The Soul of Tradition: Baek Bong-gon, Bearer of National Intangible Cultural Heritage No. 37, the Magic Craftsman

Baek Bong-gon, the holder of the 37th National Intangible Cultural Heritage designation as a magic craftsman, lived with a profound pride in his ancestors. They had crafted the finest magical artifacts of their era during the Byeongin and Shinmi Yangyo invasions in the 19th century, defending the homeland from foreign aggressors.

But at some point, those magical artifacts had shifted from essentials to luxuries. It was during the "Ya-mim No-raim" war that he realized Korea no longer had need of him. Every simplified transmutation circle writer had been modernized, and his work fell far short of the quality produced by Swiss artisans.

"So Grandpa, you're looking for a successor now?"

Baek Ho-chan asked casually after hearing the old man's life story.

Baek Bong-gon chuckled and shook his head. "I'm eighty-four this year. I've been training successors for over twenty years, but do you think I'll make it to a hundred?"

"Come on, don't say that. You have to live a long life."

"Heh, thanks for the kind words, Ho-chan."

He had given up searching for a successor long ago. Now, even if he wanted to pass it on, time was running perilously short.

"But if that little data nugget wants it so badly, I hope we at least share the same values. Ah, perfect timing—there's the kid coming down. Ho-chan, go to my room and fetch the gayageum."

"You gotta give me the keycard first."

"Such a cheeky mouth on you. Here!"

"A man who hates Western culture more than anyone, and yet you have a door lock on your room..."

"Hurry up and get it!"

"Yes, sir!"

Baek Ho-chan sprinted back to the house, hoisting a massive gayageum over his shoulder from Baek's room. It was a rectangular wooden board with a curved middle, strung with twenty-five white strings—a 25-string gayageum.

As Baek Ho-chan neared the pavilion and nearly tripped over a stone, a curse flew from the old man's lips.

"Can't even handle your own body properly—tsk! Look at that! The kid Nami's hopping down the mountain like it's nothing."

"Nami's still young. Every time I run, my back kills me."

"You think that's something to say in front of an eighty-year-old?"

"But what's that around her neck?"

Dodging the switch aimed at his thighs, Baek Ho-chan squinted at Nami bounding toward them. It looked like a scarf, but hard to tell what it really was.

At his words, Arin, Min-woo, and Professor Cheon all turned toward Nami.

"Yeah, what is that?"

Once Nami fully descended from the back hill, she vanished briefly behind the stone wall. When she finally reached the group, everyone without exception widened their eyes and shot to their feet.

"S-s-s-s-snake!"

"Hey...! Where'd you pick that up?"

Arin shrieked and huddled in the corner, with Min-woo right behind her.

"Th-that's a dead body, right? You got it from the mountain, buddy...?"

Even Baek Ho-chan, accustomed to rural life, stammered, overwhelmed by the snake's size. How had she carried something as big as herself all the way here?

Nami tilted her head.

"Oh, this?"

Sss... In that instant, the black snake draped over her back lifted its head. Its vertically slit pupils met theirs.

"Kyahaaaa!"

"It's alive, you maniac!"

"Nami! Drop that thing now!"

The snake twisted its body, trying to escape.

"Aaaah, it's moving! It's moving!"

"Uncle, do something quick! Can't you kill it?"

"How do you kill something that big? It's not like a worm!"

Then Nami grabbed the snake's neck with her tiny hand. The reptile went still again, dangling limply. She unwound it from her neck and set it on the ground. Scenting the moist earth, it came to its senses and slithered off into the nearby grass.

"They said it's an endangered species, so people shouldn't kill it. I just brought it to show you guys."

"People...? Wh-who said that?"

"A gayageum showdown?"

Baek had told Nami about being born on Duri Island, learning the craft from his father, his ancestors' brilliant feats, and his own original magical artifacts—in exhaustive detail. Those who'd heard it from the start were yawning and dozing off in turns.

"Right. Skills may fade, but our ancestors' spirits live on eternally in our hearts. And from ancient times, music has been the embodiment of the soul."

Ding— Baek plucked the strings, tuning them.

"If I hadn't been born on this island, I'd have become a master of gayageum sanjo and byeongchang. Not a magic craftsman."

"As expected of a contrived test—"

"Hey! Contrived?!"

He was both a designated magic craftsman and a disciple of gayageum sanjo. Among the sanjo rhythms, "hwimori"—the fastest tempo, a whirlwind rush from the start.

His right hand danced brilliantly over the strings. Liver-spotted fingers leaped between low and high notes, drawing crystalline tones. Yet his gaze fixed solely on his left hand, which trembled, infusing the resonance with vitality and life.

In the tension and pulse, a poignant melancholy seeped through, hushing the atmosphere. Viewers, treated to an unexpected auditory feast, flooded the chat with praise for the spine-tingling art.

"Ahem!" Baek Bong-gon stroked his white beard. Satisfied with his long-dormant performance, perhaps.

"Anyway, if you can play sanjo at this level, I'll acknowledge you. No strict deadline, but music without soul? Never."

