Chapter 30

Yeon-jae.

Those two syllables had utterly consumed Seo Mu-yeong’s thoughts ever since the day he returned from the nursing home. Even as he sat parked in the basement lot of a department store, snapping surveillance photos of an unfaithful couple, he could not banish the name from his mind.

Choi Yook would never show him the library’s membership register. Nor could he steal it in secret. In Choi Yook’s presence, he wouldn’t manage even the barest pretense of theft.

What, then, if he searched for his hyung with only this half of a name? Mu-yeong knew neither the address where the boy had lived back then nor the name of his school, but he still had a way.

It was the uniform his hyung had worn on the day they saw each other for the last time. Mu-yeong clearly remembered the spring-autumn attire—a charcoal jacket draped over a gray knit vest. While school uniforms often looked similar, he could at least narrow down the candidates.

Just ahead, the lovers finished their fervent embrace and parted ways to their respective cars. Lowering his camera, Mu-yeong pulled up Mangcheon City on his navigation map and typed “middle school” into the search bar.

There were thirteen middle schools in the city. Cross-referencing the uniform photos on their official websites, four matched his memories. As he jotted down their names in his phone’s memo app, the hour neared the top of the clock before he knew it.

Faithful to the promise he had diligently kept over the past several days, Mu-yeong dialed Choi Yook. The call connected after about three rings. Without missing a beat, Mu-yeong pressed forward with a question.

“Section Chief, have you finally had lunch by now?”

—“Give me your location.”

“I just wrapped up a job in Myeongdong, so I’m having lunch on the road as I head down to Mangcheon. I’m going to eat bread.”

—“Completely obsessed with bread, as always.”

“It’s not so much that I love it, but that it’s easy to eat in the car. What did you eat, Section Chi—”

The line went dead before he could even finish his sentence. Even so, this was considerable progress. After all, a conversation had taken place, however brief.

Mu-yeong had no intention of abandoning his goal to grow closer to Choi Yook. Just as Choi Yook was using him, Mu-yeong fully intended to exploit him in return.

To pull that off, he had to keep relentlessly pushing his way into Choi Yook’s space. If he continued clinging and asking questions, an answer would eventually come. Just as his hyung had back then, Choi Yook would…

“You crazy bastard.”

Mu-yeong slapped his own cheek with a crisp smack, reprimanding himself. No matter how superficially similar the circumstances might seem, how could he ever compare Choi Yook to his hyung? It felt like splashing filthy mud onto a spotless white shirt.

Time to get to work. Mu-yeong hastily set off for Mangcheon to track down a shaman who had known his grandmother.

It was his very first time visiting Mangcheon on his own.

Mu-yeong parked his car in the public lot at the foot of Mount Yeongno and stepped out. If he wanted to find a shaman’s shrine, scouring the streets on foot seemed like the better approach.

His grandmother had strictly warned him never to consult shamans carelessly, but he had little choice. After all, he had already returned to Mangcheon anyway. Adjusting the straps of his backpack, Mu-yeong quickened his stride.

As he drew closer to a nearby cluster of detached houses, white and red flags caught his eye—the unmistakable markers of a shaman’s shrine. Mu-yeong reached out and pressed the doorbell.

“Hello. I’m here for a divination reading.”

The customary greeting he had so often heard from his grandmother’s clients slipped naturally from his lips. The response came back in informal speech, delivered as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Yeah, come on in.”

The door unlatched with a click, and Mu-yeong stepped inside. The moment his feet touched the entryway, the heavy fragrance of burning incense washed over him.

Across the linoleum floor sat a low divination desk flanked by two silk cushions. The altar behind it was laden with ceremonial brass bowls and vibrant statues of deities, while intricate, brightly painted Buddhist-shamanic scrolls covered the wall from edge to edge.

Mu-yeong turned back as he slipped off his shoes. Dressed in a jade-green hanbok, the shaman stood frozen in place, gazing out the door with a dazed, bewildered expression. The sight instantly made all the tension drain right out of him.

So being a shaman doesn’t mean you can see me either.

To be fair, neither nuns nor priests, neither pastors nor Buddhist monks had ever been able to see him, so there was certainly no guarantee a shaman would. Even so, Mu-yeong felt oddly disappointed. The mounting dread evaporated like melting snow, replaced by a bland, hollow sense of ease.

“Master, aren’t you going to read my fortune?”

Mu-yeong spoke as he took a seat before the desk. Startled, the shaman flustered for a moment before stepping inside and sitting across from him, deliberately adopting a stern, austere expression.

“Right. What brings you here?” she asked.

Mu-yeong rested his palms on his knees. “I had a reading done when I was young, and I wanted to check if it came out right. Do you happen to know a spiritual master named Baek Woon-dang? She used to live around here back in the day.”

The shaman’s face instantly froze at the name. She waved the fan clutched in her hand.

“Get out. Don’t ask another word.”

“Why? Did you know her well?” Mu-yeong asked.

The shaman brandished her fan violently. “Never heard of her, never seen her, so get out this instant! Out with you before the spirits strike you down in anger!”

Lifting a small ceramic jar beside the desk, she hurled handfuls of coarse sea salt straight at Mu-yeong. The heavy grains pelted his face, stinging enough to draw a sharp gasp. Beating a hasty retreat, Mu-yeong thoroughly dusted off the salt clinging to his clothes once he reached the front gate.

Nothing I can do about it. This was hardly the only shaman’s house in town. If all else failed, coming back later was always an option. In any case, it was obvious she knew his grandmother.

Mu-yeong set off once more. Before long, a signboard bearing the Buddhist swastika caught his eye. It was far from the only one. Bright yellow, red, and blue signs bearing the names of various Bodhisattvas, Fairies, and Generals crowded every alley corner. Driving past here on his way to Mount Yeongno last time, he had failed to notice them entirely.

