Romancing on Jeju

The afternoon session . . .

The afternoon session at the Conference on Eco-Friendly Bee Farming for the Advancement of the Global Sixth Industry was slowly winding down. The conference participants’ drive had been on a steady decline since lunchtime, and right around now was when they began to drop off. Several of them, when they finished their own presentations, set off on leisurely strolls around the conference hall, sampling honey creams and the like and chatting with their fellow beekeepers. Boo Hwachul was taking turns with other staffers to hand out pamphlets about the beekeeping education course at the Honeybee School. In the morning, there had been quite a bit of interest, but perhaps because their trial program was now over, the booth had quieted down. Hwachul took a bite of one of the jumbo honey macarons Director Kang Hyunbok at Dolmiyong Jeju had ambitiously set out in an attempt to appeal to the youth. There was an excessive amount of filling, which made the macaron overly sweet for his taste.

Hwachul decided to show off the spirit of exchange and distribute the macarons far and wide. He carried the tray of them around the conference hall, imagining he was promoting samples. Since it was the afternoon, when people felt especially low on sugar, several of them welcomed the macarons. Hwachul slowly made his way down to the first floor, headed out through the back door, and started down the walking path.

He walked for a while, passing tents selling goods related to local beekeeping, and eventually came to a spacious, open lot at the start of the road that led to Jusangjeolli Cliff, where beehives of all different kinds and colors stood in a line. Beekeepers had set them up to showcase the local bee-farming industry. It must have been a suggestion from one of the know-nothing higher-ups on the conference organizing committee. The idea was that setting up the beehives someplace with an ocean view could double as a way to draw people out to the newly renovated walking path, which would show off the nature-friendly aspect of the conference hall and simultaneously make for a nice visual. Jeju natives who were bee farmers were generally unhappy with the plan, wondering who would bother leaving the conference hall to come all the way out here when hardly anyone, even the tourists walking the Jeju Olle Trail, ever came this far. Yet despite the unfavorable location, several bee farmers who had moved to Jeju agreed to participate to show their cooperation with provincial policies.

Wherever Hwachul went, there were bound to be tons of people he knew, but there were certain faces that especially stood out. He spotted Kyungwoon by a beehive shaped like a traditional Jeju house, talking earnestly with a gray-haired foreign woman. She nodded as if in agreement, handed him a business card, and left. Hwachul waited a moment before he approached, glancing over at the woman as she walked away.

“Hyung, who’s she? And what were you talking about so seriously? In English, at that.”

He offered Kyungwoon a macaron, but the other man held up a hand to decline.

“She’s a professor at the University of Minnesota in the US. She noticed that our bees appeared to be a special breed. I think she wanted to know more about the results of the breeding experiment—whether there was a report or something on the findings, or whether I could send her a sample for her to study in her own lab, along with an analysis on the components of their honey or royal jelly.”

Hwachul carefully lifted the lid of the hive, which resembled a roof. To his eyes, the bees didn’t look markedly different from any others, but it was possible these bees were a bit more active.

“Is that so? I know you and your wife started focusing a long time ago on experiments to improve the breed. Didn’t you contact some American universities back then?”

“Right, Hyeyoung and I were working on the research together, but honestly, after the accident, I couldn’t really manage it. She’d always been the one leading. I was more like her assistant, so even if I’d come out of the accident with my memory intact, I’m not sure I would have known enough to do it alone. Either way, it’s amazing these bees haven’t died and are hanging in there. I guess Hyeyoung raised them to be tough little creatures.” Kyungwoon smiled slightly as if he’d told a joke.

“Your wife—I remember even in graduate school, there was talk that she was a genius. I heard she was invited to lecture at an American university but decided to follow you here instead.”

“She did . . .”

Seeing the shadows darken around Kyungwoon’s eyes, Hwachul promptly shut his mouth. But upon closer inspection, it was clear the deep dark circles under Kyungwoon’s eyes weren’t only from feeling downcast.

“Are you feeling tired today? You’re looking a bit rough.”

“Yeah. I didn’t get any sleep. Is it that obvious?”

“Why didn’t you sleep? Did something happen?”

The gloom spread over Kyungwoon’s entire face. “Seems like there was a thief at Nol yesterday. A thief, or a stalker.”

Hwachul nearly dropped the macarons.

“What? Is anything missing? Was anyone hurt?”

“Well, I heard someone broke into Romi and her friends’ room and left some kind of threatening message. And ... there were signs someone had broken into my room too.”

“When? I was there yesterday afternoon. No one said a word about this.”

“It seems like it happened at some point in the afternoon when the rooms were empty, but it’s hard to know exactly when.”

“Sounds like a petty thief who targets guesthouses. Was anything missing?”

As the number of places offering accommodations on Jeju increased with the rise in tourism, so did the number of places plagued by petty crime. Transplants from the mainland were easy victims as many of them ran guesthouses, and they were also easy suspects as they were outsiders.

Kyungwoon frowned. “I’m not sure.”

“What? How could you not know?”

“My wife—she had a box with some things inside, but it was locked. I didn’t know the passcode, so I just left it as it was. But yesterday, I found it open, and I’m not sure what, if anything, was taken from it.”

Hwachul regretted having asked so thoughtlessly. Of course, a person with amnesia wouldn’t be able to tell whether anything was missing. The same thing could happen even to someone who hadn’t lost their memory.

“Is everyone in Romi’s room okay?” Hwachul hesitated briefly before adding, “Were, um, her friends unharmed? Like Hadam, for example?”

