Waiting for the Past - shalomdebbie - 무사 백동수 (2024)

Baek Saet-byeol was a tiny, nervous woman. She worked hard to manage her household, balance the finances, command a half dozen servants with firm but compassionate discipline, but the twin girls were always crawling all over her, fraying her nerves. Like most three-year-olds, they smeared their mother's skirts with stolen honey from the kitchen, kissed their mother's face and left boogers there because, to their mother's dismay, they caught so many colds and hadn't yet learned to master handkerchiefs. The frenetic little monsters in bright hanbok filled Saet-byeol's heart with dread. Would they grow up too thin? Too plump? Would they die young? Would they marry well? Saet-byeol consulted a shaman, the best fortune-teller around, in order to assuage her anxieties. Unfortunately, the shaman lived a good half-day's ride outside of Hanyang, but Saet-byeol's father-in-law, now a retired general in his seventies who lived on the property, had taught her, years ago, how to kick a horse into a gallop.

Saet-byeol's husband disapproved of the long horse-rides (an unaccompanied woman on horseback! Not proper!) and of the shaman (he thought they were all phonies), but he indulged his wife this habit because she always came back from her spiritual consultations in a good mood, full of moral platitudes about how one should persevere in life and how her ancestors were smiling upon her efforts.

"It's the day's break from the brats that cheers her up," Baek Dong-soo said to his son, Yoo-jin. "The crazy shaman is just an excuse. A woman needs to get out of the house sometimes. A woman needs to ride a horse."

Women of the upper classes didn't ride horses for long distances or leave their houses; horse-riding was no longer illegal, but the behavior was frowned upon. Still, everyone who was of any importance in yangban society knew that the Baek household was peculiar and just let it be. Dong-soo liked to speak to anyone who would listen of his first love, once a consort of the late great Crown Prince Sado. She had fallen from the aristocracy to become a successful merchant, and he, a palace guard, had accompanied her from her shop every evening—he on his mare and she on her own horse. "No one dared tell a woman like her what to do," he bragged. To Yoo-jin, he would often add, "No one should boss around Saet-byeol either."

"The shaman bosses her," Yoo-jin would remind him. "She even got her to change her name when we married. She said her name was unlucky."

"You were lucky to marry her." Dong-soo said this often. "There was no other woman who would look at you--who would have guessed that a numb-skull soldier like me would father a scholar so absorbed in his work? You never raised your head from your books for a girl to see your handsome face--which you got from me, of course. You're lucky at all to have married at such an old age."

And Saet-byeol's previous name had been unlucky, Dong-soo thought. Once upon a time, he had not believed in luck. But when his son brought home a frail, dark-eyed young woman named Jae-hee, or shining moon, Dong-soo's heart had skipped a beat, then started up again, tossing itself in short beats like a stone across a dark pond, moonlit with memories.

"I don't know, I don't know," the young woman had fretted. "My parents say they don't mind. They want to be sure I have children and a fortunate life. The shaman said I should ask a wise man for a better name? You're wise, Grandfather Dong-soo. What should I rename myself?"

Dong-soo had not thought twice. The morning star. The one he had wanted someone to see. The sun had been red and low over the golden fields one moment, and in the next, the moon was rising over a wound that would never close. Dong-soo, mouth open in despair, face drenched in tears, looking up at the eternal blackness that was night, had noticed the tiny morning star. It had seemed so insignificant at first, yet it shone so bright, so close to the pale moon.

How many hours had passed? The soldiers had been reverent. He thanked them silently. They had left him alone with a corpse. The corpse was still beautiful, and Dong-soo's sore throat could no longer wail in pain. The whole world had been broken, and yet--there, in the sky, the faint glimmer of a morning star.

Woon-ah, please open your eyes. Please, please, there still has to be hope.

"Life goes on," Saet-byeol said one evening after a day trip to the shaman. "Your first love, Grandfather Dong-soo, dropped you like a hot potato, and then you met Mother. Life is full of blessings after blessings, and even when we are sad and afraid, who knows what blessings lie before us."

Yoo-jin was weary of the shaman's expensive blah blah and shut his eyes and held his tongue.

Dong-soo smiled. "Have you ever mentioned me to your shaman?" One of the three-year-olds was climbing on his knee and reaching for the fried fish-cake on his plate.

"As a matter of fact, I did this very day!"

"Hm?"

"That's why I mentioned your first love. We were on the subject of regret, and she said ah, the old man who lives with you. He thinks about an old love to this day. She said something about your regrets being so fat and full that she could feel them from where she sat. So that's why I said what I did about Mother." Saet-byeol passed a plate of carrot sticks to her father-in-law. "Really, Grandfather Dong-soo. You lived so many good years with Mother and ... and... look at Yoo-jin and our family? Do you really have regrets about that long-ago lady? You do speak of her a good deal, I've noticed."

"It's not that he doesn't talk about Mother," Yoo-jin observed. "He goes on and on about everything. He just loves to talk about the old days."

Dong-soo had pushed away from where he sat, his mouth open in surprise at the shaman's words, and the three-year-old had climbed on the table and was in the process of eating all of his grandfather's meat.

"Do I have regrets?" Dong-soo began to laugh. "Oh none whatsoever. No regrets at all about Miss Yoo Ji-sun. But maybe...." He picked up a naughty child and set her gently beside him, giving her a carrot stick with which to entertain herself. "Maybe I should visit your shaman lady for my own amusem*nt. She thinks she knows something about me, does she? Maybe she does, but she's off the mark by a bit. Who knows? It might be money well spent." He winked at his son. "I hardly get out anymore. The palace is boring, and who knows, who knows--there might be something to these fortune-tellers besides the amusem*nt factor, hm?"

"Really?" Saet-byeol was delighted. "It would be so fun to travel with you to see Madam Hye-won."

"Little One!" Dong-soo was calling to the younger of the two girls who worked in the kitchen. He knew their names, but when they'd first come to work for the Baek family five years earlier, he'd had trouble distinguishing between the two--Dong-soo had never been great with names. He'd stuck with the habit of calling one Little and the other Big, although Big was maybe a fingernail's length taller than Little. Both were slim peasant girls, no longer children but not yet maidens. "Little One! Bring wine!"

Saet-byeol frowned.

Yoo-jin shrugged in resignation. "There's no stopping him, Saet-byeol-ah."

Little One approached with a tray that held a bottle of clear wine and a single bowl.

"Grandfather Dong-soo," Saet-byeol chided, "you know what happens when you drink."

"Grandfather Sang-wook drinks until he passes out." Yoo-jin said coolly. He was referring to Saet-byeol's own father. "At least my father can handle his liquor."

"Yes, but he always cries."

"Don't cry, Grandfather Dong-soo!" The girl in Dong-soo's lap offered him her carrot.

Dong-soo took the carrot and ate it. At the same time, Little One placed the bottle on the table. "Not to worry," Dong-soo told the three-year-old. "I laugh when I drink too. Drinking... it's for remembering things intensely."

"Don't you do that already without drinking?" Saet-byeol asked. "See, I think maybe the shaman is right. Drinking is a way to wash away regrets. I think you have regrets of some sort."

"Who doesn't have a regret or two? Maybe your shaman can tell us more about yours as well as mine."

"You haven't even started to drink," Yoo-jin said to his father, "and already you're starting to mess with Saet-byeol. You know that she’s concerned for you, so why can’t you … ah, never mind."

Little One filled her master's cup, and Dong-soo emptied it in one swallow. "Yoo Ji-sun left me because I drank too much." He laughed as he saw his son and wife exchange glances. "Yoo Ji-sun, may her soul rest in peace, never held regrets for leaving a fool like me, I'm sure. And I have none regarding her. So there's no story there, none at all."

There was always a story, though. Baek Dong-soo just told the ones he knew, that's all. And there were some stories he didn't want to tell, some stories he didn't dare tell—ah, there was one story that had haunted him for years and had risen every night like the pale moon--the moon who was so sad and always waning and refilling itself.

Woon-ah, please wake up. If you can't see the morning star, I will try to find it every day for you for the rest of my life. My eyes will be your eyes. Woon-ah, please... how else can I go on?

*

Darkness all around. The table was lit by one candle. The children had long gone to bed, so had the parents, most servants had gone to their respective homes, and Little and Big had retired to the room they shared behind the twins' room.

The young man across from Dong-soo was grinning broadly.

"You think I'm a buffoon," Dong-soo whispered. "After all these years, you still think so?" He smiled and downed another cup. He lifted the bottle, and it was too light. "Eh, empty."

"Don't you think you've had enough?"

"Enough?" Dong-soo laughed too loudly at that. "You're one to talk. Enough. You're the one who said it was enough to have spent a little time in the sunshine or whatever with me. What do you know about enough? Look at you with that perfect face--do you know how many years I've looked at it and remembered the scar I left there? Why can't I see it now? Why?" Dong-soo closed his eyes and opened them again.

"Living? You call this living?"

"It's all right." Woon's eyes looked so kind.

"It's not all right--not at all."

Woon's arm reached towards Dong-soo. Dong-soo's vison was blurry, but he saw Woon's hand close-up in painful detail--the tapered fingers, large knuckles, slim wrist.

"Nauri? Are you all right?"

It was Ji-sun who touched Dong-soo on the wrist.

Dong-soo startled. "Oh." He attempted a smile. "It's all fine. Don't worry."

Ji-sun sighed. "Please don't lie to me. It's getting worse."

Dong-soo's shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry."

"It's like he's haunting us both," she said. "But you seek him out, and I can't... I can't take his presence between us anymore."

Dong-soo nodded in acknowledgement.

"It won't be very scandalous if I move out of here to another city," she continued. "It will be a business move. People will assume we grew apart."

"But I love you," Dong-soo said simply.

"Find someone who doesn't remember him, who won't be tortured with you every time you do this to yourself. Someone else who can care for you."

Dong-soo winced. She was being uncharacteristically cruel. Had he driven her to this?

She sensed his pain and softened her tone. "You yourself are the one who taught me I am not bound to any singular life. I have choices."

"Yes." Dong-soo felt that he himself had no choice but to sit and listen to her.

She read his mind. "You have choices too. You choose to create this hell for yourself. I thought you would stop, that one day you would stop stoking the flames, but you're not going to stop--"

"You can find someone else?"

"Who will have me? I have a scar from a ball torch on my back. No man's family would want a disfigured bride for him, but I don't care. You gave me that scar and with it, my freedom."

Dong-soo nodded. He understood. Why was it that Ji-sun had all the strength and freedom that he had once envisioned for himself? Why, even as she was speaking of leaving him, did she sound as if the world was wide and open for her as a new morning?

Dong-soo laughed again, too loud, then caught himself, covering his mouth. He didn't want to wake up the twins.

"What's the matter?" Ji-sun looked alarmed.

Dong-soo had remembered the day he had lunged at Woon and stabbed Ji-sun instead. What a f*cked-up life. The day of the Crown Prince's death. Yes, that day had been the worst until the day Dong-soo stabbed Woon.

“How many lives has your saintly sword saved?” Woon’s bitchy voice rang in Dong-soo’s memory. Some of Woon’s taunts were the worst. He had never been wrong, never….

"Woon could get so angry at me when he was alive," Dong-soo said softly. "He tried to be so patient with all of us in the warrior camp when we were boys, but you could tell he was about to snap from annoyance. We were leagues beneath him in skills—in just about everything. He was smarter, more mature. But now... " Dong-soo smiled. "When I see him now, he seems so gentle. Was he always this gentle boy? Only I didn't see it?"

Ji-sun had risen from her seat. "I'll get you a blanket. You always fall asleep outside."

But Dong-soo wasn't outside on Sa-mo's porch. He was inside his son's house. The children were fast asleep. And Woon was still dead. Woon had died for him. Died for him, Baek Dong-soo. Woon had tossed his weapons aside and impaled himself on Dong-soo's sword. He wasn't a traitor to the Crown like everyone believed. The gisaeng who worked for the assassin place had told the whole story, how it wasn't Woon who had set Cho-rip to die--it had been the gisaeng herself and other fellows from Heuksa Chorong. Dong-soo had made a terrible mistake; he had not trusted someone he had promised to never doubt again; he had killed his best friend.

"I'm a pile of steaming sh*t. What did I ever do to deserve this long life? Or is remembering my sins year after year my punishment, Woon-ah?"

Dong-soo felt the blanket around his shoulders.

"Grandfather Baek, it's time to go to bed now. Do you need me to show you to your room?"

Dong-soo shrugged Saet-byeol off. "Eh, who do you think I am? I can find my own room and my own piss-bowl, thank you."

"You need to sleep before you get too bad," she said. "You've started mumbling about that friend of yours. Now, go to bed before you start crying--I don't want you to scare the babies again."

Summary:

Why is Woon still struggling with the concept of Destiny?

Notes:

I wondered after a second viewing of episode 29 if the director didn’t intend a ghost trope: when Dong-soo is drunk and the camera pans away from him and focuses on Woon’s face, Woon stops smiling and gives Dong-soo a very tender look. The scene is reminiscent of others I’ve seen in Kdramas when a ghost pays a visitation.

The old woman was cleaning up her shop. She unwrapped the dried fishes on her table and unceremoniously fed them to her little dog. She picked up the incense burner and, not bothering to empty the ashes, placed it in an ashy box. She tucked away her astrology papers in other boxes. She set her feathered head-dress on an arch next to the tall painting of the sun and moon spirits. She had painted the art herself and was proud of it.

The older brother, the sun, wore her own long-dead brother's face, and the moon sister was the old woman herself as a child. The tiger circling them at the bottom of the painting had an awkward body that resembled the small lion dog eating the dried fish, but its face was menacing enough. Before the sun and moon came into being, only the stars had existed. The old woman had dotted the painting with sparkles of gold and blue, hundreds of stars, more than all the souls she had encountered in her career, yet so many less than she knew lit the black and rolling waves of Eternal Spirit.

It had been a boring but profitable day. Mostly consultations for auspicious dates for weddings and business openings, one request for a love-spell, one formal dance of healing over an elderly ill person to cleanse his body of evil influences--the fool had been wrestled into the front room by his sons and was resistant to any enchantments, so naturally no healing had occurred.

"Stubborn old men are the worst," Hye-won grumbled. "The only ones who are nearly as stubborn as old men close to death are men who have died young--aish, aish, you regret everything, don't you, you stupid things."

Woon had been watching the old woman and wondering if she would address him. "You mean me?"

"What a pretty and innocent face you have." The old woman cast Woon an exasperated look. "You're the most rebellious ghost I've ever known. Such a bad boy."

"Well, yes," Woon admitted. "I killed people when I was alive."

Yes, Woon indeed knew what she was talking about. He was a wandering ghost, the most defiant of spirits. He had intended, with all his bleeding heart, just as he had said while dying in Dong-soo's arms, to cross over and to bow before Crown Prince Sado and Sword Saint before succumbing to the judgement of the universe. But Woon hadn't crossed over at all. No--he had remained bound to the World of the Living.

He had never seen a glimpse of the prince or the revered master swordsman, although he had come across many, many spirits in his wanderings. Being dead was being outside of ordinary time, and he was sure that those whose forgiveness he needed to acquire could have shown themselves--if not for my sin of contrariness, for my attachment to Dong-soo.

Woon had died. He had felt his soul bob slowly upwards like a paper festival lantern, and he'd heard Dong-soo's screams. The screams pierced Woon's soul with their sharpness and shot him down--it was a sudden relief to be back in Dong-soo's arms. Dead though he was, incapable of moving his limbs, speaking, or even holding a single thought in the language he'd been speaking only moments before, the physical pain was gone, and the strange feeling of belonging was back. Even as Dong-soo wept miserably…. Even as one tear still ran down the face of Woon's corpse with the same rolling leisure as the blood that spilled from the corners of his mouth….

"He's coming here, isn't he?" The old woman was undressing herself, layer by layer, no shyness, in front of a ghost. "His daughter-in-law convinced him to see me?" She rolled her multi-colored shaman sleeves and stuffed them into one box; her several layers of bright skirts went into another box. She turned to face Woon in pale silk sokgot.

"How do you know?" Woon asked. "How do you know I went to see him?"

"He was drinking again. He calls for you when he's drinking. You try to give him more and more space, but you never fail to answer when he's calling for you."

"You finally accomplished it. He told Saet-byeol he was interested in the shaman. I don't know why.”

“He said something to about Yoo Ji-sun? Saet-byeol was scolding him about his first love early this morning. She said you would set him straight about that and--"

"Aren't you his first love?”

Woon ignored the question. "I don't know what you expect from Dong-soo. He doesn't believe in sorcery and fortune-tellers. My father was a fortune-teller. I told you about that--the man read horoscopes to pay debts. One of the last things Dong-soo ever told me was that my life and so many other people's lives would have been easier had we not believed in nonsense like Destiny."

"And yet he re-named his son's wife so that the Reaper would not find her when her time came. He named her for a star?"

"He was just humoring everyone."

Hye-won was putting on her everyday hanbok. She looked no less glamorous in it because she had yet to wash her heavily powdered face. "Saet-byeol, Saet-byeol," she chanted. "Brilliant little thing that led Baek Dong-soo to me. To me, to me, to meeeeee."

"So when he shows up here, do you expect me to possess you or something? How is that going to work? He can already see me if he wants. And he won't believe you if you tell him I'm a ghost. Baek Dong-soo doesn't believe in ghosts."

"Most people have had some encounter with a ghost, whether they believe in them or not. What I find amusing is that all people are afraid of ghosts--even those who don't believe in them--and most ghosts are harmless. Ha, you were scarier when you were alive."

Woon nodded.

"Just because you don't carry a sword or do damage to other people doesn't mean you still can't do damage to yourself. Defying the will of the gods the way you do is just asking for trouble." The old woman squinted at Woon with an accusatory expression. "Your Baek Dong-soo will believe in ghosts when he becomes one, won't he? You're waiting for him to die? You think that means you'll be together? Don't be so certain of that."

"Did I say that's what I wanted?" Woon crossed his arms. "You think you know everything about me."

Hye-won wasn't like other shaman. She did know things. Of course, she scammed her share of customers with vague answers in order to make a living, but she had an authentic talent for communing with the Other World. Also, she didn't play by shaman rules. Shaman had to be registered with the government and regularly visited by an official by the Royal court for observation; most shaman performed rituals that didn't offend Neo-Confucianism, or if they did, the women cleaned up their acts before inspection. Unlike these compliant registered shaman, however, Hye-won never performed blessings for the safety of fishermen or for the abundance of harvests; she never oversaw benign festivals for the protection of communities that were, in truth, open markets for random sellers and beneficial to the national economy. She had a reputation as an exorcist, healer, and out-right matchmaker. Surprisingly, the palace inspector let her alone, never even gave her a warning. Had the wily Hye-won put a spell on him?

And what about her power over Woon himself? He'd seen with his own eyes that the old woman could rattle her bells and sent a recalcitrant spirit scurrying out of her meeting room and into the Other World. Why hadn't she babbled some words at him and tried to bully him back to a proper Death?

Woon's eyes turned to the painting of the brother sun and sister moon. The face of the brother was familiar. It was his own, when he had looked into the clean bright water before washing his twelve-year-old face.

Maybe she had recognized him as a reincarnated brother? Maybe she was ancient enough for him to have been reborn in her lifetime.

She'd never said anything about the sun-moon painting, but she did seem to have a fondness for Woon. At first, Woon had assumed she was like all older women who liked him, who were charmed by his pretty face, and given to bestowing him food and favors. Within a month or so of finding her in the market in Hanyang (she had turned around and said, "hello, Pretty Spirit, come home with me!" and he had followed her, the whole day, walking late into the night, mesmerized with curiosity), he knew that there was something special about her.

Woon had met many spirits at Hye-won's house. She lived alone, without servants. She often went walking, long distances, alone except for the company of wandering ghosts, into the woods and fields and as far as the city, in search of this or that herb or a particular exported spice. One by one, the wandering spirits had left for the Other Side, most uncoerced, simply convinced by the old woman's words that their attachments to the Living World were unseemly, like a drug, and would only earn them a harsher judgement by the Powers that Be, maybe a reincarnation as an insect.

"It's nonsense," Woon said to her now, "that I will be reborn a worm just because I want to look after Baek Dong-soo."

"Is it Baek Dong-soo you want to look after or your own lonely heart?"

"He's lived this long because of me," Woon said in a voice that sounded more sorrowful than he intended. "You know that."

"You've been sad this long," the shaman said. "Sometimes it's best to let Destiny play out the way--"

"You encouraged his son's wife to change her name!" Woon countered. "You've kept me around you for decades! Why?"

Hye-won smiled. "We all have our unnatural attachments." She crossed her arms in a way that mirrored Woon. "It's better for you to cross over of your own initiative than for me to push you over the edge. But you're especially stubborn."

"So what's it going to accomplish to bring Dong-soo here? Do you mean for Dong-soo himself to tell me to go?"

"Since when are you a fortune-teller? You're a wandering spirit. You don't have the special access to the future that those who have crossed over have. I'm telling you--there are advantages to dying properly."

All I wanted was for Dong-soo to live a happy life. I wanted him to marry, carry on, forget about me.

Woon had floated behind Dong-soo's horse and the horse carrying the body for the rest of the day, another night, and another day. Dong-soo had a clear destination in mind, and Woon, slowly growing accustomed to his incorporeal self, did not know where Dong-soo was headed until they were on the outskirts of the village. Then Woon was horrified for moment—did Dong-soo intended to bury the body next to the gravesite of Yeo Cho-sang? Woon remembered that during a long, revelatory conversation in a field, a buckwheat field not far from where he had died, he had told Dong-soo almost--almost--everything about how Yeo Cho-sang beat his son, berated him for being born under a "black star," and how the Sky Lord had rescued a twelve-year-old Woon from that world into a Destiny of an assassin. No, Woon had thought then, Dong-soo would not have buried him next to--and no, he didn't. He buried the body inside the village but deep enough in the woods that it would not easily be found; he spent hours along a stream looking for the best rocks to pile on the mound of earth, and when he was done, Dong-soo finally slept. He slept for a night and for most of the next day.

It was at that time that Woon learned that even spirits could feel exhaustion.

He would later learn that he missed food. No one would ever hold a memorial service for him, not even Dong-soo, and he knew that some spirits could eat food that was laid out for them specifically during a jesa. He didn't care, really. He had eaten little when alive, not much more than to survive, but the scents of fresh fish over a campfire sometimes made him nostalgic. He didn't need to sleep, but sometimes it was convenient to close his eyes and stop feeling. A spirit didn't lack for emotions. There was no physical pain. The memory of Dong-soo's sword in his body--the worst physical pain Woon had ever known--was still there, but the memory was an emotional pain. It startled Woon out of his trance-like imitations of sleep sometimes.

I stabbed myself, he had reminded himself so many times. Dong-soo didn't do it.

But the uneasy sense of betrayal was there, as well as the profound guilt: My actions have made Dong-soo take the blame. Of course, he blames himself. Why did I not anticipate that he would? I do that. I do that myself. I take blame. If we are not all responsible for one another, then we are all villains. Are Dong-soo and I not brothers? I betrayed him first, and he forgave me. I wanted to die by his hand, and that was selfish of me, was it not? He ... he...

When I dropped my weapons, he didn't drop his sword. He closed his eyes.

Woon grew used to being able to fly above rooftops and being able to walk through walls. He never reconciled himself to what had happened in the field that evening--somehow Dong-soo's sword had pierced Woon, locking their souls together forever.

"I just didn't want him to kill himself over me," Woon told Hye-won. "If that was his Destiny, then the gods used me too cruelly, so they deserve me to rebel against them."

"He was fine," the shaman said. She narrowed her eyes at Woon. "What makes you so sure he was going to kill himself over you?"

Woon hadn't said much over the long years, and he didn't want to start now. He looked away.

He was not fine. He was not fine.

The old woman's last comment had driven Woon to the courtyard then to the main street where he hovered, watching the sun go down.

He lived with the shaman now. He had stayed with her a good deal since it became plain Dong-soo would marry Ji-sun, but he had taken up residence there permanently when Dong-soo married another woman two years later. In those two years, Woon had been quite worried about Dong-soo. Not that he hadn't been worried before--there had been a deep sadness in the man's eyes, even as he congratulated his beloved adopted father Sa-mo on his marriage to Jang-mi, as he accepted honors from the palace for his publication of the Muyedobotongji, as he wished his old friend Jin-joo all the happiness in the world for her engagement to that peculiar palace artist with the nervous smile, as he took on a martial arts student and smiled at the sky (I was there, I was right there, I saw the sadness in your eyes--Ji-sun saw it too, even before she turned to look at the setting sun. She was haunted by me too).

Ji-sun abandoned Dong-soo, and Woon had been shocked by her words. He had been sitting right there, silent and aching for Dong-soo as the man drank and drank, trying to assuage the sadness with memories of happier days, sometimes bursting into laughter for no reason. It had been plain to Woon that Dong-soo could see him when drunk--he looked right at Woon and smiled--there was no mistaking he recognized him. Woon, at first, had been startled, then had decided to play the part of a hallucination, smiling back. Be happy, take care of yourself, bear it for now. Bear it--it will get better.

Then Ji-sun abandoned Dong-soo. Abandoned him to his liquor and to his memories of Woon.

Summary:

Dong-soo goes to visit the shaman Hye-won.

In the very middle of the road
two dogs are coupling

I take another route. --Ko Un

"Girl! Keep your head up!" Dong-soo shouted at Saet-byeol.

"Yes, Grandfather!" She shouted back. She didn't adjust her posture, though. And her thickly gloved hands were holding on too tightly to the horse's reins.

Dong-soo hadn't seen Saet-byeol ride for years. She fallen back into her bad habit of leaning forward against the horse's mane as if she were afraid of slipping off the saddle, and she angled her body to the right in order to see the path before her. Dong-soo thought he had corrected this awkwardness when teaching her, but lack of practice erased good teaching.

She looks so tiny. I don't know who she thinks she's fooling in that big fur cap and her husband's overcoat. Even from a distance, she's unmistakably a woman.

The only other women Dong-soo had seen on horses had been Yoo Ji-sun, some staid midwives and wet nurses in professional at the king's wedding, and oh years ago, Hwang Jin-joo wearing a mask on a bandit raid.

Dong-soo smiled at the thought of his old friend Jin-joo. She didn't often leave the big house her rich husband had built for their growing family some forty years ago, but Dong-soo still saw her from time to time. He was a cherished dinner guest. He had personally trained three of her sons, and Jung-hoon had risen to the rank of general of His Majesty's palace guard. Jin-joo's husband, Hong-do, had passed from influenza a few winters ago, and Jin-joo's daughter, Gwi-joong, left her position as an artist's assistant at the palace to spend more time with her aging mother. Dong-soo wondered if Jin-joo remembered how to ride. Even walks to the market seemed difficult for her achy bones--was she that old already? How was it that the years had passed and Dong-soo himself didn't feel very much older? In fact, he often felt lost to another time. He glanced at Saet-byeol flying through space and time on horse-back. A pretty little woman in her early twenties.

I was her age when Woon died?

She was, what, nineteen, maybe younger, when she set her sights on my son? Who knows why. Yoo-jin is very boring. At least he’s handsome.

Life can change in an instant. Saet-byeol doesn't know how much.

As the horses slowed and turned into the village main street, Saet-byeol relaxed, and Dong-soo considered scolding her about her riding posture but stopped himself. She looked so happy.

"I'll show you where her house is," she said, pointing.

Dong-soo nodded, smiling. It probably gave his daughter-in-law great pleasure to lead her horse in front of a great and renowned general.

What kind of regrets does someone like her have? Does she secretly regret something? Maybe everyone has a secret regret. Nah, not her—she does what she wants. Look at her. She does what she wants.

The house wasn't far from the village entrance. An old place, obviously built ages ago but in good repair. There was a mule eating leaves from the thick hedges in the front yard, and a couple horses tethered to poles. The latter belonged to visitors, apparently. Two men were standing, waiting patiently at the shaman's gate.

"Looks like we'll have a wait," Dong-soo said. "She's popular."

"I never mind waiting," Saet-byeol said cheerfully. "I like chatting with the clientele."

Dong-soo was sorry that his daughter-in-law didn't get enough rest. He was sorry that these outings were her only freedom from constant work and stress at home. He had thought that Big and Little, two orphans that Dong-soo had taken in when the previous cook had passed, would help with the twins, but for some reason Saet-byeol insisted on raising her babies herself. She'd even nursed them herself, turning away wet-nurses Yoo-jin kept hiring. The fact that she'd nursed the girls was why they were so attached to her, Dong-soo knew. It was great that the little wife was a devoted mother, but people were gossiping that she was going to wear herself out. Dong-soo wasn't sure--he'd known so many tiny, wound-tight people who were stronger than tigers--Ji-sun and Woon, to name but two. Was it so unseemly for a rich woman to lead anything but a life of pure leisure? People were gossiping that there wasn't much for Big and Little to do except become second and third wives for Yoo-jin. Dong-soo knew his son wasn't interested in more wives; he was madly in love with his little morning star.

Look at her. She's straightforward with strangers like a child. That's fairly adorable.Saet-byeol had already set about to happily conversing with the men who were waiting for the shaman. Most people would have found it peculiar that she approached strange men and asked questions freely, but Dong-soo found it admirable. He wondered if his son, upon first meeting his future bride, didn’t immediately find her to be the sort of girl who needed protection in this world. When Yoo-jin had been tutoring Saet-byeol’s brother, Yoo-jin had told Dong-soo spoken of a lively girl who never stopped asking questions. A girl who wasn’t interested in needlepoint and who wanted to know all about what people did at the palace—like, was it true that the queen never looked the king in the eye?

She's a bit of a kook, she is. But Yoo-jin loves her. There was a gleam in his eye when he described what a kook she was.

Dong-soo himself was the amiable sort and usually would have been the one asking the men this and that, but today, he stood behind Saet-byeol and smiled. She was so interested as to why people were seeking shaman services.

People didn't seem to be reluctant to tell why.

One man was there to find out if he should expand his business. The other was waiting on his wife, already inside the house for a consultation, because their daughter was enamored of a man from a poor background and who had no prospects, and the distraught parents didn't know how to cure the child of this folly.

"I usually come for consultations regarding the welfare of my children," Saet-byeol said, "but today I'm here because the shaman expressed an interest in meeting my father-in-law. She waved her hand over Dong-soo as if she were displaying him like a giant placard of fine silk for sale. "This is the great general Baek Dong-soo."

The men made appropriate appreciative oohs and bowed.

It was at that moment that the shaman appeared with her last customer at the front door. The pair walked down the path to the front gate. The lady, wearing fine hanbok and a happy expression, carried a scroll tied with a golden ribbon; the shaman wore ruffled sleeves and a fierce ancient-woman expression, as if she were angry at the foolishness of dynasty after dynasty. What seemed to be an authentic tip of a fox's tail hung from the shaman's ridiculously tall headdress. The headdress was otherwise covered with bird feathers dyed purple and yellow.

"You," she said to the man who wanted to expand his business. "I'll see you later." She looked up at Dong-soo, who was very tall compared to the tiny shaman. The shaman was even smaller than Saet-byeol. "You must be Baek Dong-soo."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance." Dong-soo bowed.

The shaman didn't bother to bow. Neither did she introduce herself. "Saet-byeol-ah, wait for us. I have been waiting for this man for a very long time."

"Yes, of course." Saet-byeol looked disappointed. "You will see me later, right?"

"Maybe. If I find the time."

"But I--?" began the man who wanted to expand his business.

"Don't fret. You'll get your turn."

And with those words, the shaman took Dong-soo by the forearm, turned around, and began to walk him towards the house.

"So, she convinced you to see me?" The shaman spoke in a scratchy whisper. "What was it that she said? Something about your old love?"

"I...I..." Dong-soo felt the woman's force of character. "I needed to get out of the house, Grandmother. I thought the day trip would make her happy. I really don't believe in fortune-telling."

"So I've heard. You can call me Hye-won. I'm nobody's grandmother, even if I am ten or so years older thanyou. Sheer perseverance keeps some people alive, but you look exceptionally good for--what? You must be seventy-two? Seventy-three?--must be all that meditation and martial arts exercise."

"That's Brother Sun," the shaman answered. She was holding up a rather large jar of rice--she'd removed the lid and was now stirring the rice with her body's movements. Her hips swayed side to side, and her elbows jostled the heavy jar up and down. "Are you not from Joseon that you do not know the story of Brother Sun and Sister Moon?"

Of course Dong-soo knew the folk-tale. Of how two children being pursued by a tiger prayed to the heavens. “If we are deserving and pure of heart, please save us. But only if we deserve to be saved….” And a rope fell from the heavens and took up the children. The tiger's rope broke, and his blood spilled over the millet field and made the grasses forever red in the fall. The children in heaven became the sun and the moon.

Why do you look like Woon?

Dong-soo couldn't take his eyes off the painted face. The same thick eyebrows, the same--

Do I see Woon everywhere? Is that it?

The shaman jutted her belly forward and seemed to offer the whole jar of rice to Dong-soo. "Well, let's get on with it."

"What?"

"Stick your hand in here and grab some rice."

"Excuse me, Shaman Lady, what are we doing now?"

"I told you to call me Hye-won. Grab a handful of rice and toss the grains on the table there. I'm reading your fortune."

Dong-soo smiled weakly. "Oh yes, of course." He put his hand into the jar--the rice was just rice. There was nothing magical about it. His smile broadened. This was supposed to be good fun, after all, wasn't it? The painting was just a painting of a boy and a girl. It wasn't even a good painting. The tiger looked a little like a striped piglet.

Dong-soo held onto a limp fistful of rice. "And just toss it onto the table there, you say?"

"Yes, yes, what are you waiting for? The way you're holding onto the rice, I can tell already--you're the type who clings to the past. Are you still mooning over your first love?"

Dong-soo huffed and tossed the rice. "My first love? Nothing to me now."

There was no particular pattern to the grains of rice where they landed--no swirls, no piles, no one singular streak of white that stood out. Dong-soo wondered if that meant anything--an ordinary fortune? There wasn't much of his life left, after all, so it would be a good fortune if his last days were boring and uneventful. The shaman leaned over the table and was examining the grains closely--for what? Were the white grains on the dark wood like stars in a night sky? Full of mystery and purpose? She was another believer in Destiny, of course.

Dong-soo had grown to hate the word.

Wait--she's touching the grains. She's counting them?

Summary:

Woon’s attachment to the Living World has not wavered for years because of his fear that Dong-soo will suffer without his protection; is there any chance that Woon will entrust Dong-soo to Saet-byeol? To Hye-won?

Some noblemen could get away with not getting married, particularly if they were of questionable lineage or were military men who spent too much time at outposts to find time to devote to families, but scholars like Yoo-jin were expected to marry well. It was considered unseemly, especially among devotees of Confucius' teachings, to remain a bachelor for long, butyear after year, Yoo-jin kept finding reason after to reason to reject women the marriage broker would present his family. The great general Baek was presumed to be a negligent father for allowing his son such impertinence, and Dong-soo's wife had even raised her voice at her husband once in frustration, "What is wrong with our son? Do you think he doesn't like women? Is that it? Does he find them disgusting? Is he a pervert?"

Dong-soo had smiled at the suggestion. "No, no. He's married to his books is all. Give him time."

The years had passed, and eventually, the best families were not interested in marrying their precious daughters into the strange Baek household.

Woon had wondered if it were true, if Yoo-jin didn't like women at all. That was no excuse for not marrying.

I had an excuse for not marrying. I was a true outcast from society. I was an assassin. There had never been any hope for me. Still, I had dreamed from time to time of an ordinary life. Maybe with an extraordinary girl like Ji-sun.

Yoo-jin rarely left the sanctuary of the mind. He did not travel much between where books were stored and sold or wander far from where books were discussed; his contact with other people was that minimal. When Yoo-jin was hired by Saet-byeol's father to tutor her brother, it was a special case--the family was rich, the boy was dull and in need of help, the palace was interested in giving a grey-haired, peculiar scholar one last shot at meeting an eligible bride.

Woon had been so curious about the arrangement that he was outside the Kim residence on Yoo-jin's first day of lessons. Who else had he found standing there? A Reaper!

But there was no one dead in the home!

The sight still gave him a shock, though, and he asked the old woman about it.

"Oh they sent a Reaper, did they?" Hye-won looked bemused. "Your Dong-soo's son is really going to marry that girl then."

"What do you mean? Is someone going to die?"

The old woman nodded.

"What? Who?" The thought of Dong-soo grieving his son--not since Woon had seen Dong-soo walking through the forest with a noose had Woon felt so scared.

"The girl," the old woman explained. "She was very sick as a baby."

"She so sick as a baby that she was going die, and her mother was a regular client."

What exactly are your powers, old woman?

"You did something? I thought you said it was wrong to interfere in a soul's natural passing."

"I never stop things. I let things run their course... I just... I just...." The shaman was struggling to justify herself, and Woon, in this one rare moment, had felt a strange shift in their relationship, as if he were on the verge of discovering a weakness in the haughty woman who seemed to know the secrets of thousands of years, past and future.

Battles aren’t won with sheer strength. They are won by understanding where your opponent is vulnerable.

"You ran off a Reaper for a sick baby?" Woon asked.

"I ran one off for you, didn't I? I have my own reasons for letting souls cross over a little later than planned. I don't tweak with Destiny much; I just allow for some spirits to have a little peace and resolution."

"The Reaper is back--is the girl going to die now?"

"If she gets married, yes. Oh, the gods are so literal. The mother said all she wanted was to see her daughter grow up to be married, and I said yes, she would see that. I didn't say she would see a day past that."

Woon had felt himself shudder a little bit that day--so ghosts can shudder. His awe and surprise were not so much over the old woman's power to prolong a life, but he also was shocked that some terrified mother had been capable of rousing the shaman's sympathies to get her to perform this sort of magic.

"What in the Living World did the mother say to get you to--?"

"Aish, you've heard the people I get in here." The old woman had waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "They whine and complain about the most trivial things. A disobedient wife. High taxes. Always, always it's what will the neighbors think. Women come before me, bow their heads and claim they have been torn into shreds over some relative's dismissive words. Some imagined slight from a rival. I do what I can for them. I give them practical advice. I brew them teas to help with their digestion.”

“Those who come in with deathly sick grandparents and even babies who are not meant for this world….” A sad shake of the head. “Most of them want to believe I can chase away Reapers, but I sense their fear. They understand the inevitable. This mother?" The shaman had smiled a half-smile, remembering.

"What about her?"

"You might understand her. You were literally ripped in half, weren't you, when you died?" The old woman's voice had grown soft and strange. "There's no denying how much you love that man. You didn't come from the same womb, but it's like you exchanged pieces of yourselves with one another from a young age, so much so that you were bound to one another."

It was something like that, maybe.

I've never been afraid of anything ... until now. Dong-soo's suffering frightens me. I don't want him to die with all my sins on his back. I don't want him to believe he murdered me. I'm afraid will punish himself with more than just drinking and his usual stupidity one day.

"So Dong-soo's son is going to lose his bride? The day of the wedding? The day after?"

It was then that the old woman surprised Woon yet again. She shrugged and said, "Oh, I don't know. The mother will probably come see me to pick an auspicious date for the wedding. I'm not a proper shaman if I don't tell her that there's bad luck in her daughter's future. There are ways to avoid bad luck, you know."

"What do you mean? Aren't you simply talking about ways to change Destiny?"

"No, no, no, no." The old woman had shook her head violently. "There you go again. You just don't get the basics. I'm talking about fooling Reapers. They're not the brightest spirits around, you see."

Summary:

Dong-soo reaches out with his senses for Woon.

Dong-soo, his breathing normal now, his tears dried, sat with his hand cupped around his very hot serving of tea. He had only sipped a little. He didn't want to offend Shaman Lady, so he attempted another sip and crumpled his face in disgust. He couldn't help it--the stuff was so bitter.

"No honey for you," she said. "Sweet things make a man crave alcohol more. You're to drink this concoction once a night before bed, and it will repair your liver. About your other problems...." Shaman Lady shrugged. "I'll need to see you again."

"You're selling this tea to my daughter-in-law?" Dong-soo asked. "You can just tell her what's in it--or sell her the recipe."

"Why is a rich man like you haggling with a poor woman like me? I earn a good quarter of my livelihood from selling potions, you know—and who is to say that my clients won't use cheap ingredients or mess up the recipes? My reputation depends on my quality treatments."

Dong-soo nodded. He took another sip of the nasty-tasting tea; it tasted even nastier as it was cooling.

"Your whole life you were so concerned with protecting people that you never noticed when other people were falling over themselves with worry over you." Shaman Lady was putting packets of tea into a bag. "Let Saet-byeol care for you. It's what she does. She does it to a fault--she doesn't know how to care for herself so well, but she needs to care for you, and you're rude to her."

"You picked up all that just from touching my hand?"

"Ha." The old woman threw back her head. "Men always go from doubters to total believers in a blink of an eye. I thought you were a Sword Saint, a man of refined perception. Saet-byeol herself told me how rude you were to her, and I gathered myself from what she said that you've always treated people this way--a man who protects others doesn't notice when people are trying to do the same for him. Or if he does, he shakes them off. It's prideful and wrong, you know. Were you raised without a mother?"

It was common knowledge that Dong-soo was orphaned, that he was raised by the butcher, Heuk Sa-mo. Dong-soo was starting to doubt the old lady again. On the one hand, she did seem to have some scary insights--like, how could she have possibly known what Woon had said moments before he died? But on the other hand, she was well-versed in the typical shaman practice of leading clients on by revealing to them what was known to the whole world.

"No, I didn't have a mother," Dong-soo said. Shaman Lady's little lion dog had fallen asleep on his foot. The room didn't feel scary, the way it had earlier--it felt cozy, like being in some nice auntie's house.

"That explains some of your rudeness," Shaman Lady said. "Your wife, may her soul have found contentment, never corrected your rudeness, am I right?"

"Ah...." Dong-soo smiled at the memory of his wife's pretty face. "She put up with me. She was a very fine, very virtuous lady." Dong-soo took a deep swallow of his tea. The bitterness seemed congruous with memories of the past and went down easy this time; maybe drinking the nasty tea every night wouldn't be so bad. It tasted like punishment, and hadn't most things in his life tasted like a series of rebukes--some mild, some more severe?

Saet-byeol will insist I drink this sh*t tea. It would be very rude of me to refuse it.

Curing what the shaman had decided was a sick liver was one thing, but Dong-soo hadn't yet made the promise that he wouldn't drink alcohol again. Intoxication was the worst punishment because when he drank, he remembered Woon the most vividly; of course, the worst punishment was the also greatest solace because when he drank he remembered Woon the most vividly.

"There's that look in your eye," Shaman Lady said. "You're not thinking of your wife right now, I can tell."

Dong-soo looked up. "No."

"You can't let him go. There's not a day that goes by that you don't think about him?"

Dong-soo sighed. "Not a day."

Dong-soo looked around the room. There was so much he wanted to know, and he didn’t know how to ask Shaman Lady. She was elusive and grumpy. His eyes kept returning to the painting of Brother Sun and Sister Moon, and he thought now he was mistaken--the boy painted there didn't look like a young Woon after all.

Dong-soo was reaching out with his senses for Woon, remembering Woon clearly throughout so many years....

Woon, the lanky twelve-year-old with the amazing sword skills. "You smile like a girl," Dong-soo had told him. Woon, top of the class at the warrior camp on graduation day. "But I'm second best!" Dong-soo had told him. Woon, in his dazzling blue Royal guard uniform, speaking those strange worlds that all but flat-out foretold the betrayal to come. Why hadn't Dong-soo picked up on the strangeness of those words that morning? "Dong-soo-yah, if tomorrow you find out it was me who hurt our friends, you will be regretful."

Yeo Woon, Yeo Woon, so many expressions, always those dark eyes that held meanings Dong-soo couldn't read. Even when Woon spoke, Dong-soo knew that there was so much still left unsaid.

Woon, on the wharf, his blade held high, that killer's look in his eye--"Do you think I won't kill you?" But he didn't. And then Sa-mo and Sword Saint were shouting at the two to stop as if scolding squabbling children. Woon, in Hong's prison, his hair a mess--did he bother to comb it or braid it in those days? He looked a little wild except his eyes were cold, a resignation there--what did he say? "I don't understand you. Why didn't you plunge a knife into my chest?" Woon's pupils had grown right then, like two drops of ink expanding in water--and from the light of pyres outside the jail, Dong-soo could see Woon's eyes glisten—the far-away look of a moment ago dissolving into open emotion--the sight had nearly murdered Dong-soo right then and there. Dong-soo had turned away, a tear spilling down his cheek.

I couldn't bear to look your pain in the eye, Woon-ah. How is that possible?

I, who said I was your best friend. I couldn't look at you for fear I'd see my own sin reflected there?

Another Yeo Woon, another year. Woon, the morning of the coup, in black silk with red spider lilies, his hair so shiny and tied with a red ribbon. I knew you would come back to me Woon-ah. I knew you would come back to me.

Dong-soo didn't want to remember past that moment. Woon by his side, against Hong's army. "Let's die together."

Dong-soo set the empty cup of tea aside, and his fingers stretched forward. He lowered his eyes and inhaled deeply.

"You're still trying to find him?" Shaman Lady asked.

"He's not here," Dong-soo opened his eyes and looked at Shaman Lady. "You still haven't told me. Have you been in contact with Woon's spirit?"

"So, tell me." She leaned over and took away Dong-soo's empty cup. "You could sense his presence when he was alive? When he was approaching? When he was far away?"

"My master taught me how to listen for the sound of a dew-drop rolling off a leaf." Dong-soo reflexively bowed his head slightly at the memory of the legendary Kim Gwang-taek. "I learned to anticipate movements in all living things, to sense the way the wind might shift even when the clouds stood perfectly still."

"I'm not talking about that. And clouds are never perfectly still."

Dong-soo smiled a half-smile. "My master said when training me that all people have the ability to sense people they're close to--he said that refining that ability meant to open one's heart to all people, even to an opponent, even to a man who was ready to strike you down dead."

"I'm not talking about battle--I'm talking about love."

But love with Woon was always battle.

Dong-soo smiled more broadly and shook his head. "I don't know what you expect of me. Yes, I could sense him. There was one day...." Dong-soo remembered the morning of the bloody coup, walking from the gates of the palace with Jin-joo and Sa-mo and telling them to go ahead without him. He hadn't seen Woon behind him; he hadn't heard any sound as small as a dewdrop rolling off a leaf; he had just known that Woon was hiding behind a wall, watching.

"Ah, don't tell me," Shaman Lady groaned. "I find love stories very tedious. I hear so many of them."

"This wasn't a--" Dong-soo cleared his throat. "And I told you—we weren't like that."

"Yes, but you wanted it to be like that."

"Yes, that's what I told you. I'm perverted, right? Is your plan to cure me of my perversion? Can you prescribe a tea?"

"Did I say you were perverted?" Shaman Lady threw up her hands. "All you said was he was my first love and started to cry. You didn't tell me, and I certainly don't want to know the details of what you imagined. Filthy men and their imaginations--I don't need to hear any of that, aigoo."

Dong-soo lowered his head, embarrassed. "But I need to clarify something."

"What?"

"I didn't know he was my first love when... he was my first love."

"I figured as much from what you were telling me." Shaman Lady's voice sounded bored. "You were some clueless innocent thing." She clucked her tongue, a mocking sound. "It was when you were with your wife that you found out what you really wanted.”

“No, don’t tell me. It’s a story about regret. You found out too late who it was you wanted by your side all your life." She raised one hand and held her palm flat before Dong-soo’s face as if to stop him from telling her anything disgusting. "No! Don't verify this! No details! And no, I didn't see your secret desires, don't worry. It doesn't take a shaman to read a person like you after a few minutes. You may be a genius general or whatever, but you're something of an idiot, aren't you?"

Dong-soo blinked. "Yes," he said. "I'm an idiot."

Secret desires? All he wanted--all he ever kept telling Woon was that he wanted life to go back to the way it was before Woon's betrayal; he kept insisting that he wanted himself, Woon, and Cho-rip to live together again. But that was such an obvious lie. Cho-rip was living as a yangban with his father at the time. If Dong-soo married Ji-sun, she still would have had her own room and... well, Dong-soo and Woon would be sleeping in the same bed together the way they had since forever … and Dong-soo wanted that--he wanted Woon by his side, forever and ever.

As for anything else.... It was true that the first night with his wife, the thoughts had been torturously repetitive: I miss you, Woon-ah, I miss you Woon-ah. Thoughts only! And those thoughts had been pounding over and over like an executioner's gong in Dong-soo's head because Dong-soo had been drinking moments before, full of longing. I miss you, Woon-ah. But Dong-soo had loved his wife—yes, he truly had….

A perversion. Losing Woon was the true torment—the perversion wasn’t.

And not long after Yoo-jin was born, when Dong-soo knew, without equivocation, that it was Woon's image he could conjure intentionally in bed with or without the woman, Dong-soo had stopped visiting his wife's room.

She had been gracious about it. She had never mentioned feeling abandoned. She had kept herself occupied with her extended family and social life--she knew so many people Dong-soo barely knew.

I had wondered back then--if I died, would she miss me?

There was always Yoo-jin, though.

And what else? My love of wine and its mercilessness.

When Sa-mo died, I thought I might die from drinking. But I didn't. Woon was there. Or rather, he wasn't. It was just my imagination. If he was really there, I could sense him, right? I sensed him when he was alive? Outside the palace gates, I felt the shape, height and weight of him, the shininess of his hair, the defiance in his eyes. I knew already that when I would tell him “thank you,” he would say he didn't want to hear that. I knew already that ... he needed to hear me thank him?

Woon-ah? Are you here? I can't sense you. Is it because you're dead? I should be able to sense you wherever you are.

"Aish, you're such a tender thing."

Dong-soo felt a piece of cloth forced into his hand and realized he was crying again. He was actually making sounds, little snorfling sounds, and the lion dog had woken up and put its paws on his knees. It was looking at Dong-soo with concern.

"Wipe your face, wipe it all," Shaman Lady said. She turned around and stretched her tiny self to full height to reach for one of many pots of herb seedlings on a shelf in a corner of the room. Dong-soo hadn't even noticed that particular corner of pots before. The herbs all looked the same--and he knew all types of plants, domestic and foreign. She picked a sprig, and before he knew it, she was pushing the green stuff to his lips. "Here, chew this. I chopped some of this byungpul in your tea, but chewing it whole should calm you down a little. I thought you were a man. You're like a frightened little girl."

Dong-soo opened his mouth and chewed the herb. He knew the name--byungpul. It was an innocuous plant. It tasted fresh.

"Why are you crying?" She asked.

Dong-soo shrugged. "I'm not sure. You seem to know everything, so tell me."

"Don't be a smart-ass. What were you remembering?"

"Can't you just hold my hand again and see for yourself? What do you want from me?"

"Haven't you figured it out yet, General? I want Saet-byeol to see her dear father-in-law be cured of his bad habits. Your sickness goes beyond drinking, and you know that--there's so much regret in you, and before you start going on about perversion, no, I can't cure you of that. I've seen every sort of perversion in my line of business, and it's not my job to cure people of their desires, let alone--" Here, Shaman Lady threw up her hands and rolled her eyes heavenwards as if appealing to the gods to save her from the follies of the Living World. "Love, love, love--one may as well try to drain the Han with a straw hat as stop a person from being in love. What I can try to do is save your soul from drowning in regret."

"Regret?"

"You're old. Every old man has regrets. But yours...." Shaman Lady shook her head. She looked like she wanted to say something but wasn't going to waste her breath on someone as clueless as Dong-soo.

Dong-soo swallowed the herbs in his mouth.

"Idiot! You're not supposed to swallow it!"

"Hm?"

"I was going to give you a cup for you to spit that out in! Too much of that is bad for your liver!"

"I thought you said it was good for my liver."

"You know as well as I do that a little of something can be good, but too much can be bad!"

Dong-soo blinked. "My liver is fine. My stomach is fine. I'm very healthy, you know. You don't have to worry about me."

Shaman Lady stared. Dong-soo stared back. Dong-soo wondered if she was going to insist that he induce vomiting. He didn't know if he could humor an old woman that far.

"No, really," Dong-soo added in a timid voice. He was still wiping tears from his eyes with the cloth she'd given him. "I'm fine. I'm really fine."

Shaman Lady, unexpectedly, burst into laughter.

"Yeo Woon," she said, still laughing in a crazy way. "If you could hear the words coming out of his own mouth. He says he's fine."

Woon-ah?

"What?" Dong-soo felt his heart fluttering. "You never answered me. Do you mean--?"

"Nothing, nothing--" Shaman Lady was fanning herself as she tried to recover from her laughing fit. "It's just funny to me. Never mind me. I just...." She cleared her throat and picked up her dog who had been circling her while she laughed, enjoying the display of merriment. "I just had a silly thought is all. You're fine, you're fine. I don't think you're a pervert, General Baek. Your friend I saw in your memories was very pretty--he looked a little like a girl. In your youth he may have been some sort of substitute for a girl--some men have that inclination, and it's not--"

"No," Dong-soo said flatly. "I thought of him as a man."

Shaman Lady was looking at Dong-soo like she didn't understand. She would never understand. Why had Dong-soo ever told her anything about Woon in the first place? She couldn’t ... or could she? Was she able to communicate with Woon?

Dong-soo stood up and spoke the words aloud. "Woon-ah? Are you here? Woon-ah?" His voice was commanding, a little angry. "Woon-ah? If you're here--why--? Why haven't you shown yourself to me before?"

Shaman Lady's face turned deadly serious. She suddenly looked a few thousand years old.

“I think he’s poisoned himself,” Shaman Lady muttered to her dog. “That was a lot of byungpul to swallow after a cup of tea.”

There was a knock on the front door. A timid knock. Dong-soo recognized it.

"Come in," Shaman Lady said in a stern voice.

Saet-byeol walked inside. "Excuse me for interrupting, but...." She looked up at Dong-soo and her eyes widened. Dong-soo wondered if his eyes still looked red-rimmed from crying. "I was wondering if something was wrong," Saet-byeol continued. "The customer who was waiting outside left. He was very spooked. The windchime was going off like crazy, and there was--there was no wind. I mean, my hair wasn't blowing, the horse's mane wasn't blowing. And then the horse got up on its hind legs and whinnied, and the man looked very scared. I--I don't think he's coming back." Saet-byeol looked to the ground and held her hands. "I'm sorry if I did something wrong by interrupting, but...."

"It's not a problem," Shaman Lady said. Her voice softened, but her face still looked strange and ancient. "We were just about done here."

He's here.

"I'll wait outside then," Saet-byeol said, not raising her eyes.

"No, it's all right," Dong-soo said. "Stay right there. I'm about to pay up and leave."

"I have the money," Saet-byeol said. She stepped forward, sliding her bag off her shoulder. "I said that I would treat you today. How much is it, Madam Hye-won?"

"The usual," Shaman Lady replied, "plus a month's supply of tea for his liver."

"Of course." Saet-byeol was reaching into her purse.

"Saet-byeol-ah?" Dong-soo asked. "Will you step to your right?"

"What?"

"Just take one step to your right."

Dong-soo's daughter-in-law did as she was told.

"Woon-ah," Dong-soo said in a small, suspicious voice. "Is that you?"

I don't know what I was waiting for. The shape and the weight of you. The shininess of your hair and the defiance in your eyes. I waited all that night for you to come back to me. You were so cold, so dead, and I was so crazy. I thought the gods would take pity on my foolishness and set things right. I believed I dreamed it all, I believed it could be un-done. I saw the morning star and kept looking for signs. I listened for your footsteps. I smelled your hair on rainy days. I mistook my wife's fingers around my wrist for your fingers. I would lift my head if I heard a faraway voice--not you, it was never you.

It's not you in the painting of Brother Sun and Sister Moon.

You're not alive.

You're not alive.

Dong-soo felt a burning in his throat. At the same time, whatever he sensed was Woon--and he was sure it was Woon--flew directly over his head. Not Woon, not the Woon Dong-soo remembered, yet utterly Woon. Woon--the length of him and the grace of him, Some variables were so different as to be confused with thin air, but there was ... dear gods, dear gods, Woon-ah, don't be so sad for me.

Dong-soo bent over from his waist and vomited.

Saet-byeol gasped, and Shaman Lady snapped at her dog, "No! Get away from that! That's not for you to eat!"

"Oh heavens!" Saet-byeol was distraught. "Is he going to be all right?"

Dong-soo wasn't sure if he was all right. He had fallen to his knees, and the tears were pouring now. He was making choking sounds. He felt like he needed to vomit a little more, but his sobbing was interfering with the process of expelling the liver-toxic herbs Shaman Lady said were poisoning him.

I’m not crazy. It’s you, Woon-ah.

He felt a hard slap on his back, and he heaved. There on the wooden floor in front of his face was a puddle of tea and a mass of bright green herbs.

"He's fine." Shaman Lady's calm voice. "He swallowed something he wasn't supposed to. He doesn't listen well. Old men are all a little stupid. And this one's a general, so one would think--ah, he's not used to waiting for orders. He's used to giving them."

The women's voices and their strong human presences were interfering with Dong-soo's ability to sense Woon.

"Woon-ah," Dong-soo rasped, surprised by how pitiful he sounded. "Where are you?" Tears were still falling. They splashed, one by one, into the tea-vomit.

