Chapter Title: Shattering the Fakes
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Screw the holy land pilgrimage or whatever.
"Whoa... So this is what city air feels like."
As soon as we entered Seoul, my throat started to feel raw and my nose clogged up.
The sights of the city were familiar thanks to Hee-so's memories,
but breathing in that acrid air firsthand was on another level entirely.
Living as a city dweller didn't seem like an easy life at all.
Maybe even Kim Sil-seop had settled in the countryside because of the air?
Gazing up at the yellow, hazy sky, I steeled my resolve anew.
It had been two hours since I'd snuck into the truck bed anyway.
Screech—
The truck pulled up in a narrow alley in Insadong, Jongno.
This building with 'Gallery-Myosoo' written on its outer wall looked like the exhibition hall.
'Eek.'
Park Bong-gon was standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass wall on the first floor.
I quickly pulled the tarp back over the slightly open truck bed and peeked through the gap to observe.
That's when two middle-aged men approached from the end of the alley.
"Professor Park!"
"Oh my, Professor Lee! How have you been? Thank you so much for making the trip. I should've come to see you first—I'm sorry. Haha."
"No need to mention the trip. You've worked hard preparing. Everyone's really looking forward to this exhibition, you know?"
"Yes, haha. Oh, Professor Song too! Please come in. I'm truly grateful you took time out of your busy schedule."
"When Professor Park has an exhibition, I have to show up. You send us all that cash for holiday rice cakes every year. You know we're always thankful, right? Heh heh."
"Aw, that's just a humble token of appreciation. If you thank me too much, I'll feel bad. And securing this venue? That was all thanks to you professors. Hahaha!"
Aha.
So he'd greased some palms with professors to snag this space. That explained it.
I hadn't even been that curious, but it still turned my stomach.
"Professor Park, I saw your exhibition got a ton of press. Using a traditional kiln and all domestic materials? Wow, that's no small feat. Real backbreaking work."
"I read about it too. You even went to Hadong County yourself for the white clay?"
Hadong, huh.
Hadong had been a source of premium white clay even back in my day, so it made sense.
Park Bong-gon had an eye for quality, at least.
"Yes, embarrassingly enough, I didn't use any machines—just my own hands to process all the clay."
"Goodness! That's impressive for a young man. A fitting disciple of Master Kim Sil-seop?"
"Aw, compared to my master, I'm nothing. And for Korean ceramics, that's just how it should be done."
"Kuh—splendid! I've invited a bunch of reporters I know, so expect big things. Articles with titles like 'White Porcelain Crafted with Our Materials and Techniques!' They'll be everywhere."
"Oh, Professor. Thank you. Thank you so much."
Park Bong-gon bowed so deeply it looked like his back might snap.
The professors glanced around the empty exhibition hall.
"No pieces up yet? Should we grab lunch and come back?"
"Ah, lunch? Please wait just a moment. I'll escort you myself."
"Huh? Don't you need to handle the pieces?"
"I've got a friend helping out, so it's fine. There's a great traditional Korean restaurant I know—let's head there. Just give me a sec!"
Park Bong-gon hurried over to the truck.
He flung open the passenger door and barked at Du-sik.
"Hey. The curator has a layout diagram—grab it and move everything accordingly. Match the diagram numbers to the piece numbers. You can read numbers, right?"
Slam.
Park Bong-gon shut the door, flashed a big grin at the professors, and said,
"Don't worry about this place—we'll take care of it. Hahaha! Let me treat you properly today!"
"Heh heh, alright then. We'll trust you, Professor Park."
After that whole commotion passed,
I finally climbed out of the truck.
Leaving his own exhibition in someone else's hands and running off.
For that guy, fame mattered more than his own work. Ptooey.
Whatever, not my problem.
I'd come to Insadong, not his exhibition.
The main street at the end of the alley was already buzzing with crowds anyway.
Maybe because Jongno with Insadong was inside the four gates.
The energy and bustle made my heart race.
And the people of every skin tone? Incredible.
I was about to dash off and blend into the throng when
Du-sik, who'd gotten out of the truck, scratched the back of his neck.
"Ugh, when am I gonna move all this? If I drop one and it breaks, I'm screwed."
"Hang in there. I'm gonna go sightseeing."
"Hyung, hyung! Help me unload the crates first, then go. I'll handle the rest. I'm scared they'll break."
"What if Park Bong-gon catches me? I'm super worried."
"A guy worried about that would be rolling around in the warehouse? Put some spit on your lips and shut up."
The kid had gotten bold, talking back while messing around.
Fun, but his sass was annoying.
Still, I owed him for hiding me out.
No choice—I hopped up onto the truck.
"I'll just help unload the crates."
"Yeah, yeah. Just set them inside."
Help with unloading, my foot.
When did it turn into placing them inside?
Even so, I dutifully helped Du-sik move the crates.
By then the curator had arrived to help unpack, so things went quickly.
We'd almost emptied the truck when
as I went for the last crate, Du-sik suddenly clutched his stomach.
"Ah! My stomach... Curator, where's the bathroom?"
"Around the left side of the building. Code's 1234."
"Thanks. Hyung, you can go now. Have fun sightseeing and hide well in the truck. See ya later!"
Du-sik bolted off.
I finally took a look around the exhibition hall.
The walls and floor were stark white, nothing else.
