V1S1C1

Southwest of Muryeong County rose Mount Hochi, a peak that fully earned its reputation as a mountain teeming with tigers.

The alpha of the streak had grown to the size of a house, and the rest of the pack had swelled alongside him until they ran so rampant that no traveler dared cross the mountain even in broad daylight. The beasts devoured humans and wild animals alike, leaving the slopes littered with picked-clean bones and rank with the musk of their passing.

The villagers at the mountain’s base lived in constant terror, offering up livestock from all around to appease the beasts. But such sacrifices were mere drops of water on a raging fire. Fleeing was no solution either—who willingly walks into the unknown? A few hotheaded young men, bristling with indignation, had attempted to cross the mountain, only to feed the tigers themselves.

Who could possibly resolve the calamity that had befallen this small village? Even the tax collectors and soldiers, armed with spears and barking threats about overdue tribute, had been torn to shreds. After that, everyone simply turned a blind eye, feigning ignorance whether they knew the truth or not.

Baekwang, the Hundred King and alpha of Mount Hochi’s tigers, sat atop the peak and chuckled. It had been a long time since his belly felt this full. Thanks to the swarm of hunters and hounds that had stormed the mountain to capture him, every tiger—young and old alike—had gorged itself. Just as he let out a thunderous, boastful roar and turned toward his den, a rustling of footsteps caught his ear.

Cautious.

Stealthy.

A scrawny man wearing a bamboo hat and bearing a massive pack on his back was crawling up the mountain, leaning heavily on a waist-high wooden staff.

Foolish. Utterly foolish. Does the wretch not know where he stands? Did he not hear the roar that shook the mountain moments ago?

Baekwang found the man’s audacity offensive. Waving off the young tigers that slinked forward, he decided to confront the intruder himself, curious to see the face of such a fool. Perched silently atop a massive boulder, he watched. Instead of scurrying past in terror, the pathetic creature used the tip of his staff to gently part the tall grass.

Has he lost his mind?

Having found what he sought, the man dropped flat on his stomach, pulled a small hoe from his pack, and began digging through the dirt with frantic dedication, his nimble fingertips breaking apart the hard soil. Observing closely, Baekwang realized it wasn’t wild ginseng but bonnet bellflower root. While mountain-grown bellflower was said to rival ginseng, how could it truly compare? Watching the human frantically unearth those lumpy roots stirred a sudden, perverse spite in the beast.

“How dare a human trespass here!”

The thunderous shout from the boulder startled the digger, yet he made no move to flee—a profound wound to the tiger’s pride. Leaping from the rock, Baekwang lunged as if to devour him whole, which finally spurred the man into motion.

Insolent wretch.

Surprisingly agile, the human proved difficult to catch. Whenever Baekwang snapped his jaws, his teeth clamped down on either the iron hoe or the wooden staff, leaving him aching. Something sharp pierced the roof of his mouth. Whether it was the hoe or the staff, the inside of his maw burned and throbbed.

“Lord Tiger! Lord Tiger! Please, halt for just a moment!”

Baekwang hesitated. Though the man was practically skin and bones—looking as if he hadn’t even been fed thin gruel—his eyes blazed with an intense, piercing light. Meeting that pitch-black gaze, the tiger found himself inexplicably reluctant to open his jaws. As he circled the man with a low growl, the traveler pivoted to track his movements and asked why the tiger sought to harm him.

“Do you truly not know?”

“You trespassed into my territory. That is why.”

The man shook his head. “I am but a passing traveler. I shall be gone in an instant, so I beg of you to show mercy.”

“Why should I do such a thing?”

It was laughable to barter with a man who wouldn’t amount to a single bite. Baekwang slammed his massive paw into the ground; several young trees snapped and crashed. The falling timber should have terrified the human, yet he stood perfectly composed and asked another question.

“Perhaps you are hungry?”

“What concern is that of yours?”

“If you are truly famished and must eat me, I will say no more. But as you can see, I am so thoroughly starved that there is nothing left of me to consume. I am a tough, bony wretch who will only lodge unpleasantly between your Lordship’s teeth.”

Lodge between my teeth.

“Just as raspberry seeds get stuck between molars, sir.”

The thought of this scrawny human wedged stubbornly between his fangs, refusing to dislodge, left Baekwang distinctly unsettled.

“That might not be the case.”

Baekwang thrust his massive head forward. The man jumped back, waving his hands frantically.

“Good heavens, Lord Tiger! I have a reason for saying this.”

“Very well. What is this reason?”

