The Advertising Genius Falls into the Joseon Dynasty

The 24th floor of Yuil Planning headquarters.

“Impossible.”

The head of Sales broke the heavy silence. Fourteen people sat around the massive conference table — twelve executives from Yuil Planning and three representatives from the client — and the surface before them was buried in documents: a disastrous sales graph and a grim inventory report.

“Three months. You want us to clear out all two hundred thousand sets by then?” Desperation bled through the Sales Director's voice. “Even now, we could pay the breach penalty to our suppliers and push the launch back—”

“No. It's possible.”

Every head in the conference room snapped toward the voice. There sat a woman in her mid-twenties, poised and utterly unshaken.

“Team Leader Im…!”

Im Hayun, Creative Director at Yuil Planning. The youngest-ever grand prize winner of the Korea Advertising Awards, a legend who had climbed to the top of the industry at just twenty-five. Not a single project she touched had ever failed.

Her arrival changed the very air in the room.

“Six weeks will do.”

“…I'm sorry?”

The Sales Director blinked at her in bewilderment. “Come on, Team Leader Im! Even you can't pull that off. Three months is already impossible — what exactly do you plan to do with half of that?”

At her rebuttal, the veteran director's face flushed crimson. Twenty years in sales did not take kindly to being cut down by a rookie.

“Hah.”

But Hayun didn't so much as flinch. Instead, with a relaxed smile, she slid her tablet across the table. A crisp chime sounded, and the presentation bloomed into the air above the conference room like a hologram.

“The reason you've all failed is simple. You were trying to sell a product.”

Hayun rose from her seat and walked slowly toward the floating screen, the click of her heels echoing through the room.

“So, what does a cosmetics company actually sell — if not cosmetics?”

“Desire.”

At the flick of her finger, the presentation turned to the next slide.

“Niacinamide. Hyaluronic acid. Improved elasticity. Do you really think consumers read words like these? No. They won't even care.” She snapped her fingers, and the screen changed again. “What they want to know is how special owning this product makes them.”

“Special, you say…” the Marketing Director murmured, a flicker of interest kindling in his eyes.

“Will I become more beautiful if I use this cream? Wrong question. The real question is: how special am I, now that I own it? That's the core.” Confidence rang in Hayun's voice. “We have to make them want it, want to show it off, unable to stop themselves from posting photos of it. We make the consumers advertise the product for us.”

Nearly twenty pairs of eyes bored into her, but she didn't blink. Her voice turned decisive. “Recall every unit currently in distribution.”

“Wh-what? Recall the stock! We can't even sell enough as it is!” The Sales Director leapt to his feet, face burning red.

“Director. Calm down, and hear me out to the end.”

She had weathered this kind of resistance countless times before. Everyone called her crazy at first — and the results were always a triumph. Hayun continued, calm and unhurried.

“First, lock every unit away in the warehouse. Then, one month from now, put out an announcement: due to supply shortages, the product will be available for exactly six weeks only, as a limited release.”

“That's…”

“At the same time, we run a viral campaign. Give influencers tiny samples — and never, ever attach a purchase link.”

She flicked her finger, and the screen advanced, unfolding her strategy one concrete step at a time.

“Then, one week later, put a timer on the official website.”

“We display the number of units still available — and let people watch it drop in real time.”

“My word…!”

A ripple of murmur swept the conference room. The despair that had clouded their eyes was giving way, before anyone noticed, to something like hope.

“People don't look at what's lying around in abundance. Even a brilliant product gets passed over if it's everywhere. But the moment you tell them they can't have it? That's when they start to burn with wanting.” Hayun's voice brimmed with certainty. “Make them desperate. Instill the fear that if they don't buy now, they never will. That is the most powerful purchase motivator of the modern age.”

“And that will really sell two hundred thousand sets?”

“It'll sell out. No — truthfully, there won't be enough to go around.” Hayun answered without a moment's hesitation. “I'll put my name on that guarantee.”

Her track record was a promissory note in itself. Three years earlier, it was she who had single-handedly lifted an outdoor brand on the verge of bankruptcy to the number-one spot in its industry. She had pulled off a project everyone declared impossible in a mere four months, and that brand was now a giant boasting three hundred billion won in annual revenue. Before that, she had rebranded a dusty, old-fashioned regional soju and driven it to second place in market share. Whatever Im Hayun touched turned to gold — and the legend was still being written.

“Hmm… If Team Leader Im is that confident, then…” The client representative listened to the presentation and nodded slowly. “Very well. Let's put our faith in you. In return, I expect a progress report once a week.”

“Of course.”

The moment approval fell, Hayun rose from her seat, shrugged on her jacket, and walked straight out of the conference room.

