A Noble Person
A Noble Person…
It was not so strange a thing, really. The Ledger, after all, was a record of death. He had seen terrifying red letters that raised gooseflesh on his skin—the brand of those whose wickedness was so absolute they were cast straight into hell without even a trial. So of course the opposite might exist. He had vaguely suspected as much. He had simply never expected it to appear before his eyes.
The blue letters alone were enough to warm the heart. Just looking at them lifted the spirits. Caught in that inexplicable warmth, Park Su-hwan stared down at the Ledger as if entranced.
Clack!
Startled, Su-hwan jerked his head up. Only then did he remember the person he had forgotten.
The protagonist of this world—Grandmother Jeong Mal-soon—was taking eggs out of the refrigerator.
Is she about to boil some ramen?
With her bent back, she set a pot of water on the stove and began cooking with practiced hands. It seemed she meant to have dinner.
Su-hwan turned his head and surveyed the room.
The living room walls were papered in yellowed sheets that peeled in patches, and mold mottled the ceiling in blotches. It was not so different from Lee Han-gyeol’s home, which he had once seen through the Ledger. No—this place was a little worse.
What caught his eye were the certificates of appreciation and photographs covering the walls. The bookshelves, too, were packed with plaques of gratitude, displayed like trophies.
Let’s see. She made donations?
Yes. Every one of them was proof of a lifetime spent giving. Universities, hospitals, kindergartens, orphanages, nursing homes… At a glance, there was hardly a place her hands had not reached, and the sums she had given were enough to make anyone’s tongue hang out in astonishment.
She spent her whole life helping others. And she did it by sacrificing herself…
In an instant, the word Noble Person written in the Ledger—and the grand phrase that modified it—made perfect sense.
On the shelf, a faded wedding photograph of the grandmother, family portraits, and her husband’s memorial portrait stood side by side. Before them, a simple flower and a piece of bread had been set out. It was easy to guess that these had been the things he loved in life.
Su-hwan’s chest tightened. He could feel how deeply she missed her husband.
Slurp, slurp.
Brrring-brrring-brrring!!
The phone rang while the grandmother struggled through her ramen. Her hearing must have been poor; the volume was turned very high.
“…Hmm? Who’s that?”
She braced herself against the table, rose, and picked up the phone from the living room.
“Uh-huh.”
A bright young woman’s voice spilled out. The volume was so loud that Su-hwan could follow every word without straining.
She seemed to be a social worker, calling to confirm that she would visit the grandmother tomorrow.
“I’m fine. Nothing hurts.”
The grandmother’s tone was offhand, but the social worker’s concern was genuine and warm.
“Uh-huh. Something I want to eat? Just come. Why are you talking about bringing things? That’s enough.”
After a few more rounds of gentle bickering, the grandmother hung up first.
“…Such a worrywart.”
She heaved a long sigh and pressed a hand to her solar plexus. Something seemed to sit wrong in her stomach. The ramen she had just eaten had probably settled poorly.
At over eighty, that was hardly surprising. She had barely eaten any of it, either.
“Aigoo.”
With a small groan of discomfort, she lay down on the sofa and shifted a few times. At last she found a position that suited her, and the frown on her face smoothed into peace.
“Mmm…”
Su-hwan watched her eyelids slowly sink. And he knew. The end was very near.
Then it happened. The corners of the grandmother’s mouth began to lift, soft and gentle, as if she had just seen a beloved face.
“…Yeong-gam?”
She gazed into empty air as though someone stood before her—not at Su-hwan, but at something beyond him.
“…Did you come to take me? You’re still so handsome. I missed you so much. Truly… so very much.”
Her voice sounded as though it might break at any moment.
“I… I really lived hard. You saw it all, didn’t you? So…”
…Praise me for it.
With those words, the grandmother fell into a deep, deep sleep.
A lifetime of good karma alone —
life ends in peaceful sleep.
“Young man…! Aigoo!”
Park Su-hwan stared blankly at Grandmother Jeong Mal-soon, who was calling out to him in distress.
“Huh? Why are you crying?”
The young man who had come running to help her had suddenly rolled his eyes back, started trembling, and was now shedding tears. She was utterly bewildered by the sudden turn of events.
“Pardon…?”
A vacant sound escaped Su-hwan’s lips. Only then did he feel the tears sliding down his cheeks.
“Ah—no, it’s nothing.”
He hastily wiped them away and gathered himself. Fortunately, this time he had not ended up thrashing on the ground in an unseemly heap.
“You all right?”
“Yes. I’m fine. I must have given you quite a scare.”
Su-hwan glanced at the grandmother’s deeply lined face.
“…It happens sometimes.”
His tone was casual, but his thoughts were anything but simple.
At dawn tomorrow, she would go to meet the one she missed so dearly.
Was it truly a kindness to stand in the way of a reunion she longed for so desperately—to force a weary life to continue?
Su-hwan could not answer that question with certainty. He could not forget the smile she had worn at the end, looking at her husband.
