The construction for the resort project had officially begun. The procession of excavators rolling in resembled tanks advancing toward a battlefield.
With large-scale operations underway, manpower flooded in from across the country. Though Manager Moon Ok-rye had fussed and interfered, by the morning of the start date, makeshift canteens sprouted like weeds, constructed from rusted shipping containers.
They brought everyone: merchants selling makgeolli in disposable cups like slushies, and laundry services boasting they could scrub the very clothes off your back until they vanished.
The village residents welcomed the intrusion most of all. A commercial district had taken root in the once-still wasteland, and the laborers—who primarily carried cash—began to loosen their purse strings. Shops that had once operated only a day or two a week swung their doors open wide, spruced up and ravenous for business.
Domyeong Supermarket, Domyeong Barbershop, Domyeong Clinic, Domyeong Gukbap. The signs were a relentless parade of the name “Domyeongjae.”
“The young master of Domyeongjae has returned.”
People greeted Seongheon’s arrival with great fanfare. They hailed him as if he were a sports hero returning home after elevating the nation’s status. They harbored no doubt that the scion of such a prestigious house would transform their humble region into a prosperous city.
*Just as every master of Domyeongjae has, you too shall make us wealthy.* The people believed it with a religious intensity. They hoped Seongheon would inherit the noble spirit passed down through the generations, praying for the eldest son of the eldest son to uphold the mandate of their great family.
It was a tiresome burden. At least to Seongheon, who had no intention of sacrificing his life for Moksan-Gun.
He finished his schedule early and retreated to Domyeongjae. Though the air in Moksan-Gun hummed with activity, he knew the novelty would fade; until then, he intended to minimize his public appearances.
Seongheon’s vehicle pulled up to the path leading to the main building. He stepped out, briefcase in hand, and walked inside with measured, silent strides. His unruffled gait carried the weight of someone born to command.
*Thump, thump.* His distinct, leather-soled footsteps echoed across the courtyard before coming to a sudden halt. He had caught sight of a woman standing near one of the buildings.
Seongheon stood still, observing Yeonwoo. Her face, bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun, looked strangely bright. He watched her quietly, then glanced behind her, wondering what she could be staring at with such a sentimental expression.
There was nothing but the unremarkable slopes of Mount Yeosong. He looked back at her, baffled by her focus.
It was a six-story building, and she stood on the fifth floor. Seongheon traced his gaze from the first floor upward, level by level, before settling back on her face.
A spring breeze stirred her hair. She had appeared frayed and exhausted moments ago, but now, a soft smile curled her lips, making her look as delicate as cotton fresh from a seed.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. He stared up at her, waiting until their eyes locked.
Yeonwoo flinched, hiding herself with frantic haste, as if she had been caught doing something forbidden. Her flustered state was palpable even from below.
Seongheon lowered his head and let out a soft, dry laugh. He toyed with his chin, collecting his thoughts, and looked up at her window once more.
As he stood there, a fragrance drifted to the tip of his nose—a scent of flowers that no city perfume could ever mimic. It was the scent of the magnolias his mother had loved in his youth.
At that moment, Yeonwoo peeked her head out again. Caught once more, she froze. Seongheon slowly blinked at her.
Perhaps mortified that she had been caught staring, the woman bowed her head in a stiff, hurried greeting. She must have remembered the rule that one must offer a polite salutation to a member of Domyeongjae whenever they crossed paths.
Across the distance of the small window, Seongheon tilted his neck and returned the bow.
He turned away, indifferent. Upon reaching the main building, Manager Moon and the staff greeted him, but he bypassed the pleasantries and entered his guest quarters, Unseondang.
*
“The Managing Director has arrived; why aren’t you going down? Are you hoping for a free meal on your first day?”
Yeonwoo, who had slipped down to the main building after witnessing Seongheon below the window, was met with a sharp reprimand from Manager Moon Ok-rye.
Taken aback, Yeonwoo instinctively folded her hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know he had arrived.”
“Didn’t know? Why wouldn’t you? Didn’t you receive the walkie-talkie?”
“No. Not yet.”
Manager Moon let out a heavy breath. Ja-Young, unable to watch, intervened. “Manager, Yeonwoo hasn’t even received her uniform yet. She’s going to be busy enough today—let her start her official duties tomorrow.”
