Chapter 59

Seo Mu-yeong slipped quietly into the house behind him. Slipping off his shoes and carrying them in his hand, he crossed the hallway until the living room came into view. Expansive picture windows were draped in pure white curtains, completely concealing the rear courtyard outside.

Yang Ui-ju flung his luggage to the edge of the living room. Tugging down the hem of his jacket to straighten his clothes, he exhaled a long, irritable breath.

“Does getting bitten by a damn dog make your spirit-father look easy to walk all over…? After I’ve lived for decades under the name Master Myeongan.”

He headed toward the picture windows as if to draw back the curtains. With sock-clad feet padding across the polished marble floor, Seo Mu-yeong closed the distance behind him. The pungent odor of hair pomade and antiseptic grew thicker with every step. Five paces, three paces, one pace…

And right beside him.

Seo Mu-yeong stepped smoothly in front of Yang Ui-ju and hooked a foot around his ankle. Crashing face-first onto the hard stone floor, Yang Ui-ju clutched his broken nose and let out a bloodcurdling shriek.

“Aaaagh!”

Now was the moment to seize complete dominance over him. Pinning Yang Ui-ju’s wrists behind his back as blood poured from his nose, Seo Mu-yeong bound them tight with a heavy zip tie. Then he produced a pocketknife from his jacket and thrust it toward the man’s face. Catching the gleam of the blade, Yang Ui-ju’s eyes stretched wide in terror.

“Wh-what the hell! What are you doing! Who are you, how did you get in here!” Yang Ui-ju stammered in panic.

Yang Ui-ju shook his head wildly back and forth. Drops of nosebleed splattered everywhere, filling the air with a metallic stench. He hadn’t made nearly this much fuss when the dog bit him; evidently, a living person was far more terrifying than any ghost or beast.

Seo Mu-yeong exhaled a deep breath. The manufactured courtesy he donned for customer service evaporated into thin air. Stripped of its artificially raised pitch, its ringing cadence, and every trace of gentle affability, his voice came out rough and bone-dry.

“Ui-ju.” With a completely expressionless face, Seo Mu-yeong murmured chillingly, “You’re too loud. You want your throat slit?”

Seo Mu-yeong pressed the blade flush against Yang Ui-ju’s throat. There were only two things in the world that could compel people to focus on someone they couldn’t normally perceive: one was money, and the other was a blade.

Sure enough, Yang Ui-ju clamped his mouth shut instantly. Even as he trembled from head to toe, his eyes locked onto Seo Mu-yeong.

“What do you want? Is it money?” Yang Ui-ju quavered.

“No, forget about that.” Fixing him with a frigid, unblinking stare, Seo Mu-yeong murmured, “They say Choi Sijin turned his whole life around because of you.”

“……What?” Yang Ui-ju choked out.

“Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I mean,” Seo Mu-yeong warned, his tone flat and merciless. “Tell me how you did it. If you don’t, I’ll just kill you before I leave.”

Seo Mu-yeong had no intention of revealing his identity to the man. Doing so would be tantamount to handing over his own fatal weakness. It was far more effective to pose as a ruthless thug desperate to rewrite his own wretched fate.

Yang Ui-ju’s breath came in ragged wheezes. Squeezing his dilated eyes shut, he forced them open again.

“You… you must be mistaken about something. I don’t know anything about that. I only light candles, offer prayers, and perform gut rituals……”

Seo Mu-yeong let out an open sneer. Then, with a nitrile-gloved forefinger, he drove the tip hard into Yang Ui-ju’s forehead.

“Ui-ju, as if your prayers or rituals carry any power,” Seo Mu-yeong whispered, boring his gaze into the man’s face. “Your spiritual mojo ran out ages ago.” As Yang Ui-ju remained struck dumb in terror, Mu-yeong prodded, “Choi Sijin’s family would be thrilled to hear that, wouldn’t they?”

A faint tremor passed through Yang Ui-ju’s pupils. Forcing his stiffened lips into a smirk, he tried to rally.

“What kind of ridiculous misunderstanding is this?” Yang Ui-ju feigned defiance. “The gods have never once abandoned me.”

