Chapter 82: The Friendship of Gentlemen Is as Pure as Water

A week later, once again at Incheon Airport.

It was dawn, flights were few and far between, and the hall was almost deserted. Just after five o'clock, a flight from Tokyo finally brought some life to the place, and the drowsy customs officers and border inspectors had a brief spell of activity.

Within minutes, the queue of travelers had cleared. The young woman at the VIP counter was just about to relax when she saw two women approaching from afar, moving furtively.

“So secretive? And wearing sunglasses? Could they be...?”

She hadn’t finished speculating when Kwon Bo-ya stepped up to her, turned sideways, and handed over a well-thumbed passport.

The inspector pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to contain her excitement as she glanced up a few times. With a crisp “thump,” she stamped the passport and greeted her sweetly, keeping her voice low, “Welcome home! I bought your album, you know~”

Kwon Bo-ya smiled and nodded, not daring to reply for fear of drawing attention. She hurried through the VIP passage.

Though only a year since her debut, she was already a well-known girl singer in both Dongyi and Fusang, her records purchased by over a million people in each country. The passport just stamped was already her second—later, she’d be known as the “Flying Girl” who filled fourteen passports in eight years.

“Should I call your family? You wouldn’t let the company send a car...” Ms. An, who had been covering for her, asked as soon as they exited the hall.

Bo-ya waved her hand childishly. “No need. I’m coming back early, after all. I want to surprise them. I’ll just take a taxi home.”

Ms. An smiled kindly and said no more, simply called a car, then, with sunglasses and mask on, escorted Bo-ya home.

After all, Bo-ya was still just fourteen. No matter how tough work made her, there was still a child’s heart within. She’d come back because she’d finished shooting two music videos for her “Listen-to-my-heart” album ahead of schedule, and the company had rewarded her with a ten-day summer break.

In Fusang and Dongyi, music video production was expensive, each frame retouched for beauty. So the shrewd agencies had learned to release albums without music videos first, then decide which songs deserved a video based on market response.

At the same time, in China, producers were still faithfully shooting videos as planned. Compared to the industry in Dongyi and Fusang, it was almost admirable: their way was like the later web novel practice of dropping a series if it didn’t perform well, while the Chinese musicians would persist to the end no matter what.

A less commercialized market had its advantages.

...

It was sixty kilometers from Incheon Airport to the city center. By the time the taxi reached Han-dong Road, it was rush hour.

Bo-ya got out alone, declining Ms. An’s offer to carry her luggage. She hadn’t brought much, just a few small gifts from Fusang.

“Dad should have gone to work, and my brother must be lazing about during the summer break, maybe not even up yet. I’ll go in and give him a scare, surprise him.” Bo-ya thought to herself, pulling out her key.

The door creaked open, and she was rather disappointed by what she saw.

Kwon Soon-yu was sitting in the living room, already looking up at the sound. “Bo-ya? You’re back? Put your things down and rest.” He was always kind to her, warm and gentle, helping with her bags. “Didn’t you say you’d be gone another week? Oh, and we have a guest.”

Before Soon-yu could explain further, Bo-ya saw the study door open. Her father’s large desk was scattered with documents, and a tall, dignified young man who had been sitting there was now rising to his feet.

“Gu Cheng?” Bo-ya could hardly believe her eyes. “Is it really you?”

Ever since discovering she’d misunderstood Gu Cheng in Fusang, she’d been wanting to apologize, to talk, to restore their friendship. But while abroad, the company monitored her closely, confiscating her phone, so she’d held back, thinking she’d just borrow her brother’s on holiday.

She never expected Gu Cheng to appear before her like this.

She’d imagined many complicated ways their paths would cross again, but never something so sudden and natural.

Soon-yu was surprised by his sister’s reaction. “I invited Cheng over. Dad needed a favor from Deputy Director Pan, so we owed them a return. It’s just business stuff, Bo-ya, nothing for you to worry about.”

Bo-ya asked sweetly, “Are you still busy?”

Soon-yu’s eyes flickered. “Almost done. You two go catch up.”

Gu Cheng and Pan Jieying had been in Seoul for a few days already, helping Taidian “divest bad assets” and transform into an “electronic company without a chaebol background, planning to invest in the Kaesong Industrial Complex.” The matter was nearly wrapped up.

Seeing the situation, Soon-yu tactfully returned to the study, closing the door to sort through the documents Gu Cheng had just signed, leaving the living room to the two for their reunion.

