A Stepping Stone to Comfort
That's it! I knew it would turn out like this!
Kim Jae-seok cheered inwardly. All those days of nonstop surveillance had finally paid off.
Film him laying a hand on the kid, you said? You thought I couldn't do it?
If his brother-in-law and boss ever found out, the man would clutch the back of his neck and collapse on the spot. The instruction had been to give it up unless he caught something truly outrageous — and yet here he was, dead certain that such an incident would actually happen.
With a peculiar look on his face, Kim Jae-seok captured footage of Hong Il-beom going into Lee Su-a's lodging, and not long after, of the CEO of her agency and her guardian coming back out.
Now Hong Il-beom and Lee Su-a were alone inside. Whatever was actually going on in there, the implication was unmistakably unsavory.
Should I just film whatever they're doing in there?
That would be better. Pictures from the scene itself would be more sensational — more likely to blow up.
Kim Jae-seok crept toward the lodging. As it happened, one of the windows was half-open. He thought he heard a child's voice from inside, and the instant he started to hit record—
A thick, heavy weight settled onto his shoulder.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"H-hiiik—"
He cranked his frozen head around with a creak, and found himself staring into a face of genuine terror: Gwon Du-il.
Gwon Du-il's complexion was flushing red and draining pale by turns, a forced smile stretched over rage he was barely holding down, and he reached toward Kim Jae-seok's face.
Kim Jae-seok flinched, certain a punch was coming — but Gwon Du-il only plucked the glasses from his face.
"Huk!"
"Why don't we have a nice, slow talk about what this is?"
White as a sheet, Kim Jae-seok was hauled away in Gwon Du-il's grip.
It had gotten a little noisy outside, so I shut the window. A glance showed me nothing but Gwon Du-il's retreating back, every step of it radiating fury.
Good. He'd handled it well. Did that man really think no one would notice him staring so blatantly? Whatever he was after, there's no need to worry about it anymore.
Hong Il-beom was still turning it all over in his mind even as I came back and sat down. He would understand a director's responsibilities better than anyone. I waited quietly, and at last he spoke.
"So what you're saying, Su-a, is… you don't think we need to include those abuse scenes."
"Yes! Because Cheon-young's emotional wounds have already been shown, even if only indirectly, over and over."
The way she flinched reflexively whenever Baek-young or Hui-young reached for her. The way she always shrank in their presence. Things like that.
Hong Il-beom seemed to find my argument sound, but he still hesitated, as if something remained incomplete.
"But I wonder if this will be enough for people to understand Cheon-young…"
"It's enough."
I said it without a trace of doubt.
"Because no matter how deeply the audience understands Cheon-young, they can't console her."
"Console her?"
At those words, Hong Il-beom startled as if he'd been struck.
Hong Il-beom's films never ended in tragedy. Not once. There was a separate screenwriter, yes, but if he had wanted a tragic ending, he could have had one anytime he pleased. If all he had wanted was to make tragedy and sorrow known, that approach might well have been the more effective choice.
But the Goryeo general had held the line and come to be called a god of war, and the dokkaebi who climbed down from the eaves had been gathered into human arms.
The understanding Hong Il-beom spoke of was a stepping stone on the way to comfort.
"We put in a scene where Yang Ho-gun and Kang Geon-bok understand Cheon-young and comfort her. Then wouldn't the audience understand what you're trying to say, Director?"
"What I was trying to say…"
He hadn't realized it himself, it seemed. I watched him closely, then added:
"And there's another reason we don't need to depict Cheon-young's sorrow in such detail."
"Another?"
"Cheon-young isn't the protagonist."
"Ah."
Hong Il-beom's face went slack, as if he'd been hit over the head. No matter how important Cheon-young was as a character, no matter how much weight she carried, she was not the protagonist, Yang Ho-gun. In terms of simple screen time, she appeared even less than Kang Geon-bok.
I gave a little giggle and went on.
"Rather than bumping up the rating because of a character who isn't even the lead — wouldn't focusing on the protagonist and showing your film to a wider audience be closer to the direction you actually want, Director?"
"…"
Hong Il-beom listened in silence, then nodded.
"You're right."
The smile that spread slowly across his lined face held a quiet sense of relief.
