I Bought an Abandoned House – 7

Was this just bragging?

The old woman carried on endlessly about her noble lineage.

"I was never meant to live in a place like this. How on earth I ended up in such a state, I'll never know. It leaves me speechless."

"Sounds like you married into the wrong family."

"Mind your tongue. I'm still an unmarried maiden."

She'd never married?

She'd said she came to this village as an outsider forty years ago.

So she had grown old here, single and unwed, all this time?

But why?

When I tilted my head in confusion, she heaved a deep sigh.

"How could I ever tie myself to just any match? I lived in the household of a Chief State Councillor, a house with ninety-nine rooms. Who could have guessed I'd end up buried in the countryside for forty years?"

There were no Chief State Councillors in this day and age.

It had to be a figure of speech, of course — her way of saying she'd been born and raised in a family of tremendous wealth.

"Ah, is that so."

When I played along with an appropriate amount of sympathy, the old woman beamed.

"Back in the day, people would take one look at me and gush — so graceful, so beautiful. The compliments never stopped. Some even wept at the sight of my face, shining like a pearl."

"You're still every bit as refined."

And that much was true.

Every grandmother in the village, Madam Han Su-ja included, wore the same broccoli-curl perm.

This woman, though, had her hair pinned in a tight traditional bun, and she wore a white jeogori jacket with a pale indigo skirt embroidered with bamboo stalks.

Come to think of it, she's the only one in a hanbok?

A faint alarm bell rang somewhere in my mind, but I chose to ignore it.

We'd come out of the village hall together, after all. Surely she wasn't... that kind of presence, too?

No. Absolutely not.

I pushed the unease down and spoke up.

"I like it here, honestly. