well-loved book. And as she pulled some out at random, she found that most of them were dog-eared and worn. Some even had writing in the margins. Small notes Junu had made. Some of them his musings about the characters. Some little notes to someone—who, Somin wasn’t exactly sure.
Piggy has a point, there do need to be rules. Otherwise how can you break them? But what an unfortunate name Piggy is.
An agency that only exists to apologize? What a futile endeavor. This book was almost pristine except for this note, a sign to Somin that Junu hadn’t liked this novel.
Just tell her you like her. Rejection is fleeting and then there’s wine was scratched into Pride and Prejudice and made Somin laugh. Like Junu would know what rejection felt like.
She placed a copy of Persuasion back on the shelf and tried to pull out the next book, but it wouldn’t budge. She yanked again, gritting her teeth with the effort. With a click it jutted out of the shelf but didn’t come completely free; instead the bookshelf swung out on a hinge like a door.
Somin almost laughed. Of course he would have a hidden room in this place. Probably where he kept his vault so he could sit in piles of his money. But when she pulled the hidden door open, she was shocked at what she saw.
Instead of the sleek steel safe she’d expected to find, she found a room filled with paintings and sculptures. Delicate ceramics sat on tables that lined the walls. Canvases were stacked on top of one another. The middle of the room had paint splatters marring the floor. Something that shocked Somin, as she knew what a stickler Junu was for cleanliness in his space. But here there was chaos. There was color. There was beauty. She was amazed at the gorgeous paintings. Why would Junu keep them in here and not display them proudly? They were obviously his own work.
How could a person who loved to brag about all of his accolades hide such obvious talent?
Somin stepped to a ceramic jar. It was smooth and delicate, decorated with birds and flowers painted in blue. Another had a leering tiger. And yet another had a fox. Perhaps inspired by Junu’s new housemate.
She turned to the finished paintings leaning against the wall in a small stack. They looked like they were painted in styles from across the centuries. Some were sweeping watercolors. Some were bold acrylics and oils. She found one that looked as abstract as a Picasso, though it was the only one of its kind. Perhaps a phase where Junu had wanted to experiment?
Another pile had a tarp thrown over it. And when she moved it, dust flew into the air like it hadn’t been disturbed in years.
These were done in the muted golds, reds, and earth tones of ancient Korean paintings Somin had seen in museums. Each of them was a portrait of a single person. Three different girls of varying ages. A man who could be anywhere from his late teens to his late twenties (it was always hard for Somin to tell with these older paintings). A woman old enough to be Somin’s mother. There was something in her eyes that Junu had captured. A spark as if her soul were truly living inside this painting. As if she felt love for the person who painted her. And then she found a final painting, if you could call it that. It was mostly a splotch of colors—blacks and reds and browns—streaked over it like someone had thrown whole jars of paint over the canvas. But there, in the middle, peeked out an eye, brown and bold, staring so sharply that Somin felt it would come alive. She felt sweat bead at the base of her neck, a strange feeling like she was being watched. There had clearly been a portrait of someone on this canvas once, and Junu chose to cover it up, but not throw it out . . .
Suddenly, Somin felt like she was invading something private. There was something about these paintings that felt very personal. Like something she didn’t have a right to see without permission. So she stepped back out and, with one final look inside, closed the door.
26
THE NEXT DAY, the trip back to Seoul was a sullen ride.
Junu had ushered them off the mountain as quickly as he could with Jihoon’s slow, stumbling pace. He didn’t want to stay there any longer than