The thin, piercing whistle of the kettle sliced through the heavy silence of the police box, a sound so mundane yet utterly jarring in the charged atmosphere. Ji-min flinched visibly, her eyes snapping open. She'd been lost in a haze of cold-induced numbness, the rough wool blanket a meager shield against the shivers that still racked her frame. The flickering orange light from the stove painted dancing shadows on the stark walls, highlighting the utilitarian bleakness of the tiny room – the worn desk, the filing cabinet like a metal tombstone, the narrow cot that looked about as inviting as a prison bunk. Muddy water pooled around her ruined boots on the concrete floor. The smell – damp wool, woodsmoke, dust, and the pervasive, earthy scent of wet mud clinging to both of them – was overwhelming.
Seo-jun moved with quiet efficiency, silencing the kettle's shriek by lifting it from the hot stove top with a rag. Steam billowed into the damp air. He rummaged in a small cupboard above the water container, producing two plain ceramic mugs and a dented tin. He spooned a generous amount of dark brown powder – barley tea, Ji-min guessed numbly – into each mug, then poured the boiling water over it. The rich, roasted aroma instantly filled the small space, a comforting counterpoint to the lingering scents of damp and despair.
He handed her a mug. The heat seeped through the ceramic into her icy fingers, almost painful at first, then deeply welcome. She wrapped both hands around it, letting the warmth radiate up her arms. She didn't look at him, focusing instead on the dark liquid swirling in the cup, the tiny fragments of barley husk floating on the surface. The silence stretched again, thick and awkward, broken only by the crackle of the fire, the drumming rain on the roof, and the faint, rhythmic drip-drip-drip from their wet clothes.
Seo-jun leaned back against the edge of the desk, cradling his own mug. He watched her, his expression unreadable in the flickering light. The mud had dried on his uniform trousers into stiff, dark patches. His cap was off now, revealing damp, dark hair pushed back from a forehead that seemed permanently etched with a slight frown, even in repose. He looked solid, grounded, completely at home in this Spartan outpost, while she felt like a fragile, muddy alien artifact deposited by the storm.
"Park Ji-min," he stated, his voice low but cutting cleanly through the ambient sounds. It wasn't a question.
She looked up, startled. His dark eyes held hers, intense and observant. "Yes," she managed, her voice still raspy from cold and disuse. "How…?"
"Dispatch relayed your name when they called about your car," he explained simply. His gaze swept over her, taking in the ruined clothes, the mud-streaked face, the exhaustion etched around her eyes. "You rented the Western House. The Yangok."
She nodded mutely, taking a tentative sip of the hot tea. It was strong, bitter, and deeply earthy, nothing like the delicate herbal infusions she favored in Seoul. It burned her tongue but sent a wave of warmth down her throat, loosening the tight knot of cold in her chest slightly. "Yes. For… for a few months. Needed… quiet." The word felt hollow, ridiculous, considering the cacophony outside and the turmoil within this tiny box.
He didn't react to the 'quiet' comment. His focus remained practical. "You're soaked through. That blanket won't be enough once the initial shock wears off. Hypothermia's a real risk." He gestured towards the door. "Kim Soon-ja – the shopkeeper you passed – she lives just behind her shop. She's small, but she has dry clothes. Probably something that'll fit you, roughly. We should get you changed."
The thought of venturing back out into the deluge, even for a short distance, was horrifying. Ji-min shuddered, pulling the scratchy blanket tighter. "Can't… can't I just stay here? By the fire?" Her voice sounded small, plaintive, even to her own ears.
Seo-jun shook his head, his expression firm. "The fire helps, but wet clothes will leach the heat right back out of you. Soon-ja's is close. Five minutes, tops. You need dry layers." He paused, his gaze flicking to her mud-caked boots. "And we need to get those off you too. They're ruined."
He pushed himself off the desk. "Finish your tea. Quickly." He moved to the door, grabbing a worn, dark green oilskin coat hanging on a peg beside his uniform jacket. He shrugged it on over his damp shirt. "I'll take you."
Resistance felt futile. He radiated an implacable sense of what *needed* to be done. Ji-min gulped down the rest of the hot, bitter tea, the warmth a temporary courage boost. She stood up, her legs feeling stiff and uncooperative. The blanket slipped from her shoulders, landing in a damp heap on the chair. The cold air immediately bit through her thin, soaked jacket. She hugged herself, shivering violently again.
Seo-jun opened the door. The roar of the rain and wind rushed back in, a physical force. He held the door for her. "Stay close."
