Yeonwoo’s mother, Shin Sun-mi, had slipped on the stairs and was rushed to the hospital for treatment.
Startled, Yeonwoo hurried to the ward to find her mother lying in a bed, her body immobilized by a full cast. Her left leg was broken, and she had sustained a hairline fracture in her wrist.
“Mom, are you okay?”
As Yeonwoo pulled up a chair to check on her, Shin Sun-mi winced, her face twisting in pain as she nodded.
“Well, it’s a relief it’s only this much. I really thought I was a goner.”
“You should be more careful. How did this even happen?”
“I was coming down the stairs when someone called out to me from above. I lost my focus, turned my head, and missed my step. I think I was halfway to meeting my maker.”
Her mother groaned, shifting stiffly. Yeonwoo looked at her with a helpless expression.
“But what are you doing here all of a sudden? What kind of wind blew you home?”
“Oh? Me? No, just… nothing.”
“What about work?”
“Oh. Work? I’m on vacation.”
“A vacation? You should have let me know beforehand.”
“It was sudden. I just came because I missed you, Yeonwoo.”
Shin Sun-mi brushed off the question, grunting as she stared at the ceiling. She had been in the middle of the busiest season for hosting guests, and the worry over what she had left behind was etched into her features.
“This is driving me crazy. I shouldn’t be lying here like this.”
“What are you talking about? The doctor said you have to be absolutely careful for a few months. He said you have to be especially cautious if you don’t want to suffer long-term damage.”
Shin Sun-mi shook her head, dismissing her daughter’s concern.
“Even if I’m careful, I have to get to Domyeongjae. You have crutches, don’t you? I’ll just grab those and go.”
“Now?”
Yeonwoo’s eyes widened. Her mother’s impatience was frantic.
“You can’t, Mom. Didn’t you hear the doctor? He said you need to stay still. He said you need your lower back checked, too.”
“I have to go. If I take leave like this without a plan, it’s basically a resignation. Domyeongjae doesn’t wait for people to recover.”
Shin Sun-mi sighed, her brow furrowing with the frustration of a body that refused to obey her.
Domyeongjae had many long-term employees. Even Shin Sun-mi, with her twenty-five years of service, wasn’t the longest-tenured. With no set retirement age, there was an unspoken, ironclad rule: regardless of the reason, if you vacated your position, you could not return.
“If I rest, they’ll just hire someone else to fill the spot, and then there will be no place for me to go back to.”
“No way. Even if you were injured while working?”
“It’s no use. Either I find a substitute and get them approved, or I give up my seat. Once a new person is in, that’s the end of it.”
*Sigh.* Shin Sun-mi waved her hand in anxiety. “No, this isn’t the time to be lying here. I have to go. Even if I have to crawl.”
As her mother struggled to rise, Yeonwoo forced her back down.
“Where do you think you’re going? You can’t even stand. Please, stay still. You’ll only make it worse.”
“Ugh… I have to go. I’ve given my whole life to Domyeongjae, and now I’m just falling apart. I have to go…”
Watching her mother weep with desperation, a sudden, cold clarity washed over Yeonwoo. Her mother’s fear of losing her job suddenly appeared as a glimmer of opportunity.
Domyeongjae.
The word echoed in her mind.
“Mom.”
Yeonwoo grabbed her mother’s trembling hands.
“You said it would be fine if a substitute is approved, right? Then I’ll go.”
“Wh-what did you say?”
“I’ll take your place.”
…Found it.
“I’ll go to Domyeongjae.”
A place to hide.
*
Domyeongjae had been designated an intangible cultural asset in 1987.
During the chaotic years of the Joseon dynasty, it served as a study for scholars; during the Japanese colonial period, it functioned as a school for the clandestine teaching of Hangul. The belief passed down through generations was to keep the threshold low and never block the path of those seeking knowledge.
Although Seongheon’s great-grandfather had donated most of the land to the state, the residents of Moksan-Gun still viewed Domyeongjae as the Nam family’s domain and held the family in high regard.
Counting the staff and their families, a significant portion of Moksan-Gun was tethered to the estate. It was said that everyone in the region was connected to Domyeongjae by no more than one degree of separation—a truth that was barely an exaggeration.
