Baengno 1787
The road was a vein of activity. Horses and ox driven carts ambled to and fro, mules dwarfed by the loads of firewood stacked on their backs, peddlars as equally burdened with the wares they carried on their jige. A few men hovered along the road, buckets standing at intervals as they waited with small shovels to scoop up any of the dung excreted by the animals. One of the men darted in for the prize let dropped by a horse, beating his competitors to it. In his haste, he almost knocked down a man walking with a strange gait. The man managed to avoid getting smeared in the process. A grimace of discomfort crossed his face. Rubbing twinging muscles, he avoided yet another dash for manure. Given a choice, he would have stayed in bed, nursing his hurts. But if he wanted to fill his jumeoni (money bag), he could not laze as he pleased. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he had not had breakfast.
Accordingly, he made his way to the nearest jumak after passing through the eastern gates. Yawning at interrim, he made a leisurely meal of the gukbap (porridge). Once he was done, he paid the tavernkeeper and continued on to his intended destination. As it was still early, the light of day barely brightening the streets, a few shops were still closed in the marketplace. To his disappointment, the shop he headed for was not ready for business. But then, who would bother with an art gallery this morning when there were other more important daily concerns?
He would have to wait. There was no place to sit but resting his bottom on a cold surface was hardly advisable. He opted to stand, leaning against the wall of the shop when his legs tire, watching the street filled with people as the day lightened. Nobody paid him any mind as they went about their business. As he eyed a jangot covered woman hurrying by, he did not notice someone approaching until a voice broke into his reverie of the woman.
"It is surprising to see you here at this hour, sir." Gang did not smile when Chung gave a start of fright. "Word has it that you have left."
"Rumors are ever changing wind." Chung straightened up, aware of the other man's unspoken disparagement. "I am here on business."
"I can see that."
Gang turned away, fetching out the keys to unlock the panjangmun of his painting shop. Pushing open the doors, he unhinged, lifted and hooked them to the rafters. Setting aside the short pole he used for the doors, he strolled slowly into the shop, checking over the hung paintings like a doting parent, running his hands over the scrolls and painting tools. All was in place. Light filtered in from the guangjang (window) as he went to his desk at the back of the shop. Methodically, he stoked up the brazier in the corner with more charcoal before placing a copper pot over it. Lifting the top of the teapot, he measured in tea leaves from a container he took down from the chantak. A look at the brazier before he sat down at the desk.
"What is it you wish, sir?" he asked politely, as if unaware that he had made Chung wait while he fussed about his morning ritual.
"Your expert assessment."
Chung seated himself with aplomb, removing a rolled up paper from his sleeve and handed it over. Gang received it expressionlessly. Nor did his expression changed as he unrolled and examined the painting. Setting it down, he lit the candle on the desk, bringing the choktae closer as he perused the painting again. Bruskstrokes, seals, script. For a long moment, he said nothing before looking at Chung.
"I assume this is for sale?"
"Assuredly," Chung said, more confident now that the painting had been authenticated. "I wish to hold another auction." He held up a hand as Gang looked askance at him. "Privately. At a place of my own choosing, not opened to the public."
"I see." Gang glanced to the side to see if the pot was boiling. "What other business do you have?"
"I wonder if you would do me the honour by being the autioneer for this painting. There is a commission of course, for your trouble." Chung saw his surprise. "As the most reputable art critic of this town, your word will go a long way in assuring potential customers. I am but a layman when it comes to merchandising. All I know is art!" he waved at the paintings around the shop.
And the art of philogyny, drinking and deception, thought Gang dourly but he said nothing and listened to the pompous speech.
"Art!" Chung got up, assuming the stance of contemplative dignity, wincing a little as the back of his hands hit the sore spots of his bottom. "Painting is in my blood. I eat, sleep and dream about it. I cannot live without it. All my energies is devoted to the arts! Where would I have the time to learn business? I thought I knew better but I have learned my lesson. It is better to leave business to those who live by it. Without doubt, sir, your acumen in this scope of selling paintings is far beyond mine. Hence, I am asking for your help in this venture. I have the outmost confidence in your business acumen."
