Chapter Title: A Secret Invitation
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With the competition over, I'd originally planned to head straight to Seoul right after getting discharged from the hospital.
But arranging for Dung-sik to join Yi Song-ui's studio meant sticking around one more day.
Truth be told, Yi Song-ui had his doubts about Dung-sik at first.
He wasn't a gold or silver winner—just an honorable mention for dead last, after all.
But when he heard it was Dung-sik's first time ever lacquering and that he'd used a horsehair brush to boot, the master's eyes lit up differently.
"Hmm, he's got talent, no question... but I need to chat with him first. Got to know what kind of kid he is, right?"
Dung-sik headed off to meet Yi Song-ui that day, a mix of nerves and confusion on his face.
Well, he didn't seem outright opposed, so I guess he was at least open to it.
Meanwhile, I'd extended my resort stay for some alone time.
Sitting by the window, the ondol floor was toasty warm without chilling my butt.
Snow piled thick on the golf course visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
In a good mood, I ordered some Western fruit liquor and wine.
Come to think of it, this is the first booze to taint Hee-so's pure body.
Don't worry, though, Hee-so.
It's my first wine too—not just makgeolli.
"Ahh, feels so good—!"
I flopped back onto the floor with a thud.
Money really is the best, no matter how you slice it.
Freezing out there, but toasty in here?
Compared to that warehouse Dung-sik and I shared, this was paradise beyond paradise—Buddha's own seat.
I made a vow once more.
"Gotta live in a place like this someday."
Every day like a vacation. Warm in winter, cool in summer.
For now, it's a distant dream, but I did have plans lined up.
I sat up and grabbed the large, smooth sheet of paper from the window table.
It was a poster I'd peeled off the bulletin board during a stroll to the Traditional Culture University earlier.
"Hmm..."
[10th Seoul International Ceramics Festival
-The World's Ceramics, All in One Place!]
A massive printed image of a Joseon white porcelain vase dominated the poster.
Below it, details on recruiting participants.
According to the poster, works from potters worldwide would gather here.
Register as an artist, submit your piece, and judges would preliminary-screen before selecting entries.
Then visitors would view them throughout the festival,
and on the final day, rankings via audience vote.
Potters from around the world... Japan was sure to be there.
No, they had to be.
I'd searched more about it on the university computer earlier (hey, I can handle that much now).
First thing that popped up: past grand prize winners.
2022 (9th): Hitomi Sasumi [Sold Out]
2021 (8th): Ayame Yuta [Sold Out]
2020 (7th): Yanosuke Honda [Sold Out]
2019 (6th): Mei Lan [Sold Out]
(...)
The last three years, all grand prizes to Japanese artists.
2019 was the one exception—a Chinese winner.
The host country, Korea, had claimed it only once, back at the inaugural 2014 event.
[Sold Out] meant someone bought it during the festival, apparently.
So Japanese potters come here, snag awards, sell their pieces, and leave.
"...Is that how it is?"
I chugged the wine.
And right then—
Beep-boop-beep!
The door unlocked with a card key.
"Hyuuung—!!!!"
A wasted Dung-sik barreled toward me, stomping loud.
"Hey, hey! If you flop on me, I'll be crushed—gah!!"
Dung-sik launched like a human missile and bear-hugged me tight.
Lucky I kept my balance, or I'd have died again (for real, I'd have come back as a vengeful ghost).
He squeezed my ribs to the breaking point.
"Hyuuung!! I'm a trainee now—I'm an Intangible Cultural Heritage master's disciple~~."
"You reek of booze. How much did you drink?"
I'd just savored some fine wine.
This guy ruined it all with his thick makgeolli stench. Damn it.
But what can you do.
My little bro's happy—time to celebrate.
"...You stoked? Becoming an ICH master's disciple?"
"Yeeah—nah, Master! Why do you think I went under Park Bong-gon in the first placeee—."
"Wasn't it to follow me?"
"That toooo—but that jerk looked cool shaping pottery at the career experience booth, y'know? Didn't even have to be pottery, I just wanted to try being an ICH master or somethin'! But that bastard wouldn't teach technique, just slave laborrr~~."
"Got it, got it. Enough now, back off. You're hot."
"If you weren't my real bro, I'd never have known I had talentttt—I'd never have come down to Buyeo to grab a brush. How would trash like me meet an ICH master? All thanks to youuu— you know you're like my real brother, righttt...?"
Drunk words are sober thoughts, they say.
Hearing him pour it out like that made me proud and a bit misty-eyed.
But showing it would be awkward, so I just scolded him lightly.
"If you get it, do better. Since you started, stick it out and become an ICH master yourself. And for now, how about lying down? My back's about to snap."
"Nooo—I love you so muchhh—really~~."
I know. That's why quit it.
I groaned as I hauled Dung-sik to the bed.
He flopped down and stared at me with bleary eyes.
Then mumbled blankly,
"Master's a good guyyy...".
