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墨書 Inktalez
The bustling streets, the crowded shops, and the dazzling sunlight at one o'clock in the afternoon create a vibrant scene. Within this tunnel-like beam of white light, the throngs of people weave through like fleeting shadows, coming and going in an endless cycle.
Qiluo Ling stands on South Street in Seoul, South Korea, gazing at a towering blue skyscraper across the way. This is the only place on this street where Qiluo Ling's light reflects brightly.
The shimmering building seems to collapse and disintegrate under too much scrutiny. Qiluo Ling instinctively feels a pressure, a sense of temporal and spatial compression that is both gradual and sudden.
Qiluo Ling has no choice but to shift focus to the gilded sign in front of the building: "Cui Group." The large, shining letters appear somewhat exaggerated, as if to validate its existence.
Before coming to Cui Group, Qiluo Ling had done some research online. Cui Group is one of South Korea's seven major conglomerates, primarily engaged in construction and shipping, while also involved in dozens of industries including steel, machinery, trade, finance, and electronics.
After observing for a moment, Qiluo Ling crosses the sidewalk and enters the building on the first floor…
It is still that wide and shiny office desk, with luxurious decorations and a unique layout.
Choi Ji-woo, the chairman of Cui Group, sits as usual in a lavish leather chair, looking out over the entire city through bright floor-to-ceiling windows. The concrete jungle appears grand and powerful. Yet it feels like a series of precarious walls as people scurry beneath them. The only comfort comes from the warm sunlight; the interplay of light and shadow offers solace akin to a holy city.
Choi Ji-woo gazes at everything beneath the sky but feels trapped like in a prison. An insurmountable prison confines his spirit, leaving him with nowhere to rest. The outside world is vast and blue, yet it appears dark and bleak through his eyes. A person's mood is determined not by their environment but by their state of mind.
Beside Choi Ji-woo's black chair lies a pair of dark red wooden canes. Recently, he suffered a sudden stroke that left him with mobility issues in his legs. His son, Choi Jae-sun, remains unconscious in a hospital bed, having lost awareness.
Faced with life's upheavals, Choi Ji-woo must painfully ponder who is at fault? Is it fate? Or is his desire for revenge fundamentally misguided? The relentless pursuit of vengeance not only drains his energy but also robs him of what little health and happiness remain in his life.
Every conscious action aims to conceal or correct a secret wrongdoing. Just as someone who looks down on themselves is closest to being proud, similarly in Choi Ji-woo's heart, all acts of revenge mask a colossal secret.
Reflecting on a life half-lived, hatred is the only meaning of existence for Choi Ji-woo. This hatred initially stemmed from one family's animosity towards another, a cycle of resentment that has continued through generations. The teachings of his ancestors, which Choi Ji-woo absorbed from a young age, perpetuated the hatred towards the Dun Family.
A century ago, the complex grievances between the Choi Family and the Dun Family led to deep-seated enmity. The Choi Family invoked the power of a sorcerer to cast a mysterious curse upon the Dun Family. Over the course of a hundred years, the Dun Family has been shrouded in the dark shadow of this curse. What was once a prosperous family with many descendants has long since vanished, now reduced to decay and scattered remnants, with no heirs left.
When Choi Ji-woo was very young, kneeling before the ancestral tablet in the family shrine, his father told him that the spirits of the Dun Family's deceased would chant incantations in the dead of night. Everything seemed to echo those incantations; the entire Dun Family was on the brink of extinction, about to disappear from this world.
From childhood to adulthood, Choi Ji-woo harbored a generational hatred for the Dun Family until he met that woman...
Choi Ji-woo had to admit that much of his once overwhelming hatred stemmed from her—the ruthless betrayal by that Dun woman regarding his feelings. Every person in this world is a product of conflicting emotions of love and hate. In Choi Ji-woo's heart, love and hate were separated by a thin line, with hatred growing increasingly intense through layers of hurt. He once believed that by seeking revenge through hatred for the injuries he suffered, he would find happiness.
The hand of fate is unpredictable and mercilessly destroyed Choi Ji-woo. Lying in bed like a vegetable, unable to move, with a son in a similar state and a sister who had been missing for over twenty years, he suddenly felt despair and helplessness. Choi Ji-woo had once firmly believed that everything in this world was under his control. Yet looking back at it all, his life resembled waves driven against the wind—unstable and unpredictable regarding future outcomes and fate. The once fervent hatred had crumbled into dust, losing its power. Hatred made him acutely aware of his own inferiority and fear...
A crisp knock on the door interrupted Choi Ji-woo's thoughts. He returned to reality from painful memories, composed himself, adjusted his clothing, and said, "Come in."
The door opened, and Park Jeong-won walked in with a heavy expression and said, "President Choi, Qiluo Ling has arrived."
"Oh?" Choi Ji-woo replied with some surprise, a hint of barely noticeable panic crossing his face. He hadn't expected Qiluo Ling to arrive in Korea so quickly and find him here.
Long-buried secrets seem destined to be revealed at certain moments; everything must eventually see the light of day—no one can keep it hidden forever. The arrival of Qiluo Ling might just be an omen of fate.
"Where is she now?" Choi Ji-woo asked calmly as he regained his composure.
"She is in the reception area," Park Jeong-won replied.
Choi Ji-woo took a deep breath and said, "Bring her to my office."
Park Jeong-won nodded and left the office.
After Park Jeong-won left, Choi Ji-woo felt a sudden sense of weakness and leaned back in the chair. Although he knew this day would eventually come, he still felt a complex mix of emotions rising within him, a blend of feelings that was hard to articulate, leaving him feeling unsettled.
Time cannot be reversed, from beginning to end. Perhaps there is neither a beginning nor an end.
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