The Gold Seals of King Taejong
I’m translating the chapter into polished HTML-formatted English and preserving the in-universe special content as styled blocks where needed.CHAPTER_TITLE: The Gold Seal of King Sejong
An email notification popped up.
Jacob Kelly.
The moment he saw the sender’s name, he clicked it open.
It was unfortunate, but there was nothing to be done.
He couldn’t force a family vacation to cut short on his account.
What mattered more than that was another problem entirely.
It would be dangerous to give the impression that he was too eager on this side.
If he looked like he was blinded by the artifact, the other party might grow wary or start having second thoughts.
They might cut off contact.
Or sell it to someone else.
He needed to approach this carefully.
Of course, that didn’t mean Jacob Kelly was that kind of person.
But the artifact was valuable enough to make anyone hesitate, and he couldn’t help but think of the possibility.
Human greed was never something reason could easily keep in check.
He laid his fingers on the keyboard.
Send.
A moment later, a reply arrived.
Hoo.
He let out a quiet breath of relief, then naturally moved on to the next step.
He needed a channel that allowed real-time communication, something faster than email and better for exchanging photos on the spot.
He had to secure the channel without sounding impatient, but with enough certainty that the contact would move over.
The moment the other party switched to DMs, the pace of the conversation would change.
And once that happened, it would be much easier to figure out what kind of person he was dealing with.
He opened the Byeolstagram notification window.
A message had come in.
He sent it right away and then stared at the screen for a moment.
Now all that remained was to wait a week.
Leaning back against the chair, he closed his eyes for a moment.
It felt as if every scrap of strength had drained out of his body.
Choi Yi-seo, too, looked completely spent as she walked back to her seat and collapsed into her chair.
“...This will work out, right? Hoo. And to think the email I found was King Sejong’s gold seal.”
Si-woo gave a quiet nod at that.
“If it hadn’t been for Team Leader Choi Yi-seo, we might have missed it entirely. You did well finding it.”
Choi Yi-seo was fighting to keep the corners of her mouth from lifting too much.
Then, as if remembering something, she spoke again.
“But, Mr. Kim Si-woo, shouldn’t the nation be handling this? Couldn’t the Cultural Heritage Administration or the Ministry of Foreign Affairs step in and formally request its return?”
It was a sharp question, the kind someone deeply experienced in cultural repatriation work would ask.
Si-woo shook his head.
“For now, it would be best not to let too many people know.”
“Come to think of it, yes. If the press got hold of it, that could be disastrous.”
“Exactly. More than anything, the UNESCO convention sets 1970 as the standard. The Korean War was in 1950, so the convention doesn’t even apply. There’s no legal basis for demanding a forced return. And the circumstances of acquisition are even more problematic. Mr. Harold Kelly obtained it by chance from an enemy soldier on the battlefield, and he didn’t even know what it was. Under international law, it could fall under good-faith acquisition or even the logic of war booty, which makes it extremely difficult for the Korean government to assert ownership.”
“...So if the state steps in, it might backfire instead.”
Choi Yi-seo understood that part well.
“That’s right. The moment we apply official pressure, Mr. Jacob may get scared and hide the artifact. In the worst case, he could sell it off to some private collector instead.”
Choi Yi-seo hesitated, then continued carefully.
“But if it’s King Sejong’s gold seal, wouldn’t there be a chance it’s already registered in the stolen cultural property database? In that case, couldn’t it be treated as illicit property?”
“I checked just now. It isn’t registered.”
Choi Yi-seo’s eyes widened slightly.
“Then there’s no legal way to touch it?”
“That’s right. If we blunder into a lawsuit, we’re the ones who lose. The moment Mr. Jacob hires a lawyer and shuts his mouth, even confirming the artifact in person becomes difficult, and no one knows when it would end.”
As Choi Yi-seo fell into thought, Si-woo shared the information he had seen in the status window.
“There’s an entry in the Annals of King Taejong, eighteenth year, eighth month, eighth day. It says the Office of Rites was ordered to have the imperial seal and gold seal made of gold. After handing the throne over to the crown prince, he finally proceeded to Yeonhwagung. There’s a record showing that Taejong himself ordered the gold seal to be made.”
“Really? So because it was important, a court historian recorded it in the annals.”
“Yes. Its existence is historically verified. The problem was that no one knew where the actual object had gone.”
He looked back at the photo on the screen.
“Most major artifacts from the early Joseon dynasty were lost during the Imjin War. But how did this turn up in the middle of a battlefield during the Korean War? We still don’t know what happened in between. Still, from our perspective, this is an extraordinary stroke of luck.”
“So in the end, we’ll have to meet him in person and see it ourselves.”
“That’s right. And one more thing. Mr. Jacob’s family doesn’t know exactly what this is yet. But once we meet and they learn the value of the artifact, no one can say what they might do. There’s no need to suspect them in advance or think badly of them. Still, we have to remember that we must always move with the worst-case scenario in mind.”
Choi Yi-seo seemed to feel the weight of that, biting her lip and nodding slowly.
“...Understood.”
“We need to figure out what kind of people they are first. What their atmosphere is like. It’s not too late to move after that. The most realistic option is to pay a fair price and bring it back. After that, the state can step in. I’ll contact the relevant people separately about that later.”
These kinds of artifacts often took years of effort and still came back empty-handed.
But this time would be different.
A gold seal from six hundred years ago.
