71: Chapter 71 Nanshan Tower

Saturday morning at 9:30 AM, Chairman Wang Shunyi stood in front of the mirror for the third time.

A deep blue casual suit, a white shirt, and dark gray casual trousers. He had polished his leather shoes three times until the toes were bright enough to reflect a silhouette. He turned sideways to check his profile, then turned back to tug at his shirt collar. The collar felt a bit tight, so he undid a button, but then felt it was too casual and buttoned it back up.

His phone vibrated. A message from Park Min-ji: "I'm ready."

He glanced at the time—9:45 AM. They had agreed he would pick her up at ten, and she had messaged fifteen minutes early to say she was ready. This woman was never late, nor did she ever make others wait.

"I'll be there in ten minutes," he replied.

The car pulled up downstairs at her apartment building at exactly ten o'clock. He got out and leaned against the car door, not sending a message to rush her. The streetlights were still on, their dim yellow light appearing very thin in the winter morning. Across the street, an older man was shoveling snow, the shovel scraping against the concrete with a harsh sound.

Two minutes later, the building door opened.

Park Min-ji was wearing a cream-colored knit sweater, dark blue jeans, and white sneakers. Her hair was down, not tied up. She wore light makeup—not the formal style she wore at the office, but something lighter, as if she had only applied a bit of lipstick. She held a dark gray scarf in her hand, not yet wrapped around her neck. Seeing him standing by the car, she smiled.

"Have you been waiting long?"

"Just arrived." He opened the car door, and she sat inside naturally.

The heater was on in the car, and she stretched her hands out in front of the vent to warm them. There was no scent of perfume in his car, only the clean smell of leather and a hint of coffee's bitterness. She liked that scent.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Namsan Tower."

She turned her head to look at him. "Really?"

"Really. Didn't you say you've never been?"

She had mentioned it casually last month while they were eating army stew after working late. She said that despite living in Seoul for so many years, she had never been up Namsan Tower. He hadn't said anything at the time, but he remembered it. He remembered the things she said as seriously as he remembered the figures on a financial report.

The car parked at the foot of Namsan. She glanced at the hiking trail and then at the cable car.

"Walking?" he asked.

"Walking," she said. "The cable car is too fast. You can see more by walking up."

The two of them walked up the trail. The path wasn't steep, but their legs grew sore after walking for a while. The trees on both sides were bare, their branches interlacing as they reached toward the sky like an unfinished sketch. Occasionally, a few birds flew past the treetops, chirping a couple of times before falling silent again. There weren't many people on the path; occasionally, elderly couples walking dogs would pass them, and young couples would walk down hand-in-hand.

When they reached the halfway point, she stopped to catch her breath. He stood beside her and handed her a thermos. She took it and unscrewed the cap; steam rose out, revealing it was ginger tea. The sweetness was just right.

"When did you prepare this?" She took a sip and looked up at him.

"This morning. Auntie Jiang gave it to me; she said drinking this is good when it's cold."

She tightened the cap and handed it back to him, continuing the walk up. He followed behind her, a step below.

Namsan Tower was larger than he had imagined. The tower body was silver-white, reflecting the winter sunlight with a piercing glare. The observation deck was crowded and noisy, with people speaking Korean, Chinese, Japanese, English, and a few languages he didn't recognize. The most crowded area was the Love Lock wall, where colorful locks covered the railings. Some were already rusted, but the names engraved on them were still visible—'Yeong-jun & Ji-hye,' '민수 & 지영,' 'James & Sofia.' He leaned in to look at a rusted lock; it was engraved with the year 2004, many, many years before he had even started his street stall.

"Should we hang one too?" He turned to look at her.

She was looking at the locks on the railing and was startled by his words. "Are you serious?"

"Serious."

He took her hand and walked to a nearby stall. The vendor was a woman in her sixties wrapped in a very thick coat. In front of her were locks of all kinds—heart-shaped, round, square, large and small. Someone was engraving nearby, the engraving machine buzzing.

"Which one do you want?" he asked.

She looked them over and pointed to a heart-shaped lock, just the right size to fit in her palm. "This one."

"What should we engrave?"

She thought for a moment and tilted her head slightly. "Just engrave 'Sunyi & Minji.' And draw two hearts next to it."

The auntie took the lock and held it in front of the engraving machine, which buzzed for a while. When it was finished, she handed it over. The surface of the lock bore neat characters—'Sunyi & Minji'—with two small hearts nestled together, tiny but clear.

Holding the lock, he led her to the railing, found an empty spot, and snapped the lock shut. There was a 'click' as the shackle closed, not loud, but distinct.

The key was in his palm, cold and small. He handed it to her.

"You throw it."

She took the key and walked to the railing. The mountain wind was strong, blowing her hair back. She looked back at him, smiled, and threw the small key forcefully down the mountain. The key flipped twice in the sunlight and vanished. Below were dense trees, so thick that nothing could be seen.

The two of them stood by the railing, neither speaking. The wind surged up from the mountain below, carrying the scent of pine. He took her hand in his; her hand had grown cold, so he tucked it into his overcoat pocket.

"Are you cold?"