Seo Mu-yeong tilted his head. “Is that so?”

He dragged the brand-new straw cutter, gleaming with a vicious blue sheen, right beside the man.

“Then climb up on this,” Seo Mu-yeong challenged. As Yang Ui-ju gaped in frozen terror, Mu-yeong taunted, “What, can’t do it? Too terrified to step on the blades?”

The smirk vanished from Yang Ui-ju’s face. Goggling with rage, he glared fiercely at Seo Mu-yeong.

“You insolent bastard! Do you think you will escape unscathed after this? Do you believe you can test the gods without facing divine retribution?” Yang Ui-ju thundered.

Raging like that with a mangled, swollen nose wasn’t the least bit intimidating. Seo Mu-yeong snatched a handful of his hair. Sticky pomade smeared thickly across the nitrile glove.

“If you don’t want your feet, let’s use your neck.”

At that casual ultimatum, Yang Ui-ju’s jaw dropped. The razor-sharp blades caught the warm yellow light of the room, glinting with an eerie brilliance. When Seo Mu-yeong dragged the man’s throat directly over the twin blades, Yang Ui-ju went pale as a corpse.

“W-wait, wait!” Yang Ui-ju screamed in sheer terror as Seo Mu-yeong merely stared down at him in icy silence. “I’ll—I’ll tell you everything! But you have to keep it a secret. You can never tell a soul. Understood? Ordinary shamans don’t know this. It’s a secret sorcery only I know. If Sijin’s family finds out, they’ll slaughter both of us!”

Seo Mu-yeong gave a careless nod. Stealing a terrified glance at the straw cutter, Yang Ui-ju gasped for breath before parting his lips.

“F-first, your body must be purified,” Yang Ui-ju quavered. “Then, during the hour of the Rat—around eleven at night—you have to climb Mount Yeongno. And then, at the edge of the cliff……”

Seo Mu-yeong’s expression darkened. “Fuck’s sake, Ui-ju.” He yanked Yang Ui-ju’s tongue out and pressed it directly against the blade of the straw cutter.

“What at the edge of the cliff, bungee jump?” Seo Mu-yeong hissed. “I already know how it works, so who are you trying to feed this bullshit to? You want your tongue sliced off?”

“Mmph, n-no, I’m saw-ree, hnnnngh!” Yang Ui-ju shrieked through his trapped tongue.

Yang Ui-ju shook his head wildly in a muffled shriek. Unable to endure even the cold steel touching his tongue, his eyes rolled back in terror.

For someone so deathly afraid of blades, he had certainly butchered dogs without batting an eye. Seo Mu-yeong tightened his grip on the man’s tongue.

“Speak straight, or your tongue comes off first.”

“Hnnnngh……” Yang Ui-ju wheezed in submission.

Seo Mu-yeong commanded coldly, “Quit sniveling and nod.”

Oblivious to the blade nicking his tongue, Yang Ui-ju nodded frantically. Only then did Seo Mu-yeong release his grip. Dripping with cold sweat, Yang Ui-ju swallowed a mouthful of bloody saliva before parting his lips.

“It’s… it’s st-stealing the destiny contained within a name,” Yang Ui-ju confessed, trembling. Seeing Seo Mu-yeong listen without expression, he stammered frantically, “I-it’s the truth! First, you have to find someone blessed with great destiny—preferably around the same age.”

His eyes darted erratically as he laid out the concrete procedure.

“Then the two of you must be completely alone. Somewhere remote and close to a mountain is best. Even better if the weather is dark and overcast.”

Seo Mu-yeong thought of the abandoned library he had scouted. It seemed an ideal venue for both extorting someone and conducting an occult ritual. As he nodded, Yang Ui-ju pressed on.

“After that, you pour pig’s blood in a circle around the two of you and sit facing each other within it. Place two beeswax candles in front of each person and light them. Then tie a strand of white raw silk thread connecting your wrists and ask: ‘So-and-so, born on such year, month, day, and hour in such place, will you sell your name to me?’ Just like that.”

