Manager Kim finished the morning meeting, bought an iced Americano in the venti size, and headed to Hyunseung’s studio.
“Your venti has arrived.”
“Oh, thank you.”
He gave Hyunseung’s shoulder a light tap and asked, “So, did the work go well?”
“Yes, I think it turned out nicely.”
“The New York Phil really is different, huh?”
“Because I conducted with these two hands.”
Hyunseung lifted his hands with mock pride.
“Then let’s hear the results those hands made.”
Manager Kim scanned the session folder.
But, if you let him hear everything at once he wouldn’t be the Golden Child.
“No.”
“Why not?”
He assumed Hyunseung was just playing hard to get again.
“It isn’t done yet.”
“What’s left?”
“I still have to record a gayageum session.”
“Gayageum, all of a sudden?”
“Yes, I plan to ask Master Lee Ga-hui.”
That, apparently, was why the project was still unfinished, because of Lee Ga-hui’s gayageum session.
Manager Kim covered his mouth in surprise.
Indeed, the name Lee Ga-hui referred to the Intangible Cultural Property holder of Gayageum Sanjo and Byeongchang, who had one day vanished after offering all her land for a national training center.
Effectively, her whereabouts were unknown, and within musicians’ circles she had become a legendary, almost mythical figure.
“How would you even know where she is?”
“I know perfectly well.”
“You know? But will she record?”
“She will.”
“How can you be sure?”
Smiling, Hyunseung answered, “I have my ways.”
Something in that overflowing confidence made Kim think the kid might actually pull it off. After all, he always delivered on things others said were impossible.
Never mind how a solo album had grown into such a massive project.
Whatever.
If the song already sounded good with quick-sketched chords, how amazing would it be with the New York Philharmonic and Master Lee’s gayageum.
“Hyunseung, let me hear it as soon as it’s finished.”
“Hmm…”
“I’ll buy you five ventis.”
“Deal.”
All Kim had to do was wait and look forward to it.
Still jet-lagged from Europe, Hyunseung had worked without rest and was badly sleep-deprived.
Today was Seo Jini’s recording day, which meant he would lose another night of sleep.
“Nnngh.”
With an hour left before the session, he leaned back in his chair and grabbed a quick nap.
Who knew how much time had passed? Feeling a hot stare, he forced his eyes open.
“What the—”
There stood Seo Jini, gazing down at him as if examining some rare relic.
“When did you get here?”
“About thirty minutes ago?”
“And you’ve just been standing there?”
Returning to her characteristic lofty expression, she answered, “Yes.”
“Do you have voyeuristic tendencies?”
“Nothing like that, it just amazed me.”
“Amazed by what?”
“I realized the composer actually sleeps.”
Nodding to herself, she muttered, barely audible, “The dolphin-sleep rumor was only a myth…”
Baffled, he asked what she meant, but she ignored him, folded her arms, and said,
“Anyway, since I was in Japan I thought you had forgotten me.”
Then, trying to sound nonchalant, she added, “But it seems you remembered I exist.”
“What exactly are you trying to say?”
She quickly retreated, “Just, th-thank you…”
“What?”
“T-thank you, thank you!”
Watching her face redden like a tomato, he asked, “So you’re grateful?”
“Yes, grateful.”
“Really?”
“I said yes.”
“Then you must have practiced a lot.”
“Well, moderately…”
He tilted his chin toward the booth.
“Hop in right away.”
Catching her fluster, he covered his mouth to hide a smile.
A proud instrument expressing gratitude—he was curious what that would sound like.
People are creatures of forgetting, aren’t they?
It had been more than a year since Seo Jini last recorded with HS, and she had forgotten how grueling it was. Worse, they did both Korean and Japanese versions, so she ended up spending the whole night in the booth.
“That fiend…”
The man who looked harmless when sleeping became terrifying behind the glass, and she couldn’t let out so much as a squeak.
“Are we done now?”
Broken and wilted, she poked her head out after the OK sign.
“Yes, come out.”
“Phew…”
Relishing the open space, she sprawled on the sofa, then suddenly sprang up as if making up her mind.
“Composer.”
“What.”
“Have you heard, TikTok is huge in Japan right now?”
“I’ve heard of it.”