"Oh my goodness," Saet-byeol whispered. "Yeo Woon. That was... that was his friend. It's a very sad story. He only mentions the name when he's very drunk--did he talk about it with you?"

Summary:

Woon wonders what he might have meant to Dong-soo during their lives together, if Dong-soo was truly the idiot Woon always believed he was. Heads up for frankness re sex, nothing explicit but there will be a mild depiction of masturbation in one scene.

Notes:

Another year is upon us, and I've been wondering why the hell I'm still writing for this fandom! Or reading fanfic in general when I could be reading original fiction (For someone who majored in literature and had a brief career in writing, I read amazingly little published original stories these days; my nonfiction reading tends to be sociopolitics, feminism, history, my Twitterfeed).

The notion that original fiction and fanfiction are inherently different is fundamentally flawed; I don't need to remind people that many classics were fanfictions of other works (Shakespeare found source material in stories he didn't originate, and Dante even wrote self-inserts with Virgil!). But I hear: fanfic is "freedom!" Fiction meant for publication is subject to "rules!" Neither original fiction or fanfics are exempt from the basic rules of punctuation (or in the cases of weirdly experimental poetic writings, they are totally exempt!) Of course, no one expects perfection in un-edited work. What's astounding is when reading fanfic (I only read fanfics I'm totally in love with, let's start with that plain fact), I find the usual mistakes from esl authors (no biggie), dropped words and awkward phrases from just about everyone (if I had a nickel for each of the half dozen or so of my own boo-boos I've caught after posting a chapter!), but also some of the most mesmerizing plots, most accomplished world-building and most capable story-crafting I've read anywhere, published or not published. Thank you, authors. Thank you. I wish I could bake you cakes. You inspire me to write better. Not the way I was taught in fancy classes--but the way you write for fans, for people already in love with established characters.

Fanfiction, it's said, unlike "serious" published work, should be all for fun and kicks (Nah, I know too many authors of fanfic who angst over writing their work and too many readers who come to fanfic for solace and self-validation they can't easily find in more popular media). I've also heard this gem: audiences don't pay to read fanfic; ergo, by assumption, it shouldn't be held to as rigorous standards as published fiction. Well, don't that beat all. Here am I working on a gift for you--should I throw you scraps? Or should I give you the best I can do, the heart of my heart? I work without a beta in this fandom, I don't revise intensively the way I would if were writing original fiction, but I don't write for myself alone, as if I were scribbling notes in a journal. Too many of you have written me messages, even in this tiny fandom, telling me that you like the way I put words together, that my stories were "a balm to your soul." That's kept me going--that's made me want to work harder to write better stories, not only to exorcise my personal demons and keep shaking my fist at the original screenplay of WBDS, but to keep giving you what you like. (Ha, I became a better smut writer over the years because that's what you asked for--and it bothered me that I couldn't write smut; I challenged myself to write it in my own style, and I'm getting happier with that style). It doesn't matter (ok, it does) if there aren't comments or reviews sometimes, but I see the few kudos and hits, and always in the nick of time, there's the most thoughtful appreciative response. Thank you. In this holiday season of what's been the worst year of just about everyone's lifetime, be you a young person or (like me) someone who's been around a few blocks and then some, thank you and thank you again. Thank you for the privilege of writing fanfiction for you.

Have a blessed New Year. Stay safe from this awful virus and from all things toxic to your perfect souls.

--Deb

Chapter Six: Clouds

Walk on and on
until the sun sets,
with your old accomplice,
shadow, late as ever.
If the day clouds over,
go on anyway
regardless. --Ko Un

There was a far corner of the garden where the old woman buried the carcasses of sacrificed chickens. She hadn't killed a pig in a while; she hated to bury good pork. The ground where the birds were buried, deep, deep, so the lion dog wouldn't dig there, was covered with leaves now because it was late fall, the weather was cold, and soon snow would be melting the leaves to mulch. The old woman would plant ssuk there and pick the purplish buds in the summer; the aroma of the grass was said to keep away spirits, but Woon had always found the scent pleasant. So many of the herbs and spices in the little bags in the old woman's house smelled nice; some smelled less than nice, but all reminded him of the Living World--its teeming organisms that ate one another and farted odors into fields of fragrant flowers. What a world of abounding change, how feathers became soil then became grasses dotted with seeds.

Woon stepped on the fall leaves. They rustled a little, the noise imperceptible even though the wind was light.

I'm a powerful spirit. I didn't train to become this way. I came into the World Beyond like this, the way I entered the World of the Living, with special talents. I was noticed when I was alive. I was exploited in the Living World (Don't think about Chun). But here....

I'm invisible. If I want to be, that is.

Woon looked around. He'd been in the garden for a while. Nothing was growing here, and a large limb of the walnut tree looked dead from blight. There was nothing else alive, nothing beyond tiny bugs anyway, and no ghosts around at all. There had not been spirits around for a few moons now. Woon looked up at the sky which was darkening.

The sun would have to be bleeding those particular colors. The sun would have to be that particular shade of orange in the autumn sky. Dong-soo was home now, surely, eating with his family, recounting some amusing story about the day trip to the shaman and how he'd accidentally poisoned himself.

"The two of you," she muttered. "Crybabies. In all my years I've never seen two men who act like such simpering maidens."

"Cry--?" Woon was confused. He turned around and saw the old woman standing there with her arms crossed, her face more sympathetic than her words.

"Touch your cheek, Pretty Spirit. You aren't even aware of it. You're crying."

"I don't cry," Woon insisted. Nonetheless, he touched his cheek. It was wet.

"You don't cry like other spirits," the old woman said. "You've heard them. They moan and howl. You stand there and leak. I've watched you do it before. Whenever you're... ah, you're a fool for the old general. It made you die another death to see him on his knees like that today, didn't it?"

Woon felt the tears in his throat this time--why hadn't he been aware of them before? Ghosts didn't eat, neither did they expel fluids that were truly their own, but sometimes the memories of blood ran over their spirit flesh, and ghost tears, cold and thin, slid like silk threads over silk masks and evaporated before they could hit the ground.

"You came in with the girl," the old woman said, "so you didn't hear much. The sight of a ridiculous old man puking made you cry for hours like this? What happened? Why were you causing a ruckus outside and scaring my customer's horse? What could you hear?"

"I...." Woon touched his face again. He really was crying. "I couldn't hear anything. I sensed something. Sometimes I sense him. It's always been that way."

"Ha!" The old woman was nodding. "He said the same thing. Something about how he could always sense you when you were alive. I don't think he knew what he was talking about though, to be honest. He's not as sharp as people seem to think he is. Did he see you?"

"No. He doesn't see me unless I choose to reveal myself."

"He sensed you, though--am I right?"

That burning sensation in Woon's throat again. "Yes." Woon swallowed. It was more difficult in this body-less form to hide; he could choose to not speak and keep his thoughts hidden from the old woman, but he understood that his face and its expressions were naked somehow. He had little control over his face. It was his nineteen-year-old face, he knew that much. He didn't choose it--that was just his face.

"Ah well." The old woman shrugged. "He had to figure it out sooner or later. I kept my promise and didn't tell him. Took him almost fifty years for the man to figure out he'd been seeing a ghost--or maybe he didn't get that part? Do you think he did?"

"He didn't," Woon said. "He asked me why I hadn't shown myself to him before."

"Yes, yes." The woman raised a finger. "That's true! So you must have been right outside the door when you heard him calling for you like some mighty commander. You came running, didn't you? But--" She squinted at Woon. "You were already on your way, weren't you? Right behind Saet-byeol? What did you sense that made you so crazy out there? Tossing around wind-chimes and scaring a horse--really, Pretty Spirit. I told you it would be fine. I was just going to talk about his liver this session--that was all."

"You didn't just talk about his liver."

She laughed. "I talked a little about regret. What did you sense?"

"He didn't say it out loud, but I could hear him ... he was ..." Woon didn't know how to express it. "He was calling for me. He was looking for me?"

"Ah, that he was. His eyes were all over the room because he was suspicious—even an idiot like him wonders if shamans really talk to the Dead. I imagine he was all Woon-ah, Woon-ah in his heart, and you, being soul-bonded to him, would hear that. But not all soul-mates are capable of such things--you're gifted, you know. The great Sword Saint should have trained you, not that clueless General Baek." She shrugged again. "I suppose it upset you too when he said you were his first love."

Woon froze. It was as if he had turned into the dead limb of the walnut tree that was white and rotted with blight. He couldn't speak.

"What? First love, first love. You know you were. You hardly bat one of your long pretty eyelashes when I remind you."

Woon opened his mouth. No words came out.

"I said I would mention regret. No, we didn't talk about the day he killed you. I wasn't ready for that much drama for the first session.”

“But I said I would address his drinking problem. To get to his liver, I had to go past his lover, so yes, I kept mentioning you."

"I wasn't his lover." Woon felt a little afraid. "What did you say?"

"I held his hand. I saw you as a boy--this age, your prettiest it must be. I just poked at him the way I do you all the time and called you his first love and... He finally confessed. He cried like a girl when he said it too. Is that what you sensed? He said--he was my first love."

"He said it out loud?"

"Yes, he said it out loud." The old woman made that clucking sound with her tongue that usually indicated disdain, but this time it sounded like sympathy. "You poor boy, did you really need to hear him say it? I told him I wouldn't tell anyone. But yes, he spoke the words with his own mouth."

Woon felt like the blood he didn't have was slowing in veins he no longer had; his ghost senses were swimming; there was a mist before his eyes, and from what he could make out, the old woman looked unusually soft--were the tears in his own eyes distorting his image of her or did she look younger, kinder? At odd moments, her peculiar affection for him was plain. Her eyes though--

Her voice even sounded younger. Like a woman in her twenties, the raspiness gone. "What now? You knew, of course. Ahhhhhh." Her voice had a lilt. It was her voice, but it wasn't her voice. Yes, it was a younger version of herself. "I forget that you're a very young spirit. You've been around for a while, but you're still stuck in the obsession of a very young person. You still have the feeling that you're the only one who has loved so deeply and mourned so deeply."

Woon understood the truth of that. The mist before his eyes cleared, and the old woman was back, her face in profile, looking at the sky. "There is nothing new under the sun," she said in her familiar raspy tone. "Now, beyond the sun, ha!" She smiled and dozens of crinkles appeared around her eyes and mouth. "Can you see beyond the sun? Wouldn't you like to?"

"I'm not in the mood for this speech," Woon said. "I told you once. I told you a hundred times. I'm not moving on."

"I know, I know. I'm just doing my job." A tiny sigh. "I know it was hard for you. I didn't expect it to be easy once the idiot stood up and called out for you as if he were trying to take over my job. The audacity of some men."

"He was angry at me." Woon wondered why that was. Why was he surprised, though. He and Dong-soo had so often been at odds in the Living World. Fighting about this or that.

"Of course he is." The old woman yawned. "All right. I'm beat. I'll leave you out here with your memories of your first love. The Living are often angry with the Dead, you know. As far as he's concerned, you left him. And you left him in such a horrible way--he has every right." The old woman turned around to go. "Don't fret about it too much, and don't go bothering him for a week. You'll only make it worse if you visit him. Mark my words. Do you hear me?" Her voice got louder as she walked towards the back door. "If you don't mind me, there'll be hell to pay. He needs to take care of his liver or he'll get sick. You care about his getting sick, don't you?"

And then she was inside the house.

Woon floated up to the roof, his usual resting place.

First love.

What did Dong-soo mean by that?

Dong-soo had confessed it was true?

Idiot.

He had been moon-sick unto death over Yoo Ji-sun. Disgusting, really. It was like he fell in love with her just by looking at her face in the light of a campfire, and for weeks after, the little nun was "a fairy, my future wife, my fairy fairy fairy." That is, until it was discovered she was the Crown prince's consort, then she was like a bellyache for Dong-soo. He didn't really love her. Oh, she would have made a good wife for him. She was one in a thousand--a woman of the best characteristics a woman could possess- beauty, poise, modesty, kindness, a willingness to work hard and confront all obstacles without fear. Her gifts had been made stronger by a life of suffering, as if pain had burnished her will into a sleek determination, graced her with a courage Woon had never seen in men taught to live and die on the battlefield.

I was the one who loved her truly. I was the one who ... I understood her.

Mi-so, the warrior camp commander's brat daughter. She was such an annoying girl back in the day--she took turns crushing on all the boys, and whenever she cooed at Woon, Woon felt like bird-beaks were digging into his ears. Hadn't Dong-soo liked her back for a week? Maybe it was two whole weeks. He gave her a whole apple he stole from the kitchen. She made fun of him. She said she could steal from the kitchen anytime she wanted--she was such a brat.

She did seem to genuinely love Cho-rip when her crushes finally landed on him, though.

Don't think about Cho-rip.

Woon lay back and looked at the sky for stars--there were a few starting to appear, but it was a cloudy evening. He shut his eyes.

Don't think about Cho-rip, don't think about Chun, don't dwell on Dong-soo. There is nothing new under the sun. The old woman didn't tell me anything I didn't already know.

Try as he might to empty his mind, to focus on nothing or to focus on nothing much, the way a meditating monk might imagine the soft, slightly wavering tip of a candle-flame inside the center of his being, Woon saw the whiteness under his ghost eyelids keep turning to pictures.

Dong-soo's wife. Her wide-cheeked face and almond eyes. How much she looked like Miss Jin-sun and yet she didn't. The wife didn't love him, not really, but he loved her. He truly loved her in that way Dong-soo gave love to all in his immediate circle--he appreciated the best, overlooked the worst, loved in a way that he would swim an ocean, climb a mountain, kill a dragon then do all three things all over again in a single day for someone he loved. He was just that kind of man.

First love?

I was his first love?

Like in what way, exactly? He said it out loud?

Woon understood, and yet he didn't understand.

So I was…? Not a fleeing fancy, like Mi-so when she a brat. Not a dreamy infatuation, like Miss Ji-sun. Not... a wife is a deep obligation and someone to share one's life with--was she not his first love? And why didn't he admit outright that I .... Here, Woon rolled a bit down the roof and came to a standstill on the very edge. He flung a ghost-leg over the rafter and swung it back and forth, impatiently, in the night air. After I died, I became a perversion to him? Because that's what happened--I became his perversion.

But he called me his first love.

He called me his first love.

Woon had never doubted that whatever bonded him and Dong-soo was love--the strongest force in existence, a love that was born of so many familial memories, meals shared and long hours spent in comfortable silence next to one another. But the bond was so many other things too--their shared sins, the sacrifices they swore to make for one another but somehow f*cked up, the constant anger and regret, the rivalry that ended with the worst of all possible endings to a lively story, the story of two brothers who loved one another and damned themselves, one dead, the other sobbing in a buckwheat field as the night grew cold and the moon rose.

Dong-soo married. He loved his wife, but he drank and drank and he called for Woon. Woon came, and when the wife pulled Dong-soo to her bedroom, Woon left. Then the baby came, and Dong-soo stopped drinking for a while; so there was no reason for Woon to come by.

Then one night Dong-soo called for Woon.

Like a dog, Woon came. Even though he knew what would happen. Even though the beckoning was a half-whisper. Even though he knew Dong-soo's cheek would by lying against the crook of his arm and that the wine would be spilled on the table and that the wife would come--she always came--to take Dong-soo away. She didn't know how to comfort him, what to say, how else to banish her husband's memories of his dead friend, so she always led him into the bedroom--Woon’s cue to leave.

But that night Woon was surprised to find that Dong-soo had not been drinking at all.

He wasn't sitting at the table with a bottle.

He was in his own room, covered head to toe with two blankets because it was dead of winter and even though the ondol floor was warm, Dong-soo always liked to sweat under blankets. Cho-rip used to joke that for such a big guy, Dong-soo could act like a burrowing shrew when it came to churning up blankets around himself on freezing nights.

"Woon....aaaahhh."

The voice was soft and strained. Woon knew right away what was going on.

It wasn't like he hadn't noticed this sort of thing before. Even at Sa-mo's house, when he and Dong-soo were twelve, Dong-soo hadn't been exactly discreet about jacking off in the early morning. Woon had always pretended to be asleep. He didn't care. Dong-soo was gross. He ate with his mouth open; he didn't have the good sense to take care of sexual urges behind a tree somewhere. He was like that--he wiped boogers on his pants and probably wiped his morning spurts on them too.

A grown, married man whispering a man’s name, though.... and he wasn't drunk. He wasn't even drunk?

Woon's first thought had been: leave.

His second thought: how long? Did you think of me this way when I was alive?

Because Woon had entertained those thoughts. Coarse, rude, sensual thoughts about Dong-soo’s body.

Woon had not wanted to watch Dong-soo pleasuring himself under the pile of blankets. The wife’s room was not far away.

Leave.

Don't stand there and watch.

Woon had stood there and watched.

Dong-soo had taken his sweet time. Woon couldn't see much--a restless bobbing, some movement under the blankets, just the crown of Dong-soo's messy topknot of curls. What Woon had sensed was desperation. When the folds of the blankets had stopped wavering and Dong-soo had seized, Woon, again, heard his name--

Dong-soo didn't bother to say it softly this time. He said loud enough for the servants to hear.

"Woon-ah!"

Woon had startled. Whatever vague, sad lust he'd been feeling from watching an erotic pile of blankets was shattered by the sound of his name spoken so loudly.

He'd fled the house.

He'd never been certain if Dong-soo had thought of Woon that way from when they were very young--or had it been later in life, when he seemed to forget Ji-sun? Because after Dong-soo came back from training those three years with Sword Saint, he was different. He looked and acted like a full grown man, a man who seemed to understand himself. And Woon, too, at that age, understood his own self better. He knew then, whenever he caught himself in Dong-soo's gaze--

We can't get too close.

I want to knock him over. I want to gnaw at his face like an animal. I want to make him pant.

Summary:

Facing Woon again isn’t as thrilling as Dong-soo expected the experience would be.

Notes:

Too tired this year to make a "Best of" post on my Wordpress blog, Woonietune. What K-dramas did you enjoy? This current fic owes a lot to the joy I got from Hi Bye Mama and Mystic Pop-Up Bar, two intimate ghost stories that were more satisfying to me than more elaborate fantasies like Hotel del Luna and Goblin. (I enjoyed those last two particular dramas, but they were--what's the word? Pretentious with clothes, sets, references to references--although I still cry when I hear the Goblin OST). I do love mythological K-drama takes on the afterlife like Hwayugi and this year's Tale of the Nine Tailed. I was more into ghosts this year than swords, although swords will always be my number one draw. Unlike 2019, when there were a good half dozen sageuk I could recommend (My Country--swords!), 2020 had none. Against my better nature, I watched rom-coms and makjang. I like thrillers, and Memorist was good, but it scared me (I scare easily this year!) I liked the sweetness of My Unfamiliar Family, the fact that the two main couples in it were in their 40s and 60s, respectively. I'm a huge action fan & I like pretty men, so I found myself re-watching the C-drama The Untamed--A LOT. I had mixed feelings about It's Okay Not to Be Okay--beautifully filmed, great cast, I loved the fairy tales, I adored the autistic brother and the script's presentation of the origins of anti-social-personality, but I was extremely bothered by--how shall I put this?--how the drama seemed to romanticize and even cheer ASPD in a woman as somehow feminist (or was it audiences that did that?) In any event, the script did offer a tepid, predictable "love-fixes-everything" solution to what is a horrible mental illness. I could've seen a happy ending for this drama, but the ending still struck me as abrupt. I don't get why some people are hailing this one as the best K-drama romances of all time, but I have personal triggers when it comes to lying, scheming, cluster B types who'd just as soon pop a guy in the eye with a pen as say hello. Call me nuts, but I tend to run away from those people. What else? Itaewon Class may be one of my all-time faves now. I came for the Park Seo-joon and stayed for the heroic ensemble cast. I was in love with the transgender story-line, the soft rock OST--and even though the story started slow, and I'm not a fan of standard revenge tales, this one kept twisting my expectations. Oh, and I watched some of Warrior Baek Dong-soo again--just to reference a few scenes and to pick at old hurts--because I'm a masoch*st, lol. Damn, Yoo Seung-ho was gorgeous at seventeen, wasn't he? And his performance was breath-taking. I will forever be hurt by those eyes.

Chapter Seven: Do You Want to Die?

You fools who ask what god is
should ask what life is instead.
Find a port where lemon trees bloom.
Ask about places to drink in the port.
Ask about the drinkers.
Ask about the lemon trees.
Ask and ask until nothing’s left to ask.--Ko Un

Dong-soo had been dreaming that Woon wasn't dead. That he was lying in Dong-soo's arms in that terrible field. Woon, his pretty face still drained of blood and made whiter by the moon's light, blood all over those full lips and smeared on his chin, but eyes wide open and staring right at Dong-soo with blank surprise--as if to say:

Where am I?

Woon's eyes had even batted once, twice. He'd looked confused. But he was certainly alive. Long lashes, bright eyes. A miracle?

In this dream, in this dream that felt like a dream come true, Dong-soo had shaken Woon--"Speak to me. Woon-ah, Woon-ah, is it true? Are you back?"

Blood had spurted from Woon's mouth as Dong-soo had continued to shake Woon. Woon looked the same--bewildered, lost, not in the present but not dead.

Just beyond Woon's silent, transfixed expression, Dong-soo had seen the weapons they'd held hours ago--Woon's tossed to the grasses before he died and Dong-soo's pulled out of Woon's body hours later. The blades lay in the fields like murdered things, glistening under the moon.

But Woon was no longer murdered; Woon was awake, still soaked in blood, his upper arms still cold as Dong-soo gripped them. Woon kept staring at Dong-soo. It was such a sweet look that Dong-soo had felt afraid--was it a look from another world? Woon looked too heavenly and gentle. Yes, he looked that way sometimes--if one caught him off-guard, if one caught him watching a fire burn or scanning the skies for nothing in particular. But Woon's face, the one he showed to people, even to Dong-soo, most of the time, was a little guarded, a lot guarded or---

"No! Don't close your eyes!"

Woon’s eyelashes had fluttered, his eyes had shut, his head rolling forwards. Dong-soo had felt Woon go limp.

"Woon-ah!"

And it was at that moment Dong-soo had woken up, flailed, knocked the wine jug over (it was empty), realized he was sleeping at the table, that he had been drinking all night, that his shoulders were covered with a blanket--that Saet-byeol could not have persuaded him to leave the table to come to bed, so she left a pillow there.

The pillow was on the floor now. Dong-soo had whapped it away along with the wine jug.

I'm drunk.

Noooooo. I'm such a stupid....

Woon-ah, where are you? Really, where are you? Isn't it enough for me to want to see you? Do I have to call you by name?

Dong-soo lay his head on the table and tried to remember how long he'd been drinking, why he had started--he wasn't sure.

"Woon-ah?" A soft moan at first, then the word was hard and full of pain, resonating from deep inside Dong-soo's chest. "Woon-ahhhhhhhh."

There was a dim memory of some impatience, of an experiment occurring to him: if he drank, then would his drinking companion who looked like Woon reveal himself to be--Surprise! Woon the ghost? Dong-soo had called for wine at dinner, much to Saet-byeol protestations, but what could she do? Dong-soo was the general of the house, and if he wanted to drink, by the gods, he was going to drink.

Wait. Didn't I already whine out loud for that bastard a while back? Before I dreamed--aish, that didn't count as seeing him. That was just a nightmare. Why isn't he here?

“Hey!" Dong-soo picked up the wine jug and turned it over. Empty, empty. Empty as his life. He needed more. He usually had Little or Big bring him the first two jugs and when he was good and hammered, he'd fetch the rest of the wine himself from the kitchen. By that time, Saet-byeol was trying to stop him, but he always managed to shake her off.

Why didn't she come bother me tonight while I was moaning for Woon? Maybe she's finished with me. Maybe Shaman Lady gave her instructions—like if I break the rules and drink before the week is up, I'm supposed to be left alone to just pass out and die or something.

Yeah, that'll show me.

"Woon-ah?" The word wasn't a moan. It was a half-whisper this time. Dong-soo was feeling a teensy bit more sober. He didn't want to bother the children.

He didn't like feeling a teensy bit more sober.

Yes, there was more wine in the kitchen, but Dong-soo was too depressed to go there. Whatever, he still felt drunk enough, still full of dreams and half-dreams, still pissed that Woon wasn't standing before him or sitting next to him.

"But you always come when I drink." Dong-soo began to moan again. Very softly. So softly only the grains of wood in the table could hear.

"Woon-ah. Woon-ah? Woon-ahhhhhhhhhhhh."

Then he felt it.

What he had felt at Shaman Lady's house. That presence that was Woon and yet not Woon.

Dong-soo looked up. He was still pretty drunk, so it took a moment for his eyes to focus, but sure enough, standing on the other side of the table was Woon, his drinking companion. Nineteen-year-old Woon, arms crossed--wait, he looked different. He didn't look as pleasant as usual.

No matter. Dong-soo's face felt as though it would crack from the smile that spread across it--he was so happy!

"Woon--Wooh-ah!" Dong-soo struggled to his elbows. f*ck, I'm drunk. "You made it. I didn't think you were going to come! What took you so long?"

Woon didn't look very happy. No, he looked angry, in fact. "It usually takes me a little bit. Or haven't you noticed? Your house is a little less than a half day's ride from where I usually am, and while I'm pretty fast, I can't be in one spot one moment and then in another the next moment."

Dong-soo's mouth fell open. He leaned back and blinked. "Woah. You--you--"

"You're so drunk." Woon looked disgusted.

"That's never bothered you before." Dong-soo co*cked his head to one side. "Are you the same Woon who comes here when I drink? Or are you another one? Some demon or something? Or..." Dong-soo pinched his own cheek. It felt saggy and old. Sometimes he forgot how old he was. "Am I dreaming again? I don't think I'm dreaming. Am I?"

"You're not dreaming."

"What's your problem? You look mad."

"My problem? You're destroying your body with wine. Do you want to die?"

The question hit hard--so did Woon's gaze. Dong-soo knew that look. He hadn't seen it for so many years, but it was murderous. Dong-soo's heart leapt to the challenge; his head cleared. Woon was staring at him. Woon was angry.

"Do I want to die?" Dong-soo held out his open palm. He himself wasn't sure what he meant by the gesture, but he felt as if he were asking Woon to pass him a plate at the dinner table. To pass him the jug of wine? To put something there, in the emptiness of that palm. "What does it look like to you, Woon-ah? Tell me about it. You remember what it's like, wanting to die."

Woon shifted his weight, looked away. "Stop. Let's not talk about that."

"So, you really are a ghost?" Dong-soo still wasn't sure. "Are there rules? Are you not supposed to tell me? Is that why you were hanging around me for years and years, and you didn't say?"

Woon looked at Dong-soo again. His eyes seemed less angry, but still angry. "There's no rule."

Why is he mad at me?

Dong-soo felt his heart hurt--there was no amount of alcohol that could dull what felt like splinters breaking in his chest. "Why? Why did you ...? Why did you let me believe you were a hallucination?"

"What kind of man are you, Dong-soo-yah? What kind of man holds onto the pain of one night, drinks his life away with a ghost, and forgets his family?"

"A stupid man!" Dong-soo stood up. When he did, he had to look down slightly to stare back at Woon. So, the ghost was the same height. Dong-soo looked lower--there they were--both of Woon's feet, planted firmly on the wooden floor. Dong-soo could make out the familiar shapes of Woon's big toes in their socks. Were his ghost shoes right outside the door too? Dong-soo's head snapped back up. "Woon-ah, if I killed myself right now, would I go from being in one place in one moment to being in another place in another moment? I mean, would I get to where you are right away? Or would I have to travel... like, on a boat across a river? Would I be reincarnated right away? Would I--?"

"What are you talking about?"

The splinters in Dong-soo's chest cracked wider; the old wound seeped, and tears sprung in his eyes. The tears themselves stung. Dong-soo's throat hurt; it hurt with tears he'd held back for years. Even for all the the tears he'd shed, there were so many more he hadn't shed. "Now, you're the one who's being stupid. You sat with me all these years when I drank. I told you I wanted to die."

The ghost Woon exhaled a huff of exasperation at that last remark. "You told me." His crossed arms bounced a little on his chest. "You showed me. I watched you walk around with that noose."

Dong-soo swallowed. The pain in his throat was terrible. He started to walk around the table on unsteady legs; he had to hold on the table's edge with one hand. His knees creaked. It wasn't that he was too drunk to walk. He was too in shock to walk. He stopped. His insides were trembling. "You watched me for years," he said in a voice that was hoarse with unshed tears. "You followed me around."

Then an epiphany struck Dong-soo's already sore and tender head like a brick. The noose that mysteriously unraveled? There had been no explanation for that, and Dong-soo had wondered about that strange occurrence off and on his whole life--so it had been Woon who undid the rope? Woon who saved him? Woon who had died with the stupid belief that he was saving him? Woon was still--? Dong soo hung his head. He was ashamed, ashamed. His insides were trembling; his knees were aching; his face was flushing with shame.

"Woon-ah." Dong-soo could barely speak. He was suddenly ashamed of being old as well of his whole weak and pitiful life. "That was you who flew me across the road when I stepped in front of the horse, wasn't it? I didn't just suddenly remember how to jump the way I could when I was a boy. You picked me up."

"Maybe the old woman wanted something like this," Woon's voice was deeply annoyed. "I don't trust her. What are you supposed to do now? Say, oh Yeo Woon, he never abandoned me, so now I can't abandon myself?" Woon huffed again. "I know you better than that."

Dong-soo started to walk towards Woon again. He didn't care that he had to lean on the table. He was going to get to Woon. "You're right. You know me."

Woon sighed. "I kept hoping you would forget it all, forget about me."

"How could I?" Dong-soo's knees gave way, and he steadied himself with help of the table. "You didn't leave me either! Why did you stay here? You're some kind of wandering ghost, aren't you? That's--that's got to be against the rules."

"What do you know about the rules?" Woon actually uncrossed his arms and stepped away.

"The gods," Dong-soo said. Why did his voice sound so old? It didn't usually sound this horrible. It was because he was trying not to cry that he sound like a hundreds year old grandpa. "Don't the gods want people to reincarnate? Why are you stepping away? Can't I--?" A sob caught in his throat. His next words rose in pitch and sounded whiny. "Can I touch you?"

Woon didn't look annoyed now--he looked absolutely distressed. His eyes darted from Dong-soo's face to the door and back to Dong-soo's face again. He took another step back.

No, don't leave me.

Dong-soo wasn't going to reach him in time, so he held out his arm.

Woon's face became angry again. Why was he so angry? In all these years, whenever he'd visited, he'd looked gentle and kind. The presence Dong-soo had sensed had been a pure comfort. The presence in the shaman's house a few days ago--that was a sad Woon, a very sad Woon. Now Woon was angry--why was he so angry?

"You told her I was your first love?" Woon half-smiled and shook his head. "What made you say such a ridiculous thing?"

Dong-soo's arm dropped; it fell with a slapping sound against his thigh. "I... she..." How could he explain it?

"First love?" Woon was scoffing at the phrase.

"It's not like it sounds," Dong-soo sputtered. "I told her that we were friends. I told her the truth. She's the one who called us that. I just.. I just...agreed with her."

Dong-soo wasn't sure that he himself knew the whole story. There was so much story. What had Shaman Lady said, and why was Woon so angry? It was because...

He hates me because I'm a pervert. I'm a drunk, perverted old man. Yes, Woon-ah, look at the man who killed you. Look at who I am and hate me.

"Baek Dong-soo, listen to me carefully." Woon's tone was sharp because Dong-soo's head had lowered again, and Woon needed to command Dong-soo's attention. He waited for Dong-soo to lift his head.

Their gazes locked.

Woon isn't that mad. No, he's ....

"Whatever you do," Woon spoke in a low stern voice, "don't kill yourself. That would ruin everything. It will destroy your family, it will destroy your soul, and no, you won't be with me--I'll be gone. Everything will be ruined. Do you get that?” Woon sighed deeply, a sigh that let out as much rage as it let out disappointment. “You couldn't even listen to the old woman and stay away from drink for one week? There were years in the past when you didn't touch the stuff. You went a few moons this year alone without drinking. Whatever you do--"

"Woon-ah, why do you even care?"

He barked the words. "I don't know!"

Then he was gone.

He vanished, just like that.

Dong-soo fell to his knees.

All the tears he'd been holding back rushed out, and when he opened his mouth, he couldn't help it--he wailed. Loudly. He couldn't even call Woon's name because the sounds coming out of his throat were gargles of grief and tears.

He left. He really left. Is he ever going to come back? Am I ever going to see him again?

He left me again. What is he trying to do? Kill me?

Dong-soo hadn't been sobbing on his knees for too long when he felt tackled from behind by a small body.

"Grandfather! Grandfather! Mother says you're sick! You need to go to bed!"

Dong-soo turned around and threw his arms around the little girl. He didn't stop sobbing. He heaved monstrous sobs against her hair.

Then, suddenly, Dong-soo's arms were empty. He looked up and saw that Saet-byeol had pulled the child away and was holding her with one arm. The little girl hung limply at her mother's hip; she was accustomed to being grabbed by the waist and carried around like that.

"Your crazy talk woke up the twins," Saet-byeol said. "I just got them asleep, and then you started with this crazy crying."

Dong-soo swallowed his sobs. He wiped his eyes with the heels of his hands, still snorfling. "Where's the other one?"

"I have no idea. You woke up the whole house."

Dong-soo saw Big and Little scampering this way and that in the corridor behind Saet-byeol. They were chasing the other twin. He hoped that Yoo-jin wouldn't make an appearance. It would be beyond shameful. The women dealt with the old man's drunkenness. The son had always ignored Dong-soo. But never before had Dong-soo made such a wailing commotion.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Saet-byeol. “I’m so sorry.”

Saet-byeol looked very exasperated. Usually, she handled Dong-soo's binges with grace and patience. "Do you know what hour it is?"

Dong-soo had stopped sobbing, but the tears were still running down his face in a steady stream. He shook his head.

"Time for you to go to bed, Grandfather Dong-soo."

"Mother," the child at her hip asked, "why is Grandfather crying so much?"

"You cry when you haven't had enough sleep. It's the same way with old people. He just needs to go to bed."

"Who was he talking to?"

"His friend. His imaginary friend. You have playmates you make up, right? It's that way with old people too."

Dong-soo was standing up. He was still shaky. He put his hand on the table. He never failed to be impressed with how his daughter-in-law parented her children; she protected them from him--she protected them from a scary drunken grandfather who had killed his best friend long ago.

"Do you need someone to help you walk to your room?" Saet-byeol watched as Dong-soo let go the table and started off, on trembling legs, towards his chambers.

Dong-soo waved a no. He was going to get to his own room if he had to crawl there.

And he somehow got there, still crying, stifling sobs, his throat making choking sounds. He had never wanted a drink more in his life. But crawling to the kitchen was out of the question--he was too exhausted.

He unrolled his own mat, and for a long while, he lay, face-down, weeping quietly. He may have fallen asleep, but there were no dreams. When the light in the room felt like dawn, he felt colder, not warmer. Whatever passion the off-and-on crying had been fueling all night had subsided, and now there was only a dull pain, a mild headache, and oh hello, that familiar heartache.

You're still dead, Woon-ah.

Still dead.

And what's worst of all is that, just like when you were alive, you're still running away from me.

You sh*t.

Why do you do that?

To be continued

Summary:

Woon finds out the old woman is not who she claims to be.

Notes:

As I post one more chapter before the New Year, thank you again for your support. Fandoms are scary places, even when I try to keep my distance, but I’m always finding new and talented people in this small one, and I keep falling in love with my OTP over and over. If you haven’t seen her work yet, check out https://www.instagram.com/oo.taca.oo/ on Instagram. Her pencil work of Dong-soo and Woon is lovely. Again, everyone, stay safe. *Showers you with many blessings.* Please don’t hesitate to drop me a line or comment if there’s anything you’d like to see from me; I’m open to challenges. I’ll be busy this year, but I need the comfort and distraction of writing for this fandom. I don’t think I’ll be writing for other K-dramas unless you can sway me with pages of persuasive rhetoric, big heart-eyes, and boxes upon boxes of cookies.

Woon wasn't sure he wanted to see Dong-soo during this visit with the old woman at all. He still felt conflicted, angry, hurt about things he wasn't even ready to think about, but he certainly didn't want to have any more weird visions, and he knew from his short time in the Living World that regret was the most bitter taste in the universe--who was to say that regrets accumulated in the Afterlife would not be even more bitter?

The old woman had said he could watch.

On the morning of the appointment, wild curiosity, that crazy urge to follow Dong-soo at all times, and a vague prickly sense of I just have to, I just have to made Woon fly ahead of time along the road to the village where he spotted the old man and his daughter-in-law on horseback--oh, they were riding so fast, too fast--and Woon followed them like a cloud of dust behind the horses' hooves. He wouldn’t be able to overhear any talk between the pair at this speed—but maybe he could pick up a sense of what Dong-soo was feeling?

Ah, of course. It was like the old woman had said. Woon-ah, Woon-ah. Dong-soo was desperate to find the person who had walked out on him so abruptly a few nights ago. What else had the old woman said not long ago too? The Living have every right to resent the Dead, to feel anger at those who leave first. But Dong-soo wasn’t angry.

Woon was.

You called me your first love, you dumb-ass. You told another living soul something like that. You used those words, and I don't know what you meant. I don't know what you--

A swift black form in the trees caught Woon's eyes.

It was a Reaper. He was following Dong-soo and Saet-byeol at the same pace as their horses.

If the Reaper had wanted to grab the girl, the grabbing would have happened already. No, this was a case like when Woon had spotted a Reaper waiting for the announcement of the engagement between the girl and Dong-soo's son. Woon knew it! They hovered over Saet-byeol, didn't they? Maybe they weren't as stupid as the old woman had said; maybe they understood that the girl was living on stolen time, and they were just waiting for an opportunity--

Saet-byeol can't ride a horse to save her own life. What if she falls?

Should I stand by to catch her? The Reaper would fight me. No, there's another way. Maybe Reapers are indeed a little slow-witted. I learned the art of negotiation from the most wicked schemers at the palace when I was barely into my twenties.

Woon shot into the trees and, with no trouble at all, caught pace with the Reaper. He was soon gliding next to the Reaper’s side, spiriting clean through the high branches as though the trees didn't exist--one ghost with pale blue-white outlines, one Grim Reaper dressed in black and trailing clouds of black smoke.

"Oh, it's you," the Reaper said to Woon.

"You know me?" Of course it could only be the one Reaper, the one who Woon had kicked in the nuts the day Dong-soo had tried to hang himself.

Woon's voice was casual. "I don't recall your face." Woon actually didn't recall the face. He only remembered the Reaper's eyes--and the intent to snatch Woon into a Greater Beyond.

"You're strong," the Reaper said.

Woon came to a standstill, and predictably, the Reaper stopped flying as well. The two hovered in the tree-tops, eyeing one another.

"What business do you have with the girl?" Woon asked.

"An appointment," the Reaper said.

Woon was worried—did Reapers have appointments other than their usual ones? "Have you consulted with the old woman about this? Don't you and the old woman have an agreement of sorts?"

"That's what the appointment is about," The Reaper said. "I'm on my way now to the house. The girl has a consultation and ... you don't know about this?"

Woon was taken aback. Why should he know? "I ..." He decided to pretend that he indeed was a spirit of some importance who knew certain things. "I know of some agreements, but I'm not privy to the details of all contracts involving humans. I just saw you on the road and assumed you were following the girl to snatch her. You're not supposed to do that, you see. I have that on the old woman's authority."

"Oh." The Reaper nodded. "Of course. Well, the girl's luck is being re-arbitrated at her consultation with Madam Hye-won. I have to report the matter to my superiors. Are you attending the meeting as well?"

What in the name of the gods had the old woman told the dumb Reapers about who he was?

"Yes, yes, as a matter of fact, I was on my way there."

"If you don't mind...." Here, the Reaper tipped back his large-brimmed black hat, raised it back up, and Woon got a good look at those eyes he'd seen long ago. They weren't stupid--they were singularly focused, quick to anticipate, quick to judge. Those eyes did not belong to a complicated mind, but they needed to understand the paths before them in the most basic ways. "How is that you," the Reaper asked, "a wandering spirit, albeit one of somewhat special powers, came to be in the employment of a god?"

Woon tried not to blink. He tried not to show surprise. His attempts to freeze his face were distorting it, though. He felt foolish. His eyes felt on the verge of leaking.

"What's wrong?" The Reaper seemed clueless.

"It's a long story," Woon managed to get out in a dry voice. "I thought I was indebted to a shaman for taking me in and showing me some kindnesses while trying to convince me to cross over. She…." Woon looked past the Reaper, into blue skies showing in patches between the leaf-less trees, the brown-red autumn maples, and the slender ever-greens. "She has plans for me. I'm not at liberty to say what they are. They involve a human friend who has a consultation with her today as well as the young lady."

"You thought Madam Hye-won was a real shaman?" The Reaper chuckled. "You're a very strong spirit, but I guess..." He looked smug. "I guess you're still a wandering spirit. In any case, you have talent."

Woon nodded slightly in appreciation.

"You're out of my jurisdiction, so I won't trouble you with any more questions. I was just curious about you is all." The Reaper smiled. "I've never been knocked down by an ordinary spirit before." He held out his arm, his long black sleeve wafting black smoke in the icy altitude. "Shall we continue to the meetings?"

Woon bowed slightly, then flew away, and caught up with Dong-soo and Saet-byeol.

All the way to the village, he watched Dong-soo watch Saet-byeol, watched him check her posture, disapprove of her riding style. He heard Dong-soo's impatience, the tiny Woon-ah, Woon-ah that ran through every one of the old man's thin bulging veins. He heard impatience in his own heart, the one Dong-soo had pierced with a sword so long ago--what else don't I know? What else don't I know? Shaman, my ass, old woman. What do you expect of me? What do you intend to do to Dong-soo? And what do you expect of me--of me?

Woon decided to fly ahead of the Baek pair, and he arrived at Madam Hye-Won's while she was with another client. She was dancing with her bells to ward off a bad spirit who was giving the plump, wealthy woman seated in the room terrible headaches (Woon saw no bad spirits). “Be gone, bad spirit! Be gone, headaches!” the old woman was chanting. Woon walked right through the walls, right through the plump woman and stood before the old woman with his hands on his hips.

Woon’s voice was low and menacing. "The Reaper on his way here for a consultation with you and Saet-byeol says you're no shaman."

The old woman burst into maniacal laughter. The plump woman on the floor startled.

"There are no human shamans in this world who are not charlatans, that's what all fools say." The old woman bowed to her ankles. She was so flexible. She spun a full circle, rattled her bells above her head and bowed again. "There are no charlatans who are anything but human, that's what the spirits know." The old woman shook her head vigorously, in order to make the fox’s trail on her head-dress thrash around ominously; then she rose, slowly, to a standing position, as if she were growing vertebrae by vertebrae. When she finally reached her full tiny height, made only slightly higher by her colorful crown of bird feathers and a fox's tail, she looked straight at Woon. "So, did the stupid Death god tell you something stupid? Bah!" She rattled her bell. She was still performing for her rich client. "I am a human, and that is the truth, and the souls of all the Living and Dead who have passed through the doors of this very room will be my witnesses, and if I tell you a lie, Pretty Spirit, may I be stricken with the pox and die in seven days.”

Another rattle of the bell. "I assume the face of a fox, I assume the wings of a bird, I assume the powers of a god, but this flesh, this thin flesh feels the cold and bruises in the kitchen and suffers pricks from my quill when I stay up nights writing astrological charts for all you poor people. I bleed. I am human."

Rattle, rattle. A step this way, a step that way. The colorful skirt swirling.

This would give me a headache instead of curing it.

The old woman danced for a while longer, sold the plump woman a sackful of tea and a talisman, told her to go to bed before the sun set and to rise before the sun rose and to visit again in three moons if the headaches were not gone. That sometimes bad spirits were persistent. The woman paid and left.

"So, you're not a god like the Reaper said?" Woon didn't know what to believe. He was leaning on the side of the Reaper.

"Did I say I wasn't a god?" The old woman shrugged and took off her headpiece. She smoothed her hair. It was an unusual silver, Woon now noticed. It wasn't drabby grey like the hair of most ancient ladies. He'd always assumed that she put strange oils in it to make it shine, but her eyebrows and lashes were the same color--a vibrant, almost lavender hue. He had seen her for years and years without her performance make-up, and yes, her hair was a very strange color.

"You just now swore upon the souls of all the Living and Dead whatever that you are a human."

"It's possible to be both a god and human."

Woon turned his face to one side. Maybe it wasn't the time for a confrontation. "I guess it's not my place to question a god about such things."

"There you go, Pretty Spirit. You know your place. I take it you were following your love and his daughter-in-law here? I'm sorry if the Reaper gave you a start. Really, what a fellow to engage you like that. You must have made an impression on him. Oh well, you would have figured it out eventually." The old woman was counting her money and putting away coins in one of many purses that went under the floorboards. "You're such a quick one, always a little ahead of yourself, always a little too fast for me to know how to best deal with you--what a ninja you must've been. But for me, truly? You're like a young chicken--you run and run and you don't know where you're going." She made that clucking sound with her tongue again. It was affectionate. "I'll catch you, it's fine."

For a god to say she's going to catch you--that's not really a humiliation, is it?

Is it?

I thought I was going to hell when this was all over.

Now? I have no idea. Maybe this woman wants me to be her eternal leaf-blower instead of crossing over into another life.

Summary:

Hye-won judges Saet-byeol and attempts to teach Dong-soo how regret, like all things, can motivate and paralyze. Meanwhile, Woon, on the ceiling, seems beyond her reach.

Notes:

Does it feel like a new year yet? My brain has been on lock-down so long.

I've said before that writing is a dance between the writer and an audience's expectations. If I fall, I hope you catch me. Sometimes what you read looks intentional, but I was tripping, you took my cue, and it all turned out all right. Sometimes I'm spinning in circles by myself, so when I get a comment, expect me to throw my arms around you.

Am I making sense? Let me know. I'm trying to reach you, but sometimes my arm is deep in the ether, and like Hye-won with Woon, I don't know what to say to make you cross over. Look, look, I have a story here. Come to it.

The piercing howl from the back courtyard sounded more like a bird's cry than any sound that would come from a small dog; it never failed to make Pretty Spirit startle, and he'd been hearing the dog's howl for almost four years now.

"That's the loudest animal I've ever heard in all my years alive or dead," he said, in a lame attempt to excuse his surprise. "Is it a god too? It can't possibly be some creature from this world."

"It's a real dog." Hye-won laughed at him. "He was bred in the Himalayas to guard the inner palace walls. The bark is an alarm. The more high-bred the animal, the higher-pitched the alarm. Let him in, will you? I forgot he was still out there--he's cold, poor baby."

"If it's a breed that was bred in the Himalayas, then a little cold like today's shouldn't bother it." Pretty Spirit raised his hand and with a swipe through the air, slid open the back door. The little lion dog came scuttling inside. The door then shut behind him.

Hye-won picked up her dog and swept her hands through its long golden fur. "He wasn't howling because of the cold. I just don't want him out there--I spoil him because he's my baby. He was howling to let me know he hears horses coming. Do you hear them?"

From the way Pretty Spirit co*cked his head, it was plain he did. Such a strange one, trying to be so indifferent after finding out the person he thought was an ordinary shaman was, of all things, a god. Hye-won expected more questions. At least one.

"When the humans and the Reaper arrive," she said, "up to the ceiling you go--and remember, no interfering. You've already messed things up, and you don't want to mess things up even more."

Pretty Spirit was already bobbing, slowly, towards the top of the room. "I don't know what makes you think Dong-soo can't sense me from up here," he said.

"I told you. He's dim."

Pretty Spirit made a glum face as if he didn't think his great love was all that slow-witted. Then his eyes opened wide--the sound of horses was plain now, even to those who didn't have supernatural senses. The visitors were right outside the house. There was whinnying, a man's voice, a woman's voice, and a sense of high anticipation.

"The Reaper said you're going to re-arbitrate the girl's luck. She's not going to die, is she?"

"No one ever dies, Pretty Spirit." Hye-won patted her dog. "But don't worry--I told you not to worry."

"You're going to talk to Dong-soo about his liver again?"

"You'll see."

"Is there any way you can, you know, because you're a god, make it so he and I don't fight in that field that day, and it's all erased? So he doesn't have to feel guilty about that?" Pretty Spirit couldn't help himself--the words were tumbling out of him in a breathless way. "Is there some way you can change the past?"

So, the question did come after all.

"No, my dear boy, there's no changing what happened. What happens happens. It doesn't die either." Hye-won didn't look above her, but she could still see Pretty Spirit's face, sense his disappointment. "Whatever happens--especially if it's something large and terrible like what happened between you and your love-- becomes its own kind of spirit and lives on. The problem, you see, is that we don't want this event to sit on a living person's soul and weigh the soul down like a boulder. Your crybaby general--"

There was a knock on the door.

"You may enter!"

The general and his daughter came through both at once--they were in that much of a hurry. Saet-byeol stumbled because the general elbowed her ear, and he promptly grabbed her shoulder. The look on his face was desperate. He was already scanning around the room, reaching out with his senses for his love.

The old woman hooked her arm around the general's and began to lead him out of the room, towards a corridor of the house. "It's too cold for you to wait outside," she said, "but your daughter-in-law goes first. Remember we made her miss her turn last time? Go down this hallway and turn to the last room on your right. There's a nice little library there. Just wait your turn, hm?"

"Ok." The general looked like he could wait.

"Of course not."

“I mean it. Don’t be troublesome. You have a history of troublesome.” If Hye-won sensed that he was poking around the house, she would set the little lion dog on his heels and cause a ruckus.

“I won’t be troublesome.” The general bowed a low bow.

When Hye-won turned her attention to Saet-byeol, there was the Reaper, standing in his black robes behind the young woman.

The luck re-arbitration would be as much of a pageant for the Reaper as the headache dance was for the wealthy human client earlier. Saet-byeol protested at first and asked over and over if Hye-won wasn't sure she didn't want to see the general first because he had more pressing issues. The old woman waved her hand and said that all human issues were important, that the concerns of a wife and mother were of special importance and that they bore upon the general as well. That mollified the young woman and she sat on the pillow on the floor for what was her familiar ritual.

Hye-won asked a few questions--how was her relationship with her daughters, the servants, her mother, and so on. Saet-byeol spilled her heart: the twins were her purpose in life, she worried that the servants spoke behind her back and that she didn't have enough authority over them, her husband was too kind with her and even though his books distracted him and he was never home as much as she wished (here she blushed), he would always be her life's partner and her greatest comfort through all life's aggravations.

"Speaking of aggravations." Hye-won raised an eyebrow. "The general tires you out more than he should."

"Oh no! It is a family's responsibility to look after elders."

"Of course, of course." Hye-won pulled out a silk purse and emptied it. Three little river stones fell out. One was a tiny whitish pebble, very polished and smooth. Another was slightly bigger--it was light brown, jagged and resembling an arrowhead. The last was a large black stone with a reddish swirl in it; this one was the sort of rock one would pick up and look at if wandering barefoot through a clear stream, maybe the sort one would put in one's pocket. It was a stone that would fit in the palm of an average hand; it would make a fine paper-weight.

"What pretty rocks," Saet-byeol said. "What are they for?"

"Fortune-telling. We're going to assess your luck today. You were born with such bad luck. Just going to see how it's going--that's all."

"It's been going well, hasn't it?" Saet-byeol's face crumpled in concern. She was such a sensitive, nervous child. "I thought you said it's been going well?"

"Ah yes, very well. Nothing to fear." The old woman waved her hand over the stones. "I want to look into the near future and see what there is to look out for. As I've told you before, there's hard Destiny which cannot be changed, there's soft fate which can be sculpted like clay, and then there's the fate which takes the shape of the body our soul inhabits. It tumbles through streams and time and is cut by water just like these river stones."

"Oh." Saet-byeol was looking at the three little stones intently. "I see. So we're not going to be talking about my hard Destiny today--something that has to happen, no matter what."

"Nor your soft Destiny either."

"I forgot--what was that one again?"

"The one you're given at birth," Hye-won explained, "but you can play with it a little. Sort of like how we played with your name. A shaman can be given a mound of earth and build a well with it--or cover a grave, you see. So can you yourself play with this fate--you interact with it with patience, will, and perseverance."

"Ahhhh. And the stones?"

"Divination tools. Nothing more." Hye-won clapped her hands and grinned. "Just a way for me to connect with your soul and read the future."

Saet-byeol widened her innocent eyes. Behind her, the Reaper lifted his wide-brimmed hat with one hand and gazed upon the stones with interest. Hye-won was quite sure he'd never seen such a thing. No other shaman in Joseon used such a technique, and certainly no god determining Destiny played with river rocks. None of Hye-won's sisters were that creative. Destiny, for the time-being, was being cast by two parched, uninspired ancient women who often looked away from their work to gossip about other gods or occasionally, an interesting human event, like a plague or a war. Hye-won wanted to return to her old job in the heavens, but the idea of reuniting with old family wasn't inviting. Still, hard Destiny was hard Destiny; she would have to go back eventually.

"Choose a stone, any stone," Hye-won told Saet-byeol. She spoke her next words in a low, dramatic stage-whisper, loud enough for the Reaper to hear: "Choose the stone that most resonates with your heart."

"Oh?" Saet-byeol put her index finger to her bottom lip. "Do I point to it or pick it up?"

"Pick it up and hold it in the palm of your hand."

There was only one stone that would fit there.

Saet-byeol chose the black rock with the reddish streak.

Now, there was nothing special about any of the stones. Hye-won could have made a pronouncement about the human's fate based on any of the three stones. She could've made a judgement based on Saet-byeol's choice between two sprigs of lemongrass. She could've tapped Saet-byeol on the forehead with her fan and proceeded with a reading. But a soul in the body of a rock being shaped by the streams of time was an image that Hye-won had just wanted to conjure. Images were just as fun to conjure as ghosts. Hye-won liked the poetry and the drama of being a shaman.

"There's something in this room?” The general stopped in his tracks. “Someone?"

"Your dear wife would have reincarnated already," Hye-won said gently. "Doesn't that make sense to you? She was a good and gentle woman. It's your own regret that has been growing like a cancer, that won't move on. It's the sickness that fills this room and haunts you wherever you go."

The general stared at Hye-won. The dog didn't like the old man's look and jumped out of her lap.

"Is Woon here?"

Hye-won could feel Yeo Woon squirming overhead. Woon was trying to suppress himself. He honestly didn't want to interfere.

That’s right, stay where you are.

Ah, you puzzling, annoying boy. I'd so much like to be able to see the general's dreams and wishes. What an exceptional gift. But Pretty Spirit, you and I were never meant to share the same toys--what's the good of that? To each their own portion. To each their own gift and their own punishment. Why did your stupid human father, that stupid fortune-teller, have to give you such a stupid name? Woon. No living person can hear that and not think of the word for Doom. Stupid, cruel man.

"Yeo Woon is not here. Only your regret over him. Your first love."

The general's shoulders slumped. He seemed to relax a little. "I'm so sorry I said that."

"Not because it's not true," Hye-won said. "But because it's an insult to your wife?"

Saet-byeol let out a little gasp. Hye-won had forgotten she was there--no matter. "It's not what you think," she said to the startled daughter-in-law. "No need to mention this to your husband. The old man had a little not-very-Confucian attraction to his good friend. He's been bothered about it all his life. It's one of the reasons he drinks. It would only cause the son a great deal of pain if he--"

"Oh yes, yes!" Saet-byeol was nodding vigorously. "I understand."

"If I could tell her anything...." Dong-soo was looking at the floor now. "If I could speak to her the way I speak to--" His eyes shot to Saet-byeol.

"Saet-byeol-ah," Hye-won said, "Would you go down the corridor? It's time for the general's session now. I trust you to mind me and leave us to our privacy unlike this bad old man."

The daughter-in-law didn't need to be told twice. She gathered her skirts and was gone. The general sat in her place.

"I neglected my wife," he said. "I was so wrong in doing that. I always thought that we grew away from one another, but it was mostly my fault. It was my fault because I was in love with Woon. I was always in love with Woon. I know that clearly now. I have never wanted to be with anyone but him."

If she were standing before me right now--" The crybaby general's voice actually choked. Hye-won got up to find some tea to brew. "I would apologize for my behavior. I would ask her to forgive me for being a negligent spouse."

"Yes, but would you forget about your first love?"

The general rubbed his palms over his thighs. Up, down, an anxious gesture. "I don't know. I've been thinking about it. How I need to let go. Woon himself told me to forget him. But... how can I go back and change the past? My wife is dead now. Would she forgive me?"

Hye-won closed the drawer of tea packets. "You sweet old fool. Here, give me your hand."

The general didn't hesitate.

Hye-won saw a clear picture. It was thunderstorming. There were three young men, barely out of boyhood, in a wobbly tent, lying in a bed. In the middle was a big-shouldered, handsome man taking all the blanket; on the right was Yeo Woon, looking like an angel with long lashes touching his cheeks, and on the left was the Cho-rip fellow who apparently wore his spectacles to bed, his arms thrown around the general's neck. Why these memories of the three best friends? Two of the friends were dead. Here was all the deep regret, the most horrible sorrow. The wife? She was still in the far background of the general’s soul. She was a person mourned for a time and, for some reason, mourned again profoundly today. Such is the nature of grief. But the nature of regret?

