Ramen by the Han River
The world's most delicious ramen isn't "ramen for two"—it's ramen by the Han River. "Slurrrrrp!"
"Eat properly. What kind of manners is that for a grown man at the table?"
"Slurp. Well, I haven't had any table manners training since I was eight, so I wouldn't know."
"......"
We sat at opposite ends of a bench by the Han River, making do with instant ramen and lunchboxes from the convenience store. As night fell on this autumn evening, the chill really set in along the water's edge, and the number of people wandering around gradually thinned out. They say folks used to freely pitch tents and camp back in the day, but now that overnight tent setups are banned by law, even that's faded away. Instead, the night markets nearby were still buzzing, drawing in foodies like pigs to the trough in place of the tent crowd.
"Ha, fuck. Why does this spam that the company hands out like trash during holidays taste so goddamn good when you buy it outside?"
The spam fried rice lunchbox was simple but a total delicacy, perfectly suited to Korean tastes that crave spicy and salty. Wrap the rice in that salty fried spam like seaweed, shovel down the bland fried chicken and stir-fried kimchi without a second thought. Add some crunchy radish for that perfect crunch, and it's heaven. Finish it off, as always, with a one-shot of the noodle-laced ramen broth.
"Urk."
I stuffed the empty ramen container and lunchbox into the convenience store bag and leaned back against the bench. It'd be a while before the Han River cleared out completely. As I picked at my teeth with a disposable toothpick, I felt eyes on me from the side. The mad woman in her tracksuit—which suited her unemployed vibe perfectly—was staring at me, barely touching her own ramen.
"After pulling off something like that, food still goes down easy, huh? I've never seen anyone as chill as you."
"You look like you've lived a life just like mine, so how can you judge after just one glance?"
This Han Daeri here? Landed a job at a pretty decent affiliate of a big corp and actually made deputy manager in three years. Meanwhile, a grown woman with a ponytail and tracksuit strolling around carefree? Doesn't scream "proper social life" to me. Experience-wise, I'm ahead.
Reading my intent, the mad woman snorted out of nowhere.
"I've had my divine descent for over ten years. Followed Shin-eomeoni up and down the Taebaek Mountains, traveled the whole country—think I've seen fewer people than you?"
"Depth's different. The depth."
I've tangled deep with every kind of human scum out there, like some counselor, soaking up life's gritty lessons. Staring at the quietly flowing black waters of the Han River, that night suddenly came back to me. The turning point of my life—probably involved hanging around the Han River too.
"A lot of people died here. Stare too long, and you'll lose your soul to it."
"Yeah? To me, it's just filthy black water."
Even if it weren't night, I'd say the same. From that day on, the Han River cutting through Seoul's heart looked like sewage overflowing with pitch-black sin fragments to my eyes. Floating faces or limbs? No big deal. With that much sin piled on the riverbed and spilling into the sea, what do you expect?
"You picked this spot for soul-sending to keep the eerie energy from spreading recklessly?"
"Nah. I live in Seoul, so it's convenient."
Soul-gathering and releasing both happen by rivers or the sea. For a Seoulite like me, trekking to the West Sea means Incheon, which is a hassle. The Han River overflows with lives discarded like trash, sins, regrets, despair, lingering attachments. Perfect for releasing a family's vengeful souls.
"You look normal enough—why do shit like that?"
"You've been prying nonstop. Why not just read my face or fortune? Or ask that almighty god of yours."
"Know how you look to me right now?"
"Cool city guy?"
"Your features are all twisted. Nostrils where eyes should be, ears where the mouth goes, eyes where ears belong. Mouth instead of nose, so it looked like you were slurping ramen through your nose. Believe it?"
"Just say I'm ugly. Never heard 'handsome' anywhere anyway."
Maybe from the full belly, drowsiness hit hard. I yawned wide and checked the time again. Pushing ten at night. The chilly wind was stretching my early-bird sleep schedule, but linger longer and I'd crash right here outside.
"Time to wrap this up."
I grabbed the bloodstained tablecloth bundled like a sack and headed to the riverbank. No one around, and the cops' patrol had passed ages ago.
"You know how to do soul-sending?"
"You'll see."
Curious about the method, the sealed ancient tome unfurled on its own with a whoosh. Unlike the Bible I had to flip manually, this thing was convenient. Watching quietly, the mad woman shook her bell—jingle jingle.
