Chapter 11

“Chef, we’re here.”

After driving for a little over thirty minutes, Do Do-un pulled up in front of the studio and spoke cautiously. The chef, fast asleep, didn’t so much as stir, his eyes still closed. This was a man whose senses were so sharp that even the slightest breath from a kitchen staff member could get a reaction out of him.

He must really be exhausted today…

Do-un looked at his boss with sympathy.

Lately, Eden had been pushing himself so hard that it was a wonder he could keep going. Then again, had Do-un ever actually seen Han Eden take a break over the past year? Still, things had gotten downright excessive ever since Moesan’s opening date had been set for summer.

Chef Han Eden was the kind of man who couldn’t rest until he had personally chosen and approved everything, from the texture of the paper for the menu to the carpet on the floor and even the potted plant in the corner.

They had already gone through two sommeliers.¹ Dissatisfied with the talent available in Korea, Eden had even reached out to sommeliers working in Europe himself to sound them out about joining the team.

He was the sort of person who couldn’t let go of a single task, living each day as though it were a week. And now he’d driven all the way to South Chungcheong Province just to get the dishes he wanted…

“…Um, Chef?”

At Do-un’s repeated call, Eden slowly raised his eyelids. He let out a long breath, heavy with the sticky weariness of exhaustion.

“Ah, sorry. Guess I fell asleep.”
“You’ve barely been sleeping lately. Meetings with distributors, menu development… Even a machine would run out of power if you kept pushing it like that.”
“That’s why I just recharged.”
“Chef…!”

When Do-un’s slightly narrowed eyes appeared in the rearview mirror, Eden rubbed his stiff neck and smiled.

“Looks like we’ve gotten pretty close over the past year, Do Do-un.”

Was he warning him that he’d crossed a line?

Do-un turned to check Eden’s expression, but the chef was already opening the car door and stepping out.

“Good work today. See you tomorrow.”

Do-un scrambled out of the car after him.

“Chef, please get some rest, at least for today!”

Eden didn’t answer as he headed inside the building.

“He may refuse to answer, but at least he can’t lie.”

Do-un parked Eden’s car in the building’s parking lot before heading out. When he looked up, the studio’s bright white lights were already on.

Those exceptionally white lights had been chosen by Eden himself, too. Something about the color temperature and brightness being just right to capture the food’s colors and shapes exactly as they were, without casting a single shadow.

“He’ll spend another night developing menus like that, then head to the market again.”

Rubbing his aching back and legs, Do-un switched to one of the company cars that was always parked there.

He’d given up long ago on trying to keep up with Eden as the chef prowled traditional markets as casually as if he were walking around his own home.

Chairman Jang’s order to keep a close eye on Eden still carried the weight of heaven itself. But come rain or snow, there was no way Do-un would keep following that crazy chef as he took off for the market at dawn every single day—not even for double his salary.

The car circled leisurely around the building’s entrance and glided out onto the road. Just as Do-un had predicted, the studio’s brilliant white lights stayed on until daybreak.

Clack. Tap-tap. Clack!

The sound of a hammer chipping away at the kiln’s entrance was surprisingly cheerful.

“Came out niiiice. Pretty, too.”

Grandpa’s praise sent a delightful shiver down Ja-yeong’s spine.

And for good reason. The pieces inside this kiln were her first works made entirely with her own hands, without Hwang Deok-ho’s help.

If only the bull that had escaped from Village Chief Gwak’s place hadn’t ruined things, she could have experienced another historic moment… Even now, the thought left her regretting what had happened.

Still, she’d managed to salvage half of the pieces. Perhaps she should count herself lucky. Ja-yeong ran her fingers over the milky-white bisque-fired pottery and smiled with satisfaction.

During the week she’d spent waiting for the kiln to cool after firing, Ja-yeong had fought off ominous thoughts several times a day. She’d already had multiple nightmares about standing in front of a kiln full of shattered pottery, utterly devastated.

A traditional kiln took five or six times longer to cool than a modern gas kiln. If she opened the entrance before the temperature had dropped sufficiently, the pieces she’d worked so hard to fire might crack.

After spending day after day pacing back and forth in front of the kiln, Ja-yeong had finally reached the reward for her long wait. And what a magnificent, wonderful reward it was.

“Look at this! You’re carving the foot rings better than your old grandpa now.”