Should he or should he not agree to it? Gang looked at the painting once more.
"The commission..," he began to say.
"One-tenth," Chung said quickly, feeling it was a generous offer, having spent much time agonizing over it.
"I'll draw up a contract," Gang said, pulling out paper from the yeonsang. "Where is the venue?" He picked up the byeoru to prepare the ink and stopped as a letter was deposited on the desk.
"It's all there," Chung said. "Venue and time. I ask for your endorsement on the rest." He pulled out a sheaf of papers from within his coat.
"You are so certain I will agree to it." Gang was a little put out as he read the letter.
"Of that, no," Chung shook his head. "But I was prepared to offer more."
"I see." Gang said nothing further but took out a seal from a drawer of the desk. Once all the papers were stamped, Chung rolled them up and tucked them into his coat again.
"I will leave the painting in your care." He used his own seal on the contract and waited to receive his own half of the paper. "Until tomorrow, master Gang," he nodded a farewell and left.
The hissing sound of boiling water brought Gang to his feet. Hastily, he grabbed thick wads of cloth from the chantak and lifted the boiling pot from the brazier, setting it to rest on a small pitted soban nearby. Removing the cover from the teapot, he poured in the hot water and returned to his desk, picking up the painting again and turned it over. His eyes narrowed as he used a magnifying glass to examine the borders. Using a finger, he swept it across and looked at the white powder left behind. Sighing heavily, he rolled it up and sat thinking for a moment. He tucked the painting in his sleeve, went to the brazier and removed most of the glowing coals, making sure to bank the rest properly. After checking nothing would inadvertently fall into the brazier, he closed up the shop and headed for the eastern residences.
Paper mill
A voice murmured softly, carried through the opened doors. Within, half the floor gleamed in the light of the sun. There was a pause before the the voice picked up again, A hand went round and round, a cotton bag held fast in the palm. As it swept against the floor, it left behind an oily sheen. The boy worked steadily, making sure the area he was working on received an even treatment as he continued under his breath.
If one were to listen carefully, he would realise the boy was reciting a viand of sweets. Of every kind. Down the floor he went, reaching the opposite end from where he started. Tapping and squeezing the cotton bag, he began on the final stretch, heaving a sigh as he rubbed his nose. What food should he list next? Perhaps he should recite something else for thinking about sweets made him hungry. Poems would not do for they were boring. Guk, perhaps he should recite guk.
Let's see, there's kongnamulguk, olgaengitguk, bukeotguk, seonjitguk, jaecheopguk. The thought of clams nearly drove him wide. Strong was the temptation to run to the kitchen to grab some gangjeong.
As he debated with himself, there came the sound of hoofs coming into the courtyard. Was that ajoshi Han? Leaving the cotton bag on the floor, he went to the doors. It was not Young-joon he saw but one of the servants from the Han residence who hailed him when he saw the boy.
"Ajoshi," P'ado greeted politely as he ran down to the courtyard.
"Is master Seo here?" the servant asked. "A letter from old master Han, give this to him as soon as possible." He reached down to hand over a letter when P'ado shook his head.
"Is it urgent?"
"Yes, I would say it is so." The servant smiled and waved before turning the horse about and was gone as fast as he had appeared.
Urgent. P'ado looked at the letter and grimaced in dismay when he realised his oily fingers were leaving smudges. Putting the letter on his jacket, he tried to wipe off the oil but only succeeded in spreading it. Aboji would not be pleased, he was sure.
"Who was that?" came Jeong-hyang's voice.
"An urgent letter for aboji from haraboji Han." He waved the letter at her as she beckoned to him from the porch.
"Oh my." She looked at the large streaks of oil across the paper and looked at her own oily hands. "Leave the letter here and wash your hands, then bring it to him."
A grin lit his face as he hurried to do as she said. He wiped his hands dry in the kitchen before lifting the cover from one of the pots to grab a piece of gangjeong. After thinking it over, he stuck the gangjeong in his mouth before taking up a gotgam and returned to the porch.
"You'll spoil your dinner," was all she said when she saw the food. "Don't take too long, there's still the floor of your room to polish!" she called when he grabbed the letter and galloped off. He waved to show that he heard and trotted down the path, munching steadily at the sweets.