"Yeah. I think so too."
Reminded me of Elder Gam.
That's why I'm sending you to him, kid. He seems trustworthy.
"But Master saaid—pick up your phooone?"
"Huh? What call?"
"Handphone! We got new ones at the agency yesterdayyy... Listen to Master, dummyyy...".
Yi Song-ui had become "Master" in no time,
and I, who was like a real brother, was now "dummy."
Before I could say a word, Dung-sik passed out snoring.
Just you wait till tomorrow, punk.
Anyway, pick up the phone?
I fished the cellphone from my pants pocket.
No one to call, so I'd left it off.
Held the power button long.
Ding-ding-ding—
The screen lit up with a cheerful chime.
Samji Corporation logo appeared, then faded like sand.
On the bland screen: 12 missed calls.
Dates showed steady calls from three days back.
Not Yi Song-ui, then.
Park Bong-gon, probably.
Figured he wouldn't let it slide.
With his temper, after I trashed his exhibition? No way.
Bet he's searching with fire in his eyes.
Bzzz—bzzz—bzzz!
Same number rang again.
I picked up without dodging.
If he sues me, I'll countersue for labor exploitation.
"Hello."
-Mr. Lee Hee-so?
An unexpected woman's voice.
? Who the hell are you.
I waited for her to identify.
-It's me. The one who bought your number for 400,000 won at Park Bong-gon's exhibition.
"Ah."
The long straight-haired girl?
"I remember. But what's up...?"
-Let me reintroduce myself first. I'm Seon Eun-kyeong, Successor Educator to Intangible Cultural Heritage Master Kim Sil-seop.
Successor Educator?
That's the step right below ICH master.
Hard to believe.
I became a Master Potter young myself, so age aside,
...a woman as top disciple?
In my day, women could learn pottery but never rise high. Joseon era rules.
What a generational shift.
"Ah, I see."
I didn't show surprise.
No point offending her over gender.
-Just in case you didn't know, Park Bong-gon was excommunicated, so no need to worry anymore.
Oh ho, really?
"Music to my ears. But seriously, why is a Successor Educator calling me?"
I racked my brain.
Park Bong-gon excommunicated means Kim Sil-seop's back.
Maybe he's curious about me.
For wrecking his ex-disciple's show? To scold me?
But Seon Eun-kyeong said something I never expected.
-You know Samji Corporation?
?
Of course.
Saw their logo booting up the phone.
And even Hee-so, oblivious to the world,
knew Korea's top chaebol.
"Sure."
-Chairman Yu Ho-seung is... for reasons I can't discuss over the phone, gathering potters nationwide. My master is among them.
ICH master meets chaebol corp.
Makes sense—in my time, lofty yangban lined up for me.
Even fancy Ming envoys came to the Royal Kiln for my wares.
That's the power of irreplaceable craft.
Questions swirled in my head.
If just commissioning pottery, she'd say so outright.
And why tell me?
"Listening. Go on."
-Yes. Truth is, Master wants to invite you too.
"Me?"
-Yes.
"Why?"
-You'll... see when you come.
"You going?"
-I can't join.
Even his top disciple can't, but me? To a chaebol thing?
Unreal.
If anyone else, I'd have quipped,
Hey, you Kim Sun-dal or what?
"Can't wrap my head around it. All he knows is I'm the thug who smashed his disciple's works."
-And you left behind a moon jar.
Aha.
That practice moon jar from scrap clay.
Looks like Kim Sil-seop saw it and took interest.
Interest alone doesn't drag you to such a meet, though.
But living in this era was absurd to begin with.
Anything possible.
This reincarnation taught me that.
-I'll explain details in person. Can you make time?
"Hmm."
I eyed the poster from school.
Planned to head to Seoul, make a piece for that first.
Time for a tweak.
"Sure. I'm in."
Samji's chairman is this era's top mogul, a master merchant.
As a maker,
can't pass up meeting the best seller.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
The next day, Dung-sik and I headed to Seoul.
He had a gap before starting at Yi Song-ui's studio, so we spent one day together.
We settled in some guesthouse in Jongno-gu.
Small and spartan compared to the resort, but decent enough.
Best part: close to Insadong, which I hadn't seen yet.
That afternoon,
I met Seon Eun-kyeong at the cafe she'd picked.
She'd chosen a quiet spot nicely.
As I entered, she stood and bowed politely.
Younger than me, but... professional vibe.
After light greetings, I cut to the chase.
"So, why does your master want to drag me into this Samji Corporation thing?"
"Yes. I'll explain step by step. But first, one thing."
She leaned toward me.
Her long straight hair spilled with a soft rustle.
"This is top secret. Don't tell a soul."
Her seriousness got to me—I leaned in too, whispering playfully.
"Leak it and the sky falls?"
Faces close, Seon Eun-kyeong smiled.
"No, the sky stays put... but the Korean government would be in a bind."