Recognizing True Value
No matter how precious an item might be, if its owner fails to recognize its worth, it's nothing more than worthless junk. On the flip side, possess the eye to spot true value, and the entire situation flips 180 degrees.
Kang Min-ho nodded as he examined the flat sake bottle tucked away in the corner of the cramped room. Why on earth was he smiling at this tiny vessel that anyone else would dismiss as just an ordinary bottle?
This flat sake bottle carried a tale too heartbreaking to laugh at or cry over.
Hwang Gi-cheon had woken up one day buried in debt and fled under cover of night to a hillside shantytown. Even there, creditors hounded him relentlessly, grabbing him by the collar day after day. Driven to the edge of the cliff, he had only one option left: another desperate midnight escape. Barely able to fend for himself, he had no time to pack. He sold off his few remaining possessions, and that's when the saga began.
A neighbor had picked up the bottle he'd discarded in the yard and started using it. One day, locals mentioned it to him:
"That thing looks like it could fetch a good price. If you're heading downtown, why not ask around?"
"Come on, who'd buy a beat-up old sake bottle like this?"
"You never know—go check it out, just in case."
Skeptical but curious, the man consulted an expert—and nearly passed out at the response.
"Sell it now, and you'd get at least 300 million won on the spot."
"Really?"
"You think I'd joke about that at my age?"
"I should bow to my ancestors."
In an era when a Gangnam apartment cost less than 100 million won, it was an astronomical sum. A single stroke of luck reversed his entire life.
The new owner sold it immediately, securing his own fortune. Hwang Gi-cheon only learned the truth much later. He rushed after it, claiming ownership, but there was no name etched on the bottle. By sheer fortune, he had a single photo of himself holding it. Armed with that evidence, he launched a grueling courtroom battle.
Win, and he'd claim 300 million—or more. Lose, and he'd forfeit everything. The fight that began in 1990 dragged on until 2002, when red banners filled the plaza in front of City Hall. Plaintiff victorious.
Hwang had endured twelve long years for those two words. But the joy of triumph was short-lived. When the crane and clam battle for twelve years, the fisherman reaps the spoils. Though he won in court, lawyer fees devoured nearly everything. By then, his daughter Sun-hee had passed away, leaving him with a mere 20 million won.
Hwang and his wife vanished afterward, never to be seen again.
Min-ho couldn't let history repeat itself. That's why he'd rushed the second debt collection—for this very flat sake bottle. Fortunately, he'd arrived just in time, and the item remained safely inside.
Min-ho gazed at the bottle before turning to Mrs. Hwang.
"Ma'am, mind if I borrow this for a bit?"
"You look so young—into stuff like this, huh?"
"I like unique shapes."
"My husband uses it sometimes, but I doubt it's worth much. If you toss in ten thousand won as interest, take it."
The gaze of one who knew value clashed starkly with ignorance. Had Min-ho ignored their plight, he could've walked away with three Gangnam apartments. The price? A mere ten thousand won.
Petty cash meant nothing to him. His sights were set far higher.
"I'll do that. Do you remember where you got it?"
"It's fuzzy, but a few years back, I saw an old man selling odds and ends by the roadside. It was the perfect size for my husband's soju, so I bought it for a thousand won."
Min-ho wasn't deceiving her—just withholding the truth. What if Hwang and his wife learned its value? Desperate for quick cash, they'd likely undersell it or fall victim to a scam.
Min-ho needed exactly 301.5 million won. To secure it, he'd keep the bottle's worth secret and handle it personally.
He wrapped it carefully in newspaper, slipped it into his bag, and stepped back into the yard to bid farewell.
"I'll verify this and get back to you."
"Thank you, sir. You're really waiving the ten thousand won interest, right?"
"It'll be worth far more than that—no worries."
"Thank you so much, sir."
As he turned to leave, the sliding door creaked open. Sun-hee, who had been pretending to sleep, emerged, rubbing her eyes. At an age where seeking her mother wouldn't seem odd, tears welled in her eyes. Meeting her mother's gaze unleashed a flood she could no longer hold back. She wailed as if the whole shantytown might crumble.
She wasn't too young to understand. She'd feigned sleep precisely because she knew she couldn't help. Poverty forced children to grow up too fast.
Sobbing bitterly, Sun-hee turned to Min-ho.
"Uncle... my mom and dad didn't do anything wrong. They're good people."
Unable to ignore the crying child, Min-ho knelt to meet her eyes and spoke gently.
"I've heard a lot about you from your dad, Sun-hee, right?"
"Yes... Hwang Sun-hee."
"Uncle's here to talk business with your dad. Let's stop the tears."
Wiping her eyes with her delicate, reed-thin fingers, she sniffled a reply.
"Dad said... uncles like you are bad guys."
"Did he? What to do—I'm a good guy. Let's head inside quick. Sleep a few nights, and you'll wake up back in your old house, not here."
"Really?"
"Of course. Pinky promise."
Min-ho hooked his pinky with hers and shook vigorously. Malnourished, her hand felt rough and dry as sandpaper. He pulled out his wallet and handed Mrs. Hwang several ten-thousand-won bills.
"My salary's not much. Take this at least."
"No, sir—we couldn't possibly."
"For Sun-hee. Buy a chicken, stew it for her. No skin—it's bad for her heart."
"Truly... thank you."
"Hang tight. I'll bring good news soon."
With that, Min-ho wrapped up and descended the long, endless stairs of the shantytown alongside Deputy Oh.
Only once his feet hit solid ground did Oh exhale in relief.
"Man, when that guy grabbed the tongs earlier, my legs were shaking."