Stepping back into the storm felt like stepping into an icy shower fully clothed. The rain lashed her face, instantly soaking her hair again. The wind cut through her thin jacket like it wasn't there. She stumbled after Seo-jun's broad back in the oilskin coat as he led the way back along the muddy river that was Jeongno. The few meters to Kim Soon-ja's shop felt like miles. Lights glowed warmly from the shop's windows, a beacon in the grey gloom.
As they approached, the shop door flew open before Seo-jun could even knock. Kim Soon-ja stood there, her eyes wide with a mixture of concern and burning curiosity. She'd clearly been waiting.
"Seo-jun-ah! Bring her in, bring her in! Saints above, look at the state of you, agassi!" She ushered them both inside the warm, cluttered space, bustling around Ji-min like a small, determined sparrow. "Dripping all over, frozen to the bone! What a mess! Come, come to the back, quick now!" She shooed them past the counter stacked with goods, through a curtained doorway into a small, incredibly warm living space attached to the shop. A low wooden table sat on a heated floor (*ondol*), a small TV murmured in the corner, and the air was thick with the comforting smells of food, herbs, and old wood.
Soon-ja immediately started pulling open drawers in a tall wooden wardrobe. "You're taller than me, agassi, but I have something… ah!" She pulled out a pair of thick, dark blue cotton trousers and a heavy, grey woolen sweater. They looked clean but well-worn, practical, and utterly unlike anything Ji-min owned. "These belonged to my daughter-in-law before she moved to the city. Too big for me, might fit you well enough. Dry, that's the main thing!" She thrust the clothes into Ji-min's arms. "Bathroom's through there." She pointed to a small sliding door. "Get those wet things off before you catch your death! I'll find some socks."
Ji-min stood frozen for a second, overwhelmed by the woman's brusque kindness and the sheer ordinariness of the warm, lived-in room. Seo-jun stood near the doorway to the shop, a silent, damp sentinel, water dripping from his oilskin coat onto the floor mat. He gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod. *Go.*
Gratefully, Ji-min stumbled into the tiny, spotlessly clean bathroom. She peeled off her ruined jacket, jeans, and sodden sweater with trembling, clumsy fingers. The chill of the air on her bare skin was shocking. She pulled on the borrowed clothes. The trousers were loose but comfortable, cinched with a drawstring waist. The sweater was thick, scratchy, and blessedly warm, swallowing her whole. It smelled faintly of mothballs and cedar. She emerged, feeling like a child playing dress-up, but undeniably warmer. Soon-ja was waiting with a pair of thick, hand-knitted wool socks.
"Put these on! Your feet must be blocks of ice! And those boots…" She clicked her tongue disapprovingly at the muddy lumps Ji-min had left just inside the door. "Hopeless. Seo-jun-ah, find her some rubber slippers! The green ones by the door!"
Seo-jun silently retrieved a pair of worn green rubber sandals, the kind worn by farmers and fishermen. Ji-min slipped them on. They were several sizes too big, but dry.
Soon-ja guided her towards the warm *ondol* floor near the low table. "Sit, sit! Warm your bones!" She bustled over to the small kitchen area adjoining the living space. "I'll make more tea. Proper tea, with ginger! Chase the cold out." She filled a kettle, clattering pots and jars.
Ji-min sank onto the warm floor, tucking her socked feet under her. The heat radiating from below was heavenly. She glanced at Seo-jun, who still stood near the curtained doorway, looking slightly out of place in the domestic setting. He'd removed the oilskin coat, revealing his damp uniform shirt underneath. Mud still streaked his trousers. He met her gaze briefly, then looked away, his attention seemingly fixed on a calendar hanging on the wall.
Soon-ja returned with a steaming pot and two more mugs. "Here, drink this." She poured a fragrant, pale yellow liquid. "Ginger and honey. Good for shock." She poured a mug for Seo-jun too, placing it on the table near him. "You too, Seo-jun-ah. Standing there like a wet post."
He accepted the mug with a quiet "Thank you, Halmeoni," but didn't move from his spot.
Soon-ja settled herself opposite Ji-min at the low table, her sharp eyes missing nothing. "Park Ji-min, is it? From Seoul?" She didn't wait for confirmation. "Renting that old Yangok place? Bold choice, agassi. Very bold." She took a sip of her own tea, watching Ji-min over the rim of the mug. "What brings a city girl like you all the way out here in this weather? Couldn't wait for a sunny day?" Her tone was light, but the curiosity was palpable.
Ji-min wrapped her hands around the warm mug, savoring the spicy-sweet scent. "I… needed a change. Somewhere quiet. To work." It was the simplified version, the one she told everyone. The suffocating pressure of her design studio, the creative block that felt like a physical wall, the failed relationship that had left her feeling hollow… none of that belonged in this warm room with this sharp-eyed grandmother. "The listing… it looked peaceful. Remote."
