The Reborn Genius of an Arts High School - Chapter 15

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 15.
Ye-ji was somewhat confused.
She’d suddenly discovered a skilled painter.
It was true that she wanted to learn something from him.
She felt certain he could offer her new perspectives and inspiration she’d never considered before.
But artists with ordinary, unremarkable minds were rare.
Especially the older, more celebrated ones—the likelihood of them being eccentric only grew.
Yet he’d suddenly offered to teach her painting?
‘Actually, thinking about it, he didn’t exactly say he’d teach me.’
Ye-ji paged through her returned drawing book, turning it over in her mind.
Basically, he’d just told her to come by and try drawing something, after preparing the space.
“That old man’s strange.”
He seemed to have many disciples, so why had he said such a thing to her in particular?
But brooding over it alone wasn’t going to yield any answers.
Ye-ji closed her eyes and quietly recalled the paintings she’d seen today, breathing in the hushed air of the rural village.
The world of black and white had seeped deeply into Ye-ji’s usually vibrant, color-saturated reality.
***
“I hear some wealthy old man from Seoul rolled into town.”
The next morning, over breakfast, Ye-ji asked her grandmother about Professor Jeong Hae-yun.
But the village seemed to know little about him beyond hearsay.
The internet, oddly, had far more information.
“He’s way more famous than I thought?”
Even her father, who’d seemed concerned at first, appeared to have looked into Hae-yun—and he looked genuinely surprised.
What particularly captured the adults’ attention was the detail that he’d been a professor of East Asian Studies at Seoul National University.
Of course, he’d stepped back from academic life to focus on his art, but that didn’t matter much.
Still, a professor at Seoul National University.
That was enough to win over any parent’s heart.
Her mother, who’d been verifying details about Professor Jeong Hae-yun, spoke firmly.
“Still, I can’t let her go alone! You should go with her!”
Ye-ji laughed softly at her parents’ swift conclusion that she’d be returning to him.
Sometimes she thought adults were even more naive and simple than children.
Sleet had fallen overnight, leaving the roads in disarray again.
The same man was clearing snow from in front of the hanok, just as he had yesterday.
Ye-ji entered under his guidance alongside her father.
“Will you wait here?”
“Ah, yes.”
Ye-ji left her father in what looked like a reception room and hurried forward with a flutter in her chest.
***
The man clearing snow. Lee Han-gyu.
He had no idea that Ye-ji thought of him as little more than “the snow-clearing man.”
As one of the many disciples Jeong Hae-yun taught, Han-gyu was far from pleased by the sudden appearance of a high school girl.
Attending to a temperamental elderly master, disciples trapped in a rural backwater—
they were naturally people with their own particular aspirations.
Especially given that the aging master had no children of his own.
There were plenty of legitimate opportunities to secure a place in his legacy, without resorting to anything unseemly.
He himself had come here hoping to take a position at the master’s Foundation and pursue cultural initiatives related to Korean painting.
Since everyone had gathered with clear purpose, each disciple strove to catch Hae-yun’s eye in their own way.
So how had this girl won his favor through such a suspicious coincidence?
“Come here and try holding a brush.”
Without even exchanging proper greetings, Hae-yun abruptly called Ye-ji over and sat her down.
And that was how she came to hold a brush for ink painting for the first time.
The time—whether instruction or observation—seemed to pass quite pleasantly.
Even listening in passing while organizing the studio, Ye-ji sounded like quite a capable student.
But.
“Ah, I don’t like that.”
At Ye-ji’s expression of distaste, Hae-yun looked taken aback.
“What? Why?”
Hae-yun had been explaining, with a show of magnanimity, that he’d provide paper and brushes here free of charge.
But then she suddenly said she didn’t like it, insisting on paying for the materials herself.
Was she trying not to appear mercenary?
“It’s not even your money—it’s money your father earns.”
“My mother earns it too!”
“Right, so why are you showing off by refusing to use your parents’ money?”
“Because Mom and Dad earn money so I can show pride in myself when the time comes.”
What on earth was this absurd conversation?
Strange as it was, it seemed this temperamental old man and the girl actually got along.
Han-gyu finished organizing the studio and was about to head back outside to finish clearing the snow.
“Nothing in the world is free. What if later you claim a share of ownership in my paintings?”