The sounds of the dure pungjang grew louder as he headed for the fields. Aboji was working the hemp fields so he should head there. Skipping across the rice fields, he exchanged greetings with the villagers he came across. Crossing the borders of low walls, he craned to see who was working the cotton but only saw bobbing heads amidst the green. Following a narrow trail, he weaved in and out and jumped when someone growled at him. He knew that sound. Seong-cheol!
He snapped his teeth at his friend peering out among the cotton plants, pretending to be a horangi. Given a chance, he would leap for the other but mindful he was on an errand, the best he could do was to "stare" the other down. He need not have bothered for a voice rapped out, scolding Seong-cheol for time wasting. Grinning, he went on his way and eventually arrived at the hemp fields. Where was aboji? Walking down each row of hemp, he looked for a familiar figure among those weeding the plants.
"What are you doing here?" He jumped when a hand tapped him on the shoulder.
"Aboji, haraboji Han sent you an urgent letter." He held out the letter to Yunbok. How had he missed him?
Yunbok started to take the letter but the sight of his soil encrusted hands changed his mind. "You hold the letter up."
Carefully, P'ado opened the envelope and shook out the letter, holding it aloft so Yunbok could read it.
"It would be better if you hold it right side up." Yunbok hid a grin as red blossomed over P'ado's face as he hastily corrected his mistake. "You can keep it away now," he said after a moment. "Put the letter in the bandaji and tell omoni ajoshi Han will be coming over for dinner tonight."
"Aboji, where is master Park?" the boy wanted to know, not having seen the older man since morning.
"He has some business to attend to, why?"
"Ahh, nothing." P'ado was not about to say he was hoping to learn something else in his lessons.
"Off you go. You're suppose to help omoni with the cleaning today."
Yunbok knew what the boy was hoping for as he watched the little figure trotting away. He was in for some frustrations in the coming months until he learned patience. Hopefully, he would not kvetch daily. That would not mark him well but he was still young. The smile left him as he thought about the letter. Things were definitely getting interesting.
Uiryeong seohwadang
The compound was quiet with a few officials moving at a even pace along the corridors. The atmosphere was one of plodding and quiet industry as heads were bent to documents or thoughts focused on some unknown task to be done. A little clump of men stood deep in discussion, seeming oblivious to their surroundings. Soldiers stood at attention at intervals, one would have taken them for statues for all the movement they made. A tiny creak of doors and a myriad of colours suddenly trooped out to break the oscitant ambience. Along with them came a balneal of scents that tickled the nose. The heads of the clump of men turned, appreciative eyes to the varicoloured group that emerged from the yebang.
Aware but never directing flirtatious glances in the men's direction, the group made for the pungnamru, breaking into muted chatters once they cleared the gates. The audience with the hojang had gone far better than they hoped. How afraid they had been there would be disciplinary action taken against them for the riot at the gibang. A riot they felt In-seon was largely to blame and should shoulder the most responsibility. Although aware of their criticisms, In-seon kept pace with Iseul for she had a pressing matter to bring to her attention.
"What is it?" Iseul could practically feel the woman's breath down her neck for she had been on edge the whole morning. At first, she had put it down to the forthcoming interview with the hojang but since she was still distraught, it was clearly something else.
"That.. Chung came looking for me earlier." In-seon stopped as Iseul turned to her in surprise. "He demanded compensation."
"What?!" Iseul was incredulous. "On what basis does he make such a claim?"
"I.. er .. er," In-seon fidgetted guiltily as the rest gathered round to listen. What had she done now?
"Speak up," said one of the annoyed gisaeng. A newcomer who by all counts who would have been taken to task for daring to speak in such a manner to a gisaeng who outranked her. No one said anything for In-seon's standing among her peers was in tatters.
"It is a jest surely," burst out In-seon. "He tricked me."
"Get to it, get to it!" hissed the rest impatiently, having no desire to hear excuses.
