Two Guests, Two Pieces of News (2)
One a master artisan, the other a vile swindler.
It made no sense whatsoever. Birds of a feather flock together, as the old saying went; people naturally kept company with their own kind. No matter how I racked my brain, a true master artisan and a petty fraudster were two breeds that simply didn't belong in the same sentence, let alone in each other's presence.
"Are you certain one of them is a true master?"
"Indeed, my young friend," Songha replied. "Mmm... their scents mingled so tightly I doubted my own senses at first, but there is no mistake."
"Bah! 'Tis because some foul, reeking stink of shit got tangled up with the fine aroma, that's why! Ptui! Ack! And both of 'em are so strong they'd knock a bull over!"
Both scents were overwhelmingly powerful. And if Moktong had picked up the exact same stench alongside Songha's refined nose, there was zero doubt about what was waiting outside.
Sure enough, the heavy door of the aging cellar flew open with a bang, and Sejun stumbled back in, panting for breath.
"Yeonwoo! Did you hear anything about visitors coming today?"
"Huh? No, nothing. Who's out there?"
"Yeah... they're standing right outside the main gate. But, well, the thing is... um..."
"What is it? What's the matter?"
Clearly flustered out of his wits, Sejun fidgeted for a long moment. Finally, steeling himself with a deep, shuddering breath, he blurted out, "They're both foreigners..."
"Ah."
"They don't speak a lick of Korean... and you know my English is basically nonexistent..."
Sejun had been blessed from birth with a body built like an ox—strong, sturdy, and endlessly energetic. But as the saying goes, God never gives with both hands. Even a man who could hoist a hefty wooden aging barrel with effortless ease had an Achilles' heel, and that was foreign languages. From the sound of it, he had exhausted every gesture and piece of body language in his repertoire trying to communicate, failed miserably, and scrambled here in pure desperation.
"I thought about asking the others, but... everyone looks swamped, so..."
"Don't worry about it. I'll go check it out. Just keep an eye on things here for me."
"You got it! Absolutely! Leave it to me!"
With the tension visibly lifting from his shoulders and a relieved grin restored to his face, Sejun hurried off.
A master artisan and a swindler, and both of them foreigners?
"I'll have to go see what brought them all the way out here."
"Can you speak the Westerners' tongue, my young friend?"
"There were plenty of times I needed it."
Back when Sejun and I had banded together to tour breweries and distilleries across the globe, our biggest bottleneck had always been the language barrier. What good was burning curiosity when you couldn't understand the answers? Without speaking the language of the land, you could never extract the vivid, unvarnished wisdom behind the craft. Because of that, I had resolved to master at least English, burying myself in study until I was fluent.
"Let's go see them."
Just as Sejun had described, two distinct silhouettes stood by the main gate. Having likely hailed a taxi all the way from town, the two men stood there on foot with no car in sight. One was an older gentleman with neatly swept-back gray hair, gazing around the surrounding scenery with pure admiration. The other wore a sour grimace—looking as if he had just chewed on a bitter dung beetle—grumbling ceaselessly under his breath.
Even at a first glance, it took no genius to tell who was the master artisan and who was the swindler.
"Hello there. May I ask what brings you gentlemen here?"
"Oh! Good day to you, lad. Do you happen to know the owner of this establishment?"
Fortunately, the older man inquired in clear English. Meanwhile, the East Asian man standing beside him offered neither greeting nor response, merely glaring at me with narrow, appraising eyes.
"I am Song Yeonwoo, the master and owner of Songhadang."
"What?"
"Hontō ni?"
At the mention of my name, both men reacted with unmistakable shock. As I tilted my head, studying their strangely familiar faces, the white-haired elder was the first to extend a hearty hand.
"I had no idea the proprietor of Songhadang would be such a young man! Ha-ha! My name is Eddie Brook."
"...Murata Naguchi. Spirits critic."
"Excuse me?"
The moment the names left their lips, I froze in place.
No wonder their faces had rung a bell. It wasn't because I had ever crossed paths with them before; it was simply that anyone who loved liquor, or worked anywhere near the industry, could never fail to recognize these titans.