"Carrying that creepy thing like a sales tool? You're nuts."
"Mind your business. Better than some tracksuit chick with a bell."
"That book's made of human skin. Dripping blood—mixed human and chicken blood instead of ink."
To me, just an old tome. The paper felt crisp for its age, not bad.
"Says to smash the soul-laden remains and relics."
I pulverized the skeletal skull and heart-turned-stain with my fist as instructed. The mad woman watched with a meaningful look, shaking her bell again—jingle jingle. Fucking annoying.
"Next, coarse salt, mix well, burn it."
I dumped the prepared coarse salt like packing kimchi, rolled the bundle tight, and lit it with my lighter. No oil, but the tablecloth caught instantly and burned like crazy. After the brief blaze, only pale smoke rising high and a acrid stench remained. Surprisingly, no black ash—instead, white sugar-like powder piled like a tiny sandcastle. Despite the wind, it didn't scatter.
Jingle jingle.
"Finally, sprinkle water."
I poured the leftover bottled water from the lunchbox over the white ash. Normally, ash in water makes lye, or sprinkling makes muddy clumps with dust flying. But the white ash repelled the water like oil, spreading it everywhere the moment it touched. The unmoving ash whipped up a mini sandstorm and vanished over the Han River.
"Water carries things away. Like the Samdocheon or Styx—it's about ferrying souls from this world to the next."
Souls are sent off on flowing water. That's why shamans dredge up stuck souls from water—stagnant ones rot. Rotten souls turn to grudges, grudges breed malice, creating more victims. Old, yin-heavy valleys or rivers see tons of drownings for that reason.
"Souls should be soothed, knots untied, then released. But you hack the tangles, burn, and scatter. Against human decency."
"Your god wants to rip healthy people apart—got decency?"
"Anyone seeing you now would wanna tear you to shreds. Why'd I shake the bell earlier?"
"Bored?"
"Thousands, maybe tens of thousands in the water wanna rip you apart. You brutally scattered their vengeful souls—think they're happy?"
I raised both hands to the pitch-black Han River, middle fingers up.
"Don't give a fuck about souls that can't reach heaven. I care about ones qualified for it."
"Defying fate—what's the gain?"
"Self-satisfaction."
Turning from the ink-dark Han River, my coat fluttered in the night breeze as I faced Seoul's glittering nightscape.
"I hate you types yapping about fate and karma being set. Wanna enjoy? Just do it. World's shit? Sin away. Got slack? Do good. Humans get free will—gods should respect that with a free world."
But humans always fear something. Great gods, terrifying afterlives punishing any deviation.
"That's not freedom. Lip-service freedom, then life-score to heaven or hell, believers vs nonbelievers. Before your descent, some god crashed your dream: 'Accept me or live fucked.' Sick with god-sickness, feverish nights, finally caved crying. Right?"
"You ask a god-walker that?"
"God-fucker's path. No resistance, life stolen wholesale. Yours ain't even a toy for some minor god."
Jingle jingle. The bell rang on its own this time.
"Swallowing 'fate' like that—how pathetic. Scared of hell, so you obey 'god's word' meekly?"
Hate hell. Hate pain. Can't enjoy freedom alive, then bound by that crap dead? Makes my stomach turn.
"That's why I do this. If the one true god loves all humanity equally like kids, afterlife's on him too. Even lowly humans don't ditch wayward kids easy—omnipotent perfect god tossing souls to hell for wrong life? Bullshit."
As long as my eyes are wide open, no.
"Made lives shit? Compensate. Give nothing, expect nothing, then damn sinners to hell? So fucking shit."
Means destinies preset for heaven or hell. Dodging blame with 'free will, infinite choices' bullshit.
"Think trash-born and blessed-born walk the same path equally? That ain't god—just some equality-blind retard."
I grabbed the trash-filled convenience bag and climbed the bank.
"You see me as crazy. But I think everyone qualifies for heaven. No—everyone must go."
Seeing humans fill heaven equally might teach the one true god something. Oh, I'm as contradictory as them.
"So I'll be the stepping stone to heaven for all. Even if they trample me to climb."
With that, I walked toward Hongdae, leaving the relentless jingle behind. Bet that mad woman ends up begging for her heaven ticket too.