"Your wife loved you," Hye-won surmised. Maybe it was a lie, but she often lied to her clients to give them necessary comfort. "She would've forgiven you for anything. Whatever led you to want to ask for her forgiveness today--this regretful feeling? It was the good kind of regret."

"The good kind?" His voice sounded a little happy. "I did something right? Are you serious? She really loved me?"

Hye-won could feel Pretty Spirit loosen his grip on his composure, felt his eyes on the verge of leaking.

"There are two types of regret. Like anger or sadness or happiness, all emotions can spur us to do positive things and motivate us in the world or they can make us sit in our own sh*t, stagnating for years and years. Your regret over not loving your wife properly? It urged you to seek an apology from her. That was good. It helped give you some closure with her passing. Now onto the matter of your friends, Woon and Cho-rip."

The general realized he was still holding the old woman's hand. He let it go. "You're seeing the three friends again?"

"The two dead friends."

"Cho-rip hasn't visited me."

"Yes, but that interfering spirit, Yeo Woon, did! I told him not to! You sit right there. I'm going to the kitchen to heat some water for some tea. Then we'll talk about your first love some more. Just do me a favor." She handed the general a picture book about snakes. "Look at this while I'm gone. See if you can identify the flower snake that bit you a long, long time ago." It was busy work. It was just a ruse to keep occupied and to keep him from looking upwards while she was out the room.

"Yeo Woon," she said as she took the tea packed she needed out of the drawer. "He's a puzzle. Whatever he told you, don't take it to heart--he's one of those people who often says the opposite of what he means. Ah, that child will wreck my nerves one of these days."

Dong-soo let out a sad, little chuckle. "Your nerves. He's shredded mine over the years."

Yeo Woon. Yeo Woon. Un-Meong, Doom, as your human father named you. He and I go back further than even you and he do, you daft general. You think your regrets are so special? All humans eat regret with their daily rice and survive.

Summary:

Woon can't imagine a future without Dong-soo. Can he see the future--that is, does he have a precognitive ability?

Notes:

My country, the USA, revived this week with a new president. It was interesting that the current mood while I wrote this chapter was that of relief but also a numb disbelief, as if we were afraid to hope for the future again—but there’s nowhere else to look towards. Don’t lose hope. The days change, and time is stranger, vaster than any of us can imagine with our tiny human minds.

Has anyone been watching “Surviving Death” on Netflix? Dr. Jim Tucker on the episode about reincarnation was especially compelling. I’ve read some of his stuff before; I recommend this episode (the 6th) over the previous ones, which are less sensationalistic than your usual parapsychological shows but not that interesting.

Writing. So busy. Will keep posting as I revise. It occurred to me today that many of us learn to write from what we read; most of what I read after gobbling up poetry for years was hyper-realistic fiction. So weird that I never liked fantasy novels much, so writing in a hyper-realistic style that looks at characters close up and uses a lot of internal monologue is strange for me when I’m writing fantasy—the style and subject matter are not paired exactly. But that’s me, and I’m happy when people like it.

Chapter Ten: I Remember Dying but Not Being Born

Rowing with just one oar
I lost that oar

For the first time I looked round at the wide stretch of water--Ko Un

Dong-soo sipped his tea and looked small, almost like a child, as he waited for the shaman to speak.

From the ceiling, Woon exhaled his profound exasperation, and a few curls on Dong-soo's head stirred.

Years of this. Exhausting.

The Living World saw the mighty general, but Woon saw the man at his weakest.

Woon pressed his back against the ceiling as if he might push through it, but he didn't escape the room. He wanted to. He didn't want to. For years he'd seen Dong-soo drunk and suicidal. Not that there hadn’t been days he’d seen him otherwise. It had always bothered Woon to see how the famous general interacted with the world at large.

There had been the time Woon had watched the general in a palace processional, all eyes in awe of the great Warrior Baek Dong-soo. Once, Woon had seen Dong-soo walk by a low-ranking officer, pause, ask the soldier to draw his sword, and the esteemed general had given the man a spontaneous lesson on how to grasp a weapon. The soldier's face had beamed with gratitude and reverence. Other times, a mere nod of the head from General Baek was enough to send ladies of the court tittering and hiding their flushed faces behind hands or fans.

Years of this.

Meeting with the weepy fool with his bottle of wine while the rest of the world saw a dashing military man, the head of a household, the father of a scholar. Even now, as old as Dong-soo was, he looked like a great athlete and carried himself that way; his shoulders stooped but were still broad and defined. His face held evidence of having once been handsome. His eyes could still sparkle--that mouth could still joke around.

The way he was holding the tea-cup given to him by the old woman, though--

Look at you. You hold it the way you hold onto a cup of wine. Like it's your only connection to this life.

Dong-soo-yah, it's pitiful. If you could only see yourself the way I see you right now, you might want to stand up and punch yourself in the nose.

But Woon had never punched Dong-soo, not once, all those times Dong-soo had been pouring drink after drink, mumbling Woon's name and wondering out loud what sort of punishment awaited in the afterlife for the sin of killing a best friend. Woon had tried to steer the conversation this way or that--smiling his bravest smile even though his spirit eyes were on the verge of leaking. "Dong-soo-yah, tomorrow will be a good day for fishing. Give the troops to your lieutenant and take the day off to fish. Remember how you and I and Cho-rip would make bets on who would catch the first fish?"

Dong-soo had always seemed stuck on those days--the days of the three best friends. Best friends. Best friends. Those memories made him happy for a time.

Why did he have to go ruin all that with some nonsense about a first love?

The old woman sat across from her famous client who was huddled over the cup of tea, and she shot a glance upwards as if to say Don't interfere, Pretty Spirit.

"You've been drinking the tea every day as I prescribed?"

Dong-soo nodded. "Well, except for that one night I drank soju instead."

"Oh yes, I heard all about that."

She goaded us. She wanted us to see one another as first loves. She's the one who kept using those words. Why?

"Woon and Cho-rip?"

"Yes, yes." The old woman refilled Dong-soo's cup with tea. "What was it about those days? I heard the song from your soul. I heard it in Pretty Spirit too. How much you kept after him.him.What was the phrase you used? I want things to go back to the way they were. I want us to live together again--you, me, Cho-rip. Do you know how immature that sounded?"

Woon pressed the back of his head against the ceiling. She heard that from me? My soul?

"Pretty Spirit?" Dong-soo was sitting up straight now. "You see him? You can talk with him? Can you--?"

"Drink your tea."

Dong-soo took a gulp. "Why is he so mad at me?"

"Why do you think? Isn't that his general temperament? He seems rather an angry person. Well, maybe angry is the right word. He's not a happy boy, wouldn't you say? He's rather grumpy."

"No, he's mad at me about something specifically.”

“Yes, well, but….” Dong-soo paused a moment to evaluate his opponent. He seemed to realize he was a disadvantage. “Woon’s mad at me because I told you something about him being my first love. But he didn't give me a chance to explain--"

"Tell me. If when he had been alive, if you had the chance to explain it to him then, do you think he would have been angry with you?"

Dong-soo looked confused.

"I'm serious." The old woman pointed to Dong-soo's tea-cup. "Drink your tea. If you had confessed your love to him then, what difference would have it made?"

"But I didn't understand how I felt way back then." Dong-soo raised the tea-cup to his mouth and held it there, as if it could keep his lips from revealing more. He swallowed some tea. "I... I...."

The old woman raised her eyebrows. "Hm? Let's just say you did realize it, and you told him. What would've happened?"

Woon felt an echo of an old longing. His heart, the one that had a hole in it, was full of noise. The sound of cold winds were rushing through.

Dong-soo-yah. Dong-soo-yah.

"We didn't talk," Dong-soo said. "Not about things like that. I wouldn't have told him how I felt ... I would have--" Dong-soo cut himself off, sipped more tea, looked infinitely uncomfortable.

The old woman burst into a laugh. "You would have shown him how you felt? Ha! Yes, I know your type. You would've grabbed him and kissed him and--"

"He would've punched me."

"Or not."

Dong-soo’s face fell into desperate confusion. "Wait. What do you know? Did he tell you something?"

"This session is about you, not him." The old woman was filling up a third cup, and Woon was wondering if the old man's bladder was going to hold out for much longer. "Pretty Spirit doesn't talk much. I imagine he didn't talk that much when he was alive either."

If Dong-soo had told me.

If Dong-soo had kissed me?

Woon didn't need to close his eyes, and the dream was clear and right before him, replacing the view of the old woman's room. He saw the twilight sky, an orange sun, a figure that was falling, falling, a black shape against the bleeding sunset colors. It was himself who was dying again. How many times had he remembered dying now? There was that grotesque pain of the first stab, and then there was the less painful slide down the sword--less painful because the first had been Woon falling from a great height and the second was Woon deliberately moving his chest into a position where the sword would tear a mortal wound.

Again, and again, and again. Always this death. Sometimes, he heard his own last words. Always, he heard Dong-soo's screams.

"My ...." The dying Woon tried to speak as blood spilled from his mouth. "My...."The dying Woon hugged Dong-soo closer, patted his back. "Don't be sad all your life for a loser like me, my love."

My love?

The vision vanished.

Dong-soo and the old woman were still talking over tea. Dong-soo still looked like a chided schoolboy, and the old woman still looked sly and accusatory. Woon couldn't make out what they were saying--he was still stunned by what he had seen.

So ... if Dong-soo had shown me ... if he were indeed my ... my love in that life. If I had made that choice. If I had allowed this. If he had been my love....

The ending would not have been different?

Is this what the old woman meant by a hard Destiny? That which cannot be changed?

But Dong-soo wasn't even talking about Woon.

"I know what it's like to idealize a time when the world was full of promise, a time before regrets," the old woman was saying. "But you have family now you owe your attention towards."

Didn't I tell you the same thing, you dumb-ass?"My family? They don't really need me. I'm more of a burden to them at this age. Especially poor Saet-byeol ...."

Ah, there you go, Dong-soo-yah. A half-assed suicide for all these years."What do you mean by that?" The old woman raised her voice. "You're twice as fit as any man your age, and look at me. I'm old as the hills, and I have nothing but stories and wisdom and my charming personality to offer--who's to say that your family doesn't cherish your presence? Your very life is a great source of meaning and comfort to your family."

Dong-soo looked thoughtful. For a moment, Woon wondered if the stupid old man was having an epiphany, but then Dong-soo co*cked his head slightly and asked, "Do you have any family, Madam Shaman? I don't see anyone else who lives here."

"Ha. Family?" The old woman leaned backwards, took off her elaborate head-dress, and set it behind her on the cabinet. "I do indeed have family."

"They're far away?" Dong-soo seemed genuinely curious. "They should be looking after you."

"Yes, far away, and no, I can take care of myself. Let's just say they did not approve of my ... choices. Aren't you the one who insists that all people make their own path? I was like that in my youth. My sisters...." Here, she smiled wickedly. "They took up the family business. They're busy as I am now, only they have the approval of extended family."

"Sisters?" Dong-soo asked. "No brothers?"

The smile left the old woman's face. "I had one. He died. But no one really dies--you do know that, don't you? Spirits are reincarnated."

"I... don't know what I believe." Dong-soo shook his head. "I wasn't sure about spirits surviving until Woon showed up and ...." He let out a short loud laugh. "He yelled at me like a real person. He was just like himself. Why didn't he... oh, he didn't get reincarnated because he's ...." Dong-soo made a face that was more than confused—it was as if he were baffled beyond his mortal comprehension. Woon recognized that look. It had been in the face of a twelve-year-old Dong-soo wondering why Jin-joo acted like such a brat.

The old woman was talking about the arrogance of lovers, something about how lovers never considered others around them. Dong-soo's questions were stammering, something something about how was it possible for him to be that arrogant if he never had admitted, not even to himself, his true feelings for Woon. Woon was having trouble hearing the dialogue now--there was a haze before his eyes. As if a cloud had risen in the room. There was the chatter of strangers from a faraway place.

Woon was aware that he was about to fall into a kind of vision he had never experienced before. He closed his eyes, waited.

The buckwheat field. Oh not again.

Orange sun, golden grass. This time the memory was passing the way the field undulated in the wind--softly, painlessly. Woon saw his body draped against Dong-soo and the fresh blood on both of them.

Is that it?

Is that all there is?

Woon could still hear voices from somewhere far off. The laughter of women. Young women everywhere laughed the same way--with ripples of embarrassment, with some restraint. They could not laugh like themselves in the presence of men--did they laugh another way? Like men? Like the old woman who startled the dog with her loud laughs. There were male voices too, no one recognizable. Murmurs, glasses clinking—a party?

Right now before his own eyes, Woon was dead in Dong-soo's arms, but somewhere in the distance young women were amused.

Woon had never heard young women laugh in a way that did not remind him of frightened birds. It was not polite for a proper lady to show her mouth while laughing, so women would lower their eyes, hide their faces--their giggles would still escape.

Will I be born again?

Will I see you again?

Why is it I remember dying over and over but not being born?

"Ahn-ri."

Dong-soo's voice?

From where Woon was, he could see the heads of people, fifty people or more in the celebration. The strangeness was overwhelming--the clothes were other-worldly and shocking. The women were walking around with fans over their laughing faces, but their shoulders were bare, so much white flesh exposed, and the same with their elbows and wrists—naked except for jewelry. Long beautiful scarves cinched with fabric flowers fell over the women's clothes. Absurd, obscene clothes, tight at the waist and then layers of skirts like petals. These skirts were walking around like so many colorful bells. The men wore impossibly tight pants and short hair. Faces were happy; eyes were an alien blue.

"Ahn-ri."

Woon understood that this was his own name being called.

With a sudden shock, he saw Dong-soo's face. It was him. It was his face, around twenty-five-years old? A little older? Dong-soo's face, the nose a little rounder and the eyes a little wider. Where Dong-soo should have had facial hair on his chin, there was none. There was still hair above his lip. His long curls were all gone--no, they were still there, just enough to keep him from having the totally shaved head of a monk.

You look like a lamb.

Dong-soo's beautiful smile. He was saying something to "Ahn-ri" that was good news? He made a dumb joke. He showed his beautiful teeth.

You smell like you.

It's you.

It's a strange future.

You...

You still love me.

Still not understanding the words Dong-soo was speaking to him, Woon shifted his gaze away for a moment and saw a bright poster with the markings "Le Jour de l'An 1846."

And he understood that the future was knowable.

If I can see this much, what else can I see? What else can I know?

Summary:

A new world is opening up for Woon, and Dong-soo is getting a clue.

Notes:

I'm baaaaaaaack. Sorry for not updating for some weeks! I was distracted by some real life craziness with the government, financial stressors and taxes, an opportunity for my high-risk daughter and me to get the Covid vaccine (that was so weird--this country is so weird about how it's managing the vaccine roll-out), a crazy desire to write some other pieces (I actually have my mind full of other Dong-soo/Woon stories right now--I even worked on a chapter of my abandoned fic "The Ghost of Yeo Woon"--should I continue it? I have the whole plot—it doesn’t get a single comment—I can understand p*rn fic not getting comments—lol, some pronz do—but I guess ya can’t win em all), and then a TERRIBLE winter storm hit us last week--the worst winter storm here of my lifetime. This is a subtropical area, Louisiana--banana trees and wildflowers grow and die quickly here, and the landscape changes according to our two seasons--wet and wetter. Snow is rare, as in once every five or seven years rare, then only a celebrated inch or so.

This week, we had sleet coming through holes in the roof and power outages; the trees were bowed to the ground with ice--I've never seen them like that before. Our driveway was blocked with a crape myrtle leaning completely to the ground, its boughs weighed down with ice. Most of our garden is dead. The olive tree is dead. Grape plants, dead. I don't know how much of the ground was frozen for long enough and what will come back. The chickens and fish pond are fine. We're out of school, but there are rolling black-outs to conserve energy, and the house keeps losing electricity. I got mild hypothermia one night (I'm so delicate and dumb--I vomited and cramped then warmed up by daylight and was fine—now I know to drink warm tap water to stave off these symptoms and to wear a cap to bed). I wrote by long-hand sometimes, by flashlight. It was a little exciting. It was easier to imagine a more tentative, less predictable world. Ondols must have been nice. Candlelight must've been annoying. A warm bath would have been a treasure from the gods. There's still snow and sleet on the palm trees right now as I type. Weirdness. This world is weirdness. As the ice melts, tree limbs bounce back up a little. Is there hope Spring will revive my backyard? What returns from the Deep? The fish in the pond are under ice—they will come back. My writing—it never leaves me alone.

Woon right away asked the old woman about the visions. No sooner had Dong-soo and Saet-byeol left, tea medicines in hand and whatever nonsense passed for sage wisdom being blabbered at them by the old woman, than Woon dropped to the floor, just missing the little lion-dog. It yelped and jumped to one side--it had probably been stepped on by ghosts before without feeling a thing, but Woon knew that his spirit was giving off some angry energy.

"I'm seeing the future. A very distant future with Dong-soo. Why is that happening? I used to get glimpses of things, but now--" Woon stepped forward. The dog scuttled out of his way. "Why is this happening so often?"

"You and the general are bonded, right? You have a gift." The old woman shrugged. "The gift is coming to fruition now, but don't get all excited about what you see."

Woon was excited. He could feel the blood that no longer ran in his body sizzle in his spirit; the possibility that he and Dong-soo could be reunited in other incarnations seemed too good to be true, and yet, he trusted what he saw--it was real.

"You've messed up so bad being a naughty wandering ghost," the old woman went on, "that if I don't get you off somehow and save you from total extinction, whatever reincarnations you get with this soul-bonded first love of yours may just end up being miserable repeats of what you went through the last time--another bloody field, guilt and misery--who knows, maybe you take turns stabbing one another in the future?"

"Reincarnation isn't supposed to work that way." The old woman could be so frustrating.

"Who made you a fortune-teller?"

"I have visions. Can you see the future like I can?"

"Ok, you see things. Do you have any idea what these things mean?"

Woon wanted to grab the old witch by her purple-gray hair. "I'm asking you now. What do these things mean?"

She smiled a mysterious smile and started picking up the tea cups.

Woon thought for a moment--she did seem to have some interest in keeping soul-bonded people together and alive in the Living World. Hadn't she gone out of her way to negotiate for Saet-byeol so that the girl would have more time with her mother? She seemed to want Woon and Dong-soo over and done with, though--but in their case, Woon was dead, so there was no bond to be nurtured in the Living World.

There was some motive Woon wasn't getting.

"You know something." Woon narrowed his eyes at the old woman. "I know that you lie to your customers and to Reapers. I also know that you know many things about this world that are true. Deep, spiritual things. You keep things from me--"

"You don't ask me things."

"You don't bother to tell me things."

"What do you want to know?" The old woman put her hands on her hips.

"Why did you let me stay in this room if you didn't want me to interfere with your session with Dong-soo? I was half in a trance up there on the ceiling. You wanted me to hear what he was saying? You wanted me to have visions? Is that it?" Woon put his own hands on his hips. "I got dizzy. I almost fell down right on top of everyone. What would you have done if that had happened?"

The old woman laughed. "I knew you could control yourself."

Woon's eyes shifted around the room. That damn painting of Brother Sun and Sister Moon was unavoidable. Shaman of all sorts had statues and paintings of gods and folk-tale figures, but this old woman had only this painting. "What's with the big deal with Brother Sun and Sister Moon? Why do you like the story so much? Is it true?"

"Oh no, it's not true. It's a story humans made up to explain the sun and the moon. Different parts of the world have their own stories. The sun and the moon are usually lovers in the stories, but here, in Joseon, why are they brother and sister? The tiger, who is he? The heavens took up the brother and sister but rejected the tiger. Ah, poor tiger--he landed splat in the wheat field. Bled all over. Which is why in the fall--under a certain light of course--it depends on how the sun is shining--the fields look red as blood."

Woon gave the old woman a hard look. "Now you're just being cruel."

"Did you know that Brother Sun and Sister Moon switched places? The sister was scared of the dark, so she asked if she could be the sun instead, and the brother said sure."

Woon shook his head. "I don't know what you're trying to tell me. Your painting isn't about me and Dong-soo. Can you talk like a normal person, not in riddles?"

"But it's a beautiful story!" The old woman pulled up a chair, picked up her dog, and scratched its head. "You asked me why it's the centerpiece of this room. The story of the sun and the moon is important to a fortune-teller!"

Woon sat down in a chair. She may tell me something important.

The old woman spoke in a story-telling voice, a tone less dramatic than her shaman performing voice, but one affected with conspicuous pauses and emphases. "Before the sun and the moon came to be, there were only stars. Stars told Destiny. Brother Sun and Sister Moon were humans who traded places--they were family; they were bonded souls; they were destined for the heavens and yet!—they epitomized free will. They loved their own kind, so once they were among the gods, they helped humans determine their own fates. Aaaand… they…." The old woman grinned. "What is special about these humans is that they were beloved by the gods. Not like that bad tiger--ooh, he just went splat back to Earth for chasing those dear children and trying to eat them!"

Family.

Gameunjang-agi had once had family in the Realm of the Gods.

Two sisters, was it?

"Ha! The tiger never made it to heaven. He was just an eating machine. Like--oh, tell me you never knew his kind when you were alive. I was a god."

"That's right. You said you were kicked out of heaven for love. And you said it was a stupid reason."

"Yes indeed, love is stupid. The kind of love humans cherish and idealize--this attraction for beauty, this urge to--" The old woman shook her head. "In humans, it's just the need to procreate. It's selfishness and lust. It's what is at the core of your relationship with your general. You think it's special, but it's been the death of you, the literal death--and it can be the ruin of you in the Afterworld."

Woon knew the old woman was lying now. She'd been made bitter by some bad experience. He really didn't want to know who she'd fallen in love with--love stories were often the same. Sad. Sadder. Husbands went missing in war. Women betrayed men. Letters were never opened. Words were never spoken--isn't that what had happened with him and Dong-soo? Words were never spoken?

"You have a very low opinion of love," Woon said, "unless it's filial. Is that why you like the brother and sister in the story?"

A strange look came over the old woman's face--strange because it softened her features and made her seem ages younger. Her voice rang sincere. "Ah, I do miss my sisters. We fought, and they're not very bright, you know, but they're family."

"Dong-soo and I...." Woon shifted in his seat. "I know that he told you if I didn't, but we thought of one another as brothers. We lived like brothers."

"You weren't brothers," the old woman said flatly. Her derisive face was back. The lines around her mouth puckered with her words. "You two met just when each of you had a little seoyang hobak growing in your pants. You were both that special age. You know, ripe hobak age."

Woon felt like laughing in spite of his frustration with the old woman. He found himself staring again at her bad painting. The tiger really did look like a stubby dog and not painted that way on purpose. Had she drawn his own face there on purpose? He'd gone back and forth on that.

"Am I your brother?" Woon asked. "I mean, as a human woman, did you have a brother who died--then did I reincarnate as Yeo Woon and you met me again as a ghost--and that's why you seem to be a little fond of me?"

"I thought you were smart," she snorted. "I'm a god. I didn't have a human brother. If I did--well, do the math. I'd have to be over a hundred years old for you to have been born again as a young man in my time if you died at the same age as that boy in that painting."

Woon grumbled under his breath: "You look over a hundred years old."

"I heard that!"

"So why does the boy in the painting look like me?"

The old woman set the dog down on the floor and folded her hands in her lap. "After all this time, you finally ask me? I thought all you wanted to know was about you and the old man general. Tell me, Pretty Spirit, do you ever have visions about me?"

Woon felt a chill. He didn't know why, but he was suddenly afraid. "No," he said. "I don't have visions about you?" His voice phrased the sentence like a question--as if to ask should I? Is there a reason I should have visions about the great Gameunjang-agi?

"You are my brother," the old woman said.

For the second time that morning, Woon felt as if he might fall to the floor. He was sitting down this time. He still possessed all the martial arts skills of his previous life; he reached out an arm to forestall his plummet to the ground. It worked. He was balanced between belief and disbelief, between the Realm of the Gods and the memory of being a peasant boy who ate rice balls seven days a week, three times a day, come rain or sunny days. He stared into the eyes of the old woman: she was not lying.

"In Heaven, I had two older sisters, two lazy ones who needed simple rules in order to accomplish their work. I had a much younger brother who, like me, was very gifted at reading humans. He was curious about them; he liked to follow me around while I played with their fates. He didn't understand why everyone could not be cured of all illnesses and everyone could not sleep on soft beds and be warm in the winter and be fed when hungry. He was young and tender-hearted. He had a face like--" The old woman's wrinkles smoothed again. "I knew the other gods would be envious the older he grew. He was that beautiful and that kind and that smart."

Woon wondered if he hadn't stepped into an illusion. He had never had a family. Sa-mo's motley bunch was the closest thing to a normal family he'd ever known in life; Yeo Cho-sang was a bad dream; Heuksa Chorong was another bad dream. What was this? Had the old woman slipped him a narcotic, and was he dreaming he had lived among gods? Wait--had lived. What happened?

Woon realized he was still holding his arm out in front of him--as if to ward off the inevitable. He brought the arm back to his side. He was in control. He was fine. He had asked for information, hadn't he? Information was power. He had learned that in the Living World. Death was no different.

"Was I thrown out of Heaven with you?"

The old woman shook her head. "I didn't want you to know any of this. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do with your spirit here. You are a human spirit, after all. I still play with the Destiny of humans—after I was judged and kicked out of the heavens, my powers were limited to a tiny region; my powers were so curtailed." A deep sigh. "I was afflicted with the burden of being human--that is, I was given the ability to age, feel pain and illness, but I'm still immortal, so there's that. I'm an immortal human."

Woon shook his head. "I became a human?"

"They killed you."

"What?"

"Yes. You were a child of extraordinary gifts. You threatened King Yeomna himself, most likely. When my sentence was declared, my sisters cried and cried but accepted it. You marched to the court of judges and challenged it--little, annoying you. You frightened them. They told me that my radical and reprobate ways were making a monster out of you. They're ones to talk about monsters--they're a council of monsters. The Council of the Five Heavens? I always said they should be called The Cha Cha Club because all they ever did was drink tea and sh*t out excuses for their insufferable pronouncements. They said you needed a lesson, and they killed you before my eyes. They told me that your hard destiny would be to be born under a Black Star and to suffer a terrible life as a human--"

Woon was standing up. "That's a lie! There is no such thing as a Black Star Destiny! Dong-soo said--"

"Whatever he said was ox crap. Oh, he was right about so many things—he was right that you bowed before a nebulous idea—your self-hatred and guilt? That was pretty stupid—there were tigers all around you, chasing you into your fate. Still, you did stupid things so many times, but even when you tried to redeem yourself--ah, my poor Pretty One, you were cornered at every turn. It never worked out for you. You were supposed to die like that. There was no way out. It was my fault. It was my punishment."

Woon found his hands clutching the old woman's shoulders. "You're lying! Why are you telling me stories like this? I'm your brother? Why don't I remember a thing then? Why couldn't you stop things, change things when I was alive? You're supposed to be a god?"

"You were supposed to be alive for one lifetime and then move on!" The old woman was shouting into Woon's face. "I tried to convince you to pass on, but oh no no, you wouldn't have it! You had to fall in love. If you would just move on, do you know where you'd be?"

Woon didn't care. He guessed the answer before the old woman spoke the words.

"Your sentence was for one lifetime here, and then you could return, properly chided, to be an apprentice to my sisters. They would be able to keep an eye on you up there! Here, well, I have to convince you to pass over. Or, if you keep getting more and more powerful, I'll just have to eat you and become a stronger shaman--that's what gods do, you know. It's a god-eat-god world."

"What? You'd eat your own brother."

Woon still held the old woman by the shoulders, but she shrugged them. "I thought about it. Anything to keep you from trailing after that Dong-soo forever and ruining your soul."

Woon removed one hand from the frail, freaky god he felt like shaking into a seizure and pointed at the painting. "You're Sister Moon? I'm your brother?"

"Yes, Pretty Spirit."

It made sense. In a blinding moment, it all made sense. Sister Moon wanted the heavens to reclaim her. And her brother too. Whatever tormented them here in the Earthly Realm would just die and bleed forever in a buckwheat field. The deserving good children would rise up to Heaven and be the darlings of the gods.

No.

Like, no way.

I'm not bonded to my sister--I'm bonded to Dong-soo. She said that herself, didn't she? Family bonds? The gods have them too? They matter more than--

I don't want to be a god. Or whoever this brother who was a brilliant sun but became a moon out of sympathy for his frightened sister—or whatever the story is--no, no, no. I don't want to determine people's fates. I don't want to see fortunes. I just...

I just want to spend an ordinary human life with Dong-soo.

I want to ....

I want to kiss him--is that so wrong?

"She said I know nothing about Destiny." Dong-soo was smiling over his spoon of rice. "She picked a funny word to talk to me about."

"She talks about Destiny a lot." Saet-byeol put a little bit of greens on her father-in-law's bowl with chopsticks. "Any shaman must do that. She's talked to me about Destiny as well--interesting stuff."

Maybe she wants Saet-byeol around to insure that the old man is cared for--so I'll be reassured that I can pass on? Really? She thinks I'll trust a little, nervous woman like her who looks like she's about to fall off her horse at every turn?

Dong-soo seemed to be eating with an especially hearty appetite. "She called me an arrogant man and a foolish lover." He took too-big bites of his food and looked like the rude boy of his peasant days; he chewed hard and at least he didn't eat with his mouth open. Saet-byeol blushed over the wordsfoolish lover. Did she think that Dong-soo and his old friend Woon--? Because of what the old woman had said about Dong-soo's very un-Confucian attraction--?

Clear it up with your daughter-in-law, Dong-soo-yah.

No, wait. Don't mention it. She's a lady, and she won't say a thing.

Dong-soo was indeed in amazingly good spirits. When the housekeeper came out and asked if he'd like wine, he hesitated. Saet-byeol shook her head vigorously, and Dong-soo ordered a fruit tea. "You know what the Madam Shaman said? She said that maybe if I don’t drink for some days and think about what she told me, the truth will fall on me like a hard rain.”

Hard rain? That sounds like a threat, not a nice thing. Who wants to be poured on?

Saet-byeol swallowed. It was as if her food went down with some difficulty. She seemed worried about her father-in-law. "I always feel more devoted to my family whenever I visit Madam Hye-won. My purpose in life seems clearer. Family is everything."

"Family?"

Saet-byeol nodded.

"Ah yes, family." Dong-soo shoveled more food in his mouth. "I'm so fond of all of you, you know that. The little girls are so cute." He took a swig of his fruity tea. "You know what? Shaman Lady got me thinking about reincarnation. I never really believed in it before. I thought it might be some nonsense people came up with--you know, like how planting a dead cat under a willow tree will ease the grief of a lost love--the stuff old women come up with. The stuff shaman people sell to old women for money. But I started to wonder--you know, I think this shaman is pretty good. She might be onto some real knowledge."

"What did I tell you."

Dong-soo finished his plate and pushed it away.

"Do you want more? I'll fetch the woman of the house."

"Ah, yes. I'm starved." Dong-soo's face looked strangely happy—Woon couldn't remember the last time he had seen it so happy.

And then it hit him--a vision so clear it was as if the sunlit scene outside the tavern had melted away. It was night. Dong-soo was holding him, arms around Woon's shoulders, face against Woon's cheek—the intimacy of their bodies pressed lightly against one another was something Woon had only dreamed about in the periphery of dreams, bare flesh against bare flesh. Yet those dreams had happened ages ago, when Woon was alive, when Woon had been a young man more obsessed with fighting his own Destiny than with embracing any sort of comfort.

It was a shocking sensation.

Oh, Dong-soo's long messy curls, the pressure of his broad chest, the warmth of it all--

Not at all the carnal love the old woman despised.

It was everything.

The vision vanished, and the lady of the house was bringing out a plate of meat. "I heard you like your chicken cooked to a crisp, General. I told the husband to kill a bird and start a fire when I heard you were here." She set the skewers of fragrantly seasoned, dark-roasted meat in the center of the table. Steam rose from the plate on the cold winter day.

Dong-soo-yah, you want to be with me too--in another life--because... because....

We're not bonded by pain and skewered together with a sword like some bird caught and roasted over a fire. That's not our Destiny.

Don't we deserve to be together?

In the way we never got a chance to be together before?

I got a little crazy and wanted to stop writing fanfic while writing this fanfic. I changed my mind, though, lol: https://woonietune.wordpress.com/2021/02/22/letting-go-and-holding-on/

Summary:

Love, like most things, depends on one's perspective. Like all absolutes, the absence of it shapes one's universe. Saet-byeol and Hye-won have two different experiences of love.

At the family dinner table, Saet-byeol watched her father-in-law chewing huge mouthfuls of rice and wondered, yet again, what sort of amazing and adventurous life he must have led that she would never know about. For every story that Grandfather Dong-soo told about the past, there had to be a hundred that he didn't tell. Some unfit for polite company of course.

"The old man had a little not-very-Confucian attraction to his good friend. He's been bothered about it all his life. It's one of the reasons he drinks."

Yet he told that to Madam Hye-won? Or did she just figure it out with her shaman intuition?

Saet-byeol didn't understand what it was like to have a first love because she couldn't count past an only love. It seemed incomprehensible to her that person could fall in love more than once. She had always counted herself very lucky too--because most young women she knew in her social group were matched to young men in arranged marriages. They were told that fondness came later; Saet-byeol's own mother's marriage had been arranged. "I was fourteen when I was betrothed to Sang-wook, but then girls married so much earlier in my day. I married him two years later. Your father and I were willing to wait until you were twenty, but you liked Yoo-jin so much, how could we not consider him? Your happiness has always mattered that much to us."

Yoo-jin was watching his father eat, taking note of the general's unusually cheerful disposition. Yoo-jin's eyes seemed more curious than pleased, though. It was one of the traits Saet-byeol liked about her husband--his curiosity and questioning of just about everything. She knew Yoo-jin wanted to know more about the day's session with the shaman but that he didn't want to act like he cared about that sort of nonsense.

"The twins visited your father today," Yoo-jin said to Saet-byeol. "They were restless, so I had the older girls take them there as soon as you left. I didn't want to come back home and find shelves knocked over. They're getting wilder every day, you know."

Grandfather Dong-soo chuckled. "Maybe they were monkeys in a previous life."

"Monkey?" One twin sat up very straight at the mention of a funny animal. "Previous life? What does that mean?"

"Reincarnation," Grandfather Dong-soo said and stuffed his mouth with another glob of rice.

"Oh honey," Saet-byeol said to her husband, "I didn't know that you were so worried about them. I'm also sorry I missed a visit with Ma-na! I always go see her with the babies!"

"You can go see her tomorrow." Yoo-jin reached across the table and touched his wife's wrist. "And I'm not worried about the twins. They're just acting their age. Your Ma-na has a very calming effect on them." He called Saet-byeol's mother sometimes by the name Saet-byeol came up with her as a baby--Saet-byeol had called her Mother-in-law "Mother," but her own mother "Ma-na." She stressed to the twins not to follow her example, and they didn't; they formally addressed their grandmother with the most proper honorifics.

"Yes, yes." Saet-byeol looked appreciatively into her husband's eyes. "Ma-na is so good with little ones."

"What's reincar-sation?" asked one of the twins.

"Reincarnation," Grandfather Dong-soo corrected.

Their need for gods, it was rumored among the gods, was itself born from a spider bite. A malicious wound of longing.

Some gods were born out of the desires and prayers of humans. After conception, a god's personality became his own; he jumped out of the ocean on a dragon's back, dropped like tear from the squeezed juice of a grape, or was born like a human from a human's womb, but eventually, the god ascended, was assigned an Eternal Occupation and took a place in the hierarchy of all the Immortals in Heaven. Humans were a messy, unreliable population; they required a good many gods to watch over their delicate souls, teach them the lessons of goodness and righteousness and help them keep the Earth in balance.

The gods of Destiny were three sisters, all pretty, all playful. Gameunjang-agi was the middle sister. Eunjang-agi was her elder sister, and Notjang-agi was the younger.

Summary:

Dong-soo and Woon meet again. Saet-byeol gets unexpected visitors and a surprise ultimatum.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Two beggars
sharing a meal of the food they’ve been given

The new moon shines intensely --Ko Un

Dong-soo wasn't drunk. His hands were cupping Shaman Lady's medicinal tea (what was her name again? Oh right--Hye-won!), and the hour was late. He whispered, so faintly, that he himself could scarcely hear the call: "Woon-ah."

And there he was, standing before him.

"You were here before I even said your name, weren't you?"

Woon nodded.

"Why?"

"I needed to see you. Where did Saet-byeol go? Where are the twins?" He looked a little worried.

"They're off to see her mother. She said they might spend the night. For some reason, she was missing her mother. She took Little One and Big One with her. So the twins have a whole bunch of women to look after them."

"Good." Woon's face relaxed. Since when did he care about children? "They need a platoon of women to look after them."

Dong-soo smiled. "They do."

There was a long moment of silence. He needed to see me. Dong-soo's heart, which had been glad for some time, felt even more glad. He relished the moment. He took a sip of tea, and it didn't taste unpleasant for once. He appreciated Shaman Lady's good intentions.

"I needed to apologize," Woon said without preamble, "for lying to you on my last day alive. I tricked you, and I used you as a tool in my own suicide. I did not consider what it must have felt like to be used that way, and I did not know how the whole event would stay with you for the rest of your life. It was short-sighted and selfish of me, and I am sorry."

Dong-soo's mouth was still holding tea, and he choked on it as he swallowed. He sat there, coughing.

Woon blinked once, those long eyelashes of his expressing patience with Dong soo's response.

When Dong-soo didn't say anything and started to beat on his chest with an open palm because he felt like something was caught there, Woon spoke up: "You don't have to forgive me right away. I came to ask forgiveness because this may be something that is necessary for the both of us, in order for us tostop dwelling on the past and suffering because of...” His voice lowered. “…what happened."

Dong-soo felt his throat tightening and the tears welling in his eyes. "I'm the one who should apologize. I'm the one, Woon-ah."

"Dong-soo-yah, don't. There's never been any reason for you to feel so guilty."

"Woon-ah, I said I would never doubt you again. I said I would trust you. I was your best friend, and I should have known. I drew my sword against you."

"That's what I wanted you to do."

"But I should have known you never would have hurt Cho-rip. The little pretty gisaeng lady came running to me days later to tell me how she set the whole thing up. She said that none of it was your doing and how if I had any sense I would have noticed that Cho-rip was still alive, that you never kill a person slowly, that the assassins actually had trouble with him because he could still fight--"

Woon turned his head to one side and exhaled with exasperation. "Goo-hyang. She didn’t have to do that. She had a habit of over-stepping herself."

"I'm sorry, Woon-ah. I'm sorry." The words were spilling over now like his tears. He had no control over them. "I closed my eyes when you leapt at me, so I didn't see you--if I had only seen you--" Dong-soo choked on a sob. "You dropped your weapons, and if I had seen that, I could have responded. I'm quick. I'm supposed to be an intuitive fighter. I closed my eyes to you. I closed my eyes." Dong-soo bowed his head and sobbed, deep heaving sobs.

"Shh. You'll wake up Yoo-jin."

Dong-soo could only answer with softer but just as wretched sobs.

"He's your life. Yoo-jin is the one you should be spending your days thinking about, not me. You have a living family. You--"

"Did it hurt terribly?" Dong-soo lifted his head and looked into Woon's eyes, so he could read for sure if Woon was lying. "Was it the worst pain you ever felt in all your days to fall on my sword? You didn't even cry out. I don't understand why--? But it had to be...." Dong-soo wiped his nose on his sleeve. "Your best friend's sword?"

Woon's eyes looked infinitely sad. "I wanted you to be the one to end my life."

Dong-soo didn't want to raise his voice, but his next words were hissed with emphasis, aggravated now: "I'm asking you if it hurt."

"Yes," Woon said plainly. "It hurt more than anything I could've imagined."

Dong-soo blinked. He was old, so old. For so many years, some questions felt like they themselves had aged him into an ancient body, but his voice, when he asked his next question, sounded like a little boy's. "Did the pain go away the moment you died?"

Woon bit his bottom lip, as if he were reluctant to say more. "The physical pain went away, but...." He looked to one side. "Sometimes I even feel a shadow of that. I don't know why. It's regret. It's the awfulness of it all. I am so sorry. I can't forget it either. Can you forgive me, and can we just let this go?"

Dong-soo was standing up and walking towards Woon. Woon was making no signs of backing away. Dong-soo knew that he himself was quick, even for an old man, but that Woon's quickness was supernatural, so it didn't make any sense to rush--if Woon wanted to disappear, he would disappear. Dong-soo walked with soft-footed deliberation towards Woon until he stood right before him, the width of a tea-cup between their torsos. Dong-soo could not remember being so close to Woon since the time Woon pressed against him, patting Dong-soo's back, dying.

Are you real? You look so real. You're nineteen. You're just like I remember. There's not a thing about you that's spooky and see-through and ghost-like.

Dong-soo looked at Woon's hands which were hanging on either side of Woon's body just like Woon's hands would when he was at a loss, at his most vulnerable. Woon wasn't crossing his arms or putting his hands on his hips or making any sort of defensive gesture. He was just standing there, waiting.

For what?

Dong-soo took each of Woon's hands in his. "You don't feel cold. I thought spirits were cold."

Woon's hands were limp, but they weren't cold. Dong-soo had felt Woon's hands a few times before--calloused from the bow and sword, always surprisingly small.

"I don't know if all spirits are cold. Anyway..." Woon's voice sounded nervous. "I don't think I'm an ordinary ghost."

"You wouldn't be." Dong-soo smiled and looked into Woon's gleaming dark eyes. Always such expressive eyes. What was the expression now? "You were never ordinary."

"I see visions," Woon said. "I saw us reincarnated in another life. I believe that we will be together again. That's good, right?"

"I was thinking that too!" Dong-soo was excited. "When the shaman lady started talking about reincarnation, I thought--wouldn't it make sense--? But didn't she say your soul was in danger if you kept hanging around me? Did she say--"

"She says lots of things. I don't know what her motives are, or what to believe sometimes. Sometimes I think we're on the same side, but--"

"I've had dreams," Dong-soo said. "I've had dreams where it's me, you, and Cho-rip in a weird world, and people are talking in a strange language that makes the funniest sounds, and women are wearing clothes that show their naked shoulders--"

Woon's eyes widened.

"I know, right?" Dong-soo laughed. "I thought they were just crazy drunk dreams, but I've been wondering..." Here, he pressed Woon's hands in his. He felt Woon resist the pressure, but it didn't matter--Dong-soo wasn't letting go. "Is it another time in the far, far future? You look just like yourself except you have short hair, and your name is Ahn-ri? Ehn-ri? It's a weird language. And Cho-rip doesn't look like himself at all. He's a poet or somesuch. Writes scandalous things. Has a girlfriend named Jun--I think it's Jun? But I remember his name clearly. It's Jarls Baud-eh-ler. It's a notorious name everywhere because of his poetry. And oh, he tries to kill himself. I thought I dreamed that because... well, you know what happened. But in the dream, he doesn't manage it. It's so strange."

Woon's eyes are round. His lips part. "Cho-rip?"

"It's funny." Dong-soo's heart was racing. "Is it possible it could be true? That we three will all be together again in another time, in another life?"

"Dong-soo-yah, you're ... you're thinking ahead of yourself. You have to concentrate on the here and now. Didn't Sword Saint teach you anything?"

Yes, Yoo-jin. Concentrate on family. Live in the now. But Woon was here in the now too, wasn't he? As a spirit? He and Woon were connected? Connected through all time and into the future? Dong-soo felt himself sail out of his sudden fall into gloom.

"Woon-ah, Sword Saint didn't have time to teach me everything--he left too soon, and I've made a mess of teaching myself, but now I'm ready to learn. I didn't know how to listen to my own dreams--how shallow of me is that? My master told me to listen to the world, to everything, to listen for the sound of a dewdrop falling off a leaf--why didn't I realize that these crazy dreams might mean something? Why did I never take reincarnation seriously?"

Woon managed to yank his hands out of Dong-soo's. "I can see your--" He decided not to finish his sentence.

"What? What do you see?"

"Your dreams sound interesting. They are similar to visions I've had, only mine haven't been as detailed."

"See? That means something! We're connected, Woon-ah."

Woon smiled. It was a shy smile, an acknowledgement. "Yes."

"Look, Woon-ah, I know I'm supposed to stop drinking and being such an ass. You're right. It's foolish to dwell on the past when...." Dong-soo inhaled deeply. He felt so happy just thinking that someday he and Woon might be young and vibrant and most importantly alive together again. "That shaman woman--she doesn't want us to see one another for some reason, but who is she to tell us what to do? This is my life--and well, this is your ... death, whatever. She can't stop us from seeing each other, can she?"

"No." Woon's face looked sweet and nineteen, a face that had yet to see the worst things in life, that had yet to be scarred by Dong-soo's sword. "She can't."

In each of his palms, the Reaper held two balls, the size of cherry tomatoes. One was a bright red as a tomato, solid and shiny, like a child's drawing of a fiery sun. The other was bluish with a fuzzy outline; it was a ghost orb, and whitish spots spun in slow orbits around its surface.

"They didn't?" Hye-won was shocked.

"They insisted," The Reaper said, "Or so I was told. It was an emergency transport. I was given these and--"

Hye-won grabbed the two balls and tossed them to the floor.

One puffed into a tall pillar of red smoke, and the other swirled into a helix of spinning blue and white threads. Gradually, the two shapes took form, and standing there were two women—one, petite, plump, pink-haired, wearing an ornate flowery hanbok, and the other, taller, slim, blue from hair, face, hands, to the hem of her chima. The pink-haired woman wore a sweet expression; the all-blue woman wore a worried face.

"You're dismissed," Hye-won said to the Reaper. "This is god business."

The Reaper bowed and was gone.

"You look terrible," the blue woman said.

"What did you expect, Notjang-agi?" Hye-won crossed her arms and tapped her foot. "This is my sentence. To grow ancient and experience human suffering."

"Are you mad at us?" The pink haired woman took a step towards her human sister. "You haven't sent any messages through the spirits or the Reapers or tried to reach us in any way--! I know we didn't stand up for you like Jangnan-agi, but--"

"That was his old name. The wife of the Jade Emperor changed it."

"Right. Yang Jian-agi." The pink-haired sister, smiling hopefully, took another step towards Hye-won, and Hye-won took a step back.

"There's no god by that name either," Hye-won said. "The council killed him."

"But you know that was for one lifetime here!" The pink-haired sister stopped trying to move forward and stood where she was, palms spread wide, her smile spreading wider. "C'mon, aren't you happy to see us?"

Hye-won looked suspicious. "I was told it was an emergency?"

"Damn right it is." Notjang-agi furrowed her blue eyebrows. "Do you think my sister and I would set food in this disgusting realm for any other reason? We had faith in you, Gameunjang-agi, that you had everything under control. The little brother, whatever his name is, wasn't moving on, but whatever--the sentence could be extended--far be it from me to complain about a little more havoc as long as the two of you made it back safe." The blue sister heaved a tremendous sigh. "But it seems like there's no stopping the boy now. He and his human love are together right now as we speak. They're quite serious about this soul-bonding thing."

Hye-won waved her hand. "Bah--they're so young. That'll be over with. I'm working on it."

"You've been saying that," Notjang-agi shook her head, "for years now, and you haven't seem to have come very far. Do you want to vanish into nothingness? Because if that boy and his love--"

"Oh, if it weren't for your sake," the pink-haired one interrupted, "it would be such a lovely soul-bond." She clasped her hands together. "You know how I love these love stories. Even some of the other gods were a little impressed by the whole business. Tu Shen, the rabbit god? He put in a special request of me! He actually wanted me to spin Destiny against my own sister just so these two boys could be together in the future--how's that for audacious!" Her plump hand covered her rosy lips, and she laughed and laughed.

"Eunjang-agi!" Hye-won had forgotten how annoyed she could get over the oldest sister's tittery fascination with romance. It had been Eunjang-agi, after all, who had kept sending Sang-so women just because they prayed to be with such a handsome man, and that's what had started Sang-so on the bad habit of courting women, and just maybe, just maybe if Sang-so hadn't been in this bad habit, he wouldn't have fallen for a pretty little god of Destiny and.... "I give up," Hye-won said. "What do the two of you think you're going to accomplish here?"

"We're here to help," Notjang-agi said. "Obviously, this getting the boy to cross over is a bigger task than picking fortuitous days for wealthy humans to open up new businesses or getting rid of some old man's liver disease. Look, I was going to ask a Reaper to just yank Baek Dong-soo into the Other World, but I thought that would be rude without consulting with you first."

Hye-won huffed. "You couldn't do it. Our brother still has some god in him, you know. He watches over the man, and there's no Reaper who's his match. Did you know he has visions?"

"Yes, yes, yes." Eunjang-agi sat on the floor, her skirts puffing up in a cloud of pinkness. "We saw it all from the heavens. Aren't you even going to offer us any tea? Aren't you even the slightest bit worried that you can't return home?"

Hye-won was trying not to show concern. She rolled her eyes heavenwards, even though there was no one there at the moment she cared for. "Neither of you would like the taste of tea from this world. It takes some years to get used to it."

"I don't remember it being so terrible," Notjang-agi said. She sat down too, her blue spine very straight and her blue neck poised and elegant. "Do you realize how hard it is to break a soul bond?"

"If he crosses over, there's no need to break it." Hye-won joined her sisters on the floor. The trio sat as if they were making a divine triangle that had only natural. "He'll remember who he is, and he won't be bothered with the human general anymore."

"Either that or the gods will simply break the bond for him," Notjang-agi said, "but as long as he remains a human spirit in this world and doesn't resume his place among the gods, he's playing with destiny. Do you realize what he's done? He's bound himself to a human!"

"Aw, the little thing didn't know what he was doing!" Eunjang-agi reached over and patted her blue sister's blue knee. "He was only a twelve-year-old human boy. Even we didn't know at the time that he had retained some god-stuff inside him, that he still had the power to shape destiny. He was so cute, wasn't he? He was so lonely, and he asked the little rough Dong-soo boy “Can we be friends?” He didn't know that he was sending out a little red thread that ran right through that other boy's heart and through all his lives throughout all times. Our little brother just didn't want to be lonely is all. We can't blame him--"

"That's not the point," Notjang-agi snapped. "The point is that he was put in this world to suffer for one lifetime, not to run through lifetime after lifetime with some mere human. He's part of Gameunjang-agi's sentence. She was to suffer for hundreds of years and eventually see her brother suffer. Once the brother died, she and he were to return to us. But again, things didn't go as planned."

"I've been working on it," Hye-won said sternly. "I got Saet-byeol to ease his worries about his love. I've been working on making the old general's life and eventual passing all natural and easy, so that when that happens--"

"You're too slow," Notjang-agi said. "If our little brother decides to follow his love after death, you know perfectly well what happens."

Hye-won shrugged. "You two get more work?"

"Shut up!" Eunjang-agi squeaked. Her eyes opened wide, and her pink eyelashes batted in amazement. "Do you really think we want you to disappear into nothingness?"

I am the only one who can bring you to the other side since I am the one who made you fall, the council said. I corrupted you when I let myself lose my godliness for the love of a human man. And now you are going to do the same thing? If I told you that if you don't cross over, it would be the death of this old woman, would you cross over and forget your Dong-soo?

No, how could she ask her baby brother to make such a choice. Pretty Spirit had only one great love--the stupid general. Hye-won was only an old crazy woman to him. But she couldn't ask him to choose between two lives--especially the life of a man and that of a god. He was both; he would have no answer. He would be cast into frozen despair. No, some decisions needed to be determined by Destiny. Hye-won had done her best to coax Pretty Spirit towards the right path--she just needed a little more time.

"I have everything under control," Hye-won insisted. "What possessed the two of you to come here now, of all times?"

"Last thing we saw...." Eunjang-agi's voice dropped to a whisper. "They were in one another's arms. Are they still? What do you see, sisters?"

Notjang-agi shook her head. "I'm not good at that sort of thing. Want me to bring a plague on this village? Ah, that's no problem. But sniffing out lovers?"

Hye-won co*cked her head. Oh, yes, there it was. An eternal longing, as full of cold despair as the moon. It would wane, disappear, and return in season unless ....

"We have to perform a spell, Gameunjang-agi." Notjang-agi's voice was firm.

"Maybe you're right."

Hye-won reached her hands out to either side. Her sisters instinctively locked hands with her and with one another. "I've been trying so long, and maybe there's no other recourse. After all, the two of you came this far to help me."

The heads of all three gods of Destiny bowed. Soul bonds, they knew, were hard to break, but Destiny, if nothing else, could slice through the strongest will like an executioner's sword. No new love, no love born between two boys in Joseon, was so pure and strong as to withstand the three sisters who spun, snipped, and fashioned the long, flowing fabrics of humans' fates.

Notes:

I changed the penname I’ve been using for over two decades. What’s in a Name? . Now I think that shalomdebbie sounds a little like hellokitty. I’ve been taking time to write a lot of side-stories while continuing this series. Lots of shake-ups in RL and a flurry of one-shots, rants about trauma and mangos. I’ll stop that for now and try to finish up this fic!

Summary:

Woon and Dong-soo are hit with the full force of Destiny's reckoning for the crimes of Gameunjang-agi's past.

Chapter Fourteen: Everything Moves; Nothing is Steadfast

A Shooting Star
Wow! You recognized me.--Ko Un

Woon was having difficulty waking up. He felt fully conscious; his mind had roused from a state of nothingness to one where it was aware of the heaviness of his eyelids, the weariness of his arms and legs. It was strange that he still felt sleepy. He had been taught since the boys' warrior camp to rise up like a tiger, head straight to morning exercises, then to breakfast. At the moment, he couldn't open his eyes.

So tired. Since when do I dawdle in bed? No, I'm not in bed.

The realization that he was being held in someone's arms made Woon's eyes startle open.

There wasn't anything to see. It was pitch black night, and his sight hadn't adjusted to the darkness. But those arms holding him? That broad chest he lay against? There were soft curls falling across Woon's face. Woon remembered how after the arrow had lit the fourth beacon in the rain, he and Dong-soo had hugged, clinging to one another in sheer joy for their lives.

Dong-soo is holding me?

No sound came out when Woon tried to speak. He tried to orient himself; he saw a soft orb of light somewhere, and slowly, ever so slowly, the large moon came into focus.

The night was cold, but Dong-soo's body was warm. It made no sense, but Dong-soo was pressing Woon's upper body close to his chest, his hand resting at the nape of Woon's neck. Dong-soo was kneeling in the damp grasses where Woon's lower body was lying. Woon could see the grasses now--in the silver moonlight, as the breezes blew, they rolled like waves of water, over li and li, far and farther.

Then Dong-soo's fingers at Woon's neck stirred. Woon could sense their desperation. The fingers moved with tenderness and with yes, desperation, into Woon's hair, and they stroked his scalp with the slightest touches.

Woon shuddered.

Dong-soo reacted as if bitten by a snake--he dropped Woon's head. Woon struggled to sit up, but it was impossible; Dong-soo was still holding him firmly, and for some reason, Woon was so weak.

Woon turned his face up to look at Dong-soo. Unfortunately, with the moonlight behind him, Dong-soo's face’s was in eclipse. There was no expression to read.

"You're alive?" Dong-soo's voice sounded raspy and exhausted. He must have been crying.

"I died?" Woon's own voice sounded strange too. Breathless, weak.

"The gods heard my prayer?"

"What are you talking about?"

Dong-soo hugged Woon tighter. "Sshhh. You don't have to remember just now." A little sobbing sound. "You don't have to remember at all. Just be alive. Oh gods, gods, Woon-ah, please just stay alive."

Woon felt his face pressed against Dong-soo's chest. His nose was being smashed. At this point, even if Woon had truly been dead, Dong-soo was going to suffocate him. Was Dong-soo crying again?

Such a crybaby.

Oh woah, he's petting my hair like I'm his little lost dog.

There's been a battle. I've been injured.

At the thought injured, Woon felt a place in his chest seize. He had been hurt there. He had been....

Dong-soo took Woon by the shoulders and lay Woon down on the damp grass, his hand feeling for that same spot. Dong-soo's fingers pushed the cloth at Woon's heart. Woon felt the fingers move through a hole there, touch bare flesh. Then Dong-soo's whole hand was wildly palming Woon's chest.

"It's not there! It's not there! Woon-ah, your wound is gone! There's torn clothing--there's dried blood--but--but--"

Woon managed to pull himself up to his elbows. Dong-soo seemed to be trying to stop him from getting up; his palm was flat against Woon's chest.

Woon could see Dong-soo's face now. It looked so young and yet so exhausted with grief.

Wait.

No.

This isn't supposed to be happening.

I always die.

This field, this moon. This is our Destiny, Dong-soo-yah. This is where we are trapped. Always. Always.

Prayers to the gods don't work. Not yours, anyway. What did you think? You could bring me back to life?

The wrongness of it all was rushing Woon's head along with the memories of dying, of following Dong-soo around as a ghost for years and years, the old woman's constant haranguing, Dong-soo the old general who was supposed to drink medicinal tea for his bad liver, Dong-soo who had been so excited about the prospect of reincarnating in a new world with Woon that he had grabbed Woon into his arms and--

Woon grabbed Dong-soo's wrist and pushed the hand away. "My sister! She caught us!"

