Issuu

A Midnight Pastry Shop Called Hwawoldang

LEE ONHWA

Translated by Slin Jung

PENGUIN MICHAEL JOSEPH

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India | New Zealand | South Africa

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First published in South Korea as 시간이

화과자점

by Big Fish Books, Inc. 2024

First published in the UK by Penguin Michael Joseph 2025

Interior images © Naye, 2024

This book is published with the support of the Literature Translation Institute of Korea (LTI Korea)

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Life is a fleeting moment, but our bonds will last forever. Those were Grandma’s last words.

The sky was bright and clear when she left on her final journey, like even death had put on a cloak of sunshine in honour of her gentle humility. It was a lovely spring day with the flowers in spectacular bloom.

I didn’t cry.

Grandma’s passing didn’t destroy my life. I was twenty- seven years old; I could eat, go shopping, and even change the batteries of a dead clock all by myself. I put on a brave face, and life went on as if nothing had happened. I’d known since I was little that even as people died around me, yesterday would still lead into today, which would lead into tomorrow.

She’d closed her eyes with hands folded as neatly

as the life she’d lived. Everything about Grandma’s life had been so tidy that it was easy to clean the traces she’d left behind.

‘How are you doing these days, Yeon-hwa?’

‘I’m all right. I think I’m getting over it now.’

‘You keep saying that,’ Yi- ryeong said, holding out a wet wipe amidst the packed furniture, ‘and that makes me even more worried.’

The truth was, I really wasn’t holding back tears, or anything like that. The tears just never came – but not because I wasn’t sad. Grandma’s death had hit me out of nowhere, and I’d been devastated. Only not to the point of crying. I think I was just used to saying goodbye since my parents had died in a car crash.

Growing up so resilient wasn’t always such a good thing, though.

‘Anyway,’ I said, changing the subject. ‘You know what moving day means? I’m buying us jjajangmyeon noodles!’

‘All right!’

‘What do you want on the side? Tangsuyuk? Kkanpunggi?’

‘Mm, can we splurge a bit and go for whatever’s more expensive?’

‘Fine, just this once!’

I was pretty sure I deserved to spoil myself: after all, I was filling up a space of my own for the first time in my life! I’d always felt bad about getting tangsuyuk when Grandma was alive, but this time, I was going to reach even higher and order the kkanpunggi. This was the start of a brand-new chapter of my life, and I wouldn’t settle for anything less than an upbeat beginning. I could do this!

It was a slow weekday afternoon, so Korean-style Chinese food was the perfect choice. In less than half an hour, Yi-ryeong was throwing open the door with a smile on her face, bringing in a platter of spicysweet fried chicken kkanpunggi and two bowls of fresh jjajangmyeon noodles topped with glistening black bean sauce. We coated sauce onto each yellow noodle strand as the pleasant odour of grease filled our nostrils, and our eyes feasted on the fried eggs on top, crispy edges and all. But our jjajangmyeon wasn’t complete – not until I sprinkled chilli powder and sesame seeds on top. When I held out the chilli and sesame shakers over Yi-ryeong’s bowl, she gulped. I paused with a playful grin.

‘Hurry up, Yeon-hwa! I’m starving.’

‘You didn’t say the magic word.’

‘Please hurry the hell up, Yeon-hwa. I’m starving.’

I giggled and replied, ‘All right, let’s dig in!’

We threw ourselves into our meal, almost getting the tips of our noses dirty, and for a while, all we heard was the sound of slurping noodles. The fresh jjajangmyeon was so satisfying that we even forgot to comment, We should order from here again, they’re really good, and every sweet bite of kkanpunggi only highlighted the flavours of both.

I enjoyed moments like this to the fullest. What did I care if I gained weight or if I went over budget for the month? I wanted to keep on marching forward without worries, without sinking into grief or sadness.

When Yi- ryeong finally looked up from her bowl, she asked, ‘What’re you going to do about the Hwawoldang?’

‘I don’t know. I’m going to see Grandma’s lawyer about her assets tomorrow,’ I replied.

