Chapter 15

The silver sedan retraced the road it had come from.

Do Do-un, behind the wheel, checked on his boss through the rearview mirror. Judging by the light flickering across the tablet screen, the chef seemed to be reviewing his presentation slides.

He looks absolutely wasted…

Do-un spoke up.

“Why don’t you close your eyes for a bit? We have plenty of time before we need to get to the airport.”

Eden flipped to the next page on his tablet as he answered.

“We have time to spare, so I might as well review it now.”

“You’ll ruin your health if you keep this up.”

“And the suit? You packed it?”

“…It’s in the trunk.”

Eden gave a slight nod, then returned his attention to the presentation.

Do-un let out a long sigh. He admired his chef’s insistence on handling everything personally, but the man did worry him sometimes.

Take today’s schedule, for instance. Eden had originally been booked on an afternoon flight for an overseas business trip.

Early that morning, just as Do-un was enjoying a leisurely lie-in, a bombshell of a phone call had shattered his peace. The chef had ordered him to push the schedule back to a nighttime flight because they needed to make a trip to Mount Worak first.

Do-un had rushed over to Eden Han’s studio, only to be stunned by the sight of him returning from the early-morning market with freshly purchased ingredients.

Cooking on the very day of an international flight? And making a round trip to Mount Worak on top of that?

“What about your business trip…? Are you going another time?”

“What are you talking about? I’m going today.”

“Then what about Mount Worak? And what are all these dishes for?”

“I have to go there, too. The old man bought me some time. I should at least show my face.”

Faced with an explanation that made little sense to him, Do-un could only sit there looking dazed and sip the coffee Eden had made for him.

A trip to the countryside and then all the way to Europe in a single day. What kind of itinerary did a sane person come up with?

The destination for this business trip was Gubbio, Italy. Eden Han was finally going to close a deal he’d spent the past year working tirelessly to secure.

For the first season of his restaurant, Moesan, he’d decided on roasted quail stuffed with truffles and morel mushrooms as the main course.

Quail, of all things—not Korean beef steak, or even duck breast. Chairman Jang Gwan-cheol had worried that the main ingredient was too meager, while Eden had been concerned about the quality of the truffles he could source.

The problem was that black truffles available in Korea couldn’t deliver the full flavor and aroma he wanted. Put simply, he needed white truffles from northern Italy.

Professional importers had all tried to talk him out of it. Agreeing on the price was one thing, but white truffles were notoriously difficult to cultivate, and securing a sufficient supply was a challenge in itself.

But was Chef Han Eden the kind of man to give up just because someone told him it couldn’t be done?

He contacted every high-end food wholesaler in Europe and every restaurant with at least two Michelin stars, searching for a white truffle farm.

It must have taken him roughly six months. With help from a former colleague he’d worked with back when he was a sous-chef, he finally found a white truffle farm in Gubbio.

From that day on, Eden traveled to Italy every week. He kept persuading the farm’s owner, over and over, despite the owner’s insistence that regular deliveries would be difficult.

There was a saying that sincerity could move Heaven and Earth.

But even that rather mild proverb couldn’t begin to describe Eden Han’s tenacity.

His persistence could bend Heaven itself.

That was the level of determination it took. In the end, he’d managed to bring both Heaven and the truffle farmer to their knees.

Cheongso-yo would be no different.

Do-un was certain of it. With Chef Han Eden putting this much effort into the matter, those plates would most definitely be gracing the tables at Moesan this fall.

“Was that woman we saw earlier the owner of Cheongso-yo?”

Do-un asked, recalling the young female ceramic artist he’d glimpsed earlier. Eden slowly raised his head.

“Did she look like the owner of Cheongso-yo to you?”

“Pardon?”

“I asked if she looked like the owner of Cheongso-yo.”

“Well… wouldn’t she be?”

Eden’s gaze felt uncomfortably sharp. Do-un readjusted his grip on the steering wheel and cleared his throat. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought it up.

“She is. Cheongso-yo belongs to her.”

“I-Is that so?”

“I was wondering why she was so prickly with me… Turns out I’d given her every reason to dislike me first.”

The chef turned off his tablet and gazed into the distant sky. With summer drawing closer, the days had grown longer. The last sliver of sunset was barely clinging to the edge of the horizon.

When Hwang Deok-ho finally woke from his deep, drunken slumber, night had fallen, and darkness had settled all around him.

He’d had his fill of alcohol for the first time in ages, and now he was parched. The old man gulped down the cup of water Ja-yeong had left by his bedside. Then he glanced at the clock and cried out in alarm.

“Oh, goodness! The girl hasn’t eaten…!”

Pressing a hand against his stiff knees, he got up and flung open the sliding door.

Perhaps she’d fallen asleep while reading. Ja-yeong lay facedown, a pair of white earphones plugged into her ears. Tiny sounds crackled out of them, like a chick letting out a yawn.

“My precious girl…”

If she wanted to listen to music, why not turn it up and enjoy herself? Why was she always so careful, as though her old grandfather’s sleep mattered more than anything else…?