The look on Dong-soo's face! He looked enchanted. He was obviously thrilled that Woon was alive, but there was another delight there--Dong-soo thought Woon's nonsensical outburst was adorable?

"You baby thing." Dong-soo put his hand on Woon's cheek this time. The gesture was adoring. "You poor, sweet, baby thing."

What is Dong-soo mumbling about? He's insane. The idiot is insane.

It occurred to Woon that Dong-soo, too, had lost his memory of being an old man or of anything existing outside this cursed buckwheat field under a cold moon.

"You're just a little confused right now," Dong-soo said to Woon. "Being dead must've been like the strangest dream. It's going to be all right. You'll remember everything in time, and I'll help you. I went through something like this before myself once." Dong-soo's thumb moved to stroke the corner of Woon's mouth with the utmost tenderness. "Just trust me."

Woon remembered that Dong-soo lost his memory after the murder of Crown Prince Sado, after Woon betrayed everyone and disappeared with Ji-sun to a dark World of Assassins. Amnesia was a blessing--could Dong-soo forget a world beyond what happened in this field? Had he forgotten being old? Having a son and grandchildren?

Dong-soo's thumb was still caressing a tiny place on Woon's face.

Woon looked directly into Dong-soo's eyes.

No pain.

Only love, the sweetest love.

Woon couldn't even blink.

Think, think. This is all wrong. He looks so beautiful, and he's a dumbass. You have to help him out of this mess.

Woon didn't know how the Destiny had been undone, but it had to be the old woman's doing. If it was her doing, then nothing good was going to come of it.

The old woman? My sister....

He remembered his sister. A young, beautiful woman, her lavender hair in a braid to her waist, her head bowed before the Court of the Five Heavens.

"Destroy me now," she said in a hard voice. "Don't touch him. He had nothing to do with any of it. The sin is all mine."

"He's been corrupted," one of the five white-cloaked figures intoned. "He will do his penance, and near the end of yours, it will be necessary for you to usher him back here. He will suffer greatly in the human world, but it will be one mere human lifetime. After he dies, reviled by society, alone, forsaken and betrayed, you can take his hand and the both of you can resume your rightful places as gods of Destiny."

"He's more talented than I'll ever be," the sister continued. "Just end me now. I don't deserve to come back. He doesn't deserve to suffer."

"Yang Jian?" One of five white-cloaked figures pulled an executioner's sword from the ether; its blade was wide and shone with divine purpose. "Do you accept your judgement?"

"My sister will come back if I go through this?"

All the five white-cloaked figures nodded.

"Nui?" The brother reached over and took his sister's hand. "Don't worry. I can bear it. It's just being human, right? I've watched them. Their lives are so short, but it's all bearable."

"Agi-yah, don't die for me."

"Stupid," the brother said to his sister. "It's you who shouldn't die for me. This way we both get to come back? Ok?"

Woon shook his head, and the memory vanished. "Dong-soo-yah," he whispered, "You're not going to understand this, but I'm not really alive."

"No." Dong-soo smiled gently. "I can tell I'm not dreaming. I can see you breathing. I felt your heartbeat under my hand." He held up his hand before his face. "I’m really here too, and this is a real place. You're the one who's a little confused. It's all right, Woon-ah, you poor thing, you've been through so much, baby."

It was so weird to Dong-soo to address him with the same endearment his sisters used. Baby. It was no use. How to explain within a few moments to a total idiot that Yeo Woon was not alive as a human but as a god. And that there was a sister god doing some funny business trying to get Woon to cross back into the Heavenly Realm so that he and Dong-soo would never ever be together again in future reincarnations? Why? Because Woon's role wasn't as a human, a mere human, but as that horrible thing that Baek Dong-soo had always railed against--Destiny itself.

f*ck Destiny.

There was a thundering sound. Woon and Dong-soo both looked up at the skies--no, there wasn't rain. They both looked down. The ground underneath them was rumbling; it wasn't only the grasses rolling now, it was the literal ground going up and down in shallow waves.

"Earthquake," Woon said.

"But there hasn't been an earthquake in Joseon in... maybe a hundred years?" Dong-soo reached for Woon, as if to grab him in a protective embrace.

Woon pushed Dong-soo's arms away, and he stood up. The air was charged with Destiny's spell. Whatever my damn sister is doing may kill Dong-soo too. Woon felt his hair blowing behind him in the same rolling pattern as the ground beneath him, but he stood steady on his feet.

"Woon-ah, what's happening? What's wrong with you?"

"I'm fine."

Woon extended his arm. He wasn't sure how to do it, but he knew that he had to press against the next wave that came at him. It hit, and Woon's palm went stiff. All the martial arts training in the world had not prepared him to stand against such a force. When his blades had pushed against the tremendous power of the Sky Lord, there had been resistance to gauge, something by which he could adjust his strength, but now, there was only a wild power and Woon's own power and an instantaneous clash.

One moment, and it was over.

The ground was no longer rumbling or rolling by in waves.

"It's over," Dong-soo said. "I always heard they didn't last long. I hope--oh, I hope it wasn't bad in the city."

"It's not over," Woon said under his breath. He looked up at the moon. The light was brighter. There was the morning star, shining in her unblinking way.

"Oh, Woon-ah!" Dong-soo gasped when he saw Woon looking at the star. "That's the star I prayed to. I wanted you to be alive to see it. I wanted... I wanted ... it's all that gave me hope for a while."

The morning star, the most steadfast star in the heavens, surged bright with a sudden light and then flew in a half circle away from the moon. It dropped right out of the sky.

"What?" Dong-soo was, rightly so, more amazed by that event than he had been by the earthquake.

Bitch, you didn't.

Woon felt panic.

My sister killed Saet-byeol? That can't be right. But I'm a god. I know these things. She didn't have to do that. Who--who do she think she's playing with!

"Is there going to be a meteor storm now?" Dong-soo asked weakly. He was looking at the sky with awestruck eyes. He expected miracles.

Woon was searching the ground. "Dong-soo-yah, where's your sword?"

"Huh?" Dong-soo seemed distracted. He was still looking at the place where the morning star had been. Then he turned to look at Woon. "Oh? Are you remembering? It's all right, I promise you. It was a mistake. I understand now. I'll help make it all right. Everything will be all right now that we're back together. We can go speak to His Highness together and--"

Woon saw it. It was lying not far away, but the earthquake seemed to have carried it some distance from where Dong-soo had probably thrown it after pulling it from Woon's body. Woon ran towards it.

"Woon-ah! What are you doing?" Dong-soo ran after Woon.

Woon was holding the sword. It was covered in blood to the hilt. He handed it to Dong-soo who grabbed the grip naturally with his right hand. There was no time to explain.

"You seem like you've physically recovered completely," Dong-soo observed. "You're not even winded from running. You seemed so weak when you woke up."

"Dong-soo-yah, this isn't the me you want to be with. If I stay in this form, I will leave you forever." Woon had to give some sort of explanation for Dong-soo to live with, if indeed he was going to have to live with this memory now instead of the other one. Either way, it was the same Destiny. "Dong-soo-yah, I told you that it was enough that you and Cho-rip were my time in the sun. That you...."

"You're remembering." Dong-soo seemed pleased by this fact.

"Dong-soo-yah, do you want to see me alive again? In another life, in another world?"

"What are you talking about?" He was just standing there, his sword held casually in his right hand, thigh-level, parallel to the ground.

"Then we have to let ..." No, don't say that. Don't say we have to let Destiny play out, because wasn't the point to defy Destiny now? Anyway, Dong-soo and the word Destiny never got along. "Dong-soo-yah ... when I was with you...."

"You are remembering." Dong-soo smiled that sweet smile of his. The boyish one, the one full of sunshine.

And all Woon could remember was the moment Woon had slapped his chest in the field and thrust him away. It had been a deliberate distraction. It had been a chance to make some distance between himself and his suicide tool, so he could make a good running leap at Dong-soo, fooling him into thinking he was making a final attack so Dong-soo would draw his blade. There wasn't time for that now.

Dong-soo hadn't had a clue back then--he'd honestly thought he was in a battle to the death with his best friend. He'd clasped his hand over his heart, and the red tones of the setting sun had caught his brown hair, and there had been this warm sense of love and life all over him, even through the pain, even through the awful pain. Woon had never wanted so much to embrace him, to die against his body. Because Dong-soo had always been ....

"Dong-soo-yah," Woon said in a plain voice. This would be the distraction. "You were my first love."

Dong-soo looked stricken with a hundred meteor storms. His eyes widened.

Woon lunged forward, grabbed Dong-soo's sword, and plunged it into his own chest. Yes, it worked. Woon was still somewhat human. There was god-stuff in him, and it could be killed. It hurt--it didn't hurt worse than anything he could have ever imagined, though, because he had lived through this pain hundreds of times.

A white-robed figure from the Council of the Five Heavens had stepped forward and raised the executioner's sword. It struck Yang Jian-agi on the shoulder and cleaved him in half, cutting through his divine heart.

Previously, there had been no memory of that, not even when Dong-soo's sword had run through Woon's body. Being killed by gods had been a sacrifice he had taken on with his head held high; dying against Dong-soo had been a sacrifice he'd run into like a man who had run out of places to run, and he had died, his eyes burning with tears, a hole in his human body that would only grow with loneliness over the years. Dong-soo-yah, Dong-soo-yah, I loved you so much.

It was quicker this time because Woon had punctured himself clean through his most vital organ. There was nothing to say, even if he could talk.

He imagined that Dong-soo was holding him up and screaming, but he couldn't be sure. The pain blotted out all other senses. There was no hearing or seeing or feeling Dong-soo's arms this time.

There's the house.

Woon knew because there was a Reaper standing outside it. That Reaper.

Woon landed in front of him. "What are you doing here? She's not dead."

"I got notice that probability of a death was high," the Reaper said. "I'm just waiting. This one's been overdue for--waaaaah!"

Woon had clutched the Reaper by the throat and was holding him high as his arm could reach. "You get out of here, you disgusting vulture. I'm going to renegotiate the contract myself with the old woman."

"But--"

"Did I say you could talk?" Woon pinched the Reaper's throat shut and tossed him. The black-clothed body flew a good distance into the sky where it then stopped, a blotch of black that appeared not to know where to move next. Woon stared at it, and it flew away, black evaporating into the deeper blackness of the night.

Inside the house, one of the little girls called, "Did you hear something outside? The doctor might be here!"

The door opened, and an elderly woman who looked like Saet-byeol looked up and down the street, right through Woon. "No, no one here yet." Her face was frantic. Woon followed her inside.

"I heard a swishy swishy noise," the little girl said. Woon couldn't tell the twins apart, but he had always suspected that one of them could sense him. This was not unusual. Small children were often alert to spirits. "I think the doctor is coming soon, Grandmother. Help is coming for our mother--I can feel it."

The grandmother patted her grandchild's head. "Your father had to ride a little ways, and who knows, there may be other people hurt. The best we can do for now is keep her comfortable. There may be a wait."

"Is it time to put new cool bandages on her arm?" piped up the other twin.

"I think so, yes." The grandmother scooted the two girls away. "Go, go. Help Miss Kyung-mi in the kitchen with the herb paste."

Kyung-mi? Big One. Woon had forgotten Big and Little were here too. He followed the grandmother into the bedroom where Little was kneeling beside Saet-byeol on the floor. Apparently, Saet-byeol had been the only injured one in the household. She was unconscious, her head bandaged. Something, maybe a heavy shelf had fallen on her. Woon caught the smell of tian ma, an herb used to treat burns, as well the smell of burned flesh itself and saw that wet cloths had been applied to Saet-byeol's right upper arm. A pot of something hot had spilled on her? She had been up cooking in the middle of the night? A bad habit from staying up nights with Dong-soo when he was drinking. She was always making hang-over soup for him. What had she been cooking? Something for breakfast to surprise her mother?

Always thinking of other people before yourself. The old woman was right that this would get you in trouble one day.

"Young Lady, my young lady," Big wailed. "I know the burn hurts, but it's here." She pressed her hand to Saet-byeol's side, where the hanbok had been undone, exposing the chest wrapping beneath and a triangle of swollen flesh. "Here's where I'm worried there's something very wrong. I don't know what to do about it until the doctor comes."

"If it's broken ribs, will they heal on their own?" The grandmother asked.

Right away, Woon was at Saet-byeol's side, feeling the swollen spot with his ghost fingers. Yes, broken ribs. At least three. They were not merely fractured but cracked inwards. The problem was they were poking organs, and even if the organs were not damaged, the chances of infection were ripe.

She needs the bones re-set and many medications, and she ....

She'll die unless my sister intervenes.

I need to talk to my sister now.

Before I see Dong-soo again like I said I would.

Saet-byeol is Yoo-jin's life. Saet-byeol's is Dong-soo's hope

Woon stood up and covered his face with his hands. He felt overwhelmed.

The old woman knows how to out-negotiate anyone.

I'm going to have to give her what she wants.

To be continued.

Summary:

Woon makes a drastic proposal to save Saet-byeol's life.

Notes:

I came across an article about the comforting need for fanfic during the Pandemic:The Delicate Relationship Between Grief and Fanfic that made me reconsider my 2020 writings.

I felt the need to write pandemic!fic, death!fic and rape!fic (some but not all with happy endings) in the past year. I tended to swing between the need to stab myself with awfulness then bandage the wound. But hurt/comfort has always been one of my preferred tropes. What's yours? I find some people really love full blown horror. Unless I'm the one in control writing it, I can't deal with much of it in media, no matter how well-executed.

In Kdrama land, Joseon Exorcist was cancelled for strange reasons. I wasn't following it because, as I've stated, horror isn't my thing, but apparently there were petitions to the Blue House (that's not new--Mr Queen, anyone?), historical inaccuracies (um, just about every sageuk ever made), and a mess of political stuffs about Chinese props being used. Even when all the cultural and political intricacies of the cancellation were explained to me, I thought it was so disappointing for a well-reviewed drama to be pulled so suddenly. And subsequent Knetizen fluster about dramas has only cemented certain beliefs for me—that Knet culture is by and large toxic and when governments determine how history is told via television shows, there’s some serious censorship going on. Right now, I’m rolling my eyes because scenes in Vincenzo are having to be reshot to make certain Chinese products disappear. Geez, fantasies, horror dramas, and dark comedies are under attack? These aren’t documentaries, people. Want to clean up Kdramas? Get rid of sageuk anachronisms, some bad wigs, handshakes in the Joseon era, and all those impossibly handsome kings. But, srsly, let art stand, bad or good, horrific, historically inaccurate or politically distasteful. Comment or criticize, but don’t yank it or censor it.

In other news, correct me if this is just a rumor, but I've heard that Yoo Seung-ho is considering a sageuk for this spring and is back in the gym training with long Pandemic hair? I saw a pic on Twitter. I’m psyched. Also, there’s a Joseon-era BL coming out of Korea soon. With a kiss!

Finally, I made a survey! I'm starved for feedback. Anonymous way to give feedback on this fic, which is a newish form of story-telling for me. I mean, as far as Dong-soo/Woon fics go. A little out of my comfort zone. Go here: Waiting for the Past Survey!!!!. No pressure!

Chapter Fifteen: Forget Me

Wings on one side torn off
a fly crawls awkwardly away.
Today's come to an end. --Ko Un

Woon could fly faster. At first, he thought it was a sense of urgency speeding him towards the old woman's house, but then he sensed that recognition of god-stuff in his soul made it possible for him to push past preconceived ideas of what spirits could do.

He sensed the presence of his other two sisters before diving through the old woman's roof. They did not look any more surprised to see him than he was surprised to see them. He remembered their faces; those faces had hovered over his since he was a literal baby, and the pink mouth and the blue mouth had always brought up the fact that, as in the heavens as in the world of humans, boys were favored over girls, so one day their baby brother would be their boss--who knows, maybe he would be destined for a bigger role than that a mere god of Destiny? Maybe he would stand among those in that white-robed council? Only Gameunjang-agi had always laughed and said that the runt didn't look like that big of a deal.

Woon gave her an expressionless look. He didn't feel anything. His memories were fuzzy, still, but he knew he hadn't been close to the pink-haired sister. She never came to missions in the Realm of the Living.

"I'm so sorry you suffered so much as Yeo Woon," she said. "We watched you--Notjang-agi and I. We cried for you. We were looking forward to the day you would return to us. Oh, my, sister, does he not have the most intense eyes? Even as a spirit, one can see he is special."

Eunjang-agi tugged on her sister's blue sleeve. Her blue sister was looking Woon up and down in a detached way and didn't look like she was going to even say hello.

"Neither of you visited?" Woon asked. "You'd been here before, hundreds of years ago. Why didn't you come when I was alive here?"

"It was forbidden." Notjang-agi's voice was as cool and detached as Woon remembered from his childhood as a god. "Our strong presences might have inadvertently changed your punishment. As it was, you yourself somehow lessened your fate because you didn't become the hardened assassin you were supposed to be. You went around saving people. That was just like you--you were always--"

"That's enough," the old woman interrupted. "He's powerful. He's his own self. We should've known."

"Yes, but you've been helping him along here while you've been here too, haven't you," Notjang-agi accused the old woman. "He's been here as a ghost long enough. You've been here as an ugly old human long enough too. Time to get back to the way things were. Why you're so stubborn is beyond me."

"Listen here, sister," the old woman said to the blue one. "You think that toppling whole cities and whipping up typhoons is fun and an efficient way to take care of business, but my way is slow and organic. Souls progress more easily through the cycles of the universe when their own wills have some role in how they move; I like to talk spirits into taking a walking path, not blow them like feathers all over the barn. I'm not messy like you are. You don't really think about the consequences of all those tossed about souls for the universe, do you? Someone may have to clean up after you one day. Probably me."

"She's such a snob." Eunjang-agi pouted with her pink lips. "She thinks she's all that because she works so closely with the humans."

Woon had had enough of the sisters' bickering. He turned to the old woman. "I only have one question. When Baek Dong-soo dies, when his time finally comes and he passes into another incarnation, even if I am soul-bonded to him, will he remember me at all? Is there any reason to think he will have any memory of Yeo Woon and the pain he and I shared in our lifetime together?"

All eyes turned to Woon.

"He shouldn't remember anything, no," the old woman said. "Souls bonded to other souls seek out those to whom they were bonded in another life, but they don't understand why--they forget their previous lives."

"Truly?" Woon asked.

"Truly," all three sisters answered in unison.

"And sometimes--actually, many times, soul-bonded partners find one another in subsequent reincarnations," the old woman went on. "That is the purpose of a soul bond. These deep and meaningful relationships form strong threads that hold the universe together with...." The old woman coughed. "With …” She turned her head to one side and hacked like a cat heaving up a fur ball. “… love."

Woon realized it embarrassed her to say the word. So the old woman was telling the truth. Love. It was really that important.

"But what if...." Woon put his chin in his hand. "What if one soul-bonded person was reincarnated and the other ... wasn’t?”

Woon went on: “I mean, what if Dong-soo were to be reincarnated, and I were to go back to heaven? Would he look for me at all? Would he sense a loss? Or would he just forget me?"

The old woman smiled. It was a creepy smile? "My dear Pretty One," she said. "He would have no memory of you for certain. Once you went to the heavens, the soul bond would be cut."

"Cut?" Woon felt a little stab in the old place; he had long ago given up on the idea that he would grow accustomed to the old place hurting over and over. Every time the place hurt, it came with a surprise—a new kind of hurt, always a hurt of a different texture. Sometimes a twinge that reminded him of the original wound, sometimes a deep, profound ache. Non-existent flesh trembled where it had once been torn and where his heart had bled over Dong-soo's clothes.

"The council would make certain you were no longer bonded to the general. Oh, trust me."

Woon put his palms together and rubbed them. This was going to be harder than he thought it would be. "Baek Saet-byeol is going to die soon, isn't she?"

"Yes," all three sisters said in unison.

Woon nodded his head. "I don't know why you did that--but I assume it was part of an attack on me, to get me to come back to the heavens right away or something like that."

"Actually," Eunjang-agi spoke up, "We're not exactly sure why it happened. The young woman seems to have some role in keeping the general alive and in decent shape--and I don't know. She's been living on borrowed time anyway. Gameunjang-agi messed up some things when she used her to--ah, see, sister!" The pink-haired one turned to the old woman and shook her round face. "Your so-called organic ways are nothing more than tricks and manipulations that just put off the inevitable down here--they're games. They didn't accomplish anything. Baek Dong-soo should have hung himself, this Saet-byeol should've died as a baby, and our little baby brother should have been back with us long ago! Why did you prolong the whole process? It makes no sense! It makes no sense!"

"Stop it now, all of you!" Woon's voice rose to a commanding pitch. "Whatever you three tried back in the field with me and Dong-soo--you know I am stronger than all of you. You know I can keep Dong-soo alive, and I can keep him here, and you know--yes, you know it very well that if I want to, I can choose to cross over as a human and reincarnate with him into another life. I have the gift of foresight, and I have seen this happen--"

"But if you do that--" Eunjang-agi began.

"Shut up," Woon said. "I'm here to make a bargain with you.”

"A bargain?" Notjang-agi's blue lips smiled a cold smile. "You're a clever boy, aren't you? What kind of bargain?"

"Please don't let Saet-byeol die," Woon said.

"What makes you think we have that kind of power?" Notjang-agi asked.

Woon snorted. "Don't make me laugh. I've seen what this half-human can do." He co*cked his head at the old woman. "I know the three gods of Destiny can keep a mere young woman alive."

"And if we keep her alive?" The pink haired sister looked suspicious. "Surely you aren't going to give up your Dong-soo? The Rabbit God told me you were a profoundly romantic soul, capable of great love. He may have even said a blessing over you as a baby, I'm not sure."

Rabbit God? Woon shook his head. He didn't remember a Rabbit God. He had no time for this now. "If you let Saet-byeol live, I'll return with you to heaven."

Dong-soo knew something was up when Woon didn't show as promised; Dong-soo and Yoo-jin were outside Saet-byeol's house, and Woon hadn't sped back to tell them what was going on. Dong-soo felt it in his bones though: trust him, once upon a time you said you would never doubt him again, don't ever doubt him again, he's got this, it's going to be all right, it's going to be all right.

There was the strangest man in the street. Right by the front door. The outline of his black clothes and large round peasant's hat were barely visible in the moonlight, but he was a large man. He turned to face Dong-soo and Yoo-jin, bowed deeply, and walked away.

The door opened, and a little girl ran out. "Grandfather Dong-soo! Woah, did you see that!"

As Sang-hee was speaking, the black-clothed man was evaporating into nothingness into thin air, like a ghost. Dong-soo blinked. He turned his eyes to his granddaughter. Had she acquired the ability to see ghosts?

"A black butterfly in the wintertime!" Sang-hee shouted. Her voice was way too loud for the middle of the night. "That's not right! There are no butterflies now! And woah, that was the biggest butterfly I ever saw! Did you see? Did you see?"

Yoo-jin scooped his daughter in his arms. "What are you talking about? There are no butterflies in the wintertime. Where's your mother?"

"The doctor is with her."

Yoo-jin put his daughter down and ran inside the house.

"Your mother was hurt?" Dong-soo took his granddaughter's hand and walked inside.

"The doctor is fixing her. Did you see that big black butterfly? I saw you looking at it! You saw it, didn't you?"

Sang-wook, Saet-byeol's father, was speaking calmly to Yoo-jin outside Saet-byeol's room. Apparently, the doctor was setting a cast around the young woman's chest at the moment, and it was a delicate situation.

"But I'm her husband," Yoo-jin said. "I should be with her."

"Let's just give the doctor a moment." Sang-wook spoke almost in a whisper. "We don't want to distract him, do we?"

Dong-soo approached the two men and kept his voice as low as Sang-wook's. "She's going to be ok? There are broken bones?" As he spoke, Big and Little tried to pry Sang-hee from his side, but the little girl only clung to Dong-soo's leg and would not be taken away. "Leave her," Dong-soo said, and Big and Little scurried away to another part of the house.

"She was in the kitchen when the earthquake hit," Sang-wook said, "and a large shelf and some items fell on her. She has a bad burn on one arm, and she was knocked unconscious. We didn't know the extent of her injuries, but the doctor says the broken ribs should heal on their own. She's awake now and in some pain, but the doctor is going to manage that."

"She's going to be ok?" Dong-soo repeated. Yoo-jin was staring helplessly at the door he was forbidden to enter and not saying anything. Dong-soo petted his grand-daughter's head. "No one else in the home was hurt? Is Saet-byeol's Ma-na all right?

"No one else was hurt," Sang-wook said. "And the doctor said Saet-byeol's life is not in danger."

Dong-soo exhaled deeply. "Ah, thank the gods. You heard that, didn't you, Yoo-jin-ah? Your wife is not in danger? The doctor said so."

Yoo-jin nodded solemnly. He looked very shaken.

Dong-soo pulled out a small box from his chest. "Look, Sang-hee, I even brought my acupuncture needles in case I was needed. Have you seen these before?"

"No!" Sang-hee said. "Are you a doctor? Can you do doctor things?"

"I'm not a doctor," Dong-soo said, "but in a pinch, I can help people with some ailments and relieve their pain." He knelt on the floor and opened the box to show the girl the needles. "It takes years of study to learn where to put these in the human body so they can channel life forces to help the body help itself."

Sang-hee picked up one of the needles. "You poke these in people?"

"Well, yes."

"Before this doctor, there was another doctor. No one saw him except me. Grandmother says I'm over-excited and imagining things, but I saw someone standing over mother and poking her belly with his fingers. He didn't have needles. He was just poking her. I didn't think he should be doing that."

Dong-soo felt a chill.

"Oh, Grandmother is right. When it's late and exciting things are going on, a person can see all kinds of ... uh, crazy things. Like black butterflies in the wintertime? So...." Dong-soo had to know. "What did the other doctor look like?"

"He was pretty."

"Oh?"

"I was so happy the doctor was here. But he wasn't the doctor?" Sang-hee was clicking two acupuncture needles together; it made such a tiny sound that seemed to Dong-soo that it could summon a fairy. "I made him up? Am I going to marry him?"

"What?" Dong-soo laughed.

"He was very pretty."

"I see."

Yoo-jin looked to the doctor for confirmation of his daughter's words. Just like Yoo-jin. He didn't completely trust the second-hand report from his wife's own mother. Dong-soo stood at a respectful distance from wife, husband, daughter, and doctor. Saet-byeol's mother stood next to Dong-soo and gave him a little pat on the back as if to say yes, yes, it really is going to be all right.

But Dong-soo knew, even as he heard the doctor describe in detail all of Saet-byeol's issues to her anxious husband, that Saet-byeol would be all right. He trusted in Woon. He knew that Woon had been here. He knew that Woon had not been able to meet him, that Woon had been involved somehow—that Sang-hee had seen Woon touch Saet-byeol! It was going to be all right because of Woon's divine intervention.

"As soon as one of the young ladies returns with some hot water," the doctor was saying, "I'll mix up some medicine for your wife for the pain. The balms they made were very good, but what I have will help with that as well as with the bones. She will need rest, rest, and more rest, like I said. And soft foods only until I say otherwise. She's very lucky. And as far as I know, Hanyang was very lucky tonight. Hers are the worst wounds I've seen--people are reporting broken plates and some smashed furniture, but houses are still standing, and from what I heard on my way here, nothing too chaotic. I suppose we'll know more in the morning."

"I dreamed I was dying," Saet-byeol told Yoo-jin.

"Did you really?" Yoo-jin was looking at his wife with the most pained expression. "What a horrible thing to dream. Was it horrible? Were in much pain?"

"Oh stop looking at me like I'm about to die right now!" Saet-byeol pulled her hand out of Yoo-jin's and slapped his forearm with it. "I guess it was because my ribs were broken, and they really hurt. But I thought for sure I was going to die. And the funny thing.... the funny thing...." She looked around the room and her gaze travelled to her mother and Dong-soo. "I was worried that everyone would forget about me--as if I never existed."

"How could you think such a thing," Saet-byeol's Ma-na said in a light, mocking voice. "I would remember you in the next life and the life after. I would remember you even after all the stars fell out of the heavens and even after the universe turned inside out. For you are my everything, my foolish baby."

Saet-byeol smiled. "I know, Ma-na. It was a funny dream, that's all."

"I've been having funny dreams too, Mother," Sang-hee chirped. "I saw a black butterfly and a pretty doctor."

"That's it, buttercup." Dong-soo walked over and pulled his grand-daughter up by the elbow. "Time for you to go to bed. You're delirious from lack of sleep."

"I saw a black butterfly too," Saet-byeol said.

"Really, Mother? Was it big and very black?"

"Yes, and it was flying all over the house. And I saw a pretty man too. I don't know if he was a doctor--he was too young to be a doctor, but he looked worried." Saet-byeol was smiling widely now. "Ha, do you think it's possible you were seeing my dreams tonight? I was having such strange ones after I hit my head."

Dong-soo picked up Sang-hee as if she were a bag of rice and threw her over his shoulder. "I'll go put this one in her bed. She's had enough excitement for the evening. If I can find the other brat, I'll put her down too. If they won't stay down, I'll pin them to their beds with acupuncture needles." At that statement, Sang-hee squealed with glee. "Dreaming about pretty young men, Saet-byeol-ah? Do you think you should be saying such things in front of your husband?"

Dong-soo expected Saet-byeol to laugh, but her face turned puzzled. "It was so strange. I have no idea where he came from. There was such a strong feeling around him too. I remember thinking oh no, I am going to die. I remember thinking who is this pretty man? I remember ...."

"Sssh," Yoo-jin took his wife's hand again. "The doctor says you need to rest. The medicine will be ready soon enough. Don't work yourself up in the meantime over a silly dream."

"Oh I remember!" Saet-byeol batted her eyes and looked alive as alive could be. Dong-soo was so glad. "The pretty man cared about our family. Maybe he was a kindly ancestor of ours who came to visit me? He was kind. I kept getting the sense that he...." She looked confused. "He was kind, and for some reason he was saying in his heart forget me. That's probably when I started worrying that if I died, everyone would forget all about me."

Big walked into the room at that moment with a kettle and cups on a tray.

Dong-soo walked out with his grand-daughter over his shoulder. Woon probably wanted Saet-byeol to forget she had seen him. Hmm, I wonder if my whole family can see him now? I wonder why?

Woon was kneeling before his three sisters, his back over his knees, his long hair touching the floor. Sobs were pouring out of his body, and he was trying to weather the strange convulsions the way one might bear an earthquake; he hoped that if he kept low to the ground, the horrible heaving emotions wouldn't wreck him. He had never cried so much, alive or dead. He thought his entire soul would leak out and that would be the end of him. What if it was? Didn't he deserve as much?

It was the pain of being forgotten. Dong-soo would forget him one day. Their bond would be broken. It wasn't broken yet, but ....

It was a blessing to watch you all these years. To watch you grow old, even if I could not grow old in this life with you. I won't forget you, Dong-soo-yah. Even if the bond is broken, my feelings can't be changed. It was a blessing. It was not a punishment. I will always love you. I will always.

"Please," the old woman said. "It's not the end of the world."

Woon couldn't manage a reply. He could only leak and leak strangled noises, make horrible raspy moans, and his eyes felt swollen with even more unshed tears.

"One could even say it's the beginning of everything?" That was Eunjang-agi's voice. She was the perky one. "Look at this way. Your Dong-soo still has a good bit of life left in him. Say two, three, maybe four more years? What if you stick around as a ghost for that much longer? That's just the bat of an eyelash as far as eternity is concerned. It would make Tu Shen happy if you two had a little blink of time together, even as a ghost and human. What do you say, Gameunjang-agi, can you bear another wrinkle or two before you bring him back? I mean, look at him. He looks like he's dyyyyyyying."

"He didn't act this way when he had a Divine executioner's sword held over him," Nojang-agi said.

"Love," the old woman spat. "It ruins men."

"Maybe you need to work on him some more before he's presentable before the council," Notjang-agi said. "He's pitiful."

"I thought you girls said a clean break was best," the old woman said. "I'm the one who wanted to do things in a slow, organic way."

Woon felt his breath deepen, and the next couple of waves of anguish didn't hit him as hard. His sobs quieted. Were they serious about letting him stay in the Realm of the Living until Dong-soo passed?

He swallowed hard. He tried to think of what to ask to make it look like he was in his right mind. He took his head off the floor and straightened himself to a sitting position. "If... if..." He was still sniffling. He felt ashamed of himself, but he forced himself to continue. "If I may ask, is the fate of Baek Saet-byeol secure now? Is she definitely going to survive her wounds?"

The three sisters laughed, startling Woon.

"My dear brother," Eunjang-agi giggled. "Those little bumps and bruises on that girl? It wasn't like she had the plague or anything. Your shaman sister here could've cured that sort of thing with one dead chicken. You really don't need all three of us for something so measly as a smack in the ribs."

Woon blinked. There were still tears running out of his eyes. "She's fine now? She's really fine?"

The old woman put her hands on her hips and gave Woon one of those looks he knew too well. A chiding look. A mysterious look. A look that said he and she were partners but that she always would have the upper hand and there were always going to be things she would be hiding with that hand. "A few sparrows fell out of the trees in the neighborhood and a crow dropped dead by the front gate and smacked the windchime. Didn't you hear it? That was it. Done. Saved your little morning star. The Baek family is all happy now. Your Baek Dong-soo will have a nice happy last few years with his pretty little daughter-in-law fussing over his health and brewing his tea. Don't worry. There's no more death and pain in the future for him--only little ones on his knee and lots and lots of tea."

Woon swallowed hard again. He could not stop his eyes from leaking, but at least he wasn't sobbing anymore. His spirit body was no longer trembling.

"What do you see, Agi-yah?" The old woman asked.

Woon closed his eyes. He'd forgotten, in the agitation of his grief, that he was part god.

"Ahn-ri." Dong-soo, the one in the future who looked like a lamb, his face so close, his lips so full. Was that sweet young face moving even closer for a kiss?

Woon's eyes shot open.

"He and I...." Woon's voice was still gargling words; there were still sobs in his throat. "He and I are still soul-bonded."

"Of course you are, stupid," the old woman said. "You will be until he dies. After that--" She made a scissor cut in the air with two fingers. "It's over. You're going to have to move on, ok? You made this deal, remember? It was all your idea. It was all your choice."

"Yes," Woon nodded. "It was my choice."

To be continued

Summary:

It’s been three years. Yeo Woon hasn’t told Dong-soo that their future will never be realized, Hye-won has more to reveal, and no one’s Destiny is fixed. The wheel is still in spin.

Notes:

Thank you to everyone who answered my survey last week ~~~~~<3 I appreciate it. It’s ok to be anon and shy. I may put up another survey later! In the meantime, feel free to comment in comment section or answer the old survey which is still up. Go here: Waiting for the Past Survey!!!!.

Some say they can recall a thousand years
Some say they have already visited the next thousand years --Ko Un

"Once upon a time," Dong-soo said to the little girl on his knee, "there were two best friends. One was your Grandfather Dong-soo. He was a boy, oh, twice your age, so you would have thought of him as a big boy, although he was not very big--this boy here was taller than him." Dong-soo gestured with his head at Woon's ghost. “Skinny as a twig but taller.”

Woon crossed his arms and straightened his back. Dong-soo smiled because, even as a ghost, Woon seemed to be self-conscious of his small stature. "Your grandfather grew taller than this boy here eventually. Woah, did I get tall. I'm so tall, right? Woon never caught up. But he's really not that short now, do you think, Sang-hee? He's a fair-sized man, and even if he looks like a twig, he's very strong."

"He's not a man, Grandfather." Sang-hee was idly playing with the strings of her apron and looking bored. "He's a ghost. Get back to the story."

"Ah yes, the story." Dong-soo shifted his knee, and Sang-hee snuggled closer. "Your grandfather was such a wonderful boy as a twelve-year-old--funny, strong, and handsome—oh just everything marvelous you can imagine, and all the village kids admired him, and Woon here wanted to be his best friend. So one day Woon asked in his little sweet voice..." Here, Dong-soo imitated a baby voice, one that didn't sound at all like an adolescent boy, and Woon looked a little irritated. "Oh Dong-soo-yah, our fathers were best friends, can we be best friends tooooooo? And I said what, why would I be friends with a skinny, girly boy like you? But he looked so pitiful I said yes, and I don't know, it so happened that over time, we did become best friends, and we became such best friends that we could read one another's hearts, and it was a magic thing. The fairies made it that way.”

“Yes, fairies. They caught little pieces of light from the morning star and sprinkled it all over us so that we would be best friends for all time. It's that way with some people. So when Woon died--he was too young when he died, a very young man--he didn't get to live to be old like your grandfather here. After he died, he stuck around just to be my friend for a while. And when I die, he and I are going to be together again. We're going to walk into the starlight and be born again as best friends in our next lives."

Sang-hee had tied two knots in her apron string. "You said you were going to tell me why I can see him, and why Myung-hee can't."

"He doesn't know why," Woon said.

"Shut up, I do know," Dong-soo said. He returned his attention to the girl. "It's because some of the star-light fell on you and not on your twin sister. It was the night your mom was injured in the earthquake, remember? You've been able to see Woon since then?"

"Yeah, he's everywhere." Sang-hee looked at Woon, and he looked right back at her. It was a conspiratorial exchange. "He made me promise not to tell anyone I can see him, and it's been three whole years now. I think I should get a reward for keeping a secret for so long."

Woon faked a look of dismay. "A reward! Dong-soo-yah! Saet-byeol has raised a greedy little brat!"

Dong-soo was laughing. "I don't know. There are lots of favors an invisible person can do for a little six-year-old. Do you have anything in particular you want for a reward, buttercup?"

Sang-hee jutted her chin out. "Can you ask the ghost to take me flying?"

Dong-soo side-eyed Woon. "Hmmm, I don't know. That would look pretty suspicious. A little girl up in the air all by herself. Even in the middle of the night. Someone might mistake you for a hawk and shoot you with an arrow?"

"Ask him. Pleaaaaase?"

Sang-hee wasn't supposed to address Woon directly; that had long-ago been agreed upon. The moment she had pointed at a plain wall and called out "there's the pretty man!" Dong-soo had grabbed her, made some excuse about her silly imagination, and told the girl that Woon was a nice, very nice spirit but that no one should know about him. Woon later had told the girl that if she didn't mention him to anyone or address him ever again, she would be very glad she had done such a good deed; a reward wasn't promised, but it was implicit. Dong-soo was impressed that a child had remembered something from three years ago, let alone had kept her word all this time.

Woon looked heavenwards. "I'll consider taking the brat flying," he said. "Maybe one day. But she has to finish all her chores on time and not get into fights with her sister before bedtime."

Dong-soo stood up, and Sang-hee slid off his knee. "You heard him. Get back to Big and Little and help with the bean sprouts. You've been lounging out here in the front yard with an old man for too long."

"Just keeping you company, Grandfather."

"Yes, I'll make Woon count that as a good deed," Dong-soo said.

Sang-hee made a dramatic show of dragging her feet towards the house. "Okaaaaaaay, I'll go. You have company. You always have company. He's always here. He's here alllll the time."

Dong-soo stamped his feet. "Shoo!"

And the girl ran off, giggling, up the porch steps and into the house.

"Do you think she still shares dreams with her mother?" Woon asked.

"Maybe," Dong-soo said. "But she never speaks of them. You know how dreams are. People don't remember them, or if they do--they shrug them off as nonsense. And most people's dreams are not-- well, like, our dreams."

Woon lowered his eyes. He looked a little flushed. Three years ago, he'd confessed to Dong-soo that he could sometimes see Dong-soo's dreams. The intimacy of that seemed too much for Woon, but Dong-soo found the experience thrilling. It was peculiar to him that a spirit would be shy about a supernatural phenomenon--Dong-soo would not have been too surprised if Woon had told him that ghosts could read peoples' thoughts (Woon said they couldn't), but Woon had been a very private person in life, so it seemed to follow he was a guarded ghost. Besides, the nature of some of Dong-soo's dreams could get a little weird--if some of those dreams were indeed precognitive glimpses into his and Woon's shared future life, those visions held not mere hints but the plain vivid fact of the two of them would live as undisguised lovers, accepted by their social group, kissing in the bright lights of some magnificent party or waking up in one another's arms…. There had never been more than that to see than a kiss or a hug, although Dong-soo had wished and wished to see and experience more. Oh my goodness, did he want to see more.

"You never explained the whole soul bond thing to me very well," Dong-soo said. "I know Saet-byeol and her mom have it. I just made up that story about the star-light just now for Sang-hee, but it is a wonder to me why she can see you and the other twin can't."

"Maybe your star-light story is right," Woon said. "People believe what they want. Sometimes they believe in things so hard, they make them come true. I mean, look at my father--he believed I had a Black Star destiny. He died believing that, and I think I died believing that too."

"Not the second time you died, you didn't!"

"Oh, that time." Woon shook his head. "I don't know why you're so convinced that the night of the earthquake was so different."

"It was! It made all the difference in the world!"

For Dong-soo, even though Woon had still impaled himself on Dong-soo's own sword that night, there had been a profound difference in how the event, this second suicide, shaped Dong-soo's life. Sure, at the time, there had been that horror--no, no, not again. But later, Woon had explained it--they had to go back to the future. They could not be young again in the field and start over. That would mean no Yoo-jin, no beautiful twin grandchildren--could Dong-soo have erased those lives just like that? And besides, there had been that moment when Dong-soo had arrived from that horrible moment into the present time and he was holding Woon in his arms--a ghost Woon, yes, but also the absolute certainty that he would be reunited with Woon again in another life, another reincarnation. "Yes," Woon had agreed. "That was perfect. That was a perfect moment of hope."

Woon had looked a little sad when he said that, in that way he looked sad whenever he dared to show emotion about things. Stupid Woon. As if his emotions weren't always plain to read--he had such intense eyes that it looked as if the pain of the whole world was in them.

When Dong-soo was young, he had thought that Woon's look was just the by-product of having deep-set eye-sockets, dark brows and long-lashes; the young Dong-soo had scoffed at girls who fell for those fawn eyes because he didn't think there much more to the boy than that moony, morose look. Later, Dong-soo knew that Woon really did carry around a lot of pain. So why did hope give Woon pain? Dong-soo figured it was because Woon wasn't used to it. A short life full of pain and a long death following around a stupefied, prone-to-drunkenness best friend--hell, who would trust one perfect moment of hope?

"That night was different because the first time I had prayed so hard on the morning star," Dong-soo said. "It seemed to me that every time I remembered that awfulness, I prayed even harder. I don't know why I was obsessed with it. But I thought that first night that if I prayed hard enough, you would open your eyes and see it, right there by the moon. And guess what--" Dong-soo reached out his hand to touch Woon's. Woon held Dong-soo's hand for the shortest time, as if indulging him, then let the hand drop. Dong-soo didn't mind. Woon was still wary of touch--despite that "perfect moment of hope" in Dong-soo's arms once.

It was fine. Dong-soo could wait. "Guess what?" Dong-soo continued. "The night of the earthquake my prayers were answered. You woke up from the dead. You saw the morning star."

"Maybe your prayers really worked."

"You still haven’t figured out what happened? Are you sure the shaman lady isn't keeping something from you?"

"Ah...." Woon shook his head. "There's no telling what happened or what she knows. The Afterlife is strange. Like I told you, I don't understand it myself. I'm just a ghost."

"You said that night that if you didn't stab yourself, I would lose you forever. I still don't know what you meant by that. Was that a threat or something? I mean, were you planning to run off and live in exile like you promised me earlier that night? I mean that night so long ago...." Dong-soo heaved a sigh. "Wow, that seems so long ago. When we were both alive? I met you outside Sa-mo's house, and you said the Prince Heir had forgiven you and that you were leaving and for me not to follow you. I thought I was heart-broken then, but I didn't even have a clue at that moment of what heartbreak could be."

Those eyes.

Woon was looking at him with those dewy ghost eyes.

"Hey!" Dong-soo had an idea. "Let's go hide Yoo-jin's shoes. It will funny to see everyone looking all over for them. They'll blame some kid or think a wild animal ran off with them! Then you can put them like somewhere obvious, like he took them off absent-mindedly in the turnip garden or something, and he'll feel embarrassed! Won't that be funny?"

"It's time for your nap, old man," Woon said.

"Saet-byeol lets me sit out here in the sun for as long as I want," Dong-soo countered. "She doesn't even come fetch me anymore. She just waits until I come into the house by myself--hey, do you think she knows I'm out here with you?"

Woon shook his head. "No, I'm quite sure she only saw me the night she was dying. I would know if she saw me."

"You sure?"

"Yes. And that was because she was dying. It's that way with all dying people. They tend to see spirits. She saw the black butterfly that was the death god coming to get her soul."

Dong-soo nodded. "Right. And you made sure the shaman lady fixed her all up so she wouldn't die. That was a close one. I don't think I can ever thank you enough for that."

"She's young." Woon looked away. "She could've survived without shamanistic intervention and some animal sacrifices. I'm ... I'm just sorry that the old woman can't do more to help you these days with your own ailments."

"Woon-ah!" Dong-soo's voice became sharp and authoritative. No joking around anymore. "What did I tell you? There's nothing to be done about that, so don't add that to your list of worries. I'm old and I've got to go sometime."

Woon turned to look at him with a face that looked like a startled child's, and Dong-soo's tone immediately softened. "Listen, Woon-ah, I myself think it's a strange little blessing from the universe that I may have the same disease as my old master. Whatever it is, I'm super strong, and it doesn't bother me much for now, so it's not a big deal. Saet-byeol makes me all the mooshy food I can eat, and so what if the shaman lady says all the dead chickens in the world won't save me from stomach cancer, we still have that perfect hope, don't we? Right? We're going to walk into the starlight together and be with one another forever and ever and ever!"

Woon smiled softly and nodded. "Right, Dong-soo-yah. I'll be with you forever."

And Dong-soo felt happy. At the end of his years, he was happy at last.

Dong-soo had a softness in him--for all his height and muscle and lifetimes of earned prowess as a fighter, he was still truly as gentle as his first incarnation, that woman who had pressed newborn after newborn against her breast.

A vision floated gently by. Woon saw a young soldier bathing in a stream, long black hair past his buttocks, scars from combat on what would have been a handsome face except the mouth was torn--one wound had healed in such a way that it looked like the man had four layers of lips. He could only eat from one side of his face? Poor Dong-soo. He could smile a lop-sided smile though. He waved at a friend. Happy Dong-soo. He had always had this... hope.

Had I been the one to take his hope away?

What did I murder that night in the buckwheat field?

I had only meant to murder myself and save his life.

What a stupid young thing I was. Especially for a god, what a fool. But my disappearing from his lives will make it right. That night I wanted him to forget me. For years as a spirit, I wanted him to forget me. Now I know he definitely will forget me....

Yet, if there had not been that perfect moment of hope in Dong-soo's arms, maybe Woon could bear it?

If before the earthquake, Dong-soo had not half-convinced Woon that their future incarnations would cleanse all the misery of the night in the buckwheat field. If before the earthquake, Dong-soo had not grabbed Woon's ghost body on impulse, and Woon had not fallen through Dong-soo, not quite all the way through, somewhere close to his true heart.

Then waking up, after that second painful death in the buckwheat field, Woon had found himself, again, in an embrace with Dong-soo, a more visceral one this time, one that felt like human contact, the resistance of a body against Woon's spirit self. Pressed against that strong chest and not falling through? And with that, a strange freedom. The knowledge that a soul bond meant forever. That Dong-soo loved him, with all the sweetness and certainty that a mother loves an infant child, and yet with all the promise of a lover.

Hope? It was such a strange thing as to be its own kind of wound.

"Woah," Dong-soo had said. "An earthquake hasn't happened in Joseon in maybe a hundred years. Are you ok?"

Woon had wrestled out of Dong-soo's arms. "You dumb-ass. I'm a ghost."

"Ahn-ri?" That Dong-soo with the short curls and bright smile. His arms wide open.

Woon opened his eyes. He didn't want to find himself held tight by that future Dong-soo again. Those snatches of future happy moments had become as unbearable as memories of the tragic buckwheat field in the moonlight had once been. They would be erased. They would not exist anymore.

The vision was gone, and that shorn lamb Dong-soo was nowhere to be seen, but the young happy voice still rang in Woon's ears.

"Ahn-ri?"

So sweet, so pleasant. So Dong-soo.

Ahn-ri would never be born, would he? Woon had envisioned this young man so many times now as to know him as a living, breathing extension of himself. One he didn't know well, but still...

He's me, isn't he?

Woon had watched his hand sign the letters of his own name often enough to know how the name was properly spelled: Henri Duval. Dong-soo of the future was a man named Paul Delcroix. Paul. Paul. The word sounded like arm in Korean. And indeed Paul's arm was always outstretched, ushering Henri into this room, into that one, assigning itself around Henri's shoulder, always protective. He is mine, we are a pair. Ladies, ladies, gentlemen as well, look but don't touch, he goes with meeeee. If that arm had an attitude and could speak, those were the words it would say. And then there was their infamous friend Cho-rip or Charles Baudelaire, the one who had squandered his inheritance and acquired so much woe in such a short time. When he had stabbed himself in the chest with a dagger, he had been Woon's age when Woon had fallen on Dong-soo's sword. Being an idiot, however, Charles hadn't made much more than a dent in himself and had survived his suicide attempt. Paul was in possession of Charles' suicide note. It was to some fair lady, Jeanne Duval. "I am killing myself because I can no longer live, or bear the burden of falling asleep and waking up again."

Paul thought that the whole concept of suicide was ridiculous and extreme. In visions Woon could understand the strange language now and didn't understand why Paul didn't have more sympathy for their friend Charles: "Ahn-ri, you don't understand that there's no such thing as a man who can no longer live. It's a lie. It's a lie the lovesick and weak tell themselves. Charles is just an indulgent fool. He brings all these troubles upon himself. He needs to commit himself thoroughly to his genius and cut off the past. Let's you and I bring over some wine and cake and cheer him up, eh? Tell him to get all his dark thoughts on paper--all women love poetry, and some chicks really love a tortured dark mind. They flip their bloomers over it. He'll be over Jean in no time. Or if he doesn't get over her---" Paul had waved around a fork. "We'll stab his eyeballs with one of these? Think that will teach him? He's not broken, crippled or blind. He has his whole life ahead of him to write scandalous poems and ogle women!"

Summary:

Death can be planned.

TW: suicide again. But suicide is not always a tragic option.

In the kitchen, Hye-won was rolling wet herbs into a small packet. The front drawing room was a long ways off, but Saet-byeol's crying could still be heard from there, although the sobs were decreasing from the horrible whiny pitch from which they'd started. The young woman was settling into her grief, and Hye-won's sensitive hearing could bear the crying. Aish, humans could wail and carry on so much over something so simple and natural as Death.

"You didn't have to tell her that lie about killing yourself too.” Her brother was standing next to the stove and looking miserable. "It just upset everyone--Dong-soo too. I honestly don't understand you at all."

"Who said it was a lie?" Hye-won rolled the cloth over several times and reached for the string to tie the small packet. "When the general leaves this Earthly Realm, you and I will leave as well. Someone needs to explain my absence since I am perceived to be a human in this village. You--hm, Saet-byeol will just assume that you, a spirit, moved on when the general did. She assumes, rightly, that your beloved general is your only reason for sticking around."

Such a tender soul. There were tears standing in his eyes, even though he wasn't leaking. The only time she had ever witnessed him cry uncontrollably was right after he made the decision to return to the heavens. Gods, he had wept with the passion of a human. Such a strange boy--he would have genuinely preferred a meager human future with his love than the infinite powers of a god. What exactly had he seen with that precognitive gift of his that he had mourned its passing so much? For a moment there, Hye-won had felt like an assassin along with her sisters--I've killed his future. But then she had reminded him that the choice was his. He had chosen to exchange that future so that Saet-byeol's life on earth would be extended--yet again. Damn girl--she was just a lucky little star, wasn't she?

"I still don't understand," he said, "why you had to tell them that you had some sort of illness yourself and were going to take poison too? Isn't that a lie? You're going to heaven, right? With me? Wouldn't it have been better if you had just disappeared from this village? There would have been no corpse to find."

"Agi-yah, there will be a corpse. I am human, have you forgotten that? There will definitely find a body for someone to find, sooner or later."

He huffed with exasperation. "They would have assumed you died of old age! You look like you're a million years old anyway! Why the whole bit about killing yourself tonight just like Dong-soo?"

Hye-won cut the string and patted the precious packet soundly with her palm. "Darling, don't you understand the importance of saying proper goodbyes? I really wanted to tell Saet-byeol how meaningful a client she's been to me, and your general--didn't he himself say he wanted to tell everyone goodbye?"

"Did you notice how he didn't even try to talk me out of my decision?" Hye-won took the deadly package in both her hands and pressed it against her chest. "He felt a little happy, wouldn't you say, to have found someone with whom he shared a death-date. He's riding that strange time now, the place between the past and what's to come, where we would all be better off if we spent more time there. It's a place of gratefulness."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, you think he's all full of anticipation for your good times in another life? He's not. Neither is he weighed down, waiting for the past to erase or rewrite itself. He carries no regrets right now. You heard him--he wants to tell everyone how much they mean to him. He even told me all those sweet things--and I've never had a kind word for him, not once, have I?"

"You told him something nice today. You said die well, General. You should be twice as handsome in your next life."

Hye-won laughed. "See? The place between living and dying calls for such things. It's a happy place. Stop looking like you're about to leak all over yourself. When the general talks to you, make sure you that whatever you say or do makes him smile."

The Pretty Spirit, the poor ghost of Yeo Woon, the punished remnants of the child god looked sadder than ever and took a bowl off a shelf. He fingered the rim with his tapered white fingers. "I have no idea what.... I want to run away."

"You can't."

"I know."

"You think the little girl who sees you and can sense everything won't understand that her grandfather is dying? Take some courage from her. Surely you're as brave as a six-year-old human."

"Why is it Sang-hee can see me, but Myung-hee can't?"

"I told you I don't know." Hye-won turned to go then backed up. "Well, all right, I'll tell you this much. Her mother always had a special sense. Saet-byeol didn't just develop it the night she almost died--it was just stirred up then. She has a little extra power because she's a bonded soul, and that ... that... that..." The word was still distasteful to her. "That love thing between people is very powerful and connects them to other points in the universe that may or may not make them receptive to certain... oh, perceptions."

"So is Sang-hee soul-bonded to her mother the way her mother is to the matriarch of the family?"

Hye-won shrugged. "Abilities run in families. You know, like our family are Destiny makers. Just because children inherit a family business, though, doesn’t mean they inherit the family talents. My sisters are lousy at the job, but you and I--"

"That's another thing I don't get." Pretty Spirit put down the bowl. He had figured out its dimensions well enough by touching it. "Destiny is real because our family exists, my Black Star Destiny was obviously real because the gods made it so with my divine punishment, but at any moment, a man can decide today I die and curtail whatever plans you and your sisters or whatever gods have made for him, can't he?"

"I never said people didn't have the power to outrun Destiny or take charge of their own lives. There is such a thing as making one's own path. Your Baek Dong-soo wasn't wrong about that. But he belittled us when he left Destiny out of the picture. One can't always count on persistence and courage and good looks to set things all right. Not even prayer. Ha. He still believes in us. He prayed so hard on a bright, unblinking piece of light in the sky."

"Someone heard him?"

"Hah if I know, darling. Listen, Agi-yah, what my sisters and I were trying to do that night the earthquake happened was roll you right out of that horrible loop you'd caught yourself in--you were married to that tragedy, and you needed to be made alive and dragged back out of it into heaven. We were going to take it from there. It was all very hard work, and we knew it was going to anger the council. Your strength had less to do with our failure than you think--the council, oh I am sure of it, was on your side fighting us, and for what it's worth, we didn't do a thing to try to hurt Saet-byeol. I don't know how or why that happened. There are so many gods at play--she was hurt, and you came to save her, and well, we got what we wanted. Look, Destiny isn't all that. Gods are in a game with humans. We do what we can, and some of it is just theatre. I wave a fan as a shaman and ring some bells--gods do the same. Tu Shen, I hear, said a blessing over you as a baby? Did that make you fall in love with a human man? Damn us all if he did that--but I'm sure he goes around blessing all the pretty boys. If he were all that powerful, the human race would die out in ten years because men marrying men would be as common a sight as rabbits in a cabbage patch."

With those words, Hye-won stomped out of the kitchen and left her brother. She really didn't want to enlighten him any further. There were just going to have to be some things he figured out on his own. He was smart enough.

He was following her down the hallway.

Even as a ghost, he was smart. As a human, he had been smart. As a god, he would be ... amazing. But the poor Realm of the Living--didn't they deserve a bright being like him every now and then? A person of his intelligence, compassion and resourcefulness?

Someone who was willing to put love above all?

Who did that?

What humans did that, anyway? Saet-byeol's mother had carried that sort of love in her soul.

Who was Gameunjang-agi to keep Yang Jian-agi from his true love and from his soul-bond and for what reason did the Destiny the boy god had seen with his own eyes exist in the first place? Yang Jian-agi was the greater, was he not?

Dong-soo rose to his feet and bowed at the shaman's entrance. "I feel like I should be paying you more for this item," he said, "but you really won't be needing the money now, will you?"