Domyeongjae was more than a landmark; it was a vast, sovereign kingdom.
“Domyeongjae…”
Arriving at her mother’s workplace, Yeonwoo tilted her head back to study the nameplate. She murmured the characters, feeling the weight of the name as if it were a deep, ancient river. She slowly lowered her gaze.
She crossed the entrance, which remained open to sightseers, and stepped inside. Red plum blossoms hung low, painting the gray canvas of Mount Yeosong with vivid, blood-colored dots.
A sudden south wind set thousands of petals swirling like confetti. In the center, a pine tree—a natural monument estimated at over five hundred years old—caught the petals in its branches like epaulets.
She walked past the sparse crowd of tourists and followed the path her mother had described, eventually coming to a gate that separated the public grounds from the private.
「No Outsiders Allowed」
Yeonwoo read the warning sign and pressed the bell. After a jarring, repetitive sound, a man’s voice answered.
─Who is this?
“Hello. I’m here to meet Chief Moon Ok-rye. My name is Ji Yeonwoo.”
─Ji Yeonwoo-ssi?
“Yes. I’m the daughter of Shin Sun-mi.”
─Ah, Shin Sun-mi. One moment.
With a sharp *click*, the gate opened. Yeonwoo stepped through and walked a long distance into the restricted inner sanctum. Her identity was verified a second time before she finally reached her destination.
Yeonwoo looked back at the path she had taken and bit her lip.
Yes. This is a place where I can hide. As long as I don’t walk out of here of my own accord, no one can find me.
With that resolve, she entered the building. She stepped into the embrace of Domyeongjae—the secret kingdom of Moksan-Gun—a closed, impenetrable world where she could vanish so completely that not even a strand of her hair would remain visible.
*
─The phone is powered off, connecting to voicemail…
Cha Yoonseok, informed that Yeonwoo hadn’t shown up for work, pressed the call button again.
─The phone is powered off, connecting to voicemail…
He gritted his teeth and ended the call. He had already dialed nearly a hundred times.
─The phone is powered off, connecting to voicemail…
“Damn it!”
He honked his horn at the vehicle in front of him, swerved into an alleyway, and screeched to a halt in front of Yeonwoo’s apartment. He slammed his car door and strode to the unit, kicking the door as he pounded on it.
“Ji Yeonwoo! Get out here! I know you’re in there!”
Silence met his shouting. Cha Yoonseok scanned the hallway, then reached for the keypad. He knew the password; he had obtained it through months of surveillance and hidden cameras.
He punched in the code, the door clicked open, and he stormed into the living room, his dress shoes clattering like gunshots on the floor.
“Ji Yeonwoo! Where are you?”
The apartment was empty. Cha Yoonseok tore through drawers with shaking, furious hands, pulling his phone out to call her again. As he waited for the connection, he swept everything on the counter onto the floor in a spray of glass and plastic.
*Beep*—Connected to voicemail.
“You think you can betray me? How dare you run away!”
His voice was thick with venom. He stood in the center of the room, his chest heaving. He caught his reflection in the vanity mirror she used every morning, and a cold, predatory laugh escaped his lips.
His tone shifted, instantly softening into a terrifying, syrupy cadence.
“Yeonwoo-ya. Did you go out for some fresh air? Where are you? If you tell me, I’ll pick you up. It’s dangerous out there alone.”
His eyes flashed with madness.
“Call me. It’ll be better for your well-being if you come to me willingly.”
He changed his tone again, shifting into a coaxing, playful hum.
“Yeonwoo-ya, I’m sorry. Everything is my fault. I’m sorry for hurting you. Let’s meet face to face and talk. Just talk, okay? I’ll go crazy if I don’t see you. Call me. Got it?”
The tenderness dissolved, replaced by a hideous distortion of his features in the glass.
“I warned you. You can’t escape me. You clearly didn’t take me seriously.”
Even as he left the message, his persona fractured and shifted. The look in his eyes—the one that had left Yeonwoo’s world in ruins—hardened.
“Yes. Good. Go ahead and hide like a rat. Hide deep, so that not a single strand of your hair can be seen.”
He sneered at his own reflection.
“I will find you.”