“Do you know your whole expression changes whenever you look at a tree?” Seo Tae-joon had been watching Ji-woo work from the edge of the grove. He stepped closer, taking her bag from her shoulder.
“I just feel comfortable around them,” Ji-woo said with a soft smile.
As the sun began to sink, bathing the world in a red glow, Seo Tae-joon found he couldn’t look away from his wife’s face.
“Comfortable?” he asked.
“Yes. The poet Rilke wrote his poems beneath a tree in his lane, and Schubert relaxed under a lime tree. Even Gautama Buddha was born beneath a souci tree and attained enlightenment under a linden.” She turned to face Seo Tae-joon fully. “People can live without love, I suppose. But if there were no trees, the whole world would wither and turn to poison.”
“So, what did you do under a tree?”
“Well…” A specific memory surfaced, but she hesitated, catching the words before they escaped.
“What? Was it your first kiss?”
“No!”
“Then what was it?”
“I often took shelter under a tree,” Ji-woo answered, her gaze drifting away. “And listened to music there.”
Seo Tae-joon recognized the distance in her eyes. He was not a part of that memory, and the realization left a small, hollow ache in his chest. “What kind of music?” he asked, his voice quiet.
“String music.”
Seo Tae-joon frowned. A phantom melody echoed in his mind, the same one he’d heard at the party. The sharp, grating sound of a stringed instrument had sliced through his nerves, bringing on a wave of nausea and a splitting headache. It had been a bizarrely violent reaction.
“They use German spruce to make stringed instruments,” Ji-woo continued, unaware of his inner turmoil. “I find it strange. My job is to heal wounded trees, yet someone else will cut one down to create an instrument. Is the death of a tree a fair price for a beautiful sound?”
Lost in her philosophical thoughts, she didn't see Seo Tae-joon stumble over a broken branch. He caught his balance, and Ji-woo stopped, her attention finally snagged by their surroundings. The nearby trees were all scarred with deep gashes, each about fifty centimetres long, as if carved by a heavy knife. Her expression clouded with concern.
If the wounds weren't treated, the phloem would die, cutting off the flow of nutrients to the roots. If any more bark peeled away, the trees would starve.
Who would do this? Ji-woo wondered, stepping closer to examine the damage. At least seven or eight trees bore the same deliberate wounds. They looked less like random vandalism and more like directional symbols gouged into the trunks.
She followed the trail of wounded trees, driven by a strange certainty that it would lead her to the culprit. The path twisted and turned like a maze, changing direction so abruptly that she grew dizzy trying to follow it. Her steps finally led her to a clearing, where a tattered banner drooped from a post. The corners of the faded warning were turning black with age and rot.
It was a ‘No Trespassing’ sign. Beyond it, the forest grew thick and impenetrable, swallowing the light. Warnings like this usually meant a hidden cliff or a steep, dangerous drop-off.
A sudden weakness washed over Ji-woo. She turned to call to Seo Tae-joon, only to find the path behind her empty. In her single-minded pursuit of the damaged trees, she had left him far behind. Panic began to prickle at the edges of her composure.
This was their first time on this mountain. The sun was getting dangerously low. If darkness fell completely, they would be hopelessly lost. A tremor ran through her. She had to retrace her steps, and quickly.
As she started back, six people carrying large garbage bags emerged from between the trees. They appeared to be methodically gathering something from the forest floor. Ji-woo’s panic gave way to a surge of relief, assuming they were volunteers cleaning up litter left by hikers.
The group nodded curtly as they passed her, heading directly for the off-limits area. “You shouldn’t go in there,” she called out.
They stopped, turning to look at her with expressions of mild confusion. “It’s a dead end. It could be dangerous,” she explained.
One of the men stepped forward. “Are you a city employee?” he asked, his eyes scanning the surrounding woods. “You alone?” His words were thick with a regional dialect; he was clearly a local.
“No. My husband is right behind me…”
The man’s demeanor shifted instantly. He strode forward, closing the distance until he was right in her face. “I thought we had a deal. You want more, is that it?” he snarled.
“What are you talking about?” A cold knot of fear tightened in her stomach. She tried to step back, but the other men had moved, forming a loose circle around her.
“Which is it? City hall or the cops?”
Ji-woo waved her hands in a placating gesture. “I’m a tree doctor!”
A round of harsh, sinister laughter met her words. They didn’t believe her. Of course they didn’t. Then it hit her. This mountain was known for its ancestral tombs, not its hiking trails. What were they really doing here? A recent news report flashed in her mind: illegal harvesting of protected trumpet mushrooms, pine nuts, and wild ginseng.
Ji-woo fought to keep her expression calm as she subtly slipped a hand into her pocket, searching for the smooth, hard rectangle of her phone.
“I meet a lot of pests like you. Always lying,” the man said, his face twisting into an ugly sneer. “You know what happens to them?”
“Seo Tae-joon!” His name, faint on the wind, snapped his head up. It was so thin he almost dismissed it as a trick of the air. Frowning, he tried to pinpoint the direction, then broke into a run, crashing through the undergrowth. He cursed the mountain for its lack of proper trails.
The dusk was thickening, blurring the ground into a mass of shadows. A huge, moss-covered boulder loomed out of the gloom, and Seo Tae-joon vaulted over it without breaking stride.
“Ji-woo!” he shouted into the forest. He cursed himself for getting distracted. He’d been focused on the gnarled branch he’d tripped over, imagining how he might carve it into a gift for her. By the time he looked up from his thoughts, she was gone. Now, after running blindly for what felt like an eternity, he heard the heavy sounds of a group of people moving just ahead.
Peering through a thicket of branches, he saw them. A group of men, and they were carrying the limp body of a woman. “You fucking bastards,” he breathed, the words a venomous hiss. It was Ji-woo. She was unconscious, her head lolling as if she’d been struck. He prayed it wasn’t anything worse.
He shadowed them as they passed the ‘No Trespassing’ sign and vanished into the dense woods. Lying discarded on the ground near the entrance to their path was Ji-woo’s medical bag. He snatched it up, tore it open, and stuffed anything that looked like it could serve as a weapon into his pockets.
He would take his time with them. He would cut off every finger that had touched her. Then he would shove those severed digits down their throats. A storm of merciless, brutal possibilities raged in his mind, when a clear voice cut through the fury—Ji-woo’s voice, echoing in his memory. ‘Be calm. Don’t get angry, or things only get harder. I just wish your syndrome would get better.’
The red haze of his rage began to recede, the violent pressure in his chest easing. He laughed, a low, twisted sound that held no humor at all.