As True as a Dream

It has been five days since Hae-Joo told the police about the circumstances surrounding the discovery of the body.

 

In the meantime, Hae-Joo once again asked the entertainer Yingyue to intercede.

 

She continued to run her taxi business during the day and locked herself in the attic at night to make jewelry.

 

On the fifth day, Hae-Joo sent someone to tell Song Yue that she had an appointment.

 

As the wait grew longer, Hae-Joo became nervous that the deal would fall through.

 

Her nerves, which had been plagued by nightmares for days, were relieved.

 

The next morning, Hae-Joo went back to Song Yue Pavilion with the wooden box of Guishan Dao in her hand.

 

The meeting place was the same as the last time, room 11 in the annex.

 

As she was led into the room by a servant, she saw a bamboo foot draped across the center of the room.

 

On either side of the bamboo cane was a heavy door that divided the room, making it impossible to see what was happening on the other side.

 

Sitting at the table facing the bamboo canopy, Hae-Joo squinted her eyes.

 

She couldn’t tell if there were people on the other side or not.

 “I heard from Miss Yingyue that you have news.” 

Suddenly, a gruff voice came from the other side of the bamboo foot.

 “How have you been, owner?” 

Hae-Joo straightened from her somewhat distracted posture and smiled broadly.

 “None other than the painting I told you about.” “Are you sure it’s the real thing?” “You’ll see when you see it.” 

Hae-Joo placed the box on the table.

 

She lifted the lid and carefully removed the Guishan Dao wrapped in a red cloth.

 

She unwrapped the red cloth to reveal an old, worn footstool that showed signs of age.

 

She held the red cloth under the scroll as he stood up to show the painting.

 

The door slid open and a young man dressed in Song Yue’s staff uniform walked in.

 “If you give it to me, I’ll take it and show it to you.” 

Hae-Joo looked at the bamboo foot and handed the cloth-covered footstool to the servant.

 

Shortly after the clerk left with the stool, she heard the door open behind the bamboo stool.

 

Sitting back in her seat, Hae-Joo raised an eyebrow.

 

She doesn’t know what the person on the other side of the foot is doing, being so discreet and secretive.

 

Meanwhile, on the other side of the bamboo foot.

 

Yi Ho’s eyes widened as he unfolded the scroll with the image on it.

 

This was not a copy of Yeon Yangbu’s painting.

 

The brush strokes were more refined and bold.

 

Also, the ferocity and darkness emanating from the painting was different from Yeon Hae-Joo’s copy.

 

At any moment, it looked like the ten thousand tigers in the painting would show their sharp fangs and attack.

 

Yi Ho tore his eyes from the painting and looked curiously at Hongo, who was craning his neck.

 

Hongo quickly approached and bit his thumb, drawing blood.

 

He then rubbed the blood lightly on the edge of the painting.

 

They watched for a while, but nothing happened.

 

It’s not real.

 

If the painting were authentic, the ten thousand people in the painting should have moved in response to Hongo Wu’s blood.

 

If his prediction was correct, then this was probably a masterpiece painted by the smokehouse.

 

Yi Ho was cynical about the results within his expectations.

 “We notice…” 

Hongo Wu opened his mouth to speak, but Yi Ho raised his hand to stop him.

 

Then, as if he hadn’t put Hongo down all this time, he spoke to himself.

 “This painting, are you sure it’s real?” 

There was silence from beyond the bamboo steps.

 “…Sorry, could you say it again?” 

Hae-Joo replied, sounding a bit suspicious.

 

Yi Ho smiled, the corners of his mouth turning up.

 “Yeon Hae-Joo, are you sure this painting is authentic?” 

There was silence again.

 “Is it… or… is that Mr. Ban… there?” 

Hae-Joo asked cautiously, half in disbelief.

 

Yi Ho looked at Hongo.

 

Then Hongo stood up, walked over to the bamboo foot, grabbed the hem of the foot and rolled it up.

 

***

 

The scene beyond the bamboo foot suddenly came into full view.

 

Yi Ho, dressed in a white shirt with rolled up sleeves and an unbuttoned brown waistcoat, was sitting on a thick pile of cushions, leaning on one knee and holding a ruler in his hand.

 

Hae-Joo was stunned.

 

From the sudden familiarity of the voice, she guessed it might be the other half.

 

But now that she was in the middle of nowhere and unprepared, her mind began to panic.

 “Was it Mr. Ban who was looking for Guishan Dao?” “I think so.” 

After she managed to control her panic, Yi Ho laughed and replied teasingly.

 

‘Was it Mr. Ban who sat at the bamboo foot the last time she came?’

