Pottery and Ciphers (1)

44.

After Paper Mask went up on Forest, people reacted in all sorts of ways. There were those who were glad to see webtoons being covered, those who wanted me to keep focusing only on independent works, those who looked down on webtoon coverage, those who simply cursed me out, and those who just liked it. The only thing that really mattered was this:

there was a response.

The first to respond, as expected, was Yoo An-mo.

I flinched a little at the last line.

A token of sincerity? I’d clearly told him not to pay me anything. What he sent was the “author’s note” from the second half of Paper Mask.

I laughed under my breath when I saw it.

Yoo An-mo could endure ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠almost anything, apparently, except going overboard. Still, once I actually tried it, analyzing webtoons turned out to be a surprisingly appealing line of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠work. Webtoons were different from novels or screenplays.

They were images at the base, with text laid over them. Think about that for a moment. If that was the case, what kind of text would be layered on top?

Probably the text that was absolutely necessary, in other words, the keywords.

Like the line “sad” in Paper Mask.

And as everyone knew, I was obsessed with finding keywords.

The following weekend, I plunged completely into the world of webtoons.

Mostly obscure one-shots, not the famous ones that had already made it. One-shot webtoons were usually made for contests, which meant a lot of them came from newcomers.

The skill level varied, of course, but there was something raw and fresh about them, some experimental spark that made them fun to look through. I went ahead and made all the feeds too.

I created several at once, planning to release them with some time in between. In the end, I made four feeds. A webtoon called Bad Seed became Image Is Only an Accompaniment (2) "Hatred" _ Second Webtoon. A webtoon called The Baker’s Shop of Doom became Image Is Only an Accompaniment (2) "Love" _ Third Webtoon. A webtoon called Lowlife Woman became Image Is Only an Accompaniment (3) "Apathy" _ Fourth Webtoon. And a webtoon called Debt Feast became Image Is Only an Accompaniment (2) "Resignation" _ Fifth Webtoon.

Just like that, I neatly finished every Forest feed related to webtoons. I’d loaded the bullets in full, nice and ready.

Now all that remained was to fire.

─┼

I had made the Forest feeds in advance because I wanted to clear out enough time for literary criticism. These days, I was dropping by the Korean Literature Department more often.

It was because of the explanatory essays for the books they published. In truth, taking on those essays was entirely up to me.

Even so, I accepted almost every offer that came my way.

If a book was good enough to come out under Gyeongseong Publishing, then its quality was trustworthy. And there was one more reason.

Lately, I’d drifted a little too far down side roads, doing movies here and webtoons there.

Because of that, I’d begun to want to try something properly pure for a change.

Even if it wasn’t a novel review, I wanted to write something serious and weighty.

The problem was that opportunities like that never just appeared with a pop.

The novels I’d been assigned to explain weren’t bad, exactly.

But an explanatory essay was still just an explanatory essay.

It couldn’t substitute for the heft of real criticism.

So I spent day after day in a sort of dulled routine, and then one day, when ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I went to the Korean Literature Department to get feedback on the explanatory essay I’d submitted the day before, I ran into Jo In-hwan, the senior who handled communication with me.

“Hyunsun, you’re here.”

“Senior. I sent you two essays yesterday. Did you read them?”

“Yeah. They were really good. Everything that needed to be in there was in there, and everything that needed emphasis got emphasized. Smooth flow, clear message.”

“Nothing to fix?”

“Nothing. You’ve got it easy. Critics who write these essays get seriously offended when they’re asked to revise them. You’ve never had that happen, right?”

“...Senior Jo, you don’t understand my heart.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Never mind.” At that point, I would have rather received revision requests.

I wanted an impossible assignment handed to me, something that would make me struggle.

If other critics had heard me, they would have cursed me out for saying that.

That was how bored I’d become.

Then, at that moment, I spotted something on Senior Jo’s desk.

“What’s this?”

“Ah, that? Hah, the government sent us something annoying again.” Senior Jo sank deep into the back of his chair, wearing the exhausted look unique to the Korean Literature Department, where there was always too much work and never enough people. “They found a pottery vessel at some temple in Yongin City. Apparently it was a place where independence fighters and militia members secretly communicated during the Japanese occupation. Anyway, there are a few lines of some short story or something written on the pottery, and they think it might be a code used by the independence fighters.”

“I see. So that’s why they’re bringing in the pottery association and literary scholars. But why call our publishing house?”

“Isn’t that exactly the sort of thing that makes people tired?” Senior Jo jabbed at the air with his pen. “Normally, independence fighter codes were left on paper or clothing, right? But this one was left on pottery, which is unusual enough. And it’s in the form of a story. The National Heritage Administration probably thought they’d found something special and blew the whole thing up into a big project. They’re sending researchers to Yongin first, then making a book about everything from the excavation process to the interpretation. And they picked us as the publisher.”

“Hmm.”

“It’s not good news. Because it’s a government project, they barely pay anything, and now we’re getting dragged into it for nothing. What are we even supposed to do there? Babysit professors while they drink, probably. And since it’s an overnight trip, how much drinking do you think they’ll cram into it?”

No. I thought differently.

It had a short story written on it.

In the form of a cipher, no less.

I could smell it.

The smell of writing that was weighty and quiet.

Secretive, too, and somehow solemn.

Maybe it was the kind of writing I’d been looking for lately.

Of course, it might not be. But it was worth hoping.

“How many people from Gyeongseong Publishing are going?”

“For now, we’ve got one outsourced writer who’ll handle the book, plus a younger editor and me.”

