Chapter 100
I’m translating the chapter now, keeping the prose natural and preserving the special formatted passages as HTML blocks where the source turns into read text, headlines, or verse.CHAPTER_TITLE: The Scent of the Forgotten Wound
Helena Vik's voice came through the receiver.
"Appraiser Kim Si-woo, have you been well?"
"Yes. It's been a while."
"I've been keeping up with the news through the papers every day. You uncovered another astonishing find, didn't you?"
"Oh, no, not at all."
"Don't be modest. Sejong the Great's gold book, of all things. I know the story of that man too, you know. He's the one who created Hangul, right? As far as I know, he's a king of enormous significance in Korea."
"Yes, that's right."
"And the news about you having lunch with President Doramp recently was everywhere as well, wasn't it?"
At Helena Vik's words, I let out a wry smile.
"Yes. It was a truly unexpected invitation. I won't forget that day for the rest of my life."
Judging by Si-woo's tone, she must have caught the meaning behind it.
A low laugh slipped through the receiver.
"Has the official schedule you mentioned last time been set?"
Attending the opening event for the large-scale special exhibition at the Munch Museum, where the early sketch of The Scream would be unveiled to the public.
He was supposed to receive the Order of St. Olav directly from the King of Norway there.
But back then, the exact date hadn't been set yet.
All he'd been told was that it would be roughly three months later.
"Actually, that's why I'm calling. As we've been preparing the exhibition, more work has come up than we expected. It looks like we'll be a little later than the three months I first mentioned. I wanted to apologize first. But we do have a firm date now. The opening has been confirmed for the 10th of next month. Would you be able to make it then?"
"The 10th of next month?"
I ran through my schedule for a moment.
I didn't have anything else planned.
"Yes. That works perfectly. I'll definitely come."
"Thank you so much. I'll send over the details by email right away."
"Understood."
Not long after I ended the call, an email arrived.
When I opened it, I found that, just like last time, they were sending a private jet.
The boarding location and local itinerary were all laid out in meticulous detail.
As expected, she was a person without a single loose end.
I was scrolling through the contents when my hand, which had been stroking Kkamangi, paused for a moment.
Apparently, the cat objected to that.
"Meow."
A short, low cry.
Kkamangi looked up at me with round eyes.
Then it pressed my hand with its front paw.
It wanted me to keep petting it.
"All right, all right. Just wait a little."
When I ran my hand over its fur again, its tail resumed its slow sway.
Purr.
A small, faint vibration traveled into my palm.
For a while after that, I kept petting Kkamangi and read the articles that had piled up in the meantime.
[Seoul = JOA Daily] The 'Sejong the Great Accession Gold Book,' which stirred the entire world, is finally preparing to reveal its dazzling form in full on Korean soil. The Conservation Science Division of the National Museum of Korea announced on the 14th that it will begin precise work to remove the concrete outer shell surrounding the gold book repatriated from the United States, in order to restore the essence of early Joseon royal metalcraft.
(Summary) This repatriation was more than a simple return of an artifact; it sent South Korea's national brand value soaring. A Nutflix documentary capturing the repatriation process is set to stream worldwide, and experts estimate that the resulting publicity and related effects will amount to trillions of won. In particular, the luncheon with President Doramp has become a hot topic, and the personal brand of "Kim Si-woo" has now become synonymous with global perspective.
In the past, we had to plead or fight to recover our relics. But Appraiser Kim Si-woo was different. By proving the artifact's value and preserving the other side's dignity, he made them open the door on their own. President Doramp's private jet and the U.S. Air Force's aerial demonstration were not mere spectacle, but a mark of respect for the power of Korean culture. It is time for the government to seriously consider how to elevate such private diplomatic assets into national strategy.
Tens of trillions of won?
What the hell was this world coming to.
Even nationalist puff pieces had limits.
There were a ridiculous number of articles about this case.
The government must have rushed out a wave of pieces saying it had pulled off something big this time.