What he feared more than anything was something else. That a rash intervention born of pity might ruin her perfect ending. That as the Ledger continued to be written, she might lose her standing as a Noble Person.
“…Young man?”
“…”
Yes. For the first time, Park Su-hwan felt fear at the thought of disturbing the natural order of heaven.
To postpone the grandmother’s death.
Would that be salvation—or merely the prolongation of a painful life?
The old saying that even rolling in a field of dog droppings, this world was better than the next, did not seem to fit today. And so Su-hwan made up his mind.
“Grandmother.”
He would send her off well.
“Thank you. You saved my life.”
“Eh…?”
“I was told that today I was destined to be badly hurt—but that if I met a Noble Person, I would survive. I think you must be my Noble Person, Grandmother.”
Su-hwan spun the story with the smooth cheek of a man who had just had his fortune told by some shaman. The look of wide-eyed surprise he put on was a free bonus.
“Heavens… Really?”
“Yes. I can hardly believe it myself… But they said I have to repay the favor or my path ahead won’t open. That you mustn’t wipe your mouth clean after receiving help, or something like that…”
Faced with Su-hwan’s relentless insistence, she half-reluctantly began to walk. He did not seem like a bad sort. He had approached her first, after all, offering to carry her bags.
Of course, the excitement of eating meat for the first time in ages played no small part either.
Sizzle.
Su-hwan set a piece of perfectly browned meat onto the grandmother’s plate.
“Here you are.”
“Thank you. I’m living like a queen thanks to you.”
“Not at all. I’m the one who lived thanks to you, Grandmother. They said my head was going to get cracked open and I’d be badly hurt. Thank you.”
Su-hwan had brought her to a fairly expensive barbecue restaurant nearby. Given his usual tight finances, it was a place he would never have dared set foot in.
But today his pocket was unusually full. The money he had received from Yoon Ji-ho was quite thick.
More than that, he could not bear the thought of her last meal being nothing but a lonely bowl of ramen.
“Please eat as much as you like.”
“Still… I feel like I have no shame.”
“There’s no need to feel burdened. I’m doing this because I want to, too.”
Su-hwan shrugged and piled more meat into her bowl.
“Thank you…”
Tears suddenly welled in the grandmother’s eyes.
“Oh—Grandmother. Are you all right?”
Su-hwan hurriedly pulled out tissues and handed them to her.
“I’m sorry. I suddenly thought of my children.”
That was right. There had been family photographs in her home.
“Your children?”
“…I don’t know. I can’t even remember the last time I saw their faces. Whether it’s because I got old and sick, or because I spent my money on useless things…”
For a moment Su-hwan could not speak. Then, with difficulty, he parted his lips.
“You have me today. I’ll keep you company all day long.”
“Thank you. Truly. Honestly, hanging around with an old woman can’t be much fun.”
“Not at all. It is fun. And I’m doing this for myself, too. They say good things get better when shared. As it happens, I had a windfall today as well. They say smiles bring fortune. Smile. Ah—how about some doenjang-jjigae or steamed eggs?”
Su-hwan swallowed back the tears rising in his own throat and did his best to soothe her melancholy. He wanted, with everything he had, to make a Noble Person’s final road a happy one.
He hoped her last meal would be delicious meat, not a meager bowl of ramen—that a day filled only with sorrow and longing would be filled instead with happiness and joy. And so he poured into this moment every scrap of care he could give.
After the meal, Park Su-hwan safely delivered the grandmother’s bags to her home before returning to his shrine.
According to the original plan, he should have had nothing in his hands but dog treats—but the grandmother had pressed a gift of steamed corn into his hands as thanks, so that had been added to the load.
He knelt before the statue of Okhwang Sangje. He glanced at the old clock hanging on the wall. The hour appointed for the grandmother’s departure had just passed.
“Huu…”
Part of him had wanted to stay by her side until the very end. But there was no way he could explain to people how he had known of her death in advance.
Honestly, it was a situation ripe for misunderstanding.
So he trusted the social worker who had so sincerely worried for the grandmother. She would send her off well. Of that he had no doubt.
It was a comfort, knowing that a good person was with her at the end.
As he thought this, Su-hwan recalled something he had once read in a book about shamanism and the afterlife.
To say that someone had “returned” in death did not mean they had vanished. It meant the soul had moved to the place where it was originally meant to be.
This world was only a temporary seat. When the time came, the road to the underworld opened.
That was why people did not cling to those who left, but prayed that they would find the way.
“…Grandmother.”
Su-hwan quietly lit a candle and murmured under his breath.
“You’ve worked so hard all this time.”
In that moment, a faint blue aura began to rise from Park Su-hwan’s body.
But he, eyes closed and focused on his prayer, never noticed it at all.
Whine.
The only one who witnessed the whole scene was the little Jindo puppy. The pup padded over to Su-hwan and quietly leaned its body against his thigh.