Treasure Hunt — 7: The Ancient Onmyoji
Number One slipped free of his host body and swirled into his true form, a coil of black smoke.
Gliding low, he skimmed across the surface of Paroho Lake and began swallowing the water spirits one by one.
Back during the Korean War, when the Chinese forces were driven back at the Battle of Jipyeong-ri, they had tried to build rafts to cross the Bukhan River, or so the story went.
Even if they made it across, survival was far from guaranteed — American air power was hammering them from above, and the Allied artillery never let up.
So the Chinese soldiers threw themselves into the river. Tens of thousands of them drowned that way.
It was late May. By early June, rotting corpses had begun surfacing, and villagers supposedly pulled some out and buried them — but that was only a fraction.
The rest sank to the riverbed and became food for the fish.
How could they not harbor grudges?
And yet, they had invaded a foreign land, massacred civilians, and abducted countless scholars besides.
'Honestly, death might have been too light a punishment for them.'
Even the survivors who made it home would shudder at the memory, calling it a battle straight out of hell.
"Abe."
I glanced over at Abe, who stood quietly against the wall.
[Yes, Master.]
At some point, he had started addressing me as his master. I really wished he wouldn't.
"Shouldn't you go eat something yourself?"
Tomorrow we'd be breaking the barrier and fighting whatever had been sealed inside it, and he seemed like he'd need to build up his strength.
[Standing beside you is quite enough, Master — you who command the energies of yin and yang and absorb pure qi.]
"What? I'm absorbing qi?"
[You're doing it right now.]
I rolled my eyes for a moment, then looked over at Number One, who was yanking the head off a water spirit and shoving it into his mouth on the lake's surface.
'When Number One eats water spirits like that, I grow stronger automatically through our bond. And Abe's been skimming a share off the top?'
No wonder he'd been sticking so close to me.
I took a careful step back and stretched out an arm to keep him at a distance.
"Don't come any closer. I need to build up my reserves too, you know."
[Understood, Master. I absolutely will not come any closer.]
"Good."
Bzzzt. Bzzzt.
The phone I'd left on the side table began to vibrate.
"Ah, yes, Representative Lee."
"Lunch is ready, Sunbae-nim. I thought we'd eat and then head over to the Chilseongru pavilion."
"Sounds good. Let's go down now."
As I stepped out of the room, Abe glided silently after me.
'I've grown a tail.'
"The chef says all he could put together is the pork cutlet and seaweed soup from the Western-style diner next door, plus a salad."
Lee Ho-young's mouth twisted as we stepped into the first-floor dining hall.
We'd rented out the entire resort, and this was the effort we got? The man couldn't even grill us a steak?
Still, from the resort owner's perspective, canceling every other booking to accommodate us was already more goodwill than anyone could reasonably expect. Word was that if it hadn't been raining, renting the whole resort would have been flat-out impossible.
Whatever the circumstances, though, I was hungry.
"Looks delicious to me. I love a good diner-style pork cutlet."
"If you say so, Sunbae-nim, then I suppose I have no complaints either."
Lee Ho-young folded like a lawn chair.
I sliced into the golden, crackling cutlet, coated a generous piece in the sweet-and-tangy sauce, and popped it into my mouth.
"Mmm. These people really know their pork cutlet."
"Well then, I suppose I should try it myself."
Moon Sung-il, who had been hurriedly typing something on his phone, finally picked up his knife and fork, cut off a small corner of the cutlet, and tasted it.
"Not bad."
"Not bad" was an understatement — this place could honestly call itself a destination for pork cutlet.
I polished off both of my cutlets in what felt like seconds.
And all the while, my mind was quietly cataloging everything — how the cutlet had been prepared, what went into the sauce. My oversensitive palate could reconstruct the entire cooking process from the flavor alone.
'I should really make my cauldron pork cutlet when I get home.'
After a satisfying meal, I was sipping the dessert coffee when I turned to Lee Ho-young.
"What's the status on that old manuscript found inside the Imari porcelain? You mentioned it last time, but I haven't heard a single update since."
"Well, about that..."
Lee Ho-young paused, his face clouding over, before forcing himself to continue.
"The child died."
"Sh-she died?"
My heart plummeted.