 

Hae-Joo looked over and saw a middle-aged man sitting diagonally across from Yi Ho.

 

It was Master Hongo of Song Yue Pavilion.

 

He must be the one who had been talking to her on behalf of Ban Yi Ho all along.

 

After her previous visit to this annexe, she had exchanged words with Master Hongo and Yi Ho.

 

But they were all clueless.

 

When she got a general idea of the situation, her stomach turned.

 

She suddenly felt very foolish for trying to repay the debt she owed to Song Yue Pavilion with the Guishan Dao gratuity.

 “So what’s your answer?” 

Yi Ho spoke up again, ignoring her stony face.

 

Hae-Joo swallowed the anger she couldn’t bring herself to express and managed to regain some semblance of control.

 

Even if he had taunted her with a single bamboo foot, it was technically just a prank.

 

The pocket watch, the multiple lies, and owing her life on the train all added up, and she was the one who didn’t care.

 

…Okay, let’s not argue about this. It’s not going to work with this guy anyway. She’s just going to blow her own brains out. She’s the only one who will lose.

 

Hae-Joo replied calmly, pushing aside the uneasiness in her heart.

 “I know this… is the real thing.” “Are you sure?” “If you don’t believe me, you can have it appraised by an expert.” “Really?” 

Yi Ho smiled doubtfully and raised his eyebrows.

 

For some reason, Hae-Joo’s heart sank. Her eyes wandered to the painting in his hand.

 

Back then, the couple had insisted that the Guishan Dao was the real thing.

 

One of the few tricks in a warehouse full of fakes. But Yi Ho’s cynical eyes mocked their belief.

 “Do you think this painting… is a fake?” “Yes. It’s a fake.” 

Yi Ho replied bluntly, then rolled up the scroll and tossed it lightly in front of Hae-Joo.

 

The scroll landed roughly on the table, rolled up, and unfolded halfway.

 

“…Why do you insist that this painting is a fake?”

 

“Then why are you so adamant that the painting is real? Have you had it appraised by an expert?”

 

Yi Ho raised an eyebrow at her question.

 

Hae-Joo bit her lower lip and looked down at the scroll in front of her like a piece of trash.

 

Why are you so sure this painting is real?

 

Because my father said it was real!

 

Instead of a quick answer, Hae-Joo pursed her lips.

 

Her assurances were based on the master’s word.

 

But the way Yi Ho was so sure it was a fake, I knew there must be a reason.

 

Besides, the amount of money he paid for the painting showed how important it was to him.

 

If he wasn’t convinced that the painting was a fake, he wouldn’t have thrown it away like that.

 

He wouldn’t have been so bold as to throw it out there.

 “…This painting is not real?”

Hae-Joo muttered to herself as she spread the painting out in front of her.

 

She slowly ran her hand over the drawing.

 

The musty smell of old paper wafted into her nostrils.

 

The surface of the paper, slightly discolored with age, was rough in a way. Rougher than it seems today.

 

The ears of the painting are frayed, and there is no optimism.

 

Hae-Joo lays the painting down on the table and presses her nose into it.

 

Her eyes are wide open, searching.

 

But no matter how hard she looks, she can’t see anything.

 

She wishes she had a magnifying glass.

 

After a long moment, she raises an eyebrow at the red spot at the bottom right.

 

It shouldn’t be there…?

 

Hae-Joo’s pupils suddenly dilated as she pressed her fingertips to the spot and examined it.

 

On the side of the red stain, she could faintly see a hand-sized shadow on the light brown royal silk.

 

She felt as if cold water had been poured on her head.

 

‘No way…!’

 

She hadn’t paid attention to the brown silk of the junior minister’s robe because she was focused on the painting.

 

Yangbu was a master forger, and his forgeries always left a subtle trace.

 

It was a sign of his pride and bravado that he was praised for his skill.

 

They were certainly not humble, even if only in their words.

 

Hae-Joo’s brow furrowed and she lifted her head.

 “May I borrow a knife?” 

Yi Ho looked at her hesitantly, then gestured to Hongo Wu, who stood beside her wordlessly.

 

Hongo stood up and handed her a small pocket knife.

 

Hae-Joo took it and looked down at the painting.

 

She hesitated for a moment, but then boldly sliced through the lower right corner where the painting met the silk of the lower hall and the painting’s border.

 

Then she gently peeled off the backing paper from the back of the scroll that was attached to the silk.

 

She was speechless when she noticed a small piece of paper hidden in the middle.

 

She pulled it out, looked at it, and saw a familiar Chinese character written on it.

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