Episode 40
Gangcheol. Bulgasari. Isuyagwoo.
Methods to subdue these inherently harmful beings existed not only in the human world but also in the heavens.
Of course, what wrong had water deer or wild boars, designated as harmful wildlife in the human world, committed? They simply became pests, destroying crops and disrupting human life, so humans hunted them.
The same applied to Gangcheol.
A Gangcheol might not be inherently evil. It might not harm humans, and it might even be helpful. But its very existence was a threat to the celestial order, and it was a target for exorcism.
But what was exorcism?
It meant banishing evil spirits, malevolent entities, disease demons, and other harmful beings to faraway places, imprisoning them where they couldn’t harm humans, or even killing them as a last resort.
Hanin’s transgressions were clear.
She had created a hole in the heavens, flooding a region with torrential rain, and now, as a Gangcheol, she was scorching the land with her fiery energy. She deserved to be exorcised.
However, things had changed. The connection between heaven and earth, once maintained by the human world, had weakened significantly during Hanin’s slumber.
It had been a long time since anything from the earth had ascended to the heavens, or anything from the heavens had descended to earth.
Just a few hundred years ago, the local deity of the village would have ascended to the heavens to report the situation, and the heavens, informed of the crisis, would have tasked a human warrior, scholar, or official with subduing the Gangcheol.
After all, it was their principle to deal with matters within their respective realms: earthly matters on earth, celestial matters in the heavens.
But humans no longer listened to the voices of heaven and earth. As a result, the gods of the land had either vanished or retreated into obscurity, abandoning their duties.
With the channel of communication closed, the heavens were unaware of the situation until a month after the rain started.
But now that they knew, they had to act.
“An Imugi that failed to ascend, consumed by its resentment, created a hole in the celestial reservoir, and now, transformed into a Gangcheol, it roams the human world.”
That was how the celestial judges perceived the situation, despite Hanin’s desperate attempts to contact them and stop the rain.
“A Gangcheol is an impure being, but its power, accumulated through years of cultivation, rivals that of a local deity. We must dispatch a dragon to capture it, or if necessary, eliminate it.”
The Jade Emperor, his face obscured by clouds, pointed his finger at the earth. Two dragons, who had been frolicking in the heavens, were dispatched to the human world.
***
What Joon-wan heard from Professor Myung that day was not just a story about encountering a Gangcheol, but also a tale of its demise.
“If the cow hadn’t died on its own, I would have dismissed it as a childhood fever dream.”
Dragons had descended from the heavens and killed the Gangcheol.
“Perhaps it was that childhood memory that led me to pursue the study of Korean monsters.”
Professor Myung finished his story and took a sip of his chrysanthemum tea.
“Professor, I have a question.”
Joon-wan asked, his voice laced with desperation.
“What is it?”
“Gangcheol are Imugi who transform because they’re filled with resentment for failing to ascend, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Then, if that resentment is resolved, is there a possibility for them to revert back to Imugi, to become dragons? Have you ever encountered any similar stories or firsthand accounts?”
Professor Myung looked at him with a puzzled expression.
“That’s why I’ve been researching this, and that’s why I came to you.”
But he shook his head.
“There are no such cases in Korean mythology.”
His answer was a dead end.
“Many creatures in Korean mythology transform into humans or other beings. Thousand-year-old foxes, tigers, for example. And the most prominent among them, as you know, is the dragon.”
He continued his explanation.
“Dragons are like flowing water, capable of transforming into anything. Because they’re inherently divine. As you know, only gods and their chosen representatives possess the ability to shapeshift.”
He was a leading authority on Korean monsters.
“Even carp, crayfish, snakes, and even earthworms can become dragons through their cultivation. They attain divinity, much like a human who attains enlightenment becomes a Buddha.”
He was a living encyclopedia of monster lore.
“But a Gangcheol cannot become a dragon again. The reason an Imugi transforms into a Gangcheol is because it loses its dragon qualities, its divinity. At that moment, it becomes something entirely different. The antithesis of a dragon, an evil spirit.”
