, huh..."
Seoul Bukchon, upscale Korean banquet hall 'Handamwon'.
This place where reservations were like plucking stars from the sky had firmly closed its doors today.
A sign at the entrance read '[Closed today for family event]', but the large banquet hall in the annex was packed to the gills.
"Bro, you said it'd be simple?"
Ji-hoon was floored.
The scene before him was anything but simple.
Hundreds of guests. Distant cousins, uncles, nephews galore.
Like a clan association gathering, everyone under the broad umbrella of 'family' had swarmed like clouds.
For a yangban household, 'family gathering' operated on a different scale from common sense.
But the mood was solemn.
Still within Grandma's 49th day rites.
By strict rules, joyous events should be avoided, but the elders thought differently.
'Who knows when he'll come back from America—better have him properly greet the ancestors and kin before he goes.'
'Mother always dreamed of receiving bows from her grandkids and daughter-in-law; at least show her in front of the portrait.'
That's how this event came about.
Not just a simple wedding, but a final farewell to Grandma and a rite heralding a new beginning.
In the bridal waiting room at the back of the annex.
"Oh my god..."
"Like a doll, a living doll."
Aunts, uncles' wives, cousins' wives.
The family's women surrounded Lily, exclamations nonstop.
Lily wore a red hwalot, traditional Korean bridal attire.
Ornate gold-embroidered patterns, wide sleeves. A jokduri headdress on her head, red rouge dots on her cheeks.
Any ordinary foreigner might look awkward, but Lily was different.
Her congenital albinism: snow-white skin and silver hair like her eyes.
That ethereal palette contrasted fiercely with the red, making her look like a fairy leaped from a folktale.
"Lily, uncomfortable?"
Mother Choi Mi-hee adjusted the jokduri and asked.
"I'm fine!"
Lily couldn't tear her eyes from her reflection.
"Alright, time to go. Groom's waiting."
"Groom, enter!" With the emcee's booming voice, Ji-hoon strode in, clad in formal samogwan-da.
Imposing figure.
Back from rough times in America, his face radiated leisure and dignity.
Applause erupted from the guests.
And then.
"Bride, enter!"
Lily, in resplendent multicolored hanbok, stepped forward carefully, supported by matrons.
The moment she appeared, the murmuring hall fell silent.
So alien, yet breathtakingly beautiful.
Ji-hoon smiled at Lily.
They faced each other.
Following traditional rites: bows to each other.
Gyobae-rye (prayer). The bow of mutual respect and vow for a hundred years together.
Up to sharing the nuptial cup in hapgeun-rye (Heqin Ceremony).
The elders nodded with pleased smiles at every move.
And the finale.
The most important part remained.
Ji-hoon took Lily's hand and headed to the head table.
An empty chair sat there, unoccupied.
Atop it, Grandma's portrait smiled radiantly.
Ji-hoon and Lily stood before it.
Not the somber funeral portrait.
Today, she was a guest at her grandson's wedding.
"Grandma."
Ji-hoon called softly.
"I'm getting married."
"......"
"This is my bride. Pretty, right? You'd have loved her."
His voice trembled slightly.
Not from sorrow.
From overwhelming longing and resolve.
Lily spoke in halting Korean, deliberate.
"Grandma... I'm Lily. I'll live... happily with husband."
They bowed deeply to the photo.
Father Kim Seongtae's eyes reddened watching; Mother Choi Mi-hee quietly wiped tears.
Guests watched the poignant moment of farewell and union in reverent silence.
Ji-hoon looked up, meeting eyes with Grandma in the photo.
Look, Grandma. I've met someone wonderful, starting anew with so many blessings.
He vowed firmly in his heart.
Revenge was over.
Now, as Grandma said, only living happily remained.
Showing the world—louder than anyone—that he was the happiest man alive.
That was true filial piety to the grandmother who loved him fiercely.
Ji-hoon gripped Lily's hand tight and stood.
Waaaaah!
Thunderous applause filled Handamwon.
Ji-hoon and Lily, beaming, walked into the crowd showering blessings amid the cheers.
The long, stormy saga in Korea had passed.
Perfect sunshine finally broke through.