Hye-won's laugh was so loud, it startled Saet-byeol's face out of her hands. She looked up at Hye-won with an expression only out-matched in tragedy by the ghost no one else could see. "I don't know how I'll repay you," she said. "You said you have no family. Is there something special you would like for my husband to do with the house?"

Hye-won waved one hand. "Bah, I don't care. Let him give it to a nice family he knows." With the other hand, she passed the packet of poison to Baek Dong-soo. "Here you go, General. You know the instructions. Insist that Saet-byeol prepare your tea, and you, girl, take care to do as I told you so you don't kill the whole family. Make the goodbyes pleasant and simple so no one catches on. Men are simple, but you've got a whole bunch of women in that household, and they will suspect something is up--take care with the little one Sang-hee. She's as sharp as a tack, and she'll poke you too. Make sure you don't blow your cover with her. Your pretty spirit will back you up, and she trusts him."

"She can see Grandfather's friend?" Saet-byeol was still sniffling, awed by this news.

"Oh, ah, yes." Hye-won wiped her hands on her skirts. "Never told you that, but she can. No worries, no worries. The boy will be gone when the old man is gone. The little girl won't remember a thing--you know how little ones are. She was never frightened of him, and he was kind to her.”

"Oh, thank you, Nauri." Saet-byeol looked around, not sure where Woon was. She looked ready to erupt into fresh sobs.

"Madame Shaman?" The general held the packet gingerly, as if it might explode if he pressed it too roughly. He gestured with his chin at the lion dog lying on its side, napping in a far corner. "Do you have someone to care for your dog after... after tonight?"

"Oh yes!" Hye-won tried not to laugh. She smiled broadly instead. "Great Spirit looks after these things. I had a gentleman client who always fancied my dog. I told him just today that he could take him because I was getting too feeble to go for long walks with him anymore. It was a mutual agreement that we came to, you see—took weeks of negotiating because I hated to part with my little fat one, but the man is ...uh, he's actually coming by this evening to fetch my dog, so see how things work out? It often works out just so. Like... Destiny, wouldn't you say."

"No, don't say that." Hye-won's brother was not in a good mood at all. "Dong-soo's least favorite word in the world is Destiny. Can he not be subjected to it on his last night on earth?"

The general laughed. "I've grown fonder of the word Destiny over the years. Strange, but I have."

The general and his daughter-in-law were well outside and had shut the door behind them, but Hye-won caught Woon's sleeve before he could follow them.

"There will be time to talk to my brother right after the general passes, am I right?" she asked.

Pretty Spirit looked pretty annoyed. Then he looked more closely at his sister's face. "Who are you talking to?" He looked to the napping dog. "Oh."

"I don't think you will want to butt right into that scene." The dog licked his muzzle and spoke quietly from where he lay. "Baek Dong-soo is going to emerge from Death as a young man--the way he looked when he was at his most immaculate, spiritually--oh, he'll be a fine twenty-something or so, just come down from the mountain after training with a Sword Saint. Your brother and the general are probably going to start spirit-fornicating like dogs in the street and--"

"Don't make me vomit!” Hye-won cringed, and her brother turned a whiter shade of ghost. “What I'm asking is--before my brother sees Yeomna, or for that matter, before I do, we'll have some time together?"

"Yes, don't worry."

"Nui?" The boy actually looked concerned. "What's that about? We have forever, literally forever, to talk."

"No, no, no, this is special." She dropped his sleeve. "Yeomna should be a breeze--he doesn't judge gods, you know, but there are still, uh.... special instructions I have to give you before we cross the river." Her voice turned snappy. "When are you going to learn I'm the big sister, and I always know more?"

"Right." Woon nodded, and off he flew after his beloved Baek Dong-soo.

The dog on the floor didn't move from his lying position. "So, Gameunjang-agi, you've chosen to be extinguished from all existence forever rather than let your brother lose the one he truly loves. Ah, good for you. You've learned what love is."

"If it's dying for another, then that's a stupid lesson. Love should be a partnership. A growing, natural thing."

"What do you think soul bonds are? They are like vines that flow across time and tether the universe together. Your brother made a soul bond. A god made a soul bond with a human. And you love your brother enough--you love the world enough that you are will to sacrifice yourself for this vine you can't even see--all you know about is it what your brother has hinted at. You're not talented at precognition, Gameunjang-agi. I don't know how you made a living here."

"Tea." Hye-won walked back to her table and sat near her talking dog. "I make damn fine tea, and people like to watch me dance."

"You never even gave your dog a name."

"What? You going to complain about that? Where we're from, the higher-ups name us. You think I'm all human? That I never truly considered you a baby of my own? I fed you and gave you shelter and pat-pats. I could never think of what to call you. Names come from inspired humans--like the general when he named his little daughter-in-law after his wishing star. Dumb gods like me? What do we do? We wait for humans to rise to their better selves."

"I've been waiting for you for a long time, Gameunjang-agi."

"Whatever. As long as you don't eat me, I'm good with this judgement. And let me say goodbye to my brother. He knows I love him, but he may not how much, not even in his next life, depending on how much god-stuff he retains. I just want to give him a proper hug is all. I hope it doesn't frighten him."

"Oh, it probably will."

Woon's distress over Dong-soo's impending death was somewhat distracted by Saet-byeol's distress in the kitchen as she prepared dinner. She was trying so hard to hide her emotions from Big One and Little One, but she choked on a cry when preparing her father-in-law's medicinal tea, and the squeak that escaped her was so loud that the two young ladies startled.

"Are you ok?" Big asked.

"Fine, fine, just a little indigestion. Too many cookies in the shaman's drawing room today. She warned me. I thought I was treating myself, but I ... I just ate too much."

Woon was impressed with the lie. As a human, he had been forced to live a double life, but he had always found it difficult to speak lies; he still found it easier to lie by omission that to tell specific and elaborate falsehoods.

"Grandfather Dong-soo is just getting worse," Saet-byeol went on, preparing the young women for what was coming. "I'm to bring him more tea before bed. It will help him feel more comfortable." Her voice was trailing off, her grief plain as the shine on the polished tea-kettle. Woon was amazed that that humans could recognize it for what it was.

"You have to be strong." Woon's voice was firm. He knew Saet-byeol couldn't hear his words but that she might be able to sense their meaning, hear them in her heart. "Don't give him away."

Sang-hee was in the room. She was only as tall as the counter-top. A human would not have noticed her, but Woon was shocked that he was only now aware of her presence.

She's like half-ghost.

Woon smiled to himself, despite his sadness.

This girl. Is it possible Dong-soo's fantasy about the star-dust became its own reality? Maybe she was sprinkled with some gift from the heavens when the morning star fell in that strange world where Dong soo and I were trapped for a moment. The old woman said that she and her sisters were trying to pull me out of lingering on that tragedy, but the council interfered. It didn't happen in this timeline, did it? It was a moment out of time, wasn't it? How could the morning star fall out of the sky? The morning star didn't spin out in a half-circle away from the moon like a wayward kite.

"Grandfather is going to die tonight?" Sang-hee's question was looking at Woon, and she was asking him question directly.

All the women in the kitchen gasped.

"Sang-hee!" Big scolded. "Don't say such a thing! You tempt fate!"

"I thought Destiny was a thing that was already decided."

Saet-byeol shook her head as she put bowls on trays. "That's not what the wise woman who I see all the time says. She says that there are all kinds of fate. Hard fate is already decided, but there are many things a person can do to determine their own path."

Sang-hee was still staring at Woon. "I broke the rule. I lost my reward. You'll never take me flying now, will you?"

"Tonight," Woon whispered. He didn't know why he was whispering. No one else could hear him, but he felt like sacred promises should be spoken in whispers to children. "When everyone else is asleep but before your grandfather has his tea."

"What are you going on about?" Saet-byeol asked her daughter. "You've been well-behaved today. I promise I'll take you riding to the shaman's house one day--but you're not old enough yet."

Sang-hee gave her mother a long stare and then gave the same stare to Woon. Woon shrugged. "She knows now that you see me. But don't worry. It's all right. It's all right."

Sang-hee looked sad.

"Your grandfather was right. He and I are going to walk together into the starlight tonight. Be strong for your mother. She'll miss him very much. And your father too. I'll be with him tonight. It will all be all right. This is how the world is--I'll take you flying and you can see for yourself how big the city is. The universe is so much bigger."

Sang-hee tried to look grateful, but the grief on her face was identical to her mother's. At least she didn't burst into tears. Woon had known that wouldn't happen though. Sang-hee seemed to understand the Other World more easily than most people, even if she was human.

At dinner, Dong-soo's goodbyes were more succinct than Woon had expected. They were also totally obvious. At first, he compared Yoo-jin to rice, something that seemed bland and was always there but that no meal could exist without. He called Yoo-jin the one who truly nourished the whole family. Then he called Saet-byeol the one who inspired the family and lived up to her name--she was a fixture, unblinking even at night and always giving light and showing lost ones the way. Yoo-jin called his father out and told him to stop with the eulogies of everyone present--it was creeping him out. Saet-byeol snapped back and said that Grandfather Dong-soo's old man ways had never bothered Yoo-jin before--was it all because Yoo-jin was showing some superstition like everyone else and he didn't want to hear anything that sounded like a goodbye?

"Honey, you know I'm not superstitious. I just don't want to bury my father before his time."

"Then what's wrong with my saying appreciative things to my family?" Dong-soo passed a bowl of sweet potatoes to his son. "Thank you for the meal, Big and Little. You girls are fine ones, and my son should marry the both of you off to wealthy men. Forgive me for always forgetting your names. I'm old, and I will never learn them, but I will never forget your many good deeds."

"Grandfather, say something good about me," Myung-hee said.

"I'll have to think for a moment," Dong-soo said. "It's hard to think of things to say to praise brats because we're scolding them all the time and thinking about their future. With my old friends, we're always reminiscing--ah, before Jin-joo and her family visit, I feel like I'm waiting for the past, but as soon as they're all here, it's like there's no tomorrow!" Dong-soo laughed. "We're so old it's like we could drop at any second, so every word is kind, and it's like every time we see one another, we say our goodbyes.” The look on his face was warm and fond. “Wouldn't it be nice if everyone lived like that? As if every moment was approaching their last in this Living World? We would all appreciate one another so much more, wouldn't we?"

There was a long pause. Everyone was absorbing the old man's words. Woon had forgotten that in Dong-soo's youth, he was given to such speeches, even before his apprenticeship to Kim Gwang-taek. It was one of the attributes that made Dong-soo charming; it was what made him a general.

I love you.

No one could eat until the elder of the household took a bite. Woon was wondering if Dong-soo had more to say. Of course, he did, but it was short. He had to bless the children.

"Myung-hee, I like it that you are smart like your father and that you have a strong profile like me. Learn more of your mother's compassion, and don't contradict people so much, and you'll be the world's most perfect girl. Sang-hee, I like it that you observe everything carefully and have inherited your mother's candor and inquisitive nature. Just don't ask too many questions of the wrong people--you'll learn who they are fast enough, I suppose, or you'll get in trouble. Ask your mother about this. She was nosy like this, but apparently, this quality landed her a good husband. Myung-hee, that perfect profile of yours--hmm, I suppose young men will like that."

"Grandfather!" Saet-byeol's face looked relaxed at last. "They're only six years old!"

"Ah, right, right." Dong-soo looked around the table with great joy and affection. "I guess you're all waiting on me. "Oh, look, here's my special tea from the herbalist lady today." He took a sip. "Ok, beloved family, eat up, eat!"

Woon felt a stab in the old place. He immediately looked to Sang-hee who was stuffing her face with rice and chicken. "Tonight," he said in a whisper. "After your sister is asleep, and before your grandfather has his second cup of tea, I'll take you flying."

The girl nodded. She looked a little more at ease.

Woon missed food again. He could smell it, he could feel the comfort and community of it, he just couldn't taste it in his mouth. Why could he feel pain in non-existent veins but not the joy of steamed rice touching his tongue? He was at the farewell dinner, though. He wouldn't get a farewell. It was best this way. Dong-soo didn't need the pain of that.

To be continued

Summary:

Who lives? Who flies? Whose fate is yet unknown? Here’s where it gets BL, folks.

tw for assisted euthanasia?

Notes:

Hey there Yoo Seung-ho fandom, I’ve noticed you losing your minds this week over the photoshoot drop. I’m more of a WBDS Yeo Woon fan than a YSH fan, but wow. Waiting for him to confirm that he’ll be in a sageuk this year—because I’m all about the swords, baby.

Also, I is dumb. How many years have I been on AO3? I was checking who bookmarked my fics the other day and didn’t notice that people left comments and recs on them—so I had missed a lot of nice reviews! Thank you! I have always tried not to rely on comments to keep me writing and never have I trawled for reviews in far waters out of fandom, but I love feedback. Such a tiny fandom, such collective grief, all the works in it are little gems from that big, sloppy, sad saguek. And some of the fic I ended liking up the best has come from specific requests (usually smut, lol, but not always). Requests are challenges. This fic is my own challenge, though. As always, we’ll see. I’m happy to see people are still reading and faving; it was whole in my head when I started, but now I got some more plot tangents. Let’s see if I meander that direction or not. This summer I won’t be busy with my child’s school, but fanfic may not be my past-time. Who knows? I always love Woon and Dong-soo, so maybe one-shots.

Chapter Eighteen: Sailing Away

Hymn to Beauty

Did you fall from high heaven or surge from the abyss,
O Beauty? Your bright gaze, infernal and divine,
Confusedly pours out courage and cowardice,
Or love and crime. Therefore men liken you to wine.

Your eyes hold all the sunset and the dawn, you are
As rich in fragrances as a tempestuous night,
Your kisses are a philtre and your mouth a jar
Filling the child with valor and the man with fright.

Did the stars mould you or the pit's obscurity?
You bring at random Paradise or Juggernaut.
Fate sniffs your skirts with a charmed dog's servility,
You govern all and yet are answerable for naught.

Beauty, you walk on corpses of dead men you mock.
Among your store of gems, Horror is not the least;
Murder, amid the dearest trinkets of your stock,
Dances on your proud belly like a ruttish beast.

Candle, the transient moth flies dazzled to your light,
Crackles and flames and says: "Blessèd this fiery doom!"
The panting lover with his mistress in the night
Looks like a dying man caressing his own tomb.

Are you from heaven or hell, Beauty that we adore?
Who cares? A dreadful, huge, ingenuous monster, you!
So but your glance, your smile, your foot open a door
Upon an Infinite I love but never knew.

From Satan or from God? Who cares? Fierce or serene,
Who cares? Sister to sirens or to seraphim?
So but, dark fey, you shed your perfume, rhythm and sheen
To make the world less hideous and Time less grim. --Charles Baudelaire

At first there was nothing to see except blackness. There was a rushing of wind through her clothes, though, and Sang-hee thrilled at the sensation of rising into the sky, higher and higher, her waist held gingerly by the pretty spirit. He held her too lightly-- but she felt safe; if she slid out, a human would not be able to retrieve her, but she figured the spirit knew what he was doing. He could fly.

Her eyes took a while to adjust to the blackness; even so, moonlight wasn't enough to make the rooftops visible. She noticed, as her sight cleared, that her light source was the spirit himself. Why, he's like a big blue bird! He had always given off a slight bluish hint, even though he looked mostly human-colored, if pale--too pale, like someone recently dead, a fitting look for a ghost. Sang-hee had never thought of him as dead, though. She thought of him as her grandfather's pretty man friend. Someone who had lived in the Baek house like family for the past three years but didn't talk to anyone but Grandfather.

She didn't know what to call him either. Her mother told her how to address people, and she had been specifically forbidden to address the spirit until tonight. He wasn't old. Nauri? But he was wearing peasant clothes. Father didn't like her to talk to peasants. Actually, the pretty spirit was old, though, old as Grandfather Dong-soo, so should she call him Grandfather? Orushin? Did spirits have special names? Grandfather called him Woon. Weird name. Reminded her of the word for fate.

"Pretty Spirit? Can we fly to the palace?"

He flew that way.

The palace was huge, although not as impressive as Sang-hee had expected. Maybe the absence of people made it seem like just a small, well-landscaped city of buildings set apart from a larger messier city. Hadn't he said something about how seeing the world from high above was special? But the empty streets, the dark roofs, and the clumps of trees and shrubbery didn't impress Sang-hee. It was the feeling of flying, flying high like a bird, that thrilled her.

There were other birds out flying tonight. Big owls and little night-jars—she’d seen those in pictures. Other birds?

No—some of those flying forms were giant black butterflies like the one she'd seen the night of the earthquake. Some were accompanied by human spirits--white, confused-looking old people in their sleeping clothes. Black butterflies and ghosts (Sang-hee saw ghosts now and then—they didn't bother her) were floating all over at night?

"Pretty Spirit? Who are the black butterflies with the dead people?"

Held against his side, she could feel his voice vibrating in his body. Wasn't he a spirit? It felt as if a real human man was holding her close and speaking: "You see them as butterflies? Oh, yes, that's because they're gods. They're Reapers--death gods. They come to this world to take away the souls of people who have just passed. To bring them to the Other World"

"I guess one will come for Grandfather Dong-soo tonight."

"Yes. Eventually."

"Why didn't one come for you, Pretty Spirit? Why are you still here?"

Sang-hee could feel him hesitate. He drew a breath and held it. Spirits breathe. He didn't want to answer, but he did. "Reapers are busy gods. They know the exact time of each person's death and keep their schedules well. Sometimes people surprise them, though, and I didn't keep my appointed time." He was flying higher, higher, over the birds and the black butterflies and the ghosts of people who had just died. "People can choose to end their own lives- sometimes years and years before the date specified by the gods. So the Reaper doesn't show up on time. He doesn't get notice of the sudden death until ... hours or maybe days after a person kills himself."

"You killed yourself?" Maybe because they were flying so high, and so much faster now, Sang-hee felt dizzy. "Why did you do that?"

"It's almost always a bad idea to kill oneself. I thought I was doing it for the only reason that is right--to save the lives of others—but I was wrong about that."

Sang-hee didn't quite understand. "You were wrong? You did a bad thing?"

"Yes."

"So that's why a Reaper never came for you?"

"No. A Reaper didn't come for me the night I died." His voice was softer; there was a loveliness in it that reminded Sang-hee of the way her mother spoke when remembering her grandparents. A sad loveliness. Like moonlight. Moonlight on black water. Sang-hee seen paintings of that, but never--

She looked to one side, and there was the painting in the real world. The moon was casting shiny ripples of light on the Han. It was truly a pretty sight, somewhat sad. But oh so pretty.

She decided the moment needed an announcement. "Look at the pretty water!"

"I always think so."

"If you hadn't killed yourself, you would have lived a long happy life being friends with my grandfather."

"I don't think so. I have reason to believe that the gods had planned out a very miserable life for me, but still, it was wrong for me to kill myself and make your grandfather so sad."

"I see."

They were flying even higher. Through and over clouds. For some reason, the spirit held onto her tighter.

"I was with your grandfather the night I died. I didn't want to leave his side, so I decided to stay in this world. When a Reaper did come looking for me some days later, I ran away. I am very fast. The Reapers became more persistent, but I became better at out-smarting them. I hid from them. Once I fought a Reaper and smacked him where it hurt, and well, eventually they let me do as I wanted. Some spirits do what I do--linger in this world."

"You liked Grandfather Dong-soo that much?"

"I wanted to protect him."

"From what? He's very strong and brave."

"Yes, he is." The pretty spirit didn't say anymore about what Grandfather Dong-soo needed protection from, so Sang-hee put that piece of information away to think about later. Maybe some spirits were very helpful to living humans. This pretty one, after all, had something to do with Mother getting all better the night of the earthquake.

He was flying lower now; he was heading back home.

"I want to fly more," Sang-hee said.

"It's past your bedtime," he said, "and I have an important appointment with your grandfather."

Sang-hee was already plotting on how she could sneak away to watch her grandfather's last hours, but the pretty spirit became stern all of a sudden and frightened her a little. The flying pair had come to a sudden stop and were now hovering over the courtyard of the Baek estate. "Under no circ*mstances," Pretty Spirit intoned, as he held Sang-hee's limp body, "are you to try to sneak into your grandfather's room tonight. There are some spaces, like your father's room, for example, that are sacred. You must never run in there. It doesn't matter if your grandfather let you inside before or if he let you getaway with playing in his room all the time, you are not to enter it tonight. Do you understand me, Sang-hee-yah?"

His feet landed on the ground, and he put her down.

"You have to be quiet now. I am going to sneak you back into the house. You're to go straight to sleep next to your sister. That is an order."

Sang-hee felt a strange panic. "Will I see you again?" Her voice was the tiniest whisper.

"No."

"That can't be true." She whispered even more softly but emphatically. "I love you!"

He didn't seem surprised at all by her outburst. He nodded his head slightly. "Thank you for that, Baek Sang-hee. Who knows, I may visit this world if it is at all possible, but I don't know for certain if I will return here, to this place, and speak with you at all."

"I will wish for it then." Sang-hee felt determined. "I will pray to the gods. Please bring back the pretty spirit."

He smiled at that. "You do that. Sometimes they listen."

Sang-hee remembered something. She pointed to the moon. "Ah, it's not there. I don't see it. But Grandfather Dong-soo said he would pray to the morning star, so that's why my mother was re-named. The morning star gave her good luck. I should pray to the morning star that you will come back to our family."

"Enough praying nonsense," the pretty spirit said. "Your morning star is in bed, so be very quiet and don't wake her while we go back inside."

Sang-hee nodded.

I will see him again. I will see him again. I will see him again.

"I had a dream about Cho-rip." There was a glint in Dong-soo's eye. He looked as excited as a child on his birthday. "It's really nice we're going to get reincarnated all together because remember? That's what I wanted, that's exactly what I said I wanted the night before you died--I said I wanted all three of us to be together like in the old days--"

"Such a silly wish. As if one can go back to the past."

"Still." Dong-soo's excitement wasn't dimmed in the slightest. "I wished for it."

"I saw your dream." Woon moved the tray away and sat on the edge of Dong-soo's bed, closer than he would've ordinarily sat. He needed to be closer. This was the last time he was going to see Dong-soo alive, after all. "I was in the sky with Sang-hee, and you were dreaming about me, you, and Cho-rip lying in bed together at the beacon station the night it was thunder-storming very bad--you woke up and you were taking up all the blanket as usual but when you tried to put some back on me and Cho-rip, he grabbed you like he was a baby and you couldn't get loose."

Dong-soo nodded, still smiling slightly, as though even sad things could not dampen his enthusiasm over killing himself tonight. "I'm sorry. About the topic--and also, I just wanted to say sorry for being the one who was recognized as the great warrior Baek Dong-soo when I was just as full of guilt and pain as the two of you and ...I was always this close to f*cking up totally. " He shrugged and threw back the last of his cup of tea. "You yourself know I tried to off myself in this life--for the wrong reasons."

"Yeah."

"And you understand that it's the right reason tonight?"

Woon nodded.

Dong-soo lay back on the bed. "What nice things do you want to talk about? Oh right--you don't really start conversations. I'm already sleepier, but you know me. I can't stop talking." A little laugh.

Dong-soo kept talking. He kept talking as the night went on and on.

Woon tried hard to pay attention to every word, to memorize every detail so he could carry the memory of this night with him for eternity, along with everything else about Dong-soo, but maybe the shock of Dong-soo's decision had not lifted--it had all been so sudden--and Woon knew that being vigilant for a Reaper was unnecessary, but he kept turning his head, imagining that he heard the rustling of a black cloak, smelled the dampness of a Reaper's black smoke. Nothing, every noise was nothing, nothing--the wind in the trees. Nui? She wouldn't dare show up.

Dong-soo wouldn't shut up, even though his eyes were heavy-lidded. He talked about his son as a baby, the twins when they were little, the beacon days when Cho-rip was so disgusted over the chore of collecting wolf dung for the burning of the pyres. He did slip up and mention something sad--about when Cho-rip got into trouble at the palace and caught up in an assassination plot and was sent away to exile--"The king was such a compassion man! Any other king would have had Cho-rip's head. Then again, this was the same king who, as a prince, forgave you too--oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring that up. But I think about him sometimes. I'm very proud to have served such a wise and compassionate Royal. Weren't you proud to have served him too, Woon-ah?"

Woon nodded.

When Dong-soo's sentences sounded less rushed, when the pauses between reminisces were longer, Woon knew that very soon, the man would fall into his last sleep.

"Dong-soo-yah?"

Dong-soo closed his eyes and opened them again with deliberation, as if trying to stay awake. "Hm?"

"Aren't you going to ask me to do something stupid like hold your hand?"

"Really?" He smiled broadly. "You never want to touch me. I thought we would hold hands after."

Woon held out his right hand. "We can hold hands now."

Dong-soo clasped Woon's whole hand and brought it over his chest. Then Dong-soo closed his eyes and went to sleep. Woon felt his hand rise and fall on Dong-soo's breathing for a long time.

And then, just like that, Dong-soo stopped breathing.

Summary:

Is the universe unfair? Does it matter? Love exists, after all. While Woon and Dong-soo are kissing, Hye-won has some bitterness to expel.

Notes:

I still feel weird writing fantasy. I've read so little of it. I was having a conversation with a French friend of mine this past week about how she could never finish Les Misérables, and I was oh, but I read that over and over when I was a kid! Another friend piped up and made fun of the sewer scene. I went back and re-read it and laughed at how it used to scare me. It doesn't anymore (I'm currently being scared over Vincenzo, an ongoing Kdrama dark comedy of all things, though). I still read Baudelaire and marvel at how truly provoking and dark it is--poets can be so stream-lined, whereas novels, even the best ones, can throw in everything but the kitchen sink. I cut my teeth on the minimalist, Lost Generation writers like Hemingway, and then when I started writing, the Iowa school of "rock, tree, heart" was in vogue. I read a lot of hyper-realism about grad students struggling to be writers, lol. I could never finish Lord of the Rings, but eventually I came to fantasy--I feel like I did everything backwards. I got into YA series and into Dragonball Z as a grown-up.

I should probably read Lord of the Rings before I die.

I remember once someone told me she wanted to be a writer because the library she went to as a little girl "didn't have enough books." I remember wanting to read every single book in my elementary school library. When I found out that there were more than enough books to read, I decided I wanted to write down what I didn't like about the books I'd read that was already in my head. Many of the stories were perfect fits, but some just didn't go down that well—it was like learning to copy recipes and invent your own and feed yourself and then cook for a family. It felt natural, and now I can't go a week without doing some form of writing, even if it's not for a large audience, even if it's for fans of a Kdrama or a pairing that ended unhappily and left people with hurt hearts for years and years.

Here, have a bowl of this and that, a strange concoction from Hye-won. I promise it won't kill you.

Oh god, I love Yeo Woon and Dong-soo. I so love romantic melodramatic fanfiction--it's the main taste in the hot pot.

Oh, and have you read a BL that ends happily and doesn’t involve high schoolers? Pass it along.

--Ko Un, interview 2012

Hye-won was dancing her last dance in the Living World. She was reciting her last incantation in the head-dress with the bright feathers and the fox-tail that whipped around as she spun, dipped, bowed, and rose. She rattled her bells after every few phrases. There was no audience. The house was usually empty of ghosts because she cleared them away on a regular basis--their loneliness annoyed her. And her brother, her dearest brother, who had lived there for so long, had for the last three years been staying at the Baek estate. He was there now, embracing his beloved.

Even the dog was gone.

He had vanished and ascended.

His last instructions to Hye-won had been quite specific, and he'd given her quite the eye-opening lecture. He had told her she had always had the power to transform back into a god and return to the heavens. Had she been killed by the council? No. That had been her brother who had been slain by a divine sword, utterly vanquished, his soul not to reappear until hundreds of years later in the form of a cursed human named Yeo Woon. No one, not even the council, had been certain how much god-stuff his soul would still carry, but it had always been presumed that he would be a talented human (and yes, he'd been a clever swordsman who kept trying to out-wit his dark, prescribed fate---saving others right and left, falling in love, and ultimately ending his life in an abrupt decision that startled all the gods in heaven--the boy actually perceived his suicide to be a sacrifice!). As for Gameunjang-agi, the council had always known that she had two weaknesses that were actually hidden strengths--one, an affinity for the world of humans, and two, a deep fondness for her brother. Her night of weakness with the fisherman had really not been that much of a concern to them--since when did the unraveled soul bond of one mere pair of lovers bother the universe so much? Notjang-agi's typhoons and plagues wreaked more havoc, and Notjang-agi had never been so much as scolded.

"Yah, Notjang-agi," Hye-won muttered as she danced around her empty house. "Ever going to test her? Or has she already achieved some perfect pinnacle of chaotic perfection you need? She's such a blue bother. I really don't understand you guys."

The evening of the white butterflies, the evening messengers of good fortune and peace from the heavens had alighted on Hye-won and her ghost brother, the council dog had said to Hye-won, "The council would hate to lose you. You’re exceptionally gifted. We only wanted to teach you a lesson.”

She hadn't believed him. No, not really. If anything, the council had proven itself to be deceitful. There was only one surefire way to get her brother reincarnated and that was for Hye-won to kill herself--a contract is a contract. "But love is love," the council dog had insisted earlier upon seeing Hye-won with the poison tea. "You won't be dying tonight."

"Someone will be," she had snapped back. "What an unfair universe. So much suffering. How many humans die alone? I was planning to do it—it was no biggie for me, but humans don't know of the existence of gods. They die cursing the existence of gods. They die mourning their own loneliness. Your council needs to get its act together."

"We try," The council dog had sounded miffed and defensive. "But at the very least there's love."

Some humans never know love, either. Or for that matter, some gods never know it.

So, I love you, Agi-yah. So, there's that. Still, there's so much bitterness in me.

Hye-won leapt into the air and felt her foxtail fly. When she landed, she swept one leg under another and bowed with one knee to the floor, the other leg straight behind her. She pulled herself up, vertebrae by vertebrae, a rattle of bells for each ascension.

"I have never been alone.

I have never been alone.

I have been bitter.

I have been bitter.

I have envied mothers who held their babies close and scoffed at lovers who nibbled at one another like morning bread, but I was drawn to them, to their wistful laughter, their hope, their fear of losing everything---"

Hye-won was standing up straight now.

"What to tell them, the vulgar humans? Me, a charlatan-shaman-human-god?

I had no power but my own sweet rancor.

How to save even my stupid brother?

For there is no salvation. All of you have no charms or potions to ward off Yeomna--You will die, you will die. Your precious love--

I believed that love was all a lie!"

She held her arms up in a triumphant pose, the way a co*ck flaps its wings when it has defeated a rival.

The council had never killed her. It had transformed her into a human and thrown her to the Realm of the Living. She had fallen on a beach on Jeju Island, her clothes torn, her lavender hair in knots. She had made her way bartering magic for food, pranking people for a place to live, and eventually she made her way off that island where legends sprung up around her, and found her way to Hanyang to practice her diminished god-stuff powers as a shaman.

It had occasionally occurred to her that the sisters would petition on her behalf, attempt to rescue her, that the fisherman's grandson might come to her and in an act of strange karma, eob, and justice, release her from her punishment with a kind word. But she didn't dare hope that the council would change its mind or that her brother would return to her. When her baby brother was born to a man who killed his wife and then when the boy was led away by mysterious master of an assassin guild, Hye-won knew that her punishment was meant to go on, but that her brother, perhaps because of his youth when he aided and abetted in Gameunjang-agi’s sin on earth, was perhaps only been meant to suffer a single life among the garbage that is humanity.

"Agi-yah, you never thought the living were garbage."

Hye-won dropped her arms to her side.

"I didn't either." She snorted a breath of resignation. “For every human who disgusted the crap out of me, there was one who made me laugh.”

The council dog had asked Hye-won if she loved her fisherman. When she had answered that of course she didn't, he asked her why a smart god like her kept confusing love with carnal attraction. Hye-won insisted that she hadn't--she had witnessed the two kinds of affection often in humans. She had experienced the two things herself. One was fleeting; the other took years to develop. Maybe only mothers felt an instantaneous love for their babies, but having lacked a mother, having sprung whole from the imagination of divine beings along with two other little god-sisters, Gameunjang-agi had lacked a maternal instinct.

She'd started to feel a little of an urge to nurture her younger brother towards a higher path; she started to take pride in his prettiness and intelligence--it was love, she knew, and it was familial love, like the love she felt for her sisters, in spite of their annoying ways.

"So you put me through hundreds of years of torment in order to burnish my soul and teach me a lesson?" Hye-won had asked the council-dog. "To teach me what love is? I already knew I loved my brother. What if he had just floated up to heaven right after he stabbed himself on his beloved general's sword? What then, huh? I would have just floated up with him, right? I would never have had the chance to prove that I would have chosen my death over his happiness."

"His suicide surprised us. It was clear he did it to save Baek Dong-soo, to protect many others from dying. We were disappointed. We were going to send him back to the Living Realm."

"Bastards," Hye-won had grumbled. "Dogs that you are."

"Hold up before you get too mad at us. He chose to stick around. That's when I came down to observe you. We thought he might give you another opportunity to test yourself. And we were testing him as well. He had spent so much of his life misunderstanding his love for the general, and you--well, you had spent so much of your life misunderstanding love."

"Big deal. He chose to leave his love, the general, and I chose to leave my stupid fisherman. How does that hold the universe together? As it stands now, I will get my promised hug goodbye with my baby brother, and--" Hye-won shuddered to think of it. "Oh heavens, Tu Shen would be so happy because Agi and the new ghost are smashing faces right now. But what of it? It's just a short time. Your Yang Jian? He will become your god of Destiny, won't he? There's no way you will truly allow him to reincarnate, is there?"

The council dog had co*cked his head. "After your great sacrifice?"

"Ha! I knew it! You're going to take him to heaven. Take us both? He will feel the loss of love for all eternity. And if I die right now, which one of us will have it worse? I just disintegrate, and he has this brief interlude of kissing before he parts with his general, but I'm gone, gone, never to suffer aloneness again."

"Dear Gameunjang-agi, were you deaf to what I said? You have always had the power to go back. You're still a god. We transformed you. But you can transform yourself back."

"How, doggie? And just what makes you think I want to go back? I've kind of had it with this unfair universe. Look at how unhappy my brother has been and will be, either with or without his beloved. Love has been a curse for him."

"Did I say he has to be unhappy all his days? He's learned a lesson about love and sacrifice too. He's earned his reincarnation."

Hye-won had never felt so relieved, but she had tried hard not to show it. Her face had grimaced, all her wrinkles holding back her joy.

"Why the sour look? Were you looking forward to cursing the gods? Don't worry. Part of your transformation involves curses. To get rid of your human years and bitterness, you will have to spit out some curses. The rage that has aged you needs to be shaken out with your bells. You'll know what to do."

"I have to dance?"

"Cleanse yourself. Be your best shaman self. Eat the best parts of humanity, and spit the worst parts out. Bless what you love, and curse what you hate. Don't miss a step, and when you're done, you'll be a new Gameunjang-agi. You can go say goodbye to your brother and bless his new life, and after that, return to us."

Her night with the fisherman had been such a foolish first night. Had she spent another night with him, she might have learned to enjoy his body and understand how human women enjoyed men, but his practiced love-making had annoyed her when all she had wanted was to run her hands through his hair and coax the warmth in her belly. She hadn't talked to him at all. She utterly failed at carnal love and then left at dawn out of disgust because she imagined the rest of the process would be disappointing as well.

She imagined so many young human women were just as disenchanted. In her practice, she met so many middle-aged wives who tolerated their husbands and when she held their hands, she knew that these bitter women never made the moans of gisaengs. When she held the hands of gisaengs, she knew that their hearts ached for sex partners who truly loved others—wives, a best male companion, another gisaeng. Then there were so many court ladies who kept many lovers and also pleasured themselves in secret. And men? She rarely held the hand of a man, but whenever she smelled love on a man, it was stupid love—love of the most frivolous, stupid stupid….

She also had learned to envy the joy of true partnerships. The envy had given her gray hairs. She ran away from the envy from room to room. She flipped over on her hands and rolled across the floor. Her head-dress fell off.

I'm a god. Why in heaven's name do I need to couple with another being and pant like an animal? I never wanted any of that foolishness and heartache for my brother either. The moment I heard he was heart over the moon for an apprentice nun, I knew it wouldn't end well. How was I supposed to know the rabbit god had damned him?

She kicked the fox-tailed head-dress to the other side of the room. As she did, some of her hair fell over her eyes. It was bright and purple.

I'm younger.

I still hate what happened to me.

So many years in the Realm of the Living, so many clients, so many coming here with half-hopes, so many un-believers, so many stares in the street from wealthy bitches when I carried my bags of roots and grasses. I threw blessings their way. I went to the gravesites of their babies born out of forbidden unions, the hidden graves, and blessed the souls. I called the Reapers. I guided the lost ones, I sat with the ill, even the ones who cursed the gods.

Yes, I hated them, doggie.

There was the walnut tree from which her brother had knocked off limbs; it had recovered from its blight and was going to live after all.

"I have to empty my hate," Hye-won began. "I have to purge myself of my hate for this Realm so I can leave it. Only if I curse this world can I return here ever again to bless it as a true god of Destiny. Only then can I help my brother in his lives here."

She began by circling the sagging walnut tree. It should have borne fruit this time of year, but it had plenty leaves. Like the human world, it was not beyond salvation.

Hye-won--or was it Hye-won there anymore? Yes, she was still a part of Gameunjang-agi--stepped around the tree with deliberation and intoned in a voice that was not an old woman's anymore; it was young, eternal, and vibrated with beautiful authority:

"Thirteen minus four is nine.
Twelve minus three is nine.
Eleven minus two is nine
Ten minus one is nine.

Nine minus nine is nothing.

Nothing, no prey for you to eat
Nothing, no self for you to gnaw.
I curse you. No apologies
From me, or the Destiny

Who blew love over the rocks
That your village piled over your dead.
While you whined over scraped knees.
sh*t-things, you pined over tiny trespasses.

I curse you. I spit on you.
Nothing-beings, who looked at me
And my sisters and saw yourselves.
We did not make you in our image.

You turned away love, just as I,
In all my Divinity, tried to share it
With your spiteful, jealous selves.
You called this beautiful planet

A horror. You wished for Death,
Made dreams of it your companion,
To float your boats of self-loathing
And insecurity to shore. I wish

For you a single baby's finger
Of true Horror. No one dies alone.

Die with Destiny curled close to your
Writhing loneliness, all love lost,

Because you preyed on your own livers
And looked not to the magic of stars."

Summary:

Dong-soo discovers that Woon was a god and argues with the king of the Underworld. Is Dong-soo going to break the soul-bond himself?

Notes:

Sorry for delay in update. I hope two chapters the previous week made up for that. I wrote an MZDS/Untamed crossover one-shot last week during free time. I'd always wanted to do that. While WBDS always frustrated me with its ending, I never felt the need to fix what wasn't broken in the Untamed (I preferred the drama to the web-novel because Wei Wuxian was less culpable in the former and reminded me more of Woon, a kind of cornered anti-hero). Still, I thought it would be fun for the pairs of guys to meet. Fic, "The Valley of Captive Lovers" is here.

At times, even God sheds tears, feeling lonely.
Because of loneliness the birds are sitting on the boughs.
Because of loneliness you are sitting by the stream.
Once a day, even the mountain shadow comes down to the village, feeling lonely.
Even the bell rings outward, out of loneliness. --Chung Ho-seung

"Stop! Please stop!" The strange woman with the funny colored hair sounded disgusted. Dong-soo and Woon were still embracing as she shouted. "Get off one another! There isn't much time. I need to say goodbye myself to my brother."

Dong-soo was confused. He was still too blissful about being in Woon's arms, so he didn't let go of Woon. "Who is she?" he asked. "Some ancestor of yours? Ghosts pop up when people die, but I heard that there are supposed to be one's own family ghosts, so why is one of yours here?"

"She's not a ghost." Woon wrangled himself away, with some difficulty, from Dong-soo.

A tall man in black stepped into the room. He nodded, and as he did, his broad black hat cast a broad black shadow that grew and grew until the area of the room surrounding him was all darkness--no, not mere darkness, because Dong-soo became aware of pinpoints of stars beneath the man's feet.

The darkness expanded until there was no more bedroom in which Dong-soo had died; there was only the sky above the Baek estate, and Dong-soo was still standing as if his feet were planted on some solid floor, his hand was still touching Woon's shoulder, and the strange Young Shaman/Sister God was there too, hovering just above the roof-tiles of the house.

Putting her hands on her hips, Woon's sister asked the new guy: "I'm not getting dragged along to see Yeomna, am I? I didn't die."

The man in black bowed. "I was awaiting further instruction," he said.

“Hmm, Yeomna should’ve been alerted by the council.” Woon’s sister put her finger to her chin. "Besides the fact that you should take these two babies there together straight away, there's only one important thing to note. They get to skip the line. One of them is Yang Jian-agi, a god."

The man in black turned to look at Woon.

"Forgive me for not recognizing you," the man in black said.

"She's going on about nothing," Woon said. "There's nothing to recognize. I'm still the ghost of Yeo Woon. Before I was Yeo Woon, I was Yang Jian-agi. It's—it’s complicated."

"I sensed your divinity," the man in black bowed a very deep bow. “I sensed it when you overcame me when we met. You were not an ordinary spirit.”

Is this the death god Woon kicked in the nuts? Oh my goodness, is this bowing and devotion to Woon going to go on all the way to heaven and beyond? Woon got a lot of attention when he was a kid, but this is extra crazy.

I should’ve known. I should’ve known myself. When the earthquake happened, he was holding his hand out to the sky like he was some kind of crazy shaman himself. It didn’t occur to me he actually had any power.

"Oh just listen to my brother's modesty. He's not used to being a god is all." Young Shaman/Sister God smiled--it was a content smile this time, not one of her wicked, ominous ones. "Go on then. Take them right away--no long ferry ride."

"Wait." Dong-soo was a little disappointed. "We don't get to ride the ferry? I thought all the dead had to cross a ferry over the river."

"Not if you're with Yang Jian-agi!"

And with those words--and a flourish of purple tendrils--the strange woman spun away, disappearing forever into the black night.

"Nui?"

She was gone. There were only twinkling stars where Woon was looking.

"Follow me." The man in black waved his hand and flew into the night sky.

Dong-soo's hand dropped from Woon's shoulder as the two of them followed the death god; Dong-soo was tempted to take Woon's hand but then remembered that Woon's sister had said something about displays of affection being rude in the presence of deities. Open affection between lovers was rude in the presence of anyone in Joseon society, so Dong-soo wondered if it was allowed anywhere in the vast universe. Maybe there was a place in heaven where he could kiss Woon? No deities around? What else was up there, past the stars? Would Dong-soo see his dear teacher again? His Sa-mo?

Oh look! Other death gods accompanied by whitish dead people floating in the sky!

"When I took Sang-hee flying," Woon said in a whispery voice, "she was fascinated by the Reapers taking spirits away. Only she couldn't see the Reapers because they are gods--she saw big black butterflies instead of men in black."

"But she could see you?" Dong-soo was confused. "Aren't you a god?"

"No, no. I'm Yeo Woon. There's just some god-stuff left in me. I don't know why my sister makes such a big deal about my being a god. I used to be. I'm really not anymore."

"Ah."

That is a little easier to deal with. A not-quite so god-like Woon.

"And you're going to be all human in the next life?"

Woon shrugged.

The death god, Woon, and Dong-soo had flown very far now, so far that they were past the moon herself. Dong-soo looked over his shoulder and the moon was diminishing to a small round spot. The morning star, however, was still far ahead--even brighter and still unblinking—and all the stars were larger, swimming in a glowy haze of what looked like sea foam, only purplish with sparkles.

All of a sudden, among the swirl of stars, a cloudy island took shape, and as the clouds evaporated, a stately hanok with multi-tiered roofs came into focus. There were fountains and ponds and azalea bushes in bloom in the courtyard. The man in black flew over the courtyard walls, leading Dong-soo and Woon to the front door. Many other men in black were standing there with pale-faced, newly dead companions.

"He's expecting us," the death god who Woon had kicked in the nuts said, and the others stepped aside without a word.

Down a corridor, to the left, and there they turned into a modest office. The sole occupant was a large man wearing no hat, his thinning hair exposed to the bright light from the rice paper doors to a balcony behind him. Heaven? Were those the doors to heaven? His beard was long and black; his clothes were red and gold silk; he was fixated on reading a long scroll and paid no mind to his visitors.

The death god bowed deeply, and Dong-soo and Woon followed his example. "Good Morning, King Yeomna," the death god said.

So, it's morning already? I died that late at night? It seems like only minutes have passed. Or maybe time is different when you travel through--

"Oh!" The great king straightened his spine and set down his scroll. He was sitting on a fancy red pillow on the floor, but he was huge as he sat there, about the size of a standing man. "The suicides are here!"

The death god stepped back.

"Um, I beg your pardon." Dong-soo stepped forward. He didn't take kindly to being referred to as a suicide and not by his proper name. He wasn't properly a suicide either. "I am General Baek Dong-soo of Hanyang, and this man over here--"

"I know who you are. I'm God of the Underworld." He picked up the scroll and gave it a light shake. "Your names are right here. Suicide is a great affront, you know. You'll have to do penance."

"Penance?" Dong-soo was confused. "But I... my death was honorable—I was sparing my family the shame of my going insane, and Yeo Woon here--I thought the rules said that because he was Yang Someone or Other, a real god once, he gets to choose where he wants to go. Does he get penance too?"

"You both get penance," Yeomna said. "Suicide, in most forms, is short-sighted, impulsive, an affliction, a madness, a cloak of self-absorption in the guise of caring for others, and it cuts shorts lives meant to teach more lessons."

Woon, utterly chided, looked to the floor.

"What?" Dong-soo felt offended. "More lessons? Who are the gods to talk about life as if it's all about lessons? Suffering is lessons? Some people just want to end the suffering. What about—what about--being unjustly sentenced by some puppet trial so one is forced to cut one's throat to avoid being burned alive in a pot of hot oil?” His voice got higher-pitched and louder. “What's worse for a woman who is dishonored and left naked in the streets? Should she be cast out by her family and become some man's slave and whor* or should she just flee as quickly as possible to another life? I don't understand you gods. Why do you put these choices before people? And then why do you punish them when they make the choice to die because you've beaten them down so much they can barely breathe to live anymore anyway?"

"Dong-soo-yah," Woon whispered. "You're speaking to the God of the Underworld. He understands the distinctions."

"Understands distinctions?" Dong-soo's voice got even louder. "Why are there even distinctions in the first place?"

Yeomna was looking at Dong-soo with a co*cked head and a mild interest. "What do you mean by that, General Baek?"

"Suffering!" Dong-soo stepped even closer to the large god. He wasn't intimidated, not one bit. He was just one of many gods, right? Like Commander Dae-Pyo had been one teacher among hundreds of teachers, and he hadn't known everything, had he? At twelve years old, Dong-soo hadn't had any problem standing up to the boys' camp leader. "Suffering itself is stupid. Have you yourself spent any time in the Living World? Humans spend day after day trying to make sense of your lessons. Even the wisest of men will live long lives pulling out their hairs over why you gods make us all suffer until they're bald as you are!"

"Dong-soo-yah!" Woon hissed.

"Suffering is a lesson you will understand once you reach enlightenment," Yeomna said. "Insofar as distinctions between the types of suicide go, Yeo Woon will receive a hard punishment because he did not complete the punishment he was dealt by the council in the heavens, and he did not live out his full life; furthermore, he wounded his soul partner severely by using him as a tool for suicide and thus disrupted an important new possibility for all the realms. You, General Baek, are to receive a lighter penance because your death came at the end of your life and was met with the reluctant approval of those closest to you."

"What?" Dong-soo threw up his hands. "So what happens? My soul mate and I get separated before reincarnation? For how long? And he gets a what? A hard punishment? What's that? He gets whipped with fire or something while I get to hold up bags of sand for a few hours? I did that when I was a kid when I came home late from playing. It was supposed to teach me a lesson and make my muscles stronger. Big deal. Big lesson. I got resentful. I spent long hours just being pissed and miserable."

"Your arms got stronger," Yeomna said.

"I could have been assigned to build useful or pretty—I could’ve used my weak arms to carry stones to build a stove or fountain or ... a memorial to a local god? Hey, that would have been nice for one of you! Punishment is so mean and worthless. Why do you have to beat down Woon so much? He never did anything! What did he do, for heaven's sake? He wasn't even born human--and from what I gather, you gods hate humans. He was born a god--and as a kid god, he bad-mouthed some higher-ups in defense of his sister. Now, I get it that his sister probably did something really bad. I met her--she's weird. But Woon was just a kid--"

"You're just a human spirit, and you're challenging my decision?"

"Yes!"

"On what grounds?" The big god looked amused. "That the universe is full of suffering, and you don't like that? That your soul partner is going to suffer more, and you don't like that?"

"Ok, look here." Dong-soo's mind was churning. He thought he had an answer. "I'm getting the impression from you god people that you think soul bonds are very, very important things."

"They are, yes."

"I'm going to make a wager that there's something in your rule books there that says you, King Yeomna, can't mess with us that easily. What if Woon and I just don't want to take our punishments?"

Yeomna laughed. "You are under-estimating me. I am the fifth god of the ten gods of this entire realm. You will do my bidding."

"Well, then." Dong-soo stuck his chin out. "Break our soul bond. Do it. Break my soul-bond with Yeo Woon. I dare you."

"What?" Woon didn't whisper the word. "What?"

Dong-soo narrowed his eyes. "We're done with everything we can do for you, whatever possibility for all realms this former GOD and I have to offer. Yeah, because I, General Baek Dong-soo, don't like the way you're treating him. It's unfair. So just send us to our punishments, peel our skin off or whatever and prove your cruelty to teach us whatever lessons you stupid gods want to teach. Because enough is enough. The suffering of others is not worth our ... what do I call them? Stolen moments of happiness."

Yeomna blinked.

Dong-soo sensed the death god behind him take a step back. Woon's energy was rising; it was rising in harmony with Dong-soo's fierce defiance. Dong-soo drew more strength from the unspoken support.

"You're defeating yourselves doubly," Yeomna said, "with such an absurd proposition. I can indeed break your soul bond and give your both worse penances."

Dong-soo smiled a slight smile. He had learned the smile from Shaman Lady who gave those wicked knowing smiles. "At what price?" he asked. "I dare you. Break our soul bond."

Summary:

Dong-soo and Woon and travel a strange Afterlife. Have they found a special way to soothe the terrible grief of their previous life?

Summary:

The spider may have some loose threads for Dong-soo and Woon to catch. How long before they reincarnate?

With my heart singing to the stars,
I shall love all things that are dying.
--Yun Dong-ju

Saet-byeol looked up at the gray sky. There was sadness as far as her eyes could see, and beyond that gray sky? More sadness?

She shifted her gaze to the road. Yet another family of mourners was approaching the house. The visitors in white clothes had been as steady as the rain for two days now. Not all of the mourners who came had been crying, but the rain slanted in the direction of their approach, so they all entered the Baek estate with wet faces.

Grandfather, you would have asked why did they look so miserable—and then laughed and asked “who died?” Isn't that what you always said to me when I was out of sorts because the market was out of this spice or that root? “Who died?”

The family down the road was walking slowly. Four of them. There were six mourners inside already. Saet-byeol heaved a sigh. The rain had left off just now, so these visitors were using their umbrellas like walking sticks to climb the slight incline up the path. So many visitors. For two days, Saet-byeol had watched them approaching. Scholars and their white-clothed families—damp spots on their sangbok, shoes thick with mud, umbrellas not working against the wind, children trying to hold off gusts of rain with their cute, kid-sized umbrellas. Military officers in full uniform, some on horseback, most on foot.

So many people revered you, Grandfather Dong-soo.

Yoo-jin had instructed Saet-byeol to keep the food served to guests modest, in keeping with some Confucian custom she didn't understand, but her mother and the servants had kept cooking and cooking to stave off grief, and apparently neighbors had not heard about Yoo-jin's Confucian custom and had brought cakes and bottles of expensive wine to the house.

Poor Yoo-jin. As the only son of the deceased, it was Yoo-jin's job to receive condolences and converse with the many, many guests, but because Yoo-jin was, by nature, not a master of small talk, he was quickly made uncomfortable in the presence of those who were not his scholar friends or longtime acquaintances from the palace. Soon enough Saet-byeol's role had become one of talking into the dead spaces Yoo-jin made when he became socially anxious. At first, Saet-byeol hadn't minded; she'd been glad to step out of the traditional position of standing behind her husband and looking dutifully sad. She knew how to chat; she knew how to pull stories out of old generals so that the main room wasn't always funereal, so that the military men were laughing over the renowned eccentricity of General Baek Dong-soo, the kindest and silliest commander anyone ever could know.

Many many years ago, when the great general's wife had passed, it also had become Saet-byeol's job to lighten the mood and talk up guests--but there had not been so many guests then! And there had been no six-year-olds playing with the ceremonial items while sobbing for their grandfather! By the second day of mourning, Saet-byeol joked to her mother that the twins' constant bawling had exhausted her to the point that she was ready to lie in her own coffin. Ma-na had slapped Saet-byeol right in the face for saying such a thing. All those present in the kitchen had gasped, and someone had dropped a metal spoon. The twins had instantly stopped crying, and Saet-byeol had announced that she was going outside for some fresh air. "But it's raining!" Ma-na had protested. "Stop tempting fate--you might make yourself sick!"

I'm sick of mourning. Saet-byeol looked up at the sky again. The clouds were threatening more rain. It seemed the heavens were not so tired of being sad for General Baek Dong-soo.

Saet-byeol paced a little, back and forth, in front of the house, and with every step, the twins stayed on either side of her. They had followed her out here, and no one had dared stop them, maybe in hopes that a mother's concern for her own children getting wet would bring Saet-byeol back inside?

But it wasn't raining now. The twins weren't crying either now. They stood next to their mother, silent as ghosts, sad, uncertain, perhaps only sure of the one lesson the past couple days had taught them: grief was inescapable. Grief was in every room, in wakefulness and in sleep, and even here, outside the house of mourning.

"Myung-hee," Saet-byeol muttered in a tired voice. "I didn't scold you the last time, but your grandmother says she saw you playing with the plums on the jesasang again. Sang-hee, don't touch the shoes outside the door."

"I don't see why we had to buy a new pair of shoes and put them out there," Sang-hee retorted.

"I did tell you," Saet-byeol said. "It's a custom. The shoes are to welcome the messenger who will take your grandfather's soul away after the three days of mourning."

"I know what you said." Sang-hee sounded tired and about to tantrum. "What I mean is it's a stupid custom. Grandfather's soul is already gone."

Saet-byeol felt a surge of nervousness. She grabbed Sang-hee by the arm and was about to reprimand her for talking badly about a solemn custom, but Myung-hee didn't allow for that conversation because she started to cry.

So much crying. The poor girls missed their grandfather. But their crying--it was non-stop. And the sadness of it tore at Saet-byeol’s heart. The suffering of children was the most unbearable thing in the world.

"I'm sorry!" Myung-hee managed to say between sobs. "I'm sorry for playing with plums. I was bored. I'm sorry." More crying. "Why can't we go sit with Grandfather in his room?"

"I told you--" Saet-byeol began.

"That's for adults," Sang-hee snapped. "You wouldn't want to see him anyway. Appa stuffed cotton in his mouth and put coins on his eyes, and Grandfather right now is all wrapped up in ribbons like a weird doll."

"You saw!" Myung-hee was shocked out of her crying spell.

"Yes, I saw!" For a moment, Sang-hee looked like she was about to be proud of herself for sneaking that peek, but she burst into tears instead.

Myung-hee stared at her sister. "I guess it was scary." She turned to look at her mother. "Even if it's scary, can I go look? I just... I just want to see him again."

Saet-byeol stooped so that she was face to face with her twin daughters. "Darlings, I know this has all been hard on you. You've done the best you can trying to be on your best behavior in front of so many guests." Saet-byeol opened her arms and gathered her children close to her. The twins were both bawling now, with excruciating little-girl loudness, with high tones that would hurt even a dead man's ears, and Saet-byeol wondered what sort of characters were gods who allowed innocent children to feel this sort of pain. "It's all right to cry. But you can't go into the room. It's not allowed. Just rest assured that you will see your grandfather again in the Afterlife."

Summary:

Dong-soo and Woon confront women from their past.

Notes:

Rabbit, rabbit. Happy Pride Month. No offense to slash writers who like to re-imagine their OTPs as perfectly gay, but I’ve always written Dong-soo and sometimes Woon as bi. I’m bi, and so is my son (the young’uns use the designation “pan” nowadays). In history, Dong-soo was married, maybe twice. This story sticks to the drama canon, which implies he was going to be married to Ji-sun and which implies that Ji-sun had feelings for Woon at one time; Woon declared his feelings about Ji-sun to Defense Minister Hong who said he was lying, but Woon’s behaviors spoke otherwise.

Salt

Like someone who is deeply scarred
The ocean is heavy with silence.
Loving is more painful than hating.
Look at the glare of the summer heat
Biting the ocean’s body (older than basalt) and hanging on.
The ocean vomits up
what once it silently embraced.

