Episode 26
Joon-wan returned home with a heavy heart, consumed by guilt.
‘Did I really make a terrible mistake?’
His remorse had led him to buy a mountain of treats he thought Hanin would enjoy.
‘Did I inadvertently turn a divine creature, who might have become a dragon, into a monster? And am I causing harm to others?’
He had bought cakes, pastries, and various snacks Hanin had never tried before.
He arrived home, his hands and heart heavy, and rang the doorbell. The door opened almost immediately.
“You’re back?”
Hanin greeted him with a strangely calm and composed expression.
“…”
He stepped inside and cut the cake. Hanin took a bite, but her expression remained clouded with worry.
Concerned that her somber mood might be due to festering resentment, he asked,
“Is something wrong with the cake?”
“No, it’s delicious… really delicious… I just have a lot on my mind.”
She sighed, taking another bite.
“Sigh…”
Despite her worries, she ate with gusto. After finishing the entire cake, a feat for someone her size, she crossed her arms and looked up at him.
“I… don’t think this is going to work.”
“What do you mean?”
“This situation.”
She sighed again.
“I asked you to find a solution, but at this rate, this town will suffer irreparable damage before you can do anything.”
Joon-wan swallowed nervously. She was talking about the rain.
“Forget the crops, what if people starve to death or a plague breaks out? I don’t have the power to stop a plague now.”
While the human world had undergone significant changes during Hanin’s slumber, and a city wouldn’t be completely destroyed by a prolonged rainfall, significant damage was inevitable.
“So, I need to take matters into my own hands. There’s a place we need to go.”
“Where?”
“The mountain where I resided.”
“…”
“I’m going to perform a Yeongje there. Can you take me back to where you found me?”
Joon-wan’s eyes widened.
‘Why didn’t I think of that?’
“Yeong” (禜) was a ritual performed to appease the gods of mountains and rivers and dispel floods, when the rainy season continued past the beginning of autumn, threatening the harvest.
‘A Gicheongje.’
This ritual, also known as Gicheongje, was recorded in the “Samguk Sagi” (History of the Three Kingdoms) and continued until the Joseon Dynasty, though less frequently than Giuje (rain rituals).
“Sigh…”
He didn’t understand why Hanin kept sighing.
“I hope this works…”
He also didn’t understand why she hadn’t performed a Yeongje sooner, why she was only suggesting it now, despite knowing the ritual.
***
“One can endure seven years of drought, but not three months of rain.”
People traditionally offered sacrifices to the mountain and water gods when the rain wouldn’t stop. But Hanin was both the mountain god and the water god.
If she performed a ritual as the deity herself, to whom would she pray? And with what offerings?
“Don’t you need offerings for the ritual?”
As far as Joon-wan knew, Gicheongje required numerous offerings. It was a grand ceremony, often lasting for at least three days with the king as the officiant, sometimes continuing until the rain stopped.
He tilted his head, driving towards the mountain. Hanin hadn’t asked for any offerings, even for the car ride.
“No need. I’m already bringing the offering.”
“…”
“Sigh…”
She sighed again. It sounded ominous.
They arrived at the parking lot, and Joon-wan retrieved an umbrella from the backseat, offering it to Hanin as she got out of the car.
“It’s fine. Don’t bother.”
She waved him off dismissively and started walking up the dark path, her hands clasped behind her back, towards the “No Entry” sign, as if she owned the place.
The path was muddy after weeks of rain. Earthworms, seeking refuge from drowning, wriggled everywhere. Joon-wan struggled to keep up with her, holding his umbrella.
“Slow down, Hanin.”
“Many creatures will drown while we dawdle. I am their king.”
She turned and looked at him.
“You don’t have to come.”
He shook his head. He felt responsible for the situation, and his scholarly curiosity compelled him to witness the ritual.
Tinkle.
Hanin was wearing the purple hanbok, the traditional Korean dress, she had been wearing when she first revealed her human form to him. He glanced at her waist, drawn by the tinkling bells that tickled his ears.
Tinkle.
A pair of bronze branch bells were attached to her sash.
Tinkle.
He realized they were “Paljuryeong,” eight-pronged branch bells with small bells attached to each tip, artifacts from the Bronze Age, unique to the Korean peninsula. He wouldn’t have recognized them if he weren’t a folklorist.
Tinkle.
They were believed to be ritual instruments used by ancient shamans, either attached to their clothing or mounted on wooden handles.
Tinkle, tinkle.
“Hear my plea.”
Hanin was using them to summon the gods of heaven and earth. Joon-wan, who had initially thought they were replicas, was now witnessing their true purpose.
“How can you punish the creatures of this land for my shortcomings, when I alone am responsible for this misfortune?”
It was a plea for her wish to be granted, a call to the gods.
He was probably the first person to witness the proper use of Paljuryeong since their excavation. Many scholars had speculated about their function, but he was now seeing them in action.
‘But why do I feel…’
A sense of déjà vu washed over him.
Tinkle, tinkle.
The sound of the bells resonated within him, as if they were calling to him, not to the heavens.
And then he noticed her chest heaving, as if she was about to vomit.
“Ugh…”
She grimaced, her face contorted in pain, then lowered her head and coughed up something. It was the size of a child’s head and looked like a pearl.
“Please accept my humble offering and dispel this Yin energy, revealing the sun once more.”
It wasn’t her body that had been glowing, but this orb she had been carrying within her.
The orb shot up into the sky.
“…”
Joon-wan stared at the sky, his eyes wide with disbelief, as the silver dot disappeared into the darkness.
And then, the rain began to ease up…
Pitter, patter, pitter-patter…
…And then it stopped.
“…”
The rain had stopped, as she had wished. But Hanin remained kneeling in the mud, her expression desolate, her gaze fixed on the sky.
“Sigh…”
She looked like a queen who had lost her kingdom.
Joon-wan approached her.
“What happened?”
He asked.
“What do you mean ‘what happened’? Can’t you see? I plugged the hole in the sky.”
“How?”
She pointed at the sky.
“With my Yeouiju.”
He looked up again.
“…”
The orb that had plugged the hole was no longer visible in the dark sky.
“A thousand years of cultivation, all gone to waste…”
She muttered, then collapsed onto the muddy ground, her face buried in the dirt.
“Oh, whatever.”
She seemed ready to give up.
“Just leave me here. I’m going back to cultivate for another thousand years in this mud.”
He couldn’t leave her like this.
“No. Get up. Please?”
He lifted her up, ignoring the mud staining his clothes. He couldn’t abandon her, Imugi or not. She was a living being in distress.
“Hanin.”
He asked as they descended the mountain, having abandoned the umbrella,
“You have more Yeouiju, right?”
Why did the Imugi in the “Woncheongangbonpuri” have three Yeouiju?
“You do, right?”
But a frustrated voice responded from behind him.
“You crazy human. Do you think Yeouiju just grow on trees? That was my only one.”
She had sacrificed her only Yeouiju? When she could have just ignored the problem?
He couldn’t understand.
‘She must have a plan. There must be a reason why she gave up her Yeouiju.’
But later, Joon-wan realized that Hanin had done something akin to a celestial maiden burning her feathered robe, severing her connection to the heavens.
She had found no other way to contact the heavens.
“I have lost all power to ascend to the heavens.”
Out of love for the creatures of this land.
To stop the rain caused by her mistake, the rain that threatened to drown the world.