Free Web Novel“There wouldn’t be a pear tree by the roadside when even the cutlery inside the house was stripped clean.”
The telescope Director Jang had stubbornly tried to keep finally fell into Han Yeoreum’s grasp.
The screen in his mind filled with the scenery she was pointing at.
“It would have been chopped down long ago and offered up as a forced requisition.”
The period right after the Japanese occupation—something that had felt vague—unfolded vividly before their eyes.
Stale air that kicked up dust whenever the wind blew. Joseon, where sand scratched at your nose.
“Port towns are usually heavily affected by sea winds. The salinity and humidity make them unsuitable for growing pear trees.”
On the ground, oyster shells that hadn’t been properly discarded lay cracked and scattered. The stench of rotting fish, salted squid, dried seaweed—all of it stabbed at the nose.
A place where everything was so vivid it felt like it was writhing just to prove it was alive.
Even after being trampled and crushed beneath a constable’s boots—
people still lived today as if tomorrow would come.
“And on top of that, it’s a coastal village with poor urban infrastructure, centered on subsistence fishing. If an environment suitable for cultivating fruit trees existed there... that would mean someone living nearby wanted to eat fresh pears, so the tree was left standing as it was.”
Coarse bread mixed with saccharin instead of butter. Barefoot children running somewhere with burlap sacks in their arms.
On Joseon soil, where rust clinging to everything felt only natural, everyone was drenched in sweat.
“The very existence of pear blossoms blooming in full between the tightly packed shacks of a crowded district where migrants and refugees lived symbolized power.”
People dressed in ragged clothes had grimy towels draped over their heads and necks. With no sense of distance, they slung arms over one another’s shoulders and called out each other’s names.
“Huijae’s father, who came to Joseon to rebuild his fortune as an outsider, would have headed straight for his destination without caring about his daughter’s condition.”
Han Yeoreum spoke as Huijae would. As if she were recounting something she herself had lived through.
As she did, she casually adjusted the brooch pinned to her chest, as though tidying it. It wasn’t a calculated gesture. It was habitual, natural.
“The pear blossoms she saw at the home of the first powerholder they visited... would they really have looked beautiful in Huijae’s eyes?”
A father who despised his own homeland. A father who exploited Joseon people. And the closest Joseon person beside that father—also the target of that exploitation.
Yeon Huijae, destined one day to be sold for a high price out of necessity. Yeon Huijae, livestock that could speak. Yeon Huijae, raised carefully on the outside so her ‘product value’ wouldn’t drop.
“I thought Huijae might have felt a sense of kinship with the pear blossoms. Something close to self-loathing.”
Huijae speaking to Taeseok about pear blossoms was a pretext—an attempt to break through her loneliness. But from another angle, it was also a kind of self-introduction.
A fundamental question a Korean living in Japan throws at a Joseon person.
What is my name?
What kind of person am I?
The current Han Yeoreum was dressed head to toe like a Kobe lady. That alone made it possible to infer the environment Huijae had lived in.
Yeon Huijae was different from the fleeting daisy of the original work. At her core, she was tenacious.
Then where did that vitality come from?
From what did her fierce desire to exist, no matter what, arise?
“Huijae is a Korean living in Japan. On top of that, she grew up hearing herself called a ‘Joseon bastard’ as the child of a concubine, so her sense of identity would have weak roots.”
The place Huijae had lived—Kobe, where everything gleamed to the point of glare. A world so bright it hurt the eyes.
The ivory parasol held by a lady in front of a silk shop shimmered every time it caught the sunlight, and the weather vane hanging on the Daimaru Department Store across the street gleamed as if brand new. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com
Dark green streetlamps lined both sides of neatly paved sidewalks.
Streetcars moved through the leisurely city as if it were only natural. Clocks that rang bells at noon. Coffee shops near the tracks, bicycles parked along shopping streets, men in crisp shirts ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ walking with deliberate distance between one another.
An environment where she could exist as Rio, but not as Yeon Huijae.
“So asking Taeseok about pear blossoms can also be interpreted as questioning her own identity. It’s like her first greeting after arriving in Joseon.”