"There's another contract I didn't speak of .. I didn't know it was a contract, until he showed it to me ..," stuttered In-seon. "But the day he sold that painting to one of the patrons? You had words with him. He was curious about you and asked many questions. Then the night you were away, he brought up the subject of seals while we were finalising the contract for the auction and showed me his, claiming he made it himself. We ended up comparing various seals...," she faltered at the icy stare Iseul directed at her. "I was drunk!" she burst out, hoping the excuse would appease Iseul.
"Let me guess .. you used mine." Iseul fought not to scream at In-seon. "He stamped it on an empty sheet and you never noticed it. He came to you today and brandished whatever contract he made up, with that seal in place, is that it?" The desire to throttle In-seon was strong as the woman nodded. "What does the contract stipulate?"
"A .. night with him," In-seon muttered. At that, the rest withdrew a pace from her.
"Typical and how pathetic," Iseul said frostily, resuming her stroll. The gaggle of geese followed meekly, wondering how she was going to get herself out of the mess. "My personal seal is with me so I presumed you showed him the other?"
"Yes." Apologies rose to In-seon's lips but she found she could not voice them, feeling they would be in vain.
Silence. No one ventured to speak as they walked back to the gibang. The visible cloud hanging over the group elicited curious glances from those who passed their way. Did some calamity befall them? Such an unhappy lot of gisaeng! The gatekeepers at the gates bowed and reported no disturbance; all was as usual. As they proceeded to the courtyard, a tall figure waved. Iseul was not sure whether Suk-kwon's presence was heaven sent or a stroke of luck. Still playing the swain, he ambled cheerfully up to her. His smile dropped when he saw her solemn mien. But what was the trouble, he enquired solicitously. Casting alarmed glances at him, In-seon made herself scarce while the rest hovered uncertainly. As if to make matter worse, who should come by but the perpetrator of the bother himself.
"There you are, I was looking for you," he said expensively as he strolled up to Iseul, having spent some time loitering about the gibang once he learned she was absent.
"You have business with her?" said Suk-kwon before she could answer.
"Of course I do." Chung pulled out a piece of paper from within his coat and flapped it in the air. "This is a contract that says she has to spend a night with me."
"That is a farce of a contract, sir, and you know it. I was not there to witness it." Iseul itched to tear that paper out of the insufferable man's hand.
"But binding! What matters that you were not there? There is a witness, she stamped it herself, on the paper," he tapped it emphatically. "If you did not approve of it, why would she use the seal?"
"As you well know, this entire matter is deceitful !" She tried to hold on to her temper. "Let me have a look at the contract. It is only fair I should know the terms."
Chung hesitated for a moment before he held up the paper a distance before her, disinclined to let her touch. It was enough for Iseul to see it was just a single sentence. A line which nearly made her laugh aloud.
"What kind of contract is this?" asked Suk-kwon.
There was a dangerous tone to his voice. Eyeing him uneasily, the listening gisaeng backed away. The better to get out of harms way if there was violence. By now, the ruction had attracted the attention of the other patrons who chattered amongst themselves? Who was this? Was he not the phony painter? How shameless of him to continue to show his face in this town.
"Since it is supposed to be a private contract," interjected Iseul before Chung could answer, "my personal seal is the only stamp that will make it valid. The seal on the contract is purely for business transactions for the gibang," she emphasized the last statement. Would he even understand what she was saying?
"It is valid! Irregardless of the type of contract, the seal makes it valid!" Anger mottled Chung's face.
"True sir but it is a business contract and does not stipulate clearly that I personally will provide any services. It is improbable that I'm so irresponsible as to sign over the entire services of all the gisaeng to you for a night!"
Titters and laughter filled the air at that, infusing more fury in Chung at their ridicule. He snatched away the paper as Suk-kwon made to take it to read, knowing he had made an error in the wording. Curses on the woman. How many seals did she have?
"In that case, I will start with you!" Chung bulled forward, making as if to grab her by the arm.
"I think, sir, it cannot be settled so readily." Suk-kwon interposed himself between them. "If there is doubt about the contract, it should be looked into by an arbiter or the magistrate."
"Who are you, sir, to stand in my way!"
"Well, I'm her gibu and I've my rights."
