As True as a Dream Chapter 140

Hae-Joo fell silent after her last words.

She believed the old man would eventually speak—otherwise, Mi-yeon wouldn’t have entrusted her with that deathbed letter.

 

“…Is she… dead?”

The old man’s voice finally cracked with grief after a long pause.

 

“Yes. Murdered.”

A deep sigh escaped him.

 

“Her body—”

“We buried her.”

 

Hae-Joo glanced at Yi-Ho. She’d been too distraught to handle arrangements, but Hongo had taken care of everything. Later, she learned Yi-Ho—for reasons unknown—had personally chosen a proper gravesite.

 

When he’d patted her head in comfort, she realized:

‘This man becomes infinitely gentle when it concerns me.’

Hongo had clicked his tongue, saying Yi-Ho would never have done such a thing for anyone else. The remark, caught between criticism and praise, had made her smile.

 

“Who… who did it?”

The old man’s sorrowful voice snapped her back.

 

“Someone who was and wasn’t Mi-yeon’s son.”

“What kind of riddle is that?”

“The letter explains. It’s too dark here—shall we move inside?”

 

She produced Mi-yeon’s letter. After hesitation, the old man led them into his tiny shack—walls yellowed, floor scarred by hearth burns. A place worn by life.

 

“Pardon the poverty. I’ve nothing to offer guests.”

“We don’t mind. Please sit.”

 

As the old man knelt across the low table, Hae-Joo noted his refined bearing beneath the janitor’s disguise. Likely from a good family, now erased by the 1930s. His decades as an independence movement liaison commanded respect.

 

When she placed the letter on the table, he studied her and Yi-Ho instead.

 

“First—who are you? How did you contact Mi-yeon?”

 

Yi-Ho blinked at her, signaling she could reveal his identity.

 

“I’m Yeon Hae-Joo. Former taxi driver, now a jewelry seller to gisaengs.”

“And him?” The old man pointed at Yi-Ho’s imposing silence.

 

“My fiancé.”

“Fiancé? What does he do? Why won’t he speak?”

 

“What exactly do you want me to say?” Yi-Ho finally spoke. “I’m Ban Yi-Ho of Song Yue Pavilion. Satisfied?”

 

The old man’s eyes widened. Everyone knew Song Yue Pavilion’s masked owner inherited the name “Ban Yi-Ho” through generations—always tall, always elegant. This man fits the legend.

 

“If you doubt me, send someone to verify with Manager Hongo.”

 

The old man dropped his suspicion. He’d heard the rumors—the Pavilion owner’s engagement to a taxi driver. This must be her.

 

He finally took the letter. As he read, his face turned ashen.

 

“…This… this is impossible!”

 

“It’s true.” Hae-Joo’s smile was bitter. “You asked how I met Mi-yeon? It wasn’t planned—I was there when she died.”

 

“You saw her killer?”

“Yes. At first, I couldn’t believe my eyes either. Mi-yeon told me—that thing wore her son’s face but wasn’t human. A monster killed her.”

 

She glanced at Yi-Ho, who nodded confirmation.

 

“The Pavilion owner witnessed it too.”

 

The old man’s eyelids twitched. A businessman’s testimony carried more weight than a young girl’s.

 

“…So Kyung-in really did it?” His hands trembled as he refolded the letter.

 

“I’ll report this to my superiors. Thank you for coming.” His tone dismissed them.

 

But Hae-Joo wasn’t leaving. She’d have given up earlier if this were mere charity.

 

“What will Teacher Kim Cheong-ho do after reading this?”

 

The old man’s brows furrowed. “How should I know a great man’s mind?”

 

“Will your organization move against Guishan Dao’s Man Insa and Governor Saito Jiro?”

 

“What are you implying?”

 

Ignoring his glare, she pulled a thick envelope from her coat—her entire savings, scraped together for her dreams abroad.

 

“Open it.”

 

The old man froze upon seeing the money. “What is this?”

 

“My mother… was also in the independence movement.” Hae-Joo’s voice hardened. “She died fleeing Japanese soldiers when I was seven. I remember the struggle.”

 

His expression darkened.

 

“Your faction must need funds. Consider this a patriot’s donation.”

 

“Just that?” His eyes narrowed.