Chapter 4.1

Chapter 4.1

Ju-eun glared at Si-eun, who could only give a bitter smile.

“Is money really that important? You got into a good university. You can graduate, get a job, and earn your own living. You want to find a man who’ll let you live comfortably? How is that any different from selling your body?”

“Jang Ju-eun, you little brat! How dare you speak to your sister like that?”

Min Se-hwa shouted and struck Ju-eun across the back.

“You study hard, get into a better university, find a job, and support yourself. Your sister wants an easier life. What business is it of yours?”

“I’m saying this because she might marry a lunatic who beat his wife to death!”

“Do you think marriage happens that easily? Stop interrupting the adults and go upstairs to study. With your grades, getting into a good university will be difficult enough.”

Min Se-hwa hit Ju-eun several more times and chased her upstairs.

Jang Myeong-hwan watched them, then placed another cigarette between his lips and lit it.

Min Se-hwa would have to bend down and clean up the broken ashtray and cigarette butts scattered across the floor. They could not leave any trace for the housekeeper to see.

“You made the right choice. You’re clever, so I knew you’d understand.”

“…You sound very sure this will work. Have you already made some kind of deal?”

Even if he managed to arrange the meeting, there was nothing about it that placed them at an advantage.

Why was he so confident?

The living room was already heavy with smoke. Jang Myeong-hwan exhaled another thick cloud and stretched his lips into a wide smile.

“I trust my daughter’s charm. Any man would notice it. Do you think only one or two men have asked me for you? A broken engagement is not a bad thing. Girls like you are better with at least one flaw. Men find that exciting too.”

“……”

Min Se-hwa gripped Si-eun’s arm.

Her hand trembled as though she were afraid, and Si-eun felt strangely relieved.

Had she been alone with Jang Myeong-hwan in that living room, she would have vomited.

—

Si-eun’s grandfather, Jang Su-hyeon, was a novelist.

He had also made films, run a bookshop, and served as a government minister, but at heart, he had always been a writer.

His study was filled with stacks of books and manuscript paper.

Even in an age when most people wrote on laptops and computers, her grandfather refused to use so much as a typewriter. Instead, he filled an old Montblanc fountain pen with blue ink and wrote by hand on manuscript paper.

He said the words would not come any other way.

He was a stubborn traditionalist.

He rejected anything new for no real reason and clung to the past. He often said that a good writer needed an open mind, yet he preferred shutting himself away in his study to seeing the world.

He read the same books again and again. He touched the same old photographs every day, turning the same memories over in his mind.

Si-eun had read every book her grandfather had written.

Not because she found them especially interesting.

She had simply loved him.

In spring, he would carry her up the hill behind their home. He would point to the flowers and whisper, “This is an Amur adonis,” or, “That one is a Byeonsan windflower.”

She loved his wrinkled hands, the stories he told about the plants, and the way he would pick a flower and tuck it gently behind her ear.

Here is the continuation, edited for smooth, natural novel prose and without em dashes:

She remembered his voice as he sat watching the rain fall from the eaves, asking if the sound of raindrops against the roof tiles did not seem like music. She remembered the warmth of his hand patting her shoulder in time with his heartbeat.

Even when sleep crept over her and she closed her eyes, her grandfather kept holding her.

He never put her down the moment she fell asleep or left her alone. He held her until she woke again.

An old dog lay curled up on the warm floor. Sparrows rested on the branches of the persimmon tree. Even the clouds drifting slowly overhead were lovely in her grandfather’s eyes.

He carried Si-eun in his arms until the red stain from the balsam flowers they had pressed onto her nails in early summer had completely faded. Whenever the neighbours gave them a basket of plums, he picked out the biggest and prettiest ones for her.

“My little pup, look over there.”

Si-eun looked wherever her grandfather looked. She listened to the sounds that caught his ear and tasted whatever he tasted.

To Si-eun, they were only ordinary, boring sights.

It was only through her grandfather’s eyes, ears, and words that she could dimly understand.

To some people, the world truly did seem beautiful and full of colour.

Then, in a year when the summer fruit had been unusually sweet, her grandfather passed away.

The funeral hall remained crowded until dawn, with mourners arriving one after another.