The listening gisaeng gasped. Behind him, Iseul rolled her eyes but said nothing. He had done it! Announced it publicly. Now she would have to field the questions and gossips which she had been trying to put down.
"I'm afraid we can never come to an agreement so please, leave," said Suk-kwon.
If it were any other fellow, Chung would have tried to fight but Suk-kwon was taller than him and looked he could break him in two so he changed his mind. Throwing an angry but helpless glare, Chung stormed out of the gibang. A sigh of relief ran around. The audience broke up, turning to their own business and pleasures. Iseul was tempted to kick Suk-kwon as he gently nudged her in the direction of her house. What an earful she would give him for the stunt he pulled.
Ghim Residence
The piles of leaves shivered and trembled in the breeze that grew steadily stronger. Those at the top slithered to the bottom before they were whirled into the air, spinning helplessly before they fetched up against various obstacles. A few danced around a clump of feet, their shepherd among them but the owners paid no heed as they craned their heads in the direction of the sarang. A maid tiptoed up to them and whispered, causing the little group to jump with fright. Amidst a rush of hushed scoldings, they murmured amongst themselves even as they strained to pick up words from where they stood. None dared to go nearer.
"You are supposed to be up north!" came a shout. The next statement was a murmur as if the owner was aware he should not be airing the conversation.
For a moment, there was silence in the room except for the sound of liquid and the thump of a cup hitting wood. Wiping his mouth, Ghim glared at Chung seated opposite him. It seemed his guest was paying him no mind for his head was turned to the side, his gaze fixed at some faraway spot. That nose of his stood out in prominence that it was a wonder it had not weighed down the face. Perhaps it was meant to weigh down his opponents but it did not seem to be doing its job.
"North," he repeated as he leaned forward, tapping the soban before him. "North, you were supposed to head north with that painting where it could be decided what to do with it. You have destroyed a good lead!"
"I am following a lead, a good one," Chung said, turning to look at him.
"It's spurious! You should have realised it by now if you have done your work." Ghim picked up the bottle to pour another measure of wine.
"How can it be spurious?! Have you even thought about it? Two items that pointed to this town, to one person. This person was involved with the first incident, don't you find it highly suspicious?"
"The first incident started with his niece, who just happened to have a counterfeit painting palmed off to her by an admirer. Moreover, his enthusiasm for collecting paintings is well known, he is a wealthy merchant of some renown. Is it so surprising he has agents of his own looking out for such paintings?" Ghim said reasonably, attempting to make his guest see reason. "Every Yangban, wealthy men sought many items as investments, how is he any different?"
"He has too many paintings of this particular painter."
"What of it?! Some of them might even be replicates."
"That is ridiculous, you said it yourself that he is a wealthy man. Why would he even bother with replicates? I know they are not replicates."
"His money is his to do as he likes. Are we to question how much he pays to acquire each one?"
"He has too many," Chung insisted, "for one who is an admirer."
"How many did you see?"
"Three."
"Three! Are you saying yakgwa is sweeter than honey?" Feeling he was making no progress, Ghim downed his cup of wine as he struggled to control his temper. "How is three too many?"
"How is it not too many? How much did he spend to acquire those? If he has people on the look out in every province, how much does he have to pay them off? Add the cost of procuring the items, that will run into tens of thousands of nyang. Surely he should have been beggared ..."
"He offered you six hundred, what does that say?" Ghim declined to point out that it was not necessary to hire and send people everywhere. Why were they even using this man if he could not see that? Did he have some talents he did not know of?
"If he is that rich, what is he doing here? He should be up at Hanseong, to secure a post for his son."
"Some rich men I know," he stared hard at his guest to make his point, "are not attracted by the thoughts of an official post. They are too smart to want to risk their necks in the tussle."
"Perhaps but he is suspicious. I intend to investigate fully."
"Your reputation is in ruin, what else can you do?"
"I'm holding a private painting auction tomorrow. He is one of those I invited. He will betray himself, I know he will."
"Where did you get another painting?" Ghim wanted to know.
"Where else?"
The gall of the fool. Was he saying what he thought he was saying? "You are proclaiming yourself a thief!"
"Am I? He will not find anything missing." Chung ignored the insult and smiled as his host stared dumbfounded. "I know all of the paintings and replicates in circulation. Let me tell you one interesting fact about these three paintings. They are not ever replicated. Anywhere," Chung nodded in satisfaction. "I took a good look on that visit. They have not seen the light of day or even passed through the public eye. How did he get his hands on them? There's one explanation; he knows the location of the painter. He got them straight from him."
"Have you considered that his agents might have been able to get them before anyone else?" Ghim knew if there were promises of good returns, men would do their outmost to gain it.
"All three?" Chung scoffed. "Impossible."
"Why not? Money gets one anything. Even if he protest at the auction which no doubt he will, how are you going to find out if you are right?"
"Once he sees the painting, he will challenge the authencity. He will bring out his own painting to prove he has the true item. Once it's proven it's not genuine, he will be very upset. What do you think he will do? He will go directly to the painter himself." Chung finally took a sip from his cup. "That is where you'll do what has to be done."
"What about me?"
"I never intended to reveal my mission to you but I see our employers have other ideas." Chung popped a piece of gangjeong into his mouth and masticated slowly, taking his time to answer. His host said nothing but his face darkened. "I need a few of your men to watch him. I know men like him. Collectors are loathe to lose their treasures but will try to replace them when there's a way."
"So you think he will seek out the painter."
A thief and an expert counterfeiter with an eidetic memory? How else could he substitute the real paintings in so short a time? Chung was forgetting something however. The old man was not some mountain shinseon, wandering by his lonesome. He would have friends to whom he would have displayed his prizes. A rich man did not get by just on business acumen, he would also have other unknown associates who could make life difficult for him. His orders were that he was to stay unobstrusive. Trouble would brew at the auction, he was certain. A thought struck him.
"Why do you think anyone would attend the auction?"
"Because I sought the support of master Gang. He has verified the painting. They cannot doubt him." Chung drained his cup and did not see the exasperation on his host's face.
"I have a better idea regards the auction," he said. "Why don't you head north to carry out the orders you were given and let me handle matters here? I'll send the money to you ..."
"What? Are you trying to claim credit? How dare you!" Chung was incredulous.
"Claim credit? Did you not see what you have done?" Ghim hissed, quelling the temptation to shout. "That old man and master Gang are more than acquaintances. He will know that painting is stolen! How are you going to explain why it is with you?"
"What do I have to explain?" Chung said angrily, not liking he was taken to task. "If he suspects it's stolen, why am I not arrested?"
"Don't be a fool, no doubt he's conferring with the old man and gathering proof. Leave this town, head north and let me clean up the mess..."
"I did not make a mess. There is no way he can prove I stole it, there's no stamp on it to say it's his. There are none on the three..."
"He could have made a mark you did not notice! Take my advice, leave. Your orders are more important."
"Made a mark? That is not the usual practise don't you think? All the more..."
"You have made your point! Let me handle it, I will make sure the credit goes to you if what you say is true. Besides, you would have made your report so how is it possible for me to say otherwise?"
"I have not written in. I want to be sure the quarry is at hand," Chung said smugly.
"That is wise but..."
"No! No excuses. I'm staying to see this through," insisted Chung.
"Even if they cannot prove it's stolen, there is no assurance the old man will do what you say! Are my men to spend months scurrying here and there, following everyone who visits him?" Ghim exclaimed. Not least to say the money he would have to spend on them. There would be no profits. He was not inclined to tell Chung he did not have the manpower. All he had were two men instead of the six he was supposed to hire. The money for the missing four had gone into his pocket, a little extra he appreciated every month.
"I am right." Chung was furious that the man who was supposed to support him was throwing excuses. "Patience reaps rewards! What kind of agent are you?"
"You have created enough troubles here already, your coming here to my house is making it more difficult for me to operate!"
"You invited me here, how is it my fault?!" Chung returned angrily, the accusation was unfair.
"It is your fault when you unraveled the plans that had been laid. Did you not know what you have done?!"
"I know what has been planned. I almost succeeded in my endeavor. I could have reaped double rewards!" The look of disbelief on his host's face was the last straw. Slapping the soban in anger, Chung got up. "I'll do this myself. I don't need you," he declared.
