Seoul National University’s Beloved Landmark: The Story Behind Jaha-yeon

 Seoul National University (SNU) is home to several iconic spots affectionately referred to as “campus landmarks” by students and visitors alike. From the symbolic front gate shaped like the letter “Sha” (샤), to the main administration building’s lawn, the wide open greens of Beodeul-gol and the outdoor amphitheater, to the Acropolis steps in front of the Central Library—each place has become an integral part of campus life. Among them, however, Jaha-yeon (자하연)holds a special place as one of the most picturesque and beloved sites.

📍 What is Jaha-yeon?

Written in Chinese characters as 紫霞淵, Jaha-yeon translates to “a pond where violet-colored evening glow descends.” True to its poetic name, the pond has become a favorite photo spot—not only for Seoul National University students but also for visitors hoping to capture a touch of seasonal beauty on campus.

Nestled near the heart of SNU, Jaha-yeon serves many roles: it’s a popular stop for couples on campus dates, a casual hangout spot for students to share conversations, and a quiet retreat where people sip drinks or enjoy snacks from the nearby café while zoning out in what students affectionately call “yeonmot-meong” (literally, “pond-gazing”).

The inspiration for writing about Jaha-yeon came from a recent scene—a group of students visiting the campus last week, gathering around the pond to take photos and enjoy the moment. What looks like a still body of water at first glance is actually gently flowing, much like the layers of stories and memories that ripple across this campus landmark.

From its serene waters to its poetic name, Jaha-yeon represents more than just a pretty backdrop—it captures a piece of Seoul National University’s soul.

Jaha-yeon: The Romance and Tragedy of Seoul National University’s Beloved Pond

Nestled between the College of Humanities (Buildings 1 and 2), the Cultural Center (Building 73), and the Jaha-yeon cafeteria (Building 109), lies one of Seoul National University’s most iconic and storied locations—Jaha-yeon. Though it may appear to be just a small greenish pond surrounded by concrete and academia, Jaha-yeon is a place where romance, nostalgia, and tragedy converge.

📍 A Pond with a Name That Glows at Dusk

Jaha-yeon (紫霞淵), meaning “a pond where violet twilight descends,” is not fed by crystal-clear water. Its surface often takes on a green hue—likely the result of algae and chlorophyll buildup. Despite its deep appearance, the pond reaches a maximum depth of only about 1.4 meters (approximately 4.6 feet) under normal conditions, and spans roughly 25 meters wide and 40 meters long—a total area of around 1,000 square meters. Though relatively modest in size, the tall buildings surrounding it can make it feel even smaller.

In earlier decades, the pond was not just for gazing. During the 1970s and '80s, it was a common initiation ritual for freshmen to “dive” into the water from a now-removed concrete bridge once known as Ojakkyo. This tradition, often lighthearted and festive, was widely practiced—until tragedy struck.

🕯️ The Spring Festival Tragedy of 1999

In the spring of 1999, during SNU’s annual festival, the ritual turned fatal. After a gathering, members of a student club attempted to throw their president into the pond as part of a playful tradition. However, the student—intoxicated at the time—struggled in the water. Several others jumped in to help him, but all tragically drowned.

Heavy rainfall in the preceding days had raised the water level to over 2 meters, and the students’ impaired state left them unable to escape. The university was plunged into mourning. Festival activities were scaled down, and the student community held memorials for those lost. The incident was reported in The University Newspaper on May 24, 1999, and remains one of the darkest moments in campus memory.

💼 Legal Aftermath: Was the University Liable?

The tragedy led to legal action. The bereaved family of one of the victims filed a lawsuit (Case No. 99가합88767) against the South Korean government, claiming that Seoul National University failed in its duty to manage campus facilities safely. However, the Seoul District Court's 18th Civil Division ultimately ruled against the plaintiffs. Presiding Judge Yoon Seok-jong concluded that while the act of tossing new leaders into the pond had occurred, it was not an officially sanctioned or habitual practice—and that the students had voluntarily jumped in despite knowing the risks. The university was therefore not held liable.

🎨 From Tragedy to Art and Imagination

Since the early 2000s, direct interaction with the pond—such as swimming or diving—has ceased. Instead, Jaha-yeon has transformed into a space of visual culture and gentle nostalgia. Duck boats were once floated for couples. During autumn festivals, surreal sculptures of “monsters” were placed around the pond by Arttoy, a sculpture club from the College of Fine Arts. According to an accompanying plaque, the creatures were said to be born from hundreds of discarded bottles of makgeolli (Korean rice wine)—a humorous twist on campus folklore.

🪞 More Than a Pond

Today, Jaha-yeon is a beloved photo spot—especially during cherry blossom season. It is a retreat for quiet contemplation, a backdrop for romantic strolls, and a part of campus life that holds both joy and pain. As students sip coffee from the nearby café and watch the ripples on the surface, they become part of a living history—one that flows, much like the pond itself, in calm but meaningful waves.

