A breeze slipped in through the open window and stirred the photographs pinned to the whiteboard.

The whiteboard alone was not enough—every wall was covered with pictures, all of them capturing the same person.

A baby.
A girl.
A young woman.

From a tiny baby jacket to a school uniform. A gym uniform. A dress.

Seven years old. Ten. Twelve. Then back again—one year old…

Huinyeong crying loudly as she searched for milk. Huinyeong chewing on an apple with tiny baby teeth no bigger than grains of rice. Huinyeong wearing her school uniform, holding a bouquet of flowers.

There were too many to count.

Smiling. Crying. Pouting.

In one photograph she slept softly, her breathing gentle. In another, she sat in a flower bed at an amusement park, holding cotton candy and looking toward the camera.

Every one of them was Huinyeong’s life. The life she had lived as Seo Lee-jae.

He picked up a videotape that had been left unfinished. It was a recording of her from a school sports day seven years ago.

Her long hair had been tied up high as she ran across the field. She had looked so lovely it made his chest ache, and he had kept several photographs of that moment as well.

All of it was longing that had never reached her.

“Director, this is Lin Cheng. May I come in?”

The voice of his attendant sounded politely from outside the door.

After taking a sip of whiskey, Wi-pyeong set a box of documents—sorted into files—down on the mahogany desk. It seemed that everyone had fallen into chaos because he had entered without informing his adoptive father and had postponed the work that required approval and inspection.

“The Chairman is requesting a brief call. What should I tell him?”

“I doubt it’s anything urgent.”

“He says it’s just a formal greeting.”

“If I listen to it, it won’t end as just a formality.”

The man’s face darkened.

He looked at Wi-pyeong for a long moment, then hesitated before speaking again.

Wi-pyeong said he would contact Li Xin and dismissed him. Instead of the mobile phone whose battery he had removed, he used the landline to call Macau.

“You could have said something before leaving. You even had a schedule.”

“I’m not a child.”

“…Yi-gang.”

The name Yi-gang slipped from Li Xin’s mouth.

Lost in old memories all day, his clouded mind finally cleared.

Yes.

He was no longer Wi-pyeong.

Just as Huinyeong was no longer Huinyeong.

He was not Wi-pyeong.

“It’s an important time.”

“You know that. Lee-jae matters more to me.”

No voice came from the other end of the line. A long silence followed.

While tracing the emptiness of that silence, he looked at the documents set aside on the desk. His gaze lingered on the signature line.

The name stamped there was unmistakably clear.

[Joo Yi-gang.]

Wi-pyeong slowly read his own name.

Yes.

Joo Yi-gang.

Nowhere could the name Wi-pyeong be found. And yet, he still carried the name of the man who had lived a thousand years ago, carved into the very surface of his soul.

There was no way he could forget. Just as there was no way he could let go. Until he found Huinyeong, he had always believed he would never forget.

“Get a grip. Before you get yourself killed again.”

Li Xin ended the call.

For someone who still lived without being able to forget the name Lee Yong, he had quite the nerve lecturing someone else.

“Ridiculous.”

Joo Yi-gang tossed the receiver aside and sat down on the sofa. Just as Li Xin had said, he was Joo Yi-gang.

The Chairman’s stepson. The head of a private equity firm whose influence stretched across Hong Kong, Taiwan, China, and even into Eurasia.

But that wasn’t all.

At once the Chairman’s stepson and his secret adviser, Yi-gang was also a mafia figure who drew in the black money of the underworld and funneled it into the light.

In every way, he bore no resemblance to the man who had died a thousand years ago.

That man had never ruled over the dark currents of illicit money the way Yi-gang did. He had not shown hypocrisy to seize power, nor had he trampled over others merely to survive.

In truth, that man had lacked nothing.

His passionate mother had always been desperate to place everything into his hands. Then again, perhaps things were not so different even now.

Though his life was hardly worth examining too deeply, the path Yi-gang had drawn was not so different from the path once walked by Wi-pyeong.

Then, as now, the mothers who loved him were women whose devotion bordered on obsession. And the men they had chosen to give him their bloodline were men of high standing.

Of course… that was assuming the leader of the Triad could be considered a man of high standing.

Yi-gang signed his name in the blank space at the bottom of the document and rose from his seat.

***

Wi-pyeong was looking at her. Still only a young prince, he stared at her in the swaddling cloth with his mouth slightly open.

He was asking his mother to give her to him. Lee-jae babbled repeatedly, unable to reach him. Her lips parted. She blinked and squirmed restlessly.

In the end, Wi-pyeong—who had not been granted permission—handed her over to someone else and disappeared.