“They filed a police report, but the security cameras were destroyed in the typhoon, so they couldn’t check any footage. There were lots of people in the café yesterday too. Romi and her friends seemed anxious, so I stood guard outside their room all night. Around dawn, Soo-eon came to switch places with me.”

“So that’s why you look so tired.”

“I guess.” Kyungwoon sounded nonchalant, running a hand through his hair.

“Should I head over there today? Do you need my help?” Hwachul asked in all seriousness, but Kyungwoon pursed his lips and shook his head.

“No need—their flights leave later tonight, from what I heard.”

“Really? I’d wanted to at least say my goodbyes before they left.”

People on a trip always left. That much wasn’t new. But when someone left a place, naturally, they left people behind too. People who had always lived there, who unwittingly ended up being abandoned by the mere fact of someone else coming and going. Kyungwoon and Hwachul had the same thought at once—that they were being left behind.

“Well, no time like the present.” Kyungwoon gestured toward the conference hall. “Hadam and Chakyung are inside right now. Hadam said she wanted to film, and Chakyung is running a booth for her company.”

“What about Romi? Is she alone? Is she all right?”

“It’s daytime, and there are plenty of people at Nol. Taylor’s with her too.”

“Hmm.” Hwachul didn’t think that man, who’d cast aside his perfectly good name and insisted on being called Taylor, was to be trusted, but as Kyungwoon said, lots of people were there, and he agreed nothing that dangerous was likely to happen at the surf café in broad daylight.

“Well, are you going to head inside and say your goodbyes? Want to go together?”

“Sure, let’s do that,” said Hwachul, following Kyungwoon.

They walked for a while back up the path they had come down, and as they were about to enter the conference hall, they ran into one of the on-site staff members coming out. The staffer gave a simple nod of greeting and was half running away when Kyungwoon asked, “Oh, are you taking down the beehives?”

Distractedly, the staffer replied, “Yes, I’m tidying up. The chairman is about to wrap up the event soon too. Then we’ll be dining here with the association members. I heard we have to close the outdoor area earlier than the indoor one, since it’s so far out.”

With that, the staffer hurried off toward the exhibition area.

Kyungwoon shot Hwachul a cornered look. “I guess I’d better start packing up, then. I came in someone else’s truck.”

Hwachul preferred not to have to find Hadam and say his goodbyes alone. He didn’t want to be remembered as someone so awkward and bumbling that he couldn’t even properly bid someone farewell.

“Then let’s say goodbye first,” he suggested. “It’d be more of a pain for you to go all the way out to the beehives again and then come back. I’ll help you take down your hive. Our truck from Dolmiyong Jeju should be able to handle the load.”

Just then, someone else—a familiar face, this time—came out of the convention center. It was the owner of the Honeycomb Guesthouse.

“Hyung-nim, are you heading over to take down your hive too?” Hwachul asked.

“I am. I am,” said the older man, eyes darting around, unfocused. “But, Kyungwoon, I heard you’re not supposed to?”

“Sorry?”

“You had some people wanting to get a closer look at yours, so I heard you were supposed to leave it up. That’s what my wife said. That someone from the conference committee will deliver it to your bee farm later.”

The Honeycomb owner rattled off the news like an indifferent messenger, then took off toward the hives. Kyungwoon wanted to ask for more details, but before he could even turn around, the other man had vanished. Dejected, Kyungwoon turned back to Hwachul.

“Who would want a closer look at my hive?”

“Right? I wish we could have asked.” Hwachul shrugged. “Oh, well. It worked out for the better. Let’s go.”

Kyungwoon cast a nervous glance behind him, but Hwachul hurried off so quickly that Kyungwoon had to rush to catch up.

The beekeepers who had taken part in the outdoor exhibition were zooming around like dutiful honeybees with their hives loaded up in carts. A few bees lagging behind the rest of their hives hovered over the cleared-out exhibition area in the early-evening light. Some of the stragglers eventually caught on and took off sheepishly. Little by little, the people who had been on the walking path disappeared into the distance too.

As night fell, the island winds picked up, and the number of people coming and going dwindled. Only one beehive remained, and now someone was slipping quietly into the vacated exhibition area. After pulling a protective hat out of a backpack and putting it on, the person took a look around, slowly approaching Kyungwoon’s beehive. At this hour, the hive was hard to see, hidden in the shadows of the trees, but this person moved toward it without hesitation, then opened the hive slowly, carefully, with gloved hands. Once it was open, the sound of the bees’ low humming poured out. The person reached in and grabbed the prize, placing it inside a small container. Then off came the protective hat and gloves, which were stuffed into the backpack again. The job was done. Now all there was to do was get out of here. The person zipped up their hoodie.

Turning to leave, though, the person was hit square in the face with the beam from a cell phone flashlight. The light slowly moved aside, revealing two people standing where it had been.

One of them grinned at the person in the hoodie. “Hello. What are you doing here?”

That smile was infinitely bright and infinitely troubling.

Project: Searching for Honeyman

Day Eight, Seogwipo

After having an earlier dinner than everyone, Romi went up to her room to finish packing.

Whenever she traveled, she liked to buy little souvenirs—key chains and refrigerator magnets, of course, as well as strange bracelets and local snacks that no one really ate. Because she hadn’t gone to many tourist spots this time, there wasn’t much to add to her suitcase aside from what she’d brought in it. Had she come on this trip to find something? It seemed more like she’d come to lose things—her fantasies about the person she’d met briefly during her travels; her useless expectations about a life-altering romance.