“Do I not look severely emaciated with a sickly, dark complexion, yet possess a round, swollen belly? Though I eat and eat, I remain starved and my flesh wastes away. There is undoubtedly something malignant festering inside my stomach. If your Lordship swallows me whole, will you not suffer the exact same fate?”

Like a raspberry seed wedged in a tooth.

Was the human asking if he wished to be cursed with an unquenchable, clinging hunger? Baekwang had no rebuttal. Now that he looked closer, there was no natural reason for the scrawny man’s belly to be so distended. The tiger inhaled deeply and exhaled a violent gust; the sheer force of it sent the traveler tumbling across the ground.

“Then I simply won’t eat you. Since you entered my domain, I cannot let you live.”

He resolved to bat the human around like a toy before discarding him, but the man waved his hands once more.

“Sigh. Please, do not even suggest such a thing. I am a renowned ginseng gatherer. Do you not think my current wandering is related to this very affliction?”

“What are you blathering about?”

“I have scoured the land for every known remedy, yet I remain unhealed, my belly only growing larger. The disease has undoubtedly permeated my entire body. If your Lordship so much as brushes against me, the affliction will spread to you like poison ivy, leaving the soles of your paws itching as if swarmed by biting insects.”

Or worse, it would leave him with the sickening sensation of ticks burrowing into the back of his neck. Framed that way, even touching the human felt terribly repulsive.

Am I being deceived? Baekwang narrowed his eyes, but a glance at the man’s earnest face dispelled the suspicion. What should I do?

For the sake of his dignity, he couldn’t simply let the trespasser walk away. While he pondered his next move, the traveler struck preemptively.

“I intend to cross this mountain and three more beyond it. I am journeying to bury this solitary body in a dry, desolate place devoid of human presence. Even if you spare me, I will perish soon anyway. Why dirty your noble paws? During my travels across mountains and rivers, I have gathered many tales. I believe they would serve perfectly to alleviate your boredom for three or four hours. Would that not be an adequate toll for my passage?”

Baekwang stared at him through half-lidded eyes, wondering what this wretch was scheming. After three or four hours of entertainment, he would surely be hungry again. If the human proved to be lying, he could simply swallow him whole at the first sign of deception. Having reached this conclusion, the tiger’s mind felt light. Dropping his house-sized body to the ground, he demanded the man begin at once.

“If the price of your life displeases me, I will kill you on the spot.”

I don’t even need to touch him. I can simply blow a gust of wind and send him tumbling down the rocky slope until he is broken.

Despite the threat, the man showed not a sliver of fear. Offering a broad grin, he declared, “You will understand once you hear it,” and launched into his tale.

◇ ◇ ◇

Long, long ago, in a tiny rural village, lived a remarkably filial son. His name was Kim Kang-soe. People often questioned if his surname was truly Kim, but what did such technicalities matter?

He had three older brothers, one older sister, and two younger siblings—and every last one of them was utterly worthless.

Of the brothers, the eldest was a degenerate gambler, the second a hopeless womanizer, and the third so spectacularly lazy he never emerged from his room. The sister directly above him had married into a neighboring village, yet despite becoming an outsider to the family, she visited her maiden home constantly, her eyes burning with greed to steal even a single spoonful of barley back to her own house. Of the two younger siblings, one loved arguing about the world’s injustices and picking fights despite performing abysmally in his studies—a combination that earned him daily thrashings—while the youngest was a miserly schemer who spent her days calculating how to siphon off the family wealth, much like her older sister.

How did such an illustrious filial son emerge from this household? Had there ever been such a virtuous person in their bloodline?

Not a chance.

Kang-soe did not share their blood.

When Scholar Kim had ventured into the deep mountain valleys to gather wild herbs to scrape by, he had discovered an abandoned infant. Though Scholar Kim possessed zero talent for earning a living, he was not a wicked man. He brought the child home and raised him. That boy grew to show more devotion than his adoptive father’s own flesh and blood, proving worthier than ten biological children combined.

Despite his short, stocky stature, Kang-soe did the work of three grown men.

The fields he tended grew lush, and the grain he harvested was so plump and pristine it sold out instantly at the market. Since farming barely kept the large family fed, he took to roaming the mountains as a side hustle. Though formally uneducated, he hauled down massive bounties of wild herbs. As he grew older, he shadowed professional ginseng gatherers, absorbed their wisdom, and soon outshone seasoned veterans, discovering untouched ginseng fields and amassing a fortune.