What sunshine breeds is single thing,
Created by the drying of even a drop of water:
The hard water’s white bones
The dots of white blood, scattered across the plains

Of a salt field, baking in the sun
Looking like pomegranate seeds.
I finally confess,
Hatred was a little more painful than love.

A person, in pain for so long,
Passes slowly by the salt field.
Maybe he is the kind who will breed
More love than hatred. --Ko Un

Chapter Twenty-four: Love, Not Lost but Wandering

Eunjang-agi was lying next to the glistening stream, her pink hanbok and pink hair in vivid contrast to the bright green grass. "Gameunjang-agi, darling," she said, her words slurry because she was sucking on a peach. "I know you don't feel hunger, but try one of these. It's been hundreds and hundreds of years since you ate something in heaven. Fruit in the Living World tastes like air. This peach is actually sweet." Eunjang-agi held out the half-chewed fruit to her sister. "Here, try it."

Gameunjang-agi shot her sister a hard look that meant no way in all heaven, hell, and every realm in-between and returned to staring into space, somewhere beyond the horizon.

"What's she looking at?" Eunjang-agi asked her other sister, the stern Notjang agi whose blue face and blue hanbok were under the shadow of a huge willow. Eunjang-agi was sitting with her bare feet in the stream and looked like something that had blossomed there. The willow tree's massive roots anchored it in a slanting position over the water, and its feathery limbs swept the waves. "Notjang-agi? Are you awake?" Eunjang-agi's voice was pouty. "Our sister has barely talked since she's flown back up to the heavens."

"She's checking out the Realm of the Living with her god eyes," Notjang-agi replied.

"What?" The pink sister of Destiny threw her peach into the stream where it dissolved into sparkles of light (nothing corrupts the waters in heaven!). "She's obsessed with that place! She's obsessed with humans! She was like that even before she was sentenced to live among them!"

"Shut up," Gameunjang-agi said in a calm voice. "It's our job to watch them--or would you rather eat all day? Your chin has doubled in size since I last saw you, you know."

"I watch the humans," Eunjang-agi retorted. "I watch them."

"You're just interested in the dumb love stories." Gameunjang-agi didn't break her gaze into the far beyond. "Why didn't you tell me when I arrived what had happened with Sang-so and his destined love in this lifetime?"

"I thought you knew." Eunjang-agi had materialized a comb and was re-arranging her hair. "My voluptuousness is part of my charm. I'm a god of abundance and indulgence. I favor those who seek pleasure and--"

"She died without meeting him," Gameunjang-agi interrupted. "They didn't meet again. He continued with his bad habit of courting woman after woman--you're the one who started him on that, you know. On Jeju."

"Not my fault. He had a predilection for pleasing women--and women were susceptible to his beauty. You should know, you weak whor*."

Gameunjang-agi didn't blink. "I should've sensed him--he was not far away from me on the western shore. It only makes sense he would be drawn to sand." She let out a little bitter laugh. "Sand and salt. The loneliness of life by the ocean, one woman after another and that tiny itch of wondering if there's a soul-mate for you somewhere."

"You didn't sense him at all?" It was the stern blue sister's turn to speak, and she sounded surprised. The weeping willow blew over the water at the same time her own long blue tresses blew across her serious face. "I thought you were supposed to be a talented shaman--that your god-stuff wasn't entirely gone."

"Humans have sh*t powers when it comes to seeing the truth around them," Gameunjang-agi replied. "Some gods are dense enough, but I could only feel tiny vibrations of this and that when I was human—and I didn't always know who was who. I didn't even recognize my own brother until he appeared before me as a spirit and then--" Gameunjang-agi's eyes suddenly widened. "Agi-yah!"

"What is it?" the other two sisters asked.

"You don't sense him?" Gameunjang-agi stood up, looked downstream.

Notjang-agi looked disapproving. "He's had help. Someone's helped him and his friend get here. They're not supposed to be here. Aren't they supposed to wander the netherworld like ordinary spirits until they reincarnate?"

"I didn't discuss the details with Yeomna, but I know that his next incarnation won't be for a while...." Gameunjang-agi was pacing with agitation back and forth over a patch of water hyacinth--the flowers sprung up, unharmed, even as her feet kept smashing over them. "He wasn't supposed to receive any punishment because of his divine nature, but--"

"Ha!" Eunjang-agi spread her knees apart, and a bunch of blushing peaches appeared on her lap. "He's here. Don't worry about why. It will be wonderful to see him, don't you think? The boyfriend too! You know, I bet this was all the rabbit god's doing? I'm sensing that the human general has some divine powers himself, and it may not be totally out of order for him to be accompanying our baby brother to heaven."

Gameunjang-agi stopped pacing. "Something's blocking my ability to sense them."

"Oh." Notjang-agi frowned deeper. "Spider webs?"

A piece of peach fell out of Eunjang-agi's mouth. "Uh-oh."

*

Dong-soo didn't know what to think or feel when he saw two women whose mouths he'd kissed walking right towards him in heaven, of all places. And he'd just been kissing Woon! And well, he'd just been ... doing other things with Woon that still had him giddy. The memory of Woon's eyes shut tight and mouth open wide in ecstasy was still the biggest image, front and center, in his mind, and no matter what was happening, the memory wasn't fading.

Dong-soo turned to look at his dearest person.

Woon was staring, shocked, at the two women walking up the path by the stream. Hee-ryung, Dong-soo's wife, and Yoo Ji-sun, Dong-soo's ex-girl (had she been his betrothed? Not technically, but oh the gods, Dong-soo had asked the young woman to wait for him, and she had waited for him for three whole years, three whole years--the whole village had expected them to be wed!). It suddenly hit Dong-soo that Woon used to like Ji-sun. They never--no, they didn't. Dong-soo's memory was shaken; he had been an old man not long ago, and here he was in the Afterlife, young again with his soulmate. Right, right, years ago, Ji-sun had fancied Woon for a moment, not even a whole day--what woman didn't fancy Woon? But Woon had loved her, hadn't he? Or he had loved the idea of her, the way Dong-soo had.

Woon certainly hadn't kissed her.

Dong-soo looked back at the women. Ok, so Woon didn't have any experience with her either. For some reason, that was a little bit of a relief. Dong-soo had been shocked and confused for a moment, and he was feeling possessive of Woon already. Ji-sun would have more memories of the young Baek Dong-soo than of Woon, of course.

The two women were oblivious of any onlookers. They seemed unaware of one another, even. Hee-ryung was in the lead, and Ji-sun was trailing at a leisurely pace. Dong-soo had forgotten how much the two resembled one another--especially in the face. He'd been startled by the resemblance his whole first year of marriage to Hee-ryung, but then his wife became her own person. She was gracious, mature, a woman in whom Dong-soo could find no fear, hesitancy, excess pride, unseemly boldness, or any flaw really. The first time he had kissed her, though--aigoo! He'd been so afraid. He'd expected her to startle, the way Ji-sun had for their one brief kiss, but no, Hee-ryun's mouth had given Dong-soo's lips an arduous, wet response. Dong-soo had been the one to startle: Does she love me? Does she find me that attractive? Her lips had paused, though, in what seemed a courteous way, waiting for Dong-soo to return her earnestness, and Dong-soo had felt his whole body grow warm. He'd swept his hand under her long braid and held the nape of her neck as he kissed her back, again, again, deeper, deeper, lost in the moment, the pain gone as her small hands held onto him.

I loved you, Hee-ryung. I'm so sorry. You knew something was wrong, and I couldn't tell you what.

"Why are they in heaven?" Dong-soo mumbled. He turned his attention to the weird little spider and spoke louder. "Why are these women in heaven? Shouldn't they have reincarnated?"

"The woman you knew as your wife has a soul that vibrates beyond the need to reincarnate," the spider said. "She can if she wants to. She may be happy here."

I always knew she was perfect. She had to be--to put up with a dumb-ass like me.

"Miss Yoo Jin-sun?" Woon asked.

"Ahhhhhhhhh." The spider's voice reminded Dong-soo of the old shaman lady--Woon's strange sister-god-whoever. There was a slight mocking know-it-all quality to it. Dong-soo got the sense that the spider was amused by lesser beings, if not actually annoyed by them like Shaman Lady. "Yoo Ji-sun passed recently, as you know. She was preceded by her husband in death, and the two of them were actually together for a few years in the forest just down the way. They were suffering no punishment; they were waiting to be reborn. But...."

"But what?" Woon sounded worried.

"I think you know what you did."

"Please tell me," Woon said. "I'm not sure what happened. I don't know what happened when I bonded with Dong-soo. I was so young at the time, and I didn't understand that I could make soul-bonds, let alone how they were made."

"Dear boy, no one knows how they're made. Do you think humans know? And they form them all the time." The spider swung on her string in front of Woon's face. "You tried to form a soul bond with Yoo Ji-sun--you do know that, don't you?"

"Yes." Woon shot a glance at Dong-soo. "I felt something."

"Wait." Dong-soo needed to know. "Did I try to form a soul bond with either of these women? I don't remember anything--is it because I don't have some god powers like Woon here?"

The spider widened her arc so that she swung towards Dong-soo's face, waved her two little front arms at him, and then she came to a standstill on her red thread before Woon's face. "What did I just say? Any human can for a soul bond, but you were already bonded to Woon here. You were just a hormonal young man where these women were concerned--not to say you didn't love them, but it wasn't anything approaching a soul bond. But Woon here….” The spider made a like tsk tsk noise like a chiding auntie. It reminded Dong-soo, again, of Woon’s crazy sister. “Woon here tried to send out a red thread to Yoo Ji-sun. Because he had god-stuff, he can materialize god-stuff from the divine world into the ordinary world. So one day--ah, I'm sure you remember it, Woon-ah, Yang Jian-agi, this lovely lady showed you some kindness and tied a bright red piece of her hanbok around your wounded hand. It was fate, wasn't it? A blessing? Let's just say somehow your lonely heart asked for and received some kindness into your hard life."

"I tried to soul-bond with her?" Woon looked a little awed. "I thought I fell in love with her that day."

"A person can only have one soul-partner," the spider said. "But your little red thread materialized nonetheless."

"It did?" Now Dong-soo was worried. Was his lover attached in some way to someone else too?

"Your little red thread went seeking Yoo Ji-sun's soul, but her soul rejected it," the spider continued. "That doesn't mean she doesn't know its song."

"Song?" Dong-soo asked the question, but he thought he knew the answer. When he and Woon had been lying together, there had been the slightest humming sound in Dong-soo's bones--he'd assumed it was some supernatural heavenly thing. It seemed as though touching Woon in heaven invoked the voices of heavenly zithers and flutes. Dong-soo hadn't noticed the music especially because his other senses had been more overwhelmed--oh gods, the sight of Woon's chest rising and falling, the taste of that indentation right under his sternum as he arched his back--

"Dong-soo-yah!" Woon's voice was sharp. "What's the matter with you? You know nothing ever happened with me and Ji-sun!"

"No, it's not that!" Dong-soo shook his head and waved both hands. "I wasn't being jealous at all, Woon-ah."

The spider giggled. "Oh you boys. You're mere babies. Anyway, let me tell you about Woon's song and what happened with Yoo Ji-sun. She was just wandering around enjoying the view and saying hello to the newly departed when her soul caught a familiar vibration. The red threads materialized by gods are especially lovely, Woon-ah. It's quite a miracle your Yoo Ji-sun wasn't slapped across the eyes by it and blinded forever to the best qualities in other humans. She actually fell for your soul-partner here--for the very good reason that he helped her see the error of her ways in condemning herself to victimhood. Your dashing Baek Dong-soo. She fell in love with him."

Woon smiled a sad smile. "I thought she loved me too."

"She did," the spider said.

"She did?" Woon was surprised.

"When I said her soul rejected the soul-bond," the spider continued, "I didn't say that she didn't love you. She just had a lot of common sense, this Ji-sun. Did you think she was going to choose an assassin over the man who saved her life and changed her Destiny?"

Dong-soo was still watching the young women walking up the path. "It's Ji-sun who's not supposed to be here. She followed Woon's song?"

"It's not so simple as that," the spider said. "I'm the one who weaves all the red threads--I wove a basket for the two of you to cross into heaven across the frozen water. While Woon was swimming, he didn't even know it, but the red thread he had always intended for Ji-sun was flying behind him, like a stem of a dandelion that has lost all its wishes. Oh Ji-sun, it called. It wept like a single tear of blood from a tiny wound, singing its song, and as it stood out there, trembling, among the basket of red threads I had woven for the two of you--"

"You let her cross," Woon said.

The spider was too tiny to see its face, but Dong-soo was sure she was smiling.

"You're a clever boy," the spider said. "Yeo Woon. Yang Jiang-agi."

"Woah, this spider." Dong-soo was getting a little riled now. These gods were capricious, and that was putting it kindly. "She made Ji-sun come over here to bother us? Did she make Hee-ryung show up just at this very moment too?"

"I'm not a god of Destiny," the little spider said emphatically. "You may want to ask your Woon's sisters if they've been playing games with him, but my guess is that those two lazy women haven't even noticed he's here yet--and oh, my webs protected your privacy so even Gameunjang-agi couldn't have sensed a moment of--" The spider swung with a swift motion towards Dong-soo. "You were so happy, weren't you? Was it worth a human's life of sorrow to finally hold him in your arms like that?"

"You're rude," Dong-soo said.

"Modesty is a human invention," the spider said.

"Did you or didn't you make my wife come here just now?"

"Gods don't control everything--aren't you the one who made that grand speech on the wharf about Destiny and changed Yoo Ji-sun's life forever with your philosophy about free will? What do you think, Baek Dong-soo? Do you think that every time your ass itches, and you reach with your fingers to scratch there, some god made you do that? Is your head an ornament? You're devastatingly handsome, I realize, but the word among the divine is that you're unnaturally intelligent in your own stupid way. Use your brain, Baek Dong-soo!"

Dong-soo had never been scolded by a tiny spider before. He literally took a step back. He looked at Woon. He didn't know what to think or feel. This was all so confusing. Heaven--what a strange place.

Woon shrugged, resigned to the fact that the two women were walking even closer. "Your wife just happened to be in the area?"

And then Baek Hee-ryung was over a small hill and within shouting distance of Dong-soo and Woon. She saw the pair. It was clear from the way her neck and shoulders rose that she recognized Dong-soo. She didn't break her stride, but her walking sped up. Not much. It was as if time didn't matter in heaven. She wanted to see Dong-soo, but there was no hurry. No hurry at all.

Dong-soo looked at Woon again. He gestured with his head that they should walk towards her, so they did. Dong-soo was glad to leave the spider, even though he was sure she would pop up again to annoy them, and in no time, Dong-soo and Woon were standing the space of a couple horses apart from the woman who had been Dong-soo's wife in the Living World.

Woon stepped back.

Of course, he should do that. She's my wife. I don't know what to say.

Hee-ryung wore a peaceful expression. She looked about the age when Dong-soo had met her--as kempt and gracious a noble-woman as one would ever meet. Dong-soo remembered her with her hair pulled back and pinned with a binyeo. But this woman wore her hair the way an unmarried woman would--in a long braid. Her eyes were fixed on Dong-soo's face.

And then they weren't.

She bowed deeply. Her chin was touching her chest, her skirts were spread on the tiny rocks. "Forgive me," she said. "I have trespassed against you and our family. I was less than the wife I should have been to you; I was less than the mother Yoo-jin needed."

Dong-soo was appalled. "Hee-ryung-ah!" He walked over and pulled her up by the upper arm. "Don't do this. I'm the one who has to apologize. I'm the one who--I'm the one...." Dong-soo couldn't bring himself to say what he had to apologize for.

Her eyes met his. Her eyes were clear and as bright as he remembered. There was nothing about her that was spirit-like. She wasn't ghostly; her arm felt solid. Dong-soo swallowed. Her arm felt as solid as Woon's body had felt when he touched it not long ago. In Yeomna's weird house, Woon's hair had seemed transparent at times; Dong-soo had caught glimpses of his own hand, and it had seemed bluish. Here? Here everything seemed like the Living World, maybe brighter, cleaner. Maybe in heaven spirits had a different presence?

"I never asked you questions," Hee-ryung said in a matter-of-fact way. "I accept responsibility for that. Because I wrongly assumed that it was not my place to question your choices, I ignored your pain. I allowed you to suffer alone. I didn't try hard enough to offer you solace."

"Hee-ryung-ah, Hee-ryung-ah!" Dong-soo dropped her arm and ran his hand through his own hair. "No, no, I was rejecting you. I was a drunk and a fool, and there was nothing you could've done, believe me. I might have said terrible things to you if you had tried to approach me--"

"I said terrible things about Yoo-jin."

"What?"

"I wondered aloud to you if he was a pervert and if that is why he wasn't interested in being married. Now I understand that many of what humans call perversion is not that at all; many human practices and beliefs are an affront to the gods, but nothing angers them more than when we make gods out of our own philosophies and worship our own fears like little gods. I wanted so much for Yoo-jin to marry."

Dong-soo wasn't following. How could wanting a good marriage for a child be a sin?

Hee-ryung noticed the confusion in Dong-soo's face. "Marriage was the pinnacle of success in our Confucian world; I didn't understand then what I do now--marriage doesn't matter to the gods. It's a business partnership--isn't that what we had, Dong-soo-yah? Business doesn't matter to the gods. Do businesses travel to the Afterlife? What matters is love."

Dong-soo felt frozen where he stood. Such words out of his wife's mouth. "But I did love you," he said.

"I loved you too," she said. "That is why I am apologizing. If I loved you, I should not have let you suffer alone. I should have tried to save you."

Dong-soo couldn't help it--he looked back at Woon.

"Is that him?" Hee-ryung asked.

Woon un-crossed his arms. He looked helpless, suddenly much younger, certainly not like some god of Destiny.

"You know Yeo Woon?" Dong-soo asked his wife softly.

"This is heaven," she replied. "One learns to watch other realms from this height. I watched him care for you. It's all right. I understand."

Dong-soo felt his throat tighten. So? Was it possible to cry in heaven? He wanted to tell his wife that he loved her very much, that her own love was more than he deserved, but the words wouldn't come, and then, as he put his hand to his chest to try to urge himself to speak, a figure appeared over the hill.

It was Yoo Ji-sun.

*

Yoo Ji-sun saw everyone, and unlike Hee-ryung before her, she gasped and began to run. Hee-ryung looked puzzled for a moment and then pronounced, "Why, it's that beautiful merchant woman who married the Buyoon of Dan-il." She looked at Dong-soo. "It was long ago, but she--she was your--"

Yoo Ji-sun was smiling broadly. Dong-soo could not remember her smiling so much. When he returned from training, there had been so much tension at the palace--she was always in fear for his life—and then after the coup, well, that's when Woon died, and that's when nothing, nobody, not Sa-mo, not the gods, not even the cup of booze Dong-soo held so often could help. Ji-sun had done the right thing. She had done the right thing because there was no helping Baek Dong-soo. There was no marrying a man committed to drowning in his own regrets.

"Lady Baek!" Ji-sun squealed. She bowed prettily before Dong-soo's wife. The two ladies had met at this and that perfunctory affair; they hadn't been friends at all. "Dong-soo-yah!" A huge smile now. Dong-soo fought the urge to run and hug her. Ji-sun seemed to be a little hesitant about how to greet her spirit-ex as well. She thrust her hands in the folds of her skirt and bowed before Woon.

"Yeo Woon!" Her smile was brilliant; she was so much prettier than Dong-soo remembered—the happiness must've made the difference. "I looked for you everywhere! I didn't know that Dong-soo had passed! Of course you would be with him."

How strange it was to hear Ji-sun sounding like a bright-voiced young woman without a care in the world. Where was the persistent little beauty who had survived a horrible, burdensome life? Where was the girl whose dying father had tattooed a map on her back, the noblewoman turned Buddhist apprentice turned seller of wool caps in the market? Ji-sun had been someone who had been tortured behind the palace walls, someone who herself had tried to kill the leader of an assassin guild with a knife, someone who had learned to ride a horse as soon as the ban on women riding horses had been lifted.

Who was this weirdly happy young woman standing in heaven's bright light?

"Ji-sun-ah?" Dong-soo didn't know what else to say.

"I know you were innocent," Ji-sun said to Woon. "I know what people said, but even before I died, and I found out the truth from Kim Gwang-taek and others, I just knew that you would never hurt your friend Cho-rip the way people said you did."

"Ah, but I believed it," Dong-soo said. He couldn't believe it; here he was, confessing his greatest sin to Yoo Ji-sun.

"We were all so young then." Ji-sun's smile faded, but she still looked weirdly pleasant. "There was such a fog of politics going on. I'm sure that's what happened with Cho-rip too--he was swept away by it all in the end."

Dong-soo had the smallest of hopes. "Have you seen him?"

Ji-sun's expression finally looked serious. This was the face Dong-soo remembered. Those eyes too large for that small face. There was no other way to explain the look of someone who had seen too many sad things--the very shape of her mouth was poignant. "No, I haven't seen him. I hear that he's in the Underworld. He tried to kill the queen, they say. But worst of all, he was a suicide."

Dong-soo and Woon exchanged glances.

"Young Miss?" Hee-ryung put her hand on Ji-sun's shoulder. "How did you get here? Do you know where here is?"

"What do you mean?"

"This isn't the part of the Afterlife where you wait to be reincarnated. This is a very different place. It's where the gods and only some human souls... some human souls who have special permission dwell. Did a god give you permission? Do you have a pass?"

Dong-soo smiled. She's perfect, maybe, but Hee-ryung was always very precise about rules. It's ok, as long as she understands that love matters more than rules. Or that love is the first rule? Is that what the gods teach here? I can accept that.

"A god? A pass?" Ji-sun looked confused. "I was walking alongside the stream." She looked at Woon. "I think I was... lost? But I think... I think I know why I came here."

Dong-soo felt his own breathing slow down. Don't worry.

"Young Miss," Woon said. "There was a god who made it so you would cross the river here. I don't exactly know what this god's intentions were, but--"

"Forgive me, Nauri." Yoo Ji-sun bowed her head.

Dear gods, what is going on? Not her too.

"I abandoned you," Ji-sun went on. "Like the whole world, I abandoned you. It wasn't you who abandoned us. You were trying to protect us. I was so caught up with my own worries that I forgot to thank you when you rescued me from a palace jail and housed me in Heuksa Chorong. I even looked down on you as I prayed for you because I thought that you were lost to darkness. Please forgive me. I didn't step forward and try to ease your suffering--"

"I would have pushed you away!" Woon exclaimed.

"Even so!" Ji-sun raised her head and looked at Woon with those doe eyes of hers. "I had all these feelings for you, and I should've reached out for you. Your suffering called to me. I never stopped caring for you--please know that, at least, I did care for you, even if I sinned against you in other ways."

"Please, Young Miss." Woon was taking steps back instead of steps toward Ji-sun. "There's nothing to forgive."

He wants to hug her.

At that moment, Dong-soo felt something scratch his ear. Then there was a pinch. He was about to whap at the area when he realized it--damn spider!

"Stand between the young lady and your lover," the spider said into Dong-soo's ear. "Cover Woon's chest with your own if you have to. She's going to be all over him any moment."

Dong-soo didn't need to be told twice. He rushed Woon and hugged him from the front, almost knocking Woon off his feet. Startled, Woon just stood there, arms raised to his sides as if ready to fly away.

"His pretty little red thread is singing," the spider whispered into Dong-soo's ear.

Apparently, Woon heard the spider too. "I can make it stop," he whispered back. "She was... she was moving my heart is all."

"It's all right," the spider said. "Love is like that. It's all right, Baek Dong-soo, you can step away now."

Dong-soo was hesitant to let Woon go, but he did as the spider asked. She was the god of gods, after all, wasn't she? He found himself standing next to Woon, blinking and making awkward faces at Ji-sun who was staring at him and Dong-soo with the most stunned expression. Hee-ryun, on the other hand, wore a knowing look and slight smile. Dong-soo didn't even dare glance at what Woon was doing.

"Is Yeo Woon all right?" Ji-sun asked Dong-soo.

"Yes!" Dong-soo clasped his hands together. "He's fine! I had to ... uh... press something down on his chest because his soul.... uh...." Was it even worth it to try to avoid telling the truth? There was no lying in heaven, but Dong-soo seemed to be having such trouble expressing himself here.

Ji-sun looked to Woon then to Dong-soo then back to Woon again. Her face softened with understanding. "I see. You're protecting him here."

"It's not exactly that," Dong-soo said.

Ji-sun smiled. She looked young and girlish again. "You don't have to explain. I'm glad to see you happy, Dong-soo-yah. I know there must be a good reason why you and Yeo Woon are in this special part of the Afterlife. The gods are going to heal your suffering, and I'm very glad for the both of you. I'm glad that I was allowed to see this. For so many years, I could not even imagine your suffering. Dong-soo-yah, forgive me too--I ran away from it." She put her hand on her heart. "Oh Dong-soo-yah. I am so sorry."

"Ji-sun-ah--"

"Let me finish. You have to forgive me. I hated myself. I hated myself because I was so full of bitterness for what could have been. It was because I loved you so much that I hated you for a long time."

Hate? Did Yoo Ji-sun actually use the word hate? In heaven? Dong-soo looked to Woon. His eyes were wide; he looked as if he was feeling what Dong-soo was feeling--that they had never really known Ji-sun very well. They had both fallen in love with her so long ago. She had been so pretty, so tragic, but she didn't talk about herself.

Didn't talk about herself. Pretty, tragic. A lot like Woon.

But unlike with Woon, Dong-soo had not spent so many days and nights of his young life by her side, eating, sleeping, talking to her about nothing and everything--with Woon there had been touching his body when they fought, all that tumbling down meadows, Woon punching Dong-soo senseless, Dong-soo half-asleep rolling over Woon in in bed. Ji-sun? She had been something like a dream, hadn't she?

She was talking now, in a melancholy voice. She sounded like a real person, the way she had the night she had left Dong-soo forever. "I couldn't understand how you could change my life so miraculously but you couldn't change yours. I didn't understand the hold that Yeo Woon had on you. My father had died when I was twelve; he used his last strength to tie me to the Crown Prince and to make me a thing desired by nations; I became a living dead person because of one night, but you saved me. I hated you because I know you suffered greatly too--I understood all that, the horror of your dearest person dying under your sword like that, but? Why did you become a living dead person who could not save his own self? Night after night, I tried to talk to you...."

Dong-soo let her talk. He listened. It was all what he expected. Something about oceans of sorrow, all that drinking and how he wouldn't stop, how she kept watching the man she loved go under the waves, and then how she couldn't watch anymore.

This is fair. This is right. I need to listen to this again. Poor girl. To think I was a little jealous of her and Woon. Serves me right.

"Even to this day." Her face had slowly sunken from the strange girlish one he didn't understand to the one he recognized from the night she left him. The one that held both courage and love and unfathomable sorrow. "Even to this day," she said. "I wonder if I shouldn't have stayed and died with you. I didn't love you enough, Dong-soo-yah. For that. For not loving you enough, will you forgive me?"

"Jin-sun-ah, please, like Woon said--"

"I know, I know. Nothing to forgive."

"Then, Young Miss," Woon said in that softest voice of his, the one he had always used when addressing the woman he wanted most to protect, "can you forgive yourself?"

Ji-sun looked thoughtful for a moment. “Myself? Forgive myself?”

Woon asked again, “Can you forgive yourself, Young Miss?”

"It's a good question," Hee-ryung said. "There are a good many things I've yet to forgive myself for; maybe if I can do that, I may decide to move on from here and find another life. There are many joys to being human. Given the choice, one might want to live a human's life instead of a god's immortality."

Ji-sun fluttered her lashes at Hee-ryung, not understanding.

"You are capable of evolving into a god, Hee-ryung-ah?" Dong-soo asked.

The woman who had been Dong-soo's wife in the Living World nodded simply. "It's my choice."

"Ah." Dong-soo smiled. "Destiny is not involved at all."

Ji-sun looked around and seemed uncomfortable. "I've stepped into a place I don't belong. It was a special gift, but I should be going, shouldn't I? My loved ones will be wondering where I went."

Red threads shot out across the stream that was as wide as a small river; red threads shot out over the stream right where everyone was standing, and the water there was running very fast. The red threads were thin as dribbles of spit from the abdomen of a tiny bug; they were silky spider threads; even if they had formed a single web, they would have been barely visible to the eye--unless the sun had illuminated them, but then more and more shot across the stream. More as in millions more. They formed a bridge, a solid, blood-red bridge without a single hole through which a ray of light could pass, a bridge made of millions of love-threads.

"Tell her to cross the bridge," the spider said.

"Young Miss," Woon offered his arm. "Let me help you across the bridge."

"What bridge?" Ji-sun asked.

"She doesn't see it," Hee-ryung said. "She doesn't belong here."

"Oh?" Dong-soo didn't think Woon should touch Ji-sun. "I think I should guide her," he said. "Woon-ah, quiet that pretty heart of yours. It might interfere with the bridge."

"Oh, ok." Woon stepped back.

For a god, he's not as savvy as he thinks. Maybe because love makes people stupid. He did love her. But that's all right. That's all right. I'm soul-bonded to him. I'm the one.

Dong-soo held out his arm to Ji-sun, and she took it. As they stepped over the bridge and over the rushing water, she made a little oooh sound and held onto him tighter.

"Are you ok?" Dong-soo asked.

"I've always trusted you in these sorts of situations," she said.

Dong-soo laughed. "Walking on water?"

Then they were across the river. Ji-sun stepped off with a light jump onto the opposite bank, and Dong-soo stood on the bridge. He bowed. "Good to see you, Ji-sun," and Ji-sun waved at everyone on the opposite bank. Then Dong-soo bounced on his heels, intending to fly back to the other side, and it didn't work--he fell forward and onto his knees.

"Dong-soo-yah? Are you ok?" Ji-sun's sounded worried.

"Fine. Fine." Dong-soo stood up again. Apparently there was no flying to heaven. The only way back and forth was the spider-thread connection.

Damn spider. Does she run the whole show? Are me and Woon, like, super important or something? She met us right away. No, we can't possibly be that important. Maybe she was just bored.Dong-soo ran the way back the red bridge in a few bounding leaps, and when he jumped onto heaven's bank, he looked over his shoulder to see if the bridge would disappear behind him, and sure enough, it did. So Woon and I are supposed to stay here.

"I'll be going along, myself." Hee-ryung bowed. "I have tea at Di Ku Yao's residence today. I was on my way there when I happened upon you two."

"Di Ku Yao?" Woon looked aghast.

"Who?" Dong-soo was suddenly worried about Woon. "Is that someone you don't like?"

"He's...a member of the council," Woon said.

"Quite a distinguished member," Hee-ryung said. "Dear Yang Jian-agi, rest assured that he voted for your swift redemption and your free choice as to where you wanted to spend the rest of Eternity. He wields his divine sword for reasons that are beyond our comprehension, but it all turned out for the best, didn't it? You met Baek Dong-soo in the Living World, didn't you?"

"This Di Ku Whoever?" Dong-soo was gaping at his former wife. "That's the god who killed Woon? What business do you have with that guy?"

Hee-ryung's face was placid, unreadable. "We enjoy one another's company." She bowed again. "I hope to see the both of you again—if the fates allow." She resumed her steady, unhurried pace up the path. She didn't seem at all concerned that she might be late for her tea date with a super powerful god.

"Woah." Dong-soo exhaled. "Just woah."

"Just breathe for a moment," said the spider. "It hasn't been very long since you were human."

Dong-soo grabbed Woon again. This time Woon hugged Dong-soo back. "It's all right," Woon said. "I've been here before, and even I am somewhat overwhelmed. Remember the day of the coup when I said let's die together?"

Dong-soo smiled into Woon's hair. "I guess we've done just that. But I would've gladly gone anywhere with you. Heaven is wherever you are."

"You're sweet." From the sound of her voice, Dong-soo could tell the spider was hovering right over his and Woon's heads as they embraced. "Heaven is wherever he is? Will you say the same when the two of you visit the Underworld?"

Dong-soo and Woon tore apart.

"What?" Dong-soo gulped. "Why would we want to go there?"

"Your old friend Cho-rip." The spider was swinging merrily back and forth above Dong-soo head, and he had to bend his neck to look at her; the strain was annoying, and the spider's words were even more annoying. "Weren't you the one complaining about the injustice of the gods? Don't you want to see things from something other than a human's perspective? Yeo Woon? Don't you have lingering feelings about your old master, the previous Sky Lord Heuksa Chorong? Did you ever wonder why he was so unnaturally strong? He was part god like you too, you see. And in the Underworld, you can meet him again and--"

"Stop it right there!"

Dong-soo turned to the sound of a woman's voice, and it belonged to the crazy shaman lady--Woon's sister. She was standing there in her purple hanbok, hands on her hips, her lavender brows furrowed, and her face as furious as Dong-soo had ever seen it.

"I don't know what you're up to, you creepy little bug, but if you think you can rearrange Destiny to your whims, the council is going to catch fire. Just what are you doing messing with these babies. My brother just got here."

Dong-soo turned to Woon who looked absolutely stricken. Woon attempted a step backwards; it seemed to Dong-soo that he staggered a bit, so Dong-soo caught Woon by the elbow. Woon roughly shook Dong-soo's hand away. "Nui," he spoke to the crazy purple-haired shaman. "Let the spider speak. She was just now saying something about the Sky Lord being part god?"

The crazy shaman marched over and grabbed Dong-soo and Woon each by an elbow and, with incredible strength that they could not defy, dragged them to where they stood like lost children, caught staying out too late at carnival, on either side of her. "You can't take them with you to the Underworld," the purple sister said. "They're babies."

"Woah." Dong-soo didn't really know what else to say. "I didn't think we were going to see her again so fast."

"What is it with you?" The crazy sister continued haranguing the spider. "Do you want adoring new disciples? Then why didn't you create some termite slaves for yourself? Why are you harassing my brother?"

"Gameunjang-agi," the spider spoke in a civil tone. High pitched but civil for squeaky. "Always a pleasure. I was expecting you. Are you expecting to enforce your powers here, or would you rather that these young spirits have their own say in what happens next? I thought that you agreed that Yang Jian-agi was to have perfect free will in determining the course of his experiences? There were papers signed and sent to Yeomna, were there not?"

Dong-soo felt his upper arm squeezed by the purple crazy lady. "You scheming spider! You know what you were going to do! You were going to make HELL sound like an attractive place! You know how adventurous these young men can be! Why would anyone in their right minds want to go to the Underworld, though?" She looked at Dong-soo with a look that seemed straight from hell itself. "You don't want to go to hell, do you?" She turned to Woon. "You're dumber than I thought, Pretty Spirit, if you're taking orders from a bug the moment you land in heaven. Tell me, do you want to go to the Underworld."

Woon looked as vulnerable as Dong-soo had ever seen him.

There had been that moment when he told me he was afraid. Is Woon afraid again?

Dong-soo looked closer into Woon's eyes--they were expressing shock, some sort of dismay, but no, Dong-soo was sure of it--Woon wasn't afraid this time.

Trust me, Dong-soo-yah.

Of course I trust you, Woon-ah.

Thank you.

I love you, Woon-ah.

"Maybe, Nui." Woon's voice was clear and unwavering. "Maybe I want to go to the Underworld. If Cho-rip is there. If the Sky Lord is there. Maybe there are some things I want to understand."

Summary:

This is not an actual chapter! Wow! My friend Peggy drew an illustration for this fic!

Problem: I've been gifted with art before--but for one-shots--I know to put those in front of the fic, but this is an illustration for something that happens in near the end of an on-going fic--not quite a spoiler, but do I put it in the beginning (it looks like a cover piece) or before the chapter, or at the end? What? I don't know what to do. I know I want it to lead my website when I revamp it.

Do I leave it here? Help.

Summary:

Are Dong-soo and Woon trespassing in Hell? Or were their souls intended to learn its lessons?

Chapter Twenty-five: A Flaming Arrow in the Rain

As we wash the water in a fish tank
with water,
I scrub my sadness
with sadness.
Sadness is the father of life.
I gather my hands and bow,
And I listen to its wisdom.--Ko Un

In the center of Di Ku Yao’s receiving room stood a low table the length of two coffins laid end to end and covered with a fabric whiter than a dove's breast and shinier than silk. The walls were white too, painted with tiny pale blue butterflies, no two alike.

Hee-ryung sat on a white cushion with pale blue trim on one end of the table, and the distinguished executioner, the highest member of the heavenly council, sat far from her on the opposite end. Between them were dozens of small dishes. Honey cakes, rice confections shaped into bunnies, kittens, and pandas--only the pandas were not black and white but blue and white. Blueberries were everywhere--the jellied molds inside the yellow melons were purplish with blueberries and hawthorn, topped with sprigs of peppermint. The tea itself was blueberry with a hint of lemon, not steaming but lukewarm.

In the far corner of the large, empty room, her white hanbok like a cloud against the wall of blue butterflies, a servant made certain that Hee-ryung's cup was never empty.

"This afternoon's theme is exceptionally delicate," Hee-ryung observed. "Delicate but stimulating. Blue and yellow make me think of the first colors of dawn."

"Blueberries are good for cognitive function." The council member turned his mild eyes to his servant. "A melon please?" The girl set the plate before him. He picked the slice of yellow fruit up with his long fingers and took a big bite, licking the purple filling from his lips. He was a handsome man with a neat white beard, full lips and regular features; his white hair ran in thick waves past his waist and was not adorned with any kind of broach or headband. His white tunic was belted with a gold sash, and a buckle bore the insignia of his station--that was all.

"Cognitive function? You speak as if I were still in a human body," Hee-ryung said. She never ate much at tea. She nibbled a honey cake and put it back on its plate.

"Aren't you considering that life once more?"

She smiled. "You were watching. You heard everything." She sipped her blueberry tea. "Cognitive functioning. Am I in need of contemplating this issue with more seriousness? What can I say? It brought on feelings of nostalgia when I saw him again. There were things about being alive I missed."

"And yet you remembered the pain?"

"Oddly, no." Hee-ryung ran her fingertip around the brim of her tea-cup. "I'd expected to. I felt a little sadness before the marvelousness of it all. What I used to feel when my mother brought me to visit my cousins on an island, and I would look out over the sea. I used to think infinity is out there somewhere. But now?"

"Now you're in heaven." Di Ku Yao's eyes asked for more melon. The old dish was picked up, and a new dish was set before him. "Were you waiting for General Baek Dong-soo all this time?"

"Not at all." Hee-ryung put her hands in her lap to indicate that she was finished eating and drinking. "I wasn't expecting to see him again at all. My plan was to follow your instructions and learn to vibrate at the form of a god. But I have longings now--I realize longings are not rational."

"You won't see him again in your next incarnation."

"I know."

"Or your next. Do you still have feelings for him?"

"Does it matter? I still have feelings for the Realm of human Life. He reminded me of it."

"Would it influence your decision if I told you that he and his soul-bonded partner are going to stay in the heavens for a while? Not only is Yang Jian-agi a god, but the other may be … part god as well."

Hee-ryung turned her face to one side and listened. The voices were far away, and the rushing water of the cold stream was flowing in between the words. Nothing was clear except the water--and also, Destiny had arrived. To argue with that mysterious spider the gods rarely saw.

"Then why are you sending them to Hell?" Hee-ryung asked. "Ah, never mind. You won't confide such a thing in me."

Di Ku Yao laughed. "If you were a god, then we might be able to share--"

"Let's discuss these things later." Hee-ryung rose and bowed. "Always a pleasure. You are too kind to me."

Dong-soo and Woon were sitting on the grass while Woon's sister god and the tiny-voiced spider argued with each other; it was a particularly long, boring argument about specific edicts of heaven and the particular exemptions made for mixed spirit/human beings from the other worlds, and Dong-soo had stopped listening--he was staring at Woon's face. Was Woon listening?

"Woon-ah? Do we really need to go to Hell right away?" Dong-soo curled his fingers around Woon's. It felt so nice to hold his hand. "I want to hold you again."

Woon turned to smile at Dong-soo. "There will be plenty of time for that, it seems. The spider said something about how we don't reincarnate for a while. My sister said something about how she intends to spring us from Hell right back up here. The spider says if the council had any objection, they would block our descent. But the rules say it’s trespassing—there could be consequences."

There were always consequences to everything. Dong-soo wasn’t worried about consequences. "They're not looking--can I kiss you?"

Woon laughed--it was so wonderful to hear him laugh. "Do you know how many eyes arachnids have? Besides, they're gods. My sister can see things happening behind her back."

"Oh."

Dong-soo didn't let go of Woon's hand, though.

"I didn't believe your wife loved you all these years," Woon offered in the way of conversation. "I honestly believed she married you for the same reason most yangban get married--for status and convenience."

"I wondered about that myself," Dong-soo answered. "She seemed to be so... ok ... when I didn't visit her room anymore."

"I know. I was there."

"Oh, right." Dong-soo felt a flush remembering that Woon had watched him pleasure himself, had heard him mumbling Woon's name under the covers. "She didn't seem to care about me in the way Ji-sun seemed to care—then again, I'm not sure if Ji-sun loved me for myself or if she loved me for the permission she thought I gave her to change her life."

"You're lovable. She loved you."

"You think so?"

"Yes." Woon seemed adamant in his response.

"You still love her?"

"Yes." Woon's answer was firm. "I love her in the way one cherishes a far away memory. And she never truly tried to understand me, so there wasn't a reciprocal love. So...." Woon sent a thought out with his mind, but Dong-soo couldn't quite catch it--it was more of a feeling than a complete thought. It felt like Dong-soo, it's all right, it's all right now. Love is complicated. Don’t ask me more about her.

Dong-soo nodded. It was all right. It had been a little disconcerting to see the young women in heaven, but it had all been reassuring in a way.

Woon's sister was approaching the pair now. She looked resigned, still a little pissed off though. "Get up, boys. You're going to Hell."

Dong-soo and Woon stood up.

"General, you'll get to see this Cho-rip you're obsessed with seeing because he has a thing or two to let you know. Agi-yah, you were going to find out sooner or later, but it is part of your story that you confront the god who gave you such a hard time in the Living Realm. As a god, you are not supposed to descend into Hell at all, but I will make certain that you don't remember how to get there and back."

Woon looked confused. He took a step back, as was his way when he was wary about a situation.

"Catch him," Woon's freaky god-sister said.

Dong-soo had already noticed Woon's knees buckling. Woon fainted dead away into Dong-soo's arms.

"Is he all right?" Dong-soo held onto Woon tightly and looked up at the purple-haired god. "You wouldn't--" Surely, the crazy shaman lady wouldn’t hurt her own brother, but these gods were so weird.

"I put many of his senses to sleep. He can't see the way into Hell or the way out. He's a god of Destiny, and he's not allowed to have any playful, pernicious forages into that territory. You, General, we don't care about you. You couldn't find your way in or out anyway."

Dong-soo was looking at Woon's face. He looked asleep. His color was good. His long lashes rested on skin that was tinted a human pinkish color in the bright heavenly light. "Woon-ah? Woon-ah, can you hear me?"

Dong-soo could hear Woon’s spirit heart—it was singing in alignment with Dong-soo’s, but Dong-soo felt tense.

The red threads soon covered Woon and Dong-soo so completely that they were shrouded as if by a blanket, and Dong-soo couldn't see a thing.

We're going to Hell.

His feet felt the ground disappear beneath them; his ears felt the precipitous drop.

*

He fell and fell and fell. His arms were wrapped around Woon; there was no need to hold him tight, but Dong-soo's muscles clenched nonetheless. I can't lose you. Your sister said you're safe. You're safe, yes?

Their bodies thudded on a soft surface, and the threads vanished. Despite Dong-soo's best efforts, Woon rolled out of Dong-soo's grasp, to the crook of Dong-soo's outstretched right arm. Woon was still asleep but seemed otherwise fine, his long hair spread against a dark floor that seemed to be composed of some ashy material. The force of their landing had kicked up some fine dust--it was smoking around their bodies.

Dong-soo pulled his arm out from under Woon and crawled over to inspect Woon's face. "Woon-ah?"

No answer.

It's warm here.

There's barely enough light to see--where is that reddish light coming from?

Dong-soo didn't look up to find the source of the light because he didn't want to tear his gaze away from Woon's face. "Woon-ah, are you all right?"

There was an ... unusual sensuality to Woon's unconscious expression. The veins on his round lidded eyes seemed too full and dark. Woon's eyelashes were too thick and black. His lips were redder in the strange red light, and his lips were slightly parted. He was breathing, ever so softly in a deep, rhythmic way.

During their one intimate time in heaven, Woon had breathed like that. Dong-soo remembered other things about Woon's breath. Woon had sighed like Dong-soo had never heard a man sigh. Passionate sighs.

He's not a living person. We're spirits. Woon is a god. There's nothing bad that can happen, not really--

Can I kiss him? Would that be a bad thing?

Woon's eyes opened, and Dong-soo startled. "Wah!"

Woon looked unfazed. "Are you ok?" he asked Dong-soo. "Are we in Hell yet?"

Dong-soo nodded, and Woon sat up, ungraciously tossing Dong-soo off his chest. Woon rubbed his eyes. "My sister put a spell on me. Some of my senses are blocked."

"You were out cold for a while."

"You carried me here?" Woon looked displeased.

Dong-soo didn't respond right away. He looked around. They seemed to be in a sort of cave that glowed a rusty-red from an unknown light source. "I guess I held you, but... the spider used those thread thingies to lower us down here."

Woon stood up first. He didn't seem to have any idea where he was going, but he was going to get there straight away. Dong-soo followed.

They hadn't walked far when Dong-soo smelled salt and fish and that familiar breezy bloom of seaweed floating on the water. He asked Woon, "Do you smell it? Do you smell the sea?"

Woon nodded. So his senses were not thoroughly blocked.

They turned a corner, and there it was--a beach with a tiny lean-to facing the water. A royal guard stood at the shore's end, his spear by his side and held a little lopsidedly, as if he'd been holding it for hours, as if he weren't really at attention, as if he were one of those men who stood guard and did their duty even if no one was watching and didn't sit down but like hell if he was going to keep perfect form--General Baek Dong-soo had never expected any more from a soldier.

He's keeping watch over an exile.

Hong Guk-yeong is in that little shelter. That's strange. I thought he had a whole cottage to himself. Maybe he took a little excursion further down the beach.

Dong-soo's heart clenched.

"Cho-rip-ah?" Woon called the name. The guard didn't turn around. Maybe the guard wasn't real. Maybe the ocean wasn't real--or if the guard and ocean were real, they existed in another time and place? No reason for the guard to have gone to Hell right?

"Cho-rip-ah!" Woon's voice was louder this time.

A man emerged from the tiny structure made of broadcloth and sticks. He wasn't old, but his back was crooked, and he weighed less than a twelve-year-old girl. His beard was gray. The eyes were Cho-rip's, but they were red and caked in the corners with mucus. The man coughed once; it sounded unmistakably like pleurisy.

"I'm not hallucinating," Cho-rip said.

"You're not," Woon said.

"Then why are you here?" Cho-rip asked.

"We're not quite sure ourselves," Woon answered. "We wanted to see you."

Cho-rip's eyes became redder. Dong-soo could not see tears, but the eyes narrowed, squished, and opened again; they were sick eyes, redder than red in the dim evening light. "I don't deserve to see the two of you," Cho-rip said. "I don't deserve any lessening of my punishment."

"I'm not sure that will happen," Woon said, "but you were always going to see us again. In your next life."

"Oh?" Cho-rip sounded too sick to even be that interested.

"Someone told us," Dong-soo said, "that you had something to tell me?"

"Someone?" Cho-rip was using a walking stick. He put both his hands on it. "To you, Dong-soo-yah? Was it Kim Gwang-taek who told you that?"

"No."

"Ah," Cho-rip sounded a little mournful. "He told me long ago, when I was alive--or rather when he wasn't alive and I was--in his farewell letter, actually, that I should try to help Woon find his way home. He wrote that to me. He actually told me: “Who knows what a tortured life that boy must've led.” I ignored a great man's last wishes. I regret that. Among many things.” Cho-rip coughed—an awful sound. It sounded like pieces of his insides stirring. “What am I supposed to tell you, Dong-soo-yah?"

"I'm not sure," Dong-soo said, "but Woon is here. Aren't you going to tell him.... you know."

"Oh yes, I forget I'm not hallucinating." Cho-rip looked at Woon with those bleary red eyes. "After I swam to my death in the sea, the Reaper said I was to pay a very high price for killing myself. That I should've stayed on the beach and waited to die a slow, painful death from the illness in my lungs. The judge of the Underworld said as much too. He didn't mention my crimes against Yi San or against Yeo Woon but told me that I would have much time to reflect here in exile. I have reflected. I have... I have said forgive me Yeo Woon so many times now that I can't remember all the different scenarios. In most hallucinations...." Cho-tip raised one hand from his cane to stroke his beard. "You usually said there was nothing to forgive, Yeo Woon. That would've been like you. But sometimes you cut me down with your sword."

"I'm dead," Woon said. "I don't carry a sword."

"I see," Cho-rip observed. "Do you want to strike me with one?"

Woon shook his head. "I miss you."

Cho-rip's shoulders shook. That was how Dong-soo could tell he was crying. There were no tears from the man's strange mucky eyes. "I miss you too," Cho-rip said. "I missed you all the time you were gone, and yes, I have seen now why you left. I know now why you didn't come back. I understand it all now. You ... you ... I ruined your name, and it's my fault you killed yourself. How can you ever forgive a thing like that?"

"I never thought it was something I had to forgive," Woon said simply. "You did as you always did--you stated facts. I was an enemy of the state. Even if I had dissolved Heuksa Chorong, there were still people in danger because of me. My death would have forestalled other deaths--it was just common sense, Cho-rip-ah."

"No!" Cho-rip picked up his cane and slammed it into the sand. "You don't even understand the reason I asked you to kill yourself, do you?"

Dong-soo's lips were trembling. "You did what? You asked Woon... what?"

"That's right," Cho-rip said. "All those years you believed it was Woon's decision alone to throw himself against your sword? No, I'm the one who put the idea in his head. That day when his henchmen attacked me? You know about that because the gisaeng came forward and admitted that part to you, that Woon himself didn't have anything to do with hurting me, but...."

Dong-soo's fingers were trembling; his lower arms were shaking up to the elbows. His knees felt unsteady. There was a pounding in his skull. He felt the sort of human dysregulation he had not felt in forever, not since he was very young, since before coming to train with Sword Saint. He felt like punching the old, phlegm-eyed man in the throat. Cho-rip told Woon to kill himself?

"I told myself I was only trying to protect the Prince Heir," Cho-rip went on. "I told myself that Woon wasn't to be trusted. You know that much. I wanted Woon to be executed. I didn't even know that the Prince Heir had forgiven Woon. I thought it would be the honorable way out. I thought that if Woon killed himself, he would be spared a criminal trial and inevitable torture--"

"Shut up!" Dong-soo turned away. He didn't want to look at Cho-rip anymore.

Woon grabbed Dong-soo's sleeve. "You have to listen to him," Woon said.

"He's just making excuses for himself now." Dong-soo swallowed a sob in his throat. "Do you hear him? An honorable suicide? What the HELL is he talking about? What did he say to you that day?"

"I was wrong," Cho-rip called out. He was coughing. He was coughing so much he couldn't speak for a while. As he coughed, Woon and Dong-soo turned to witness his misery.

Where the sea and the sky met was a smoky line; that line was rapidly growing broader; it widened at the center so that it resembled the belly of a snake who had just consumed a rat. Dong-soo thought it looked a little scary, but then it didn't look like a snake anymore--it got bigger, wider. There was no sea; there was no sky. The Royal guard vanished. The lean-to disappeared as if it had never been there. The smell of salt was gone. Cho-rip stood before this giant elliptical gray form and bent over in spasms of coughing as if he might die on the spot. The gray form became weirder--it took on a black outline. The black outline became feathered--oh, it was an eye!

The eye opened.

Dong-soo gasped.

"Woon-ah! What is that?"

"Someone is watching us," Woon said softly.

The pupil of the eye was dark; the iris was black, the white of the eye was not very white; it looked other-worldly, shining with an iridescent quality, like a soap bubble. Dong-soo wondered if it belonged to a god of the Underworld.

Woon and Dong-soo exchanged glances. They were sharing a vision. The three of them--best friends and recent graduates of the boys warrior camp--in front of Sa-mo's house. Dong-soo was waving wildly at his adopted father. Woon and Cho-rip looked less enthusiastic about having to make their formal hellos at a new place.

"I had no idea." Cho-rip was spitting phlegm now. He was hacking chunks of it from his mouth as he coughed and tried to talk. "I had no idea...." He choked and coughed again. "How does a man know how much ...." A rasping sound reverberated deep in his lungs. "How much he will grow to care for his best friends?"

At those words, Cho-rip fell to his knees. Dong-soo noticed that his knees had landed on sand. That much of the beach scene was still there. Cho-rip was sobbing. His face was wet; his body was expelling all its moisture. If he kept this up for much longer, he might turn into a skeleton, then to pure ash.

"Do you see the vision too, Cho-rip-ah?" Woon asked. His voice was so gentle.

Cho-rip nodded.

He couldn't speak. Cho-rip couldn't speak a word for all his coughing, but Dong-soo heard a young man's voice in his head:

Can you forgive me, Dong-soo-yah? I never told you the truth because I was afraid you would hate me. I told Woon to kill himself because I thought it was best for country and crown, but the truth was I felt abandoned and betrayed. I thought Woon hated me. I hated him right back.

Dong-soo-yah, I was wrong. I have always been weak and afraid of drowning in my own weaknesses. When I killed myself, I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was atoning for my sins. I stood next to you in court and smiled and congratulated you for your accomplishments, for your publication of the Muyedobotongji. I knew you blamed yourself for what happened to Woon, but I couldn't bring myself to tell you that it was I who….

One day when were children, you saved me from drowning. If you hadn't, I would not have lived to cause you, Woon, and the Prince Heir all this suffering. I swear I didn't walk into the ocean to spare myself the fever and the coughing.

Cho-rip coughed.

I didn't want to suffer because I am weak. But it's true I regretted my life and wished you hadn't saved me from drowning that day. I had no real accomplishments to my name. I thought that if I killed myself, it would be setting the universe right.

Dong-soo felt Woon startle.

"That's what I thought my death would do too," Woon said. "Set the universe right."

Cho-rip looked at Woon with those red, bleary eyes. You're not suffering in Hell? But you killed yourself?”

"I've been ... redeemed," Woon said.

I see. Of course. You made mistakes, but you---

"Don't judge him," Dong-soo snapped. "You are in no position to judge anyone here."

Cho-rip nodded. He managed to croak out words: "But you are, Dong-soo-yah. Why did you come here?"

"I guess..." Dong-soo stepped a little closer to Woon. It was all right. It was all going to be fine. They were all going to be together in the next life; all three of them would work things out. "I guess I came here to forgive you."

"I don't deserve it," Cho-rip said aloud.

Dong-soo thought about Dae Ung, the man who had tortured Jin-joo and almost killed her father. Dong-soo had had the chance to hurt Dae Ung--he had seen the plea for forgiveness in the man's eyes. What had made Dong-soo forgive him? Later, Dae Ung had used explosives to sacrifice himself and save dozens of villagers during the coup.

"Everyone," Dong-soo said, "deserves a chance at redemption."

At those words. the giant eye closed. It became a large gray oval again, not a recognizable eye. There was still no sea or sky. The eye narrowed into a slim line and zipped away; as it did, Cho-rip disappeared too.

Dong-soo felt a pang of disappointment; he had wanted a reaction to his words of forgiveness. Had those words brought Cho-rip some comfort? Then again, was there any comfort at all in Hell?

Summary:

The old Sky Lord wonders if Yeo Woon will consider who was the real victim in their life story. Warning: Character death

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Twenty-six: Gods Steal from the UnHoly and Bury the Loot in Holy Ground

Yeo Woon had hardened his heart for this confrontation, but he didn't expect to be so fascinated by the appearance of his old mentor in Hell. The Sky Lord seemed so much like himself in the form of a dark reddish smoky figure with only a toothy smile; Woon could sense his essence of all he had ever been and still was: strength, strength, more strength, a veneer that the man didn't give a sh*t, but how plain it was that he did care, that he wanted to be recognized as the greatest, that he still (even in Hell?) had something to prove, that he needed to pound what he didn't like into the ground until it was dust under his boot, that he was still the embodiment of a man who chased pleasure in the Living World, who had enjoyed a good laugh, a good wine, a good f*ck.

"Yeo Woon, you're here with Baek Dong-soo. Didn't I tell you to watch out for this boy? Didn’t I? That he would be your biggest rival?" With each word, more of the man's face materialized. One eyebrow arched, the nose flecked with a tiny scar, the unkempt hair that was graying the way Woon remembered it on the Sky Lord's dying day. "Your biggest rival, so the gods had deemed it. The man who was supposed to kill you, but look what you did, you rascal--you went and made him a part of you. Clever. I'm almost... ha!" The Sky Lord's head-scarf appeared and so did the mala beads around his neck. An arm reached forward. "I could say I'm proud of you--if it were my place to say so."

Dong-soo blocked the Sky Lord's arm before it could touch Woon, but the Sky Lord pushed Dong-soo's hand away as if swatting away a garden vine.

Incredible strength.