"The results will not be what you seek! For the last time, I'm asking you to let me settle this matter," Ghim warned as Chung turned to leave but was ignored.
For a long moment, he sat thinking after Chung had gone. The man had already upturned careful planning with his overweening pride. His wild illogical schemes were certain to upset even more people back in Hanseong. If this was how he operated, his skills must have been profound for his superiors to have tolerated him so far. His latest antics, however, spelled a lot of trouble for him. What could he do to prevent the disaster heading his way?
Paper mill
A finger tapped gently, a white badugal held between thumb and forefinger as their owner contemplated the badukpan. The man seated opposite him cocked his head, scrutinising the battle on the board. Beside them, hands nimbly wound colourful threads, tugging and knotting. A little further away, little bits of wood shavings fell as a knife worked at a stick of pine. Smaller hands worked an oiled cloth over the finished carvings standing in a line on the floor.
The hand lifted and placed the white badugal firmly on the board. Young-joon's expression did not change but he tugged at his moustache and rubbed his nose, shifting as he squinted. Surrounded! How he had hoped attention would be shifted elsewhere where another jip was being contested. Biting back a sigh, he removed his surrounded black pieces and considered his next move.
The light from the tunggyong glowed steadily as the board gradually filled. The knife was put down when the last carving was completed, the oil cloth put away and the whole collection was packed away in a small box. A murmur as the boy went round to everyone in the room before he made for the kitchen to wash his hands and then to his room, not at all upset there was no story to be had. There was the prospect of a trip on the morrow.
The two paid not the slightest attention to the older man as he moved closer to watch the game. It would be close, he saw and a smile lit his lips. The game was played out to the end. As the last piece was placed, the two relaxed and grinned at each other.
"Well brother Seo, it looks like you have defeated me." Young-joon counted his pieces on the badukpan as he put them away in the container.
"It is a close match." Yunbok picked up the white badugal, placing them back into the round box, flicking a glance at Suk-kwon who said nothing. "That's what makes it so inspiring." He shifted the badukpan to the empty slot under the desk with the badugal containers.
"You will find the board even more lively tomorrow," said Suk-kwon as he worked at the muscles of his neck.
"Naturally, with what's turning up at the jangsi jumak." There was an air of merry furtiveness about Young-joon as he slightly bobbed his head.
"Oh is there some special event?" Yunbok affected surprise.
"A private painting auction. According to aboji, we are invited, along with a slew of other merchants. The magistrate isn't asked this time. The host of this auction ...," Young-joon paused significantly, looking to the other two who merely waited.
"Chung," said Jeong-hyang, not ceasing in her task as she deflated Young-joon's sails unceremoniously.
"Aigooo! There's no getting by women!" he complained in mock dismay as they chuckled.
"When is this auction?" she said.
"Afternoon," Young-joon said promptly. "Aboji is disinclined to attend so whatever that man is planning is not going to happen. Master Gang is pushing for Chung's arrest but aboji said he is letting the matter rest."
"Chung will have a problem. What is he going to fall back on once he realised his quarry is not going the way he wants?" wondered Yunbok.
"The sale goes through, he gets the money, he leaves but," Suk-kwon waved at them airily, "with two more paintings in hand, will he sell them as well at the auction or hold on to them for another purpose?"
"If the price is not what he anticipated, I'd say he would be wise to move on." If it were him, he would move on, Yunbok felt. That was if the man's only target was money.
"There is also word that Ghim invited Chung to his house this afternoon. They seemed to have a fallout."
"I wonder what they do not agree on." Yunbok looked at the maedeup deposited onto the desk. A long red thread with saengjjok and nebeolgamgae at intervals.
"Neither man has favourable traits for collaborative undertaking, no doubt the auction is the subject of their contention." The sight of the maedeup reminded Suk-kwon of the various hangings about Iseul's room. Other images flooded in; the brush on the pilga, a buchae tipping at an angle, the hand on a book, a faint flowery scent.
"How likely is master Ghim to take action?" Unaware of the older man's introspection, Yunbok ran the maedeup through his hand, admiring it minutely.
