A Windfall of Artifacts (2)

"Hey, No. 1! Time to move out."

No answer came back.

"Kitty?"

I pulled on my coat while craning my neck around, searching for No. 1. Where did he go? Last week, once Peanut's final round of vaccinations was done and the two of them had been separated, he had moped around something awful.

"Hey! No. 1, get over here this instant. That's an order."

Unable to defy my command, No. 1 squirmed and hopped down from the dining chair.

"Miyaaong."

"I'll let you do something fun. Let's go out."

"You think I'd fall for that? Last time you promised a fun game and then dragged me to the vet and took my precious Peanut away! Waaah!"

"This time it's genuinely fun. I'll let you hunt something."

I bent down and scooped No. 1 into my arms.

"No. 1, you keep forgetting, but you're a tiger. Sure, you're stuck in a possession body without Peanut right now, but you're a Baekdu Mountain tiger — chest out, hm? Come on, chin up."

"Hmph!" No. 1 blew a flatulent little snort right in my face, but what could I do? Peanut was already gone. And what was worse — what kind of tomcat drives off every male cat Grandma Mak-sun feeds and then knocks up two of the females? No dignity whatsoever. Let him fling his 'little treasure' around like that and he'd die of prostate cancer, that's all I was saying.

I loaded No. 1 into the car and drove toward the Ugok interchange.

"That's probably the one over there."

He'd told me that parking on the shoulder would be dangerous, so I was to wait in front of a shuttered black-pork restaurant. There, at the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠promised spot, sat a Mercedes-Benz V-Class — better known around town as a celebrity van.

Easing off the gas, I stole a glance at No. 1 and asked, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠"No. 1, you picking up on anything?"

"You mean an emptiness in my nether regions?"

"Quit fooling around."

"Do I look like I'm in a fooling-around mood?"

Mouth pulled into a pout, No. 1 planted his front paws on the window ledge and pressed his nose right up against the glass. "What is that?" Both his ears pricked straight up.

'The spirit bound to that Japanese tanto should be in there. She said it was a woman, and from what I can feel, she doesn't seem to be an evil spirit.'

"That's true, but she's wailing miserably in there."

'I can't tell she's crying, but I do get this sticky, clinging feeling.'

No. 1 was evidently far more sensitive to this sort of thing than I was, so I rolled the window down and told him to get a clearer read.

"Miyaaaoong!"

The moment wind rushed in through the gap, No. 1 flapped backward in alarm. "A wongwi — an earthbound grudge-spirit."

'So that's what that feeling is called. Sticky and slimy... and sorrowful. That's it, isn't it?'

"Exactly. Unlike an evil spirit, it doesn't hunt people's lives or drain their energy, but it's a colossal nuisance. Whining and demanding things, over and over. Ugh, I hate it so much."

No. 1 sprang clean over into the back seat and shuddered. Come to think of it, No. 1 despised every spirit and ghost in existence except himself. He'd even been terrified of a parasitic spirit, no less. 'What a strange creature.' Any other ghost or demon would be the one terrified of him.

I pulled up beside the van and opened my door. Then, with just one leg swung out of the car —

"Sunbae-nim!"

Lee Ho-young leaped from the van and came sprinting over. "Ahhk! You have no idea how much I suffered getting here!"

He certainly looked the part — bangs soaked with sweat, clothes hanging in disarray.

"Don't worry. Your suffering ends today."

"You look even more dependable and magnificent than usual. I honestly thought I was going to die." Apparently convinced he had survived, Lee Ho-young muttered on while half-hiding behind me. "I hired three bodyguards born in the year of the dragon and the tiger, and prepared talismans written in chicken blood. Just in case, I even stashed garlic and holy water and prayer beads in the car — and not one bit of it worked."

So he'd rounded up everything reputed to ward off evil. Which was precisely the problem: none of it had done a thing.

"Should we look at the tanto first? That's her original home — if we deal with it, she'll stop tormenting Moon Sung-il."

"Understood."

Lee Ho-young craned his neck and hollered toward the van. "Section Chief Kim, bring that thing here, quick!"

At his order, the man called Section Chief Kim came running with a wooden box. Black suit, white shirt, lithe, economical movements. One look told you he was a trained martial artist — a team-leader-level man handling security for Lee Ho-young's company, by the feel of it.

"Here you are."

I took the box he handed over and lifted the lid. Inside lay the tanto — the Japanese self-defense blade known as a short sword.

"Sunbae-nim, this is the Japanese tanto recovered from the tomb."

Back in my history-department days, I had only ever seen one in photographs. "It's remarkably well preserved. I can touch it, right?"

"Of course. Mr. Moon Sung-il was actually planning to snap it clean in two. He said if a woman latches onto him, she'll drag him down to the underworld with her — that's the only reason he stopped himself."

"Then, if you'll excuse me for a moment."

I wrapped my hand around the tanto's grip. That instant — kzzt! Like staring into a broken television, countless black-and-white specks bloomed before my eyes and my vision flickered. The smell of leather. A horse whinnying. And a deep, heavy voice. Had I always possessed this ability? Or had my power been upgraded when I ferried the parasitic spirits and the earthbound spirits — Choi Songji among them — off to the afterlife? Some of them, like the Former-Former Village Chief, had surely left me gifts on the way out. In any case, right now I was watching the past memories sleeping inside the tanto.

Who was saying this? I raised my head and found a bearded man standing there, dressed like something straight out of a historical drama. Thirties, maybe. Height around 175? His narrow, long-lidded eyes gave him a fierce cast, and yet he somehow looked sad.

'Judging by the clothes, a warrior of the Joseon era. But why is his hair like that?' Fuzz-fine hair was growing in on his forehead and crown, while the hair at the back and sides had been gathered and tied into a topknot tilted slightly backward. 'A samurai hairstyle?'