‘You don’t want to take over after her?’ Yi-ryeong wondered. ‘You learned a lot about traditional sweets from watching her, right?’

‘Me, run a business? No way; I’m going to study and get a steady government job. I bet Grandma’s holding a well- wishing ritual up there with my parents for my next job interview.’

The Hwawoldang was a traditional sweetshop that had been passed down from my great- great grandmother to her daughter, and then to her daughter after her, each generation changing only the décor and not the recipes. Mum had been next in line, but because she died when I was ten, Grandma had kept it running on her own.

For the next three years or so, I’d spent a lot of time with Grandma at the Hwawoldang after school. But I almost never visited after I’d finished elementary school – meaning that I barely knew a thing about what the shop had become since then. I barely knew my own neighbours ; family businesses felt like something out of another time period.

Grandma didn’t help matters, because she’d always say, Yeon- hwa, I want you to live a good life. What was a good life, anyway? The answer was easy: get a good job and live comfortably. The old customer base was disappearing in droves because the shabby apartment buildings around the Hwawoldang were being demolished one after another, and people never looked twice at traditional sweets anyway. Macarons and madeleines were the go- to treats now, and the poor old Hwawoldang might as well have sold chopped liver.

‘The regulars’ll be sad to see the place go,’ Yiryeong said as she munched on a crunchy pickled radish.

‘What regulars? Grandma was a night owl. She mostly opened up shop at night – I don’t know how she thought that would help keep the business afloat.’

‘But that sounds really cool! Like Midnight Diner.’

‘At least the Midnight Diner got customers,’ I said sullenly.

‘So why did she open so late?’

The Grandma I remembered was always working on one traditional sweet or another late into the night, so she wouldn’t ever wake up before lunchtime, and I would make and eat breakfast alone. We didn’t have much time to sit down for a good talk. She never explained why she opened up shop so late, or why she did any of her work. All I knew was that when the sun went down, Grandma would slather soy sauce onto balls of dango, or dye glutinous rice dough in five different colours.

Her silence made me uncomfortable, and I tried to distance myself from her. I even swallowed my questions because I was afraid she’d think I was a nuisance.

‘So even you don’t know much about her work?’

‘No. Not really,’ I admitted.

‘Then this is your chance to learn about your grandma,’ Yi-ryeong proposed.

I shook my head with a faint smile. Getting to know someone was great, but normally, the people you tried to get to know were alive.

But Yi- ryeong seemed to have read my mind, because she said, ‘You know, they say memories are supposed to appear when there’s empty space for them to fill.’

‘Is that right?’ I replied, and wondered if filling the gaps Grandma had left in my life could help me move forward. I wanted to live without regrets, without a hint of grief about her death – and commemorating her properly was the best way to do that. Cleaning up the Hwawoldang would be the perfect way for me to remember her life and uncover the person she’d been.

I knew what I had to do.

‘All right, you’ve convinced me!’ I exclaimed. ‘Why not? I’ll give this a shot!’

Yi- ryeong beamed, and I knew that I wasn’t alone. I could do this. I just knew I could. With hands

clenched into determined fists, I sensed the warmth of her friendship gently pushing me onward.

Grandma’s lawyer was a man who seemed to be in his fifties and ran a small firm near the Hwawoldang. And although it was a weekday evening, his dark blue suit was as impeccable as though he’d just shown up to the office, and his brows had been trimmed to perfection. The very picture of a reliable professional. He looked over the documents I’d brought before bringing out a bundle of files from his safe.

‘You have my sincerest condolences for your loss, Miss Hong,’ he said, and held out a paper cup brimming with instant coffee, alongside his business card. ‘Now, let me explain to you about the assets Mrs Lim Yun-ok willed to you.’

The coffee was surprisingly good. The water and powder struck a perfect balance that brought me back for another sip, then another. Then I nodded politely and replied, ‘I was hoping to liquidate the shop immediately.’

‘Yes, I understand,’ said the lawyer. ‘Mrs Lim’s debts were considerable.’

I almost spat my coffee back into the cup.

Grandma had debts? Paying off outstanding loans was not the reason I’d wanted to liquidate the assets.