"Would he not just let the auction go through if he wants Chung out of town?" Young-joon watched Jeong-hyang at work on a second string, this one a pale green in colour.
"Only if Chung is cooperative but he does not seem to be the amiable sort." Why was he thinking of irrelevant thoughts at this time? Running around must be tiring him out, Suk-kwon decided. He would have to spend some time on meditation. "There will be trouble."
"We'll stay away from the jangsi jumak." Yunbok glanced at Jeong-hyang. "If all goes well, further meetings can be arranged."
"But not here," said Young-joon, assured when his friend nodded. "Is it wise to maintain relations if master Um is affiliated to the faction?"
"We can use the Hyun-su incident to limit contact but much depends on what we will learn tomorrow."
"Will three men be enough?" Young-joon directed the question at Suk-kwon, curious that the older man had a dreamy air about him.
"That's the best I can rustle up." The older man shook himself. "It's been a tiring day ..."
"I'm not surprise. Do you know what master Park proclaimed himself to be at the gibang today?" Young-joon laughed . "He publicly announced himself to be Iseul's gibu!"
A moment of silence as the others stared in amusement at Suk-kwon who crossed his arms defensively.
"That will certainly rouse her ire," murmured Jeong-hyang, well aware of Iseul's pride in her independence.
"I don't have a choice. Sooner or later, it has to be done. How else am I to have the excuse of dropping in on her as and when I like?" Recalling the biting remarks passed by Iseul, all the cotton wool of daydreams disappeared. Did she have to be so sharp about it?
"She knows that, but it's your arbitrary actions that's giving her no time to prepare." Jeong-hyang finished the last knot on the second string. "She does not much like surprises, especially when her independence is threatened."
"Well, it's done," huffed Suk-kwon defensively, ignoring Yunbok's chuckles, holding back his desire to declare he had no intention of impinging on Iseul's freedom.
"Something to sleep upon, I'm sure," grinned Yunbok. "It's third watch."
"True, I can use some rest," agreed Young-joon as he got up. "How is it like to be a gibu?" he could not resist teasing the older man as he followed him to the door.
"Do you want to sleep on the porch?"
"Aigoo! How rude! It is a legitimate question."
"Looks like it's the porch for you..,"
Yunbok looked after them in humor as they bickered all the way to the house. Closing the door, he locked it and did his nightly routine of checking all the doors as Jeong-hyang lay aside her work and went to the back room. P'ado was sleeping soundly, he saw as he checked on the boy. Assured all was secured, he went to the back room. In companionable silence, they carried out the nightly ritual before turning in.
"Do you still think those two are significant?" she said as they lay in the dark.
"I do but it's just one of many conjectures." He felt his eyes drooping for he was tired from the day's work. "If it gets too complicated ..."
"I know," she said sombrely. They would have to cut off further contact. The thought did not distress as much as she thought it would. "I'm so nervous I don't think I'll be able to sleep."
There was no response, she leaned in closer to hear his even breathing. Asleep. It was not surprising. With crops due to be harvested soon, there was more work to be done to prepare for the coming winter. He was laboring from morning till late afternoon. She pulled the quilt to cover him further and settled down herself, thinking of dimly remembered faces from the past before dropping off to sleep herself.
Korean Words
badukpan - gameboard
bandaji - chest to store clothes/blanket/books/documents
bukeotguk - dried Pollack soup
chantak - cupboard shelves
choktae - candle stand
dure pungjang - farmer band
gangjeong - crisp sweet cookie which can be covered with beans, pine nuts, seasme, pine pollen, dyed boiled rice
gibu - men who provide protection and support to gisaeng they favored
guangjang - window (latticed) usually set midway in wall, for lighting
hojang - official who oversee gisaeng in the district
kongnamulguk - soy bean sprout soup
jaecheopguk- small clam soup
jip - intersecting points on a baduk gameboard
maedeup - decorative knots
olgaengitguk - small fresh water snail soup
seonjitguk - ox blood soup
seohwadang - office of the gov / county magistrate (amost the same as dongheon (east house) in provincial admin compound
yeonsang - side table to store writing materials and paper