novelraw Chapter 56 : Is This... Genuine?
Chapter 56 : Is This... Genuine?
Chapter 56: Is This... Genuine?
After finishing the deal with Teacher Park, the last place we headed for was a narrow, maze-like alley in Insadong.
Unlike Myeong-dong, where modern buildings stood here and there, this place still carried the weight of time with its old roof tiles and eaves.
We stopped in front of a shop with an old signboard that read ‘Gogeumdang’.
“Is this the place?”
“Yes. He’s a completely different kind of man from Teacher Park, so be careful with your words.”
Lee Cheong-ho warned in a low voice.
As we stepped inside the shop, the musty smell of old paper and aged wood hit me. The room was filled to the brim with dusty calligraphy scrolls and ceramics, leaving barely any space to step.
At the inner part of the shop, a man sitting cross-legged on an old cushion raised his head slowly from under a magnifying glass he had been using to examine a calligraphy piece.
He looked to be in his mid-fifties, neatly dressed in a modernized hanbok, and wore a black eyepatch covering his left eye.
The uncovered right eye was deep and chilling, as though it could pierce through everything it saw.
Clack—something rolled in his hand. The man was turning two walnuts, clicking softly against each other.
When he noticed us, his single eye narrowed as he spoke, his mature, heavy voice adding to his presence.
“Isn’t that Lee Cheong-ho?”
“Yes, Clerk Lee. It’s been a while.”
Lee Cheong-ho bowed respectfully — a completely different attitude from when he dealt with Teacher Park.
“Did Master Yang send you? What brings you here?”
“I’m not the one with business today. It’s this gentleman here.”
Lee Cheong-ho gestured toward me. The man’s one eye turned to me, his dark pupil sharply studying me with a probing intensity.
“What business does a young fellow have in a place like this?”
The way he spoke to Lee Cheong-ho was casual, but with me, his tone mixed both formality and bluntness — creating a strange sense of distance.
“I asked Mr. Yang to introduce someone knowledgeable in fine art and antiques, and he recommended this place.”
The man didn’t seem to take my words at face value. It was clear from how he glanced toward Lee Cheong-ho.
When Lee Cheong-ho gave a small nod, the man finally turned back to me.
“Hmm... There doesn’t seem to be anything here that a young man like you would appreciate.”
The one-eyed man swept his gaze up and down me, stroking his chin.
I extended my hand toward him first and introduced myself.
“My name is Baek Min-woo.”
“I’m Lee Hak-gyu. People call me Clerk Lee.”
He clasped my hand. His grip was cold and firm.
After the greeting, I looked around deliberately and spoke.
“I must say, I expected a bit more since Mr. Yang personally recommended you. But... the items here seem rather ordinary.”
At my trailing words, Lee Hak-gyu’s one eyebrow twitched. Then, in a curt tone, he replied — it seemed provocation worked well on him.
“Do you even know what you’re looking at?”
“Do you think I wouldn’t?”
“Heh... You’ve got quite the nerve for someone so young.”
“I don’t believe what’s displayed here is all you have. Why don’t you show me something else?”
The paintings and antiques that filled the front of the shop were numerous, but none seemed to possess genuine value.
“What I’m looking for are rare pieces — the kind of art and antiques that can’t be obtained merely with money.”
“I don’t have anything rare. Just dusty old junk.”
“Yet, it’s only when those ‘junk’ meet someone who recognizes their worth that they become treasures, don’t you think?”
At my words, the stoic Lee Hak-gyu let a faint smile slip across his lips for the first time.
“You have quite the tongue. Whether your eye matches it remains to be seen.”
“Then show me. I’ll judge that for myself.”
At my second insistence, he hesitated briefly before nodding and motioning for us to follow.
“Come along.”
He led us through a small door at the back of the shop. When he opened it, an entirely different space revealed itself.
A sealed chamber — its humidity and temperature seemingly controlled to perfection.
Silk-covered scrolls hung along the walls, and porcelain pieces within glass displays shimmered with elegant luster.
