The old rice mill at the edge of the village looks more like a broken tooth, partially sunken, burned, and almost forgotten. Years ago, a fire broke out, and a part of the rice mill's roof collapsed, and the walls blackened, but the foundation remained. And maybe, beneath it, the truth.
Jun Ho stood beside Soo Young in the early morning mist. Dae Sik had gone to the structure's far end to sense any disturbance or chaos. While Tae Soo stayed down by the road, keeping watch.
Soo Young tightly held the leather-bound notebook against her side. Her father's words were etched into her memory now, flakes of refuge and resistance scribbled in fading ink. One sketch pointed behind the rice mill, near the broken foundation stone. She knew it wasn't by chance.
Jun Ho crouched low and pulled back the matted mass of dead vines. "There," he said, banging on the ground. "The crawl space. I was just a kid, but I remember hiding here when we used to play after school."
Soo Young crouched beside him. Soon after the opening, a timber jutted out of the soil, too deliberate to be natural.
Then, Jun Ho started wriggling inside, and dust flew as he moved the old debris. "Help me hold the beam," he called, voice hushed. She supported it with her shoulder while he pulled the plank. With a grunt, it gave way.
A hollow sound echoed.
He came out moments later, dirt all over his face, carrying a long tin container carefully, wrapped in oilcloth. Time had almost washed it, and mould clung to the corners, but the seal was intact.
"Open it here?" he asked.
"No," Soo Young said quickly. "Not now. Too exposed."
They hid the containers in Jun Ho's bag and returned quietly to the fields, silent except for the sound of cicadas, coming back to life as the sun rose. The mill behind them was brewing with secrets sealed again.
When they returned to Soo Young's home, her hands shook as she placed the container on the floor. The air inside the room was tense, as if the box was carrying the burden of her father's silence.
Dae Sik ignited the oil lamp. Tae Soo locked the doors. Pin drop silence.
The wax seal came off with a snap. Beneath the oil cloth, padded in layers of faded yellowed newspaper, lay a portable reel-to-reel recorder and one magnetic tape reel.
Jun Ho exhaled. "He hid the whole thing…"
Dae Sik carefully raised the recorder. "Still intact. But we'll need batteries or a working plug."
"I think the church storeroom has some," Tae Soo said. "Old lantern batteries."
Soo Young took the reel in her hands. Her father wrote on the label."If you find this, keep listening. If you don't, bury it again."
This message was not for strangers.
It was for her.
Tae Soo rushed to the church, and Dae Sik helped Jun Ho in cleaning the tape heads with a delicate cloth. Soo Young stepped outside to breathe, her fingers tightly grasped, reflecting her anxiety.
In the lane behind her house, she spotted two ajummas (a term used in Korea to refer to a married woman who is middle-aged or older) whispering near the well. When they saw Soo Young, they became silent. One of them, Mrs. Oh, who sells dried squid at the market, looked away quickly.
Soo Young moved slowly towards them.
"You're up early," she said in a calm voice.
Mrs. Oh gave a fake smile. "We heard someone was poking around the old rice mill again. The place should've been torn down ages ago."
Soo Young nodded, understanding the hidden message. Rumors had already started spreading. And soon, it might be overheard by the wrong ears.
She stepped closer. "You were friends with my mother during the war. If you hear anything dangerous, tell her. Or me. Not anyone else."
Mrs. Oh looked surprised, but the other woman, elder and clever, nodded once.
"Your father was a good man," she said. "And good men leave enemies."
Back inside, the recorder was ready. The batteries squealed as Jun Ho adjusted the dials, then pressed the switch.
The tape began to turn.
A room was filled with the crackling of static, followed by the sound of wind, high and whistling, like it were near the sea.
Then a voice.
"This is Kim Do Hyun, if you're hearing this…"
Soo Young's air caught in her throat. The voice was older than she remembered, rougher. But it was him.
"I won't say where this is being kept. If you're listening, I trust you."
A pause.
"You already know what we were doing. And you probably guessed how dangerous it became."
Jun Ho sat still. Dae Sik had bowed his head. Tae Soo was leaning in against the wall, with arms crossed.
"I never believed I'd see peace with my own eyes. Not truly. But I believed in building the bridge, so someone else could cross it."
The tape whirred, then resumed.
"I recorded conversations. Testimonies. Names. Not to be used in revenge, but in truth. Some of the people we trusted were working for both sides. Others died protecting us."
Another pause.
"If you decide to destroy this, I'll understand. But if you don't, and if you choose to share it, know it won't be safe. You'll need help. You'll need each other."
Soo Young covered her mouth with her hands. Her father's words had a deeper meaning than a simple message.
They were a choice.
Later that night, all four were sitting in the dim light, the tape sat on the low wooden table beside them, and the voice had turned into silence.
"What do we do now?" Tae Soo asked.
Dae Sik looked at Soo Young. "You're the one he trusted."
She looked down at her hands. "I thought I just wanted to know who he really was. But now… I feel like we're standing in the middle of something unfinished."
Jun Ho leaned forward. "Then we finish it."
A soft knock at the front door, and they all froze.
Jun Ho stood, started moving quietly toward the window.
"It's the same man from yesterday," he said. "He's not alone."
Dae Sik got up. "We have to move."
Soo Young takes hold of the tape.
Jun Ho grabbed the oil lamp.
Tae Soo opened the floorboard beneath the table. "Hide it here. Just in case."
Footsteps outside. Low-voiced talk.
As of now, the house turned dark, and the truth, delicate and waiting, remained in their hands.