“What do you mean, tomorrow? Her salary starts today, doesn’t it? Don’t talk such nonsense.”
Manager Moon cut her off, and Ja-Young retreated. The manager turned her gaze toward Yeonwoo. “The Managing Director is in Unseondang. Go sweep the courtyard. Sprinkle some water, too. We’ve kept the doors closed to block the pollen; it must be stifling in there. Air it out.”
“Yes. I understand.”
“What’s your cell phone number? Write it down before you go.”
“My number? I don’t have a cell phone.”
Manager Moon’s expression twisted. She looked at Yeonwoo as if she were a creature from another planet. “You don’t? You don’t have a cell phone?”
“No. I don’t.”
“Since when?”
“Since today. I didn’t think I would need it, so I got rid of it.”
Manager Moon blinked, stunned. A twenty-something in South Korea who had purged her own cell phone?
“Look, don’t misunderstand me,” Manager Moon said, wiping her hands on her apron. “I’m asking because this is highly irregular. Are you, by any chance, someone the authorities are looking for?”
“The authorities? Why would they look for me?”
“Because people only disappear from the grid for a reason. Have you done something the law forbids?”
“Nothing like that.”
“Are you sure? You aren’t lying to me?”
Yeonwoo shook her head vigorously, though her heart pounded with a strange, irrational guilt. “It’s the truth. I just… if I have a phone, I’ll look at the outside world and start wanting to leave. I decided it would be better not to have one at all. I want to do a good job here.”
Manager Moon scanned her from top to bottom, her eyes narrowing. “She’s a character I haven’t seen before. Definitely strange.”
*
Unseondang was a traditional Hanok on the outside, but its interior was modern and state-of-the-art. It was the ancestral space for the eldest son of the house, complete with a private bedroom, office, and garden.
Yeonwoo, the walkie-talkie now clipped to her waist, swept the courtyard. She cleared away the pine pollen and the fallen petals, then sprayed the stone path with water until it glistened.
By the time she finished, blue twilight had settled. Taking a breath, she approached the entrance of Unseondang. Her last task was to air out the interior.
She removed her shoes and stepped onto the wooden floor, moving through the rooms until she reached the final door—the office.
“Excuse me. I’ll be coming in for a moment.”
Her voice trembled. She cleared her throat and fidgeted with her fingertips.
“Come in.”
When Seongheon’s voice drifted through the wood, Yeonwoo swallowed hard. The thought of him sitting behind that door made her nerves fray.
She turned the knob and stepped inside, keeping her gaze averted. But as she raised her head to find the window, she met Seongheon’s eyes.
“Excuse me,” she stuttered, quickly locating the heavy folding window. She pushed against it with all her might.
“Did you… make use of the business card?” Seongheon’s voice came from over her shoulder.
Yeonwoo stopped and turned. “No. I haven’t.”
“It would be wise to use it as soon as possible. I am not the type of person who can live with a debt.”
“The debt is mine. Thank you for hiring me.”
She rummaged through her pocket and pulled out the card. She had hoped to return it one day, but the opportunity had arrived sooner than expected. She stepped toward his desk and placed the wrinkled card on the surface.
“I don’t think I should be holding onto this,” she said softly. “I didn’t store it very well. I’m sorry it’s wrinkled.”
Seongheon let out a dry, self-deprecating laugh.
“The laundry was done well,” she added. “Thank you for your consideration.”
“It wasn’t consideration. I simply wanted to provide fair compensation.”
“Yes. But it was already more than enough. It wasn’t an expensive garment—I could have just thrown it away. Please, you really don’t need to reward me.”
Seongheon looked up from his papers. His eyes held an inexplicable, compelling energy. He exhaled a long, slow breath.
He noticed the water splashes on her trousers—evidence of the work she had spent the last hour performing. He seemed to ponder something, then reached into his wallet and pulled out a matte black credit card.
“It doesn’t have to be Seoryang Department Store,” he said, sliding the card across the desk with his fingertips.
“Instead of clothes you can just throw away, buy some that you would be sad to see get wet or splattered with mud.”
Yeonwoo went still.
“It would be even better,” he added, “if you bought several.”
A deep, reddish sunset bled into the room, embracing the space in an amber glow.