Click. Click.

Her heels rang out like a victory fanfare.

“Whew.”

Once she'd swept out with her head held high, Hayun let out a small sigh. A flawless presentation. A flawless close. But beneath it all, a maddening pressure was crushing down on her.

I have to succeed. No matter what. My career has no room for failure.

An endless sprint toward success. That was the life of Im Hayun, the woman they called an advertising genius.

“Hayun, overtime again?”

Sujin, a coworker from her hiring cohort, caught her by the elevator and asked with obvious concern. It was eleven at night. The empty lobby echoed with nothing but the sound of a cleaning lady's mop dragging across the floor.

“Yeah. The launch is next week, so there's no room to breathe. You go on ahead.” Hayun held up her briefcase with a forced, bright smile — but the smile looked pitifully thin.

“Hey, you're going to collapse one of these days. Work is fine and all, but you have to rest when it's time to rest.”

“Once this project's done, I'll rest. Really.”

Another lie. Hayun knew it. There was no such thing as after this project. The moment this one ended, the next would already be waiting. Keeping the title of advertising genius meant proving her success over and over, without end. A single failure would never be tolerated — no, she couldn't afford to tolerate it herself. That was how Hayun had always whipped herself forward.

“Next Friday. You haven't forgotten, have you?”

“Next Friday?” At Sujin's words, one long-forgotten item surfaced from the depths of Hayun's schedule. “Oh, right! The reunion.”

“See? You forgot again. You're not planning to skip it this time too, are you?”

Since graduation, Hayun had never once shown her face at a reunion. She pressed her hands together apologetically. “…Sorry. This time I'll really go.”

“This time for real?”

“Yes, really. I promise.”

Another lie. An important meeting was already booked for next Friday. But she couldn't bear to disappoint Sujin — her only real friend, and the one person who'd been by her side since day one.

Ding!

As if on cue, the elevator arrived, and Hayun slipped into it like a fugitive. “I'll find some time somehow, even if it's just a little. See you then!”

“You'd better come!”

The doors slid shut on Sujin's voice, and only then did Hayun release the long breath she'd been holding.

“Haah… at this rate, I really will collapse…”

Two in the morning. Finished with overtime, Hayun descended to the underground parking garage, sank into the driver's seat, and hung her head in a daze.

I'm so tired… so tired.

When had it started — this feeling that the work no longer brought her joy? When she'd first entered the industry, everything had thrilled her. Coming up with new ideas, then watching them become reality. Every step of the process had been a delight. But now? Nothing. Just the numb struggle of holding herself together.

Click.

Out of habit, she opened the console box on the passenger seat. From it she drew out a peculiar pair of curved jades — two pieces that interlocked together as snugly as one. The only keepsake her father, an antique collector to his dying day, had left behind.

[Hayun, do you know what this is?]

[No. What is it?]

[It's a rare treasure — the only one of its kind in the whole world.]

[But there are two of them, not one.]

[Haha, they only look like two. In truth, they're one. These two fit together and become a single whole.]

Just as her father had said, the two curved jades meshed together with the precision of interlocking gears, and no force on earth could pry them apart. As if they had been one from the very beginning.

Hayun treasured the jades — the only memento her father had left her.

“Dad…”

When the smooth surface of the jade met her fingertips, strangely, her heart grew calm.

“Whew. Let's go home, shower, and think this through…” Only after turning the jade over in her hands for several minutes did she finally start the engine. Another long day was waiting for her tomorrow.

Vroom.

Hayun drove out of the garage. Seoul in the small hours was hushed and still, the streetlamps casting pools of light over empty roads.

“…”

Eyes glazed, she drove on, watching nothing but the asphalt ahead. And then—

Screeech—!

A sudden shriek of tire friction tore at her eardrums. “Wh…?” By the time she registered the sound, it was already too late. A massive truck had surged out of the opposite lane, crossing the center line, bearing down on her. The glare of its headlights swelled closer and closer.

CRASH—!

A devastating impact followed. The airbag erupted; shattered glass scattered in every direction; the cinched seatbelt bit into her with a pain that felt like being torn apart.

What…?

Through her dimming consciousness, Hayun saw a brilliant radiance erupt from the jade. Then the light began to wrap around her.

Am I… dying…?

With the light, everything around her slowed. The shards of broken glass hung suspended in midair. Even the pouring rain froze, motionless, in place. It was a bizarre sight, as if time itself had stopped.

No, I still have a mountain of work to do…

Even now, her mind was consumed by nothing but worry for the job. Then—

Whoosh—!

A moment later, the jade blazed with dazzling light and swallowed Hayun whole. And when the light faded, she had vanished without a trace.

