Gyeongju doesn't announce itself. The tombs are just there in the middle of the city, grass-covered and enormous, like the earth decided to remember something on its own. She came from Jeonju still carrying the fermented smell of that trip — the onggi pots, the slow food, the sense that preservation is its own kind of argument — and Gyeongju will push that further: what stays, what gets buried, what gets called sacred only after it stops being used.