It seemed clear — this was his true treasure vault.
“May I take a look around?”
He nodded, stepping aside and gesturing.
“As much as you wish. But I won’t offer explanations. I sell only to those who can recognize the value of my pieces themselves.”
“Understood.”
I brushed past him and began looking around. No wonder Yang Sobo had introduced me to him.
The place was lined with items of considerable worth — but my interest wasn’t in porcelain.
I needed to see the paintings hidden under those silk covers with my own eyes.
“Would it be alright to lift the silk covers for a moment? I’ll only know if I can see them directly.”
“Go ahead.”
Clerk Lee himself began removing the silk cloths. As he unveiled them one by one, I carefully examined each painting until I stopped midway.
“Is this... genuine?”
The painting showed naked children and an ox, drawn in bold black lines on a coarse-textured canvas.
Lee Hak-gyu’s voice turned cold.
“Are you doubting my eye right now?”
“I’m asking if this is truly a work by Painter Lee Jung-seok.”
“You recognize that?”
For a brief instant, his eye gleamed. I gazed up at the painting and gave my thoughts.
“The desperate loneliness and yearning for family that emanate from it... and those lines, as though carved from bone — yes, it seems authentic.”
“Ho!”
Lee Hak-gyu let out a short exclamation.
“You do have an eye, it seems. Then perhaps you’ll recognize this one as well?”
Excited now, he led me toward the farthest corner, stopping in front of a hanging album.
“Do you recognize this?”
“Yes. It’s a painting album by Master Sojeong.”
“To think you’d recognize even this at a glance... Where on earth did someone your age learn such discernment?”
“Where did you acquire it?”
I cut him off, asking seriously.
The painting he showed depicted the grand landscape of Mount Geumgang — a true silgyeong sansuhwa, a realistic landscape painting.
“Master Sojeong carried this piece close to his chest, even while fleeing during the war. I obtained it with great difficulty.”
“...The title?”
“‘Silgyeong Sansuhwa.’”
My mouth fell open before I realized it. It was the exact name I knew.
“How much will you sell the two pieces for — the ox painting and this album together?”
Lee Hak-gyu pondered for a moment before replying.
“Master Sojeong’s album, 1.5 million hwan. The ox painting, 3 million hwan. I won’t lower the price — I don’t sell to those who don’t understand their worth.”
Lower the price? I shook my head. Considering their future value, that was absurdly cheap.
“Very well. I’ll buy both pieces.”
At my unhesitant reply, Lee Hak-gyu’s eye widened once more. He stared at me for a moment, then slowly nodded.
“Straightforward — I like that. But perhaps…”
Trailing off, he took my hand and led me to the very back of the room, where a vault stood locked tight with several padlocks.
He undid them all and pulled out a scroll from within — an aged one, bearing the traces of time itself.
When he unrolled it, a majestic landscape drawn solely with the shades of ink unfolded before my eyes. In one corner of the painting, the red seal of the artist stood clear and bold.
“Inwangjesaekdo (仁王霽色圖)…”
To see this here — I couldn’t help but exhale in a mix of awe and disbelief.
As I gazed at the painting, Lee Hak-gyu spoke in a tone of quiet satisfaction.
“As expected, you recognize it. This painting shows that even when our nation falls and war ravages the land, the spirit of our mountains and rivers remains unshaken.”
This was something whose value couldn’t be measured in money. As I kept my eyes fixed on it, he cautiously asked,
“So, do you have interest in it?”
“How much?”
“This one isn’t priced by the seller. The buyer decides.”
There was a tone in his words — as though testing me.
Without a flicker of hesitation, I took out my checkbook and began writing.
“Fifty million hwan. I believe that should be sufficient to honor your sense of duty.”
At my offer, Lee Hak-gyu’s remaining eye trembled as if struck by an earthquake. Then he burst out laughing.
“Heh-heh… hahaha… Master Yang has sent me a monster. You’re truly a terrifying young man.”
After laughing for quite a while, he carefully rolled up the scroll and handed it to me.