And if the articles were this bad, YouTube didn't need to be mentioned.
The contents were so absurd I could hardly bear to look at them.
I can't look at this anymore.
"Meow?"
When I shook my head in disbelief, Kkamangi looked at me as if asking what was wrong.
* * *
Over the past few days, countless articles had been published, and the public's assessment of Si-woo kept rising.
It had climbed so high that it almost seemed like there was nowhere left to go.
They say the higher you climb, the harder it hurts when you fall.
I should keep a low profile for the next few months.
After resting at home for a while, I finally went back to work at Eterna Gallery for the first time in a while.
In the meantime, Eterna Culture Street in Cheongdam-dong had grown even livelier.
It wasn't just a feeling.
New buildings had gone up in the time I'd been away, and a variety of pop-up stores and cafés had taken their place.
Si-woo went into Shin A-young's office at Eterna Gallery.
While we were chatting over coffee, the conversation turned to Doramp.
"He really told you to take out a relic and make you match it?" Shin A-young asked back in disbelief.
"Yes. I didn't expect him to throw out a question like that during lunch. I was sweating bullets."
"So did you get it right?"
"If I seem to be doing just fine here, then... I must have, right?"
At Si-woo's joke, the corners of Shin A-young's mouth lifted slightly.
"But when I got it right, he gave me a special gift."
Shin A-young's eyes sparkled with curiosity as she looked at him, clearly urging him to go on.
"My passport was registered with diplomatic courtesy status, stamped by President Doramp."
Shin A-young's eyes widened.
"Really?"
"Yes. It wasn't just a title. The benefits were substantial."
He continued in a calm voice.
"For one, my luggage is treated as diplomatic baggage, so no matter how heavy or suspicious it looks, customs can't touch it. The days of worrying that some rough handling by a customs officer might damage a relic are gone."
"Wow, that's incredible. Doesn't that make you treated the same as a diplomat?"
"Yes. And I don't have to stand in immigration lines, there's no limit on my length of stay, and if something dangerous happens overseas, I can even request protection from the U.S. embassy."
"Wow... for getting one answer right, that's an enormous gift."
"I was sweating buckets before I even gave the answer."
Si-woo shook his head emphatically, as if he didn't want to remember it at all.
"I wasn't there, so I don't know, but it definitely doesn't sound like an easy seat to be in."
After coffee, when I headed to the office, Choi Yi-seo greeted me warmly.
"Appraiser Kim Si-woo, you're finally here."
"Team Leader Choi Yi-seo, you've been well?"
"Of course. I've gotten close with the women here, so we've even started going out for lunch together. That's all thanks to Representative Shin A-young taking care of everything."
"That's good to hear."
I kept exchanging documents with Team Leader Choi Yi-seo through the shared drive.
We had only gone a while without seeing each other's faces.
In truth, we had continued working the whole time, so there was no stiffness between us.
"I'm sorry, Team Leader Choi Yi-seo. You found something through email, and I think I took all the attention from the public."
"Not at all. I only happened to discover it while organizing the things that came into Appraiser Kim Si-woo's mailbox."
"That's the biggest kind of work there is."
At that, Choi Yi-seo gave an easy smile, as if to tell me not to worry.
"Besides, working with Appraiser Kim Si-woo goes on my résumé, so you really don't need to feel bad!"
As always, Choi Yi-seo reassured me.
Then, as if something had just come to mind, she said,
"By any chance, have you seen the movie Danjong, the Unlucky King? It's been a hot topic lately."
"No. I've heard about it, but is it good?"
"Yes. The story built around Danjong, Heung Myeong-do, and the villagers is sad, but moving. They say this film's success suddenly made Yeongwol famous as a tourist destination."
"Is that so?"
"Yes. Thanks to it, the cultural heritage restoration project in Yeongwol County, which had been delayed because of budget issues, has finally begun in earnest."
