As True as a Dream Chapter 121

Hae-Joo had always been fascinated by Ban Yi Ho’s very existence.

 

But it was the first time she felt scared of him in this way.

 

He’s so strong and agile, and she doesn’t know if it was an act or the truth when he said he was sick before.

 

‘Was he telling her that he needed the Guishan Dao to survive just to get her to help him find it?’

 

The more she thought about it, the more complicated it became, like a tangled thread.

 

“Ha… how… is this… possible… how…!”

 

She crouched down, propped her knees up, and buried her face in them.

 

Like a turtle hiding in its shell.

 

In the darkness of the unlit room, Hae-Joo’s mind flashed back to the moment she first met Yi Ho, and everything that had happened since then.

 

The vacant lot in the suburbs of Gyeongseong, Song Yue Pavilion, the train, and Guisan Dao….

 

The more she recalled everything that had happened to her, the more the corners of her mouth curved in a self-helpful way.

 

There is a saying that people only believe what they want to believe.

 

At one time, she only thought such people were foolish.

 

But now she realized that she was one of them.

 

She had definitely checked for his breath in that clearing.

 

She hadn’t felt any breath.

 

That’s why the old man himself had given her the pocket watch in exchange for her money.

 

But then she saw Yi Ho, who she thought was dead, again in the lawn of Song Yue Pavilion, and she thought she had seen a ghost, and even made a scene.

 

At the time, Hae-Joo was busy with her own life, so she dismissed it as a simple mistake because she didn’t care if he moved, but looking back, it was a very strange thing.

 

That was it.

 

As the president of Song Yue, whenever he had to make an official appearance, he always wore a fox mask.

 

It wasn’t a social disadvantage, but rather a charming appearance that mesmerized people’s souls, so why was he so insistent on covering it up?

 

Moreover, Yi Ho was only in his early to mid-twenties.

 

And yet, how do you explain the momentum, ease, poise, and keen insight into people’s inner lives?

 

And that’s just the beginning.

 

For someone who refrains from outside activities and rarely interacts with others due to his illness, Yi Ho has a bold, noble, and unruffled personality.

 

If she looks at it one by one, nothing really makes sense.

 

Hae-Joo doesn’t know if she didn’t want to see it or couldn’t see it.

 

Above all, when she was being chased from Mount Bukhan by people she didn’t know, as Mrs. Na’s mistress, he suddenly appeared in the middle of the mountain as if he was waiting for her.

 

Even then, she thought it was strange.

 

How could he have found her so quickly in that vast, rugged, deep mountain?

 

…Because Yi Ho is a gumiho.

 

Is it true what they say about Song Yue being passed down from generation to generation?

 

And what is Yi Ho’s connection to the centuries-old Ban family in the first place?

 

It was confusing to know where to start and where to stop.

 

And was he really in love with her?

 

According to tradition, Gumiho is a youkai who wants to become a human.

 

To become human, he must eat a hundred human livers, marry a human, and remain unrecognizable for a hundred days.

 

Is that why?

 

‘No, I don’t think so.’

 

Hae-Joo’s mind was racing with questions she couldn’t answer, and she didn’t even know it was daylight.

 

Outside her door, she heard the lively noise of people beginning their early morning activities.

 

She had nearly been burned to death the night before, and the man she loved turned out to be a gumiho, not a human, but even under these circumstances, the primal need to sleep had taken over.

 

She doesn’t know how many hours she squatted like that.

 

Hae-Joo slowly got up, opened the door, went inside, and collapsed on the futon.

 

“What am I going to do now, Dad…?”

 

She mumbled, closing her eyes tiredly, and a trace of moisture crept into the corners of her eyes.

 

* * *

 

Last night, Song Yue’s world was turned upside down.

 

Hongo had been distraught over Hae-Joo’s sudden disappearance from the hospital.

 

Fearing that he would be scolded by Yi Ho for losing her, he ran everywhere looking for her, and later, after receiving a report from the raven that she had returned to Song Yue with Yi Ho, he hurried back.

 

However, when Hongo entered the lawn of Song Yue Pavilion, he didn’t see Hae-Joo with Yi Ho, but rather Yi Ho lying unconscious and alone.

