Poor Kim O-dong, Blind to Romance's Charm
Kim O-dong was truly pitiful, a man who never knew the cool thrill of love. His misfortune began at age ten. His father ran off with the neighbor's wife, leaving Kim O-dong and his mother to endure the sideways glares until they couldn't take it anymore and moved to a remote cabin deep in the mountains. They scraped by until O-dong turned twenty, when his mother developed dementia. He endured that for another ten years. I'd heard this story from folks in the nearby village.
"Well, damn. There must be something to it after all."
The constable uncle sitting across from me spouted nonsense mid-bite.
"A filial son who cared for his mother for ten whole years suddenly does that? Even if he didn't die, he's definitely possessed by a ghost."
Kim, cut the bullshit and eat your rice. I didn't say it out loud. A Joseon-era guy wouldn't get the modern "drip," and it wasn't the kind of thing to say to an elder anyway.
"Ghosts? In this world? It's all made up by people."
I scolded him and finished my meal. We'd wrapped up the questioning around lunchtime, so here we were, eating at the constable's house.
"You think that's something a sane man would do? Feed his own mother to wild beasts?"
I'd hoped to eat in peace, but the constable wouldn't let it go. I picked up some salted mackerel with my chopsticks and explained O-dong's side.
"It wasn't just feeding her to the beasts. It was revenge."
"Revenge? What do you mean, sir?"
"Revenge. Against the life that ruined him."
Sure, a famously filial guy feeding his mom to mountain beasts didn't make sense unless he was possessed. Unless he hated her, that is.
"The scene was a total mess, right?"
"Yup. Human flesh scattered everywhere."
"Ugh, come on. I'm eating."
"You brought it up first, sir."
"That's why I said 'scene' euphemistically. Whatever, moving on."
The story was getting annoying, so I glossed over it and continued.
"If he were truly filial, he wouldn't have left her like that. He'd have gathered her remains somehow and given her a proper burial. But he just walked away, like it wasn't his problem."
Even if a bear killed her and O-dong barely escaped with his life, a real filial son would've dragged his battered body back to collect what he could of her corpse. But the site was littered with what used to be his mother, or so they said.
I scooped up some thick, funky soybean paste stew. A bit salty, but the deep umami was pretty good. Not my style—I preferred a cleaner version—but still.
To cut the salt, I shoveled in some rice and chewed while laying out O-dong's mindset.
"No money. Senile mom hanging on for over ten years. Age piling up. He'd have been sick of it."
The constable froze, chopsticks mid-air.
"Th-that's no excuse to do that to his own mother!"
"Easy for you to say—it's not your life. If it were you, you might've snapped too."
He clamped his mouth shut, chopsticks still hovering.
"...So, what now, sir?"
He resumed eating a few seconds later, scooping big bites like he'd made a resolution. I answered.
"What do you mean 'what'? We catch him."
O-dong was definitely still lurking around Cheong-yeon. The problem? No clue where.
I pondered from his perspective while slowly emptying my bowl. I'm Kim O-dong. House in a remote mountain spot. No money, so day labor gigs. Mom's dementia means locking her in when I go out. Thirty-something and never married...
"Virgin, huh?"
"Pardon?"
"Oh, nothing. Just mumbling."
Poor Kim O-dong, clueless about love's awesomeness. Still, virgin? Made sense. No dad. Mom's senile. Rickety thatched roof. What sane father-in-law sends his daughter there? Not even me.
That explained his obsession with Cheong-yeon too. A guy doomed to tend his demented mom forever, and a popular gisaeng chats him up with concern? For a thirty-year-old touch-starved dude, it'd be love at first sight.
A total gender-swapped Cinderella. Yeah, that's it. Rags-to-riches via a wealthy opposite sex. O-dong was gunning for marriage to Cheong-yeon and her fortune to get rich. That's why he hadn't made a move yet—waiting for her to save up.
With the ghost panic, Cheong-un-gak was booming these past few days. Once the hype died down, O-dong would strike. I'd stirred things up visiting yesterday, so no rush for now. But leave him be, and who knows what he'd do.
I knew the truth behind the old lady attack and his motives. All that was left: find his hidey-hole.
Where the hell was he? We'd searched everywhere. Every room, attic, pantry, rafters. No trace.
"Haaah...!"
Frustration had me sighing. And it was getting stuffy too. Wait, actually hot?
"Uncle, isn't it kinda warm?"
"Huh?"
The constable paused eating and felt the floor. He nodded.
"Yeah, the floor's toasty. Must be the wife—"
"Aigoo, hope it suits your taste."
Before he finished, his wife approached with a tray. Plump and kind-faced, she set it beside me.
"All that rice must've dried out your throat. Wet it with this."
Tray had a gourd bottle of what looked like booze, cups, and roasted chestnuts.
"Sir, take a cup."
"No, I'm still on duty..."
"Aw, one sip won't hurt! Just a refresher!"
"Still..."
I hesitated but didn't refuse. She poured from the gourd.
"This is sticky rice wine from my late mom. Saved it for hubby, but brought it out special for you."
"Ah, thanks."
"Ahem. Hey, dear. Nothing for me?"
Before I could sip, the constable cleared his throat pointedly. She shot him a glare.
"Nope! No booze for a husband who can't even play the part!"
"Wha—hey! We got company!"
"Perfect timing! Borrow some of sir's vigor and pound that rice mill harder!"
"?!"
Lucky I hadn't tasted it yet, or I'd have spat.
"That's how you talk to your husband?"
"How can I hold my tongue with a mouth like this?"
"You damn hag!"
"Hey, excuse me!"
I raised my voice to cut in before the fight erupted, cup still untouched.
"Ma'am, did you light the fire? Room's warm."
"Ohoho, yes indeed."
She deflated, still glaring daggers at hubby between words.
"Can't seat a noble guest on a cold floor, right? Stuffed the firewood plenty, so rest a bit before you go."
"Sorry, got somewhere to be after this."
Planning another gisaeng house visit. No location, but he was alive—I'd find something searching again.
"Aw, don't go. Ondol's just heating up."
Where the fu—wait.
"What'd you just say?"
"Huh? What?"
"No, repeat that."
"Uh, well."
Her eyes widened; she glanced at her husband, then repeated.
"Don't go?"
"No, after that."
"Ondol's just heating up?"
Ondol chamber. Ondol chamber...
The word stuck in my head. I knew what it was—the space under the floor where furnace heat flows.
"Ondol. Ondol. Ondol—ah!"
It hit me. When O-dong first saw Cheong-yeon and fell, he'd been fixing the gisaeng house's ondol. Was that bastard hiding there?
Weather's turning cold enough for fires, but hiding there would've cooked him already? No—he fixed it, so he knew which ondols were active or not. Hide under Cheong-yeon's room by day, unused ones by night?
We'd checked every room but not the ondol spaces.
A lead at last amid the dead end. I downed the wine in one go and stood.
"Gotta go! Sorry!"
"Sir, what's the rush?"
"Think I know where he is!"
"Take another cup at least?"
"No thanks! Full up! Great meal!"
I ignored their protests and geared up to leave. Had to verify my hunch ASAP.
Ondol-hiding bastard! You're dead today!