Chapter Title: The Lacquerware Gambit
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When I caused that ruckus at the exhibition hall,
I was fully prepared, of course.
I knew I could no longer hole up in that rural shed.
So I sold my contact info to that woman.
I needed the cash,
and besides, Park Bong-gon already had my number—what was the point of hiding it now?
Well, it felt like I'd sold my pride right along with it.
(Though that woman who bought it doesn't exactly seem right in the head either.)
Anyway.
I figured I'd tough it out until the spring breeze started blowing.
But out of nowhere, here I was on this freezing day, homeless and adrift.
Still, no regrets.
With my temper, if I'd held back, I'd have stewed over it forever.
On the other hand, I had something to lean on.
Insadong was the holy grail of traditional arts, after all.
If I hustled hard enough, I could find another workshop.
The problem was this Tubby lug.
In a situation where scraping by for just myself was dicey, I couldn't drag a giant like him around too.
So I laid it out plain and simple.
I was out to flaunt my skills,
but if he tagged along, he'd just end up stuck with the grunt work.
So he should find his own road, quick.
The guy stared at me with those massive cow eyes, totally lost.
"Hyung... you're joking, right? We've been together since the facility. And now you wanna split? Come on, joke's over?"
Sorry. Dead serious.
Truth be told, to me, you're just some guy I met a week ago.
I get that you're a decent dude, but I'm not the sentimental type who hauls around strays like family.
"A healthy guy like you—what's there to be scared of? You could work anywhere. Worst case, grovel back to Park Bong-gon. Blame it on me threatening you."
"Am I nuts? Crawl back under that demon alone? I only survived there because of you, dummy!"
Well, now.
Were those welling-up eyes actual tears?
He sniffled but fired back anyway.
"This isn't about scraping by. Don't you see? If we split, I'm really alone. Totally alone in this world!"
"Life's a solo gig anyway, man. Find something to pour your whole heart and soul into—person, craft, studies, whatever. Here, this is on me. Thirty grand should hold you a few days, right?"
Be grateful.
I'm a forty-year-old footing thirty thou and buying grub like some kindly uncle.
"Nah, keep it. Don't need your money."
Tubby shoved the bills back at me.
Take it or leave it, I settled the bill and bolted.
But damn if Tubby didn't trail after me.
"Hyung! Hyuuung! You're all I've got now. Like a real big brother!"
The Buddha once said,
go it alone, like a rhino's horn.
Maybe I should've just shoved the guy into monkhood.
"Hyung, that pottery-smashing bit at the exhibition? Epic. Kinda psycho, er—I mean, so damn refreshing and badass. That's why I ditched everything to follow you, and now you're ditching me?!"
His weird talk about "ditching" drew stares from all around.
"Oh my..."
A young woman brushing past us covered her mouth and murmured.
Shit, seriously. Out here peddling our mugs.
Park Bong-gon aside, touring Insadong today felt like a bad call.
I broke into a near-run, bolting down the gukbap alley.
Tubby's heavy steps thumped faster behind me.
"Where to?! Spill it at least! Off to a pottery workshop, yeah? Right?! Then lemme learn too. You teach me. I'll be great at it."
"Sorry, but you've got zero talent for it."
I whipped around to tell him.
As a potter, there was no letting that slide.
Tubby's shocked mug.
"H-how the hell do you know?!"
"Your hands tell the tale. Trust me—you're not made for clay."
Think I wanted to cut him loose right off?
Good kid, so I scoped him out, thinking maybe I could raise him up.
Result? Bust.
Big frame, but fingers like twigs, grip weak as hell.
Even my skinnier Hee-so fingers are thicker, sturdier.
Clay looks soft, feels like rock.
You need God-given hand strength, plain and simple.
"Anyway, I'm out. Hit me up if you strike it big."
I waved him off and kept walking.
With a hundred grand—no, seventy-nine—I could scrape through today somehow...
Then from behind:
"Found you a competition."
"What?"
I spun around.
Tubby, looking a bit miffed, grumbled.
"Found a competition, like I said. The instant-prize kind you wanted. Starts tomorrow, even. Registration closes today."
"Like contests are the only game in town. Pass."
"First prize is five mil?"
"!"
"President's Award, no less."
"!!"
A contest where you rake in five million overnight and snag an award from the big man himself?
Forget workshops—couldn't pass that up.
"W-where? Where's it at?"
"Promise to take me along. Then I'll spill. You'd never find it solo. And even if you lucked out, you gonna handle the phone registration? I know you suck at that stuff."
Total brush-off.
Infuriatingly spot-on, though.
His info game was too sharp; I was still half-Joseon at heart.
Sigh... no dodging it.
"...Fine. You're in. So what's the contest? Where we headed?"
Tubby looked relieved but clammed up hesitant-like.
"What? Out with it."
"Well... it's not pottery. It's a lacquerware contest."
Lacquerware.
Means painting with refined sap from the lacquer tree.
That glossy black sheen on traditional crafts? All lacquer.