 

Horrified, he helped Yi Ho into the house, laid him down on the bed, and spent the rest of the night with the unconscious Yi Ho.

 

Over the past few years, Yi Ho’s health had deteriorated noticeably, and he’d often vomited blood, had fever spells, and become lethargic, but never like this.

 

A day, two days… Four days passed as Yi Ho collapsed.

 

Hongo was worn out.

 

He was worried about what would happen to him.

 

Yi Ho still hadn’t woken up, and Hae-Joo, who usually stayed with him, was nowhere to be seen.

 

Instinctively, he realized that something must have happened between them, but he didn’t have time to think about it.

 

Yi Ho’s face was white, almost transparent, and if you looked at it too closely, you could see every color of it.

 

It was like porcelain on the verge of shattering.

 

“Mr. Hongo, we have a problem with the vegetables that are supposed to come in today.”

 

“Tell Assistant Manager Han to take care of it. After eight years of service, he should be able to handle it.”

 

Hong-o, who came out of Yi Ho’s bedroom with his shoulders slumped, spoke in a heavy tone to the employee who came to report.

 

He was followed by another staffer, who was carrying a newspaper and heading for the study on this floor, a beautiful room, when he saw Hongo and greeted him.

 

“Mister Hongo.”

 

“Put it in the study and tell the deputy managers in charge of the Song Yue Pavilion to handle all matters at their discretion, except for the sales reports.”

 

After quickly giving his instructions, Hongo Wu went back into the bedroom where Yi Ho lay dead.

 

The remaining staff member followed Hongo’s instructions and went to the desk in the study, placing today’s article on top of the articles he had collected over the past four days.

 

The article with the headline, “Nine people died in a row last night in a shantytown in Sinyin Township….,” was on top.

 

As he turned away, the employee who read the words casually muttered with a dark face.

 

“What has this country come to… I’ve lost count of how many people have died in the last few days.”

 

Quietly closing the door to the study, the staff member glanced at the large door where Hongo had been stuck all day.

 

It had been weeks since Mr. Hongo had begun collecting all the newspapers that were thrown at Jinsheng each day.

 

He didn’t know what the higher-ups were thinking, but it was a little puzzling.

 

The rumors of the President’s illness were true, and he had been absent from his room for days, claiming to be unwell.

 

On his desk in the study, untouched newspapers piled up day by day.

 

He wondered if there was any point in running across the hardwood floor every day to collect newspapers.

 

Moreover, the streets of Gyeongseong had been horrible the past few days.

 

As far as the staff knew, the number of dead people in Gyeongseong was well over double digits.

 

Of course, human life was worse than bugs in Joseon.

 

Some died rebelling against Japanese oppression, some were dragged into the war, and some died from starvation.

 

But few lives were lost in vain under the pretext of someone’s intentional “murder”.

 

Some fiction-writing fringe newspapers claimed that the deaths of dozens of people a night were the work of a Western ghost, the mania of a madman, or the arrival of a plague.

 

Of course, none of this was to be believed.

 

No madman could have the strength and stamina to wander the streets of Jinsheng like a ghost every night, killing people by the dozens.

 

The employee sighed as he remembered the articles he couldn’t help but read every day when he collected the newspapers.

 

He wonders if Mr. Hongo, who has been taking care of his sick boss for days on end, even realizes that this is what’s happening in Jinsheng.

 

What the hell.

 

It has nothing to do with him.

 

He just hopes the victim of the “murder” doesn’t end up being him.

 

* * *

 

Sitting far away from the bus stop in Bangaho Village, on the outskirts of Gyeongseong Province, Hae-Joo turned around in surprise when someone tapped her on the shoulder.

 

“Hae-Joo… is that your brother?”

 

“Hae-Joo, I recognized you from a distance, so it’s you, how come you’re here?”

 

It was Yongzhou, the reporter and childhood friend from the Bokyung Ilbo who had helped her track down Guishan Dao in the village.

 

Somewhat surprised and pleased by the unexpected encounter, Yongzhou smiled as softly as water.

 

“Brother, are you going to Gyeongseong?”