114: Chapter 113 12321

Early morning.

The morning sun filtered through the paper window frames of the Hanok, gently spilling into the room. Kim Taeyeon woke up feeling refreshed; after a night of sound sleep, her complexion looked great. She tidied herself up and headed to the side hall, which served as a temporary dining room, to prepare for breakfast.

Then, she saw Lee Tima sitting at the dining table, taking small sips of milk.

The little one clearly hadn't slept well. Obvious, faint blue shadows hung under her eyes, contrasting with her fair skin, and her little head nodded occasionally as if she were still struggling with drowsiness. However! Her spirit was unusually high, her small face glowing with a strange radiance—a mix of fatigue, pride, and an eagerness to show off her results. There was even a bit of milk stain on the corner of her mouth that she hadn't bothered to wipe away.

Kim Taeyeon sat down across from her, looked at her dark circles, and asked with concern, "Tima, did you not sleep well last night? Is it because you're not used to the bed? Or were you too excited?"

Hearing this, Lee Tima jerked her head up, her large eyes, which were hazy with sleepiness, instantly bursting with an amazing light. She put down her milk glass, messily wiped the corner of her mouth with her sleeve, then straightened her small body. Her face broke into a smile that could only be described as "radiant," filled with immense satisfaction and a desire to show off.

She didn't directly answer Kim Taeyeon's question about her sleep. Instead, using the deliberately lowered, excited tone of someone announcing major news, she said word for word:

"Hehe~ Unnie!"

She paused intentionally to build suspense before announcing at her maximum volume (though still with the raspiness of someone who just woke up):

"My—Blockbuster—MV—"

"Is already finished!"

"Pfft—!" Father Kim, who was drinking soybean paste soup, almost choked.

The spoon in Mother Kim's hand dropped into the bowl with a "clatter."

The Manager, who had just walked in, froze at the door with a look of despair that said, "What was bound to come has finally arrived."

Kim Taeyeon was also stunned. Blockbuster? MV? Finished? In just one night? Using that small tablet?

She looked at Lee Tima's smug little appearance—despite the lack of sleep—as if she had just completed an epic production on the level of Interstellar. Curiosity instantly outweighed her surprise and worry.

"Really?" Kim Taeyeon put down her chopsticks and leaned forward slightly. "You... edited it? And even added music?"

"Of course!" Lee Tima nodded vigorously and pulled out the old tablet from behind her (where she had hidden it at some point). Holding it like a rare treasure, she carefully placed it on the table with the screen facing everyone.

"It's not just editing! It's a complete artistic short film with original ambient music, an independent narrative logic, and high aesthetic taste!" She rattled off a long list of self-invented titles in one breath. "I've named it—'Traces of Wind: Jeonju Reminiscence' Director's Cut Ultimate Edition!"

The name actually sounded quite professional.

Kim Taeyeon looked at her parents' curious yet slightly worried eyes, then at the Manager's "save me" expression, and finally let her gaze fall back on Lee Tima's face, which was full of anticipation and "hurry up and praise me."

She took a deep breath and made a decision.

"Alright," Kim Taeyeon said, her tone gentle but carrying a hint of imperceptible tension. "Then... play it for us?"

"Yay!" Lee Tima cheered, immediately unlocking the tablet with practiced ease. She opened a file, turned the volume to the maximum, and turned the tablet screen toward the center of the dining table.

Everyone's gaze focused on that tiny screen.

In the morning sunlight, the premiere of a "blockbuster" written, directed, edited, and scored by the eight-year-old "Editing Master" Lee Tima was about to begin in this traditional Hanok dining room in an extremely informal yet strangely solemn manner.

And what Kim Taeyeon was about to see—would it be a shocking "artistic disaster" or a breathtaking "work of genius"?

Only Lee Tima, who had pressed the play button with a wicked (?) smile—a mix of fatigue, pride, and a prank-like anticipation—knew the answer.

From the tablet's speakers flowed the original ambient music Lee Tima had meticulously crafted last night.