She heard a knock on the door paired with the sound of someone clearing their throat. “Romi?”

She opened the door a crack with the chain still attached. She could see Taylor’s—Boknam’s—suntanned face in the gap. Romi undid the latch and stepped outside.

“I have something for you,” he said.

They went downstairs and took a seat on a bench in the yard. After the typhoon, the days had grown chillier. It was hot during the daytime, but in the late afternoons, the summer pulled away like a tide going out, leaving behind the chill of autumn. It had been hardly a week since they’d arrived on Jeju, but in that time, it felt like one season had been folded away and a new one had been laid out.

Boknam handed Romi a yellow shopping bag.

“Kyungwoon hyung asked me to give this to you. He had to go to the beekeeping conference today, so he figured he probably wouldn’t be able to catch you in time. He said to wish you safe travels back to Seoul.”

The bag was heavier than Romi had expected. It was the royal jelly and beeswax wrapping paper.

“It’s from his harvest this summer. It was the first thing he did when he got back at the start of the season and tried to restore the farm to how it used to be. It’s like proof that he’s returned to normal.”

Romi hugged the shopping bag to her chest. “It’s a really precious gift. Thank you.”

Her heart ached at the fact that Kyungwoon had delivered his goodbyes to her through someone else, but a part of her thought she wouldn’t have wanted to face him anyway. Besides, from his perspective, this may have been the best farewell he could give.

“Do you think we’ll be able to see each other again sometime in Seoul?” Boknam asked, stretching his arms and taking in the breeze.

Romi didn’t have an easy answer to that.

“I know I pretended to be a bee farmer,” Boknam went on, “but it wasn’t like I spun all the things I said out of thin air. I based them on Kyungwoon hyung and echoed things I’d heard from him. His dreams of beekeeping, starting a new life, and working toward a dream. To be clear, I did lie to you, but for him, none of that was a lie.”

Romi studied Boknam’s face. It had been just a couple of days since she’d learned of his existence, but only now did she feel she was truly seeing him. Until yesterday, she hadn’t thought of him as anything other than a guy who reminded her of Kyungwoon. But Boknam was slightly shorter than Kyungwoon and had a sturdier build. His cheekbones were more pronounced, and he had a stronger jawline. As she was getting a proper look at him at last, Romi felt she could now distinguish the two Honeymen inside her heart.

“I know what you mean. Thank you for telling me that. I understand now.”

Before the words left her mouth, she wasn’t certain, but as she said them aloud, her thoughts became clear.

“Boknam. The person I came here to find—it wasn’t you. I think I was searching for someone I made up in my head. I’m really sorry. For getting lost in my own fantasies.” She brought her hands together and bowed her head. “But thank you so much for coming to see me three years ago.”

Boknam seemed to read the message she was sending him correctly. “No problem. I’m really sorry for misleading—no. For lying to you.”

“Yes, well. That was wrong of you, but still.”

Boknam had been scratching his head as if he were thinking when he suddenly gasped, eyes going wide.

“What is it?” Romi asked.

“It may be weird for me to bring it up now, but ... I was going to tell you this yesterday and didn’t get the chance.” His tone had grown serious. “Given what happened last night, it didn’t seem right to hide it.”

“What is it?”

“On the second day I came to see you three years ago, when I was leaving, there was a strange note or something on the windshield of my car.”

The shock hit Romi hard, flashing right before her eyes. “What did it say?”

“‘Don’t get involved. If you don’t want to die.’ Something like that.” Boknam shuddered, and Romi felt his shivers in her own body. “It upset me, so I crumpled it up and threw it away, and then later that night, Kyungwoon hyung and his wife got into that accident, so I kind of freaked out.”

A sense of foreboding came over Romi. “Do you think the note and the accident might have been connected?”

Boknam tilted his head. “I didn’t think about that at the time, but looking back on it, they could have been. The car I drove the second day—the one I found the note on—was Kyungwoon’s wife’s sedan, but I met up with the two of them for dinner that evening and we switched cars again. Kyungwoon hyung drank at dinner, so he couldn’t drive them back, and his wife said she’d be more comfortable driving her own car. So I took Kyungwoon hyung’s SUV, and they rode back in her sedan. Later, I heard the cause of the accident was reckless driving, so I didn’t even think to make the connection back to that note. Also, it turns out the dashcam in the car hadn’t been working at the time, and Kyungwoon lost his memory afterward, so no one knows the details or the full story behind the accident. But now, I don’t think I can rule out a connection. Someone might have gotten me and Kyungwoon confused. Just like you did.”

Romi’s mind was a tangled ball of thoughts. She had always been so bad at these sorts of logic problems. If Person A takes Person B’s car, then A and B switch vehicles, what would happen? But not knowing for certain whether she had played even a small role in Kyungwoon’s misfortune was enough to strike fear in her heart.

“When I told him about the message you got yesterday, Kyungwoon was really worried,” said Boknam. “That’s why he spent all night standing guard outside your room.”

“What? Kyungwoon did that? All night?”

“Yeah, until the break of day. I guess you had no clue.”

When she went back to her room, Romi felt an eeriness seeping in through the cracks around the window. She took out the things in the bag Boknam had given her to pack them into her suitcase. Something else fell out besides the royal jelly and beeswax wrapping. It was a letter that had been folded once in half. Romi opened it.