Naturally, the latter was the more pleasant interpretation. If one had to settle somewhere and build a life, it should be that one.
And yet, the reason Huijae still chose to hold Joseon in her heart—
“That’s why, when Huijae talks with Taeseok about this place, she thinks for the first time that Joseon might be her roots.”
Everyone there had read <The Great Garland> script multiple times. They immediately knew which scene Han Yeoreum was referring to.
Huijae
If lots of new shops open here, and lots of new people come...
A conversation on a rainy day. Huijae planting a dream in Gi Taeseok for the first time.
In a Joseon desperately lacking materials and infrastructure, ironically, Huijae would have felt glad to be Joseon herself.
Because there was Taeseok, different from her father. Because there were Joseon people who aimed for achievement rather than exploitation. Because the same blood flowed through her veins.
There, Yeon Huijae learned perseverance.
Huijae
...There’s a reason.
Kobe no longer feels missed. Instead of that glossy city where clean air circles when it rains, this place—like the edge of the world—is better.
This stale world, where a nose-stinging salty smell thrashes and spreads whenever it rains, is lovable.
Huijae
There are lots of people like you here. People who are faithful to each day, every day.
Because of Taeseok.
Her first friend. Her first love, who she fell into without realizing it. The man who made it possible to dream of a shabby world more splendidly than anywhere else.
The person who let her acknowledge herself as herself. A fellow Joseon person—Gi Taeseok, who is ashamed of poverty yet lives honestly.
“I think she said it with conviction. With the desire to exist here as a Joseon person.”
By loving him, Yeon Huijae comes to acknowledge herself, and comes to hold hope for Joseon.
“So I believe Huijae confessed, in her own way, with sincerity, that Joseon can become better—however much.”
What Han Yeoreum painted was not a simple Yeon Huijae.
‘...How did she grasp it this far?’
This was not a simple production. A company anniversary drama needed a message that transcended eras. It needed a force that pierced through the entire narrative.
If Han Yeoreum’s Yeon Huijae were shown to the public, even the connection from child actor to adult would become naturally convincing.
‘This is a direction only the writer Ahn and I know....’
Director Jang was left momentarily speechless. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d lost control to this extent.
‘Han Yeoreum didn’t see Yeon Huijae as just a “first love” or a “victim of her father.”’
Yeoreum reinterpreted Huijae as the core figure of a story about rooting one’s identity in Joseon. This wasn’t merely an acting interpretation—it was an understanding of the essence of the narrative.
Director Jang stared at Han Yeoreum, unblinking.
‘Only twenty-two.’
For a rookie who hadn’t even been in this industry long, her analytical power was excessive.
‘Ah... damn it.’
‘This is completely.’
‘Over.’
She had moved even the heavyweights sitting there—including Ji Haebeom, cast as Gi Taeseok.
“Please ask a few more questions! I prepared a lot too!”
Sensing the atmosphere, Gi Juye spoke up urgently. She still had much more she’d studied about Yeon Huijae. She couldn’t back down here.
‘Han Yeoreum isn’t the real Yeon Huijae anyway! You can change it however you want! Interpretations differ from person to person!’
Watching her, Director Jang asked briefly,
“Think of yourself as truly having become Yeon Huijae, and call your father. You must be Huijae.”
Gi Juye let her trembling heart show. So she could reveal Huijae’s feelings as she called out to that stern, vile father.
Her posture, however, remained perfectly straight. Like a pinned butterfly—stiff and immaculate, befitting a magnificent luxury kimono.
Then, as if afraid she might be scolded, she briefly bit her lip.
“...Father.”
Director Jang’s gaze returned to Han Yeoreum. With a cool expression, Han Yeoreum answered shortly,
“Hanamura-san.”
At that word—spoken as if referring to someone else—Gi Juye closed her eyes.
It was a complete defeat. Because the current Han Yeoreum was Yeon Huijae. free𝑤ebnovel.com
Clap clap clap clap—
In the silent space, the sound of applause rang out. It was Ji Haebeom.
Not the polite clapping from earlier. It was applause filled with genuine feeling.
The audition was over.