Ever since I'd seen Yongsoo's spirit, the boy who had starved to death in that basement, any mention of a suffering child made my chest ache.
'Another poor child, claimed as a victim?'
The story went back to the Imjin War, when the master potter Yi Sam-pyeong had been dragged off to Japan by Japanese raiders.
With his extraordinary skill, Yi Sam-pyeong produced Japan's first white porcelain, astonishing everyone. He rose to become an official, lived out his days in comfort, and when he died, he was enshrined in a shrine — honored even in death as a master ceramicist and a hero.
Now, a scholar named Sato Genji, a descendant of one of Yi Sam-pyeong's distant bloodlines, had discovered Imari porcelain near a kiln that had long fallen out of use — porcelain that had been buried in the earth.
Inside that buried Imari porcelain was an old manuscript written in Hangul, the Korean alphabet.
While Sato Genji was studying the Hangul in that manuscript, his granddaughter fell ill and began behaving strangely — and that was where the story had ended when I last heard it.
"I thought they were planning to bring the Imari porcelain and the manuscript to Korea?"
Lee Ho-young nodded gravely at my question.
"While they were arranging the visas, the girl passed away. He never even had the chance to intervene."
It had happened barely any time after Lee Ho-young first briefed me on the situation.
"She'd never learned a word of Hangul in her life, but supposedly she could read and write it — speak fluent Korean, even. And the last thing she said was... 'It's hot. Save me...'"
The moment I heard those words, a thought flashed through my mind — but I couldn't bring myself to say it out loud.
'Not yet. I don't know the details.'
So the old manuscript from inside the Imari porcelain was still in Sato Genji's possession?
And if a grudge was sealed within that manuscript, wouldn't there be another victim?
"You're not thinking it's over just because the girl died, are you?"
"They put the manuscript back into the porcelain and reburied it where it was found. They brought in a shaman, attached talismans, and even held a memorial rite to console the spirit."
The moment Lee Ho-young finished, Moon Sung-il spoke up.
"Sato Genji is a scholar I know personally. He's tracked down Korean cultural artifacts scattered across Japan and tipped me off about them before."
Though born and raised in Japan, the man claimed that Joseon blood ran in his veins.
So whenever he came across Goryeo, Silla, or Joseon artifacts being traded illegally within Japan, he would notify Moon Sung-il immediately so action could be taken.
Moon Sung-il would then contact the Cultural Heritage Administration or the Korean ambassador stationed in Japan, and push for the pieces to be recovered.
"Most of them were being traded as stolen goods, which actually made them relatively easy to repatriate. He's helped us bring home several dozen pieces that way."
"That's a mission most Koreans couldn't take on so easily themselves."
"Exactly. But after losing his granddaughter over this latest incident, he's been so wracked with guilt and grief that we've barely been able to reach him."
For all anyone knew, he might believe that he himself had killed her.
I turned to Abe, who stood behind me.
"Abe — if a vengeful spirit that harmed people was sealed inside an object with talismans, is it really safe to assume the matter is closed? The soul of someone killed by such a spirit could turn around and nurture a grudge of its own, couldn't it?"
The instant I murmured this to the empty air, Moon Sung-il and Lee Ho-young nearly jumped out of their skins.
They already knew I was planning to bring a Japanese shaman over to break the barrier, but learning that he'd accompanied us all the way to the dining hall turned them visibly pale and left them floundering.
Meanwhile, Abe drifted closer and spoke.
[Your words are correct, Master. Those slain by a vengeful spirit become vengeful ghosts themselves, attacking the vulnerable. Sato Genji is likely under attack even now.]
"Hmm... if that's the case, then Sato Genji's in danger too."
The moment I muttered it half to myself, Moon Sung-il leaned abruptly across the table.
Apparently he'd decided that trembling in terror of a Japanese ghost could wait.
"Sato Genji is in danger? How?"
"If the vengeful spirit inside that old manuscript is what killed his granddaughter, then the granddaughter's own spirit — the one who died to it — could turn around and attack Sato Genji."
Slapping talismans on the porcelain and the manuscript where it all began didn't actually solve anything.
Because the granddaughter's spirit, victimized by that vengeful ghost, would be right there beside Sato Genji.
"Then what should we do?"
At Moon Sung-il's question, I put the same one to Abe.
