DW 02

DW

Posted by cinderella, Released on October 12, 2025

Chapter 2

Yehwari — a small village lying between Chungcheong and Gyeonggi Province — was famed for one thing above all.

Its pear blossoms were said to be the most beautiful in the land.

But what truly made Yehwari’s name known since the Joseon Dynasty was not its scenery — it was a legendary liquor brewed from those very blossoms.

The Celestial Pear Blossom Wine — Cheondo Ihwaju.

According to old folklore, even the immortals who descended from heaven to the mortal realm could not resist its taste. They drank, became enamored, and refused to return to the skies.

A king once came here in disguise and, upon tasting the wine, was so moved that he named the village Yehwari — “the village of graceful blossoms” — and granted the sixty-year-old brewer the title of Master Artisan, along with ninety rolls of silk.

Since then, the entire village transformed into a traditional brewery town.

Every household, every field, every season revolved around one purpose — to brew the Celestial Pear Blossom Wine.

And yet, not even the king knew the truth.

The one who brewed that divine liquor… was a woman.

Dawn at Yehwari

The faintest light of morning had barely touched the mist when pale smoke began to rise from the low earthen walls of Ihwado-ga, the grandest brewery in the village.

True to its traditions, Ihwado-ga looked as though time had forgotten it — clay walls, wooden beams, tiled roofs, and bundles of straw all merging into a picture straight out of another century.

To the west stood the open hearths — seven massive steaming cauldrons lined in a row, each sending up columns of vapor.

Two women moved busily through the haze, their hands quick and sure.

They were steaming jie-bap, the base rice for brewing.

“Aunt Jeong-ja, I’ll handle this. Could you bring the oat nuruk from the fermentation room? It should be in the winnowing basket.”

“Already? Has it ripened that fast?”

“Yes. It’s dong-gok, remember? We started the batch last winter. It should be perfect now.”

“Mm, I don’t know, Do-ah. You’ve never tried mixing oat nuruk with dandelion before. What if it doesn’t work?”

“We’ll never know unless we try.”

Do-ah’s hands didn’t stop moving as she spoke — calm, efficient, unbothered.

“If it doesn’t taste right, we’ll adjust the next batch. But we have to experiment to improve.”

“You’ve got that right. I don’t know why I even worry — nothing from your hands has ever failed to taste good!”

Jeong-ja chuckled sheepishly and disappeared into the storage hall.

Left alone, Do-ah checked the fire beneath each pot, then glanced at her watch. She didn’t take her eyes off the seven cauldrons for even a moment.

The timer on her wristwatch chirped.

She opened the lids one by one.

The surge of heat stung her eyes, and sweat dampened her forehead. Still, her movements were precise — practiced.

Once the rice was perfectly steamed, she carried it to a long bamboo mat spread out on the wooden floor to cool.

“Ahh, that smell. Heavenly rice, that is.”

The voice belonged to the village headman, who entered through the fog, hat in hand, wiping his face.

He sat down comfortably at the edge of the floor, watching her spread the rice with methodical strokes.

Her pale face turned toward him — serene and cold, like the moon.

“You’re here early.”

The headman grinned and pinched a handful of hot rice to taste, as he often did.

Do-ah didn’t flinch. She was used to his lack of ceremony.

“Where’s the Master today?”

“In the inner garden.”

“Ah! Right, today’s the day.”

Today marked the beginning of preparations for Cheondo Ihwaju, the Celestial Pear Blossom Wine.

The inner garden of Ihwado-ga was off-limits to almost everyone — the sanctum where the sacred liquor was brewed.

It was the only place in Yehwari guarded by a modern security system.

Only the heir and two chosen assistants were ever allowed to enter.

The recipe had been passed down from mother to daughter for generations — a secret known only to the women of the family.

The brewing method was Yehwari’s most protected secret — a treasure worth more than gold.

So whenever the season of Cheondo Ihwaju arrived, the inner garden’s doors remained sealed day and night.

Even villagers were forbidden entry.

It was the silent rule — an unspoken pact — that safeguarded the pride and livelihood of Yehwari.

“Well, I can’t go in there, so you’ll have to go instead, Do-ah.”

“I haven’t been granted entry yet.”

“Still? Not even the heir? Your grandmother’s got no flexibility, I swear.”

“What was that?”

The sharp, even tone made both of them turn.

A short, silver-haired woman entered, leaning on a thick oak cane.

It was Choi Eun-ja, the 25th Master of Ihwado-ga.

The living legend of Yehwari.

Even at eighty, her presence could still still a room.

Her emotionless expression and glacier-like eyes could freeze anyone in place.

People in the village called her “The White Tiger of the Snow Mountains.”

“Ah— M-Master, I didn’t mean—!”

The headman stood up so fast his knees popped.

Eun-ja ignored his fluster and crouched beside the cooling rice, scooping up a handful between her fingers.

“What brings you here so early?”

She tasted the grains, pressing them thoughtfully against her tongue. Then, with the faintest nod, she said,

“Good.”

From her, that was equivalent to thunderous applause.

Do-ah’s cold face softened just slightly, warmth flickering behind her calm eyes.

“Master, about the warehouse— we may need more hands soon. Myung-su and his wife still haven’t returned.”

“Why not.”

“His wife’s chemo isn’t going well. They’re moving her to another hospital. He told me to find a replacement before things get too busy.”

Eun-ja closed her eyes, silent.

The headman fidgeted, then ventured,

“Shall I look for someone?”

Still no answer.

When she finally exhaled, her voice was low.

“No need. There’s someone coming.”

On the Road to Yehwari

The drive took over two and a half hours — far longer than expected for a village that supposedly sat right on the border between Gyeonggi and Chungcheong.

For Kwon Ha, it was an exhausting journey.

Someone who’d grown used to flying between meetings now sat behind the wheel of his own car, feeling absurdly mortal.

But his fatigue was nothing compared to the turmoil in his head.

For days, he’d been haunted by disbelief.

“This can’t be happening…”

He, Kang Kwon-ha — marketing director of Daeseong Judo, the crown jewel of the Daeseong Group — had been betrayed.

And not by just anyone.

“By my own grandfather.”

Kang Ho, the Chairman himself.

The man who had raised him.

The man who had once said he was the family’s future.

Now that very man had handed him an ultimatum sharper than a knife.

Kwon-ha let out a hollow laugh, leaning back against the headrest.

“Unbelievable. Truly unbelievable.”

His parents, both heirs of the family, had long abandoned the company. They spent their lives abroad chasing their own dreams, leaving young Kwon-ha in the Chairman’s care.

He had been the old man’s beloved grandson — the mirror image of Kang Ho in face and manner.

Thirty years of grooming, discipline, and relentless expectation had shaped him into the perfect successor.

And yet, here he was, being sent to some remote village with an impossible task.