One of the symbols of kingship that Taejong had placed directly into his son’s hands.
That was when the phone rang.
The name displayed on the smartphone was Secretary-General Jeong Hye-jin.
* * *
The newly built Kim Hak-jun Public Interest Foundation building.
At last, it had taken on a size worthy of the foundation itself.
The moment he stepped into the lobby, he had to stop in his tracks.
A life-size standee made to his exact height was blocking the way straight ahead.
It was clearly for promotional use.
On the speech bubble attached to the base, it read:
[I, Kim Si-woo, stand with the Kim Hak-jun Public Interest Foundation to help society’s neighbors in need.]
He was posed with a fist raised in a fighting gesture.
He could not bring himself to look at it directly.
He turned his head away.
Secretary-General Jeong Hye-jin, who had come down to the first-floor lobby at some point, was watching him with a quiet smile.
“The standee came out pretty well, didn’t it?”
“...I’m embarrassed, so please stop teasing me.”
“The ad response has been enormous, too. People keep saying it suits you because you’re so good-looking.”
He didn’t respond and simply looked away.
For reference, the amount they were donating this time was 300 million won.
Compared to his total wealth, it was a tiny sum.
But it was by no means a small amount.
It could start small.
From there, he could gradually increase his donations.
After all, it was money that would have gone out as taxes anyway.
If he could use it for a good cause and exert some positive influence in the process, there was nothing to lose.
The reporters came out and took pictures.
Flash after flash burst in rapid succession.
He had already been informed in advance.
With a stiff expression like the standee beside him, he forced an awkward smile.
One reporter shouted, “Mr. Kim Si-woo! Just a little more smile, please! We want the photos to come out well!”
“Yes. Understood.”
He held up the panel marked with the words 300 million won and smiled.
Trying to smile by force made the corners of his mouth lock up.
Secretary-General Jeong Hye-jin stood beside him and said, “Ever since the ad went out, donations have gone up noticeably. It’s all thanks to you, Director Kim Si-woo.”
“Haha. Is that so?”
His next schedule was the pediatric cancer ward at Korea University Hospital.
Honestly, he was tense.
“Will the children recognize me?” he asked, holding the violin case he had brought from home.
Secretary-General Jeong Hye-jin snorted softly.
“Please. Is there even anyone who doesn’t know Director Kim Si-woo these days?”
He couldn’t quite believe that.
He wasn’t a celebrity, and he hadn’t appeared on variety shows.
And yet even the children knew him?
The moment he stepped into the ward corridor, voices erupted from all around.
“It’s Mr. Kim Si-woo!”
“Waaah!”
Children pushed open their room doors and poked their heads out.
Some even came out into the hallway with IV lines still attached.
He bent slightly at the knees to meet their eye level.
“Hi. Have you been waiting long?”
“Yes!”
The answer burst out all at once.
One girl in the front row, her eyes shining, asked, “Mr. Kim Si-woo, are you really dating the idol Kim Hae-an?”
It was such a startling question that he froze for a second.
Kim Hae-an? That was a name he was hearing for the first time.
“Not at all. You heard some strange rumor somewhere, didn’t you? Do you not want your present?”
“Giggling!”
The children burst into laughter.
“Then what about other celebrities?”
“Please follow me on Byeolstagram!”
“My mom is a huge fan!”
Questions came flying from every direction.
Si-woo fielded each one and laughed with them.
Even so, some part of his heart felt heavy.
These children were lying in hospital beds at such a young age.
He could feel the fear and pain they must be living with.
The emotion Yosef Hassid had felt in life.
The feeling of a young man who wanted to pour out his talent but was ultimately brought down by illness rose quietly inside his chest.
“I watched Singing Bird with my mom!” one child said, raising a hand high.
“Me too! We all cried together as a family!”
“My grandma watched it too. She said it was really sad.”
The reach of Singing Bird was far greater than he had expected.
It wasn’t just an adults-only story.
That children had watched it with their families and cried with them brought the fact home all over again.
“But you really do play the violin, right? Are you good?”
A wide-eyed boy asked the question.
“Of course. If you hear me play, you’ll be surprised.”
“My mom learned the violin too, and she plays well. She said she’s coming to watch because she wants to see how good you are!”
And so, while handing out gifts to the children, he spent a joyful stretch of time with them.
* * *
The lounge in the pediatric cancer ward at Korea University Hospital.
The children’s families and relatives, along with nurses and doctors who had heard the news, quickly filled every surrounding seat.
For a makeshift stage, it was astonishingly well prepared.
The reporters who had followed along took photos.
Before opening the case, Si-woo looked over the children once more.
“All right. What should I play for you?”
The children’s eyes all lit up at once.
“Anything!”
“Something exciting!”
“Nothing sad!”
Suggestions burst out from every direction.
Children would never want a boring piece.
“There’s a piece called Csardas. It starts slow, then suddenly starts racing around like a goblin. The bow moves so fast you can’t keep up with it just by watching.”
“Really?”
“How fast is it?”
One boy shouted the question loudly.
“You’ll see for yourself. It’s no fun if I just tell you.”
“Hurry!”
“Please!”
The children’s voices became a chorus in an instant.
Si-woo opened the case, lifted the violin to his chin, and closed his eyes for a moment.
After taking one steady breath, he set the bow on the strings.
Yosef’s emotions burst forth.
Fear, tension, the stage.
Everything else vanished.
His hand began to move naturally.