Her vision dimmed.

Lee-jae was fifteen now, and she still could not reach him. Her mouth spoke on its own, and once again her vision blurred.

The more time passed, the more desperate her heart became. In the dreams she had seen before, time had never rushed by like this. But this time, everything moved frighteningly fast.

At last, she had reached the most terrible summer of all. And without knowing what would happen, she left him.

Was it from the moment the swaddling cloth had been torn from her arms?

From then on, Lee-jae struggled helplessly against each passing moment, unable to endure it. She wanted—no matter what—to turn him back. But nothing happened the way she wished.

“No. No…”

At last, just as her fingers traced the stab wound carved into his chest—

Lee-jae screamed and opened her eyes.

The sharp brightness of an overhead light pierced her vision. Tears welled up reflexively. Her heart pounded violently against her ribs.

She swallowed the dryness in her throat and grasped at her racing pulse.

“Ha… ha…”

She stared blankly at the ceiling for a moment before her eyes darted around.

The corners of her eyes twitched faintly.

Lee-jae pushed herself upright and looked around the room.

There wasn’t a single table in sight. The walls, the bedding—everything was perfectly white.

Fear suddenly surged through her.

She had seen him.

Forcing strength into her body, which trembled as though drenched in cold water, she touched her throat.

She thought it through again.

It had been him.

It couldn’t have been anyone else.

He had recognized her. He had spoken to her.

Surely—surely he had.

But where was he?

Lee-jae got up and looked out at the city sinking into darkness.

Come to think of it, it was night.

Before she collapsed, it had been daytime.

Staring out at the brightly lit city that never seemed to sleep, Lee-jae began searching for her phone.

She had to call Hyo-jeong.

She was in a foreign country where she couldn’t even speak the language. There was no way Hyo-jeong wouldn’t be worried.

Just as she began looking around frantically for the phone—

“Looking for this?”

Her gaze lifted.

Lee-jae forgot all about the phone and looked at him instead. It was the same smile she had seen earlier that day.

The smooth curve of his lips carried a subtle sharpness beneath it. It wasn’t much different from the memory she carried of him.

No—the essence was the same.

Her fingertips trembled. Her hand hung awkwardly in the air, unable to clench or lower. She should say something. She wanted to say something. But the man simply looked at her.

“You’re hungry, aren’t you?”

He stepped closer.

Lee-jae could only blink. She felt foolish.

He placed the phone on the bed. Then he turned, as if to leave.

Lee-jae twisted her lips and stamped her foot anxiously.

“Where… where are you going? Where—where are you going…?”

Her voice broke. A numbness crept into the backs of her knees. She felt like she was going mad.

In the end, she collapsed to the floor and clutched at her heart.

Cold sweat broke out across her skin, and nausea churned in her stomach.

For a moment, it even felt as though the ground beneath her was spinning.

‘I’ve lost my mind.’

‘Even if I die, I can’t die here.’

‘After finally meeting him again…’

Panting, she struggled to suppress the rising nausea. Then suddenly, a pair of black shoes entered her blurred field of vision.

She lifted her head.

Wi-pyeong picked her up in his arms and whispered softly,

“I’m not going anywhere.”

The man who whispered those gentle words carried Lee-jae to the bed and sat down with her in his arms.

Lee-jae said nothing.

Like someone struck dumb, she could only cry.

Her mind was in complete disarray.

She reached out and touched his face.

His eyebrows. His eyelids. The bridge of his nose. The line of his nose. And finally, his handsome lips.

She traced every feature again and again, as though trying to confirm the beauty and the reality of his form until she could no longer doubt it.

The warmth of his skin was vivid beneath her fingertips.

Could this still be a dream? Or another illusion, like a mirage rising briefly before vanishing?

Lee-jae pressed down on her racing pulse and leaned into his arms. She wrapped one arm around his neck and used the other hand to touch the swelling beneath her eyes.

Wi-pyeong smiled often. She felt as though she might go mad. As though she might die from it. Yet he seemed perfectly calm.

The unfairness of it made anger rise within her.

And yet—

At the same time, she thought that it didn’t matter anymore.

They had met again. That alone was enough. Nothing else mattered. No matter what happened now, it was fine.

She buried her face against his neck.

“I… I keep crying…”

She cried until she felt completely empty.

Just like before, until she felt so drained she might lose her mind.

She should call Hyo-jeong.

She should contact her parents, who must be worried sick about their daughter suddenly disappearing in a foreign country. But she couldn’t let go of him.

Even for a moment.

Because if she did—

It felt as though he might disappear again.