At the girl’s bold remark, Hae-yun burst out with hearty laughter.
As Han-gyu was leaving the studio, curiosity suddenly struck him.
What exactly was she planning to paint that made her say such a thing?
Besides, given Hae-yun’s temperament, he’d usually get angry at such an outrageous statement—yet he’d just laughed it off?
“…!”
Scattered across the studio were sheets of paper with practice sketches Ye-ji had drawn.
In just a couple of hours, she’d somehow grasped how to hold the brush, control force, and modulate ink tone variation.
The awkward, scratchy lines soon acquired the strength and subtlety of deep and light ink strokes.
“And if I use someone else’s things, I feel self-conscious about it.”
Before the chattering Ye-ji lay an open book about the Four Gentlemen.
Following what she saw, on the paper before her was a lavish, flowing bamboo.
But she hadn’t simply copied bamboo from observation.
The thin, strong stems bent to one side, their leaves drooping delicately.
Each element was positioned with what seemed like perfect calculation of negative space ratios.
Now Han-gyu understood why Hae-yun had laughed at the girl’s audacious remark.
Truly, it was a flawless bamboo that could be sold as-is with just a single elegant inscription added.
Could this really be the work of a seventeen-year-old picking up hanji and ink for the first time today?
“I’ll buy my own materials and use them! And I’ll take all the paintings I make!”
“Ah, what a stubborn one.”
The bamboo, perfectly upright and centered, seemed to mirror her own obstinate nature and fortitude.
‘She’s no ordinary talent.’
With a single practice sketch, Ye-ji had revealed her character and determination in full.
An unbending bamboo and perfectly balanced negative space.
Solid and confident fundamentals.
Han-gyu, who’d studied arts management and met countless painters and masters, felt an odd premonition.
‘Maybe I should bring her some snacks sometime.’
Getting close to her couldn’t hurt.
His initial suspicion dissolved, and in its place sprouted his own calculated interest.
***
Ye-ji began to frequent Hae-yun’s studio regularly.
[Hyun-min: What? Jeong Hae-yun?]
[Hyun-min: Jeong Hae-yun, the Korean painter?]
[Hyun-min: Jeong Hae-yun? Really?]
When Hyun-min heard the news that she was painting with him, he went into a frenzy.
He was supposedly in Italy, and despite the considerable time difference, he replied instantly.
[Hyun-min: Show me what you drew]
[Hyun-min: Hurry hurry hurry]
[Hyun-min: Pleeease]
To his frenzy, she sent him photos of the paintings she’d made with Hae-yun.
A piece where she’d rendered branches in traditional Korean ink and then layered plum blossoms in oil painting.
It evoked the feeling of Van Gogh’s Almond Blossoms, yet the traditional ink’s color lent it a different depth.
As she familiarized herself with ink and hanji, Ye-ji was actively experimenting with blending them into her own work.

[Hyun-min: I’m so jealous]
[Hyun-min: Seriously so jealous]
[Hyun-min: Next time introduce me too. Please!!!!]
[Depends on how you do.]
With that joking reply as her last message, Ye-ji tucked her reddened hands into her pockets.
“Ah, my hands are frozen.”
The rural life she’d come to enjoy at her leisure.
More hectic than expected, Ye-ji was heading down the slope to the hanok every morning now.
“Hello.”
“Ah, yes. Come in.”
She passed the man clearing snow again today.
Or rather, today he was sweeping the courtyard.
Thinking about it, she’d only passed him in going and coming—they’d never properly exchanged names.
“Do you like yanggang? I received some as a gift—would you like some?”
“…Ah. Yes. I’d appreciate that. Thank you.”
At first he’d seemed displeased with her presence, but somewhere along the way he’d become quite kind.
Perhaps he was simply the type to be shy with strangers.
Now Ye-ji could enter the studio without needing his guidance.
Today too, Hae-yun was at work early in the morning, and Ye-ji painted beside him.
“That won’t do.”
Hae-yun suddenly critiqued the painting Ye-ji was working on.
It was the one she’d shown off to Hyun-min.
Branches rendered in traditional Korean ink with thick, dimensional plum blossoms painted over them in oil.
True, it was a rather common subject, but was it really not acceptable?
“…….”
When Ye-ji looked at him with obvious disappointment, Hae-yun added an explanation.
