Morning sunlight pierced the workshop's display window and stretched across the workbench.
Han-gyeol opened his eyes, rolling his stiff neck. His entire body ached from the brief nap, but his mind felt clearer and fresher than ever.
He checked the workbench out of habit.
There lay the result into which he had poured his soul all night. The White Porcelain Bottle with Iron-Painted Cord Design gleamed brilliantly in the morning sun.
It felt entirely different from how it had looked beneath the work light in last night's darkness. The white porcelain revealed beneath natural light was nothing short of wondrous.
Over a milky-white surface as soft as cream ran a boldly painted dark red cord design. It did not look like an unmoving object, but a living creature stirring with life. No trace remained of its hideous past with a shattered neck.
As if entranced, Han-gyeol lifted the bottle.
Its surface felt smooth beneath his fingertips. The original clay and the clay he had added had become so perfectly unified that even he, who had made it, struggled to tell where one ended and the other began.
"Did you sleep well?"
Han-gyeol lightly greeted the bottle. Speaking to an inanimate object might have seemed ridiculous, but after glimpsing the fifty years of memories it carried, he could never regard it as a stranger.
It was time to return it to its owner.
He went to the materials storeroom in one corner of the workshop. Paulownia boxes his grandfather had collected in life were stacked there by size.
"Let's see...... This one should do."
Han-gyeol selected a suitably sized box and brushed away the dust. The subtle fragrance unique to paulownia tickled his nose. With its excellent humidity regulation and insect-repelling properties, nothing was better for storing precious objects.
He lined the box with a soft silk wrapping cloth, then carefully nestled the white porcelain bottle inside.
It fit perfectly. The bottle looked comfortable, as though it had found its own home.
Han-gyeol closed the lid and tied the cord. Everything was ready.
Right then, he sensed someone outside the workshop.
Trudge, trudge.
The footsteps were listless. He knew who it was without looking.
Chime—.
The door opened with the wind chime, and Old Mr. Kim from the laundry entered.
His face was ashen. Dark hollows lay beneath his eyes, and his lips were parched. He had clearly not slept a wink all night.
Unable even to enter fully, Old Mr. Kim hovered by the doorway. His anxious gaze searched Han-gyeol's face.
"Han-gyeol...... Are you awake?"
His voice sounded damp with tears. He seemed to have resigned himself already.
Yesterday, he had acted on impulse and been swept away by the conviction in Han-gyeol's eyes, leaving the object behind. Once he returned home and thought it over, however, the idea made no sense.
Repair that hideous piece of trash? Turn it into a treasure worth over 80 million won?
No matter how he considered it, the young man had either been bluffing or telling a kindly lie to console him.
"You're here, sir. I was just about to call you."
Han-gyeol welcomed Old Mr. Kim with a bright smile. But the old man's expression did not brighten. Instead, he seemed to interpret Han-gyeol's smile as the awkward grin of someone trying to cover up a failure.
"It...... didn't work after all, did it? I gave you something useless and only made you suffer."
Old Mr. Kim released a deep sigh.
"I told my wife too, and all she did was ask if I'd gone senile. Just...... give it to the junk dealer, or throw it away yourself. I can't bring myself to do it with my own hands......."
Old Mr. Kim lowered his head, unable even to look toward the workbench. The guilt of treating his mother's keepsake as trash and ultimately discarding it weighed down his shoulders.
Han-gyeol silently approached him and gently held his shoulder.
"Sir, please lift your head."
"I have no excuse. I couldn't face your grandfather......."
"Throw it away? It's been craning its neck waiting for its owner to arrive."
"......Hm?"
Only then did Old Mr. Kim raise his head.
Han-gyeol stepped aside and pointed to the workbench.
The paulownia box Han-gyeol had prepared sat there. This was no old, shabby plastic bag, but an elegant wooden box.
"What...... is this?"
"Open it yourself. It's your property, sir."
Old Mr. Kim reached out with a trembling hand. A fragile hope and lingering suspicion crossed in his eyes.