"Abe, tell me what needs to be done. We can't just let Sato Genji die too."
[You must send Sato Genji to the hall of a renowned shaman and isolate him there. And the vengeful spirit must be appeased.]
In other words: seal Sato Genji's room with talismans so the vengeful ghost couldn't approach, and make sure he didn't set a single foot outside it.
I explained the situation to them, and Moon Sung-il shot to his feet and strode out of the dining hall to call Sato Genji right away.
"Um, so..."
Lee Ho-young nudged his chair back a discreet distance and spoke from across it.
"Is Abe the one who'll be breaking the barrier near Chilseongru tomorrow?"
"Yes."
"Th-then, um... where exactly should I look when I greet him?"
He was craning his neck around my shoulder as he asked, apparently having decided that since they'd be working together, he ought to pay his respects.
"Mr. Lee Ho-young, he's right next to you."
"GYAAH!"
Lee Ho-young shot out of his chair as if launched, quivering from head to toe as he addressed the empty air.
"I-I'm so sorry! Forgive me for all my rudeness — we've only just met!"
"I doubt Abe thought any of it was rude. Right?"
[No, not at all, Master. You are a friend of my master's, after all.]
So anyone who's my friend gets a free pass?
It looked like I'd need to teach Abe the concept of personal boundaries before sending him off to Japan.
I'd have to explain that life, ultimately, is something you live alone, too.
That way, even in death, he'd live a life that was truly his own.
The next day, we headed for Chilseongru.
Yesterday, the downpour had forced us to park nearby, take a quick look around to get our bearings, and turn straight back. Today, we came fully armed.
I plastered talismans over my entire body.
Frankly, it felt like overkill.
[You could die, Master. The ancient onmyoji are powerful.]
Die? Then what was the point of the gold?
'Which is exactly why I stayed up all night taking private lessons from Abe, learning how to write talismans.'
According to Abe, the best weapon against the vengeful spirits and yokai an ancient onmyoji would have sealed inside his barrier was the talisman itself.
So I'd turned my own body into a weapon by covering it in them.
And the fundamental power source of those sealed spirits and yokai was, of course, resentment.
'Yesterday, Number One devoured every vengeful spirit around Paroho and Chilseongru.'
In other words, the area was now cut off — no other spirits could be summoned in to attack.
Number One, the cat-bound evil spirit with thousands of years under his belt. Abe, an onmyoji trained in the full ancient tradition. And me, a transcendent medium with superhuman strength.
'Honestly, at this point it's basically over.'
Whatever waited inside that barrier, I was confident I could beat it.
"Representative Lee, Mr. Moon — you should both stay in the car. There's no telling what might come out when the barrier breaks."
"Yes, Sunbae-nim!"
"Understood."
I drove one more point home.
"Even if something wearing my face comes up and asks you to open the door, do not fall for it. If it were really me, I'd be calling to say I found the gold — not asking you to open a car door."
"Rrrright. Understood, Sunbae-nim."
"Yes. We'll remember."
I pressed a talisman into each of their hands and started walking toward Chilseongru.
'Somehow this feels like the opening act of a grand finale.'
At last, Chilseongru came into view. I'd walked around the area yesterday too, and honestly, it was nothing special.
Just an ordinary pavilion, the kind you'd find anywhere in the country.
But Abe saw it differently.
[The barrier begins here. The space is twisted.]
"Begin."
[Yes, Master.]
Pressing his thumb and index finger together, Abe began to chant.
I circled the perimeter, burning talismans as I went, to keep anything inside the barrier from erupting out in all directions the moment it broke.
The goal was to funnel anything that emerged through one narrow passage — a single entrance and exit.
When that was done, I lit incense.
The idea was that the vengeful spirits and yokai, drawn to the scent, would stream toward the entrance the instant the barrier dissolved.
Then Number One would devour them on the spot — or I'd snatch them up with my bare strength and hurl them behind me, straight into the afterlife.
But then.
The space began to warp, and from within the barrier drifted a rich, curling fragrance of incense.
I could hear the sound of chanting — an incantation, recited low and steady.
What had been sealed inside the barrier was neither vengeful spirit nor yokai!
"Tachibana?!"
It was the ancient onmyoji himself — the very one who had built this barrier.