Hwang Deok-ho turned a plate over to inspect its underside.

With its tall foot ring, the plate would look especially beautiful topped with colorful fruit-and-honey confections. Making one was so tricky that, among all Cheongso-yo’s customers, only Ijobyeongga was able to get these little plates.

“This is exactly why your praise isn’t very reliable, Grandpa. No matter how you look at it, how could I possibly carve foot rings better than you?”

“What? I’m telling you, even when guns and swords were flying right in front of me during the Korean War, I never once gave anyone false praise!”

“You probably couldn’t have. You were still a baby during the Korean War, after all.”

“Good grief! What am I supposed to do if even my own granddaughter won’t believe a word Hwang Deok-ho says?”

Despite his dramatic complaints, Deok-ho was beaming.

He felt sorry for his granddaughter, who had willingly chosen such a difficult path. Yet watching Ja-yeong’s skills grow by leaps and bounds, like bamboo shoots after the summer rains, filled him with such pride that he could feel full without eating a single bite.

The two sides of him—the seventy-year master potter who had carried on his family’s craft for generations, and the doting grandfather who wanted to keep one eye closed rather than risk wearing his granddaughter out just by looking at her—had been fighting an all-out battle inside him all day long.

“Deok-ho! I’m here!”

The two had been sitting opposite each other with a large rubber basin between them, applying a water-based glaze to their pottery.

Just then, Geum-ryong and his wife walked through the entrance to the kiln yard.

“What brings you here, old man?”

“Hello, Grandpa Geum-ryong.”

Ja-yeong had been smoothing the surfaces of the pottery with a wet piece of cotton cloth. She sprang to her feet and greeted them. Deok-ho didn’t like anyone else being called Grandpa—not when that precious title was one he wanted to keep for himself.

“What do you mean, what brings me here? Today’s the day you open the kiln. You probably haven’t even had a chance to think about lunch, have you? We brought some chilled soybean noodles, so let’s eat together.”

Geum-ryong’s family grew chili peppers on a large scale. Perhaps because they ate so many of them, they seemed to run hot inside. Come summer, they lived on nothing but cold foods: chilled acorn jelly soup, cold broth, and even ice pops frozen so solid they seemed incapable of melting, no matter how hot it got.

‘I know they adore our Ja-yeong, but if they want to eat that stuff, why can’t they just eat it themselves…? They always had to bring cold food over for my girl, too.’

Deok-ho knew it was their way of showing affection, but he hated it. He didn’t want his young granddaughter catching a chill inside, and he worried that if her body grew cold, her heart might grow cold right along with it.

“Why bring soybean noodles that’ll give the girl a stomachache? Keep feeding her cold food and she’ll end up with a bellyache!”

“Then what do you want me to feed a girl working under this blazing sun? Scalding-hot beef bone soup? Ginseng chicken soup? The only ones whose teeth would get cold are old folks like us! Young people just ask for more ice!”

For two people who supposedly had been lifelong friends, they sure did bicker every time they saw each other.

“Why do those two start that nonsense the moment they lay eyes on each other? Good grief, what a headache…”

Grandma Geum-ryong² clicked her tongue and set down the tray she’d been carrying on her head at the pavilion.

“Thank you, Grandma. You always go out of your way to bring us food…”

“I heard our Ja-yeong made all the pottery that came out today. If there’s a nice little soy sauce dish among them, give me one, too. I want to keep it as a memento.”

“Of course! I’ll pick out the prettiest one for you.”

The girl who used to be shy around people, with tears never far from her eyes, now smiled so brightly.

A sweet little thing like her had come to live in a mountain village full of old folks, and now she was smiling like that. What was a little effort spent making soybean milk in comparison? Grandma Geum-ryong happily set down a batch of cucumber kimchi that had just reached its perfect flavor.

“All right. Go wash your hands and come back. The noodles will get soggy.”

“Okay!”

Just then—

Rrrrrumble.

From far away came the rough rumble of vehicle tires, accompanied by the shaking and clattering of wooden stumps along the road.

The two old folks, who had been bickering moments earlier, simultaneously craned their necks toward the sound. No one living around Mount Worak drove up the mountain roads, knocking into trees along the way.

And the low engine growl, more like a tiger’s roar than an ordinary rattling motor, was just as unfamiliar.