Choi Yi-seo turned the tablet around and showed me several field photos.
"In particular, Heung Myeong-do's descendants were scattered all over and formed a clan village there. They're now conducting a full survey of the old houses in that area. They say that deep in the attic of the inner quarters of one recently deceased elder's house, they found a pile of old wooden boxes. A lot of the writing on them had been eaten by insects, torn, or erased, so the museum is carrying out restoration work. They even released a few of them to the public in advance. I think they're trying to draw more attention to the tourist site because of the film. Just in case, I sent the photos related to that part to the shared drive."
"I'll take a look."
I scanned the photos Choi Yi-seo had sent.
Dozens of piles of old documents and dust-covered chests.
At first glance, nothing especially noteworthy stood out.
But among those ordinary records, each already numbered by experts for restoration, one thing alone was radiating a fiercely alien golden light.
Even through a photograph on a screen, its glow was enough to sting the eyes.
"Wait. This photo... could you zoom in on the original?"
"Huh? This one?"
Choi Yi-seo tilted her head and enlarged the image.
In the close-up, a lump of hanji appeared, covered in mold and gnawed away in places, the writing so blurred and broken that its shape could barely be made out.
At the same time, the light faded, and I was pulled into the artifact's memory.
* * *
Sixteen.
In a mountain sealed off on all sides, the only thing the boy could do was clench his fist so tightly his nails dug into his palm.
The candle flame danced uneasily, on the verge of going out at any moment, and the boy's shadow, cast in that wavering light, stretched long along the wall like some monstrous thing.
He had been king, yet not king.
He had once been a sovereign, but now he was a man driven out by the very uncle who had become his enemy.
Danjong ground ink on the cold, dead inkstone.
The black ink did not pool.
It felt more like the ashes burned out in his own chest were melting down before him.
He gripped the brush tightly in his hand.
The moment its tip touched the hanji, the splendid dancheong of Gyeongbokgung vanished from his mind, replaced instead by the rugged mountain ranges of Yeongwol standing like a wall before him.
One wronged bird I became, leaving the imperial palace behind.
Alone, a lonely shadow, I wander the blue-green mountains.
Each night I try to sleep, yet sleep will not come;
Year after year, my grievance goes unresolved, my resentment without end.
When dawn breaks, the cry of the cuckoo has already fallen silent on the mountain ridge, and only the moon shines with a cold, pallid white.
Blood-stained blossoms drift through the spring valley, and the canyon turns red as if washed in blood.
Is heaven deaf, that it cannot hear my sorrowful plea?
Why is it that only in my grieving ears does the call of the mountain cuckoo ring so clearly?
As soon as he wrote the first line, tears came flooding up, but he forced them back.
It was less writing than a silent scream.
He looked out the window.
Somewhere in that darkness, soldiers were watching him.
Though he sought sleep night after night, sleep refused him, and though the years went by, his grief never ended.
Danjong clenched his jaw.
The taste of blood spread through his mouth.
What was more terrifying than injustice was being forgotten, and more frightening than death was the possibility that no one would ever understand this deep, burning grievance of his.
He wrote the final line.
With the last of his strength, Danjong pressed the brush down onto the hanji.
He lowered his head and wrote with all the force he had left, as if trying to carve the words into the page.
The sky is deaf and still cannot hear my sorrowful plea.
Why is it that only in the ears of a man drowned in sorrow does that owl's cry ring so sharply?
Danjong's shoulders trembled faintly as he set down the brush.
At the edge of his gaze, beyond the window and across the courtyard, a silhouette flashed by, someone wiping tears away with a sleeve in the corner.
Had someone heard his poem?
Danjong folded the hanji at once.
Even if the heavens could not hear it, he prayed that someone on earth had listened to this blood-soaked cry.
Even if this sheet of paper rotted and crumbled away, he hoped that the deep purple resentment trapped within it would never disappear.
With that thought, he let out a long, heavy sigh.
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