One wall had a poster with Park Bong-gon's bio and exhibition intro in long lines,
and square pedestals dotted around for the pieces.
In the center, the tallest pedestal.
Probably for the star piece, composition-wise.
"Heave-ho."
The curator pulled a white porcelain vase with a long neck from a box.
Faintly, subtly greenish...
"Huh?"
Greenish?
I snatched the vase from the curator's hands and examined it.
"Hold on."
"What's wrong?"
"No way."
I set the vase on the floor and opened the box next to it.
The small moon jar inside had the same greenish tint.
From then on, I started opening every box in the place.
"What are you doing? You can't handle them like that—"
I checked every last white porcelain sake pot.
"..."
The curator was saying something beside me.
Sorry. I can't hear you.
The only reason I'd seen Park Bong-gon as human was because he did pottery.
That one shred of carrying on the tradition—that's what I'd admired.
But now?
No reason to give him the time of day.
Crash!!!
I smashed the sake pot on the floor.
"Eek! What are you doing?! Are you insane?!"
Clang—! Crash!
I hurled the other pieces down one by one.
The curator scurried to a corner.
This was a first for me too.
Smashing someone else's glazed work with my own hands.
No matter how poorly made, it held their time and effort.
But this? No time or effort here.
Just deception and fraud.
Crash!!!
As I shattered the small moon jar,
I sensed a presence and glanced sideways.
A woman with long, straight black hair—don't know when she'd slipped in.
She wore a sharp black suit top and bottom,
her eyes strikingly clear.
Early thirties, maybe.
A far cry from a big sis compared to Hee-so,
but still young to me.
"Why are you breaking these?"
No fear, no blame—just pure curiosity.
I figured since she'd asked, I'd explain.
I pointed to the boastful text on the poster.
[All materials used are Hadong white clay, fired in a traditional kiln]
"First off, this isn't Hadong clay."
I half-expected it.
She'd think I was nuts.
A lunatic smashing pieces in someone else's show over faked materials.
But she sat calmly, picked up a shard, and examined it.
"Hmm."
An enigmatic hum.
She looked up at me steadily.
"Are you sure?"
Dead sure.
"Hadong clay picks up pink or yellowish tones from the surrounding ochre. Even with top techniques to purify impurities, it should be pure white or yellowish. No way it turns greenish."
"You're right. The broken cross-section shows green. But the glazed surface doesn't."
She rose slowly, hand on her knee.
"Yet you knew just from the outside?"
"Yeah."
"How?"
"It shows, so I see it. What do you want me to say?"
I answered like some drama in Hee-so's memories, but really, it was experience talking.
I'd handled clay from every province in Joseon.
Especially rare white clays.
You could tell Joseon clays apart at a glance, glaze or no.
And none turned greenish.
"Second. This is Japanese clay. Specifically, from Arita in Kyushu."
Her eyes widened slightly this time.
That pretty doll-like face showed its first flicker of emotion.
"...You're sure?"
Same question, different vibe.
The first was probing; this was shock and intrigue.
I'd spent the past week researching on the laptop.
Especially how Japanese ceramics rose to prominence—I had to know.
At the heart: Kyushu's Arita white clay deposits (discovered by Korean potters, even).
Videos let me study Arita clay closely.
"Arita clay has unique water veins and minerals there. It gives off a pale greenish tint."
Plus, Park Bong-gon loved Japanese materials anyway, so not a stretch.
So he'd not only faked the origin,
but smuggled in Japanese clay of all things.
No wonder I lost it.
Personal grudge? Sure, against him and Japan.
But whatever.
Blame your luck for crossing paths with a guy like me, Park Bong-gon.
Just like Hee-so suffered for tangling with you.
Now my chest felt clear, my head cool.
And oddly, He-so's grudge seemed a bit eased too—or maybe just my imagination.
Coming to my senses, I realized something.
I'd been speaking casually to this woman?
In this era of strict propriety between sexes and respect for elders, big mistake.
"That cover everything? If you could just pretend you saw nothing—"
That's when it happened.
"Gaaah!!!"
Du-sik's scream from the door.
Back from the bathroom, pale as a ghost, carrying the last crate.
"Oh, one left. Almost forgot."
I stomped over and snatched it from the trembling guy.
Planning to smash this one too, I tore it open.
"What the."
Inside was the stippled clay moon jar I'd made.
"...You madman. Does it all."
Planning to pass my moon jar as his?
"Hah."
Now I was beyond anger—laughing.
Might as well go out with a bang. I pulled out the moon jar.
The woman's eyes went wide at the sight.
And then.
Thud.
I placed my moon jar on the center pedestal.
She frowned, lightly brushing its surface.
"This is... stippled clay? How do you make something like this with stippled clay...? No. Park Bong-gon couldn't have."
She grabbed my arm.
"Who made this? Don't tell me... you?"
Yeah, but.
What, brag I made it?
Just practice on the wheel.
So I sidestepped.
"At least the stippled clay's domestic."
"...!"
"Figured it deserved the spot."
"H-Hyung..."
"Yeah?"
"Shouldn't we... like... run... now?"
Du-sik, good call.
Almost got spotted because of her.
"Let's go, Du-sik."
As I turned to leave the hall, she grabbed me again.
"Wait...!"
"?"
"Give me your number before you go."