In Japan's humid, sweltering summers, fighting in a helmet sent body heat soaring and made it impossible to fight at full strength. So warriors shaved their heads for coolness and tied the back hair up. The man seemed to have lived his life in a samurai's style and was only now growing it back out.

'A hangwae, then — one of the surrendered Japanese?'

Hangwae. When the Imjin War broke out, samurai who had drawn wages under Sengoku-era Japanese lords were mobilized for the invasion of Joseon — and some of them surrendered. They became Joseon men, took wives, and even lent their expertise to military training. The most famous example was Kim Chung-seon: a warrior conscripted into a war he never wanted, who rose up against orders to massacre civilians and defected to Joseon at the head of three thousand of his men. At the request of Commander Gwon Yul and Inspector Han Jun-gyeom, King Seonjo granted him the Kimhae Kim clan surname along with the Joseon name Kim Chung-seon, and elevated him to Senior Second Rank Jacheon Daebu. He went on living through the Manchu invasion, fighting for Joseon to the very end.

'But not every one of them was treated the way Kim Chung-seon was.' Those who despised or resented the surrendered Japanese sometimes herded them together like scraps of the enemy and put them to the sword. 'Could he have suffered some unjust death like that?'

But the man standing before me now was a man. The vengeful ghost clinging to Moon Sung-il was a woman. The one who had died wrongfully ought to have been the woman.

The man shook off his longing and turned away, one hand brushing tenderly over the long sword at his waist. 'The very same cherry-blossom pattern engraved on the tanto.' The tanto and the long sword had evidently been a set.

'Ah — of course!' The long sword called a katana. The short blade called a wakizashi. Together the two were known as a daisho, and samurai carried them as a matched pair. The katana was the weapon for cutting down enemies; the wakizashi, for taking the head of an already-slain foe — or for committing seppuku. The man had given his wife the wakizashi right before setting off on a long journey. This very one.

At some point I was back in the present, the short blade still in my hand.

"Sunbae-nim? Sunbae-nim! Please stop joking around, you're scaring me!"

Lee Ho-young shook my arm, his face on the verge of tears.

"Scary?" I asked, slowly lifting my head.

"Oh, thank goodness, you can hear me again. Why on earth were you standing there staring into space like you'd lost your mind?"

"I was?"

"I thought you were possessed. You stood there completely blank for a good ten minutes."

I'd assumed it was only an instant — and yet ten whole minutes had slipped by. I gave my head a small shake to clear it and walked toward the van.

"Unhand me! Let go! I must go — I must untie it!"

Moon Sung-il was in the complete thrall of the vengeful spirit that had poured out of the tanto. His speech, his movements — all of it the very embodiment of a Joseon-era noblewoman. I steadied my breathing and spoke.

"Lady Wolyeong."

At the weight of my call, Moon Sung-il stopped thrashing and turned his gaze on me. His eyes trembled, and for an instant they brimmed with moisture. 'I was right.' The woman from the vision I'd seen when I gripped the tanto — Wolyeong. The woman who had married a surrendered Japanese samurai and carried his child.

"Lady Wolyeong, come out here and return to the blade. I will untie what your heart desires."

Moon Sung-il slowly shook his head. She could not bring herself to trust me so readily.

"I will let you reach Hanyang before the cherry blossoms bloom."

"Hnnnngh!"

Hot tears poured down from Moon Sung-il's eyes. Then, after a moment — something like a sheet of transparent film surged up from his body and came cascading down into the tanto held in my hand.

"I- what on earth... what just happened...?"

Moon Sung-il, who had been hijacked by the vengeful ghost and stripped of all control over himself, was dumbfounded now that he could suddenly speak and move freely again. Then his eyes met mine, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and he said, as if overcome, "Director Lee was right. Kim Yunho saved me."

"What did I keep telling you? I said our Sunbae-nim would sort it out. Sunbae-nim, you're truly incredible. Wow — seriously! The absolute best!"

The bodyguards who had been pinning down Moon Sung-il's flailing limbs the whole time also marveled at me. "Wow, anyone watching would think this was a fixed game of go-stop." "So what was all our suffering on the way here for, then?" "Hahaha, our Sunbae-nim resolved it with a single word. But — Lady Wolyeong? How on earth did you know her name?"

Stunned and dazed one moment, everyone burst out laughing the next, lightened by relief.

"It isn't solved yet."

I could not laugh. The demands of Lady Wolyeong, now a vengeful ghost. 'That plea of hers — to "untie" it. Granting that request is going to be very difficult indeed.'

I looked back and forth between Lee Ho-young and Moon Sung-il, then asked, "Who was it?" Frowning ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠slightly, I went on. "The person who discovered the coffin this sword was buried in. Someone had to have pried open the lid, no?"

"I heard the site manager for the Wangsukcheon housing development found the coffin and reported it to the Cultural Heritage Administration."

Lee Ho-young had mentioned before that the mummy and the grave goods had all been donated to the Cultural Heritage Administration. 'Except the tanto was held back.' We had no intention of putting a late-Imjin-War Japanese tanto on display as a cultural artifact, after all. Because the Cultural Heritage Administration had turned it away, the short blade had somehow found its way into Moon Sung-il's hands. 'Except it isn't a Japanese blade at all — it belonged to a hangwae. A samurai naturalized as a Joseon man.'

In any case. "This sword was originally one of a pair. There should have been a katana among the grave goods. And if there wasn't — then we have to find it. Otherwise..." I lifted the wooden box holding the tanto for all to see. "I don't believe I can untie the grudge of the spirit bound to this blade."

Untie it. That single phrase meant exactly one thing.

'She wants her grudge untied.'