This is royal jelly I harvested myself. According to the people I let sample some ahead of time, it’s a really effective energy booster. I recommend a small teaspoon in the morning and the evening on an empty stomach. Once it’s opened, you’ll need to refrigerate it. In the future, even when times are hard, I hope you can find the strength you need to power through. And I’ll keep working hard until the day I’m able to formally request your illustration services. Hoping you’re always in good health.

The note was concise. It couldn’t even be said to be a personal message. It was very much on brand for him. Not offering any other pointers, not patting himself on the back—this was the writing of a man who was focused, always, on his work. That was enough. Romi bolted up, grabbed her wallet, and raced downstairs.

The smell of coffee lingered inside the café, but there were no customers in sight. Ayoung was collecting plates of leftover cake from a table where a group had been eating earlier. When Romi came running in, Ayoung’s eyes went wide in surprise.

“Ayoung—sorry, but I’m trying to get to that beekeeping conference. Do you think you could call a car for me?”

“I think everybody there would have left by now. I could take you myself, though I’ve still got some cleaning up to do here. Can you wait?”

Romi wasn’t sure she could wait another moment. “Would a taxi come out here?”

“It might take a while. And it would be an expensive trip ...”

Ayoung and Romi turned in unison toward the tinkling bells above the door as it swung open.

“Is the café already closed for the day?” asked a man with a low voice and a familiar, chiseled face. “I was thinking about having a cup of coffee.”

“Oh, hello,” said Ayoung. “Please come in. We’re still open.”

Romi greeted him as well. “Hello.”

Pilhyun nodded, returning the greeting. “Is Hadam here? I have something I’m supposed to give her.”

“No, she’s at the bee-farming conference. She should be back later tonight.” Romi tried to be as helpful as she could, but she was in a hurry. To Ayoung, she said, “I’ll try calling a taxi. Do you happen to know where Kyungwoon might be?”

“I heard he’s at an outdoor event area behind the convention center, going toward Jusangjeolli Cliff. Maybe a taxi could take you straight there.”

While Ayoung searched for the number on her cell phone, Pilhyun casually cut in.

“Would you like a ride there? I have my car.”

“Oh? Really?”

“I’m headed in that direction anyway, and I can do without the coffee.”

Romi had no time to hesitate. Besides, it wasn’t like this was a complete stranger. She had no reason to turn him down.

“Sure, I’ll take you up on that.”

Pilhyun held the door open for her. Romi followed him out to his black SUV, matching his pace though her heart was already racing far ahead.

Filming the beekeeping conference was going smoothly. Hadam had expected a boring academic gathering, but not only had there been all sorts of different talks on sixth-industry product proposals and the development of apps for managing bee farms, there had even been events like a panel featuring beekeepers from around the world. Kim Manseop, whom she’d met at the start of filming, had taken part in the panel, which would be helpful for structuring the narrative of the documentary. The participants had all left, and the conference was now clearly coming to a close. The vice president invited Hadam to a dinner gathering afterward, but she politely declined. She was pleased enough to have gotten so much good footage, and she had to head back and get ready for her flight later that night.

The feeling of satisfaction from her work having gone well didn’t last for long, though. Hadam had been heading toward the Dolmiyong Jeju booth when she spotted Director Kang Hyunbok chatting with Jaewoong and immediately turned back around. She tried to act calm as she maneuvered her way through the crowd, but she heard Jaewoong behind her, calling her name.

“Hadam!”

She pretended not to hear and kept moving forward with robot-like strides. He caught up and cut in front of her, stopping her short.

Hadam maintained her composure and said in a low voice, “What are you doing? You can drop the act now, you know.”

Now that she was facing him again for the first time in a couple days, she could see the tired, sunken rings under his eyes. One side of his jaw was noticeably swollen. The regret about having resorted to needless violence had actually begun to sink in the night before. Hadam forcefully rewound the very slender thread of guilt that had started to come loose inside her. She had to hold off on apologizing until she received an apology first.

Jaewoong held out a huge, bulky backpack. “Here,” he said. “It’s the camera drone we talked about. You said you might need it for filming. I rented it from a director hyung of mine on the condition that I get it back to him soon.”

All her life, Hadam had believed that someone remembering her needs was akin to love, and she’d always been easily moved by even the smallest show of consideration. But she knew every such action couldn’t possibly hold some greater meaning. People might remember things about each other for the sake of furthering their relationship, but remembering alone didn’t make a relationship genuine. If she needed a drone, she could have borrowed one herself, and at that moment she didn’t need one anyhow.

Hadam tried to sound firm. “It’s fine. I’m going back to Seoul tonight anyway.”

She knew she would have to come back again while she was working on the documentary, but she didn’t want to be reminded of that fact. No matter how many times she returned to Jeju, she would refuse to see him.

Jaewoong’s shoulders slumped as if the bag with the drone had suddenly grown ten times heavier. Hadam remembered how she used to find him somewhat cute when he was exhausted. Her memories had terrible timing. They came back to her at the most inappropriate moments. Now was the time to kick and stomp those feelings down.

“Hadam, I really was going to tell you,” Jaewoong said. “But I thought—I thought the right thing to do would be to tell her first.”

“If you were so concerned with doing the right thing, wouldn’t you know not to bring up personal matters like this in a place swarming with people?” Hadam snapped, shoving past him. He stepped back in front of her.

“I already told her that it would be hard for me to go ahead with the marriage when there was still someone else I hadn’t moved on from.”

She felt like hot lava was coursing through her heart, which had once again hardened to stone. But she strained to suppress those feelings and keep them from erupting.

