novelraw Chapter 4: Bad luck goes away, good luck comes.
Chapter 4: Bad luck goes away, good luck comes.
With a creak, the rusty iron door to the semi-basement was pushed open, and a damp air mixed with the smells of mold, barbecue fumes, and the faint fishy smell of sewers was slapped hard against Jiang Yan's face like a soaked rag.
He stood motionless outside the threshold, his gaze sweeping over the place where he had lived for a full twenty-one months.
The narrow box, less than 15 square meters, had an absurdly low ceiling; at 1.82 meters tall, he could easily touch the rough cement ceiling with his fingertips when he stretched out his arms.
The only ventilation window is located on the wall two meters off the ground. It can't be closed completely all year round, because if it's closed, it will suffocate. If it's open, we can only breathe in the lingering fumes from the kitchen of the barbecue restaurant next door.
The mold in the corner of the wall looked like a dark map that kept expanding. The landlord applied three coats of waterproof paint but couldn't cover it up. During the rainy season, water would run down the base of the wall.
The screws on the metal bunk bed had been loose for almost half a year, and it would creak for half a minute when he turned over. The desk next to it was bought from Hongdae during graduation season. He sold it to the desk for 5,000 won. It was missing a hind leg and was still supported by three polished red bricks.
He used to think that having a place to sleep that sheltered him from the wind and rain was enough.
But looking at it now, this cramped space is like a welded iron coffin, making one's chest feel heavy.
He arranged to check out of the apartment this morning with the landlord.
Less than five minutes later, the middle-aged man who always wore a navy blue jacket came over carrying a bunch of jingling keys.
He walked around the house, scraped the mold off the walls with his fingernail, squatted down to check the water pipe connections, and finally copied down the numbers from the water, electricity, and gas meters.
After confirming there was no intentional damage, he took out his phone and waved it: "Okay, no problem. The deposit is five million, it will be transferred to your original bank card the day after tomorrow morning, right?"
"That's right." Jiang Yan nodded.
"Then I'll be going now." After saying that, the landlord turned around and closed the iron gate with a clang, shutting out the darkness inside.
Once the footsteps had faded into the distance, Jiang Yan immediately opened his mobile banking app.
The cold, hard numbers on the screen jumped out: 1312730 Korean won.
I just paid a 500,000 yuan deposit for my new house in Hongdae yesterday, and overnight, nearly a third of it disappeared from my account.
Three days later, the remaining 1.5 million deposit needs to be paid, plus the first month's rent of 1 million, for a total of 2.5 million.
He paused on the screen with his fingertips. The landlord's five million wouldn't arrive until the day after tomorrow, which meant that for the next forty-eight hours, he only had one million three hundred and one thousand in his pocket.
Jiang Yan couldn't help but twitch his lips.
The money I received for revising the song a few days ago is almost gone before I even had a chance to enjoy it in my account.
But when he looked up and glanced at the rusty iron gate behind him, the thought of moving into a south-facing house in a few days immediately dispelled his anxiety.
No matter how you look at it, this amount of money is well spent.
He took a deep breath of the oily, smoky air, then turned around and began to clean up.
The items were pitifully few; all the clothes and daily necessities were packed into a 26-inch suitcase.
Most importantly, there was the old wooden guitar with a worn patina left by his adoptive father, Lao Jiang, and the Marine Corps dog tag with the number engraved on it.
He found a red string, carefully tied the badge to it, and hung it close to his body around his neck. The cool metal against his chest brought a familiar sense of security.
As I tidied up the bottom drawer of my desk, my fingertips touched a worn-out kraft paper envelope.
There was a faded old photograph inside, a picture of two children together.
Jiang Yan's eyes darkened. He gently stroked the edge of the photo with his fingertips, then stuffed it back into the drawer and clicked it shut.
Three days later, Jiang Yan officially moved into room 601 of the six-story old building near Hongdae.
There was no moving company, and no friends to help.
He carried his suitcase, his guitar, and three bulging woven bags, climbing from the first floor to the sixth floor in one go, making three round trips.
When he entered for the last time, his white T-shirt was completely soaked with sweat, clinging tightly to his back and outlining the boy's firm muscle lines.
But the moment he pushed open the balcony door, all his fatigue vanished.
The afternoon sun in March poured down without reservation, warmly bathing him.
A gentle breeze carrying the scent of early spring grass swept by, dispelling the smell of sweat and the musty odor that had seeped into my bones over the past twenty-one months.
Jiang Yan stood in the sunlight, squinting slightly, his heart pounding.
He finally had a real home.
A home with sunshine, a balcony, no leaks, and no cooking fumes.
The first thing he did after putting his things down was to take off the military dog tag, still warm from his body, from around his neck, find a nail, and carefully nail it to the wall in the living room facing the door.
He took two steps back, tilted his head, and adjusted his position several times until the dog license plate hung there neatly, the sunlight falling on it and reflecting a few tiny silver sparkles.
Then he went to the balcony, held onto the railing, and looked down.
Downstairs are the ever-bustling streets of Hongdae, where young people dressed in trendy brands stroll by in twos and threes, and the coffee shops along the street waft out a rich aroma of caramel.
The Han River in the distance shimmered with golden light under the setting sun, and a gentle evening breeze caressed his hair.
He took out his phone, first snapping a picture of the sun-drenched balcony, then another of the empty living room, and sent them both to Kim Minjung: [The apartment is rented, on the sixth floor, top floor. I've reserved a large south-facing bedroom for you; you can move in as soon as you arrive.]
The phone started vibrating non-stop less than three seconds after the message was sent.
Wow! Oppa, you're amazing!!
Wow, it's so beautiful! It even has a balcony!
Thank you, Oppa!! I can't wait!
Accompanied by a series of emojis of jumping in place, scattering flowers, and spinning around, even from hundreds of kilometers away, Jiang Yan could almost see that little girl at home in Busan, rolling around on her bed while holding her phone.
He smiled, put away his phone, and turned to walk into the empty kitchen.
Tonight I'll make myself a bowl of pork belly rice with an egg to celebrate my housewarming.
The next morning, Jiang Yan went straight to the Hongdae Secondhand Furniture Market and the nearby E-Mart supermarket.
He first picked out a thick latex mattress for Kim Minjung, as the little girl had never been used to sleeping on a hard bed.
The bed sheet was specially chosen to be her favorite light pink color when she was a child, with a group of wagging puppies printed on it.
The modular wardrobe was big enough to hold all her clothes and dance costumes, and he also bought several extra storage boxes specifically for her dance shoes.
He bought pots and pans, toiletries, slippers and towels, and even negative ion hair dryers and curling irons for women, all based on the popular items recommended by college students online.
When he walked to the daily necessities section, he remembered that Kim Minjung was particularly afraid of the dark when she was a child and had to sleep with the hallway light on. So he specially picked out a warm yellow star-shaped night light to put on her bedside table.
He paused as he passed the snack section.
He reached out and grabbed two boxes of chocolate pies, and then grabbed a big bag of original flavor shrimp chips. These were two snacks that Kim Minjung liked when he was a child. I wonder if the taste has changed now.
When he was paying, the cashier lady looked at his cart full of things and jokingly said, "Young man, is this a wedding room you're preparing for your girlfriend? How thoughtful, you even thought of a nightlight."