91 Her Answer

"Her answer?" Jeong-ah questions.

"Yeah"

"Well, she said she's not good at doing two things at the same time. So for her, love is passion, it is in the center of her heart. For now, that's been her career and she feels that love comes when you wait for it; You don't chase love."

"Okay, then I think I have an answer." I confirm to myself after hearing the answer, "I'm ready, do I give my answers now?"

"While I am interested in seeing what you've come up with. It's not time yet. We've set the stage for everything, Dylan. The address is at the back of the card."

Turning the card around, I see a mini-map and the name of the place I have to go to.

Afterwards, I am then led to a Red BMW Convertible. it's quite gaudy, but it's sponsored so it needs some screen time, I presume.

Settling into the driver's seat, I notice the camera on the dashboard and all I can think of is:'Don't mess up now, got to keep the cool guy persona alive (for the viewers).'

Before I start the convertible, I enter the address in the satnav and a welcoming, female voice starts giving me instructions.

After about five or so minutes, I arrive at the destination. A quaint beach house that reminds you of something straight out of a story book. The beach house is situated on the golden sands, facing the turquoise waters of the sea. And It feels like I've entered into a private destination, a million miles away from the hustle and bustle of the Island.

After my arrival, I am greeted at the gate and whisked inside a villa, the interior designed to evoke the dualism of "yin and yang" as the colors contrasted each other. The room is furnished and polished with glistening, light-colored hardwood flooring— and a ceiling contrasting it perfectly with earthy tones of wood. The wide paneled glass windows allowed for the stream of natural light to shine through and embrace the living room in incandescent light.

I watch in appreciation before I am handed a walkie-talkie as I hear a female voice— sounding like a piano during opera chorus—played near a shore. Or more vividly, it was like the black and white keys of a piano playing beside me; smooth and full of playful texture: the fry of her lower notes and the resonance coming from the highs, weaving together a chorus as she sat beside the shores, calling forth the waves.

"The three riddles of Turandot: I'm surprised to know that you recognize it." She says to me, and I can see the smile on her face.

"Well, I hope I can satisfy you with my answers. I don't want to divorce young." I playfully tease back.

She clears her throat and begins with the first riddle: "What is born each night and dies at dawn?"

I answer back, "The answer to this riddle seems pretty obvious, 'what appears at night but disappears during the day' is the moon. But, I don't think this is the answer my Turandot seeks."

"Oh? Then, what is your final answer?"

"Hope. Perhaps, hope... is born at night. A hope that the tomorrow will be different than the today we know of. However, that hope dies when the bright light illuminates the reality we are offered every morning."

She hums, " Interesting. For the second riddle: 'What flickers red and is warm like a flame, yet is not fire?'"

"Blood... It is red and warm like a flame."

"No interesting anecdote about this? Is that's all?"

"Yeah, pretty much." I shrug with a nod.

"Moving on then—... 'What is like ice, yet burns?'"

A sly smile forms on my face, "This is a trick question; in the story, the prince, whose name is Calaf answers: 'Turandot'. She is a cruel ruler who rejects love. At the same time, she burns, because she is a woman filled with enmity and ire, but she has warm blood flowing through her veins. The problem with this riddle is that many answers are possible. Besides 'Turandot', many others could satisfy the definition. However, the key is to give the answer that Turandot wants and that is written on her ministers' scrolls."

I bite my lip to contain the humor inside of me, "Thus, my answer to this question is what I think 'you' are looking for is... Frostbite."

"Why do you think the answer I'm looking for is 'frostbite'?"

"No rather, you wish to end the frostbite. For you, love is a passion. And you can feel that when you act or do something you enjoy. But you haven't felt it for another, maybe for quite a while. Like frostbite all those nerve endings are. It has resorted to total numbness and lack of pain… for you."

A pregnant silence fills the room, and the cameramen and staff who are present are as quiet as can be. Some draw sharp breaths and some hold theirs. They feel as if they are watching the climax of a drama, with bated breath they shift their eyes to see who makes the next move in this intricate chess game.

Her voice fills the vacant silence from the walkie-talkie, "You have passed, you can come up now Dylan-ssi."

I put the communicator down, and proceed to follow the stairs to the balcony.

With each step I take, nervousness fills each and every nerve of my body. hundred questions clog my brain, each and every second time I take a single step.

It was like the moment before a really, really important test determining your college admission

'What does she look like?'

'Will she like me?'

'Am I dressed okay?'

'How should I greet her?'

As I step onto the sand-filled terrace, a picture-perfect replica of the beach enters my sight. I see her back sitting on a wooden chair as she faces the sea.

The only thread of thought in my head was the beauty of her silhouette, motionless in the sun's glare.