“Your decision to call off your marriage is a problem for you to take up with her, not me. Leave me out of it.” Hadam found herself echoing Chakyung’s words. “And you shouldn’t have sent Pilhyun sunbae to spy on me or do the talking on your behalf either.”

Jaewoong looked like this was news to him.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, frowning. “Me? Sending Pilhyun sunbae?”

Hadam raised her voice, fed up with the lies. “You sent him to Nol yesterday. To see how I was holding up. Did you not send him to ask me to consider hearing you out?”

Jaewoong’s expression was gravely serious, as if he’d forgotten for a moment that he wasn’t the one in a position to be upset. “Why would I send him to do that? He and I didn’t even talk yesterday. I did get a call from him today, however. Asking where you were. Whether you were with Romi.”

“What?”

The suspicion and anxiety came in brief but tremendous flashes like lightning that cut through Hadam’s heart. There’s no way, she thought, but her intuition was nagging at her. In her head, she recalculated the time she had spent talking with Pilhyun the day before. The time Romi had been alone before Hadam returned to Nol.

A sudden sound brought her out of her complicated thoughts. It was the ping from a cell phone. At first, she tried to ignore it, as they were in the middle of such a critical conversation. But the pinging continued, relentless. For the modern person, there were times when the ping of a text message could not be ignored. You could ignore the ringing of a phone. You could choose not to answer. But it was impossible not to take even a glance at a message you’d received. It was a conditioned reflex in humans of the smartphone generation. Hadam found herself looking down at her phone. Floating over the lock screen image was a banner notification of a message filled with exclamation points and question marks. It was from her friend Yoojin in Seoul.

“One sec,” Hadam said.

Jaewoong looked anxious, but he nodded. There were times a modern person also had to wait for others to read their texts.

Hadam’s expression grew somber as she read the message. She clicked the Facebook link in the text. After she had read the entire post, her piercing gaze returned to Jaewoong.

“How’d you know to come to the emergency room the day I passed out from seeing the bees?”

“I already told you. Pilhyun filled me in on what happened.”

“And how did he know?”

Only then did Jaewoong’s expression shift into one of bafflement as he tried to remember. “Well, he ... he said he knows someone at the Honeybee School, so he must have heard about it from them.”

“But when Pilhyun and Hwachul from the Honeybee School saw each other, they barely talked. If they knew each other, they’d know how to carry on a conversation, at least.”

At the mention of Hwachul, Jaewoong frowned again.

“Really? I wasn’t paying close enough attention when they were talking.”

Hadam tried piecing together the different fragments of her memory. At the time, she hadn’t suspected a thing. It all seemed like a natural sequence of events. But now, homing in on the stitching that had appeared so seamless, she could see the crooked parts.

Jaewoong pointed over Hadam’s shoulder. “You should probably ask the Honeybee School guy yourself,” he said.

When she turned around, she saw Kyungwoon and Hwachul walking over. Hwachul spotted her and raised a hand to wave, but he awkwardly lowered it when he saw Jaewoong.

Before greetings could be exchanged, Hadam cut in.

“Department Head Boo. I have a sunbae whom you’ve met before. The other morning. Does he know anyone at the Honeybee School, as far as you know?”

A giant question mark loomed over Hwachul’s round head. “He didn’t mention it? I told him about the Honeybee School, but it seemed like his first time hearing about it. Later, he said he’d seen the school a couple times in passing. But nothing about knowing anyone there.”

Jaewoong stood off to the side, listening in, eyes narrowed. “What the hell? What’s up with him?”

“Hold on.” Hadam took out her cell phone and called Romi’s number, but even after however many rings, Romi didn’t answer. “Jaewoong, can you try calling Pilhyun?”

Still not fully understanding why, Jaewoong did as he was told. “His phone’s off,” he told her.

Hadam fretted. “Ayoung, I should try calling Ayoung,” she said. “If I call the café, she should be able to put me through to Romi.”

“Don’t do that—call Ayoung on her cell phone. Here.”

Kyungwoon found the number on his phone, pressed the call button, and handed his phone to Hadam. When Ayoung answered, Hadam jumped right in with her request. “Is Romi there, by any chance? What? She went out? With Pilhyun? How long ago?”

After she ended the call and returned Kyungwoon’s phone, Hadam’s hands were trembling slightly. “She said the two of them left together. About twenty minutes ago.”

There weren’t many cars on the road running out from Sanbang Mountain. Quiet classical music was playing on the radio. Romi knew this song, Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2. It had been in a refrigerator commercial. Once she started thinking about refrigerators, it seemed to grow chillier inside the car. She wanted to check her phone, but she remembered it was in her room. Her dress had no pockets, so she’d left it on the table—bad decision. In hindsight, she was regretting having rushed out so frantically. She sighed. Pilhyun glanced over at her.

“Why are you headed to the conference hall so late in the day anyway? Are you meeting up with Hadam?”

The sudden question caught Romi off guard, but given the tight, closed space they were in, she knew she couldn’t get away with not answering at all. Plus, she was no good at making up cover stories.

“There’s something I need to tell someone,” she said, “before I leave Jeju.”

“Is it that beekeeper? Kyungwoon?”

Romi was surprised. He’d zeroed in exactly on the situation. How did he know? Then again, she could guess that several people had already figured it out.

“It is,” she said. “There’s something I really have to tell him.”

“You two seem to have gotten really close, and fast. Or did you already know each other before?”

At some point, Pilhyun’s tone had changed, but Romi was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she didn’t notice. “Yes ... I mean, no.”