It began with a very faint wind sampling, like echoes of distant memories. After electronic processing, it carried an ethereal resonance and a faint pulse, mimicking the rhythm of a heartbeat or time. Immediately after, a clear and slightly mournful single-note piano melody cut in, the notes striking the softest parts of the heart with simple precision. Environmental sounds—the rustle of falling leaves, blurred laughter of children, the faint tolling of a bell in the distance—were cleverly woven into the musical base, forming a three-dimensional, immersive sound field.

The visuals cut in.

No opening credits, no character introductions. The first shot was an extremely close-up, slightly shaky macro shot of ginkgo bark texture. The rough grooves under the morning light looked like cracks in the earth, full of the texture of life's vicissitudes. The sound of the wind in the music was amplified here, as if the wind were passing through these "cracks."

Then, the screen switched without transition at a dizzying speed:

A beetle slowly crawling across moss (macro, its shell reflecting a faint glow).

The moment Kim Taeyeon's toe lightly tapped the stone pavement (slow motion, dust rising slightly).

The blurred figures of children playing hopscotch in the distance (high-speed frame removal, the movement fragmented and dynamic).

In the rain of osmanthus flowers, a profile of Kim Taeyeon closing her eyes against the light (that low-angle shot Lee Tima was most proud of, with extremely strong light and shadow contrast).

In an old record store, a close-up of the tactile sensation of fingers sliding over the edge of a vinyl record (the lens moving almost against the skin's texture).

A corner of a faded poster on the wall, the blurred smile of a singer.

Kim Taeyeon's slightly trembling eyelashes and the tiny bits of sunlight on their tips as she spoke (extreme close-up).

These images were not arranged in chronological order, nor did they revolve around a single event. They jumped, flashed, overlapped, faded in and out... the rhythm was sometimes as urgent as a heartbeat, sometimes as slow as a gaze. Lee Tima used every editing technique she could think of: jump cuts, dissolves, frame removal, speed changes, negative film effects, local color highlighting... the methods might have been naive, but the undisguised emotional expression and strong visual impact surged from the screen.

She didn't seem to be telling a linear "story," but rather using images to construct an emotion, an atmosphere, a composite feeling about "time," "memory," "hometown," and "searching." Every shot was like a puzzle piece; seen alone, they might be nonsensical, but when combined in this way full of personal subjective color, they strangely formed a complete, captivating "stream of consciousness" narrative.

The lethal power of pure music's yearning and melancholy was fully displayed at this moment.

There was not a single line of dialogue, no clear plot. But combined with that ethereal, mournful, and pulsing music, those details in the images—the rough bark, the jumping children, the backlit silhouette, the trembling eyelashes, the faded poster—were all endowed with intense emotional color. It was a faint melancholy for passing time, a gentle gaze at familiar things, and a complex mood of confusion and determination intertwined in the process of "searching."

Kim Taeyeon watched the screen, initially with surprise, then with focus, and then an indescribable shock and resonance slowly gripped her heart.

She saw herself, yet it wasn't the "Idol Kim Taeyeon" she usually saw in the mirror or in MVs. She saw a more authentic, more fragile self, stripped of her halo and immersed in the flow of personal memories and emotions. Those feelings she had casually shared during the day, those subtle emotions she herself might not have clearly captured, were actually caught and amplified by this eight-year-old child using such abstract yet precise visual language, and presented before her eyes.

When the film reached the two-thirds mark and the music reached an emotional climax, the screen suddenly froze on a photo Lee Tima had secretly taken: it was yesterday evening, after Kim Taeyeon had finished filming, standing alone in the Hanok courtyard with her back to the camera, looking up at the last trace of sunset on the horizon. Her figure looked a bit lonely in the twilight, yet exceptionally peaceful and firm.

This shot stayed for a full five seconds, with only the music flowing.

Then, the screen gradually darkened, and the music returned to the calm wind sampling, finally disappearing into a very light electronic tail note that sounded like a sigh.

The short film ended.

The screen went black.

The restaurant was silent, with only the morning sunlight slowly flowing through the air.

Father Kim and Mother Kim looked at each other. They might not have fully understood the jumping images and abstract expressions, but the deep emotion regarding their daughter/artist Kim Taeyeon conveyed through the music and imagery touched them deeply, even making their eyes a bit moist.