He carefully loosened the cord around the box. His fingertips trembled so badly that undoing a single knot took a long while.
At last, the lid opened.
A red silk wrapping cloth covered the contents. Old Mr. Kim swallowed dryly and pulled the cloth aside.
Rustle.
The silk slid away, revealing the white porcelain sleeping within.
For a moment, the air inside the workshop seemed to stop.
"......!"
Old Mr. Kim's eyes widened as if they might leap from their sockets. Forgetting even to breathe, he stared into the box.
A flawless, clear, milky-white surface.
The bottle's gracefully rising neck.
And the vigorous dark red cord design sweeping around its body.
It was not the object Old Mr. Kim remembered from his mother's bundle. No, it was. It was the same object, yet it was different.
In his memory, the bottle had always been covered in dust and shoved into a corner. Later, its neck had broken, leaving it unsightly.
But what stood before him now was a treasure that belonged behind glass in a museum.
"Is this...... really that bottle?"
Old Mr. Kim's voice trembled thinly. He nearly pinched his own cheek in disbelief, then stopped as though afraid the dream might break.
"You may touch it."
Han-gyeol gently encouraged him.
Old Mr. Kim cautiously reached out and touched the porcelain surface.
It was cool and smooth. The sensation beneath his fingertips was vividly real.
He felt along the neck where it had broken. The jagged wound that had nearly cut his hand had vanished completely. However hard he searched, he could not find even a seam. It was perfectly smooth, as though it had been born that way.
"My goodness......."
Strength left Old Mr. Kim's legs. He leaned against a chair as though collapsing to the floor.
Large tears streamed from his eyes.
It was not simply because the object had been repaired. The sight had touched the guilt that had sat like a knot in one corner of his heart for fifty years.
"I'm...... I'm a wretched bastard. After everything my mother went through to leave it to me, I broke it......."
Old Mr. Kim sobbed without even daring to embrace the bottle.
His mother had carried it on her head and back to protect it on the refugee road. She had valued it more than rice. Yet he had mistreated it without knowing its worth. Claiming poverty and the struggle to make a living as excuses, he had forgotten his mother's final plea.
The broken bottle embodied his failure as a son and his mother's damaged heart. Now that it had regained its original form, Old Mr. Kim could not raise his head for shame, much less rejoice.
"Sir."
Han-gyeol knelt on one knee before Old Mr. Kim to meet his eyes. He looked at him warmly.
"Don't blame yourself, sir. Your mother wouldn't have resented you."
"No. I was such a worthless son. Mother treasured this bottle as much as her life. But I failed to take care of it......."
"It wasn't because of the money."
Han-gyeol's firm voice cut off Old Mr. Kim's sobs.
"What?"
"Your mother probably didn't treasure and protect this bottle so fiercely simply because it was expensive."
Han-gyeol recalled the memories he had seen during the restoration last night. But he could not tell the truth as it was. If he said he had 'seen the object's memories,' they would treat him as a madman.
He changed his manner of speaking and pretended to be drawing a conclusion from a restorer's expertise.
"I examined the bottle closely while cleaning it. Look beneath the foot here."
Han-gyeol lifted the bottle to show him the bottom. Marks left by long years of scraping across the floor remained there.
"And do you see these faint worn patches on the body? You don't find marks like this on an object kept inside a display cabinet. They're proof that someone constantly touched it, polished it, and held it against their chest."
"......."
"You said she carried this south during the war instead of a sack of rice, didn't you? When starvation was staring her in the face, why didn't she sell it? Even then, it would've brought several sacks of rice at the market, wouldn't it?"
Old Mr. Kim stared with his mouth open. It was a question he had never considered. He had only thought, 'Mother treasured it,' without reflecting deeply on why she had never sold it.
"Because it was hope."
Han-gyeol's voice dropped low.
"She had lost her hometown and her home to the war, and everything around her had collapsed. Amid the fear that she might die the very next day, this bottle must have been the only thread your mother could hold onto."
Han-gyeol looked directly into Old Mr. Kim's eyes.