“Alright. The new owner of this painting is you. Please do not disgrace its worth. As for the other two pieces… consider them a gift. I’ll not take your money.”
His tone and expression had softened greatly compared to before.
It seemed he was quite pleased with how I valued his treasures beyond his own expectations.
“I hope we can trade again.”
“I’ll contact you when I come across something good. Then, what will you do with these items? Will you take them with you today?”
“I’ll take the first two with me today. But…”
I looked at the Inwangjesaekdo he was holding out.
“Please keep this one for me until I find a proper place to store it. There’s no safer place than here.”
“Ho… You truly know how to cherish a precious piece.”
Looking deeply satisfied, Lee Hak-gyu nodded. Once the ice had been broken, it seemed every one of my actions pleased him further.
I exchanged three artworks for the corresponding checks.
All the while, Lee Cheong-ho simply watched in silence.
I roamed restlessly throughout Seoul. Through Han Sang-hoon, I secured U.S. dollars. From Old Master Hwang, I purchased gold bars. And through Teacher Park, I swept up real estate across Myeong-dong and the Gangnam District.
Finally, by meeting Clerk Lee, I even acquired national treasure–level artworks.
The immense wealth I had earned through the stock market surge — all in hwan — had now transformed into solid physical assets that would not be shaken even by the storm of currency reform.
The only cash I had left was a few tens of millions of hwan — just enough to fund my next moves.
After completing all my transactions, I visited Yang Sobo’s office once again.
“How was it, meeting them?”
The moment I entered, Yang Sobo asked, as though he had been waiting for me.
In his eyes shimmered both curiosity and a faint expectation.
“They were exactly as you described, sir. Each one of them was a ruler in their own field. I’m grateful for the introductions.”
“I’m glad they were to your liking.”
“Yes. Thanks to you, I was able to safely convert most of my assets.”
I paused for a moment, locking eyes with him.
“And I think I now understand a little of your deeper intentions in sending me to them.”
“Oh? My deeper intentions, you say? Let’s hear it.”
“It wasn’t merely out of concern to convert my assets safely, was it?”
I spoke calmly, not avoiding the sudden sharpness in Yang Sobo’s gaze.
“Old Master Hwang dealt in gold, Teacher Park in real estate, and Clerk Lee in art. They all handled different things — yet they shared one thing in common: most of the items they dealt with recently belonged to Chinese merchants who were hastily selling them off.”
Yang Sobo said nothing — he simply stared at me.
“You were using me, sir — to help liquidate and relocate the assets of the Chinese merchants who were being pressured by the government. By putting me, a non-Chinese, at the forefront, you avoided suspicion in the market and helped ensure their properties weren’t sold off for scraps. Am I wrong?”
At my reasoning, a complex smile appeared on Yang Sobo’s face — a mix of surprise and satisfaction.
Then, with a curious look in his eyes, he asked,
“So, are you disappointed?”
“Thanks to you, I’ve obtained excellent items. I’d say I’m pleased, not disappointed.”
It didn’t matter that he had intended to use me. It was a mutually beneficial transaction, after all.
If I could use others — and if it worked to my advantage — that was enough.
“Good.”
At my answer, Yang Sobo gave a small, approving nod.
He opened a desk drawer and slid a thick envelope across to me. Inside were a family register and residence registration certificate — both issued under my name.
I had been an orphan who lost everything during the war. Though alive, I had been like a ghost — a person who did not legally exist in this country.
Yet now, thanks to Yang Sobo’s influence, I had been granted a complete legal identity as Baek Min-woo.
Even the registered address was that of his mansion. From this moment on, I was legally under his protection.
“Thank you, sir.”
At the time, random identity checks were common. Anyone unable to prove their identity on the spot would be treated as a vagrant and dragged off to the police station.
In Myeong-dong, Yang Sobo’s influence had kept me safe, but in unfamiliar Busan, this single document could well mean the difference between life and death.
All my business in Seoul was done. Now, it was time to leave the city.