An even longer silence stretched between them. Pilhyun handed her one of the yogurt drinks in his cup holder. “Have some.”

She wasn’t thirsty, but it would be awkward to refuse, so she took the drink and set it in the lap of her sundress. “Thank you.”

“I really like your older illustrations,” Pilhyun said suddenly. “Especially—what was it called? The Vegetables with a Story series?”

For the first time since they’d gotten in the car, Romi’s full attention was on him. “Oh—you know my work? How did you find it?”

“I saw some of it a while ago on a forum online. The URL to your site was there, so I clicked it and found more of your illustrations.”

“I see. I’m a little embarrassed, knowing you’ve seen those.”

“I liked them. Are you not planning to publish them as a book?”

Vegetables with a Story was an illustrated essay that assigned human personas to vegetables like a cabbage, a tomato, an eggplant, and others. Romi had a soft spot for the project and had serialized it on her blog and social media, but publishers had turned it down.

Whenever she met people who were familiar with her work, Romi felt several overlapping emotions. She was overjoyed and welcomed the attention, but she was also embarrassed and even afraid at times. It felt like other people could remember all her failures.

“I’m thinking of publishing them later,” she said. “By the way, did you ever leave comments on my website or blog?”

“No, I just browsed every now and then. I told Jaewoong about your work too. He probably became a super fan of yours. Maybe left you comments too.”

“He told me.”

“His username was ‘cameralucida,’ I think.”

“Ah.” A completely perfunctory reply, but she had nothing more to say. Because she didn’t remember any of it. And as of recently, she couldn’t even trust the things she did.

“You don’t remember, do you?” They rode past an elementary school cloaked in the quiet of evening. Romi shuddered at the sight of the empty grounds, feeling a sense of dread. Schoolyards void of children always seemed so lonesome, as if they had been abandoned.

“I don’t,” said Romi. “It’s really too bad.”

Pilhyun glanced at her, but he shut his mouth and didn’t push the subject.

Days and evenings had especially different appearances when you were traveling. The places around you were unfamiliar even in the daytime, but at night, that unfamiliarity took on an added depth. Romi thought about what unexpected things might happen as she passed through here. Her mouth went dry from sudden anxiety. She twisted the cap off the bottle of yogurt in her hands and took small sips, nearly spilling it on herself.

The most flourishing area at the conference on something-something global sixth industry—in other words, the beekeeping conference—was the cosmetics booth. This was largely because prototypes of nearly finished products such as face masks, hand creams, lip balm samples, and nutritional creams made with honey were being given out there. The event involved spinning a wheel and winning the sample the spinner landed on, but because there were people who insisted on taking just one more spin, Chakyung had been busy managing the booth all day. Someone was already assigned to run this event, but in the end, Chakyung had been left with no choice but to take on the role of middle manager.

As six o’clock drew near, Chakyung began clearing away the remaining face masks and helping to box them up, doling out orders to the other staffers.

“It’s time to clean up. There aren’t that many products left. Let’s finish up quickly and call it a night!”

The color slowly returned to the worn faces of the staffers who had been hounded by people throughout the event. Chakyung had felt sorry seeing them work themselves to the bone all day and decided to send them home a little early before the conference officially wrapped up.

Just as a staff member was about to break down the prize wheel, a huge ruckus broke out in the conference hall.

“Oi, this where they’re giving out the free makeup?”

“Looks like it, but is it already over?”

“Didn’t somebody say it’s going till six? We’ve still got time.”

Upward of forty older women, mostly in their sixties and seventies, had suddenly swarmed in front of the cosmetics booth. The staffers who had been in charge of the prize wheel looked around at a loss, unsure what to tell the crowd. One of them looked to Chakyung for help. She stepped forward.

“I’m sorry, everyone. Our event is over. I know we said it would run until six o’clock, but we’re going to have to end early.”

A younger-looking woman in her fifties made her way to the front of the crowd. She looked strong, her face tanned copper brown.

“Sorry about that,” she said. “Looks like we’re all too late. We were at the Jungmun House of the Haenyeo rehearsing for the festival, and one of our old diver ladies who stopped by here earlier came back, showing off her haul. We wrapped up rehearsals and rushed over, but it looks like we missed out.”

Her explanation was calm, yet tinged with regret. Chakyung could see where she was coming from. Only then did she notice the faint impressions on the ladies’ wrinkled faces where their goggles must have been. Among the younger people in the crowd, she also noticed the occasional set of thinly tattooed-on eyebrows or artfully applied blush. They had the faces of women who had lived their lives in the rough ocean and under the harsh sun.

Chakyung turned to the other staffers. They were young workers who had been hired solely for this one-day event, and they were utterly drained from interacting with guests all day. Even their shoulders were sagging. Chakyung couldn’t ask them to work overtime. She turned to the manager who had come with her from the team at headquarters.

“Manager Park, I’m sorry. I’ll run the event if you could help set up the products. You may have to open a new box.”

Manager Park nodded his understanding and quickly got to work.

The leader of sorts among the event staffers who had been exchanging looks behind Chakyung all the while stepped up. “We’ll help too. We don’t mind a bit of overtime.”

Their only tie to one another being work, they had no obligation to go above and beyond. But they weren’t merely being considerate or performing a simple act of kindness—they were in agreement as a team about what would be the most effective approach. In that moment, Chakyung felt assured in her work.

“Thank you all. Anyone who has other commitments is free to go, but if you can stay and help run the event, I’ll make sure you receive overtime pay.”