And like pottery, lacquerware kept its flame alive under the banner of Intangible Cultural Heritage.
"No pottery contests out now. Any that were? Deadlines passed. Lacquer's the only match. I don't even know what lacquer is, but sounds pottery-adjacent... right?"
"Worlds apart. Pottery's shaping; lacquer's coating. You're a riot—tossing out hot air without a clue?"
"F-figured you'd know how, hyung. Right?"
Unbelievable.
But the real kicker?
"...Naturally, I do."
I knew lacquerware.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
"Grandpa! Teach me lacquer skills! I walked a full month from Namwon to this Gangwon backwater. See me? Hey? Look! I'm just a scrawny twelve-year-old. Even I'd teach outta pity!"
Thwack.
Gam Elder smacked my forehead with his rice spoon from the porch meal.
"Scram, brat. What beggar climbs this high Wonju peak? I'm holed up here to dodge pests like you. Capisce?"
"Not a pest—Joseon's finest, booted from the Royal Kiln Institution fighting officials. And I ain't no beggar! I'm a worker at Namwon Silsangsa pottery shop!"
"Shut your trap!"
He swung the spoon again.
I hightailed it to the gate.
Harsh bark, but my kid heart was shredded.
Think I wanted to trek to Gangwon?
"If you're Silsangsa crew, pound clay there, punk! Learn from the monks—what's with trekking here and bitching? Huh? You crying?"
"Monks won't teach me! Waaah!"
"What?"
"Lowborn like me, but kids with folks get coins slipped in—s-sob—no parents for me, so no real teaching, just endless chores!!! Waaah..."
"You little shit. Bitch at the monks then, not me... Why lacquer outta nowhere?"
"Lacquer on pots sells big bucks. Potters who know it get mad respect. Peeked pottery, but lacquer's only for the paid brats."
"Hmph."
He snorted a laugh at me.
"Kid can't count to ten chasing twenties. Nail pottery first."
"Sniff—I'm good. Damn discrimination boils my blood."
"Bullshit."
He half-ignored, kept shoveling food.
Even beasts got compassion. No wonder they canned him from the Royal Kiln.
But I'd climbed this peak—no quitting now.
I stomped over, yanked a fired clay bowl from my bundle.
Slapped it hard on his low tray table.
"Judge it first. See if my count's off."
I plopped ass-half on the porch edge.
Sulky from the rocky start, plus a sneaky leg rest.
Wonju slopes below teemed with lacquer trees.
Peaceful vista soothed me; tears welled unbidden.
Lowborn birth stung; orphaned? Gut-wrench.
Status, coins—what bullshit.
"Sniff. Hic..."
"...You made this?"
I nodded huge. Damn right. Good, huh?
I've got eyes—unfair getting edged by dog-bowl hacks.
Then suddenly.
"Kekekekeke!"
Eerie cackle.
Chills; I turned—Elder was doubled over laughing.
"Why the laugh?"
"Silsangsa monks saw this and held back more teaching?"
"Yes!"
"Kekeke... Scared you'd bolt to a prime shop. Slick monks. Hold up."
Elder ducked inside, fetched a bowl.
Daubed thin, murky liquid on my hand back, wiped with cloth.
"What's that?"
"You'll see. Sit tight."
Back to chow wolfing.
No "teaching" promise, yet he poured makgeolli into my bowl too.
"Soon" dragged longer than expected.
Sunset, Elder popped out asking.
I was clawing my itchy hand raw.
"What'd you smear on? Itches like hell."
"Just there? Nowhere else?"
"Only the hand spot."
"Sting?"
"Nope."
"Swelling?"
"Nah. Red from scratching. What gives?"
"Lacquer tree sap. We call it 'lacquerware' or just 'lacquer.'"
"What?! Heard it's poison on skin. Rashes everywhere, even knockouts for some!"
"Yet you're fine."
True that.
Wait—testing me?
If I could handle lacquer or not?
Not an ounce of pity in the old coot!
"Good. Come eat."
Gam Elder beckoned.
Seconds ago cursing him in my head, now I scrambled inside.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
"Hyung. Hyung?"
A poke woke me.
We were on a train.
The lacquer contest was in Buyeo County, South Chungcheong Province.
Long haul, so we'd jumped the rails right away.
Marveling at the iron beast's "technology" was brief;
fatigue knocked me out.
"What kinda noisy dream? Crying one sec, giggling the next... Nightmare or good one?"
"Uh... Looks nightmare-ish on the surface, but good deep down."
Gam Elder was rough outside, soft inside.
Rocky start at his place,
but I spent a whole season mastering lacquer.
Heading down Wonju Mountain, I was plump and sporting fresh straw sandals.
If there's one soul from my past life I truly missed, it was Gam Elder.
Aid in dark days hits hardest.
Popping up in a dream before the contest? Loaded with meaning.
"...Tubby. Reckon I'll take first."
I had no clue then.
That dream was Gam Elder's fierce warning to me.