"As long as she had this, she could rise again at any time. As long as she protected it, she could keep her son from starving. That single belief sustained her. So this wasn't a bottle. It was your mother's 'will' and her 'promise' to protect her family."
Old Mr. Kim's eyes shook violently.
"And...... the fact that it broke wasn't your fault, sir."
"What do you mean......."
"What your mother left behind wasn't an object, but that heart. The damage is proof that you lived fiercely for fifty years. It broke as you struggled in a cramped home to care for your family. If you'd lived lazily and comfortably, the bottle might have remained intact, but your family would've starved."
Han-gyeol's words pierced Old Mr. Kim's chest like a dagger. Yet they did not hurt. Instead, they were healing words that cut away a festering wound and allowed new flesh to grow.
"Your mother would be more heartbroken to see you tormented by guilt than to see the bottle broken. A broken object can be repaired, but a person's heart is difficult to mend."
"Ah......."
Old Mr. Kim burst into tears again. These tears, however, were different. They were not tears of remorse, but of liberation as he set down the burden that had oppressed him all his life.
"You're right. Mother...... was that kind of person. Thank you...... Thank you so much."
Old Mr. Kim wept for a long time. Han-gyeol waited in silence, hoping the tears would wash the residue from the old man's heart like the final stage of cleaning the porcelain.
After crying it out, Old Mr. Kim looked far more at ease. With the swelling gone from his eyes, he smiled sheepishly.
"What a spectacle for an old man to make. Crying first thing in the morning."
"Not at all. You feel much better now, don't you?"
"Yes. It feels as though ten years of indigestion have finally cleared. It's all thanks to you. I don't know how I can ever repay this kindness......."
Old Mr. Kim lovingly stroked the white porcelain in the box. It was no longer an unwelcome burden, but felt as warm as his mother's embrace found again.
Han-gyeol rose and set water to boil in the kettle. It was time to change the mood. The emotion had been given its due. Now they needed to discuss reality.
"Sir, have a cup of warm tea, and then let's discuss something important."
"Something important?"
"The value of this piece."
Old Mr. Kim's eyes rounded.
"Ah, that's right. You said it was expensive, didn't you?"
He had been skeptical yesterday, but seeing the gleaming porcelain before him now filled him with hope that Han-gyeol's words might have been true.
Han-gyeol prepared coffee for Old Mr. Kim, handed it over, and sat down.
"Its condition is much better than I expected. The quality of the clay, the state of the glaze, and above all, the iron-painted design are extraordinary. It's top-grade white porcelain made at the Bunwon (royal kiln) in the nineteenth century."
Han-gyeol paused for a moment, then spoke as calmly as if dropping a bomb.
"If we take this to Insadong, it should bring at least 100 million won."
"Pfft—!"
Old Mr. Kim nearly spat out the coffee he was drinking. Though he choked and coughed, he stared at Han-gyeol with bulging eyes.
"H-how many hundred million?"
"One hundred million won. If we're lucky, it may fetch even more."
"O-one...... hundred million......."
Old Mr. Kim's mouth fell open. Having spent his life running a laundry and saving one or two hundred won at a time, any sum measured in the hundreds of millions felt unreal. Even winning first prize in the lottery could not have shocked him more.
"A-are you joking right now?"
"I'm serious. I guarantee it on my grandfather's name."
Han-gyeol's expression was solemn. Old Mr. Kim clutched his chest with a trembling hand. His heart beat so quickly it felt ready to burst.
"My goodness...... One hundred million won. You're saying it's really mine?"
"Yes. It's the inheritance your mother left you."
Old Mr. Kim looked at the porcelain again. Until a moment ago, he had seen his mother's love. Now it began to look like a lump of gold.
He abruptly sprang to his feet.
"I-I can't just take all of it."
"What?"
"One hundred million is absurd. You're the one who repaired all of this, aren't you? You're the one who turned trash into treasure. I was only going to throw it away."
Old Mr. Kim stammered in his excitement.