The lawyer went on, ‘Mrs Lim took out loans to cover the operating costs of her business, which has not turned any profits since its opening. From your reaction, I suppose you were never made aware.’

‘H-how much are we talking about here?’

‘One hundred million won.’

‘What?’

‘One hundred million won.’

Grandma, are you serious? One hundred million? That was a decade’s worth of rent in Seoul! I gave a hollow laugh and wondered what had possessed Grandma to go that deep into debt for a business that made no money. Get a hold of yourself, Hong Yeon-hwa! You have to figure out your options now before the interest snowballs!

‘That . . . that’s a lot,’ I managed to say, and asked the key question: ‘Um . . . liquidating the business will cover that, right?’

‘I’m afraid that no estate agent worth their salt will take the Hwawoldang.’

‘Wh-why not?’

‘The inauspicious location,’ the lawyer said flatly.

‘Which happens to be why the area is composed entirely of businesses, and not residences. The whole neighbourhood knows that monks and shamans are regulars there, which means no one will buy for anything more than peanuts.’

Gods, WHY ? I’m just a young woman who’s been thrown into independence for the first time in her life! When the lawyer noticed that the cup had crumpled in my hand, he said, ‘Miss Hong, your grandmother was aware of the unfortunate circumstances she would leave behind.’ He then produced a new document. ‘She wrote you this letter, with instructions that will help you address your concerns.’

Dear Yeon-hwa,

By the time you read this letter, I suppose I won’t be there to help you.

First, I want to apologize to you for leaving without having explained everything you need to know. But not to worry; I’ve left behind everything you need at the Hwawoldang, including a way to pay off the debts I’ve incurred – on three conditions:

1. Personally run the Hwawoldang for at least one month after receiving this letter.

2. Open the shop from ten in the evening to midnight on each business day.

3. Wait in anticipation.

The letter had come straight out of an escape room. The lawyer explained that the ownership of the shop and its rights could be transferred immediately to me, but that the way to repay the debts would be transferred to me by a third party once I’d met her proposed conditions. If I failed, whatever asset it was she had promised would be donated to the needy in accordance with her will.

Wait, wouldn’t that put me instantly into impossible debt? Grandma, what is this? What did I do to deserve all this? What am I, a sworn enemy? I was never patient enough to hold my questions – which was partly why I could never get close to Grandma, who took her sweet time doing anything and everything. And now, she’d left behind a slow problem that would demand every ounce of patience I could muster.

The

First Customer and the Chocolate Jeonbyeong Crackers

Most people were snug in bed, eyes shut and resting for a busy tomorrow.

I was standing outside the Hwawoldang, its pink neon sign a shock of cherry blossoms in the deep of night.

Once a small, single- storey residence, the traditional sweetshop was packed with décor in bright primary colours, the sort of place that might tempt East Asian versions of Hansel and Gretel. The Chinese characters for ‘parting’ and ‘blessing’ were proudly displayed on the wall, below which was an image of a magnificent dragon in flight. The shop interior looked like one massive talisman.

I’d been away for so long that I felt like a stranger. Grandma had never been good at explaining. She’d been the kind of elder you’d want as a friend, but not as family. Ever since I’d been brought into her

care, she seemed to avoid spending too much time with me. I hadn’t wanted to be so quiet around her, but I was afraid she wouldn’t like it if I made any trouble. I’d forced myself to be a good grandchild, and being in the shop Grandma had run reminded me of that uncomfortable life.

‘I’ll liquidate the business as soon as the debt’s settled,’ I resolved, and stepped forward.

A stainless metal bowl sat outside the entrance, filled with leaves from the tree in front of the building and caked with dirt that seemed to have come from all across the world. The bowl probably belonged to some stray. And it was the first thing I would restore to proper use.

‘Meow.’

As I put the clean bowl back in its place, a black cat emerged from an alley in the distance, its bright yellow eyes perfectly clean and its fur shimmering under the sign. It groomed itself, as though nostalgic for someone’s touch.

With deliberate steps, I crossed the squeaking tiles and reached the counter, where I found a booklet.

