Desires Chapter 1.1 - A’ S Y U T

A graceful Neo-Gothic style building stacked in the shape of a W. Its wondrous and sophisticated exterior, at once historic and retaining a modern chicness, was covered by a dense, artificial forest, resembling the fortress of a lord who was extremely wary of outside entry. The existence of such a space near the city center was truly a sight hard to believe.

The gallery had excessively strict security. Unregistered outside vehicles were not even allowed to enter, so from the entrance road, one had to walk in, carrying a large, personally wrapped canvas.

Song Yeongin walked for a long while, struggling with a painting larger than his own body. He clutched tightly in his hand a single business card that Father Kang Hajong had given him.

🌫️

Unlike its modern exterior, he walked through a majestic interior composed of Gothic spires and arched old brick walls that seemed to have regressed in time. It was the room at the very end of a long, maze-like corridor.

“I came on the recommendation of Father Kang Hajong.”

“A pleasure to meet you. I am Yoon Jioh, the director of Gallery A’syut.”

The man who introduced himself as the director was like a messenger of the dead [死者] guiding others to a third world. He had a strangely pedantic impression. A man whose age was difficult to guess, he possessed intelligent and sharp eyes that seemed to see through to the core of things.

“The reason Mr. Kang Hajong sent you here is because I am the person who can most assuredly sell the painting.”

Song Yeongin, clutching the canvas larger than his body, was once again having the reason he stood here confirmed by that man’s lips.

That’s right. To sell the painting.

“You need money?”

“…Yes.”

I need money. Desperately.

Those words failed to pass through his red lips, instead floating upon the heavy air of the director’s office.

The director scanned Song Yeongin from top to bottom. It was a cold, calculating gaze, like one appraising the value of an object.

On Song Yeongin’s neat and clean face, not a single trace of poverty could be found. In fact, based on his face alone, he had a clear complexion so flawless that he could have easily passed for a young master from a wealthy family.

Furthermore, he exuded a strange, noble air rarely seen in ordinary people. It was only through the old, shabby clothes Song Yeongin wore that one could barely guess at the clue of his poverty.

“Let’s talk after I see the piece first.”

Yoon Jioh said with an unsympathetic face.

“Because even with a pretty face like that, if the painting is no good, it’s utterly useless.”

A cold gaze, devoid of emotion. His indifferent face, from which all else had been filtered out leaving only intellect, showed a mechanical smile. Contrary to the hypocritical smile, the content of the words he uttered was all incomparably rude.

Song Yeongin had been silently unwrapping the personally wrapped kraft paper since a moment ago.

Yoon Jioh was, by nature, a man who did not know what it was to have expectations. However, he had a gut feeling that if it was the eye of none other than Kang Hajong, then it must be, without a doubt, something special.

Song Yeongin presented the painting. It was the moment when Kang Hajong’s discerning eye, which had been hidden, was finally revealed before Yoon Jioh’s eyes.

<Ear of a Dead Mother>

Yoon Jioh, who had been looking at the painting, remained silent for a long time.

The flawlessly clear and neat face waited for the judgment of the messenger of the dead. For Song Yeongin, the silence of others was something he was extremely used to, but at this particular moment, his lips were unusually parched.

“You use intense colors. So much that it hurts…. It is a beautiful pain, to the point of being tragic.”

From his cold lips, a sentimental appraisal flowed out, quite the opposite of his demeanor.

“Father Kang Hajong…. When he sought me out, I thought there must be a good reason for it.”

It was impossible to know what kind of relationship Father Kang Hajong and Yoon Jioh had. All Song Yeongin knew was the single fact that Father Kang Hajong had sent him here, and that he was now standing before this man.

“One could even call it radical. It simultaneously holds a religious and lyrical quality, along with a pain so tragic as to be cruel….”

Yoon Jioh, for the first time, showed Song Yeongin a smile that held warmth.

“The painting resembles you.”

Song Yeongin did not know how to respond to the lavish rhetoric. In truth, he was not even aware of the fact that Yoon Jioh was showering him with all sorts of high praise.

A flash of unusual light glinted in Yoon Jioh’s eyes. Only after seeing Song Yeongin’s painting did Yoon Jioh, for the first time, feel the inclination to stand before the table.

“With a beautiful person like you, Mr. Song Yeongin, selling the artwork will be much, much easier.”

It was truly so. From the moment he had first walked through that door, Song Yeongin had captured Yoon Jioh’s attention.

An evaluation of aesthetic beauty by no means discriminates by gender. In the eyes of a seasoned critic who dealt in works of art, Song Yeongin was a beautiful person, without any shortcomings.

Clear eyes stared blankly at the mouth of the man pouring out high praise. To gauge whether those words were an empty dream or not.

Song Yeongin, by nature, did not believe in words. His late mother had been hearing-impaired; she could not hear words and could not speak them. Therefore, Song Yeongin was one of those people who knew better than anyone that words and truth could be different.

Song Yeongin’s silence, which showed neither interest nor agitation at such sweet talk, was instead defiantly provoking Yoon Jioh.

“I am not an artist or a critic. I am closer to a marketer, so to speak. It’s just that the goods I sell happen to be works of art.”

“…”

“If there is a story, it can be sold for a higher price. I am talking about that which is contained in your face. As much as the artwork itself, from the moment you walked through that door… I rated that point highly.”

Song Yeongin’s lips, which had been shut like a mute’s, finally opened cautiously.

“Will you be able to sell my painting?”

What he wanted to know was not some shell or illusion. For Song Yeongin, that was the only thing that mattered.

