Chapter 218.2

Chapter 218.2

After three days of illness, that was how she felt. Being called foolish and blind-flinging at what she believed made her stomach flip. If her love was malformed, she decided she would live that way for the rest of her life.

“Yuri Solzhenitsyn’s body has not been found, so he is not dead yet.”

“No one who returned alive from below that gorge survived after the Soviet collapse.”

“…”

“They found Solzhenitsyn’s car, the one crushed by the train, in the river this morning.”

The priest sighed sadly and made the sign of the cross heavily. Seoryeong could not speak. She wanted to slap her silent face hard.

“Sister, faith has traps too. Do not resolve to trust someone in a throwaway way. That is no different from covering a blade with thin paper, a flimsy illusion. That method will not bring you peace.”

Seoryeong opened her bloodshot eyes wide. The corner of her mouth twitched in a half-sneer, half-grimace.

“So where is the god you believe in now, father?”

“I search every day. I tirelessly follow those traces.”

The priest answered without hesitation, and Seoryeong let out a derisive sniff as if she had expected him to say that.

Did people who followed something without substance all look useless and foolish by nature?

If so, then maybe she looked stubborn and sullen in the priest’s eyes as well.

An inexplicable sense of defeat seeped into her. Some part of her mind sank slowly, then sank again. Still, the priest showed no displeasure as he brushed the petals clinging to her.

“The Bible contains sixty-six books. I look for grounds there. Then, to know and love one person deeply, how many volumes would you need to open? Where do you intend to go from here, and what do you plan to learn?”

“…!”

“You have to understand a person’s history and metaphors before blind faith can turn into true devotion.”

The priest wished her luck and turned away with quiet grace. She stood frozen, watching the people lighting candles. Her mind went blank, as if someone had struck the back of her head.

‘I don’t know him… not that deeply.’

‘I don’t truly know Lee Wooshin.’

A chill of loss seeped through her like a cold wind. Seoryeong couldn’t move. She was pushed and pulled by the crowd, swept whichever way it went.

Just then, the old cell phone she had brought from the safehouse began to buzz and ring. She fumbled through her pocket with sluggish hands and pulled it out.

“—!”

A little boy came running and bumped hard into her motionless body, spilling his drink.

Even as a voice shouted through the receiver, “It really is you, Channa, isn’t it!” in a tearful tone, she didn’t have time to answer.

The child, barely up to her waist, looked startled and on the verge of tears.

“I’m sorry!”

The boy’s eyes crinkled as he hurriedly wiped her soaked wrist with small, trembling hands, apologizing again and again. The bracelet on his wrist clinked softly against her skin.

Seoryeong froze as if struck. The pattern on the bracelet suddenly stood out, painfully familiar.

Why… why did I forget this?

Her eyes trembled violently. The bracelet was made of small, polished stones that reflected light, with a simple symbol carved inside.

It was Rigay’s bracelet, the last keepsake she had carried from Azerbaijan.

No. That wasn’t all.

This… hadn’t she seen it somewhere else before?

Where did I see this?

She stared at the pale face of the child, then suddenly widened her eyes as a lightning flash of memory struck through her mind.

“Channa, do you remember when we went to Thailand on a business trip for Blast?”

—Hello? Channa, are you listening to me?

“Do you remember that little kid who was selling bracelets on the street?”

—What? Why bring that up out of nowhere?

Seoryeong took a deep breath, her chest tight with realization. The rows of lit candles illuminated the dark corners of her mind. The back of her neck prickled.

“Do you remember the pattern on it?”

Her voice grew urgent. If there was still a story that hadn’t ended for him—

If there was still something left between Rigay and the Solzhenitsyn family that she didn’t know…

‘Prime Minister, I’m sorry… Madam, I’m sorry… I’m sorry I couldn’t save them…’

She heard Rigay’s voice from her memories.

Then maybe…

She had finally found where she needed to go.