Soon-ja snorted softly. "Remote, yes. Peaceful?" She glanced towards the curtained doorway, where the drumming rain was still audible. "Sometimes. Other times, the mountain likes to remind us who's boss." She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice conspiratorially, though Seo-jun was clearly listening. "And the Yangok… well. It's got history, that place. Been empty a long time. Since old man Park's big idea washed away with the '99 rains." She shook her head. "Not a lucky spot. Some say it's… unsettled."
Ji-min felt a prickle of unease crawl up her spine, unrelated to the cold. "Unsettled?"
"Oh, just old folks' talk," Soon-ja waved a dismissive hand, though her eyes held a knowing glint. "Wind in the rafters sounds like whispering. Cold spots where there shouldn't be. Silly stories. But…" She paused, looking meaningfully at Ji-min's borrowed clothes. "…maybe explains why the rent's so cheap, eh?" She chuckled, a dry, raspy sound. "Still, you're brave. Or desperate." She took another sip of tea, her gaze sharpening. "Seo-jun found you just in time, by the sounds of it. Stuck down near the bend? That slope's treacherous when it's wet. Could've gone right over."
Ji-min shivered, remembering the terrifying angle of the car, the feel of the mud giving way beneath her boots. "Officer Ahn… he was very efficient." She risked a glance at him. He was staring fixedly into his untouched mug of ginger tea, his expression unreadable.
"Efficient? That one?" Soon-ja chuckled again. "He's a rock, Seo-jun-ah. Been our rock since he showed up, what, thirteen years back? Quiet lad. Keeps to himself mostly. But he knows these mountains like the back of his hand. Knows the people too. Knows when something's not right." She gave Ji-min a long, appraising look. "Good man to have around when trouble comes knocking. Or driving." She winked.
Before Ji-min could respond, the curtain to the shop twitched aside. A figure stood there, silhouetted against the light from the shop – Lee Min-ho. He was dressed in worn work clothes and a dripping rain poncho, his face grim, mud spattering his boots. He looked from Soon-ja to Ji-min, bundled in borrowed clothes, then to Seo-jun standing stiffly by the doorway. His eyes, dark and resentful, lingered on Seo-jun.
"Halmeoni," he greeted Soon-ja, his voice flat. "Need some more of that liniment for the ox's leg. Rain's making it stiffen up." He ignored Ji-min completely, his gaze fixed on Seo-jun. "Heard you had some excitement, Officer. City car stuck? Hope they had deep pockets for the tow." There was a hard edge to his tone.
Seo-jun met his gaze steadily. "Car's secure for now, Min-ho-ssi. Tow's not possible until the road clears." His voice was neutral, carefully devoid of inflection.
"Secure?" Min-ho snorted. "Down by the bend? In this? Hope you chained it to a tree. Ground's like soup. Wouldn't take much for it to go for a swim." He stepped fully into the room, dripping water on the floor. His presence seemed to suck the warmth out of the space. He finally flicked a dismissive glance at Ji-min. "Shouldn't be driving roads like that if you don't know them. Asking for trouble."
Ji-min felt a flush of embarrassment and anger rise in her cheeks. "The GPS…"
"GPS?" Min-ho cut her off with a derisive laugh. "Out here? Worthless. Paper map and common sense, that's what you need. City folks." He shook his head, turning back to Soon-ja. "The liniment, Halmeoni?"
Soon-ja, her expression carefully neutral, stood up. "In the shop, Min-ho-ya. I'll get it." She shot Seo-jun a look that said *behave* and bustled past Min-ho through the curtain.
An awkward silence descended, thick and heavy. Min-ho stood dripping, radiating hostility like a physical force, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere above Seo-jun's shoulder. Seo-jun remained impassive, sipping his tea now, his posture relaxed but watchful. Ji-min shrank back slightly, feeling like an unwelcome intruder in the tense standoff. The warmth from the floor seemed less potent.
Soon-ja returned quickly, handing Min-ho a small jar. "Here. Rub it in well morning and night. Keep him dry if you can."
Min-ho took the jar, grunted a thanks, and dropped a few worn banknotes on the counter visible through the curtain. He turned to leave, pausing only to cast one last, lingering look at Seo-jun, a look filled with unspoken challenge and old bitterness. Then he was gone, the shop bell jangling sharply behind him.
The tension in the room eased slightly, but the echo of Min-ho's hostility remained. Soon-ja sighed, returning to the table. "That boy… carries the world on his shoulders, and blames everyone else for the weight." She refilled Ji-min's mug. "Pay him no mind, agassi. He's got a good heart underneath it all, just… buried deep sometimes."
