Episode 39
Min Joon-wan, he said he was only thirty-five years old. Compared to my lifespan, he was a mere fledgling, barely hatched yesterday. And he was human, after all.
So… it was impossible.
Despite witnessing countless others succumb to temptation, I had remained oblivious to my own attraction to a human.
Because… I was a dragon.
He was a human, a creature with a fleeting lifespan, destined to reincarnate countless times, while I was an eternal being, destined to ascend to the heavens.
***
Joon-wan didn’t return home that night.
‘Could something have happened?’
Everything was relative.
‘Did he encounter some trouble on his way home?’
I had lived for a thousand years, yet waiting for someone felt so long and agonizing. I felt a strange anxiety gripping my heart.
‘He’s not usually this unreachable…’
There was no word from him. I just stared at the phone, my heart sinking.
‘If something happened to him… would they contact me?’
That’s what happened in dramas, but I didn’t know about real life.
‘Should I go look for him? But where?’
He finally returned very late, long after sunset, in the middle of the night.
Click!
I rushed to the entrance, hearing the door open.
“Oh my! Where have you been?”
I asked, relieved to see him, but he just stood there by the door, his expression unreadable. His hands, usually carrying bags of groceries, were empty.
‘Did he not see my messages?’
I tilted my head, confused.
“Didn’t you get my messages?”
“…”
His silence worried me.
“Hello…?”
I reached out and caressed his cheek. He looked down at me, his dark eyes unreadable.
“Huh? What’s wrong?”
“…”
“What is it?”
I was still learning how to read human emotions through their expressions. I frowned, and after a long silence, he opened his arms.
‘Hmm?’
And then he pulled me into a tight embrace.
‘Hmm?’
I was smaller than him, my body in its female form. I was enveloped in his warmth.
‘What’s this?’
I blinked, confused by the unfamiliar sensation, and felt warm drops of water falling on my head.
‘What?’
I looked up and gasped.
“Are you hurt?”
He was crying.
I looked him over, but I couldn’t find any visible injuries. Then why was he crying?
‘In dramas… people usually cry when they’re heartbroken…’
I didn’t understand.
‘Is this… how you do it?’
Something must have happened.
“Why are you crying? Are you hurt?”
I recalled the gestures of comfort I had seen in dramas and patted his back.
“What happened? Why are you crying?”
I asked again, but he just hugged me tighter, his body trembling.
‘Say something! Why are you doing this?’
“…I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“I’m sorry.”
“…”
I was confused, but he seemed to need this, so I just let him hold me.
Pat, pat, pat, pat.
I patted his back, comforting him.
“I lied.”
He finally explained why he was crying after a long silence.
“And while I was lying, I somehow… started to believe my own lie.”
His face was pale, his expression pained, as if he had been shot through the heart.
“No matter how much I researched, I couldn’t find any way for a Gangcheol to become a dragon again.”
“…”
I decided to hear him out. He looked like he was struggling to speak.
“In our mythology… in our agricultural society, Gangcheol symbolize drought.”
“…”
“They represent a natural disaster that’s fatal to crops. So, while there are legends about Imugi who fail to ascend but later get another chance, there are none about Gangcheol.”
“…”
“The more I searched, the more I found stories about them being subjugated for their rampages. Celestial warriors descending from the heavens to punish them, the King of Hell sending his emissaries, or even humans killing them…”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just listened, my eyes wide.
“I’m sorry for deceiving you, for giving you false hope.”
He said.
“It’s all my fault. I wish I had never met you that day…”
“…”
“Then you would have ascended to the heavens without any problems…”
His words struck me like a blow to the head.
He regretted meeting me on the day of my ascension.
…As he should have.
But why did his words make me feel so strange?
“It’s alright. I expected this to some extent.”
Why was I feeling this strange unease, this churning in my stomach?
“And human legends aren’t always accurate, right? I have no intention of causing any harm… And maybe I’ll find a way to ascend again if I cultivate for a long time.”