"How does it feel, boy," The Sky Lord asked Dong-soo, "to know now that you once held your own against a god? Of course I wasn't at full power during my time on earth. I was sentenced to being human, like Woon here, like his sister too." The Sky Lord shook his head. "It was fun while it lasted. I had some good fights. You did pretty well against me."

"I defeated you," Dong-soo reminded him.

"Oh?" The Sky Lord blinked. "You did?" He looked confused. "Ah, maybe you did. All I remember is that Gwang-taek taught you everything ass-backwards and that you didn't kill me when you had the chance. I call that losing, but that's my take. The council has different rules. I say f*ck all those rules. I say f*ck everything. How have you been, Woon-ah? It's not always an easy path, even for a god, is it?" This time the Sky Lord's hand landed on Woon's shoulder.

The moment the hand touched Woon, sparks flew everywhere. Woon saw it all but felt nothing. The Sky Lord withdrew his hand as if he'd been shocked. He held the fingers that had touched Woon as if they were burned. "f*ck! That bitch! Gameunjang-agi is a f*cking bitch!"

"My sister put spells on me," Woon said, "because I'm trespassing here. I am unaware of their exact nature."

The Sky Lord was shaking his hand as if a fire that needed to be fanned out. The hand turned into black and reddish smoke and then back into a hand. The rest of the man had fully coalesced into a human shape by this time. Woon recognized everything about the Sky Lord down to his worn boots.

Dong-soo was smiling over Woon's sister's trick. "Why are you in Hell, Ahjussi? Murdering people?"

"Hm?" The Sky Lord gave Dong-soo a look like he'd never been asked such an idiotic question. "You murdered people. Woon murdered people. The gods murder people all the f*cking time. Murder all by itself doesn't get a person thrown down here."

"I killed people in self-defense," Dong-soo said. "There was always a reason why--"

"Yeah, yeah, righteous reasons. Spare me." The Sky Lord wasn't looking at Dong-soo; he was looking at Woon. "The Buddha teaches about intent. It doesn't matter whether the act you perform is noble or not, whether it saves or doesn't save lives--what matters is the intent. A little girl could be sitting at her sewing and imaginingthat she wants to shove her baby brother into a well. Bad karma for the little girl. Bad karma. Did you play with karma when you were a human, Yeo Woon? You were given a hard Destiny, and you had so many good intentions."

"I--I killed people." Woon didn't know what else to say. He never expected to be put on trial in Hell. He had knelt before the Prince Heir and begged for forgiveness and a second chance; he had stood before Yeomna and demanded that he be given reincarnation instead of time in Hell. Before the man who had taken him in as a child though, Woon felt an old creeping subordination. He didn't want to justify himself. He was beyond blaming the Sky Lord for anything; he was beyond it all. He didn't want to keep answering to the man.

Why do I need to be here?

"Chun-su--" Woon began.

"I told you the name's Seokga. That's my true name."

"Seokga? You are serving a sentence here, aren't you? You're not a god with authority here, are you?" Woon straightened his back. He wouldn't feel small before his old mentor.

"You're still calling yourself a killer, aren't you?" The old Sky Lord looked like he was enjoying himself. He ignored Woon's questions. "You wanted to kill me, didn't you, Woon-ah? That one time--the night your Dong-soo didn't. You really wanted to kill me. You had all the intent of a little girl at her sewing. It was a wild fantasy, but you drew your blades."

"Yes."

"It was a good fight. I was proud of you."

"So, I played with my karma to your satisfaction, is that what you're trying to say? I was enough of an assassin for you for one night?"

"Nah, I have no idea what you're talking about." The Sky Lord scratched his neck with one finger, jostling the third string of mala beads as he did so. "Gods--we're allowed to consider this and that, killing off thousands of people in wars, preventing even one soul from being reborn--even half-gods don't get judged as harshly as humans."

Dong-soo, who had been trying to follow the conversation with glistening, attentive eyes, spoke up: "Hey! Then why are you in Hell, Ahjussi? You must've done something baaaad."

"Not on earth," the Sky Lord said. "Being dropped into the Realm of the Living was part of my redemption."

"What?" Dong-soo looked lost. "You tortured people--I saw it. You murdered people for money. You were a really creepy guy, and you killed my master. I don't even want to get into how you mind-f*cked Woon here for years--it was a kind of torture making him trust you and see you as a father when all you did was--"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." The Sky Lord was about to put his hand on Woon's shoulder again and remembered himself. "But I was teaching him something important the whole time, you dimwit. I knew he was the former god Yang Jian-agi."

"You mean, teaching him how to suffer." Dong-soo shook his head. "I don't get it."

"I suffered." The Sky Lord seemed to be pretty itchy. The lines around his neck seemed rashy, even in the dark reddish atmosphere of this cave called Hell. He was scratching his neck with one finger under his mala beads. "Suffering has a purpose."

"Says who?" Dong-soo snapped.

Woon smiled slightly. Dong-soo is going there again?

It had always been that way. As a child, Dong-soo had been angry with the whole structure of any system that included the suffering of little children, of innocent animals, and so forth. He'd burst into loud, spontaneous speeches about this injustice or another. Woon had cultivated no such anger--he had inwardly raged against the wrongness of stupidity of people sometimes, but he had learned to accept the world for the imperfect world it was, not in the way Kim Gwang-taek and other enlightened humans had taught “accept that what is, is.” What was it Sword Saint had told him, Dong-soo, and Cho-rip one sunny afternoon? "Don't try so hard to understand. One can not measure the depth of the ocean with a walking stick. You, Dong-soo-yah--haha, you are a walking stick."

As a human, Woon had understood that there were some things that he could change and that there were some things he could not change; his anger was always there, but it was a river of resentment that he had learned to redirect the way he had learned to use his sword. Anger was there to motivate him; it wasn't there to destroy him. He had wanted to bring down the Defense Minister, not destroy the entire system that was the government of Joseon. Strange that in the end, Woon had destroyed his human body. But it wasn't out of anger--it was out of misunderstanding? It was because of Destiny. It was because ... he loved Baek Dong-soo so much.

Dong-soo had been taught love and compassion. Did he think that because he, Baek Dong-soo, could love so freely that each and every human could evolve to some perfect ideal of a kind and forgiving god? That every god should be kind and forgiving?

"Suffering has a purpose, yeah," the Sky Lord repeated. He pulled his scratching finger from under his mala beads and pointed at Woon. "The whole point wasn't to punish this boy. It was to make him a better god. Everyone had an eye on him. Humans suffer, so he got a good human experience."

Notes:

Fandom-ing is hard. I am just trying to write stories. Blessings. Please be grateful for whatever you have, expect the best in people, and maybe the best in you will manifest itself.
This story was supposed to be a little philosophical about the nature of suffering; I didn't expect for it to conjure daily out-of-narrative examples for me to think about.

Summary:

Dong-soo's understanding of love is stretched beyond what he can even try to imagine in the wake of Sang-hee's death. I was waiting to get to this chapter for a while. The title comes from my favorite Korean poem of all time by Kim Seung Hee.
TW: MINOR CHARACTER DEATH

People often say that despair is lonely
but I reckon that hope is even lonelier.
Despair might be termed the peace of gravity.
For a pig to become bacon
all it has to do is relax and subside into a pool of blood . . .
and still its head is grinning pink. Despair
has a similar warmth of sorrow.

Hope sometimes provides first aid
but there may sometimes be people who dislike hope’s first aid,
maybe.
Reckoning that despair offers more comfort,
following a bright ray of sunlight trembling in the breeze,
you came from afar to obtain medicine
but being already convinced that the medicine has no effect
your sickness grew worse.

The cactus – hope’s totem pole . . .

Even on a night when all the words flew away from the dictionary,
even at that moment like blue lightning
standing quietly before a chair after taking off my shoes,
the word hope barely managed to remain
and because of that one word, I cannot discard everything.
The word hope prevents the world’s ruins from being completed.
Beating my breast
and asking why I don’t let the ruins continue,
rather because of that hope
there are frighteningly lonelier times.

The cactus – hope’s totem pole . . .
it’s an order to love still, more, fully, until blood flows freely

Though I want to escape, put an end to it,
that bright sunlight being shared out for no reason, such a waste,
like blood spreading in water . . .
hope and I,
hope is a life sentence.
Hope is lonely.

--Kim Seung Hee

On the bed mat, Saet-byeol hugged her knees and rocked, back and forth, back and forth, trying to deny there was such a thing as time itself, even as her movements measured the moments; she rocked against her mother's chest. Her mother was holding her lightly, patting her hands.

How long has it been? Not long. Forever. Not long. It's just today. It's just another day. Sang-hee will be home any moment.

Stop, don't dare, don't hope, don't, don't, don't even despair.

It's just another day.

Saet-byeol had stopped shivering, but her face and hands felt prickly, and she'd lost feeling below her knees. No matter how many blankets were tossed on her, she was cold, cold, cold. Only her mother's arms around her felt like anything other than ice and death.

Sang-hee was in the river, Sang-hee was cold, it was so cold, did she find her way out?

In order to cover her face with her own hands, Saet-byeol had to yank them from her mother's hands. Her Ma-na seemed relieved somehow--any sign of emotion from her daughter was better than the state of shock Saet-byeol had been suffering since Sang-hee had disappeared. "It's ok, baby. Just cry. You've been trying to be strong for no reason at all. It's natural to cry in these situations, but just know--there's still hope."

Saet-byeol's tears were so hot they hurt her face and hands. Hope? Is there really hope? "Ma-na, we should've had some news by now. If Sang-hee weren't hurt, she would've come home by now."

"Baby, you know how stubborn she is. And she's been so peculiar since we lost her grandfather--she's--she's--you know how that child doesn't mind her elders, and how she--"

"Mother!" Myung-hee burst into the room, her caregiver Kyung-mi, also known as Big One by the recently departed General Baek, swept into the room behind the child with open arms.

"I'm so sorry," Kyung-mi exclaimed. "So sorry. She wrestled away. She insisted on seeing you, Lady Baek."

Myung-hee was already in her mother's lap. Saet-byeol was being hugged from her own mother from behind and from her daughter in the front. "Stop crying, Mother," Myung-hee said as Saet-byeol played with her hair. It was mussed and un-braided. Myung-hee had not dressed that day and still wore her nightclothes. "Stop crying. It's going to be all right."

"Yes, yes," Saet-byeol whispered idly. Best not to worry the girl too much. Myung-hee was the least worried of the whole family. She was too young to understand the implications of a child gone missing in a big city. "It will all be all right."

"I had a dream," Myung-hee said in an excited whisper.

Kyung-mi's arms were on the little girl's shoulders, but Saet-byeol waved the caregiver away. "Let her stay. What dream, Myung-hee-yah? Did you have a bad dream or a good dream?" Saet-byeol's fingers started to braid her daughter's hair.

"Sang-hee came to visit me," Myung-hee said softly. "It was an accident, she said, and she's very sorry. She went out at night without permission, and she's very sorry. She's very sorry to you and to Father for using her cleverness to get into trouble and not following your teachings. She said to tell you she's very sorry."

Saet-byeol dropped the half-braided lock of hair. Her voice was low and harsh. "What do you mean it was an accident?"

"Sang-hee said she was standing on a bridge, and for some reason, she thought she could fly. She says she now knows how stupid that was. She knows she was only a clever little girl and that she was not a shaman or any person with gifts beyond that--she said to tell you she's very very sorry."

Saet-byeol took Myung-hee by the shoulders and shook her hard. "What do you mean? An accident? An accident?"

Tears rose in Myung-hee's eyes. "Please don't be afraid, Mother. Sang-hee is all right now. She's gone to another world, and she looks pretty and happy. She--she wants us to love one another and remember that we will see her again."

"Lady Baek!" Kyung-mi was wringing her hands. "Please don't be so upset! The child was just dreaming! A dream! It was just a--"

Saet-byeol felt her mother's arms enfold her. "A visitation dream. It's a blessing."

"Ma-na? It's true?"

"Yes, baby."

Saet-byeol loosened her grip on her daughter but didn't let Myung-hee go. "What else did Sang-hee say? Did she fall into the river?"

I know she fell into the river. I felt the cold. I still feel the cold. Why didn't I get the dream? Why was I not the one who was comforted?

Myung-hee was trying hard to be serious about her task, but her voice was quavering the tiniest bit. "Tell Father and Mother it wasn't their fault. It was nobody's fault. She said her mind wasn't right, and she thought she could fly. She said that she was going to leave right away but that Father should make people look downstream on the north side of the Han, and she's sorry he will have to prove that her body is hers, but that's how--"

"It still seems made up." Kyung-mi was frowning now. "These twins were clever; they listened all the time to adult conversations, and I'm sure a talk about identifying a corpse made an impression once, and Myung-hee must just be very tired and scared and imagining the worst."

"I'm not imagining the worst!" Myung-hee's voice rose sharply. "Sang-hee is my other half, and what she knows, I know. Even now, there's a little part of me where she is, I... I....I can feel it." With those final words, Myung-hee threw herself on her mother's lap and started to sob.

"Myung-hee...." Saet-byeol's voice didn't sound like her own's. She did not feel like comforting her own daughter. She only wanted information. The truth. The absolute truth. She had never wanted it before. When Madam Hye-won was alive, Saet-byeol had been satisfied with insinuations and half-truths and vague glimpses into what was and what could be. Right now, she needed a simple fact. "Myung-hee, is Sang-hee still alive? Please tell me." Hope was a persistent monster. It held Saet-byeol's lungs open and allowed her to breathe, form words, and continue to live. "Is your sister alive?"

Myung-hee didn't answer. She cried and cried on the mound of blankets on her mother's lap.

"Saet-byeol-ah?" A tender voice from behind.

"Ma-na? How can we know for sure?"

"Send a man to find Yoo-jin and do as Myung-hee said. When they find a body, we'll know for sure. Will you be at peace then?"

Saet-byeol could not believe that her mother had asked her such a question. At peace? She looked at Kyung-mi. "Send a man--"

"But men are already searching around the river," Kyung-mi began.

"The north side downstream!" Saet-byeol snapped. "Do it now!"

The young woman bowed and left the room. Saet-byeol threw herself over her child's tiny sobbing body and sobbed too. So! There was peace for children in heaven, was there? So said her own daughter. So said her own mother. But before that peace, there had been suffering. Saet-byeol had felt it--the cold, the unbearable cold. No way out, nothing to right a misstep, or had it been Destiny? What child thinks she can fly?

Why did you leave me, Sang-hee-yah? Why did you run away where I couldn't save you? Why can't you come back?

I would tear out my liver like Grandfather Dong-soo did for his pretty friend if only... if only you would come back to me, Sang-hee-yah.

*

Dong-soo had a better understanding of Hell now, even though he hadn't been there long. His senses were full of the place. Sword Saint, his master, had taught him to read the hearts of men and listen to the souls of trees. Hell was a fairly simple place compared to the Realm of the Living.

Hell was humid. Dong-soo's forehead had been moist since arriving at the place. Hell had a rich, pungent smell, like flowers rotting in the early summer, and Hell was hot, but not too hot as to be uncomfortable. Dark, not too dark to see. Curiously ashy, as if trash burned there constantly, as if the aromas of discarded selves, once-cherished ideas, and long-revered obsessions were what made the place what it was--this reddish blackish karma cave.

Hell was a bad place, all right. It was here where Dong-soo had heard terrible things. It was here where he'd heard very bad news. First, from Cho-rip.

Not that he'd expected it would be like old times to see Cho-rip, still--

Cho-rip had said that it had been some big plan of Destiny for Baek Dong-soo to chop off Yeo Woon's head—and that Dong-soo would do it because Woon would beg him. Woon's head. That hadn't happened of course, but it had been supposed to happen.

Is it even hotter here now?

Dong-soo couldn't tell if it was sweat from the heat or tears from the news about Sang-hee streaming down his face.

The Creepy Assassin Guy had told some story about why there was suffering in the world. Dong-soo had kept asking him over and over and over: “Ahjussi, why are you in Hell?” Turns out the man wasn't in Hell because of murder or something worse. It was because of stealing a flower?

Sweat-drops or tears were filling the corners of Dong-soo's mouth.

Hell is simple. It is so simple. A bad place. It is heaven that makes no sense. A place full of crazy gods. Why did the gods bother to create such an imperfect world as the one where humans lived?

The big green dragonfly in Dong-soo's hand had told him that Sang-hee had drowned, that she had fallen into the Han and drowned, but that made no sense: how could a little girl be out in the middle of the night and misjudge her balance so terribly that she fell like that, right over the ledge and into the black water like a sack of rice and couldn't swim to safety?

My granddaughter is dead. It was an accident. Face it. Find her, and you'll know for sure. These things happen. There are meaningless deaths every day. Children die. They live for moments--then they die. Butterflies don't live to see two full moons.

"Dong-soo-yah?" Woon's voice was broken and sad. "I don't know how to get out of here."

"What do you mean you don't know?" The Creepy Sky Lord's voice. Or Seokga--that was what he called himself here. He had yelled the name loud enough in Dong-soo's face. Seokga, Seokga, Seokga. A god. More like a demon. "How did you guys get in here in the first place?" Seokga boomed. "Didn't the council want you to have a little audience with me? Didn't Yeomna show you the door? Are you stupid? He's done now, and he's going to open it for you again."

"Yeomna didn't have anything to do with us getting here," Dong-soo said. He wiped his face with the back of his hand. It was then that he realized for certain that he was crying. "The spider. It was all her decision. She wrapped us up and threw us in here somehow. She's very strange--it seems like it's all up to her to get us out."

Seokga's eyebrows raised. "The spider?"

"Nui?" Woon was looking around helplessly. "Can you hear me? Can you convince that spider to get us out now? The little girl is important to the both of us. Much more important than--" Woon gestured with disdain at the Seokga guy. "Anything she wanted us to see here."

"So the council didn't know?" The Seokga assassin guy was scratching his neck again. So weird that rash of his. "That's what Woon meant by saying he was trespassing? He's getting away with so much sh*t for being just another son of a spider--"

"Shut up," Dong-soo said. "You're in Hell. We're getting out."

"I'm getting out too." Seokga's whole face looked scabby. A moment ago, it had been fairly gnarly and large-pored, lit a pale red by the color of the place--ugly, but not otherwise disturbing. Now it looked afflicted with some disease. Little inflamed pox could be seen through the beard on his neck and chin, and on his cheeks, the pox were shiny, with new bubbles forming on the old ones, as if the man had just brushed his face against a poisonous plant.

"What's wrong with you?" Dong-soo asked.

From somewhere far away, the nasty old woman's voice echoed: "I just hate him is all."

Woon was looking everywhere for the source of the voice. "Nui! Are you allowed to do that? He's in Hell. He's not supposed to be tortured."

"It's not torture," Seokga insisted as he scratched his neck. "She really can't do much because she can't get down here. And she can't get down here because..." his voice rose to address the god of Destiny who was taunting him. "She's a nasty bitch who isn't worth any more trials. Look at me! I may yet inherit the Realm of the Living! Look at her, just the sister of the son of a spider. Your time is up, bitch. It's back to the grind--you're powers are limited. You haven't even seen mine yet!"

Woon did something strange. He actually bowed, not deeply but with consideration, in the direction of the rashy god responsible for all human suffering. "Forgive my sister. She's very foul-tempered."

"Agi-yah!" The cavern of Hell thundered. "Stop feeding his delusions. You know as well as I do that there's no way he's ever going to get out. When I got back up here to heaven, I got to see the whole story. I don't care if it was all planned out--I saw what he did to you. Yang Jian-agi serving a clown like that? You expect my mercy?"

"Nui!" Woon's face was still tear-stained over the death of a little human girl. "You know as well as I do that light is only that which emerges from darkness! We have to forgive him!"

There was another earthquake, not so severe this time. Dong-soo and Woon and Seokga could stand through it easily, but the ground rumbled, and once again, ashes rose and clouded the atmosphere.

Woon's sister's voice was resounding from a very far-away place, but the malice in her tone was plain and clear:

Recall the rusty nail you hold
And curses every lie you told.
Gameunjang-agi very soon
Will drink from Destiny's dark moon

In Hell you have no moon or hour
Your very name holds no real power
But does not Seokga have the brain
To know who snagged his soul with pain?

For every lie you told too quick
Feel a pinch and tiny prick
For every lie you mapped and planned
Feel this nail pierce through your hand.

There was a loud, human scream. Seokga turned into the shadow-thing Dong-soo had first seen approaching Woon, and then that shadow thing threw a shadow arm above its shadow head and let out a very high-pitched, inhuman wail. Dong-soo had actually never heard a cat being skinned alive, but he'd heard the phrase "like a cat being skinned alive." That wail sounded like nine cats' abdomens being eviscerated while their heads were set on fire. The shadow arm fell into the shadow body, and for a few moments, shadows spun like a cyclone then vanished.

"Does the spider let her get away with stuff like that?" Dong-soo imagined so. It seemed that there was no limit to what atrocities the gods could commit against themselves and other beings, and the consequences, insofar as Dong-soo could tell, were arbitrary.

Besides looking displeased about his sister's curse, Woon still looked achingly mournful about Sang-hee, but then another expression came over his face--it was one that wiped away his previous expressions and gave him the look of a shaman's doll. His full lips were colorless, even here in this reddish place, and his wide eyes looked for all the world like black buttons.

What... is ... she... doing....?

Then Dong-soo remembered how he and Woon had entered Hell, and he stepped forward just in time to catch Woon in his arms. This time, something about the ashy, uncertain ground made Dong-soo hold Woon tighter. Dong-soo didn't trust the smoky place where he stood—its constant peeling and puffing and turning into noxious fumes? No, no, standing felt precarious. Woon felt heavy--did his sister stuff his soul with bizarre things to protect him? Dong-soo slid to a sitting position, and Woon leaned, unconscious, against Dong-soo's shoulder.

He's all right. We'll be out of this place soon.

But it wasn't all right.

They were in Hell.

Hell was a familiar place, after all. And so was holding Woon like this. Only in the Living World, Dong-soo had dared to cling to the hope that Woon might wake up and be alive again. That the gods were truly merciful. That the fixtures in the night sky held some meaning and light in the terrible darkness. What was it Woon had said to his sister? "Nui! You know as well as I do that light is only that which emerges from darkness! " What the f*ck, since when had Woon come to talk like that? Was it a god thing?

Dong-soo had been the one who had trained with the Master of all Sword Masters. He had been taught that the sword was to protect; he had been taught that Death comes to every house, but that the sword spoke the language of Life when it protected those who could not defend themselves. Dong-soo had been taught that suffering was an illusion, that ridding the body of desires and cravings was the way to enlightenment, that misery and joy were both impermanent and to be accepted, and so forth and so forth and blah blah and blah blah and “Dong-soo-yah, hold your shoulders higher, listen to every sound, a man's heart will tell you in which direction he will step before he draws his sword.”

“Listen closely because when you can hear the dew dropping from a leaf, you will be able to hear the intent of a man's heart. The Living Sword, Dong-soo-yah. Wield it, you will be a greater swordsman than I ever was--you will be the greatest in all the world.”

Dong-soo nudged Woon's face off his shoulder and onto his chest so he could look at him. He's fine. He's asleep.

Summary:

What questions does newcomer spirit Sang-hee have for everyone? What might she know that no one else does? Dong-soo and Woon still carry swords?

Notes:

Sorry chapter was late. I discovered this thing called a “fandom blind” reader on Reddit and spent a lot of time over there on a fanfiction subforum playing with people, reading their fic (rediscovered my love for some old fandoms and made a couple new friends), and felt peculiar linking my WBDS fics, as if I were trawling or whoring for comments, but the readers were very supportive and many stayed to read other fics or even LOOK UP THE FANDOM. Then I caught a bad ear infection and didn’t feel like I could write on the meds I was tripping on; I kept having bouts of insecurity from having stepped outside this tiny fandom (introvert, fandom PTSD, old people-pleasing behaviors, fear of not answering comments or saying something dumb that would provoke trollish drama), and I had to decide (the 3rd time since 2020—it’s the charm!) that I still wanted to write fanfic. I especially want to finish this story because I have so many fun happenings planned for the characters. So I will definitely be doing that. I also have the itch to write for other sageuk, but THIS ONE, omg, this one always calls to me. Long story short--I felt sick and confused, but I'm writing happily again and feeling good engaging with people.

Chapter Twenty-eight: Does the Moon Stay Dark in Heaven?

When we were young, our love
was the most formidable weapon
we could imagine. We carried it
like a great sword, respectful
of its danger. More than once
it flashed like an angry sunburst!
On this moonless night on Hansan Island,
pierced by the dark note of a far-off flute,
we carry the same sword
and much more, equally terrible—Admiral Yi Sun Yin, 16th century Korean poet who wrote this sijo the night before he was killed in battle

When Sang-hee stepped outside that giant man's balcony and realized she was in the World of Dead People, she let out a big sigh. "Finally!" she exclaimed and plopped down on the brilliant green grass. She stretched her legs out in front of her, leaned backwards on her palms, and felt a soft breeze caress her face.

It feels nice here.

Getting this far had been so boring. The soul Reaper didn't answer any of her questions, and he didn't seem to care that he and his kind all looked like giant black butterflies to some humans who could sense spirits. Actually, he didn't seem to understand much at all. He didn't even know when and how Sang-see would be reincarnated; she concluded Reapers were dumb, but the flight through the skies had been nice, even if there had been no moon. The best thing about the night she'd gone flying with Pretty Spirit had been how the shiny moon had lit up the waves of the Han. It had been like a festival performance! The reflected moon in the water had rippled as the waves rose and fell--dark and light, dark and light...

Maybe that's why I fell tonight? It was just too dark.

Sang-hee knew all about moon cycles; she had been taught about them by her grandfather. She had been taught about different plants and exotic lizards and poisonous spiders, but she had never seen much of nature because she wasn't allowed to leave the house except to go to the market and visit family. She had to go to bed before the moon rose. She had never even seen the moon until the night Pretty Spirit took her flying.

The moon had been in its dark phase the night she had wanted to see it dance on the river again. How had she been supposed to know that?

Tough luck.

And dying had been tough luck too.

The line outside King Whoever's hanok had been so long; there was sunlight shining over the garden like it was bright midday, so Sang-hee had wondered if there was a sun and moon in this far-away place, even though the Reaper had carried her far, far past many stars. She thought she was supposed to go on a boat-ride, but the big dumb man in black told her that wasn't necessary, and she'd been disappointed. A boat ride would have been fun, but now, sitting here in the brilliant green landscape of the Land of Dead People, Sang-hee considered that a long boat ride with a not-very-bright Reaper might have been sooooo boring.

I thought your dead relatives were supposed to meet you when you died. Where is Grandfather Dong-soo?

She got up to take a good look around. There was a nice pebbled path by a stream and a long line of golden bell flowers between the sparkling water and the path. So, the season matched with the world she had just left? Or was it always pretty, emerging springtime here? Always sunny mid-morning? Where were the dead people?

She thought she saw a chicken.

Yes, it was a long-tailed black chicken.

Wait, the chicken belonged to her and Myung-hee--one of a pair given to her by that nice old lady friend of Grandfather Dong-soo's. Lady Hong Jin-joo? Yes, that was the nice old lady's name. The chicken had died months ago, and Sang-hee had insisted that the cook leave it alone, that it should be buried in the garden because it was a family friend, not livestock.

"Masul!"

The chicken's head rose--it had always known its name. Birds are so smart. Sang-hee had named it "black art" because her mother was seeing a shaman, and her father had referred to the practices of shaman as such once, and he said that shaman killed chickens. Sang-hee asked her mother if that was true, and her mother had said that she had never seen such a thing, and as it came to pass, her father never learned this one particular chicken's name (Myung-hee had named the other chicken after a flower--Myung-hee was boring like that), but Mother had asked Sang-hee to please change Masul's name to something not so scary. Sang-hee had said, “No, it's not a scary name.” And Mother had just let it be.

"Masul!"

The chicken came trotting faster down the pebbled path towards Sang-hee. She paused when she was very close and gave Sang-hee a curious look, as if to say "why are you here?"

Sang-hee was disappointed that she couldn't read its mind.

"Sorry I don't have any corn for you. I'm so happy you haven't reincarnated yet. Or if you have that... your soul can still come visit me. I don't know anybody else who's dead except Grandfather. Do you know where he is?

All of a sudden, there was a beautiful woman in a shimmering hanbok standing over the chicken. She cast no shadow. Her face was beautiful as any lady Sang-hee had ever seen--and her neck was so long and white.

I don't remember anyone like this. She must be a fairy, not a dead person.

"Hello, Sang-hee-yah," the beautiful one said. "My name is Ji-sun. I was a friend of your grandfather's long ago. There's been a delay--he was supposed to greet you, but I've been sent instead. Come walk with me, and we'll find him together."

No way. Yoo Ji-sun. The first love? Sang-hee had listened to enough conversations. The lady who could ride a horse? The one who dropped Grandfather like a hot potato? Sang-hee thought it was better not to mention any of these things. Impoliteness might score a person extra bad points in this realm, and Sang hee didn't want to be reincarnated as a bug.

She bowed. "Pleased to meet you."

The beautiful lady scooped up the black chicken the way she would a silk bag; she carried Masul under one arm and petted her. Weird. Masul had never liked being carried; she even clucked in pleasure under the beautiful lady's touch. "How did you know, Sang-hee-yah," Yoo Ji-sun asked, "that a reincarnated spirit can also visit the Living World as a soul in the shape of a previously held life?"

"My grandfather told me."

"Oh?"

"It was obvious." Sang-hee wondered why this beautiful lady was asking such dumb questions. "Isn't time weird after you die? And Grandfather Dong-soo always held a jesa every year for his father. He said he hoped his father had reincarnated, if there was such a thing as reincarnation--Grandfather wasn't sure about many things--but he did say that it only made sense that if there was, people would not be holding ceremonies year after year after year for departed ones who they expected to visit their homes. He said he figured the Afterlife must be strange--that time must be strange there... I mean, here. Isn't it strange here?"

"Yes," the beautiful one nodded. "Time is strange here. You're so clever."

"Grandfather always held a jesa for his father, even if he wasn't sure if there was an Afterlife... so I was a little worried he might not come here. Because I wasn't sure if the Afterlife accepted contrary people."

"Oh he's here."

"He said he wished he could hold a jesa for a friend of his who died, but they weren't related. He really loved his friend, and his poor friend had no one to hold a jesa for him."

"Oh he's here too."

Pretty Spirit? Sang-hee's heart soared.

"If time is different here, and souls can be in two places at the same time--reincarnated and also at a jesa, then why can't Grandfather Dong-soo be on time to greet me?"

The beautiful lady laughed. "You're such a clever, clever girl. You know, your grandfather was a very smart man and was always asking questions. People used to think he was clumsy and slow-witted when he was young, but he grew up to be one of the most brilliant and famous martial artists of his time."

"I know." Sang-hee was a little frustrated. Didn't this lady know that Sang-hee would already know that? Her grandfather must've been in love with this lady because she was beautiful, not because she was smart. "You didn't answer me about why there's a delay with my grandfather."

Yoo Ji-sun had a smile like someone who had never known a care in the world. Sang-hee had heard tell of some mysterious life, of her being pursued by assassins and all kinds of bad people and of Grandfather Dong-soo and Pretty Spirit having protected her many times from bad, bad guys. "Oh, there are all kinds of administrative problems in this realm just as there are in the Living World. The gods get their instructions crossed, and all things don't always run smoothly." She petted the chicken and pointed with her chin to the stream. Her voice became very emphatic: "All gets accomplished eventually, but see those little eddies and splashes caused by rocks in the way of the water? Sometimes a tree branch will fall in a stream of time--or maybe something large like a whole log--and there will be a delay. Don't worry, though. You'll see your grandfather soon."

Sang-hee nodded and followed. Ok, maybe she does know a little something.

After a long walk, during which the beautiful lady didn't say much else that was interesting (she just talked about how wonderful Grandfather Dong-soo had been in his youth--she seemed stuck there--she looked young, but didn't she die as an old lady?), there was an uphill climb, and after the line of golden bells tapered off, there was an expanse of open field, lots of tall grasses, some elderberry bushes--Sang-hee scanned the landscape to see what else—oh my goodness, what are those two people doing on the ground?

There was one man lying on the wildflowers and another man bent over him, head pressed against the lying man's cheek. The second man was wailing as if someone had died. Was the first man dead? Wasn't everyone dead here? What was the problem?

Sang-hee broke away from the beautiful lady and ran closer. The crying man lifted his face away from the man lying on the ground, took a deep breath in order to get another sobbing fit started again and then threw himself on the apparently lifeless body.

In that moment, Sang-hee had seen enough to recognize the face of the lifeless one. Pretty Spirit. There was no mistaking his face. His long black hair spread all over the pink and purple flowers. He was even wearing the same clothes he always had on when he was a bluish-white ghost. Only now he looked completely alive--his skin was tinted pink, and he looked like he was merely asleep.

So, why was the other man have a crying fit?

"Woon-ahhhhh, wake up!"

There was something about the way the man said that... Yes, that was how Grandfather Dong-soo would call his friend when he would get very drunk. But this man was young and handsome.

Grandfather?

Woon's first vision had happened after he had been dead for twenty years, and in all that time he hadn't slept or dreamt, but he'd been leaning against a tree and he'd clearly seen a young, sweat-drenched Cho-rip walk by, pulling a cart for collecting wolf dung, calling for Dong-soo to please come help. He'd mistaken that vision for a dream, even though he knew full well that ghosts didn't sleep or dream.

Am I dreaming now?

He couldn't see a thing, so no.

A vision? He could hear Dong-soo crying. Crying again like in that vision that kept sweeping back to haunt him--would that horrible thing ever disappear? Dong-soo crying, Woon choosing to remain in his own body in that horrible field, the worst pain of the sword through his chest gone but Dong-soo's sobs! The noise of them fell through the wound in Woon's chest; the sobs overflowed the scene; Woon never failed to be awed by the lingering ache of it all. He had never expected Dong-soo to cry so much.

And why not? Dong-soo was a crybaby. A crybaby since Woon had met him. The only boy who cried at a funeral at the warrior camp while Woon, Cho-rip, and the other boys stood around solemnly, too stunned to even feel like crying. A twelve-year-old had run himself to death, collapsed from fever and dehydration, and Dong-soo had cried like a little girl about it.

He was crying now. Just like then.

Not again. Not again. The soldiers will leave, and the moon will come up. I can't bear it. This is heaven--this is not supposed to happen here.

But Woon wasn't sure--was it the same vision? He could only hear Dong-soo crying. He couldn't see anything. He couldn't open his spirit eyes--his eyelids felt heavy, and his head felt congested with dense clouds, some magic that kept him from sensing the usual movements of trees, birds, other spirits.

I can't remember. My sister? Dong-soo and I were in Hell...

A blow landed on Woon's belly with a light thump. He opened his mouth and a rough ah came out. Two small hands were on either side of his face.

"Did you hear that, Grandfather Dong-soo! He's fine! He's not sick or anything. I think he's been bewitched!"

Sang-hee-yah!

No answer from Dong-soo. Only more sobbing.

Woon felt the pressure on his belly lift--Sang-hee apparently had been squatting right there on Woon, and Dong-soo was lifting Sang-hee into his own arms, pulling the girl's body off Woon's body. Dong-soo was still crying, though? Why?

Woon tried to send thoughts: Dong-soo-yah, I'm here. I'm right here. It's ok. I'm ok. It's not the field. Stop. It's not happening again.

"What happened?" A sweet, concerned voice. Woon couldn't sense the soul, but he recognized Miss Ji-sun. So they were not in High Heaven of the gods anymore but in the first Afterlife he and Dong-soo had entered from Yeomna's place? "General? What's wrong? When I left, we were just waiting for Yeo Woon to wake up. Dong-soo-yah?"

"Grandfather, you have a beautiful face! Don't put tears all over your beautiful face! Didn't you hear your pretty friend make a sound? He's fine--he's just bewitched?"

"And how do you know things like that, Sang-hee-yah?" Miss Ji-sun sounded very curious. "Bewitched?"

"I don't know." Sang-hee sounded as innocent as she always had—which is to say, not very innocent. Strange little girl. "I have no idea how I know some things."

Behind Dong-soo's sobs, which still had not diminished and seemed to even be heightening in intensity over the presence of Sang-hee in his arms, Woon could make out a familiar grumbling voice: "So the little star-child's daughter flew up here, did she? Who knows what the Great Spirit will toss our way? Destiny didn't plan this--she's an anomaly." A loud exhalation of frustration. "Aish, General, I took my sweet time walking back here because I half-expected you to be doing something perverted with my brother. What's his problem? Why is he still lying there like a fish out of water?"

Dong-soo moaned, "I don't knooooow."

Woon felt his shoulders grabbed. Ow, Nui.

"Stupid spider. She wrapped him up so tight, she pushed all my spells into his core. What does she think? He's supposed to sleep for a hundred years and be the next council leader after she eats everyone else? She's such an incompetent bug. Pardon me, pardon me, Heaven's Greatest bug she is. Knows everything."

"Can you help--"

No sooner had Dong-soo started to sniffle out his question than Gameunjang-agi began chanting:

Seals of Gameunjang-agi melt.
Feel again what was un-felt.
Clotted senses come back whole.
Yang Jian-agi, show your soul.
Senses, powers re-align.
By all rights, you are divine.

Woon's eyes opened just in time to catch the look on his sister's face--she was worried the spell wouldn't work. Then she let out her breath and was her arrogant self again. She was about to speak, but her head turned to follow Woon's gaze. Woon was looking behind her, at Dong-soo of course, who was kneeling close by, a little girl wrapped around his neck, her head turned to see what she could see, but Woon didn't look at Sang-hee's face. He couldn't help but lock eyes with Dong-soo.

It still scares you? Are you still waiting for the past to hurt us again? Even here?

Where is here? I'm not a god like you, Woon-ah. I don't know anything about this place. Who to trust, what can happen.

Trust me then. I will never leave your side again.

Your sister said something about the spider wanting you to be a god here? Don't leave me in the Living World when we reincarnate, not for a second. Don't leave me in that place across the fast stream where all our clothes fall off. Don't leave me--you got that?

Dry your eyes. You're such a crybaby.

I want to kiss you.

Here? You're such a pervert. You're holding your granddaughter, Dong-soo-yah.

Woon rose to his shoulders. Then there were awkward introductions made. Ji-sun had never met a god before, so when Gameunjang-agi introduced herself as both a god of Destiny and Yeo Woon's sister, Ji-sun stared for a long time at Woon, who was now sitting up groggily, cross-legged, on the grass. His ears were ringing. Nui, why such a strong spell. Miss Ji-sun was polite enough not to ask any questions about Woon’s relationship to gods and such. Gameunjang-agi explained that she'd happened across the pretty lady when the spider dumped Dong-soo and Woon outside of the Realm of the Gods, presumably for Dong-soo to have his wish and meet his little granddaughter, but the spider had run off, and Gameunjang-agi had taken off after her, wanting to know what the plans for the pair were.

"I got nothing, no messages from the council." Gameunjang-agi's hands were on her hips, and she whipped back her long purple hair. "They're treating me like a newcomer and forgetting I spent ages here. The general was looking like he might have some kind of seizure because my brother was slow to come out of his trance. When he started yanking at his arms like some kind of idiot, I didn't want to see any of that, so I sent Pretty Lady over here to fetch the brat.” Gameunjang-agi' shifted her attention to the newcomer in Dong-soo’s arms. “Say, Baek Sang-hee, what do you think of your grandfather's long-ago love? Isn't she nice? Since you have no family here, you can stay with her."

"But what about Grandfather?" Sang-hee was still clinging to him like a leech. She was not even looking at Ji-sun.

Gameunjang-agi explained that the general, of course, would visit from time to time, but that he was going to live way up the river, in a place where only gods could go, with--she pointed to Woon--his bonded partner and other gods.

Ah, so Dong-soo and I do get to live there.

"Are Pretty Spirit and Grandfather gods?"

"Eh...." Gameunjang-agi co*cked her head. "Part gods. They were born human but they have god-stuff in them. What I don't get is that the council is treating me like chicken-poop, but I was never born human, I was thrown to earth like a rag one of them had sneezed into, and then I was snatched back up and thrown back into my old job. I wanted to die and leave a human body, but the doggie said I was changed back whole into a god--I'm not... of a dubious god nature like these boys here. I tried to get information out of the spider, but she went missing again. She thinks she's too good for all of us--she's no better than a tick, just waiting to eat all the red threads, eat us all and gorge herself until she's a little blob of blood!"

Woon was standing now. He allowed Dong-soo to hold him by the elbow, even though he didn't need his support--Dong-soo needed to be needed, and Dong-soo had been through that whole trauma of the buckwheat field again. Ji-sun didn't seem the slightest bit ruffled about the announcement that she had a newly adopted daughter in the Afterlife--she promptly invited everyone over to her husband's house for tea.

Gameunjang-agi refused. She said she had to go look up some council members and check if Seokga's fate was certain, that there had been no soft Destiny remolded in her absence to allow for that freaky powerful flower-thief to return to the Living World and try to take it over.

"Creepy Assassin Guy getting out of Hell!" Dong-soo was appalled.

"I can still feel my sister," Sang-hee said out of nowhere. "Is it all right if I ask her to come join us at tea?" Her voice was blithe. “She might be busy with my funeral, but I still want to see her.”

"A living soul?" Miss Ji-sun asked.

Sang-hee knew to ask the god. "My sister can join us in some way, can't she? She sees me if she wants to, right?"

Dong-soo knew it too. He'd run into the living Hwang Jin-joo in this Afterlife after all. Woon watched Dong-soo and Sang-hee both looking at the god of Destiny with the same expectant expression, and he saw how alike the two were--the same strong jawline, the unruly curls, the round eyes that looked so innocent but they both have this knack for getting into the worst trouble. It truly is a wonder Dong-soo lived as long as he did and didn't fall into a river before he was twelve.

"Yes, your little soul-partner can see you." Gameunjang-agi's face actually softened when answering the question. "You don't have to go all the way down to the Living World to visit her. I have to run. If you have other questions about the universe, ask this one--" She pointed to Woon.

"Me?"

"Don't play stupid with me, Agi-yah. You know the past has always been catching up with you."

The little hanok where Ji-sun lived with her husband was in a small village in a small clearing in the forest; there, fifty or so thatch-roof homes had been built in concentric circles among the perfectly green grasses and vivid wildflowers. Fruit trees grew in the front yards, not a single bruise on any leaf or ripe fruit.

Ji-sun's husband was not young--he was dressed like a governor and wore the demeanor of a middle-aged civil servant of Joseon--dignified, stand-off-ish, but also quick to speak and negotiate with all kinds of people of all classes. He greeted everyone with cheer and seemed at ease--as Woon imagined most spirits in the Afterlife should—whether they had just arrived fresh from dying or right out of doing a period of self-reflection in Hell. The Buyoon was a handsome man, manifesting at the happiest time of his life, presumably when he had first met and married the lovely young Ji-sun? Woon had not taken much notice of her marriage during his own death on earth, but he did know that she married shortly after leaving Dong-soo.

There had been no children.

The man smiled from ear to ear at the news that he was going to be the guardian of a child spirit for a time.

"Until my reincarnation?" Sang-hee asked.

"I suppose so," Ji-sun said.

"I want to reincarnate with Grandfather and his pretty friend," Sang-hee said. "I think if I want to, I will."

"I don't know about that." Ji-sun cast at a look at Woon as if he had the answer, but Woon didn't know. He didn't understand why his sister assumed he remembered all his lessons as a child god--had he been taught everything? Did this knowledge just come to him by the very nature of the god-stuff in his soul?

"Myung-hee will find me," Sang-hee pronounced with confidence. "She is part of me, so I know we will be together for lifetimes."

"Maybe you were meant to be a shaman." Woon said with a half-smile. "Yes, you're soul-bonded with your sister, so you'll be together for lifetimes."

Sang-hee bounced on her heels and declared that she and her sister were already together, and could her sister please join them for tea? Ji-sun explained that while it was possible for spirits in the Afterlife to watch those in the Living World, it was not a good idea to interrupt such a pleasantry as a simple meal with that sort of thing--the family was in sudden mourning, and the visions would not be pleasant.

"Oh." Sang-hee looked disappointed. "Later then?"

Ji-sun nodded.

The conversation was of friends and neighbors from Hanyang and neighboring villages who had left the Living World, who was still in Hell, who had moved on to reincarnation. Ji-sun said she rarely saw Kim Gwang-taek; he was stuck in a certain place of his own making and waiting for Ga-ok. Sa-mo liked to visit earth, especially his past--

"I told you!" Sang-hee exclaimed. "Spirits can be in two places at once! This Sa-mo person can go all the way to the Living World in the past while he's up here in the Afterworld!"

"I'm not sure about that," Ji-sun's husband said diplomatically as he passed a tray of sweets. "Sa-mo isn't here when he travels. He has such fond memories of his life on earth that he can relive part of his recent life. One of the rewards of this Afterlife is that many of one's wishes and delights come true. No one sees him when he's gone to visit the warrior camp where he trained all those boys for Prince Sado--we see him much later when he reports what a good time he had."

"Oh, we were up here, and we saw him." Dong-soo talked with yakgwa still in his mouth. "He thought we were still alive though in his past though--and young."

"You look young," Sang-hee observed. "Everyone here looks perfectly alive, not like ghosts at all."

Tea turned into a walk through the village, and nods and hellos to the neighbors, many of whom recognized Woon and who were surprised but pleased to see the traitor of the crown looking so fresh and boyish alongside his old friend. Woon felt shy. Sang-hee must've sensed his discomfort around larger groups of people and grabbed him and Dong-soo by either hand and led them away to a wooded area. "I want to see Myung-hee," she said. "Myung-hee! I'm with Grandfather and Pretty Spirit."

A man-sized silvery circle appeared, like a mirror, only it was spinning like a stirred pot of water, and then came the clear vision.

Saet-byeol was kneeling on the floor sewing shut the ends of a large sackcloth pillow on the floor. Her face was pale and somber, as if she had aged ten years. Woon then realized that the pillow was not a pillow but a cover for Sang-hee's body, which had been recovered in the water; it was no doubt bloated and unpresentable for relatives to view, so Saet-byeol was binding it.

"Big or Little should be doing that," Dong-soo muttered. "She--she--she shouldn't have to--"

"She wants to," Woon said. "It's her obligation."

"You're right." Dong-soo nodded. "I forgot myself. She's my daughter. I don't like seeing her in pain."

"Pain is part of love," Woon said.

Woon felt Dong-soo turn to stare at him, even if he didn't return the look.

There's been enough pain, Woon-ah. Why do I get the feeling there's more to come?

Sang-hee, meanwhile, was not seeing her mother preparing her own body; she was seeing something else altogether. She was waving at her sister in another room.

The pair of twins giggled at one another. Myung-hee couldn't see Sang-hee but it was clear that she could hear her, and Sang-hee was going on and on her black chicken and about how Grandfather looked young and handsome now--he didn't have a beard and his hair was the color of a buckwheat field.

Woon startled at that description, sat down suddenly, and felt Dong-soo take his hand, fold his fingers into his in a very lover-like way. It was so strange. Anyone could walk by and see. Woon didn't care. Before him were two simultaneous visions--one of two girls giggling across worlds and another of a mother preparing her daughter's body for a funeral, now wrapping the small sackcloth shape with strips of raw silk.

The show went on forever without interruption--it was its own kind of revelation about the breadth of human existence. Dong-soo's hand felt warm, but Woon felt uneasy. There was something he couldn't remember, something he needed to know, something he needed to reassure Dong-soo about even if he never found the answers for himself.

Then Big pulled Myung-hee out of the field of vision, telling her it was time for bed.

"Oh look," Sang-hee said, pointing to the sky. "There's the moon. I didn't realize we'd been out here so long. It was time for tea a moment ago and now it's time for dinner. How long was I talking to Myung-hee?"

The moon was just a pale sliver against a bluish gray sky,

"Oh, it's waxing now," Sang-hee observed.

"You remember your moon phases," Dong-soo said proudly.

"But why is there a moon here when there's one far, far, far away in the Living World, Grandfather? Last night when I fell--the moon was dark. Haha--" Sang-hee's laugh was self-mocking. "I couldn't see a thing. Does the moon stay dark in Heaven?"

Woon knew the answer.

"The moon in the Living World was made in the image of the moon here," he said. "Just as humans were made in the image of gods. I didn't see the moon last night. I was... in a place where I couldn't see the moon at all, but I imagine it was very dark."

"Pretty Spirit?" Sang-hee's voice was serious now. "Please don't blame yourself for my sneaking out and wanting to see the moon. It's not your fault I fell into the river. It was an accident, not Destiny."

Woon was a god of Destiny. "I know," he said.

"Grandfather?" Sang-hee was still staring at the moon. "What do you think the moon looks like?"

"A toenail," Dong-soo said.

"I think it looks like a sword swinging," Sang-hee said.

Dong-soo looked shocked. "Since when have you seen a sword swinging?"

"I see lots of things. More things since I died."

Woon was starting to understand. There had been deals cut to prolong Saet-byeol's life. Nui, there's no telling what you did. One of Saet-byeol's children may have been imbued with some magic--or maybe the child just has a shamanic gift.

"The two of you still carry swords," Sang-hee said.

"Me and Woon?" Dong-soo asked. "Here? I don't think we're allowed--isn't that right, Woon-ah?"

Woon nodded. "The gods have particular weapons, but most ordinary spirits--no, Dong-soo and I don't have our swords. We left them back in the Living World. I never touched a sword after I died, and I was dead in the Living World for years and years."

"And why is that?" Sang-hee asked.

She wasn't six-years-old anymore; she was a being starting to vibrate with a power of divine seeing.

"I wanted to make sure he stayed alive to be there for his family," Woon said. "To enjoy you and Myung-hee, to love his son Yoo-jin and his daughter-in-law Saet-byeol."

Sang-hee nodded. "You're so nice, Pretty Spirit. But I still see swords. I don't know what happened. But the two of you--you used to swing your swords all over the place--and?" She turned her face to stare directly at Woon. "You're a big-time god, so why don't you know this? You still have a sword, and so does Grandfather. Who are you supposed to fight? Each other? Because that's all you did for a long time--fight each other, right?"

To be continued.

Summary:

Yeo Woon worries that there will be a battle in heaven.

TW: violent imagery

Dong-soo was trailing brisk kisses across Woon's throat, upper chest, and clavicle; he would pause only to inhale flesh where it was the sweatiest because, Woon noted with a tiny amusem*nt that was also awe, Dong-soo seemed to enjoy the taste of Woon's exhaustion. Was it good, Woon-ah? Was it good?

Woon could scarcely hear Dong-soo's thoughts; Dong-soo's thoughts were that exhausted. Woon was lying on the grass. His nude body felt cooled by the night air, warmed only where Dong-soo's tongue touched him. He was gazing, exhausted beyond any exhaustion he had ever felt alive or dead, at the sliver of moon high in the black sky.

You said the moon looked like a toe-nail, Dong-soo-yah. Your granddaughter said it looked like a swinging sword. She's the Sword Saint, and you're the six-year-old.

I've always been six-years-old. Dong-soo kissed the palm of Woon's hand. I like lying outside. Do we have to manifest a little house like everyone else's or can we just lie here night after night?

Whatever you want.

Woon-ah, what do you want?

Whatever you want. Oh, and.... Woon shifted his exhaustion, rolled away from a breeze and closer towards the still rich, reverberant glow of Dong-soo's spirit body, towards kisses that were slowing down, leaving lip-shaped fever-flowers down the length of Woon's outstretched arm. It was good, Dong-soo-yah. It was so good.

So, there was this much exhaustion in the Realm of the gods? The sweet exhaustion after the accomplishment of swimming that frozen river, and then that sweeter exhaustion following all those strange intimacies with Dong-soo. So, would lovemaking have been much different in the world of the Living? Woon wondered if he could have withstood it in a human body. Maybe not. It was strenuous and perilous like fighting, only with emotions, not life and limbs at stake.

Woon was still not accustomed to showing much emotion; he felt tired just from acknowledging that he was loved, let alone trying to express that love in return.

And it really wasn't fair that Dong-soo, because he'd lived longer, had racked up experience at physical aspects of sex. Woon still had to catch up--he hated that. Maybe he wasn't as intuitive or bold as Dong-soo. Dong-soo seemed to know certain ... acupressure points? In any event, all the little shocks to Woon's soul had made him sleepy, and thank the gods, here, he could finally sleep. After decades of sleepless death, he could sleep. When he drifted off, he slept lightly, half-aware that he was lying next to Dong-soo, who was still wide-awake, marveling in noisy thoughts at his surroundings, the crisp temperate breezes of the Afterlife, no mites in the grasses, the perfectly smooth bed of grasses.

"Hey, Woon-ah? Our clothes didn't melt away this time?" Dong-soo spoke out loud one time. "Do you think the spider did that as a courtesy for us just once? That's fine. I liked undressing you. You didn't have to be so weird about it, like I was stealing your things. Remember--it's only me. It's only me."

While half-awake, Woon was also lapsing into dreams of being alive years ago. How many nights had he fallen asleep next to Dong-soo in the same bed? Brothers, but not brothers. A cold longing stabbing Woon through the heart long before Dong-soo's sword ever did.

And then there had been years of being separated--Woon had not known there was a red thread binding him and Dong-soo. Oh, there had been red, definitely--a sword dripping blood, if one wanted to talk about a red thread. What else did Woon not understand? He was dreaming about a tender new leaf. What looked like a dew-drop bloomed on it, a transparent bubble that grew until it could not contain itself and then it burst, running down the leaf in a bright red trickle. Even heaven itself is cursed with killings. Then Woon was half-awake again. I wasn't afraid. Not here, not in life. The gods killed me. Humans drew their swords. I was never afraid to die. I am only afraid of losing ... you again, Dong-soo-ah.

Finally, Dong-soo threw his arm over Woon's shoulder and whispered, "I'm sorry. I keep waking you up."

And then Woon could sleep for a long while.

*

In the dream, Woon was aware that he was dreaming, but as with the visions he'd experienced in the Living World, there was a sense that whatever images he was receiving were not coming from some exhausted place where the table wasn't cleared, where tiny flies came to land on spilled thoughts, where a mouse might nibble on a forgotten, not that important event--Woon remembered what real dreams were like.

Real dreams were random, confusing, maybe the mind's way of nudging itself with a rodent snout to recall a task left undone, to uncover a hidden emotion. Real dreams were strewn with clues and crumbs.

No, this was a vision dream.

Woon was witnessing Di Ku Yao standing in a wide, empty room whose wooden walls, for some reason, had been painted bright blue with the busy spattering of white butterflies. At the great councilman's side was Dong-soo's wife from the Living Word, Hee-ryung. She was dressed in a long white dress similar to Di Ku Yao's, and the gold sash around her waist bore the same buckle--the one that signified godhood of the highest order.

They've married. Woon knew this without knowing this for certain.

Dong-soo's wife married the god who killed me when I was a boy.

"A god who can see the future and the past, Yang Jian-agi." Di Ku Yao nodded as if approved of a god with such specific talents. "You've seen what happened to your mother now?"

"Yes," Woon said. "She died when I was a baby. My father was trying to kill me, and she stepped in front of me and was stabbed through the heart by my father's spear."

"Yes." Di Ku Yao turned to his wife and whispered something. She bowed her head slightly and left the room, vanishing like white smoke into the pattern of white butterflies.

"The neighborhood children called you son of a murderer, son of a gisaeng, a boy prostitute. The world hated you, and you hated the father who reared you, even though he once tried to kill you."

"I thought I hated him," Woon said. "But a father is a father. He gave me a bed to sleep in, rice to eat."

"He beat you when you picked up a sword. He said you were born under a Black Star and that it was your Destiny to be a killer."

"Yes."

"What did you hate more? Your Destiny? Your father? Your life as an assassin? The lies that the Sky Lord told you to keep you under his boot? What moved your sword when you were Yeo Woon?"

Woon froze for a moment. The question was too difficult. He had always wanted to protect people, but he had also lived a life when his sword had been driven by rage. He had wanted to avenge his father's death by killing the Sky Lord. There had been moments he'd wanted to gut Dong-soo for ... being Dong-soo. Dae-ung, that pathetic man. How many times had Woon kicked him away and told him to go find his booze somewhere else, but after watching Dae-ung torture a woman and an elder, Woon, with no regret, had thrown a match at a shack drenched in oil, expecting that the flimsy building and Dae-ung inside it would go up in flames before a moth could bat its wings twice. Dae-ung somehow survived that fire, but then again, Woon's life had always been a weird puzzle of unexpected events, of Destinies battling Destinies, of Woon never knowing what was certain--only knowing that Death was certain and that he was not afraid of it.

"I killed people," Woon said simply. "Does it matter why I did it?"

"You honestly believed what your master the Sky Lord told you?" Di Ku Yao's face crinkled into an amiable expression--kind eyes, a pleasant, thin-lipped smile. Such a benevolent look for a slayer of gods. "He told you that in the end, a bloody sword was a bloody sword, no matter what the intent. Any Buddhist novice among your people would have told you intent matters a great deal. In your life as Yeo Woon, what did you discover was the Sky Lord's most defining quality?"

"His strength."

Di Ku Yao narrowed his eyes. "Be honest."

It wasn't a lie. Strength was what Woon remembered the most, but there was something else. "He was a liar," Woon added.