"Not anymore."

There were quite a few people on the observation deck. Some were taking photos, while others leaned against the railing using binoculars to look into the distance. Chairman Wang Shunyi and Park Min-ji slowly walked a full circle along the glass windows, neither in a hurry to speak. When they reached the south side, she stopped and pointed to a bridge over the Han River in the distance. "That's the Hannam Bridge. When I was a child, I lived in Gangbuk. Every time I went to Gangnam, it felt like a long journey."

"And now?"

"Now I live in Gangnam, and every time I go back to Gangbuk, it also feels like a long journey."

He chuckled. When she asked what he was laughing at, he said, "Nothing, I just feel like you've always been like this, very particular about places." She didn't argue.

The revolving restaurant was in the middle of the tower and required a reservation. He had booked a window seat. The table was covered with a white tablecloth and set with silver cutlery and a tiny crystal vase containing a single white daisy. After she sat down, she picked up the flower to smell it before putting it back.

The meal was a set menu he had selected in advance. The appetizer was pumpkin porridge with truffle oil, the main course was Hanwoo steak, and the dessert was molten chocolate cake. She ate quietly, without smacking her lips or making unnecessary noises. He had noticed this back when they had company dinners; this woman was different from the people he had seen when he was running his street stall. Back then, he thought she had a good upbringing; now, he felt she was simply that kind of person—serious about everything she ate, as serious as she was with financial reports.

"Minji."

"Hmm?"

"Regarding the SM Entertainment matter, I've made a decision."

She put down her fork and looked at him. "The investment?"

"We'll invest. No more than five percent, with the price controlled within thirty billion won. We won't take sides or participate in management; we'll only engage in commercial cooperation. Endorsements, variety show product placements, concert sponsorships—all contracts will be signed at market rates. Additionally, I want to add a clause—SM Entertainment must publicly disclose the settlement standards for their artists."

"They won't agree to that clause."

"If they don't agree, we don't invest. If Lee Soo-man doesn't even dare to do this, his 'artist's company' is just a load of crap."

She stared at him for a long time. "When did you become like this?"

"Like what?"

"Before, you only looked at numbers. Now, you look at people."

He didn't answer. Outside the window, Seoul slowly darkened in the winter twilight. On the distant Han River, ships lit up, scattered like bits of silver that no one had collected.

When the molten cake was served, she scooped a bit with a small spoon. The chocolate flowed out, thick, dark brown, and steaming. She took a spoonful and held it to his lips.

"Have a taste."

He opened his mouth and ate it. It was sweet, with a hint of bitterness, much like their own flavor.

By the time they finished and came out, it was completely dark. Namsan Tower was fully lit, the tower body having turned blue. The wind at the summit was even stronger, blowing hard enough to make one unsteady. She wrapped her scarf tight, and he turned up his coat collar. The two of them took the cable car down; they were the only ones in it. The carriage swayed as it slid downward, the city lights spreading out beneath them, dense and warm, like a glowing blanket.

She leaned against his shoulder, and he didn't move. Only when the cable car was about to reach the station did she lift her head. Her hair had been ruffled by his coat collar, but she didn't fix it.

"Sunyi."

"Hmm."

"I'm very happy today. Let's come every year from now on."

"Okay."

The car stopped downstairs at her home. She didn't get out immediately, sitting in the passenger seat and watching the mist slowly condense on the windshield. He waited, not in a hurry.

"You should go up. You have work tomorrow."

"Yeah." She reached out to pull the door handle, stopped, and then pulled her hand back. "Sunyi."

"Hmm?"

"Earlier at Namsan Tower, you told me to throw the key. I threw it. That lock, you saw it—the two hearts were nestled together."

"I saw it."

"You know I didn't draw that, right? The engraving auntie drew it. I originally wanted to draw it like that."

He couldn't help but laugh. "With your drawing skills, the engraving auntie is definitely better than you."

She swatted him, not hard, her hand resting on his arm without moving away. The two of them just sat there, neither looking at the other, only watching the mist on the windshield grow thicker. He used his finger to write a 'ㅅ' on it, and she added a 'ㅁ' with a little distance between them. He didn't add the heart, and neither did she.

"Minji."

"Hmm."

"You should go up now."

"Say goodnight first."

"Goodnight."

She finally smiled, pushed open the car door, and got out. After a few steps, she turned back, looked at him through the car window, and waved. He gave a short beep of the horn. She turned and went upstairs; the hallway lights lit up for two floors and then went out.

He sat in the car, not starting it immediately. In the rearview mirror, he saw the blue light of Namsan Tower flashing in the night sky, far away but very clear.

He took out his phone, opened the chat window, and typed a line: "Goodnight, Minji. I saw the lock, and I saw the heart."

After sending it, he placed the phone on the passenger seat—where she had just been sitting; the seat still held a bit of her warmth. He started the car and drove out of the residential complex.

The streetlights slid past the windshield one by one, their warm yellow light illuminating the car fitfully. He didn't drive fast; there weren't many cars on the road. The radio was on at a very low volume, playing an old song with a gentle female voice; he didn't know who was singing.

He didn't turn it off either. He just kept driving.