“Hey there! Wake up now! You'll catch your death sleeping in a spot like this!”

A faint voice filtered through her consciousness. Someone was shaking her shoulder, hard. An emergency room? Am I alive? Her mouth was parched, and her skull felt close to splitting. Gritting her teeth against the pain, Hayun forced her eyes open.

“Ugh… huh?”

The moment her vision focused, she could only stare, dumbfounded, at the face above her. A man — his hair tied up in a sangtu topknot — was peering down at her.

“Ah, you've come to? I thought you were dead for certain. Thank goodness, truly.”

Taking in the man's attire, Hayun was hit with a shock far greater than any car accident. Who is this? No — more importantly, why is he dressed like that? He was wearing clothes that belonged in a museum. He even had an A-frame pack strapped to his back.

Her voice came out cracked and ragged. “Where… where am I?”

“Where? Mungyeong Saejae, of course.”

Mungyeong Saejae?

Is he serious?

Hayun naturally assumed the man was joking. She had been in the heart of Seoul just moments ago — physically, it was impossible for her to be at Mungyeong Saejae, the mountain pass a full half-country away. But glancing around, she found a landscape that looked exactly like the real thing.

Her brow furrowed. This is really Mungyeong Saejae?

But she quickly shook her head. No. This isn't the Mungyeong Saejae I know.

Far off in the distance, houses huddled together in a cluster — so this was clearly a place where people actually lived. The problem was that every single one of those houses was a thatched-roof cottage. And nowhere around, not a single utility pole or paved road — no trace of modern civilization could be found.

Where on earth am I?

Sensing that something was deeply wrong, Hayun tried to sit up.

“Ugh…!”

The aftermath of the crash hit her all at once. Every muscle in her body was screaming.

Desperate to call for help, she frantically patted down her pockets. Nothing? It's gone? But there was nothing. No bag, no wallet, no ID, no phone. Even the jade — her father's keepsake — had vanished without a trace.

Calm down. Breathe. Figure out the situation first.

Hayun drew a deep breath, then looked steadily at the man before her.

“Excuse me… sorry to bother you, but could I borrow your phone?”

“A phone? What's a phone, then?”

The man clearly had no idea what she was talking about. Hayun laughed hollowly. “Oh, come on, don't tease me. Please just lend me yours. I lost my phone, you see.”

“How am I to lend you what doesn't exist?”

“You're really saying you don't have one? A phone?”

“Bless me, was I born to be fooled all my life? I'm telling you, there's no such thing.”

Judging from his reaction, he clearly wasn't lying. It threw her for a moment, but then she thought — well, maybe out here in the middle of nowhere, that was possible. Hayun held on to her composure.

For now.

“Then you must have a telephone? Just one call. I'm begging you.”

“A telephone? Now what might that be?”

“You don't know what a telephone is either?”

Anxiety was beginning to creep in. Before she knew it, her voice was trembling. “Then what about 119? Please, just call 119 for me. I'll pay you handsomely.”

“Miss, did you hurt your head, perhaps? All I've heard since you woke is talk I've never once heard in my life.”

“I'm sorry — you've never heard any of it before?”

No phone, no telephone, no 119. And a bizarre landscape utterly devoid of civilization. Don't tell me…

An ominous premonition flashed through her mind.

“Um… what year is it right now?”

“Let's see… it's been thirteen years since the new King took the throne, so it's the year of Jeongmi, I'd say.”

“The King?”

At the word King, Hayun felt her heart plummet. And what on earth was the year of Jeongmi supposed to be? By now, even Hayun was slowly realizing that something had gone very wrong.

“The year of Jeongmi? What year is that, exactly?”

“Goodness, you don't know even that? What a strange young lady you are.”

A modern woman like Hayun could hardly be expected to know the sexagenary cycle. Clutching at straws, she asked, “Then could you at least tell me the name of the reigning king — I mean, the sovereign?”

“Folk like us have no business uttering His Highness's name. Do that, and you'll be dragged off for lèse-majesté.” The man hurriedly lowered his voice, then offered her a roundabout answer instead. “All I know is that our sovereign is the grandson of the late King Sunjo.”

“Sunjo!”

At his answer, the blood drained from Hayun's face. History had never been her strong suit, but she had at least memorized every king of the Joseon dynasty — Taejo, Jeongjo, Sejo, Danjong, Sejong… — so she knew exactly who came after Sunjo.

Heonjong…!

The thirteenth year of Heonjong's reign. By the Western calendar, 1847. Roughly two hundred years in the past.

This is insane! I've fallen into the Joseon Dynasty?

Where Hayun had landed was the very heart of Joseon — the kingdom ruled by King Heonjong.