"Better now?"
"Yeah, finally breathing. But seriously—you got no fear, or are you just tough as nails?"
"Think whatever feels right."
"I can't figure you out at all—hands up in surrender. Anyway, nothing happened this time?"
Oh had braced for drama like last time, but the shantytown visit passed uneventfully.
"Doesn't look like it, does it?"
"You came back with just a sake bottle—what're you gonna do, smash it for the deposit?"
"How much do you figure this is worth?"
"Hmm... thousand, two thousand at market? That's it."
"Without knowing, yeah."
"Even you can't pull this off. I'll smooth things over with the boss."
Clueless Oh just wanted to protect him. Min-ho patted his shoulder and quickened their pace.
"It's late—field wrap-up today. My treat; dinner over there."
"Sorry, rain check. Got plans."
"You never let me buy you a meal."
"Once this wraps, treat me to meat. I'll gorge till I burst."
"Deal. Get home safe—see you tomorrow."
***
Min-ho's house.
The second debt collection targeted a whopping 300 million won. The debtor? Fugitive Hwang Gi-cheon in the shantytown. No one expected Min-ho to succeed—not a soul, save one: Lawyer Choi Jong-hoon.
Curious about the outcome, Choi had clocked out an hour early, staring endlessly at the gate while pacing the yard and tearing at his hair. Collecting 300 million from a shantytown dweller? Impossible, no matter how he crunched it.
What could the young master be thinking?
He couldn't fathom it, reduced to anxiously watching the clock.
Then the gate swung open. His long-awaited Min-ho stepped through.
"Young master, are you alright?"
Choi rushed over, inspecting him meticulously.
"Yes, fine. It's cold—why're you out here in slippers?"
"The collection aside, that area's got a bad rep. I was worried."
"If you were that concerned, you should've picked me up."
"My apologies. With Deputy Oh there, it might've looked like favoritism."
Flustered, Choi hesitated. Min-ho grinned broadly.
"Can't even joke with you. Kidding, Lawyer Choi—your face was so grave, I said it to make you smile."
"No injuries? Any threats?"
"None. Handled it perfectly."
"You... wrapped it up?"
"Almost—some finishing touches left. Cold; let's go in."
Min-ho spoke casually of securing 300 million as he entered. Baffled Choi trailed after him.
"You mean you settled the 300 million?"
"Yeah. Hard to believe, right?"
"That's not what I—"
Actions spoke louder. Min-ho smiled faintly, sank onto the sofa, and unzipped his bag to reveal the newspaper-wrapped bottle.
"Too small for 300 million. Not gold, either..."
"How many folks hide gold these days? Unwrap carefully."
"Understood."
With trembling hands, Choi peeled away the layers. The flat sake bottle emerged. He sighed in deflation.
"Y-Young master... you think this little thing's worth 300 million?"
"Exactly. More, actually."
Choi, no expert, stared blankly.
"It's uniquely shaped, sure. But no different from market bottles."
"Ignorance does that. Any connections at Yeouido's art galleries?"
"Yes. Quarterly auction tomorrow, in fact. You don't mean..."
"Spot on. That's the finale."
Min-ho dropped the auction bombshell out of nowhere. Like Deputy Oh with the hammer, Choi felt inexplicable frustration.
After agonizing, he ventured carefully: "Young master, I think you misunderstand. This has no such value."
"I see it differently."
"Pardon? What do you mean?"
Min-ho spun the bottle on the table, launching into explanation.
"Let's rewind 600 years. Who was the top noble?"
"Royalty, or close kin at minimum."
"If this bottle were human, it'd be the king. A masterpiece among masterpieces—a royal pyeonbyeong sake vessel."
"How do you know?"
"I'll explain."
Min-ho rotated it slowly.
"Timeline: late 1300s, early 1400s max. See the blue tint?"
"Clearly."
"Cobalt pigment from Arabia via trade. Called hoehwa-cheong in China."
Choi marveled less at the value than Min-ho's fluent knowledge.
"Dragon on the front?"
"Crystal clear. Unbelievable for centuries old."
"Proof it was for top nobles or royalty."
"If so, incredibly rare—yet in Hwang's place?"
"Yes, so I went."
Choi's confusion deepened. Min-ho had marched confidently into the shantytown knowing this.
"You knew?"
"Old houses like his often hide gems. Checked on a hunch—jackpot."
"Heavens... betting on long odds again?"
"Yep, struck gold. More details?"
"Please."
As Min-ho continued, Choi leaned in, scrutinizing every mark.
"No cars, no planes back then. Cobalt traveled from Arabia to China—pricey stuff. Imagine the cost for pottery. Artisans' hands shook making it."
"Extremely limited production."
"No exact records, but context screams rarity."
Choi examined intimately, gasping in awe.
"Frankly, I can't grasp your full thinking."
"Later. Contact the gallery."
"Yes. Satisfied at 300 million?"
"No. Targeting over 400 million."
Higher bids were ideal, but clearing the debt sufficed. Yet Min-ho aimed bigger.
Choi hesitated, then confessed: "Thinking of Hwang, it sounds harsh, but we just need the debt amount. Pushing too hard risks no buyers."
"No—we'll make it work. Handle the rest."
"Understood. I'll set it for tomorrow."
"I'll plan the 100 million bump. Keep it quiet till results."
"No worries."
"Explanation done—dinner time. Starving."
"Right away."
If this collection succeeded flawlessly, Min-ho's standing at JK would transform. Plans progressed steadily.
Min-ho sat at the table for a late dinner; Choi urgently dialed somewhere.