"You're truly Eddie Brook? The Master Distiller Eddie Brook?"
"Ha-ha. I'm retired from the stills these days, so I'm just Eddie Brook."
"And... you're really Mr. Murata Naguchi...?"
"Hmph."
Who was Eddie Brook? A living legend who plunged into the whisky trade at seventeen, amassing decades of peerless craftsmanship until his name became synonymous with the craft itself. With only slight exaggeration, every single distillery he graced had walked away crowned with the Whisky of the Year accolade. His footprint on the history of spirits was monumental.
Murata Naguchi was similarly renowned, though not without controversy. While he could never escape criticism for his steep cultural snobbery and fierce chauvinism, his sheer talent was beyond dispute. Possessing an uncanny palate and a god-given sense of smell, he was an elite critic capable of dissecting the faintest nuances of any spirit without the slightest margin of error.
That figures of such international stature even knew Songhadang existed was staggering enough. But to have them standing right here at our doorstep, together? I half-wanted to pinch myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming.
"May I ask what brought you all the way out here?"
"Ah, forgive my impatience, lad! Ha-ha. Would it be possible to meet the master distiller behind your Meari and Dalvorde?"
"Indeed," Naguchi chimed in sharply. "There must be an artisan of extraordinary caliber behind those creations. I have business to discuss with him."
For a second, their words didn't compute.
Master distiller? Brewer?
They were speaking as if the person who designed and crafted those spirits were someone else entirely.
"That would be me."
"Eh? What did you say?"
"I am the owner and the master brewer of Songhadang."
"Well, I'll be... You mean... you...?"
Eddie Brook stared at me, his jaw dropping in open disbelief.
While I was still trying to fathom why such a legendary master was reacting like this, Naguchi exploded.
"Nonsense! Absolute rubbish! You expect me to believe an uncivilized Chosenjin like you brewed those extraordinary spirits? Preposterous! I will see the truth for myself!"
Flushed red with irrational fury, snorting and huffing like an angry bull, Naguchi barged forward. He shoved past me and made a beeline straight toward the interior of Songhadang.
Yet he didn't make it two paces.
Crash!
"Guh-ack!"
As if yanked back by the collar by an invisible hand, he tumbled backward and slammed flat on his backside in the most comical heap imaginable.
Well, invisible to mortal eyes—to mine, the cause was clear as day.
"I can stomach a fair share of insults, but that foul mouth has crossed the line," Songha said coolly, dusting off his hands. "I will not permit such a creature to step foot within my grounds."
"Tsk! Look at Songha being soft again!" Moktong fumed beside him, spitting in indignation. "Had that miserable dog dared poke his snout into my aging cellar, I'd have flipped him over my shoulder and snapped his spine in two! Damned scoundrel ought to be drawn and quartered!"
Songha had seized Naguchi by the scruff of his neck and thrown him backward onto the dirt, while Moktong stood beside him, venting his fury. As the dokkaebi embodying the very grounds of Songhadang, Songha had no trouble exercising physical authority on his own turf.
"Wh-what?! Who pulled me?!"
"Come now, Mr. Naguchi... that is quite enough..."
"I am telling you, someone yanked me from behind!"
"Good grief..."
Eddie Brook pressed a palm to his forehead and let out a deep, exasperated sigh. He muttered something under his breath in Scottish slang, though my English wasn't quite sharp enough to catch the exact colloquialism.
"I must apologize on his behalf, lad. Your name was..."
"Song Yeonwoo."
"Aye, Mr. Yeonwoo. If it isn't an imposition... might we take a look inside Songhadang?"
"Of course. By all means."
A visit from none other than a legendary master distiller. How could I possibly refuse? The only slight concern was that we hadn't finished tidying up the aging cellar after bottling the Hongya, but aside from that, Songhadang was always spotless, breathing an aura of quiet serenity. There was no reason to hesitate.
"And, eh... my deepest apologies, but would it be all right if that fellow joins us as well...?"
"Certainly. He may come in."