Yoon Jioh answered gallantly.

“Your painting could be sold right now.”

A great tremor passed through his ever-so-serene eyes.

“However, it might also not sell for several years. I cannot guarantee anything. Everything is a matter of opportunity, and of luck.”

His detached eyes answered Yoon Jioh.

“I am not in a situation to paint.”

“…”

“I… do not even have the money to buy paint right now.”

Yoon Jioh gave a faint smile towards the neat, beautiful man before him.

“You could receive sponsorship. There are occasionally rich people who want to imitate the Medici family. Sponsorship is, in fact, another name for investment.”

“I want to know what the fastest way is. I came here because I need money urgently.”

It was a desperate and urgent voice. But Yoon Jioh did not even bat an eye.

“If the museum were to purchase it, you would find it difficult to receive the level of money you desire. The reason Father Kang Hajong sent you to me could not have been for something so trivial.”

He was hearing the Father’s intentions, which he himself did not know, through Yoon Jioh’s mouth.

“You must not lose an opportunity for the sake of a pittance before your eyes.”

Yoon Jioh was expressing an extremely firm opinion, as if he had already decided Song Yeongin’s future.

“Whose hands the painting first falls into will determine your life. To succeed, you must wait for the right time.”

However, to Song Yeongin, that felt as distant as talk of grasping at clouds.

“I’ve never thought about things like success. It’s just that, right now, the immediate matter of my livelihood is more desperate.”

Yoon Jioh, for the first time, showed a human, gentle smile toward Song Yeongin. Because of the desperation he saw in another’s eyes for the first time in so long….

“Only those who are desperate are worthy of having what they want. However, you must not forget the fact that God gives it only to those who wait.”

The Father gave me this one business card. He said that the person on the card would show me the way.

Gallery A’syut, Director Yoon Jioh.

However, the one who was supposed to guide his path was just repeating the frustrating words that he must wait.

In truth, it was no longer about needing paints or the like for Song Yeongin. Perhaps he could entrust his own unfortunate circumstances to the Father for the time being. But it was a different matter for the suckling baby who had lost his father before he was even 100 days old, and for his younger sister, whose tuition for the school for the deaf was at stake.

“You called it a pittance before my eyes, but I do not care even if it is that small amount of pittance. I am that desperate.”

“…”

“If you cannot pay a price for the painting, then it doesn’t have to be the painting. Any kind of work is fine.”

“…”

“Whether it is cleaning here, or doing odd jobs… I do not mind anything. Just until the painting is sold. No, if I can earn money, I do not care what kind of work it is… I’m begging you, please.”

Song Yeongin bowed his head politely, his voice filled with a desperate heart.

Song Yeongin wanted to try. Just as his own older brother, who used to misbehave outrageously, had at least fulfilled his responsibilities and made an effort for his wife and child before meeting a miserable end on the road.

Now, he could no longer remain shut in a corner of a room, turning his back on the world and idly wasting his days. When he thought of that innocent newborn baby, when he thought of the future of his deaf younger sister who could not hear, there was nothing Song Yeongin could not do.

After his mother passed away so meaninglessly and he finally gathered his wits, he was left with the heavy duty of supporting those who remained. The burden he had been absent-mindedly ignoring until now pressed down on Song Yeongin’s shoulders, several times heavier.

Yoon Jioh liked the desperation in Song Yeongin, which ran parallel to his precariousness.

“So this was the reason he sent you.”

Song Yeongin’s desperate eyes were begging for his situation, but for some reason, they simultaneously held a nobility and detachment that felt almost sacred. Therefore, how could Yoon Jioh not say that Song Yeongin resembled this painting he had drawn himself.

Yoon Jioh could not erase the excitement of having a rare item appear before him.

“Because all you have are the hands of a frail artist and that excessively beautiful face….”

“…”

“That I would gladly pay a handsome price… Surely, the Father must have known.”

Song Yeongin could not understand what he was talking about. But it was certain that the man before him, Yoon Jioh, was someone who could give him what he needed.

What dwelled in his eyes was conviction. Since he was born and raised, Song Yeongin had never seen such a clear fireball of conviction burning in someone’s eyes.

“If you need a job right now because your livelihood is on the line, I can certainly arrange that much within my authority.”

“…”

“However, promise me. The painting must wait for the right time. Until an eye that can find the uncut gem appears, it must be someone with the influence to process that gem and present it to the world as the finest jewel. That will be the ultimate goal for you, Mr. Song Yeongin, and for me.”

Yoon Jioh looked at the painting once more.

It was the root and the soul that contained Song Yeongin’s pain, his precariousness, and the poignant beauty that pierced through his desperation. The bizarre, strange sensuality contained within it bloomed elusively between purity and blind suffering.

It was beyond artistic value. This was the kind of painting that could be sold for a high price. In the end, they would covet that unbloomed bud.

This painting and its creator, Song Yeongin, were as alike as if they were cast from the same mold. Tragic and desperate. On top of that, a strange and pure sensuality that stimulated the basest lust in people. That would capture the perverse desires of collectors with peculiar and uncommon eccentricities.

“I want to prove that my eyes were not mistaken. Your painting certainly has that value.”

Song Yeongin bowed his head politely toward the confident Yoon Jioh to express his gratitude.

“I owe a great debt to Father Kang Hajong, so please direct your thanks to him.”

Yoon Jioh wore a satisfied smile with an unreadable face. His mercy was as ephemeral as his smile, and as devoid of warmth as the air of this large director’s office.