So the writer and the editor were already covered.

Even if I joined, it wouldn’t mean extra work for me.

Yongin wasn’t far enough to make the trip a burden, either.

And one more thing.

“Do they pay an allowance?”

“Yeah. They’re giving us a tiny bit from the government and the company’s topping it up. Enough for two days’ pay, probably. Still, it’d be better not to go.”

Okay, they were paying.

“Should I go in your place, then?”

“Huh?” Senior Jo’s eyes went round. “...Really?”

“Yes. I’m pretty free before the Gyeongseong Geul fall issue planning, and the office’s been feeling a little stuffy lately. If you can get the team leaders to agree, I’ll go.”

Ping, ping.

I could almost hear the sound of Senior Jo’s brain working.

He was probably turning the matter this way and that, weighing it from every angle. And I was doing the same thing in my own head.

“But in exchange, when this year’s Gyeongseong Geul fall issue comes out, just do a few rounds of proofreading and copyediting for our department.”

Proofreading and copyediting were basic work every editorial department handled.

No matter how many years you had under your belt, it was still the kind of menial labor that had to get done.

By then, Senior Jo had already crunched the numbers. “If you’re willing to go, who cares about proofreading? Don’t take that back now. Go home and wait for it.”

So I returned to the periodicals department.

Thirty minutes later, our team leader, Lee, called for me.

“I heard from Kim. You’re going to Yongin? Why the hell are you volunteering for something annoying like that?”

I answered honestly. “They said there’s writing on the artifact they dug up there... It just felt unusual. I’m interested, too. Did Team Leader Kim not approve?”

“No. Looks like Jo In-hwan from that team really wore him down. So he asked to send you instead. ...Hm, there’s nothing wrong with it, I guess. You’ve got a light season right now, and it’s only one night and two days. Besides, I heard you dumped our proofreading work on them too.”

“Even so, I can’t go for free.” Lee gave a snort of laughter. “Fine, then. Go ahead.”

That kind of manpower trade being so easy was possible only because, from the publishing house’s point of view, this wasn’t a big deal.

It was more or less, the country asked, so they were cooperating in a halfhearted way.

And as Lee said, I really was a little idle lately. Of course, in my own mind, it wasn’t “halfhearted” at all.

As I sat down, Lee added ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠jokingly, “Hah, now you’re going to start writing with the dirt itself.”

─┼

Still, since it was called a government project, they sent a charter bus to carry everyone involved to Yongin.

The research team on the bus was made up of the following: three people from Gyeongseong Publishing, including me, an editor, and a writer; two traditional pottery experts; one professor said to specialize in independence fighter ciphers; several Korean literature scholars; and a few officials from the National Heritage Administration.

Among them, the so-called working group consisted of three people.

Professor Tak Ji-won, a specialist in independence fighter ciphers.

Professor Lee Jae-joon, a Korean literature scholar.

Potter Lee Hee-so, a researcher in traditional ceramics.

The working group sat side by side in the back of the bus.

I quietly took the seat next to Professor Lee Jae-joon.

Then I eavesdropped on what the three were saying.

Professor Tak showed everyone a photo on her phone. “This is the picture the excavation team sent me.”

It was a photo of the unearthed pottery vessel lying on a white cloth. At a glance, it was a fairly large earthenware jar the color of yellow clay.

Lee Hee-so examined the photo closely first. “I’d need to see it in person, but judging by the condition of the soil, it’s about a hundred years old. Looks like the glaze’s peeled off almost completely, but the fact that it’s still held together without crumbling is impressive.”

“They said it had been buried deep in a sandy field.”

“Ah, then it makes sense. Not much moisture there. But if they don’t treat it afterward, it might still fall apart.”

To be able to read all that at a glance, she was a real expert through and through.

Professor Tak handed her phone to Professor Lee. “Yes. We’ll need to handle it once it gets to the lab. What do you think, Professor?”

Professor Lee, sitting beside her, took the phone.

Thanks to that, I could see the photo up close too.

On the lumpy clay vessel, there really was text written there.

It was in Chinese characters, so I couldn’t read it, but Professor Lee recited the contents smoothly.

“It was that winter.

The fox hunt had been a success, and all the fox meat had been sold.

The next goods to arrive were salted seafood.

The merchants had been waiting for nothing else.

There were many snakes hibernating in the mountains.

They soaked liquor with the snakes they had put in sacks.

Everyone was happy, planning to drink that liquor along with the salted seafood.

When spring comes, let’s farm your land too.”

That was the end of the text.

It read like a short story, if you wanted to call it that, or a letter, if you wanted to call it that.

“Professor Tak, you’ve already analyzed the cipher, haven’t you? It doesn’t look too difficult.”

“Yes. I solved it pretty quickly.” She interpreted it on the spot. “Fox means informant, salted seafood means independence funds, and snakes mean guns. Roughly speaking, they took care of an informant this time, and since they’ve secured enough guns, they’re asking for the next round of funds to be sent quickly. It also seems to carry the hope that once those funds arrive, victory will be within reach.”

“Hmm. That makes sense.” Professor Lee nodded.

...Was that so?

Was that all there was to it?

I looked out the window.

The meaning Professor Lee had recited drifted through the white sky.

So did Professor Tak’s interpretation. It was plausible enough.

But... wasn’t there a part that hadn’t been interpreted?

At that moment, tap, tap.

Someone knocked against my arm.

“Excuse me.”

By the time I looked over, the ceramic artist Lee Hee-so had moved into the seat beside me.