When the family upgraded from a leaky, rain-soaked thatched hut to a grand, whale-backed tile-roofed mansion, his brothers and sister instantly dropped whatever farming tools they held and plunged headfirst into gambling and debauchery.

Regardless of their squalor, Kang-soe worked tirelessly—venturing into the fields before dawn, returning at dusk to weave straw ropes or baskets. Even as he stuffed the mansion’s storehouses with fine fabrics and rice, it all slipped through his siblings’ fingers like sand. What use was flowing silk to him? He wore frayed clothes on the verge of turning to rags, laboring without rest, day and night.

How many years passed like this?

Realizing that whatever wealth accumulated was instantly drained by their useless offspring, the aging parents divided a portion of the estate among the two eldest sons and married them off to distant villages, providing enough houses, land, calves, and donkeys for them to live comfortably—provided they reformed their ways. The following year, they married off the eldest sister.

Kang-soe waited with bated breath, wondering if his turn had finally come, but the old couple showed no intention of finding him a match. Taking matters into his own hands, he began asking around the village.

One evening, the elderly couple summoned him.

They scolded him harshly, accusing him of neglecting his work and losing his mind to frivolous thoughts. From the moment the night ripened to pitch black until pale stars spilled across the sky, they beat him and raged. Only when the exhausted old parents slumped in exasperated agony did Kang-soe repent, vowing never to marry until they explicitly ordered him to. Relieved, the couple finally sent him back to his room.

Kang-soe resumed his relentless toil, turning days into nights and nights into days. As his livestock multiplied—a calf here, a fully-grown ox there, another donkey—he found joy in the labor. He worked fiercely, even when sweat dripped from his brow like heavy rain, until the nails on all ten fingers and ten toes split and cracked.

By the time he had amassed double the fortune given to his older siblings, Scholar Kim fell severely ill. No one, not even the physicians, could diagnose the ailment; he merely groaned in perpetual agony. There seemed to be no visible injuries, yet no matter what rare medicines they procured, his condition refused to improve.

Amidst this profound despair, the elderly mother summoned Kang-soe late one night. Releasing a sigh heavy enough to collapse the heated floor, she spoke, ”There is a cure for your father’s illness, but my heart aches to the point of breaking because we cannot pursue it.”

“What is this cure?”

He couldn’t fathom what method could cause her to beat her chest in such frustration. It was a matter of life and death. When he pressed her to speak, she reluctantly confessed.

“While cooking rice this morning, I heard a knock. I went out to find a monk in a bamboo hat standing at the gate. With our family suffering such misfortune, I couldn’t ignore him. I brought out a gourd of rice from the chest and offered a prayer, but he merely clicked his tongue. Thinking the offering too meager, I reached for my coin pouch, but he stopped me. ‘Is there an illness in this house?’ he asked. None of us had spoken a word of it! When I asked how he knew, he perfectly deduced your father’s bedridden state. Astounded, I begged him for a cure. He hesitated, saying the method was extraordinarily difficult. I pleaded as if my life depended on it, and he finally explained: While your father was napping at midday, a monster—the Five-Foot Tail, Five-Foot Beak—passed over him. Your father inhaled the mystical dust falling from its wings, causing this affliction. The only cure is to slice off the bulging, tumor-like protrusion on the monster’s right heel and boil it into a broth.”

It was the only way. But who would undertake this quest?

The eldest brother? Impossible; sending a man who had barely settled down back into the wild would ruin him. The second? Absolutely not; sending him away just as he was opening his heart to his wife would only result in him taking concubines. The third was practically immobile, covered in massive boils from lying in his room all day. And the sister was out of the question—she belonged to another family now. Giving her an excuse to visit would only result in her dramatically hauling away more sacks of rice.

The mother had preemptively eliminated every option before Kang-soe could even speak. With the older siblings disqualified and the younger ones too naive to tell heaven from earth, he was the only one left.

What else could he say?

How could a devoted son refuse?

Kang-soe, far superior to his foolish brothers, immediately volunteered to fetch the medicine. He instructed his mother that he would depart at dawn, given the severity of the illness, and reeled off a precise list of requirements.

“I must prepare, and time is of the essence. I will pack my own bags. Please procure six pairs of sturdy straw shoes, a durable coin pouch strung with twenty nyang, a container of bamboo salt, one doe of rice, one hop of millet, and half a doe of barley. Additionally, pack three handfuls of dried pumpkin seeds and one hop of roasted beans separately.”