“They say any song that goes viral on TikTok becomes a hit.”
He took off his headset and looked at her.
“So I prepared a challenge for this track, want to see?”
“Uh?” Completely thrown, he blinked. Has Seo Jini always been this talkative? A moment ago, she said thanks first.
“Cue the music.”
Clearly, she had eaten something strange in Japan.
“This isn’t a club. I don’t spin tracks on command.”
“Oh, just once, please?”
Reluctantly he played the one-take guide.
“…”
Standing with a haughty look, she suddenly flapped her arms in a cutesy dance. Why—
“Should I be the one embarrassed?”
Unable to take it, he stopped the song.
“What are you doing?”
“Is it bad?”
“Looks like calisthenics.”
“That bad?”
He waved a hand.
“Do what you want.”
“I think it works…”
“Anyway, restroom break first.”
And she left, still flapping like a cheer routine.
“What’s up with her today.” Seems he wasn’t the only one who had changed in a year.
Tracing his memory, Hyunseung drove deep into Gangwon province to find Master Lee Ga-hui’s home.
“Should be about here…”
After winding along a road that made him doubt its existence, he arrived at a small hanok.1
“Is anyone home?”
Standing at the wide-open gate, he called in a loud voice. She lived alone—wasn’t she afraid?
Step, step.
Soon Lee Ga-hui emerged from the back yard, hair neatly pinned with a binyeo2.
“Who might you be?”
Happy to see her again, he swallowed his greeting and put on a lighthearted request.
“I lost my way, saw your house, and I’m terribly thirsty. Could I bother you for a glass of water?”
“How did you drift into this mountain hollow? I was just boiling tea; you might as well wet your throat.”
With that she returned to the garden.
Still as kind as ever, he thought.
Step, step.
He followed her to a quiet pavilion overlooking a breathtaking view.
Ah, it’s been a long time since I saw this scene.
Lost in the scenery, he snapped back when she said,
“It’s omija3 tea. Not sure a young palate will like it.”
“I like it very much.”
She handed him the steaming cup.
“Thank you.”
Then she added with concern, “The sun will set soon. Best hurry back down.”
He answered nothing, sipping the warm tea. The fatigue of travel melted away. She too sipped in silence, eyes on the mountains.
“Master.”
It was he who broke the quiet.
“I have come, at the risk of rudeness, to ask a favor.”
“I thought as much. One does not stray into these mountains by mistake.”
“I am a composer. To be direct, I need your gayageum session for a piece I wrote.”
She did not look at him, turning her gaze to a distant peak.
“You know I no longer play.”
“I do.”
“There are many young players skilled with the gayageum nowadays. Try elsewhere.”
“But I need your mournful touch. It won’t take much time.”
“Save yourself the effort and go back. I do nothing now, I will live quietly here, bustling about alone, drinking tea while I watch the tall Cheolryeong peaks when the sun sets.”
Indeed, she was unchanged.
In fact, their connection stretched back to his previous life; they had worked together then. He had come and persuaded her in just this way before.
She was a gentle soul, full of longing for her late husband.
“Cheolryeong peaks…”
He glanced sideways at her and murmured purposefully. As expected, she reacted at once.
“That is the sijo my late husband loved.”
“I see.”
With a faraway look she began to recite,
“O clouds resting on the lofty Cheolryeong peak,”
Seizing the moment, he continued the next line,
“carry my lonely tears as rain,”
“Hmm?”
She looked at him in mild surprise.
Ignoring it, he calmly took another sip, then finished the final line,
“and sprinkle them deep where my beloved dwells.”
He set down the cup; she did the same, as if ready to listen.
“Master,” he said, meeting her eyes,
“could you at least listen to my piece once?”
- Hanok (한옥) refers to traditional Korean houses characterized by their wooden framework and unique architectural features. ↩︎
- Binyeo” (비녀) is a Korean word referring to a traditional hairpin or hair accessory. ↩︎
- Omija-cha (오미자차) also known as “five-taste tea,” is a Korean tea made from the dried fruits of Schisandra chinensis, a berry native to China and Russia. It has that nickname because it has five tastes—sweet, sour, salty, bitter, and pungent. It is usually garnished with pine nuts ↩︎
Leave a Reply to D. SidheCancel reply