Four Perfect Strokes
The moment filming began, Hyun-tae stepped up beside me with a question.
"You are Master Kang Cheolwoo, correct? You look remarkably young — if it isn't too forward of me, would you mind telling us your age?"
"I'm twenty-four this year."
He already knew as much, of course, but he sold the surprise with a reaction worthy of a professional.
"Wow… you really are young. And yet your skill is already so exceptional that word has spread far and wide. Chef Lee Jin-seong, the famous Michelin two-star, the pro gamer Rake, even professional golfer Jeong Jae-han — every last one of them has praised your work to the skies. Did you truly make their pieces yourself?"
Did he do a mountain of homework before coming here?
Befitting a man who sat at the very top of his profession, he had clearly researched everything about me before he arrived.
"Yes, that's correct. They were all my clients."
"That's genuinely impressive. But restoration is a different beast entirely from that kind of work, isn't it? Are you certain you can do this?"
I answered as I hung the plastic sheeting I'd prepared for the restoration.
"There's nothing difficult about it. It'll be over quickly, so there's no need to worry."
"That's a great deal of confidence. Ah — and this plastic sheeting you're putting up now. What's it for?"
"To keep foreign matter off the ceramic as much as possible. If contaminants are left on a piece during restoration, they can cause problems all over again once the work is done."
Hyun-tae thought for a moment, then offered an analogy the audience would grasp at once.
"Ah — so it's like wiping the dust off a phone before you put on a screen protector?"
He does know how to make things easy to understand.
I nodded.
"Yes, it's similar. I'll be starting the restoration now, so would you mind stepping back a little?"
"Ah — of course!"
Hyun-tae and the crew retreated several paces. I carried the ceramic inside the plastic enclosure, set it on the prepared shelf, drew one deep breath, and went straight to work.
"Ah, Master Kang… there was one more thing I wanted to ask…"
Hyun-tae started to come back in, then read the air with perfect accuracy — this was not a space anyone could simply walk into — and quietly withdrew outside the sheeting again.
First, every last contaminant has to go.
I began with the dust hanging in the air around me, then moved on to every speck of foreign matter lodged in the ceramic itself. The fine dust and grime packed into every crack and every chip had to come out completely. I worked with the utmost delicacy, taking care that the piece itself suffered not the slightest damage, and cleared away every impurity. I could not, however, afford to take my time.
That was true of every task scheduled for today, but restoration in particular was not the kind of work that improved with hours poured into it. A piece finished in a single, unbroken pass always came out better.
A short while later, every contaminant on the ceramic was gone. Now came the most important work of all: filling the hairline gaps where the glaze had cracked and pulled minutely apart. This was the heart of the entire restoration.
I can be grateful for small mercies. If it had shattered outright, there would have been a limit to what even I could restore.
I took out the clay I had prepared in advance — mixed to the exact same composition as this celadon. I had memorized the blend when I handled the piece before, and reproduced it. In all likelihood, I was the only person in the world who could do this.
Who else could determine a clay's exact composition just by laying a hand on a piece of pottery?
Without a hundred years of experience on Mount Olympus, it would have been impossible.
I combined the prepared clay with refined raw lacquer. This step was critical as well. A discrepancy of even the finest ratio was the difference between a perfect restoration and a merely adequate one.
Epoxy would be easier, of course.
But epoxy had a fatal flaw. With time, the restored area discolored — and then cracked all over again.
The only material that can endure a thousand years is lacquer.
When the mixture was ready, I picked up the brush and held my breath. Even the slightest tremor was unacceptable.
It has to be done in one pass. Go over it a second time and the whole thing will turn into a mess.
I laid the perfectly blended clay into the cracks and chips. Only by finishing this in a single stroke could the celadon reclaim its original form completely.
The brush whispered across the surface. Once. Twice. Three times. Four.
There were exactly four damaged areas. And I finished them in exactly four strokes.
I set the brush down and finally let out the breath I had been holding.
"Hoo…"
I examined the ceramic with care.
Good. It's perfect.
The empty spaces had been filled without a single flaw. I set a current of warm air over the treated areas and let them cure slowly. Only when that, too, was done did I allow myself a deep, unguarded sigh.
"Hoo… that's done. I'll take a short break."
I stepped out of the plastic enclosure to rest. The instant I did, Hyun-tae came toward me with a question.
"Ah, Master Kang. Is the work already finished?"
I shook my head.
"No. Matching the color still remains. But the critical work is more or less complete."
"I see. I tried to ask you something earlier, but the atmosphere was so intense I didn't dare."
"I'm sorry. When I concentrate, I tend not to notice what's around me."
"Haha. Young as you are, that part of you is a true artisan through and through."
He hesitated, reading my face, then asked carefully.
"Master Kang. Once this broadcast airs, viewers will inevitably compare you to Master Shin Jeong-mun, the restorer our program has used until now. How do you feel about that?"
I answered evenly, offering the impression I'd formed watching Master Shin Jeong-mun on television.
"I've never met him in person, but I consider him a remarkable man. He doesn't cling to traditional methods for their own sake — he uses modern techniques where they're needed. That kind of flexibility. He's someone the title of master artisan truly fits."
It was apparently not the answer Hyun-tae had been hoping for.