Hmph! Impossible! Absolutely impossible!
Long after stepping inside the boundaries of Songhadang, Murata Naguchi’s mind churned in fierce denial. There was no way in hell a tiny, cramped rural brewery like this could have produced such sublime masterpieces. And even if it had...
Even if it did, it must have been an employee that Chosenjin hired! To brew such ambrosia in such a pathetic, impoverished backwater... that brewer must be a magnificent master artisan!
Clinging desperately to this self-contradicting, willful delusion, Naguchi cast his eyes over the surroundings. Mountains rose on all sides like a folding screen. Pure, crystalline water wound down gracefully from the upper valleys. Wildflowers blossomed brightly along the entryway, while stately trees shed their autumn leaves in quiet preparation for winter.
The location itself is admittedly exceptional.
Japan had a distillery blessed with a similar terrain—the Hakushu Distillery. Known far and wide as the "Forest Distillery," over eighty percent of its sprawling grounds was deliberately left untouched to preserve the natural ecosystem. Its average temperature ran roughly five degrees Celsius cooler year-round, and its water, filtered through soft granite, possessed an exquisite softness that lent unmatched grace to its spirits.
Yet Songhadang's terroir conceded nothing to Hakushu. Cradled by forested peaks, nourished by pristine upstream streams, and imbued with an inexplicable, tranquil energy that hung in the air—any brewer who set foot here would find it nearly impossible to resist the urge to put down roots.
Still, splendid land alone does not guarantee extraordinary liquor! There must be some sinister trick behind this!
Ever since the blind sensory evaluation, Naguchi had been plagued by shock after discovering that the entry he awarded a perfect score was Dalvorde, crafted by Songhadang. It defied everything he believed in. How could a mere greenhorn Korean have conjured a drink that unveiled such an ethereal, intoxicating sweetness with the very first sip?
Preposterous! There must be someone else pulling the strings behind the scenes!
From that day forth, Naguchi had dredged up every scrap of information concerning Songhadang. A young proprietor inheriting a run-down brewery from his late grandfather; his very debut release, the pine-infused Meari.
That alone is suspicious. How could a novice brewer immediately strike gold and generate explosive sales right out of the gate?
And then came Meari: Autumn, hailed for capturing the absolute essence of the season. As if releasing long-aged reserves prepared years in advance, Songhadang seemed to churn out runaway successes one after another.
It is simply impossible. The current public acclaim must be bloated with hype.
Arriving at this "rational" conclusion, Naguchi convinced himself that Songhadang’s reputation was nothing more than an overblown bubble. If that was the case, then as a professional critic obligated to enlighten the world with unvarnished truth, his course of action was clear.
I must inspect the brewery with my own eyes.
It was undeniable that spirits captivating enough to enchant his palate were flowing from this place, so he needed to uncover who was truly responsible. What master artisan was hiding in the shadows—or perhaps being exploited by that young owner?
"Eddie Brook! Do you happen to have some free time?"
"Ha-ha, I doubt I'd ever have enough spare time for the likes of you, Naguchi."
"Would you be interested in visiting Songhadang?"
"Songhadang? You mean Songhadang?!"
To his delight, the Master Distiller readily accepted the proposition. Naguchi assumed Eddie Brook harbored the exact same suspicions deep down.
"I will cover your plane ticket."
"Already bought mine, lad."
For a master to move with such eagerness, his skepticism must run deep indeed!
Believing he had secured a formidable ally, Naguchi had ridden a taxi all the way out to Songhadang. And there, he laid eyes on a young man who carried an uncanny air of veteran composure—a youth who brazenly claimed to be the master of Songhadang.
This cannot be!
Refusing to accept a reality that contradicted his lifetime of expertise, Naguchi hardened his resolve.
I will tear down this facade with my own eyes.
"Are your buttocks holding up, Naguchi?"
"Ahem... grr..."
Just as the throbbing ache in Naguchi's bruised tailbone flared up again, Yeonwoo, walking a pace ahead, turned back and offered a courteous smile.
"Shall we head inside?"