Di Ku Yao gave a little shrug. "Smart kid but such a bad judge of character." He turned his head and called loudly. "Hee-ryung-ah? Bring a golden basket too." He returned his attention to Woon. "Your father was right. You were born under a Black Star, and the Sky Lord was supposed to shape you into an assassin, but he did a very poor job of it. I wonder why? I suppose his own grandiosity was in the way, or whatever we saw in you as a little boy--your affection for humans kept trying to fight your Destiny, and you kept trying to protect them. There was that tenderness in you--Seokga couldn't kill it. But you seemed to nurture your own killer self nonetheless."

Woon felt uneasy. Was it his tenderness that the council approved of or his killer self? Why am I having this vision? My sister said something about the spider. The spider. She said the council might want me to take a place here. I'm supposed to be seeing France, Cho-rip, my future as a human, this isn't... right.

"Baek Dong-soo only kept inspiring you. Heaven knows we did not foresee you throwing out a red thread at him; we did not even imagine you had retained enough god-stuff to fall in love with the man who was destined to kill your human self." Di Ku Yao turned to his right where Hee-ryung was suddenly standing holding a large woven basket in one hand—it indeed looked like it had been spun out of pure gold threads, and in the other hand, she held the dazzling blade which had been used to kill Yang Jian-agi--Woon would never forget the size of the sword. Or how immaculate it had appeared even in a pristine heaven. Even as a child-god, Woon had experienced the muddy waters and bruised fruit of the Living World, and the Afterlife's bright perfection seemed natural to him--but the sword--the sword was unnaturally beautiful.

"Thank you, dear," Di Ku Yao said as his wife handed him the sword.

"Yang Jian-agi, so you believe that you yourself are a killer?" The great Destroyer of gods went on. "What do you think is your greatest sin? What did you destroy that you most regret destroying?"

"My own life."

"Well, of course. Do you think that if you had powers equal to my own and that if I were to raise this blade against someone you loved … would you draw your swords against me? Even if your powers were not equal to my own, and you believed I was about to do something vile and contemptuous, would you rush me with your killing intent?"

Woon took a step back. He shook his head. It was an involuntary gesture, not an answer. "We're not supposed to draw weapons here. How could I possibly--?"

Woon felt as though he were backed against a wall, and he put his arms out to his sides to measure how much wall was pressing behind him. There was no wall; there was only a stirring pressure in his spine, in his forearms, in the tendons of his hands. He was afraid; he could already feel them; the grips of his long double Chinese blades were going to materialize.

This isn't a vision; it's a nightmare. What did I tell Dong-soo once? If I had known my sword would be this heavy, I would never have picked it up.

I never wanted to be an assassin.

I didn't want to be a god of Destiny.

I don't want to fight this man.

Woon's hands were clutching something, but no, they were not wrapped around the smooth ends of Chinese blades. He was holding unwieldly things, like a sack in each hand; his fingers were gripping awkwardly--the folds of cloth?

He looked down.

Hair. His fingers were clutching hair. He held a head of hair in each hand. He held a severed head in each hand.

He could not see the faces, only the shreds of dark and bloody flesh hanging from the gullets, and the matted bloody hair around the throats where, presumably, loosened long hair had been cut off with the necks.

Woon dropped the heads. They rolled a little ways down the warm wooden floorboards of the high councilman's visiting room, and Woon recognized the faces right away.

His father. Yeo Cho-sang. Mouth open, eyes open. The way Woon had seen him the night he died. But he hadn't died this way.

The second head belonged to the Sky Lord. An old man. Eyes closed, at peace, a resigned expression maybe. The man Woon had encountered the last night the two had fought, and Woon had wanted with all his heart to kill the man. But he hadn't died this way. Wasn't the Sky Lord Seokga, a god who Woon had recently met in Hell?

Di Ku Yao reached forward with his sword and stabbed each of the heads, one by one, and as Woon had seen humans do when picking up litter on the beaches in the Living World, Di Ku Yao put the heads into the golden basket. "You killed them, Yang Jian-agi," Di Ku Yao said simply. Strange how his voice sounded kind, not scary at all. "You killed them with your intent. Your father because he killed your mother. The Sky Lord because he lied to you for so many years. Because he lied and lied."

Woon was trembling. He was willing himself not to, but the scene was too horrific. Dong-soo's wife took back the divine sword--of course it was not bloody in the slightest--and she closed the handles of the golden basket, both long braids folded in the crook of her arm. She was looking at Woon with a blank expression--he couldn't read it. She was a noble lady, trained to hold her face with dignity and restraint. That's why for years Woon had believed she had no feelings for Dong-soo.

"Dong-soo-yah? I tried--I tried to kill him once."

"You could never kill Baek Dong-soo," Di Ku Yao said. "But you're a killer. You used him to kill yourself. That was brilliant. That was worthy of a god. You understand now why the spider wants you to take my place?"

"I don't want your place."

"How many times, Yang Jian-agi, do you think you can out-wit Destiny? I'm the highest god on the council, and I accept that even my time is not immortal. The wheel turns. The sword slashes. All things change."

Woon was sitting up in the cool night, his heart about to burst. He looked at his hands. His palms were white in the moonlight. He was nude in the grass. He had never felt so exposed.

Dong-soo was sitting up next to him. "I saw the dream," Dong-soo whispered. "It was just a dream. It's all right. It's because of what your sister said about the spider. It's not.. it's not real."

Woon wanted to cry. He wanted to fall against Dong-soo's chest and wail like that time he had lost himself before his sisters, the three gods of Destiny. The horror was that unfathomable--

"I have no choices," he managed to whisper back to Dong-soo. "Everything is ... the illusion of a choice."

"What are you talking about?" Dong-soo's arms were around Woon. "You're shivering. You're a god of Destiny yourself. You decide what you want for yourself and determine--Woon-ah, what are you even talking about?"

The council has plans for me. They have always had plans for me. If I had god-stuff in me as Yeo Woon, I will have even more in me as Henri Duval. Ha--Henri Duval?--if they allow me to get that far and reincarnate with Paul Delacroix and Charles Baudelaire. Why are they tossing me this way and that, into the Living World and into Hell? There will never be any forgetfulness for me. I will be Yang Jian-agi in every reincarnation; they say they have let me choose that, but they want me... they want me...

They want you ... how?

Di Ku Yao was only preparing me. He's a true mentor, not a decoy like the Sky Lord, not someone who was meant to toy with me. It wasn't a mere dream. Di Ku Yao was telling me a plain fact about this realm. There are wars here. People like Seokga are tested and tossed aside. Children like me--Yang Jian-agi was being tested too. Who's to say I'm not still being tested?

Wars?

I'm not sure. He has the strongest sword in the universe. How am I supposed to challenge him?

Woon-ah, this is crazy talk. We're going to live again as humans--we're going to forget most of this strange place--

Forgetfulness? It existed only in pleasure so outrageous it shocked all sense of being a single entity out of Woon's soul; forgetfulness was in Dong-soo's body. Forgetfulness was like the physical bewilderment the moment one dies--the pain whooshing out of the top of the head and the sudden lightness.

Woon pressed his body closer to Dong-soo's and kissed him roughly on the mouth. He felt resistance--as if Dong-soo wasn't sure why Woon was initiating the contact. Woon hadn't done so before, and Dong-soo seemed to want to talk about the dream.

Dong-soo's thumbs pressed under Woon's eyes. Woon-ah, don't cry.

Woon hadn't been aware that any tears had fallen.

Stop them. Stop me. I don't want to think. I don't want to hold a sword again. I want to be inside your body, Dong-soo-yah.

Woon-ah? Dong-soo was kissing Woon's eyelids shut now. Woon was seeing nothing, no visions, not even the ghosts of veins that sometimes lit the undersides of his closed eyes and looked for all of heaven and earth like the spider lily pattern of the silk in which he'd died. All Woon felt was Dong-soo's warm mouth.

In heaven, forgetfulness was perfect but provisional. It lasted as long as a soul could bear the absence of dread and loneliness. That was part of being singular; that was part of being human and not a system of stars or a body of water. Every human soul carried a little loneliness from realm to realm.

Even here, loneliness existed because souls could not exist without it.

But Woon would bear its absence. Woon would bear Dong-soo's love for a long time tonight.

Summary:

So many questions, and not even the gods know the answers. Gameunjang-agi seems uncertain of what roles Dong-soo and Woon will play in the future. Does Sang-hee know?

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

I listen to the silence of the tree:
“I am here.
Death is unmasked life.
Our lives, our winters are like that, too.”

We kindle fire
toward the pain
that resembles ourselves.
The night in the forest beyond the window
tosses its body for a deeper quiet.
--from "Winter. Snow. Tree. Forest" by Ki Hyung-do

"We're concerned, yes." Di Ku Yao picked up his cup and took a sip of tea. He winced. "Too much citrus."

The servant behind him bowed and apologized profusely, a steaming kettle materializing in her hand. The councilman's too-citrusy tea vanished, and a new empty cup appeared before him. The servant spirit filled the new cup to the brim. Di Ku Yao tasted the tea, nodded his approval, and turned his attention back to Gameunjang-agi. "We have no evidence that there will be a move on Seokga's part any time in the near future."

"Near future?" Gameunjang-agi was chewing on a cookie. The sweets in this place were always too damn sweet for her. She side-eyed Lady Baek Hee-ryung kneeling at Di Ku Yao's side. Having mid morning tea with him now? Why wasn't Eunjang-agi, that romance gossip, talking about this? Ah, Di Ku Yao had some cloaking powers of some kind. "Do you mean a future before my brother and his general can reincarnate? Because my suspicions are usually dead on, Your Holiness. I realize that I do not have a refined gift of foresight or like my brother or anything approaching your own ability to see various timelines, but--"

"You did see something?" Di Ku Yao smiled. "I heard you cursed Seokga in Hell yesterday. The council overlooked that. The man provokes strong reactions; one might almost deduce that he enjoys strong reactions; they validate his importance."

"I didn't see anything so much as I suspect something." Gameunjang-agi was always annoyed when the higher gods didn't listen to her. She was annoyed because at last night's meeting, none of the sisters of Destiny were invited, and when Gameunjang-agi tried to bust into the assembly, her presence was blocked out. "I was a key witness to the spider--uh, Great Spirit--pulling her unusual move of throwing my brother and his general into Hell, and I tried to take precautions by numbing all many of my brother's senses so he wouldn't be tainted by that world or, heavens forbid, he wouldn't be able to disrupt the fates of Yeomna's judgements there with his own power. But I may have forgotten something important."

Di Ku Yao's eyebrows rose. Next to him, Lady Baek stopped chewing on a cookie.

"I forgot that the general has some god-stuff in him too because of the soul-bond thing. I mean, I knew the god-stuff was there, but I forgot that none of us have ever dealt with anyone like Yang Jian-agi in a soul-bond before. Whatever he transferred into General Baek—is there is a possibility that Seokga, that clever thief, could have accessed that power somehow in Hell?"

Di Ku Yao's laugh seemed condescending. "You blew Seokga to cinders in Hell--did you think him capable yesterday of stealing powers from a human spirit? Enough for him to escape his current confines?"

Gameunjang-agi looked down at the plate of sweets before her. There were five candied dates on the left of the plate and six golden honey cookies on the right. In her years as a human shaman, in her many hundreds of years pretending to read fortunes, she had learned many of the superstitions about numbers that humans believed; their beliefs often made their predictions about the future come true because they resigned themselves to their fates, to whatever a fortune-teller would predict. Eleven sweets on a round plate. Eleven means uncertain strength. The unknowable. The best sort of fortune to give a client. Your fate is in your own hands, client. Now, go in peace, take your life in your own hands. Of course, more often than not, the client would leave in anxiety, paralyzed with anticipation as to when and how the gods would act and make his uncertain future certain.

Humans, such dependent beings. Gods, how we fail them.

"Di Ku Yao." Gameunjang-agi didn't like being messed with, so she wasn't going to bother with calling the fancy, blue-eyed councilman His Holiness again. "Tell me the truth, do you know where Seokga will get the powers that may cause him to break out of Hell? Did you yourself see him touch the general?"

The worry in Lady Baek's eyes was amusing.

"I didn't see anything specific." Di Ku Yao’s tone was blithely matter-of-fact. "No. All I know is that the battle between Seokga and Mireuk is inevitable. The Living World is cursed and has no god; Mireuk was the chosen ruler, and Seokga, who has interest in ruling the realm, may serve in provoking his brother to reclaim his rightful status. We don't have evidence of Seokga gathering energy from his followers in Hell, but given his nature, he may well be doing that. All these things are ... uncertain as someone of your powers surely knows. What part a human spirit like General Baek Dong-soo plays in these state of affairs would have to be infinitesimal at best."

Gameunjang-agi couldn't help it; the sweets on her plate would not get eaten anyway, so she transformed them into tiny stars and made them swirl above her cupped palms. "Eleven," she pronounced in a whispery voice. She still loved the drama of fortune-telling. "Eleven means do not under-estimate those beneath ten, the number of ultimate strength. You may find yourself surprised, Your Holiness, by what humans can do." A few more candies and fruits on the table became stars, rose towards the ceiling, and Gameunjang-agi released the stars above her palm towards those hovering higher. The twinkling lights flashed brighter for an instant then vanished.

Lady Baek's neck was tilted as she watched the display. Di Ku Yao had been uninterested in the whole performance and was now staring at the god of Destiny with his blue eyes looking a little stern, not angry but definitely unfriendly.

"Gameunjang-agi," the councilman said in the austere voice he used at meetings, not the light tone he used at tea-times with his friends, "do you have any relevant information for me or not this morning?"

Gameunjang-agi snorted. "I didn't want to, but I checked up on my brother sometime after the sun rose. Who knows what he and his general are up to at any hour--they are so indecent--but something was wrong. They were sitting at the edge of the stream and looking like the heavens were going to collapse. Literally, Your Holiness, my Agi looked as if the heavens were in big trouble. And the general wasn't scanning the human world for the family of his departed granddaughter. One would think that would be the more pressing matter? I listened. I caught Seokga's name. The soul-partners were having some animated conversation, and I--looked away--privacy, you understand--but I had a suspicion, and I had just wanted to see if my brother or the general had any ill after-effects from Hell was all, really. My brother was fine, but he looked like Hell, if you get my meaning. That can only mean that he's had some prognostication about that scheming, trout-faced, flower-thief Seokga."

"His dreams?" Di Ku Yao took a cookie from a plate. Before he could bite into it, it turned into a star and shot to the ceiling. He made a little sound of annoyance. "Would you please stop doing that?"

"Ah sorry," Gameunjang-agi said. "The spell was weak. That cookie was a sleeper and didn't take. Yes, the dreams of Yang Jian-agi are quite different from your ability to see the future. He lives in his own futures. That means that in one of the many webs you are seeing, there is a very strong one in which my brother takes part--with his bonded partner of course, and perhaps with Seokga. You've just overlooked it, haven't you?"

Di Ku Yao shook his head. "The council does not overlook Yang Jian-agi."

Gameunjang-agi folded her arms over her stomach and tried not to glance at the lady who had been the general's wife in the Living World. "You overlook General Baek Dong-soo, though. You had no idea the influence he would have on Yeo Woon in the Living World."

Di Ku Yao blinked.

Got him.

The councilman smiled slightly and raised his cup. The servant took that as a gesture that she'd overlooked the fact that his cup was empty, but upon stepping forward, she saw it was full, so she stepped back. Di Ku Yao's cup in the air was some kind of acknowledgement to the god across from him; he set it back down again.

"There will be a review soon," he said. "You do know, Gameunjang-agi, that the council is delighted to have you back and that the review of your activities in the Living World is only perfunctory, but there are some questions some members have about you and your sisters' disruption of a timeline? You are Destiny, of course, but the sort of interference you girls caused when you sent your brother back to the place where he impaled himself on General Baek's sword--may I ask, what was the purpose of such a grandiose action?"

Gameunjang-agi frowned. "It was dumb, but we wanted to hurry my brother's crossing over. When my sisters and I put our forces together, the conclusion arrived that if Agi went to back to that time, he and the general might be able to free themselves from some pain that was holding them together. You see, my brother is still stuck to that scene like some poor squirming frog nailed to a tree by a sad*stic child. The strategy then was to free him from that and from what was binding him to the general--"

"Despite the soul bond?"

"It's complicated. It was a mess of undeclared love. It's all forbidden love down there, and--" Gameunjang-agi waved her hands in frustration. "I couldn't have convinced my sisters that our brother would have fought us, so I went along with the plan. "Our hope was that the two idiot boys in the field would confess."

The councilman looked amused. "That wasn't counterproductive to your goal?"

"We gave Agi his memory back and trusted that he would see that a god would have no place with a human. In that place, at that time, it seemed to follow that it would be easy to leave the general if they told one another their untold things and if Yeo Woon saw the general happy again--Yang Jian-agi could've stepped over.”

Gameunjang-agi hated clarifying things for the council--they were all such nitpickers for specifics. "We just wanted the boy to hurry up and pass over--that's all."

"But he killed himself again."

"That's because you interfered. The council shook the earth. And why in the--" Gameunjang-agi swallowed a curse word. "Why did you hurt the human girl?"

"Gameunjang-agi." Di Ku Yao blinked and made that condescending face again. "You're not going to be allowed to ask questions at the evaluation. Remember that the motives of the council are not to be questioned. You have to trust that everything we do is in your best interests."

Lady Baek finally spoke. "Isn't there pomegranate cake? I don't believe our guest has tasted that. She must miss the delights of this realm, I'm sure, after her long absence."

The servant placed a dish of something gooey and reddish before Gameunjang-agi. She really had spent too much time in the realm of the Living. She practiced so long as a shaman, and the dessert before her looked for all the worlds like chicken innards to be analyzed.

Ugly cake. What do these bloody guts tell of the future?

Sang-hee was standing in front of Ji-sun's house, her chicken sitting on her feet, her right hand holding Dong-soo's left hand, her left hand holding Woon's right.

"I can't concentrate," she hissed. "The two of you are talking to one another."

"You can hear us?" Dong-soo was alarmed.

"Not words," Sang-hee snapped. "Just buzz buzz buzz like flies. I'm not bonded to either of you, so stop it for a moment, will you? I'm trying to connect with my sister."

"Can't you see her?" Dong-soo pointed with his chin towards the trees ahead. "She's right there."

"Look, I'm acquiring all kinds of powers up here, but I'm a baby spirit, and you two are interfering with your... with your giant powers."

"Giant?" Dong-soo was confused.

"SHHHHHH!" Sang-hee hissed.

"Maybe the two adults should step back?" From behind the three holding hands, Ji-sun spoke in her most diplomatic tone. "Maybe Sang-hee can manage this all by herself."

"Forgive us," Dong-soo said. He and Woon dropped the little girl's hands at the same time. "I thought our powers would help since you were having trouble connecting."

Sang-hee frowned. "I don't know why it's not working. My sister seems ... shut down?"

Dong-soo remembered what that was like--the sense of being numb to everything. When the initial horror of Woon's death had passed, there had been a sense of not belonging in his own body, in his own house, in the world even. He would open his palm and stare at it--could it still grasp a spoon? Could he still feed himself? What was the point?

Sang-hee inhaled deeply.

And then heaven was quiet, except for the rustling of leaves in the tall trees from soft breezes.

"Myung-hee...."

The souls of birds called to one another, hoping to return to the Living World as friends again, human or animal--whatever life-form didn't matter. Heaven's unique sun shone with its dazzling light on the green grass as always, but the light seemed to amplify a barely perceptible quality of white around Sang-hee as she bowed her head and appeared to steady her breathing.

"Myung-hee," she whispered. "Don't be so sad. I am always here."

Woon offered a suggestion in the softest voice: "We could try going to the Living World? Dong-soo and I, that is."

"No!' Sang-hee said the word so emphatically that the chicken startled and fluttered off her feet.

Earlier that morning, Woon had told Dong-soo that it wasn't necessary to travel to the Living World to see Sang-hee's grieving family, that Dong-soo could watch from his own vantage point right there by the stream if he concentrated. Dong-soo had replied that he wanted to be there, in person--or rather, in spirit--so he could rest his hand on his son's shoulder, that maybe his son would sense the comfort?

Woon had shrugged slightly. "For most spirits, travel across worlds isn't possible except on special occasions. Such as a memorial day. But for you?"

Dong-soo had arched an eyebrow.

"Where I go, you can follow," Woon said. "You have some of my god-stuff inside you."

Dong-soo wasn't going to ask how it got there--he was already smiling from naughty thoughts--but Woon had explained, "We're soul-bonded. I don't know how much of me is in you. Likewise--"

"You have me in you too!" And Dong-soo had laughed and laughed.

“You’re still twelve-years-old, Dong-soo-yah.”

That early morning, when Dong-soo had looked over the stream, the clear water glistening under the heavenly dawn, he had right away seen Myung-hee, her forlorn face resting on folded hands placed on her bent knees as she sat in a corner of some sad, sad room. A house of mourning. The earth's sun had been slanting through the room in bright streaks here and there, despite all the burlap covering the rice paper doors.

"Sang-hee!" Dong-soo had announced to Woon. "Let's go fetch the one twin and bring her to the other!"

A swim, a walk down the path, a turn into the little village, and there had been Sang-hee, playing with her chicken in front of Ji-sun's house. She wanted to know everything of course, if she could visit her whole family, and she’d squealed, "I knew it! I knew it" when Woon had told her about the fact that even reincarnated spirits could visit the Living World to see their descendants, but only on special occasions, and only if they were called on--and more specifically, if they were summoned with the purest of intentions.

*

"Ah, it's no use."

In front of Ji-sun house, the brightness around Sang-hee dimmed.

"It's not fair I can't go there." Her bottom lip jutted out. "I want to hug my mom."

Dong-soo wanted to hug his son.

"Just call your sister with your heart," Woon said. "Forget about everything else."

Sang-hee nodded, and this time, the light around her looked like a transparent water bubble, a soapy one, reflecting vague rainbows.

"Wah! You scared me!"

Everyone startled at Myung-hee's voice.

Myung-hee had jumped to her feet, and everybody saw her.

Ji-sun had been eating on the path just in front of the house, and she had been so shaken that she'd dropped the two apples she'd been holding. Her husband grabbed her shoulders to support her, and the apples rolled a good ways across the sandy ground.

That sight in itself gave Woon a shock, and Dong-soo, in turn, was shocked by Woon's response.

"Yeobo? Are you all right?" Ji-sun's husband seemed concerned, but she was fine, waving him away and smiling. No, Woon wasn't worried about Ji-sun--no, that wasn't it at all.

Woon was staring at the apples on the ground.

Dong-soo caught a flash of Woon's thoughts and remembered Woon's dream. The severed heads with shreds of dark flesh at the gullets; Woon had dropped the heads from each hand and they had rolled forward slightly on a wooden floor until Woon could see the faces of two people he knew, two people he had killed.

"Woon-ah?"

Woon looked up at Dong-soo. His eyes looked terrified.

"Father is crying, Sang-hee-yah." Myung-hee was attempting a whisper, but it was very loud. "It's terrible. I've never heard him cry before. Mother isn't crying at all. I think maybe if Mother cries, Father might stop, but I don't want Mother to cry either--they're both so crazy. They don't understand anything. And... and..." Myung-hee's voice dropped to a barely perceptible murmur now. "They've forgotten all about me."

"But I'm here," Sang-hee said. There was so much love in her voice that Dong-soo's heart wobbled.

"Father isn't even seeing visitors. Grandfather Sang-wook and... and Grandmother are doing that. And Mother too, but she's resting now."

"Myung-hee-yah!" Big's arm was around the child. "You're muttering to yourself. You need to rest like your dear mother."

Servant and little girl froze--their faces turned to look down the hallway. The lord of the household was weeping in his wife's bedroom.

The iridescent bubble was veiling the scene, and Dong-soo wasn't sure he wanted to look, but he couldn't help but look.

*

Was that a tiny, strangled noise in Yoo-jin's throat? "I--" He was kneeling at his wife's bedside. He bowed his head and clenched his hands. "I don't want to go on living."

Dong-soo flattened his palm against his chest.

Pain.

It existed this deeply, even here. Even when Dong-soo had been worried that Woon wouldn't wake up, the pain hadn't been like this--what was this? A forgotten pain?

Remember.

The Living World was pain, pain, pain. Not so long ago, and for what had seemed like forever, there had been pain. Bitter winter that hurt his bones, a fall off a horse that knocked the wind out of him and left his lungs aching all day, that icy dread that came with sweat-drops--someone I love may die, someone I love is hurting, what can I, Baek Dong-soo, do?

Yoo-jin was really crying?

Pain.

Dong-soo had learned it so well. The searing black pain of helplessness, as if a ball torch had burned against his back, pushed through his heart, and come out the other side, gushing blood and fire from his chest. There had been wistful whispery pain; there had been oppressive sadness pain; there had been guilt pain. Oh! The guilt pain. Was that what Dong-soo couldn't remember too well? Guilt over Yoo-jin? That infestation of guilt would devour broody, slow--yes, only speedy thoughts got away with "oh look, a flower...some food...a friend I haven't seen in so long."

Was it true that some people made pain itself a friend? These people must've been murderers and ...no, no, not murderers like--

The pain of missing Woon had always been tempered somewhat by telling himself: I'm a lousy father anyway. If I die, Saet-byeol will take care of Yoo-jin and the girls. Saet-byeol takes care of everything.

Wait. Had Yoo-jin stopped whimpering? What was he saying? His voice was so tiny. Why wasn't Saet-byeol saying anything back to her husband?

"Living hurts too much. It hurts so much, Saet-byeol-ah."

Yoo-jin-ah. No.

A memory roared between Dong-soo's ears, and he felt dizzy. A night he had dropped a cup of wine—it broke into hundreds of pieces, and Dong-soo himself had never felt so broken: I am a burden to my family. There is no way out, not even killing myself. Woon-ah, how bad was your pain that you were able to--?

Then the revelation stabbed Dong-soo like a knife between his eyes: he had always run away from even trying to fully understand his own son. His own son, the scholar not the warrior. Had Dong-soo ignored him because of that? Or because of Woon? Dong-soo had thought of Yoo-jin as rational and detached; he had never known that his son was capable of ... such pain.

"Saet-byeol-ah?" Dong-soo could make out his son's words now. Yoo-jin's voice had never sounded so lost, not since he was a boy and had asked what was going to happen to Cho-rip--was it true that the king was going to send his dear teacher far, far away? "Saet-byeol-ah, say something, please." Yoo-jin was fingering the folds of the blanket at his wife's knees and not looking up at her face. "You have words of comfort for everyone. Are you not going to offer something, anything, the slightest hope to your husband?”

There was a horrible silence.

Dong-soo searched his daughter-in-law's face. Was there really no life in her eyes?

No. I remember that kind of life. You walk through the days. You drink through the nights. Saet-byeol is not like that.

The silence grew. It became its own world. Dong-soo could see Big with her hands on Myung-hee's shoulders, not even trying to push the girl into the twins' bedroom, both servant and little girl listening to the silence from the nearby bedroom. Saet-byeol's bedroom.

In heaven, Sang-hee had quit vibrating thoughts, but she was connected to that expanding silence in the Living World. Behind her, all the other spirits didn't dare hum a sound or think a thought. Even Woon, Dong-soo felt through his own stunned pain, was blank with anticipation.

Silence.

More silence.

Dong-soo couldn't bear the suspense. Woman, say something? Ah shibal, he’s your husband.

Finally, Saet-byeol let out a soft breath.

It's not a forgiving breath. She's not feeling kindly towards my son.

"You don't want to go on living?" Saet-byeol smiled. It was a bitter smile, but it had evaporated by the time Yoo-jin looked up at her face. "Don't even speak such cowardly words aloud, husband. You'll go on living. I'll go on living. There are more important things in this world, bigger things in heaven and earth than our pain right now."

Her hands pushed Yoo-jin's hands, rather brusquely, off her lap.

"Please go." Her voice was not as harsh as her gesture of shoving him away had been. "Your sadness isn't helping mine. When visitors arrive, take your daughter's hand and face them. Be a man, Baek Yoo-jin. Let the visitors speak. Nod your head, and let their kindnesses in. You have shut yourself off from the world ... you have..." Saet-byeol seemed too tired to speak anymore.

"You really want me to go?"

"Yes."

"You have no kindnesses for me yourself?"

"What you just heard was all I could give. My kindness is that. Please spare me your tears."

Yoo-jin got up and left the room. His footsteps in the hallway were the cue for Big to shove Myung-hee into her bedroom and tell her to wait for a snack. In his own room, Yoo-jin fell on his knees, then dropped face-down on the floor and started those whimpering sounds again.

Dong-soo took a step forward.

Woon caught the crook of Dong-soo's arm. Dong-soo caught Woon’s thoughts: First try and see if he can hear you from here.

Dong-soo heard himself yelling: "Yoo-jin-ah, my son. Sang-hee is all right! That heaven that never mattered to you? It's real! It's real!"

No reaction from Yoo-jin. Woon dropped Dong-soo's arm. Dong-soo could hear whispers behind his back--Ji-sun and her husband were concerned about the Baek family. Ji-sun observed: "The poor general has been through so much already."

"My son." Dong-soo wasn't shouting anymore. His pain was all the worse for having been neglected for so long. "I failed you. Forgive me. Please...." Dong-soo couldn't even cry. He felt paralyzed with pain. "Sang-hee is here--with me. Why can't you hear me?"

A sudden oof sound from Woon made Dong-soo look to his side.

Sang-hee had thrown her arms around Woon's waist.

"Why is she--?" Ji-sun's husband was confused. "The general is the one who's upset."

"It's not your fault," Sang-hee was saying to Woon. "I know you told me you knew it wasn't, but something's changed your mind, hasn't it? Why are you feeling so... so...?"

Woon placed his hand on Sang-hee's head. "Can you read my thoughts now too, little girl?"

"I told you," Sang-hee said. She didn't release her grip on Woon. Oddly, he wasn't pushing her away. "I just hear a buzz-buzz." Her face was pressed against his stomach. Dong-soo couldn’t remember her having been so intimate with him in the Living World--of course she would've fallen through him had she attempted to hug him. "I just know things," Sang-hee went on. "I knew the night you took me flying that I would see you again. I thought—maybe another life? I didn't think we'd see one another so soon. I told you it was an accident! You think everything is your fault. It's not, Pretty Spirit. It's not."

Oh Woon-ah. You were still going on about Destiny this morning, weren’t you? Not that again. Not that again, please.

Woon was petting Sang-hee's hair. Through his own strange grief, Dong-soo marveled at how Woon's hands barely touched Sang-hee's hair, yet swept from the front of her scalp to the back of her head at the red bow.

"Tell me, Sang-hee-yah." Woon’s voice was as soft as his hand on Sang-hee's head. "What else do you know?"

Sang-hee hugged Woon tighter and spoke against his stomach. "Grandfather needs to go to the Living World."

"Yes, I believe so."

"Yes, if he wants to make Father feel better. And you have to go too, Pretty Spirit, since you follow him everywhere, and...."

"And?"

"I have to go there too."

"You too, little girl?" Woon sounded skeptical. "But you just got here. And you don't have....Your grandfather and I have special....let's call them passes to travel to other worlds whenever we want."

"You just got here too!" Sang-hee's voice could get a little whiny. "And I'm little! You can hide me when you take me. Or make some excuse. I know you have some kind of influence with the big gods."

"You know that?" Woon stopped petting Sang-hee's head. "Why do you want to go to the Realm of the Living? To play with Myung-hee? You can see her fine from here."

Sang-hee released Woon. She looked up at him with her clear brown eyes; her determined expression reminded Dong-soo of Saet-byeol's mother's steady gaze, of Saet-byeol herself when she put her mind to something, and of his own stubbornness. Then Sang-hee turned those brown eyes on Dong-soo. They were small, round eyes that twinkled a bit, that were warm--a summer day's warm, even as they defied her grandfather to oppose her.

Her voice, when she spoke, was as commanding as a platoon captain's. "You need me." She nodded for emphasis. "You two were trained to fight with swords, but I was never trained at all. I just know things."

Notes:

Hope the length of this chapter makes up for it being so late; I was sick again; I was reading a lot of (wonderful) fanfiction for a darkfic event I held over at Reddit in retaliation after a troll told me to kill myself (long story, but I get huffy and try to give trolls back more of what they hate--this one said I threw my career away, lol, to write rape fic, so I enlisted a bunch of writers to post their darkfics—not necessarily rape fics--but all things unsavory and unsettling to the Purity Police--so I could kudo and comment on them); I was also having a blast with a new fandom friend who has returned to writing after a ten year absence. She gifted her WBDS fic to me and gave me altogether too much credit in her intro for the story, so skip that--but here is the link to her absolutely pure, canon-compliant, very lovely, Woon-saving fic: Shadows of What Would Have Been. It's really so good. It riffs on “A Christmas Carol” and switches between Woon’s POV and ghosts of his past and future happening in that terrible present right when Woon’s in mid-air, about to impale himself on Dong-soo’s sword. GO READ IT. It's so pure, and it made me so happy.

Lastly, Hurricane Ida smacked my city in the face the past week, and I finished the chapter writing long-hand on a yellow notepad by candlelight late at night (yes, my property and family and chickens are fine--we finally have electricity, so I can post).

Summary:

Dong-soo, Woon, and Sang-hee head to the Living Word. There, as many unknowns as were revealed in the Afterlife await. TW: some slightly violent imagery.

Notes:

Thank you for your patience with this chapter. Two storms hit our area within a couple of weeks! Thank you again to my beta thememoryofthatday for looking over this chapter, for being such a fun and smart friend with a bottomless love of philosophy and Ji Chang Wook, and for restoring my faith in fandom-kind. If you haven’t read her WBDS primer for fandom-blind readers, it’s here. It’s very funny. It’s constantly being updated with photos and more funnies. I didn’t help with it as much as she gives me credit for, not at all. She surprised me with it; I only proof-read, like, a couple first paragraphs and giggled about ideas.

Oh, last chapter was heavy. People keep telling me on Reddit and elsewhere I make them cry. Sorry about that. I promise I will write some crackfic soon. TMOTD had a beautiful new story forthcoming that has fighting scenes and hopefulness (and smut). I hope you’ll enjoy what I have planned for Dong-soo and Woon in this WIP for the home-stretch as well.

Sang-hee had been quite disappointed when Grandfather Dong-soo decided that he was going to wait until after her funeral to visit the Living World; Grandfather had insisted that everyone needed to settle into their grief and that ghosts visiting family during such a painful time might be too overwhelming for them.

"But isn't that what ghosts dooooooo?" Sang-hee had hugged her chicken hard, and it'd bwak-ed in protest. "Ghosts always show up at funerals!"

"Wandering ghosts," Pretty Spirit had added in his calm voice. "Spirits who have already ascended to the heavens have respect for the Living."

"I'm still going to watch my own funeral."

"No one said you couldn't." Grandfather Dong-soo had lifted both Sang-hee and her deceased chicken onto his knee, and both had settled comfortably there. "You can even communicate with Myung-hee if you want--she can see and hear you clearly, and it makes her happy. Myung-hee is used to other-worldly things because of you. But the others--the others can't see spirits from here. It might startle and upset them. Now, do you want to hear a story about the time Woon and I saved ourselves from being beheaded by the palace when we were mere beacon-keepers?"

"Beheaded?"

It had been a story about jumping a cliff, swimming a river, stealing a horse, shooting a flaming arrow through the rain, and doing things girls couldn't do. Sitting on Grandfather's knee, Sang-hee had felt glad, at last, that she was dead, because in life, she would never have been allowed to have such fun. As a noble lady, she would never even have been allowed to see the light of day outside her house much. How eternally boring. What else was there to look forward to but getting married? And the only person Sang-hee had ever wanted to marry ... oh, Pretty Spirit had always been dead. Also, from what Sang-hee had always heard from Grandfather, it seemed that men and their best friends spent more time with one another than with their wives? Mother had always seemed a little lonely and so glad when Father came home.

But Grandfather and Pretty Spirit? In heaven now, in that area across the stream for special special gods, they lived together in a house, as did Sang-hee's adopted heavenly parents--Jin-sun and the old man with the funny hat. It seemed that in the Afterlife, families were a little different. And thank the gods, noble women and girls could walk around everywhere in broad daylight alone without anyone making a fuss.

And best of all, Sang-hee could fly. Most spirits walked around, as if they were used to it from their previous lives, but Sang-hee had discovered that with just a push of her heels, she could rise up to the top of the roof of any house in the village. And from there, she could see just about anything--anything in the Afterlife or the Living World, and...? Sometimes she saw things in what she thought might be other realms. She wasn't sure what these realms were, exactly, or what was going on... exactly. But seeing was seeing. And it was not quite seeing. Like that night she had leaned forward, looking for the moon in the black water--the moon had been there all right--it had just been a night of a dark moon. And she'd fallen and drowned.

I do need to be careful. I need to watch where I'm going. Even if I can fly now. Who knows what’s up here? And when we go to the Living World, who knows what will be down there?

Dong-soo stood, arms crossed, on a white-pebbled pathway that led to the large stylish hanok that was his and Woon's new home. The white pebbles reflected the too-bright sunlight, so there was a glare; Dong-soo didn't like squinting. He didn't like that the persimmon trees were in fruit out-of-season, even if he liked persimmons--is it always all seasons here? The roof-tiles were bright pink circles embossed with some kind of flower Dong-soo didn't recognize because the petals were too common—but the stamens of these flowers seemed exceptionally large and prominent.

"I don't know, Madam Shaman God," Dong-soo said to Gameunjang-agi. "It's all too big. Woon and I are just two people."

"We can tweak some of the details," Gameunjang-agi answered, "because Eunjang-agi's taste is questionable, but you do realize that there's no such thing as too big of a house for residents in this realm? Consider your status. You'll be required to do some entertaining."

"What?" Dong-soo laughed. "Entertaining who? Other gods? My... wife?"

"Surely you didn't think you'd get away with sleeping on the ground until your reincarnation? Agi-yah, what do you think of the house? Too close to the stream? Are the stamens on the hibiscus flowers too suggestive? Because Eunjang-agi likes that sort of thing, but maybe we can--"

"It's fine, it's fine," Woon said. He was watching a baby rabbit hopping near the front gate of the house.

Dong-soo was shocked. "What do you mean it's fine? Since when are you fine with a fancy house and ... entertaining?"

"Entertaining guests in a family home is a fundamental part of any functioning society," Woon said. "Didn't you learn anything of etiquette during your many years serving the palace?"

"No." Dong-soo felt irritated now. "And I thought that in heaven we got to do whatever we wanted. How come we have to live in a big house and socialize with ... who now? Woon-ah, since when are you ok with socializing? You don't even talk much to people you actually like."

Woon ignored Dong-soo. He turned to his sister. "Nui, just send servants over when we call for them. Dong-soo and I don't want any other spirits living with us." He turned to Dong-soo. "Don't worry--it won't be that much entertaining. And I'll change up anything inside or outside you don't like. I know how to do that--it's just a power of mine I realized when I got here. I'm not sure you share it, but I can...." Woon held out his right hand and swept a loose fist back and forth, as if he were polishing a delicate surface. Right away, the roof tiles on the hanok vibrated an even brighter pink then changed to a delicate tawny orange that matched the ripe persimmons on the trees at the front gate. The pattern on the round tile-ends changed from a hibiscus flower to a dragon's face with wide nostrils, a frowning brow, and long whiskers.

"Oh." Dong-soo was impressed. "That's a nice power, Woon-ah."

"I'd rather not talk about the house," Woon said to his sister. "Weren't we talking about more important things like powers? Namely, if Seokga has been stealing them from the inhabitants of Hell, and if so, what he may be about to do if he acquires enough power to get out of there?"

"Yes." Gameunjang-agi nodded. "I wish I had more information, but the council was not forthcoming about a rat's dropping at the evaluation yesterday. I got a little more from Di Ku Yao at an earlier tea. It was only then that he told me that the council expected an eventual battle between Seokga and his brother Mireuk."

"See," Woon cast Dong-soo a playful look. "Tea is important."

"True, true," Gameunjang-agi went on. "One would think that divine beings who can look wherever they want and can overhear whatever they want wouldn't talk behind one another's backs and spill classified information at mid-morning tea, but they're pretentious as humans, trust me. They pretend to have rules, and then they break them like cookies. The stupid evaluation they had me and my sisters go through for all our interference in the timeline was just a show--a ritual of nonsense. The papers just needed to be signed and sealed, whatever. The real decisions are made during... social events. Gods are very social, General Baek Dong-soo. They enjoy gossip and tea."

Dong-soo shrugged. "So until Woon and I reincarnate, we're going to have to go to parties in order to get information about what might happen in a war? This feels so... so...." Dong-soo didn't know how to say it, but he felt ill at ease. He wasn't cut out to be a spy; he was a warrior. He liked to confront his enemies head-on. That gisaeng from the Creepy Assassin place had been a spy for everyone—and she had come forward after Woon’s death to claim responsibility for setting Cho-rip up to die. She wept and blamed herself—she said she had no idea Woon would show up, trying to stop it all, no idea he would end up killing himself because Cho-rip got hurt. The insane mess of misunderstandings. Spying, politics—these things weren’t battle; they were a far more dangerous game.

Dong-soo shook his head to clear it of scary memories. "Woon-ah? Isn't there something else you can see for certain with that future-telling ability of yours? If these big gods can see a lot of timelines, then why can't you--?"

"I just have these dreams," Woon said. "And they're personal to me. I can't seem to dream ... Seokga's future, for example."

"That's why I need for you to keep trying to remember, General," Gameunjang-agi said. "I could glance into Hell because I'm divine, and I could curse Seokga from there because I'm Gameunjang-agi, but Hell is Hell, and I'm not supposed to contemplate Hell--everything looked so murky and dark to my divine eyes. I was watching as closely as I could, but I didn't see Seokga touch you at any point. Are you sure he didn't touch you?"

"I told you already." Dong-soo heaved a sigh. "I don't remember him touching me. He touched Woon--and then sparks shot everywhere."

Gameunjang-agi laughed. "Yes, I didn't want him to steal my brother's power. He may have been trying to leech it all the time my brother was Yeo Woon on earth. What a ditch-water parasite, that man. It was only when I shed Hye-won and returned to the heavens that I was able to see my brother's whole wretched life. Seokga was always touching him--gah! I wonder if he did indeed grab some of my brother's energy that way, even in that time? Disgusting man. His powers were severely squashed then, so I he couldn’t have, but a touch is a touch—for all I know, he could’ve stolen the life from Yeo Woon every time he—"

"Nui?" Woon's face looked serious. "I don't think he stole anything from me. I would've felt it back then. Or certainly, I would know about it by now."

Gameunjang-agi made a clucking, chiding noise. It was her old lady tongue, even though she was young and beautiful now.

Woon took a step back. A sister lecture was coming, and even Dong-soo was wincing in preparation for it.

"General," Gameunjang-agi went on, "you were there for some of it—my brother didn't tell you about it, but now you've seen it through your bond. Did not Seokga as the Sky Lord steal Yeo Woon's faith in himself? I know it was part of Seokga's job to damn Yang Jian-agi, but I swear on every life and death in all the universe, I will never forgive that grinning, drunken assassin for the horrors he brought down on my baby brother. It is a crime against the heavens to force humans to commit acts against their wills. The council allowed this. They allowed Seokga to give a mere child orders to kill people—and then Seokga ordered Yeo Woon to kill his childhood friends? What sort of monster does that? Only a monster who is a puppet of an evil council. Aish, if I could only sit on that council myself--I would change things so that Seokga would be incinerated forever and ever, never mind his destined reunion whatever with Mireuk."

Gameunjang-agi turned to glare at Woon. "Don't you even start with me with that light is only that which emerges from darkness god-sh*t either, or I'll start to think that maybe you are like one of them. You're too nice, Agi-yah. Some freaks don't need to be forgiven. They have no place in any of the realms. Seokga is one of those freaks. He stole your dignity and most of your precious human life--don't try to convince me otherwise. Don't flaunt that sort of stupidity before your older sister, or I'll burn your house down!"

There was a long silence. Woon was looking at his feet, acknowledging proper admonishment by his sister.

Dong-soo agreed with most of what the Shaman-God-Sister was saying—he didn't like that Creepy Guy Seokga one bit. But there was something about Woon's attitude that called back to Sword Saint's most fundamental teachings--old lessons about not judging people, about how everyone deserves a second chance to prove themselves worthy, and who knows what role even the smallest pebble can play in the building of a great temple. Woon not wanting to fully castigate the former Sky Lord made sense. Woon wasn't too nice--he was just nice, and what was wrong with that?

But yes, Seokga was a bad guy; maybe this council was worse; Dong-soo really needed to know what was up because he had a feeling he was going to have to fight someone in order to—

Sang-hee didn’t know if she should tell Pretty Spirit about the dream or not. For one thing, she wasn’t sure if it was her own dream or Pretty Spirit’s dream.

There had been that moon again, the one that looked like a blade in motion. Now, Sang-hee knew the moon (a thing that seemed to change shape according to its cycles) was always a big ball (Grandfather had explained that once), but Sang-hee also understood (just from looking at this weird dream-moon?) that there was something about a sword that was not fixed and always swinging, always sweeping in all directions.

I just know that. Was it something Grandfather said? Was it something his master Gwang-Ticky-tocky from a long time ago said? That swords are movement? Or did I dream that?

Warriors are strange. I wonder what it's like to fight with a sword. I wish I could fight with a sword, but girls don't do that.

There had been a new sword inside the moon in this dream. Not the sword Sang-hee had seen before inside the moon. Pretty Spirit's dream? Yes, it was clearly a sword, but one that Sang-hee had not seen men carry, ever—at least not any of the warriors who had come in full dress uniform to pay respects at Grandfather’s funeral. It was a short, fat blade that curved inwards, like an insect wing.

A funny voice, high like a girl's and giggling, but it belonged to a man. "Heee, been a long time! I'm piping hot, but I didn't get burned! You didn't burn me! I'm so nice! Too nice to be burned! Nice and tasty!" Then Sang-hee had seen a little cauldron of body parts over an orange, lapping fire. Body parts that had made Sang-hee laugh because it was funny to see such silly things in a soup--a big naked foot with toes spread apart, a hand with a metal thumb holding a rice cracker. Such a silly soup.

Then everything had gone snowy.

Sang-hee had startled awake. Her sister's dreams came often—but Pretty Spirit's too? That wasn't right. Once, Mother had made a joke about Sang-hee being able to see her own mother's dreams, Sang-hee hadn't been able to do that--Grandmother maybe could see Mother's dreams, not Sang-hee. Bonded people--they could do the dream-sharing.

Sang-hee had peered into the darkness of her room: Pretty Spirit hadn't been frightened by the silly soup dream, had he? That wasn't like him--so Sang-hee doubted the dream was her own. But still, she could sense that Grandfather was holding his good friend tight. That Pretty Spirit was upset.

Yang Jian-agi was one of the most special of the special special gods--Sang-hee had gathered that much, and Pretty Spirit wasn't having an easy time with being Yang Jian-agi in the Afterlife.

It would be ok; Grandfather would not let Pretty Spirit feel too uncomfortable as a special special god, just as Pretty Spirit had watched over Grandfather when Grandfather was a sick old man.

"More cake?" Grandfather sat down next to Sang-hee on a spot on the grass in front of Ji-sun's house. Everyone was gathered there in honor of Sang-hee's funeral being done in the Living World; Sang-hee was officially released by her relatives now; there was cake. Sang-hee picked up a piece off the plate Grandfather was offering and put it in her mouth. Heaven-cake was delicious. "So?" Grandfather asked. "You kept Myung-hee company at the funeral?"

"Eh." Sang-hee shrugged. "We talked some. Mostly I had to keep away because I was making her giggle, and Miss Kyung-mi kept hushing her. So I went to listen to what the visitors were saying, and they kept saying stupid stuff."

"Stupid stuff?" Grandfather's mouth was full of cake. "Grown-ups say lots of stupid things. What did they say?"

"Oh... stuff like how much older Father is than Mother and could be mistaken for her own father."

"That's ridiculous." Pretty Spirit stood up. He had been sitting next to Ji-sun who was peeling lychee nuts, her little fingers tearing off the brown skin and making a little pile of shiny juicy balls to go into the dessert salad bowl. Sang-hee didn't understand why she didn't make dessert salad just appear out of nowhere. Like the purple god, Pretty Spirit's sister, who had shown up late, making candied fruits and cakes zap into being--all kinds of yummies, zap, zap, this way and that. Maybe some gods had dessert manifestation talents, and some didn't.

"What's ridiculous?" Sang-hee asked. "Father does look old."

"What's ridiculous," Woon continued, "is that whoever was saying such things know men older than Baek Yoo-jin with children your age from second wives and consorts. It's not unusual at all for men Yoo-jin's age to marry a young woman like your mother. These yangban were just being spiteful for some reason is all. Don't worry about such things."

"I'm not worried," Sang-hee said. Pretty Spirit looked worried; he did not look at all right; Ji-sun offered him a lychee fruit, and he took it, eating it with a sorry expression on his face.

Buzz buzz. Buzz buzz.

Grandfather got up and led Pretty Spirit away from Ji-sun's side. Now both Grandfather and Pretty Spirit were seated next to Sang-hee on the grass.

Yoo Ji-sun--oh, that's right, she told me to call her "Auntie" up here, but I can't get used to that—she looks too young and pretty to be an auntie--Auntie Ji-sun used to be Grandfather's first love, but Grandfather acts weird when Pretty Spirit is around her. He acts jealous. Like I used to when Myung-hee would spend too much time talking to other girls instead of playing with just me.

"When are we going to the Living World, Grandfather?"

"Ohhhh." Grandfather's mouth was full of cake, but he talked with his mouth a little open. Mother would've scolded him for that. "Did we decide you could go with us? I wanted to spend some time with your father."

"I saw rabbits all over the front of your house, Grandfather! Your house is pretty, and you have baby rabbits!"

Pretty Spirit frowned. "Sang-hee-yah? You can see our house from here?"

Suddenly the purple god was standing over everyone. How she moved so fast, Sang-hee didn't know. Special special gods were fast.

"What?" The purple lady was holding a plate of blueberries. She tossed the plate into the air--the blueberries turned into twinkles, and the plate became a swirling disc that swooshed into the skies and disappeared right along with the twinkles. "You saw rabbits?"

"There were a lot of rabbits," Grandfather said. "Didn't you say they were presents from that Rabbit God? Maybe they gave off super rabbit vibrations so that people could see them from earth, even." Grandfather snorted a laugh as he ate cake. "Don't humans see a rabbit in the moon?"

"The girl isn't supposed to see in our realm!" The purple god seemed amazed. "Ah, I was talking to Samshin Halmoni about this child just yesterday, and she didn't seem to know about any particular talents. I told Saet-byeol to pray to her to insure the good health of the twins--Saet-byeol was always worrying about her babies. I thought maybe Samshin Halmoni might know if--ah, maybe she was hiding something. You boys should have her over for tea. She might tell you something she wouldn't tell me."

"Tea, tea." Grandfather Dong-soo had finished his cake. "You said we have to have tea with this Rabbit God too!"

"The rabbits were an invitation present!" Purple god looked offended. "Tu Shen blessed you, after all. You're obligated!" Then the purple god narrowed her eyes at Sang-hee. "Samshin Halmoni, if petitioned correctly, protects little children up to the age of seven. You had one more year to go."

Sang-hee shrugged. "It was an accident."

Pretty Spirit looked sad again. Sang-hee snapped at him. "Stop looking like that! It wasn't your fault! I wasn't trying to fly! I was trying to look at the moon! Do you believe in Destiny again?"

It was Pretty Spirit's turn to look surprised.

The purple god laughed. "He is Destiny."

Sang-hee shook her head. "Isn't Destiny what happens to people? If he's Destiny then he gets to decide what happens."

There was a weirdness all around suddenly--everyone in front on the house had stopped eating and was staring at Sang-hee.

"What?" Sang-hee gulped. "Why is everyone staring at me? Am I in trouble?"

The purple god chuckled--she was a pretty lady god, but she had an old lady laugh that was hoarse and deep in her throat. "This one isn't an ordinary six-year-old spirit. Yes, the Samshin Halmoni is definitely hiding something. I'll find out. You boys take Sang-hee with you to the Living World. She’ll be your beacon."

"Yay!" Sang-hee was happy to hear it. "She said I can go! And I'm a beacon, and you two were beacon-keepers once, so ... so.... " Sang-hee couldn't make a joke.

"So we can shoot arrows at you." Grandfather smiled his handsome smile. Sang-hee loved her new, young-looking grandfather. He was not as pretty as Pretty Spirit but one of the loveliest men, dead or alive, Sang-hee had ever seen.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" the purple god said. "Go now."

"Now?" Auntie Ji-sun stood up. All the other spirits on the lawn began to mumble among themselves. "But the party for Sang-hee has just begun?" Auntie Ji-sun looked a little miffed.

"The general has been waiting patiently to see his son," the purple god said. "He just came here for the cake." She waved her arm in a wide circle, and there, before everyone, was a clear view of the Living World, the street where Sang-hee's family lived. It was evening there too--long shadows on the roofs of the hanok that were spaced close together in the well-to-do neighborhood. The neighborhood was old, though, and Sang-hee could see now that the rooftop tiles were tarnished and in need of repair. Maybe some of them were ready to fall off.

"Oh, let's go!" She took her grandfather's hand and without another word, stepped forward into the wide circle.

No sooner had Sang-hee landed on a rooftop that she remembered she could fly, and she dropped her grandfather's hand; she took a flying leap from one hanok to the next. The moment she landed on the top beam, a tile came loose, her ankle wobbled, and she went sliding down the curved roof.

She heard the tile crash on the ground.

She felt her arm grabbed by a strange hand that didn't belong to either her grandfather or to Pretty Spirit. She looked up, and a funny man with a pointy beard and a big pink burn mark on one side of his ghost face was smiling at her.

"Ah, little one," the burned spirit said, "you wouldn't have fallen. You must be newly dead. It's an illusion. You can fly, you know. You’re a spirit. You would've landed on the floor like a feather and not crashed into hundreds of pieces like that roof-tile."

"It's you?" Grandfather's voice.

Sang-hee turned to see Grandfather and Pretty Spirit standing on the top beam from where she had fallen. Both looked shocked to see the spirit holding her arm.

"Dong-soo-yah," Pretty Spirit whispered. "The sword."

Sang-hee turned back to look at the man and saw that yes, indeed, the spirit was resting a big fat blade across his shoulder. Oh! It was the same blade she'd seen in the dream--the one that looked like an insect wing, the one that didn't have a point but had a flat edge. "Ahjussi? What kind of sword is it you have? What is the name of it?"

"This?" Burned Spirit lifted Sang-hee up into the air and let her go, where she hovered for a moment then brought her feet down on the roof's edge. "This isn't an ordinary sword. It's modeled after the famous Kangxi Dadao word that belonged to the Emperor of Qing himself. It’s … uh … a no-nonsense sword for quick fights. Basically, an execution sword. I call it Fang of the Moon."

"Moon?"

"You didn't go straight to heaven?" Grandfather asked.

"I thought he would go straight to Hell," Pretty Spirit mumbled.

"Heeeee!" Burned Spirit laughed, and Sang-hee recognized the laugh from the dream with the silly soup. The soup that was tasty, full of feet, and not burned? "Heeee! Here I thought that a bunch of night cats were walking on the roofs minding their own business, and now I'm being questioned as if I were someone suspicious. Aren't we old friends? Look, I even caught one of your kittens." Burned Spirit pointed to Sang-hee with his Fang of the Moon. "Yeo Woon and Baek Dong-soo have died and seen all kinds of things, and you don't know about me? Am I a good man or am I a bad man?"

Sang-hee looked to Grandfather and Pretty Spirit to see if they could confirm either.

Burned Spirit waggled Fang of the Moon at her again. "Kitten! Do you know? Am I a good spirit or a bad one?"

To be continued

Summary:

Woon confronts an old acquaintance from his days in Heuksa Chorong and confronts what it means to have the powers of a god. First of more upcoming fighting chapters.

“Why did you try to strike Woon down?” Dong-soo sounded panicked.

“I wasn’t going to hurt him,” Dae-ung said in that whiny tone of his. “He started it. He attacked me first. Since when do gods of Destiny kill poor little spirits like me?”

Summary:

Gameungang-agi acquires some startling intel. Dong-soo tries to make contact with his grieving son.

Baek Yoo-jin by NagiReo Supremacy on Tumblr

Summary:

As he waits for Seokga to invade the Realm of the Living, Woon reconsiders his role as an assassin and if being a god means being an assassin again.

Summary:

Not a real chapter. Some art, some true confessions, and an attempt to explain my being stupid and late with this story. RL is a bitch. I’m Jewish. I’m also Zionist. Hate comments will be reported, not deleted.

#excuses excuses #MFA stories #I loved being a fanfiction writer #Dong-soo and Woon are my OTP of all time #mentions of sex and rape, not fictional sex and not fictional rape either, nothing graphic #I want to write again please help #grief is a bitch #did I mention dead babies? Mentioning them now. I think about dead babies all the time; I was obsessing about dead babies long before it was the fashion #I’m a Jewish mama #fic recommendations #some nice WBDS arts #and a prayer #apologies to the seculars out there but I’m the praying type #whenever I try to take the high ground, I find I'm not actually very high