“…”
“Gangcheol, symbolizing drought in an agricultural society, cannot coexist with humans, unlike Imugi, who possess the potential to become dragons.”
That was Professor Myung’s assessment of Gangcheol.
“Can you imagine drought and abundance coexisting?”
His words made Joon-wan’s heart sink.
He knew of a being that embodied both drought and abundance, but how could he explain it to Professor Myung?
“So, the moment an Imugi becomes a Gangcheol, consumed by resentment, its fate in Korean mythology is sealed. It must be eliminated. Subdued, banished, killed, or captured.”
Joon-wan closed his eyes.
“Perhaps that’s why the dragons descended from the heavens and killed the Gangcheol I saw as a child.”
He hadn’t learned anything entirely new, but the confirmation of his fears made the blow even harder.
He knew he wasn’t even the woodcutter in the “Fairy and the Woodcutter.” He had thought he was like the woodcutter who stole the fairy’s feathered robe, but now he realized he had burned it.
No, he had done worse. He had driven the fairy away, condemned her to be hunted by the heavens.
He hesitated at the door, his heart heavy.
‘What am I going to say to Hanin?’
He had been deceiving her, offering false comfort and hope.
‘Were all my words just white lies?’
And even those, were they truly for her benefit?
‘Or did I genuinely believe it? Did I truly think I could help her become a dragon again?’
Knowing the truth, he didn’t know whether to continue the charade or confess.
And then there were the dragons.
Professor Myung’s chilling account of witnessing dragons killing a Gangcheol haunted him.
‘But she hasn’t done anything wrong.’
…At least not intentionally.
He stood there for a long time, frozen like a statue, before finally opening the door.
He heard footsteps rushing towards him, and Hanin greeted him with a bright smile.
“Oh my! Where have you been?”
She seemed completely oblivious. She tilted her head, looking at him with a puzzled expression.
“Didn’t you get my messages?”
“…”
She frowned, sensing his mood.
“Hello…?”
He had intended to conceal the truth for as long as possible.
“Huh? What’s wrong?”
But seeing her face… he couldn’t resist the urge to embrace her.
He pulled her into a tight hug. She wasn’t hot at all, despite being a Gangcheol. And she wasn’t causing any droughts or hailstorms.
‘I can’t believe it.’
He heard her confused voice.
‘I can’t believe she’s a Gangcheol.’
He had briefly considered continuing the lie, deceiving her to keep her by his side.
But he couldn’t.
“Are you hurt?”
…Seeing her face made his resolve crumble. He realized his true feelings.
‘If only you hadn’t met me.’
The emotions that had been obscured by guilt and remorse now came into sharp focus.
‘What should I do?’
He had put her in danger, and he had fallen in love with her. It had happened gradually, like clothes slowly getting wet in a drizzle, like spring rain seeping into dry earth.
He regretted going up that mountain. If he hadn’t, he would have remained a solitary human.
But the event had happened, and it had revealed a hidden part of himself.
Hanin could never become a dragon again. She had been transformed from a divine being into a creature that deserved to be eliminated.
And he was the one who had done it to her.
And yet, a part of him thought, ‘We don’t have to part ways right now. Not yet.’
‘This is terrible.’
He felt even more responsible for her now. He had no choice but to take care of her.
“I lied. And while I was lying, I somehow… started to believe my own lie.”
“…”
“No matter how much I researched, I couldn’t find any way for a Gangcheol to become a dragon again.”
Hanin’s expression was strange after hearing his confession.
“It’s alright. I expected this to some extent.”
She was surprisingly calm, as if she had anticipated it.
“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.”
“…”
“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.”
Was it because she was a kind creature, unlike him, a human?
“I’ve realized that I am who I am, regardless of my form. So, don’t be too discouraged.”
She patted his back, comforting him. She paused, seemingly lost in thought.
“But a lot of time has passed, in human terms.”
She continued, her voice hesitant.
“So now… well… what should we do?”
‘I have to take responsibility for her, of course.’
His heart spoke.