Hong Il-beom sent Lee Su-a home and picked up his phone. He pressed speed-dial 1, and Wife appeared on the screen. After a few rings, a welcome voice came through.
"Hello? Aren't you in the middle of filming?"
"Mm. Something came up that needs revising, so we paused for a bit."
"Whaaat? Something that made you stop filming? What is it?"
"It's nothing serious. Just checking whether we've been pouring our energy into something that isn't all that important."
"…Where did this sudden change of heart come from? When I asked if you were really going to include that, you argued yourself blue in the face."
True to form as a screenwriter, Lee Ok-dan seemed to have already guessed which scene he intended to cut. Hong Il-beom cleared his throat.
"Honey."
"What is it. Do you need an additional scene? Should I revise the cut material and send it over?"
"No, no need for that. I just…"
"You just what."
They were words he had carried in his heart for a long time, too embarrassed to ever speak them aloud. Hong Il-beom felt the tips of his ears go hot.
Lee Ok-dan laughed, a bright peal of it.
"Oh, you. Well, thank you too!"
Her tone was the tone of someone who had already known. Hong Il-beom found himself grateful all over again for a wife who understood what he was thankful for without needing to be told.
Cheon-young, who had collapsed from the shock, lay ill for days before she finally woke. Yang Ho-gun and Kang Geon-bok offered words of comfort, but none of it reached Cheon-young's ears at all.
I spent a long time thinking about how to play this scene. I had been through something similar, but a crucial part of it had been different. I wanted this part, at least, to be performed entirely from my own interpretation, so I didn't ask anyone else about it. Perhaps because of that, the decision came more easily than all the time I'd spent agonizing over it would suggest.
"Where did you bury Ji-suk?"
"…We found a sunny plot with good feng shui and buried her there. I'll take you when you've recovered."
Yang Ho-gun, who had finished his mission but had not returned immediately, staying on at a nearby government office to care for Cheon-young, gave the answer. When Cheon-young simply stared at the ceiling in silence, he sighed and left.
A short while later, Cheon-young sat up and took stock of herself. The physician had force-fed her medicinal decoctions and thin rice gruel, so she had the strength to move. Her ankles were scarred from the shackles, but those marks would fade with time.
Cheon-young washed her face in the water basin beside her and tidied her appearance as neatly as she could. Then she stood up straight and walked out of the room.
"Wha—?!"
She ran into Kang Geon-bok, who had been about to come in to check on her, but Cheon-young paid him no mind and walked right past. Kang Geon-bok followed, looking thoroughly flustered.
"A-are you all right? You've barely eaten — you must have no strength left… The fever only broke yesterday, and your legs still haven't healed…"
Burdened by the guilt of failing to stop Baek-young, of Ji-suk's death, Kang Geon-bok couldn't bring himself to grab hold of her. A child who had been ill for days, staggering along with a military officer from Hanyang trailing after her — the people coming and going through the government office couldn't help but stare.
By the time Cheon-young stepped outside the compound, word had already spread, and even Yang Ho-gun came rushing out.
"There's a sick child and you didn't stop her — what were you doing?!"
"But she wouldn't even say where she was going. I couldn't just block her for no reason…"
Cheon-young was far more stubborn than she looked. The only person who could break that stubbornness had been Ji-suk. Left with no choice, Yang Ho-gun and Kang Geon-bok followed after her.
Limping slightly from her aching ankles, Cheon-young still managed to walk all the way out of the government office on her own. Beyond the gate the sentries opened on Yang Ho-gun's order, an ordinary village scene spread out before them.
To Cheon-young, it was a sight she had never seen.
"Does she want to look around the village, perhaps?"
"Hmm. I don't think that's it…"
Leaving Kang Geon-bok and Yang Ho-gun whispering behind her, Cheon-young suddenly broke into a run. Caught completely off guard, the two of them found themselves chasing after her.
Naturally, Cheon-young's running was clumsy. She flailed her arms and legs as if she had never run in her life — which was, in fact, the case — and her speed was only a little better than walking.
The child didn't make it more than a few steps before she went sprawling.
"Aigoo, oh dear."
"Child, are you all right?"
A few passersby helped Cheon-young to her feet. Kang Geon-bok moved to stop them, only to be held back by Yang Ho-gun.
Cheon-young's expression was not one to take lightly.