Pig’s blood, beeswax candles, and raw silk thread. He hadn’t remembered details quite like those. Taking mental inventory of each required item, Seo Mu-yeong cut in with a challenge.

“Was the name Choi Sijin stole ‘Choi Sijin’?”

“No, of course not,” Yang Ui-ju replied, shaking his head frantically.

“Then what was it?” Seo Mu-yeong demanded. “I have to know so I can take it from him.”

Seo Mu-yeong’s voice dropped low. Gulping dryly, Yang Ui-ju shook his head.

“I—I don’t know either!” Yang Ui-ju gasped. “Only Sijin’s family knows that! But it doesn’t make a difference anyway. You just change the question: ‘Will you sell me the name you bought fourteen years ago?’ Like that.”

He spilled the explanation without pausing to breathe. Because the span of fourteen years was exact, it lent a fraction more credibility. Tracing his memories, Seo Mu-yeong nodded.

“And then?” Seo Mu-yeong prompted.

“Then, if Sijin agrees……” Yang Ui-ju began hesitantly, scrutinizing Seo Mu-yeong’s expression. “……Though, you know, do you really have to steal the name Sijin possesses? I mean, the destiny he stole was absurdly brilliant, sure, but I could find you another name……”

Without a word, Seo Mu-yeong shoved Yang Ui-ju’s throat right against the edge of the straw cutter. Jolted in sheer terror, Yang Ui-ju thrashed and gasped for breath.

“No! No, I’ll—I’ll keep talking!” Yang Ui-ju pleaded. “If Sijin agrees to sell the name, you must offer consideration in return. It doesn’t matter what it is, but it must be something you truly possess. Just like Munhui, Kim Yu-shin’s younger sister, who traded a silk skirt to buy an auspicious dream.”

The historical reference only made things murkier, but Seo Mu-yeong gathered the gist from the context. Yang Ui-ju hurried on with his explanation.

“Once Sijin agrees, you hand over the price and recite this,” Yang Ui-ju instructed. “ ‘I have bought your name, I have bought your name. So-and-so, born on such year, month, day, and hour in such place, has bought the name of so-and-so.’ When the incantation ends, if Sijin’s candle blows out and your flame flares high, you have succeeded in seizing the name he held. Then untie the silk thread and burn it to ash in your candle’s flame.”

Seo Mu-yeong furrowed his brow. “What if I don’t know the exact time and place of my birth?” He had no memory of his actual birthday. He only deduced that it must have been in late summer. Whenever his mother whipped fresh cream for red bean cake, she would nest an iced-water bowl underneath, sweating profusely as she vigorously churned the whisk. Yang Ui-ju stole a sideways glance at him.

“It’s best to be as specific as possible, but if you don’t know, whatever details you have will suffice,” Yang Ui-ju conceded. “What matters far more is Sijin’s date of birth.”

Seo Mu-yeong pressed him, “Is that everything?”

Yang Ui-ju shook his head with absolute conviction. “No, of course not.”

He leaned forward as far as his bonds allowed to emphasize the point.

“Before three days pass, someone must tell you that the name belongs to you,” Yang Ui-ju emphasized. “When that person looks directly at you and calls the name three times, that name becomes entirely and permanently yours. Otherwise, the name will revert back to Sijin in three days.”

Seo Mu-yeong recalled Kim Jeong-seon clutching Choi Sijin in her arms and chanting the name ■■■ again and again. She hadn’t merely been calling it out of overwhelming maternal emotion. He nodded slowly.

“Whose name did Choi Sijin steal?” Seo Mu-yeong asked.

Yang Ui-ju answered flatly, “Just some girl.”

He offered not a single moment of hesitation.

“I was scouring the eight provinces searching for a suitable child, and when business took me nearby, she caught my eye,” Yang Ui-ju recounted. “Fortunately, her background was completely unremarkable, so I disposed of her right away.”

Unremarkable. It was a foul, venomous thing to say about someone who had once been his spirit-mother.

“What happened to her?” Seo Mu-yeong inquired, his voice dangerously even.

Yang Ui-ju shrugged as best he could. “She’s probably dead. She showed up briefly a few years back, but there hasn’t been a peep since.”