I was the one who should be crying, the one who regretted meeting him, the one who had failed to ascend and become a monster.
‘Why am I so affected by his words?’
I felt confused, but I had to comfort him.
“And I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I can’t ascend right now. I need to recreate my Yeouiju, after all. And I’ve learned something from living as a Gangcheol, even though it hasn’t been long.”
He looked at me.
“I’ve realized that I am who I am, regardless of my form. So, don’t be too discouraged.”
I patted his back, comforting him.
‘Do you regret meeting me?’
I asked him silently.
‘But I’ve enjoyed meeting you.’
I didn’t regret it.
I had just realized that I didn’t regret our encounter at all, even though it had been unintentional.
***
There was something he hadn’t told Hanin. Something stuck in his throat, refusing to come out. It was his conversation with Professor Myung.
He tried to clear his head on his way home, but the conversation kept replaying in his mind.
‘What should I do?’
The backseat and trunk of his car were filled with ancient texts Professor Myung had given him. The scent of old books filled the air.
Two hours ago, in Professor Myung’s study.
“You’re a true scholar, Joon-wan, just like you were as a student.”
Professor Myung had listened with a smile as Joon-wan explained his desire to compile a book about Korean monsters and spirits.
“The future of this field is bright thanks to dedicated scholars like you, who strive to preserve our heritage. You said you wanted to learn about Gangcheol?”
“I’m interested, but there’s so little information available…”
Joon-wan said, sipping the chrysanthemum tea Professor Myung had served him.
“Well, you must have already researched the commonly known texts. I thought about what else I could share with you after receiving your email.”
Professor Myung’s gaze drifted away, as if lost in thought, his eyes fixed on a distant mountain.
“You might think I’m senile, but I actually saw both a dragon and a Gangcheol when I was a child.”
“…”
“It’s something I’ve never told anyone before.”
Joon-wan froze. He had hoped to find some clues, but he hadn’t expected to hear a firsthand account from someone who had actually seen a Gangcheol.
“It happened when I was very young, living in Yangsan. I was about nine years old. I had gone up the hill with our cow early in the morning to graze, and that’s when I saw it.”
“…”
“The fog was so thick that day. I managed to lead the cow, who was reluctant to go, to the riverbank, pushing through the fog.”
Professor Myung sighed, the memory still vivid, as if it had happened yesterday.
“That’s when I realized it wasn’t fog, but steam rising from the river. The water was boiling, like a cauldron over a fire.”
“…”
“And there was a giant snake-like creature swimming in the river. I couldn’t see its head, only its body. It was so thick, I would say at least two arm spans in diameter. The water churned violently every time it moved.”
Joon-wan thought of Hanin, vaporizing the river water.
“I just stood there, my mouth agape, watching it. I was holding the cow’s reins in one hand.”
“…”
“And then it happened. A bolt of lightning, like a divine punishment, struck the river through the thick fog. The creature raised its head towards the sky and roared, as if in anguish.”
Professor Myung sighed again, as if drained by the memory.
“And then, something descended from the sky, piercing through the fog. I could see its head through the steam, faintly.”
Joon-wan felt a cold sweat break out on his skin.
“It was definitely a dragon. There were two of them, and they both bit down on the creature’s body.”
“…”
“They thrashed around for a while, and the water at my feet turned red with blood. I don’t know how much time passed, but as the steam slowly cleared, the sun was high in the sky.”
“…”
“Looking back, the river must have been stained with the Gangcheol’s blood. I dropped the reins and the sickle and ran to get help, screaming.”
“…”
“But when the adults arrived, there was nothing there. The blood had been washed away, and the Gangcheol was gone.”
“…”
“Only the cow was left, collapsed on the ground, unable to withstand the shock. It died that day. I only learned much later, after studying extensively, that it was a Gangcheol.”
Professor Myung’s last words pierced him like a knife.
“The two dragons I saw were probably celestial warriors sent to kill it.”