Chapter 221.1

Chapter 221.1

The island had long since fallen silent. The currents were too strong, and too many people had drowned. Eventually, outsiders stopped coming altogether.

Then one day, locals began to settle there, and the land became privately owned. When the tide receded at sunset, a narrow path appeared, but only for a moment, one misstep and the sea would swallow you whole.

When she arrived, her body dripping with seawater, traditional houses made of wood and straw surrounded the lush shoreline. Following the now fully grown brothers through a trail of grass, Seoryeong caught a faint, familiar scent even in the thick, humid air.

It was the smell of cooked rice.

The deeper they went into the village, the clearer the sound of laughter became; bright, ringing, and full of life.

Barefoot children ran across the beach, chasing a soccer ball, their joyous shouts blending with the waves.

“Ah!”

Seoryeong’s eyes blurred at the sight. Though their eyes were dark, their faces and skin tones varied, some were wheat-colored, others darker, and some pale as sand.

Watching the unfamiliar children racing after the ball, she finally exhaled the breath she had been holding. As if sensing her thoughts, Asha spoke.

“The locals married a lot of outsiders. I’ve got nieces and nephews everywhere; eight or nine of them, maybe more.”

In the shallow sea, floating fish cages bobbed on the surface. People waded waist-deep into the water to harvest seaweed.

Children who once wandered endlessly through fields of sugarcane taller than themselves now laughed in the cool breeze. They cultivated seaweed that swayed like soft grass, chatting peacefully, and some couples, most likely shared gentle kisses.

“That’s actually our livelihood,” Asha explained. “We tie the seedlings to monofilament lines and harvest them after about five weeks.”

The sand beneath Seoryeong’s feet felt soft and warm.

“Strangely, everyone in our family has quick reflexes. Agile, fast learners. A few of us always end up in training centers to learn new skills before coming back here. We handle the seaweed trade ourselves too.”

“….”

“Security’s bad around here. Someone has to protect the kids, and the island. Grandma’s really sensitive about that sort of thing. Are you also from one of those training centers?”

Seoryeong only smiled faintly in response. Her eyes drifted back toward the sparkling shore where the children were laughing and running.

The miserable Sakhalin children had grown up, and now, they had children of their own.

Little feet pressed into the soft, sun-warmed sand, their pale soles flashing pink as mothers brushed the grains away, laughing at their children’s giggles.

Who could have ever imagined that those children would one day create something this peaceful, this bright?

Her throat felt tight, heat pooling deep inside. She opened her mouth, realizing she’d been holding her breath just to stay steady.

“This way, please.”

In a daze, she followed Asha into one of the houses. The stairs creaked beneath them, and her heartbeat thudded hard in her chest.

Then, when the emerald beach unfolded before her like a painting, a warm breeze swept through the open window. Pushing aside her tangled hair, she caught sight of a woman’s back.

Her hair, white but neatly pinned with a hairpin. A neck thin as a branch. An oxygen tank fixed beside her wheelchair.

Seoryeong froze mid-step as the old woman turned.

An oxygen tube ran under her nose, her lips dry and pale. Yet despite the life fading from her eyes, her gaze remained sharp, composed, and unyielding as she studied the stranger before her.

Who is she…?

Something about the woman’s graceful face made Seoryeong tense. Her palms curled tight before she even realized it.

Before she could notice, the woman with black eyes had started fiddling with the bracelet on her wrist. And then, a familiar language filled the air.

“Who are you, young lady?”

Seoryeong drew in a slow breath. “Ah… I…”

But the words caught in her throat. How was she supposed to introduce herself?

Could she be honest?

Her gaze fell weakly to the floor. But after coming all this way to what felt like the edge of the world, there was nothing left to hide.

“I’m… the daughter of Rigay. The one who inherited that bracelet.”

The words trembled as they left her lips, the first time she had ever spoken them aloud.

The frail woman, bent with age, suddenly gripped the armrests of her wheelchair with surprising strength.

“And…”

Seoryeong hesitated for a moment. She swallowed and cleared her throat once more.

“I survived Winter Castle. My name is Han Seoryeong. I remember. I’m from Sakhalin.”

The old woman’s eyes trembled like aspen leaves at those words.

“Winter, Castle, you say?”

She creaked closer in her wheelchair, inching forward.

“Child. You remember Winter Castle?”

Seoryeong looked at the hand that had grabbed hers and nodded. The old woman’s eyes, the ones she had met below, were dark and desperate.

Seoryeong froze for a second, then quietly turned the name over in her mind. Daria. Why did the name of Rigay, who had once said “I am sorry, Prime Minister, I am sorry, Madam,” rise up now?

The woman’s gaze carried an unfathomable depth of pain. Steeling herself, Seoryeong added a risky line. She bent one knee and looked up into the wheelchair.

“And I am also… Yuri Solzhenitsyn’s…”

At the name she forced out, Daria’s face went still at once.

“Wife.”