The Seoul National University campus in spring, bursting with forsythias, azaleas, and other blossoms all at once. (Taken with a iPhone 16)

🦆 The Ducks Who Became SNU’s Mascots: The Story of "Ppyuk and Ppyak"

There was a time when a pair of ducks quietly made their home around Jaha-yeon, the serene pond at the heart of Seoul National University’s campus. These ducks weren’t just passersby—they became beloved mascots, leaving behind memories that many students still carry fondly.

🐣 The First Generation: A Short-Lived Experiment

In 2016, the university’s campus management team introduced a pair of ducks to Jaha-yeon. The goal was to observe the ecological dynamics of the pond and study the aquatic environment. The ducks quickly gained attention, and passing students often fed them snacks. But over time, this human affection eroded their wild instincts.

Sadly, both ducks met tragic ends—not from nature, but from unfortunate circumstances. One died of unknown causes. The other fell victim to a cat attack—perhaps unsurprising, given the number of stray cats roaming the nearby Gwanak Mountain.

🧡 The Second Generation: Ppyuk & Ppyak

A photo of Ppyuk and Ppyak from the winter of 2018. Ppyuk is on the left with the darker beak, and Ppyak is on the right with the lighter one. (© bird.snu.ac.kr)

In 2018, two new ducks were brought in to replace the original pair. Students quickly gave them nicknames—"Ppyuk and Ppyak", affectionately referred to as “Ppyuk-Ppyak” as a duo. Their presence brought renewed life to Jaha-yeon. Whether gliding gently across the water or waddling near the pond's edge, the ducks made the campus feel more alive, more connected to nature.

This was more than just a symbolic gesture—it was also a kind of experiment. While fish introduced to the pond had adapted and thrived, the question remained: could ducks do the same?

There was an amusing twist to the story, too. The university had originally intended to bring in a male and female duck, but due to a mix-up in the order, they ended up with two male ducks. Their unexpected “bromance” became a lighthearted and endearing topic of conversation across campus.

🕯️ Farewell to the Pond’s Gentle Souls

Unfortunately, the story of Ppyuk and Ppyak, like their predecessors, was also tinged with sadness. In the early morning hours, "Ppyuk"—who had been receiving treatment for degenerative arthritis—was found lifeless by the pond.

"Ppyak", now alone, faced several health challenges of his own. In 2020, he suffered a serious leg injury, and despite efforts to care for him, he too was found dead in the winter of 2022. Though the cause was ruled as natural, the loss marked the end of an era at Jaha-yeon.

After much reflection, Seoul National University made the decision not to introduce any more ducks to the pond. Experts pointed out that ducks are social, flocking animals, and the pond’s surroundings—lined with wooden decks and asphalt paths—did not provide a suitable habitat for long-term duck habitation.

💭 More Than Just Ducks

Though they’re no longer there, the image of Ppyuk and Ppyak lingers in the hearts of many. They were more than animals in a pond—they were companions to stressed students, symbols of campus warmth, and reminders that even in academic life, small creatures can leave a big imprint.

Today, as the still waters of Jaha-yeon reflect the changing seasons, one can’t help but wonder if the gentle ripple of the surface still holds traces of Ppyuk and Ppyak’s quiet journey.

Jaha-yeon, in the days when Ppyak still roamed freely.

🌸 Spring 2025 at Jaha-yeon: Where Blossoms Meet Memory

In the spring of 2025, the cherry trees around Jaha-yeon at Seoul National University once again burst into full bloom.  

Delicate petals fluttered through the air, settling softly on the still waters behind the pond, as if nature itself was pausing for reflection.

Though Jaha-yeon has long been intertwined with stories of sorrow and loss—from quiet farewells to tragic memories—it remains one of the most beloved photo spots on campus. Nestled below the slopes of Gwanak Mountain, it offers something unique: not the overt symbolism of the main gate or the grandeur of the library’s Acropolis steps, but something quieter, gentler, more personal.

Jaha-yeon transforms with the seasons.  

In spring, it dazzles with blossoms.  

In snow, it hushes into solitude.  

And in summer’s dusk, it hums with life.

This year, as always, the cherry blossoms did not forget to arrive.  

Petals drifted like snow over the water, and once again, students and visitors paused from their busy walks across campus. Phones in hand, they turned toward the pond—capturing fleeting moments of beauty framed by nature’s quiet stage.

In Jaha-yeon, time doesn’t stop, but it certainly slows.  

And perhaps that’s why this place endures—not just as a landmark, but as a gentle pause in the rhythm of university life.

Jaha-yeon in full cherry blossom bloom. (Taken with a iPhone 16)

Jaha-yeon in full cherry blossom bloom. (Taken with a iPhone 16)

Jaha-yeon in full cherry blossom bloom. (Taken with a iPhone 16)

Jaha-yeon in full cherry blossom bloom. (Taken with a iPhone 16)

Jaha-yeon in full cherry blossom bloom. (Taken with a iPhone 16)