Ji-min nodded mutely, sipping the ginger tea, its warmth failing to dispel the chill Min-ho had brought in. She felt utterly out of her depth, caught between the village's hidden currents and the stoic, enigmatic presence of Officer Ahn.
Seo-jun finally pushed away from the doorway. "The rain's easing a little," he observed, his voice breaking the uneasy quiet. He looked at Ji-min. "We should get you settled at the Yangok. It's dry, at least. Got the basics. You need rest."
The thought of going to that empty, possibly 'unsettled' house alone in the storm was daunting. But staying here, in Soon-ja's warm room with its undercurrents of village drama, felt equally uncomfortable. She nodded, setting down her mug. "Okay."
Soon-ja clucked her tongue. "Rest is right. You look worn to a thread, agassi." She rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a large, sturdy plastic umbrella. "Here. Take this. Bigger than Seo-jun's silly little police thing." She handed it to Ji-min. "And take this too." She wrapped two fat rice cakes in paper and pressed them into Ji-min's hands. "Eat something warm later. Yangok's got a stove, but no food, I'd wager."
"Thank you," Ji-min murmured, touched by the woman's unexpected kindness despite the sharp tongue. "For the clothes… everything."
Soon-ja waved a dismissive hand. "Pah. Just bring them back clean when you're done. Now go, before the rain remembers it's supposed to be drowning us." She shooed them towards the shop entrance.
Seo-jun pulled on his oilskin coat again and picked up his police cap. Ji-min opened the large umbrella as they stepped back out into the rain. It *had* eased slightly, from a torrent to a steady, heavy downpour. The light was fading fast towards evening, the mountains dissolving into deep purple-grey shadows.
They walked in silence back along Jeongno, which was now a series of interconnected muddy ponds reflecting the gloomy sky. Ji-min struggled to keep the large umbrella steady against the wind and keep up with Seo-jun's long strides in the oversized rubber sandals. He didn't speak, his gaze fixed ahead, navigating the mud with unconscious ease. She felt dwarfed by the borrowed sweater, ridiculous in the sandals, and utterly insignificant beneath the towering, rain-lashed peaks.
They passed the Stone Buddha fork again and took a narrower path branching upwards, away from the main lane. It was steeper, muddier, flanked by dripping ferns and dense undergrowth. The roar of the river grew fainter, replaced by the dripping silence of the forest pressing close. After a few minutes of arduous climbing, the path opened into a small, overgrown clearing.
And there it was. The Yangok.
It loomed out of the gloom like a ghost ship run aground. A two-story Western-style house, or what remained of one. Its once-white paint was now a leprous grey, peeling off in long, sad strips like scabs. Shutters hung askew from broken hinges. Several windows were boarded up; others gaped like dark, empty eye sockets. A wide, covered porch wrapped around the front, its roof sagging ominously in the middle. The whole structure seemed to hunch against the mountain slope, radiating neglect and a profound sense of melancholy. The overgrown garden was a jungle of wet weeds and skeletal shrubs. It looked less like a house and more like a ruin, a monument to forgotten ambition.
Ji-min stopped dead, the umbrella tilting forgotten in her hand. Rain dripped onto her head. This was it? This decaying monstrosity was her refuge? Her 'quiet place to work'? The pictures online had been grainy, atmospheric… they hadn't conveyed the sheer, oppressive dilapidation. Soon-ja's words echoed in her mind: *Not a lucky spot. Unsettled.*
Seo-jun walked ahead, pulling a large, old-fashioned key from his pocket. He mounted the creaking porch steps, which groaned in protest under his weight. He unlocked the heavy, scarred front door and pushed it open. It swung inward with a long, mournful creak that seemed to vibrate through the damp air. A wave of cold, musty air, smelling of damp plaster, old wood, and something faintly mildewed, rolled out to greet them.
He turned, silhouetted in the dark doorway. "It's… basic," he said, his voice flat. "But the roof's sound in the main rooms. Living area and kitchen downstairs. Bedroom upstairs. Stove works. Electricity is… intermittent." He stepped inside, disappearing into the gloom.
Ji-min stood frozen on the muddy path, clutching the rice cakes and the umbrella, staring into the dark maw of the doorway. The rain drummed on the plastic above her. The wind sighed through the surrounding pines. The Yangok waited, silent and imposing. The warmth of Soon-ja's tea and borrowed sweater felt like a distant memory. The reality of her isolation, her impulsive decision, crashed over her with the force of the storm. She took a deep, shaky breath, the scent of decay filling her nostrils. T