Peninsula's Life Begins in 2016

Chapter 1 Seoul has no sea, nor any road.

Seoul has no sea.

This is a phrase that the nuns at the Sacred Heart Welfare Home in Busan often say.

Everyone who leaves Busan for Seoul to make a living says this, their tone as if they are reminiscing about the blue waves that forever lap against the Busan harbor breakwater.

March 14, 2016, White Valentine's Day.

Seoul was hit by its heaviest rain since the beginning of spring.

Kang Yeon-sai sat in a convenience store in Hongdae, holding a can of iced Americano that he had just taken out of the freezer.

Water droplets condensed on the can slid down his fingers and dripped onto the knee of his faded jeans, spreading into a small dark stain.

The phone screen beside me was blindingly bright; it was a message from a nearby small recording studio, sent half an hour earlier, its words utterly blunt: "Still not good! The chorus is as bland as water, completely unmemorable! If it's not finished by 8 AM tomorrow, there's no final payment!"

Jiang Yan opened the bank app expressionlessly; the number in the balance column was as cold as the rain outside the window: 312730 Korean won.

The day after tomorrow is the day to pay the rent.

The basement apartment in Hongdae costs 48 won a month, and the tuition for the Applied Music Department next month is 382 million won. He hasn't even scraped together the change.

The rain grew heavier, and large raindrops pounded against the convenience store's blue awning, like countless drumsticks pounding on his tense nerves.

Jiang Yan's gaze unconsciously swept over the part-time worker behind the cashier, and his pupils contracted slightly.

In his eyes, the girl with the ponytail had a thick, impenetrable gray mist floating above her head.

That was the extreme exhaustion from staying up for three consecutive nights. There was a very faint bluish-purple mark around her right wrist, obviously from a recent bump. She rubbed it a couple of times and then didn't think much of it.

Jiang Yan's eyes started changing on February 17th of this year.

It hasn't even been a month since today.

When people and objects actually appear within his three-meter radius, the true nature hidden beneath the surface will have nowhere to hide.

Whether viewed through a screen, a wall, or beyond that distance, it is indistinguishable from the eyes of an ordinary person.

In the first few days after it appeared, Jiang Yan almost thought he had a mental problem.

Walking on the street, you can see various colored threads of light wrapped around the passersby: red for anger, blue for sadness, gold for joy, and black for despair.

It took him a full two weeks to barely adapt to this bizarre world that he found so strange.

Moreover, he didn't have time to think too much. His adoptive father's funeral had almost wiped out all his savings. The funeral home and crematorium alone cost 230 million yuan. In addition, the tombstone and the funeral service cost him all the tuition and living expenses he had saved for two years.

Back in Seoul, he was preoccupied with worrying about his next meal and had no time to figure out what to do with his eyes.

Jiang Yan withdrew his gaze and looked at the person who had just pushed the door open and entered. Several glaring dark red threads were emanating from the person's throat.

From Jiang Yan's perspective, it was quite creepy, but after seeing it many times, he could guess that this person probably had a problem with their throat; the more threads there were and the more noticeable they were, the bigger the problem was.

The person in front of me might lose his voice in a few days.

But this has little to do with Jiang Yan; his only concern right now is how to make money.

He is a sophomore majoring in Applied Music at Seoul Arts University. He has been in this sealess city for two years and has taken on every job he could earn money in the Hongdae area.

Arranging bass for an underground club band earns 5 won, recording demos and harmonies for a minor idol earns 8 won, serving tea and water and cleaning mixing consoles in a recording studio earns 3 won a day, and performing on the streets of Myeongdong for two hours on weekends can earn up to 10 won.

Earnings weren't much, but they weren't small either.

He didn't have to think too much before because he had a home in Busan.

His adoptive father, Lao Jiang, was a retired Marine Corps sergeant who opened a Taekwondo gym in Liangshan in the late 1990s. When he was seven years old, he brought him home from the Sacred Heart Welfare Home halfway up the mountain.

They gave him a surname, a place to shelter him from the wind and rain, and his only support in this life.

Old Jiang was clumsy with words and had never uttered a kind word in his entire life.

But she would turn on the dojo's underfloor heating half a month before winter arrived in Busan, she would quietly place warm milk on his desk when he stayed up late practicing the piano, and she would carry three large suitcases and transfer on the subway for three hours at Seoul Station when he first came to Seoul to study, without saying a word of being tired.

Old Jiang passed away on February 17th of this year.

He suffered a sudden myocardial infarction and passed away in less than ten minutes, without experiencing much suffering.

Jiang Yan took the earliest KTX bus back to Busan overnight, then took a taxi straight to the dojo in Yangsan. After handling the funeral arrangements, he sat alone in the empty dojo from dusk till dawn.

The dojo still smelled of camphor and disinfectant. Old Jiang had polished the taekwondo medals on the wall until they shone. On the armrest of the rattan chair where he often sat, there was still the unfinished memoir of a naval veteran.

It happened at 4:17 a.m. that day.

A sharp pain suddenly shot through his eyes, as if scalding sand had melted into them.

He covered his eyes and squatted on the ground, tears streaming down his face uncontrollably, and everything in front of him began to distort and overlap.

The stinging sensation disappeared after a few seconds.

When I opened my eyes again, the whole world had changed.

The wooden floor of the dojo has a warm, light brown grain, and every crack holds the marks of time.

The medals on the wall emitted a faint golden glow, representing Old Jiang's life's glory.

The unfinished memoir, with its pages gleaming with a soft white light, was a mark left by its owner.

He looked up at the portrait of Old Jiang, which was close at hand; the old man in the photo had a kind smile on his face.

A warm, orange-yellow mist floated above the portrait, gently brushing against his cheek like a rough yet tender hand.

Jiang Yan stared at the orange-yellow light for a long time, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, but his eyes uncontrollably reddened.

Old Jiang served in the army his whole life and honed his eyesight throughout. He could see through hidden reefs in the storm and recognize danger in a crowd at a glance.

This ability came about so conveniently, probably because he was afraid that after he left, this child who had always lacked a sense of security would be bullied and unable to see the wickedness in people's hearts, so he changed his eyes like this.

He later stayed in Busan for another ten days.

He entrusted the dojo to his most outstanding disciple for subletting. Looking at his disciple standing in front of him, he could see the sincere gold in his eyes and knew that he would take good care of this place that carried the memories of two generations.

His eldest apprentice offered to pay him 30 won in rent every month, and Jiang Yan did not refuse, as this was his only stable income at the moment.

Then, following Old Jiang's usual refrain, he scattered his ashes in the sea near Taizongtai, the area he had patrolled the most during his service.

The waves carried the ashes away, and Jiang Yan saw countless tiny golden specks floating on the sea surface—Old Jiang was saying his final goodbye.

Finally, I went back to the Sacred Heart Welfare Home, located halfway up the mountain on Yeongdo Island.

The old nun, with her full head of white hair, accurately called out his name the moment she saw him.

Jiang Yan looked at her and could see that most of her body was a healthy light pink, except for a few dark brown spots on her knees, which were obviously caused by rheumatism.

The nun poured him a cup of piping hot barley tea and chatted on and on about many old stories, about how he used to love climbing the hill behind the house to raid bird nests when he was a child, and about the little girl with pigtails who always followed behind him.

"That child later went to Seoul and became a big star." The nun smiled kindly. "I occasionally see her on TV. She has a beautiful smile, but she is too thin, which is heartbreaking to see. Over the years, she has been sending money and things to the orphanage, and she asks someone to send her gifts every Christmas."

……