"Haha. Of course. But if one were to compare your skill with Master Shin Jeong-mun's — how would that go? I imagine his years of experience still put him ahead, don't they?"
…
For the sake of a broadcast-friendly image, the best move here would have been humility: I'm still far from his level, but I'll work hard to catch up. Something in that vein. I was sorry, but I had no interest in lying for the sake of an image.
"Well. I consider him a remarkable master artisan — but when it comes to skill, I believe I am the better of the two."
There was not a trace of playfulness in it. A flat, uncompromising answer. Hyun-tae had clearly not expected anything of the kind, and he faltered.
"Ah — that's… that's an extraordinary amount of confidence…!"
"Would you mind if I stepped out to the restroom for a moment?"
"Ah — yes! I'm sorry."
I returned from the restroom and was about to go back to work when PD Kim Dae-yu edged up beside me and asked, very carefully,
"Cheolwoo… that answer just now. We probably shouldn't air that, should we?"
I was equally direct.
"You mean the part where I said my skill surpasses Master Shin Jeong-mun's?"
"Yeah… the reaction would be explosive, but your image…"
"I don't mind."
"Are you… serious? There'll be a flood of complaints once it airs…"
"Will there, I wonder."
Master Shin Jeong-mun was, without question, an outstanding artisan. For a restoration specialist, he was genuinely excellent. But that was as far as human skill went. The skill I had hammered out over a hundred years on Mount Olympus sat several planes above his.
His restoration work isn't poor — but the material composition, among other things, was never quite perfect.
"So… we're really airing it, then. Don't come crying to me later."
"Yes, that's fine. More importantly, I'll be starting the finishing work now."
I bowed in greeting and stepped back inside the plastic enclosure. Then I performed the contaminant removal all over again. Even the dust that might have clung to my clothes — I cleared every speck of it, as thoroughly as I could, to leave no room for accident.
When that was done, I checked the ceramic once more.
It's dry.
The reason I had taken a break at all was to wait until the restored areas had cured completely. Now only one thing remained: reproducing a color identical, in every respect, to the original celadon.
Using something like hydrofluoric acid to fake a color is the lowest of amateur tricks.
This time, I had to deceive the years themselves. Applying the Natural Pigments I had obtained in advance, I would have to produce a color indistinguishable from the celadon as it had always been. Too heavy a coat would create a ridge against the surrounding glaze, so the application had to be as thin as possible.
A little more of that soft, muted luster…
With every pass of the brush I held my breath, refusing to permit even a single waver.
The brush whispered. And whispered again.
I could not have said how much time passed. At last, the final touch of the brush was done.
"Hoo… that's it."
The instant the last stroke landed, the restoration was complete — and Soul manifested with it.
The infinitesimal seam between the restored surface and the original has been sealed shut.
There it is.
The Soul that manifested in the restoration of a cultural artifact was always the same, without exception. It closed the vanishingly fine discrepancy between the restored portion and the original — something no technique on earth could accomplish.
Not that anyone could perceive that difference to begin with.
I left the finished ceramic where it was and stepped out of the enclosure. Then I looked into the camera and spoke with complete assurance.
"The restoration is finished. Please, go in and see for yourselves."
A few days later came the recording of the main broadcast.
The appraisers and guests watching the restoration footage and the interview did not look pleased.
The moment those words landed was when the appraisers' and guests' faces hardened the most. A man barely into his twenties taking on a restoration was absurd enough — and then he had the arrogance to say that. The chill that settled over their expressions was only natural.
Hyun-tae did what he could to salvage the suddenly frosty atmosphere in the studio.
"Wow — our new restorer, Master Kang Cheolwoo! That kind of spirit is exactly what you'd expect from a young artisan, isn't it?"
Even a veteran like Hyun-tae found his question falling into silence, unanswered.
Then Jeong Cheolhun — the most senior of the appraisers by any measure — rose from his seat and looked toward PD Kim.
"PD Kim! Hold on. What is this supposed to be? That young man is really the new restorer? Is this a hidden-camera prank?"
PD Kim cut the recording for a moment.
"Master Jeong. Master Kang may be young, but his skill is the real thing."
"That doesn't make any sense! Restoration is hard even after decades of work — how is someone barely in his twenties supposed to do it?"
Dae-yu nodded as if he understood, then started the cameras again.
"For now, please take a look at the finished piece. If the restoration turns out to be a mess, I will take full responsibility."
With the PD going that far, even Jeong Cheolhun, who had been coming on so strongly a moment before, took a step back.
"Haa… fine. But if it's truly awful, I am not going to be kind about it. You'd better remember that."
Dae-yu nodded his agreement and resumed the recording. Hyun-tae hauled the energy back up as best he could and launched into his cue.
"Then — what does the celadon restored by our new restorer, Master Kang Cheolwoo, actually look like? We will reveal it in just a moment!"
A short while later, two staff members carried in the celadon, still draped in cloth, and set it down. Hyun-tae stepped in front of it and, with a line of patter, drew the covering away.
"And now, we present the celadon to all of you watching at home!"
The cloth fell away, and at last the ewer-shaped celadon was revealed.
The appraisers' faces, which had been set in stone, transformed into outright shock. And the man stunned most of all was Jeong Cheolhun — the same appraiser who, only moments before, had been sitting there in a fury.
Th-this… this is really the restored celadon…?