"You take sixty...... no, take seventy million won! Thirty million won is more than enough for me. I can repay my debt and cover the rent on the shop with money left over."
Old Mr. Kim meant his offer sincerely. He was not a greedy man. He was a modest person who knew his place and did not try to steal credit for another person's work. Han-gyeol's skill had saved the dying object, so he believed it only natural that Han-gyeol receive the reward.
But Han-gyeol shook his head.
"Please calm down, sir."
"Calm down, nothing. My conscience won't let me keep all of it. Do you think I don't know how much you're suffering because of the debt? I heard you're about to lose this workshop. That much money would clear the entire debt and still leave plenty, wouldn't it?!"
Han-gyeol felt a pang in his chest. He was grateful for the old man's concern for a young neighbor even when he had troubles of his own.
So this was why Grandpa had liked him.
Han-gyeol took Old Mr. Kim's hand and guided him back into his seat.
"I'm grateful just to hear you say it. But I can't accept that."
"Why not? You did all the work!"
"I'm a restorer. You, sir, are the owner of the object. I only need fair compensation for my skill. A restorer who takes more than half the object's value isn't a restorer. He's a thief."
Han-gyeol was firm.
It was true that he urgently needed money. As Old Mr. Kim had said, even half would be 150 million won. He could repay the workshop's debt and still have plenty left. He could have shut his eyes and taken it.
But that was not something Lee Tae-jun's grandson could do.
"There is one condition instead."
Han-gyeol's eyes gleamed.
"A condition?"
"Yes. If you carry this around trying to sell it yourself, you're almost certain to be swindled. Insadong may look respectable, but it's crawling with operators like hyenas. The moment they see an old man carrying something precious, they'll rush in to beat down the price."
Old Mr. Kim swallowed. It was exactly what he had feared.
"Then what should I do?"
"Leave the sale to me."
"The sale?"
"Yes. I know an antique dealer I can trust. He's dealt with us since my grandfather's time, so his integrity is beyond question. I'll sell it through him and make sure you receive its proper value."
Han-gyeol paused, then added with a playful smile.
"When that happens, you can compensate me generously for the sales commission and restoration fee. About 20%? That will be enough to help me repay the debt."
Twenty percent would be 20 million won. It was by no means a small sum, but compared with the 'fifty-fifty split' Old Mr. Kim had proposed, the terms were far less favorable to Han-gyeol.
Old Mr. Kim understood Han-gyeol's deeper intention, and his eyes reddened.
"You...... really are just like your grandfather. So foolishly kind."
"It isn't kindness. I'm thinking long-term. You need to become rich, sir, so you'll bring me more work, don't you? And spread the word around the neighborhood too."
"Of course I'll spread the word! I'll tell everyone in town that the owner of Lee Family Workshop has the hands of a god and can even revive a dead vessel!"
Old Mr. Kim laughed heartily.
"Good! Let's do that. I'll trust you with it, so show me what you can do."
"I will."
The deal was made.
Along with relief, Han-gyeol felt a surge of new vitality.
He had passed the first hurdle. He had revived the object and convinced its owner.
Only the final hurdle remained. He needed to put the object on the market and have its value proven.
'I need to meet Mr. Park.'
Mr. Park, the owner of 'Gobojae,' was one of Insadong's best-connected dealers and an old friend of Han-gyeol's grandfather. He would recognize the white porcelain's value at a glance.
Han-gyeol retied the cord around the paulownia box and spoke to Old Mr. Kim.
"Please go home for today, sir. I'll visit Insadong tomorrow and bring you good news."
"Yes, yes. I'm counting on you."
Old Mr. Kim left the workshop with lighter steps. The drooping shoulders he had carried inside were nowhere to be seen, and his back looked proud, as though he had gained the whole world.
Han-gyeol stood in the doorway and watched Old Mr. Kim recede into the distance.
Morning sunlight flooded the street before the workshop. It felt as though light had finally begun entering his own dark and gloomy world.
"Now...... shall I go pay off the debt?"
Han-gyeol picked up the box and left the workshop.