His voice carried a frost-like edge as he strictly forbade anyone from entering or looking into his room while he packed, chilling her to the bone.

While his mother frantically gathered the items, Kang-soe packed his bags: a hoe and a sickle, a sturdy walking staff for mountain climbing, a blade the length of a forearm, a thick cotton garment, and a thin ramie tunic. After stowing spare undergarments and socks, he tore open a section of the ceiling, retrieved a small box wrapped in cotton cloth, and buried it deep within his bundle.

When dawn broke, he set off, seen off by his red-eyed mother who had stayed up all night preparing his provisions. Despite carrying a pack the size of his own short, stocky body, Kang-soe showed not a hint of strain; his steps were as light as if he carried nothing at all.

He traversed endlessly long roads, winding woodland paths, and uneven, rocky terrain. While crossing mountains, streams, and rivers, a sudden downpour struck. Debating whether it was merely a passing shower, he set his pack down in a sheltered spot to rest and was suddenly overcome by exhaustion.

The damp air, the isolation, and the deep quiet pulled him into a sudden, deep sleep, wherein he experienced a profoundly strange dream.

He dreamt he was spinning in the water.

Gliding across the surface, plunging beneath the waves, swirling upward again, only to sink with a quiet plop. He was drowning, yet it felt incredibly peaceful—less like a dream and more like dredging up an ancient memory.

When he drifted near a pair of massive twin boulders, he sank completely, continuing to plummet into the dark depths. Swollen aquatic plants wrapped around his fingertips and toes, accompanied by the sound of loud, desperate weeping. The shadows rippling across the water’s surface were pitch black. The weeping grew deafeningly loud, as vivid as waking reality.

He violently shook his head, afraid he would go deaf, and in that instant snapped awake. Scratching the back of his neck, he muttered a brief assessment, What a nonsense dream.

Right on cue, a torrential sheet of rain began to pour.

“Now that’s a refreshing downpour.”

The rain slammed into the earth with such ferocity that a white mist of water sprouted from the ground. It had been a dry season, so the timing was fortunate. Having farmed enough to appreciate good weather, he felt a surge of welcome toward the heavy rain. He reached out to feel the droplets, then pulled his hand back.

When will it stop?

Drawing his knees to his chest, Kang-soe let out a long sigh.

How much time had passed?

As the downpour thinned to a drizzle, he stood. The wet earth was slick, nearly causing him to slip, but walking carefully proved manageable. How far had he walked? The roar of a rushing river reached his ears—swollen by the rain, the water raged.

Dismissing any thought of crossing, he carefully followed the riverbank downstream. Suddenly, he noticed something bobbing in the fierce current.

A shoe.

A single shoe drifted down the river.

Despite the turbulent waters, it managed to stay upright, spinning in circles before continuing its journey.

The owner must be frantic.

Glancing briefly upstream, he resumed his brisk pace.

The muddy ground clung to his shoes, making each step increasingly heavy. Navigating the rugged mountain path, he eventually paused by a small rock to scrape the thick mud from his straw shoes.

As he walked on, he spotted a man dressed in black.

The man stood over seven feet tall. Despite the midsummer heat, he wore stark black robes, save for the vibrant blue trim on the sleeves. Atop his head rested a military hat adorned with a long pheasant feather cascading down his back. A massive sword hung at his waist. As he stood silently observing the river, his unnervingly pale face seemed almost inhuman.

The man looked less like a person and more like a figure stepped out of a painting.

Just as Kang-soe thought this, a cool breeze swept by, rustling the man’s garments. The fabric billowed and fell, grounding him in reality—he was no painting. Sensing the stare, the man turned his head.

His eyes were cold and dry. Despite the heat of the day, he carried the scent of a crisp, arid winter wind. Kang-soe blinked, realizing his rudeness, and quickly bowed his head, worried he had offended the man with his bold stare.

The stranger spoke:

“By any chance, did you see a single shoe wash away?”

“A shoe, you say?”

Kang-soe intended to feign ignorance, but his mouth betrayed him. Had he not just seen a shoe tumbling down the fierce rapids?

“I did see one drifting along.”

“I see. Where did it go?”

How could anyone hope to recover something lost to such violent waters? Kang-soe searched his memory.

“It drifted along, spun in circles, and then sank beneath the surface with a plop.”

The man let out a long, heavy sigh. Rubbing his gaunt face like a man who had suffered a profound tragedy, he asked again if Kang-soe had any idea where it might have ended up.

“Excuse me?”

“Do you have any guess as to where it might have flowed?”