Gu Cheng had planned to leave in a couple of days and hadn’t expected this meeting with Bo-ya at all.

They exchanged a knowing, somewhat awkward smile.

Gu Cheng’s eyes showed a hint of avoidance, unsure what to say; and finally, a touch of surprise—after ten months, Bo-ya had grown another four or five centimeters, now over 1.6 meters. Her features had matured, her aura more dazzling, her figure showing clear curves.

The energetic little girl he’d first met had, quietly and naturally, grown into a vibrant young woman.

In Bo-ya’s eyes, there was regret over their misunderstanding, a bit of apology, and the faintest sliver of worry—now that Cheng was so famous, would he think she was being opportunistic by renewing their friendship?

At last, it was Bo-ya’s own innocence that broke the silence. “By the way, you’ve never been to Fusang, right? I brought you a gift. This GBA game console was just released a couple of months ago—you can’t get it at home yet. I bought it while shopping in Akihabara.”

“Thank you.” Gu Cheng accepted the gift, his heart warming, but didn’t call out her little white lie. The console was a deluxe edition, with four games pre-ordered.

She couldn’t have known he would come, so how could she have bought a gift for him? It was probably meant for her gamer brother, but she’d forgotten him as soon as she saw her friend.

“About last year, I misunderstood you. We’re still ‘best friends,’ right?” Bo-ya spoke in the local language, which Gu Cheng understood, though he’d never really used the awkward word “friend” in his year and a half in Dongyi.

“Of course.” Gu Cheng gently reassured her. “Besides, you didn’t do anything, just had the wrong idea about me. If you never said it, nobody would know anyway. The fact that you’re telling me now shows we can still talk about anything.”

Bo-ya’s pout finally relaxed, her expression sweetening. “I really didn’t expect it. In less than a year, you’ve accomplished so much. You’re not only a superstar, but you’ve built such a big music site too.”

“The past is past. No need to talk about those things,” Gu Cheng said, steering the conversation away. “Tell me about your schedule. I’m surprised your company gave you a summer break—it’s not like Director Kim’s usual style. If they’d always been so humane, exploited their artists less, HOT wouldn’t have fallen apart.”

Bo-ya flopped onto the sofa, unladylike, and complained with a wry smile, “It’s not as good as you think. Not even ten days off, and only because I finished work early. I have to shoot an outdoor MV on the 10th—new song.”

Gu Cheng was indignant. “The 10th? Seriously? The company’s really working you hard, making you film in the summer heat? Can’t they find something else for you? And you’re not even due for a new album—I thought your last one came out just a couple months ago.”

Bo-ya flashed a hint of pride, sat up, and asked with a grin, “So you kept up with my Fusang debut?”

Gu Cheng smiled and hummed a few bars: “Listen to your heart, looking for my dream…”

“Alright, that’s enough—I’m happy, really.” Bo-ya cut him off, but her heart was light. Even in the days when she thought they’d misunderstood each other, they’d still cared.

Perhaps to show her own concern, Bo-ya boasted, “Well, we’re even. I bought your ‘Meteor Shower’ too. And I read a poem I thought you wrote: ‘The night gave me black eyes…’”

Gu Cheng couldn’t help but laugh. “That wasn’t me. That’s by the great poet Gu Cheng. You didn’t Google me—well, NAVER me, did you? Remember what I told you before I left the company? In this language, there are no homonyms with different characters, so there are lots of jokes. It’s perfect for comedy skits and variety shows.”

As he spoke, Gu Cheng picked up a pen and wrote the two Chinese names in characters.

“Oh, so that’s it? How embarrassing…” Bo-ya blushed, secretly urging herself to work harder at Chinese. At present, she could only write fluently, not speak it, and her pronunciation was distinctly foreign, unable to distinguish tones.

Seeing her discomfort, Gu Cheng quickly changed the subject. “So why is your company working you so hard, anyway? Filming outdoors in the heat?”

Bo-ya grinned slyly. “It’s not so bad. The new song is called ‘Atlantis Princess,’ and they want a tropical seaside setting. They’re sending me to Australia—probably Brisbane, near a place called the Sunshine Coast, and the Great Barrier Reef. It’s winter in the Southern Hemisphere now, so the weather in Brisbane is just right.”

“No wonder Director Lee is sending you there—giving you a vacation under the guise of work.”

“Hey, it’s not a vacation! Shooting an MV is tough work!”