Suppressing the ache in his heart, the old man reached for the light switch.

“Oh… Grandpa, you’re awake?”

Sensing his presence, Ja-yeong rubbed her eyes and sat up.

“Why’d you get up? You should’ve just kept sleeping while you were already lying down.”

“I only closed my eyes for a little while.”

“Have you eaten supper?”

“I’m not hungry. I ate too much earlier.”

Too much, my foot… Most of that precious food from Seoul had gone into that rascal Geum-ryong’s mouth. Deok-ho was still annoyed that he’d barely managed to get Ja-yeong a few bites.

“Even so, lunch is lunch and supper is supper. If you’d woken your grandpa, I could’ve boiled you some potatoes, at least.”

“Oh, come on! You were sleeping so soundly. How could I possibly wake you?”

Ja-yeong smiled as sweetly as freshly made tofu, then teased him with a breezy excuse.

What could possibly stand against his granddaughter’s smile? The old man stroked his beard and turned toward the yard. Come to think of it, the young man was nowhere to be seen.

“Did that chef fellow leave?”

“Ah… yes.”

“Why didn’t you show him around the village a little? He was a guest, after all. You could’ve even shown him Geum-ryong’s black dog’s new puppies.”

“What’s so special about them?”

Judging by Ja-yeong’s face as she answered, things between the two of them had been as rough as sandpaper again today.

Truth be told, Hwang Deok-ho had been pleased with the young man’s arrival from the very beginning.

He didn’t seem to be the same age as Ja-yeong. Perhaps he was three or four years older.

Whether in the county town or even in Seoul, where Deok-ho went once or twice a year, it was rare to come across a man of his caliber.

A face so handsome you couldn’t hope to sculpt it even if you spent all day working with the finest clay, broad shoulders, and a solid chest. And he had a respectable profession, too—something like being a chef.

Most importantly, he was friendly and reasonably polite, without ever looking down on country folk.

The old man had spent his entire life as a potter, and his eye for people was sharp. He’d already sized up the young man’s posture at the dinner table, his appetite, even the way he handled his chopsticks.

If only he and Ja-yeong could become friends… And if they got along well enough to become husband and wife, that would be even better.

It was a shame his granddaughter’s feelings didn’t match his own, but there was nothing he could do if she didn’t like the man. The old man let his regret slip out indirectly.

“You could’ve been a little… friendlier to him. He came all the way from out of town, and it’s been ages since we’ve had a guest.”

“A little what?”

“Well, he’s from Seoul, isn’t he? And he’s just about the right age for you, too… As for the pottery, can’t you and your grandpa make enough together to supply one more restaurant? We’re firing the kiln anyway.”

“Just because someone’s the right age doesn’t mean we’re going to be a little what. He probably thinks country people are easy to deal with, showing up out of nowhere like someone who’s come to collect a debt…”

He hadn’t exactly shown up out of nowhere. But would telling her that only embarrass the girl…?

Watching Ja-yeong pout, Deok-ho awkwardly stroked his beard, which had done nothing wrong.

The chef’s visit that day had been Hwang Deok-ho’s doing. The entire idea had come straight from his own head.

He’d been bothered by the way Ja-yeong’s neck seemed to droop, as though her spirit had withered away. At first, he’d assumed she was upset because the pottery she’d worked so hard on had been broken.

But then one day passed, and then another. It wasn’t until he saw his granddaughter absentmindedly rubbing the yellowish stains left by the antiseptic on her fingertips that he finally understood.

Aha! It wasn’t that she disliked the young chef. She was just shy around him!

And if that was the case, then it was only natural for her dear old grandpa to play matchmaker.

“Oh, Father! What a surprise to get a call from you this early in the morning. What’s the matter?”

So it was that Hwang Deok-ho had called Representative Oh of Ijobyeongga early that morning.

“It’s nothing much, but there’s something important I wanted to ask you…”

The only person nearby who might come and go was his granddaughter, Hwang Ja-yeong. After glancing around once more, the old man lowered his voice.

“Well… you know that young chef who came from Seoul the other day? I was hoping you could get me his phone number.”

“Oh, actually, I was just wondering what had happened since I hadn’t heard back from Ja-yeong. If you’ve already spoken with her directly, that puts our minds at ease…”

“Mhm.”

“That chef really isn’t an ordinary person. The chairman here in Seoul went to great lengths to bring him over from America, where he was doing extremely well. He’ll surely be a big help to Ja-yeong’s future, too.”

“Right, right. I’ll talk to her a little more about it, so send me that young man’s number by text. And give my regards to Hyang-ja.”

Of Hyang-ja’s daughters, the third one—who was said to be the brightest and had inherited the family business—understood the old man perfectly.

Ding!

The moment he hung up, the cheerful chime of an incoming text rang out.

“One way or another, if they keep seeing each other and talking face-to-face, they’ll eventually make up their minds.”

The old man began tapping away at the keypad with the confidence of someone who’d learned to text specifically for this very day.

Come visit again plz. Hwang Deok-ho.