One after another, Mu-yeong visited each shrine. Yet wherever he went, the reaction remained identically hostile. They failed to notice him at first, demanded his business with sour scowls, and the moment they heard the name Baek Woon-dang, flew into a rage and hollered at him to get out. None of them granted him the slightest chance to say another word.

Just what did these people think of his grandmother? Without uncovering a single clue, the time to call Choi Yook was already bearing down on him.

First things first. Crouching beside a discarded plastic statue of a Bodhisattva, Mu-yeong dialed Choi Yook. He secretly hoped the man wouldn’t pick up, but Choi Yook answered.

—“Where are you?”

“In Mangcheon. I’ve been going around asking shamans, but while everyone seems to know something, nobody will talk. I think I’ll have to dig a bit deeper.”

—“How are they reacting?”

“They scream at me to get lost and kick me out. I expected the salt, but I didn’t see the red beans coming.”

Surprisingly enough, Choi Yook listened in silence. Taking advantage of the rare opening, Mu-yeong decided to use his report as an excuse to vent.

“Isn’t that such a terrible waste? Red beans are delicious. I really love them, you know. They spoil easily, so I don’t eat red bean buns often, but cakes made with red beans are heavenly. Section Chief, have you ever trie—”

—“Fuck, why would anyone shove that tasteless shit into a cake? Are you ageusic? Did every single taste bud on your tongue drop dead?”

Choi Yook’s voice fairly dripped with disgust.

Does he have a red bean allergy or something? He sounded like a man with a blood vendetta against them. Calling to mind the filial piety and etiquette embedded in every proper Korean soul, Mu-yeong let out a soft, defeated sigh.

“My mom used to put them in, though…”

—“…”

“She baked it for me. When I was little.”

—“Seo Mu-yeong-ssi, you seem quite accustomed to slipping through consequences by playing for sympathy like that.”

Completely devoid of filial piety or basic courtesy, Choi Yook scoffed coldly over the line.

—“You claimed you had no childhood memories, yet you wield them as a shield the second it suits you.”

He remembered that, too. Every person Mu-yeong had ever met would forget things even when he stressed them repeatedly.

Even the staff at the errand center forgot his birthday year after year. Fortunately, Mu-yeong remembered his own words with exact precision.

“I said I barely remember anything, not that I have no memories at all,” Mu-yeong countered with a small pout. “And even when something does come back, it’s petty stuff like this—things you wouldn’t care to hear about, Section Chief. That’s why I didn’t ramble on about it.”

He meant it to show he knew his place and was bowing his head, but Choi Yook was not about to let him off so easily.

—“You chatter endlessly about every useless trifle, yet only now do you pretend to engage in thought? Besides, I fail to see why you are the one deciding what I care to know, Seo Mu-yeong-ssi. You didn’t hire yourself. I hired you.”

“…”

—“If you want to do whatever you damn well please, feel free to run off and work freelance. Just pay me private loan interest instead of the standard 3.3 percent tax deduction.”

“No!” Mu-yeong hurriedly protested. “From now on, I’ll tell you every single thing that comes to mind. I just had no idea your interest in me had grown this deep, Section Chief.”

Though he answered with a gentle laugh, an uneasy prickle ran down his spine. It felt like Choi Yook was laying the groundwork to corner and interrogate him thoroughly.

When a person talked too much, contradictions and slips of the tongue were bound to happen. It was a lesson he had gleaned watching unfaithful spouses scramble for excuses.

“Though I can’t guarantee everything I remember is true,” Mu-yeong added, staring down at his sneakers. “Sometimes it feels like an old dream, or like I’m simply believing something I made up in my own head.”

Since he was being forced to talk, he decided to undermine the credibility of his own words in advance. If he claimed he was simply too foolish and confused to know better, what could Choi Yook do?

“Anyway, I should get back to meeting the shamans. There are so many shrines here that just covering this neighborhood is going to take quite a while.”

Pushing himself up from the stone wall he had been leaning against, Mu-yeong took a step forward. A terse command came over the receiver.

—“Stop poking into every single place and wasting time. Pick shrines that are struggling for business and greedy for cash.”

“Pardon? Why?”

—“Throwing salt and red beans is all about driving off wandering spirits. If you want answers, you have to ask someone so crazed for money they couldn’t care less about taboos or spiritual defilement.”

The reasoning sounded sound enough, but putting it into practice was another matter entirely.

“Well, it’s not like I can tell just by looking at a sign. I feel like I still have to check them out one by one in person…”

Trailing off, Mu-yeong froze in his tracks. A low murmur of awe slipped past his lips.

“Section Chief, I think I found one.”

It was a signboard of staggering proportions, so massive it seemed absurd for any residential area, even on the city outskirts. Beside it hung an oversized banner emblazoned with a woman wearing a white pointed shaman’s cowl. From within came the echoing clatter of hourglass drums and barrel drums beaten by several hands at once.

“There’s a shaman academy here.”

The establishment bore the strikingly pristine name ‘Cheongmyeong Shamanic Academy.’ Plastered across the windows were bright yellow adhesive sheets covered in bold crimson calligraphy. The vivid color combination looked for all the world like a giant, potent talisman.

[Interested in shamanism? You can become a shaman in just 100 days! The essential course to becoming a confident shaman! Spirit Possession / Ritual Offerings / Exorcism / Necromancy—Comprehensive Instruction Provided.]

The intense catchphrase seized his eyes immediately. Mu-yeong hung up the call and began searching for the nearest ATM. He didn’t have to look far—there was one right inside the academy.