Hwawoldang Recipe No. 1: Jeonbyeong Crackers

I was fond of baking. At the start of the school year, I’d make a big batch of cookies to impress my new classmates and make friends. Making Asian sweets wouldn’t be too different, but could I match Grandma’s quality ?

Also known as ‘senbei’ crackers, these snacks had been brought into Korea during the Japanese occupation and were now loved across the continent. I was supposed to flatten flour dough, cut them into circles, and fry them until their edges were crispy. A sprinkling of powdered green laver would add a hint of saltiness to the flavour, but I didn’t like the stuff. I could try mixing up the recipe, maybe switch the laver for –

The door chime sang.

‘Ah, you’re finally open.’

I couldn’t believe it. A customer, less than thirty minutes after I turned on the lights? I rushed to put on my apron and stepped forward, trying to explain that I had nothing in stock yet.

‘I’m really sorry, but we’re still prepping for business. If you could drop in later—’

‘So it’s true what she said about you taking over.’

I didn’t recognize the complete stranger who seemed to know me. He had unusually slender limbs,

and when he brushed back his hair, which nearly reached his shoulders, I spotted his fair round brow. His eyes were long and almost snakelike, but not in a bad way.

‘You should’ve dusted the place as soon as you got here. This corner here, it’s like it attracts dirt,’ he said, running a finger across the mother-of-pearl cabinet in the right-hand corner. When he held out the finger and gave an affable smile, I noticed his long eyelashes.

Then I remembered that I was running a business, and not wanting to discomfort someone who had to be one of Grandma’s regulars, I got a wet wipe for the layer of dust on his fingertip. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, ‘but who are you?’

‘The name’s Sa-wol, and I was a supplier for your grandmother,’ he said, and added, ‘I’m the one you have to bribe.’

‘What?’

‘I’m kidding.’

The man whose name meant ‘April’ gave a bark of laughter and held out a box of ingredients and utensils. I wondered why someone my age would willingly work so late in the evening. Now I’m feeling guilty.

‘You can make the payment in bulk at the end of each month,’ Sa-wol said informatively. ‘And no,

I don’t haggle, give discounts, or run buy-one- getone-free deals. Sound good to you?’

‘I never asked.’

‘Means you can’t bargain with me,’ Sa-wol said with another friendly laugh. Who guffawed this late in the evening, anyway? I could practically see down his throat as he laughed at his own joke, and the way he kept pushing back his hair with both hands fully open made him look like a bad theatre actor.

‘All right, I get your point,’ I finally said. ‘I’ll collect all your receipts and make the payment in full at the end of the month.’

‘Did your grandmother tell you how the shop works?’ Sa-wol asked.

‘N-no, she never . . .’

‘So you really don’t know who I am?’

‘A supplier, right?’

Sa- wol leaned in close, his soft hair almost touching my cheeks. I leaned away in surprise.

Shrugging, he went on, ‘You are Hong Yeon-hwa, right?’

‘How do you know my name?’

‘Because of course I do. Now, make sure that you don’t give away any of the ingredients I bring you. They’re special, all right?’

Then the door chime sang again, and this time, a middle-aged woman in a flower-print dress entered. I could tell instantly from the nervous look in her eye and her awkward steps that she had to be a customer.

Sa-wol noticed the customer, too, and whispered, ‘I’m actually a shaman. And I know about the thing your grandmother mentioned in her will. The answer to your “little” problem.’

‘You do?’ I said in disbelief, but instead of replying, Sa-wol grinned obliviously and turned on his heel. He was out the door before I could ask for an explanation, and gave me a waggle of the brows and a wink as he took one last look into the shopfront.

What in the world was that? I wondered, glaring into the back of his head. But I quickly remembered the customer and put a smile on my face.

The woman came up to the counter and asked, ‘Is this the Hwawoldang?’

‘Yes, ma’am. But I’m afraid I don’t have anything ready for sale yet –’

‘But it’s half past ten. I don’t have time.’

‘You could always try tomorrow –’

‘No, it has to be today. Please,’ the woman insisted. ‘I’d like some jeonbyeong crackers.’