"Wait, Grandpa! This is too much!"

"Too much how?"

"This takes more than a day or two..."

"Then it's fine for that kid to wield aura as a prior step?"

"But..."

Aura could be dismissed as innate talent. But music demanded effort atop genius, didn't it? Her freakish memory—memorizing the Analects in an hour—was impressive, but Baek wanted more.

Baek Ho-chan gritted his teeth. If this continued, even Nami would be trapped on this hellish island. Food for kids jumps from two to three portions; one more study session to slave over. Did she even have musical talent? If not, how many years here?

His worries wouldn't cease.

"What exactly do you mean by 'soul,' sir?"

Baek's face lit up at Nami's piercing question.

"Soul is the eternal, unchanging. A message beyond mere melody. Paired with awe for the unknown creator."

Nami wove Baek's desired style in her mind. Gayageum, eternal unchanging, message, awe. His linguistically expressed passion recombined mechanically.

"Shall I try?"

"Sit here like this."

Baek taught the proper posture for playing. She could barely reach the end stretching her arms. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠New to the instrument, Nami sought guidance.

Ding—

"Like this?"

"Good."

Ding-ding-ring—

"Won't that hurt your fingers?"

"It's fine. I can wrap them in aura."

Calluses only Baek had, she replaced with aura. For unreachable parts, she leaned her torso. Familiar with every scale, Nami practiced chords and arpeggios in sequence.

"Heh, you've handled instruments before?"

"Yeah, a few times."

She'd mastered the pitches perfectly. Baek sensed his meticulously crafted final test might end sooner than expected.

"You hate the academy that much, sir?"

"Hah! Hate it? Makes my blood boil just hearing it!"

"Then you must despise modern wands too."

Nami pulled out her wand to show him.

"I think in art, there's no right or wrong—just beauty and ugliness. I don't know how you define soul, sir, but if I may guess, soul comes from indifference."

"Soul from indifference?"

"Feeling beauty in money stems from ulterior motives in its other values. But a flower petal on the street? That's beauty for its own sake."

Click—

"What're you...?"

"I'll remove it after."

A small cylinder attached to the gayageum's end. Like Baek's initial tuning, Nami began adjusting.

'It's already perfectly tuned, though?'

As doubt arose—

"Arin, hold the phone like this and film?"

"Like this?"

"Yeah. Hold it even if your arm hurts."

"Okay, got it!"

The stream now fully handed to Arin. Preparations complete, Nami activated her wand, infusing mana into the injector.

Ting—

"...!"

"How's that?"

"Whoa, how?!"

Nami lightly plucked a string—not crystalline, but a metallic ring, like an electric guitar's bite from the gayageum. The aftertone lingered in their ears.

"Sol-mi-fa sol-mi-fa. Kinda like Canon variations, right?"

"Whoa, insane. Exactly! How?!"

Baek Min-woo blurted admiration. He scooted closer on his knees, asking the principle.

"Synthesizer principle. But bro, you sitting there? You'll be on stream."

"Oh? Uh... yeah... fine..."

The boy showed more interest in Nami's playing now. Rock metal from a gayageum—how could a guy resist? Viewers agreed.

"Shall we start?"

Baek, arms crossed in disapproval, nodded faintly.

"You said soul is eternal and unchanging, right, sir? So I hope you recognize the essence of my piece."

Nami hated tests. Her past life as an absolute princess for over a decade wouldn't yield easily. So she dug a double trap.

If Baek clung to gayageum tradition, she'd suffer days. But he spoke only of essence. She knew classics infused with "soul" he praised, even if pansori eluded her.

If he denied soul, she'd counter: why ignore the essence? A mutual test.

Golden aura cloaked her ten fingers. Nami finally played—a five-minute piece in A minor: "Caprice No. 24 for Solo Violin." Infused with Nicolò Paganini's soul, sold to the devil.

All that lofty talk ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of soul boils down to the same: human nature doesn't change. It's about proving superiority.

Otherwise, Baek wouldn't have chosen hwimori. He showcased every gayageum technique, basking in mastery-born superiority.

Decades alone on the island had parched his need for recognition. A lifetime devoted to preserving Korean tradition, unrecognized.

When I told him thousands watched live, applauding, he smiled broadly for the first time, revealing his heart. I want to cheer him on, but he tested me, and I answered.

Technique meets supertechnique. In my past life, this violin piece crushed haughty nobles.

Legato sixteenth-note variations. Double-stop octaves. Leaping low-to-high. Sixteenth-note triplets. Endless arpeggios—all via "pizzicato" (plucking with fingers) from Caprice 24's ninth variation.

Because this was gayageum. Impromptu adaptation worried me slightly, but Baek's doubled wrinkles suggested perfection as intended.

Extreme immersion sometimes blanks the self; my playing faded from my ears at times.

Later, sailing off with Arin, I first checked the TikTok clip on my phone.

Our old pajama party clip, uploaded by Haru, resurfaced too.