Morale was higher now than it had been for the last half hour. The staff members spun the wheel with vigor, and each time the arrow landed on a prize, the crowd of haenyeo cheered. Chakyung rounded up the spare samples and made goody bags to distribute to the winners. They opened their prize bags on the spot, comparing and swapping products.

Just as Chakyung was wondering when the long line would start to shrink, a pair of men in familiar checkered shirts rushed past her and the booth. Before she could ask herself who they were, someone in a red windbreaker went whizzing by right after them. Isn’t that Hadam? Chakyung hardly had time to form the question in her mind before the windbreaker was gone. She wanted to run after Hadam, grab ahold of her, and ask what was going on, but she had to deal with all the guests in this line first. There were still so many people waiting.

Once the line had slowly begun to dwindle and the last two people were about to spin the wheel, Chakyung heard a lot of noise coming from the direction Hadam and the other two had run off in. More people were barreling past the cosmetics booth. Chakyung recognized one of the men running at the front of the crowd as the owner of the Honeycomb Guesthouse.

The fuss spread throughout the conference hall. Chakyung knew from experience that something serious had to have caused this level of commotion, which made her anxious. She didn’t seem to be the only one. Some of the staffers went to the next booth over to investigate and were bombarded with questions from the others once they returned.

“What did they say? What’s going on?”

“Is there an ambulance here? And police cars?”

But the staffers who’d asked around didn’t have the full answers.

“Sounds like someone passed out. Over by the cliff. No one else really knows either.”

It was impossible to feel satisfied with such a response. The more unfortunate the incident, the more graphic and exciting the details had to be. Another staffer rushed over to the booth across from theirs to do a second round of reconnaissance.

Now it was really time to wrap up the event, Chakyung thought. Whispers and anxiety had even begun to spread among the haenyeo gathered there. If something had happened that warranted the police showing up, it seemed better for them to disperse quickly, since leaving the conference hall could take even longer now. And if something unsavory were to happen on-site, it would be bad publicity.

The staffer returned from that second round of reconnaissance with slightly more concrete information. The others gathered around, brimming with curiosity and the urge to meddle.

“The person who passed out is a woman from Seoul, apparently,” the staffer informed them. “They’re saying she’s unconscious.”

“What in the world? You don’t think something bad happened to her ...”

Chakyung fixed the other staffers with a terrible glare. Startled and not used to seeing such a look on her face, the younger workers drew back. Chakyung felt someone tapping her on the shoulder and whipped around. Soo-eon was standing behind her, looking as deadly serious as she had ever seen him.

A Little Earlier

When they arrived at the outdoor exhibition area, the evening sun was setting in the west, and the sky was an array of orange hues. Pilhyun drove around toward the back of the convention center, and Romi looked out the window at their surroundings.

“Where are we?”

“Earlier, you said to go around the back. To the outdoor event area going toward Jusangjeolli Cliff.”

“Oh, right.”

Pilhyun stopped the car not in a parking lot but in a vacant one. The streetlights weren’t on yet, and they were surrounded in every direction by the light of dusk. The car was obscured by the dark shadows of the trees. While Romi looked around, Pilhyun got out. “I don’t think we’ll be able to drive past this point, so we’ll have to walk from here.”

Pilhyun was coming around to her side to open the door for her, but Romi opened it herself and stepped out. The occasional passerby glanced their way, but any attention paid to them never lingered long. It wasn’t shocking to see a couple wandering around some secluded part of Jeju.

Romi was walking with short, quick steps. “I’ll be fine on my own,” she said, looking up at Pilhyun. “I know you’re busy, so I hope this wasn’t too much trouble.”

“It’s all right. I’m headed that way too,” he said firmly, leaving no room for discussion.

Romi’s steps became more hurried. She wanted to get off this desolate road and go somewhere that was at least slightly better lit. She was growing breathless and dizzy. She felt Pilhyun’s eyes on her, subtly watching, but she kept walking, pretending to be calm.

Dusk had fallen by the time they reached the outdoor event hall and, disappointingly, there were hardly any beehives left to see. No other people were around either. The area looked so much like a vacant lot that Romi had to wonder whether they were in the right place—if it hadn’t been for the sign in one corner that read “Local Beekeeping Exhibition,” Romi almost wouldn’t have recognized it. She really regretted not having brought her phone. She was growing worried she wouldn’t be able to find Kyungwoon. If they missed each other here, she knew she wouldn’t be able to tell him later what she had decided to say. If she missed the timing, she would lose her nerve.

“Oh, look. Someone’s there.”

Romi spotted a familiar beehive at one end of the exhibition area. It was the hive she had seen at Kyungwoon’s bee farm, the one modeled after a traditional house. She could see a dark figure ambling around in the shadows by the hive. Romi started walking in that direction, Pilhyun following behind and ruthlessly shining his phone flashlight into the stranger’s face.

In that beam of light, they could see the face of the person underneath the hood. Romi recalled the first time she had seen that face, several days earlier. Tears had come spilling from those eyes, which had gone wide with fear. Those slender legs had lost their strength and seemed on the verge of collapse. Now, those same eyes were covered by the hood, so it was hard to tell, but there seemed to be something more in them than simple fear.

“Hello. What are you doing here?”

At the sight of someone she knew, Romi flashed a huge smile.

Sumi hurriedly placed something on top of the beehive, but Romi didn’t get a proper look at what it was. As Sumi stepped out of the shadows and into the open area over which twilight was falling, orange lines banded her face.