The Manager was completely stunned, his mouth slightly agape. He never expected that Lee Tima's seemingly nonsensical filming could be edited into something... with such strong artistic appeal! This level was already far beyond the scope of "playing around with kids"!

Kim Taeyeon didn't speak for a long time. She stared blankly at the now-black screen of the tablet, as if still immersed in the world of imagery from those few minutes. Somewhere deep in her heart was lightly touched, with ripples slowly spreading. It was the shock of being understood and artistically expressed, and also a hint of awe for the amazing perception and creativity contained within Lee Tima's small body.

Just then, Lee Tima moved.

Methodically, from her small backpack that seemed to connect to another dimension, she pulled out something else—a pair of children's sunglasses with an extremely exaggerated design and lenses shaped like shining five-pointed stars.

Before everyone had fully recovered from the film's afterglow, Lee Tima had already "swish"-ed the star sunglasses onto her face, covering her large eyes that were slightly tired from staying up late but were now flashing with endless smug light.

Then, she slightly tilted her small face wearing the sunglasses, mimicking the posture of those world-class masters in movies. She lazily propped up her chin with one hand and waved the other casually, saying to the still-shocked crowd in a deliberately lowered tone that imitated a weathered boss—but sounded incredibly hilarious due to her childish voice—with an air of nonchalance:

"Don't worship me."

She paused to ensure everyone heard, then slowly spat out the second half of the sentence:

"I am just... a legend!"

After saying that, she also pretentiously pushed the blinding star sunglasses on the bridge of her nose (though she probably couldn't move them at all).

"Pfft—!"

"Hahahaha!"

After a brief dead silence, Father Kim was the first who couldn't help but burst out laughing, and Mother Kim also covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking with laughter. The Manager even doubled over laughing; the bit of shock from earlier was completely dispelled by this chuunibyou-drenched entrance and dialogue.

Even Kim Taeyeon, who was still immersed in complex emotions, was made to break character by Lee Tima's sudden, extreme contrast of "acting cool." She let out a "pfft" and started laughing, with tears almost coming out from the laughter.

This child! One moment she used an artistic short film to stun everyone into silence, and the next she could put on cartoon sunglasses and call herself a "legend"! This ability to seamlessly switch between "genius artist" and "late-stage chuunibyou child" mode was truly peerless!

Seeing everyone laughing hysterically, Lee Tima's little mouth hidden behind the star sunglasses curled in dissatisfaction: "What are you laughing at! I'm telling the truth! Isn't my work amazing?"

"It's amazing! It really is amazing, Tima." Kim Taeyeon stopped laughing and wiped away the tears from the corners of her eyes, her tone filled with unprecedented sincerity and tenderness. She reached out and gently rubbed Lee Tima's little head wearing the sunglasses. "Unnie is really... surprised, and very moved. Thank you for filming... things that even I hadn't fully seen clearly."

Hearing such a solemn affirmation from Kim Taeyeon, Lee Tima immediately threw her "legend" persona to the back of her mind. Her sunglasses also tilted to one side, revealing her bright eyes that were written with "praise me more": "Really? Unnie really likes it? Then... the copyright fee..."

Kim Taeyeon: "..." (This child really never forgets her trade for a moment.)

She pinched Lee Tima's cheek helplessly yet amusedly: "I like it! As for the copyright... we'll discuss it properly after the show airs, okay?"

"Yay! Deal!" Lee Tima immediately beamed with joy, the sleepiness of waking up early and the fatigue of staying up late seemingly vanishing into thin air.

Breakfast continued in a wonderful atmosphere—a mix of artistic shock, warm touching moments, and the afterglow of laughter. And although Lee Tima's "Director's Cut" of "Traces of Wind: Jeonju Reminiscence" might not be aired as a main episode, it undoubtedly became the most unique and unforgettable "side story" of this Jeonju trip for "music steps," and it completely established Lee Tima's status in Kim Taeyeon's team as the "miraculous child who cannot be judged by common logic."

As for those star sunglasses, they were later solemnly clipped onto her backpack by Lee Tima, becoming a symbol of her "legend" status (self-proclaimed). And the phrase "Don't worship me, I am just a legend" also became a new meme inside TG Entertainment; whenever Lee Tima caused some big commotion, everyone would laugh and imitate her tone to say it.