“If you just layer oil paint directly onto hanji, the paper will deteriorate in no time.”
Hae-yun’s objection was literal and straightforward.
Ye-ji, startled by his words, set down her brush.
Of course, it wasn’t meant to be a timeless masterpiece, but she’d thought it looked quite nice….
“So… you can’t use oil paint on hanji?”
“There are methods, but….”
Hae-yun didn’t typically use an easel.
He worked bent over the hanji spread taut on the floor, and as he spoke, he paused and looked at Ye-ji.
“…….”
As he studied her and her painting in turn, he straightened his aching back.
Then he took the lead somewhere.
“Follow me.”
People often assume folk painting or Korean painting is simpler than Western art, but the reality is incomparably more complex.
There was a reason past scholars and noble women spent countless hours rendering orchids.
Painting a single orchid leaf meant capturing the full range of light and dark ink tones in a single brushstroke.
It was a difficult feat, so Hae-yun hadn’t harbored great expectations from the start.
Yet because she was passionate and talented, he thought that with time she’d develop some vitality in her work.
His intention in teaching her was simply to have her sit quietly, pick up the brush, and learn the delicacy of a single line.
That alone would be a profound lesson for living and making art going forward.
But in just four days, Ye-ji had not merely mastered ink technique—she’d begun attempting to innovate.
“Where are we going?”
Ye-ji asked, following Hae-yun as he led the way.
But Hae-yun was not a particularly forthcoming old man.
He walked on without answering and emerged into the garden.
Then he entered a different building adjoining it.
Unlike his studio building, which was usually occupied only by Hae-yun and one or two staff, this place bustled with activity.
“Wait, but where are we….”
Just as Ye-ji’s curiosity finally burst forth in another question,
Hae-yun abruptly opened a door and stepped inside.
Ye-ji fell silent at the sight within, her words catching in her throat.
“In my youth, I once tried to incorporate Western painting into my work.”
As if to prove Hae-yun’s words, the room contained a staggering number of works stacked layer upon layer.
Among them were not only ink paintings and folk paintings, but also various Western-style works.
Hundreds—possibly thousands—of pieces lay haphazardly piled and tangled together.
As though entranced, Ye-ji stepped inside and looked around at the paintings.
She sifted through them like searching for treasure in an antique shop, examining each one carefully.
Some were magnificent works that testified to his well-earned reputation.
“This one….”
But each piece was preserved differently.
Particularly those stacked in one corner were nearly crumbling, their pigments cracked and damaged.
“Even when I’m called a master of Korean painting,
it amounts to nothing more than being the neighborhood’s big fish.”
In his words, Ye-ji sensed something that unsettled her.
“So I thought, why not try something that could make waves in the West too?”
The young Hae-yun had wanted greater recognition.
He’d wanted to transcend his own limits and show the world the pride of Korean painting.
Ye-ji gazed at hanji that had crumbled, darkened, and rotted through, and at silks whose pigments had bled and muddied into faded discoloration.
Attempts to blend Western materials into Korean painting.
‘A promising artist shouldn’t end up like this, should she?’
‘I’d hoped she’d turn her gaze toward something more global.’
Ye-ji suddenly recalled words that Chloe had spoken to her.
True, unlike Catrin, Hae-yun had reached the pinnacle within his own country.
But wasn’t that same hunger to expand into a wider artistic world the same yearning?
It felt as though the longings of different times and spaces converged at a single point.
“So you’ve decided to be content with Korea now?”
At Ye-ji’s question, Hae-yun paused for a moment.
“No. I came to realize that my generation’s task was to establish a proper definition of Korean painting.”
It was why he gathered so many disciples and dedicated himself to teaching.
His era had been one when Korea was being rebuilt and struggling to gain independence.
He’d decided to leave his aspirations to the next generation.
“Mixing ink painting with oil paint isn’t easy. The two are so chemically different they can’t be layered on a single medium.”
Everything he was now teaching her came from the trial and error of that attempt.
Hae-yun pulled out his failed works one by one and laid them open.
In doing so, fragments of his youthful passion, long forgotten, began to resurface.
“What do you want to paint?”
Hae-yun asked, simply yet with profound weight.
Most would struggle to answer and evade such a question, but Ye-ji opened her mouth at once.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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