“I came to help take down the beekeeping exhibit and saw that Kyungwoon’s hive was still here, so I was taking a quick look,” she said. She pulled back her hoodie a bit, then adjusted the backpack hanging from her shoulder.

“You didn’t happen to see Kyungwoon himself, did you?” asked Romi urgently.

“I didn’t,” Sumi answered, too quickly. She gripped the strap of the backpack with one hand and looked the two of them over. Her eyes moved from Romi to Pilhyun, a subtle expression forming on her face. She seemed surprised, as though faced with something unexpected, and there was a look of disapproval in her eyes as well. She approached them with slow steps. Once she was in front of them, though, she said only, “Bye, then.”

Not fully understanding what was happening, Romi replied, “Okay.” Pilhyun stepped aside to allow Sumi to pass. She lowered her head and started to walk, then looked up. She and Romi locked eyes. For a moment, Romi’s vision went blurry, so she shut her eyes and opened them again. Sumi’s eyes, meanwhile, never left Romi once.

Romi’s mouth twitched in confusion.

Sumi suddenly grabbed her arm.

“Oh?”

Even then, Sumi seemed to be hesitating. Was she trying to make a run for it, or ...? Her grip was strong, fingers surprisingly powerful as they dug into Romi’s skin.

In that moment, she made her decision. “Romi, you’re coming with me.”

“What?”

“Let’s go.”

Sumi shut her mouth and pulled Romi away. Sumi’s face—flushed red not even a moment ago—seemed to have paled to a cool blue now that Romi was seeing her up close. She found herself following Sumi, taking a few steps forward. But then Pilhyun reached out and ripped Sumi’s hand away. Romi’s arm tingled with pain, but there was no time to dwell on that.

“What are you doing?”

Pilhyun’s voice was engulfed in darkness. A sudden chill ran down Romi’s spine. She tried to step in between the other two, but Sumi was busy struggling to pry her hand free from Pilhyun’s grip.

“Let go!”

“Ugh!”

Sumi swung at him, fingernails scratching Pilhyun’s face. Blood welled on his cheek, and beads of red began to dribble from the cuts. Romi was startled at the sight of blood, but the moment she moved toward him, Pilhyun muttered, “Shit. I was going to turn the other cheek, but it looks like I can’t do that now, can I?”

He struck Sumi in the face, hard. She fell to the ground. The backpack slid off her shoulder and landed on the grass a few feet away. For a moment, Romi was in such a state of shock that she couldn’t move, but she quickly returned to her senses and rushed to help Sumi up. All of a sudden, though, a dizzying sensation ran through her head and caused Romi to falter. Pilhyun, meanwhile, was one step ahead. He ran to Sumi, grabbed her by the arm, and hauled her up onto her feet. With Sumi still in his grasp, he turned to Romi, a vicious glint in his eyes. Romi staggered backward. The moment Pilhyun let go of Sumi and started moving toward Romi, Sumi lunged at him and grabbed his arm.

“Romi, take my bag and run! Call the police!”

“You bitch!”

Pilhyun made to shake Sumi off him, but she doggedly held on.

Romi thought she ought to save Sumi, but her body wouldn’t move. The sound of Sumi’s desperate struggle felt muted somehow, like it was coming from a radio far, far away.

“I saw you!” Sumi shouted. “Going into Romi’s room! Constantly hanging around that guesthouse!”

Romi lifted her cloudy eyes and stared at Pilhyun. The image of him wavered, doubling and then quadrupling before overlapping into one again. She didn’t know whether her vision was blurring due to fear or something else.

Pilhyun looked down at Sumi. “You’re not the only one who saw something,” he said. “I saw you too. I know you’re plotting something. With that asshole from Seoul.”

Sumi’s eyes went wide, all the strength sapped out of her grip. Pilhyun clenched his teeth and yanked his arm from her grasp. She fell onto the grass again.

Pilhyun sneered, voice dripping with sarcasm, “When I kindly let you go, I want you to pack your things and get out of here, fast. Keep your mouth shut. I don’t care where you go, but you’d better not tell anyone you saw us. If you do, I’ll blow all your plans open too.”

As soon as he turned his back to her, Sumi reached out again and grabbed his ankle. “Romi, run!”

Pilhyun kicked Sumi in the shoulder. She cried out in pain but didn’t let go. He shook his leg to get her off him. She held on a little longer before wearing herself out and letting go.

Pilhyun whipped around. Romi and the backpack were gone.

“Damn it!”

That was when he heard it—something simmering in the dark of the evening. Was it the sound of his own mind seething? No. This was different. Something was happening here. It sounded like the winds of change were coming.

While Sumi knelt, defeated, on the ground, Pilhyun searched her and found her phone. He pocketed it, stood up, and kicked her again in the ribs. At this point, Sumi couldn’t even cry out in pain.

“Stay put,” Pilhyun said. “Don’t try anything funny.”

He scanned his surroundings. Where had Romi run off to? The route she would take was obvious to him. She suffered from night blindness. He spotted some movement coming from the direction of the road leading down to Jusangjeolli Cliff. He grinned. At this rate, he’d be able to catch her soon. The absolute darkness of night would work to his advantage. He took off running toward her.

Sumi, left alone in that spot, didn’t move for a while. The sound of humming grew louder and louder around her, like the wind right before a storm. She lay there for a moment, surrounded by that sound, barely moving as she crawled forward on her stomach. When she reached the beehive at last, she hoisted herself up and removed the lid. As all the bees inside soared out, she lost consciousness and passed out on the spot.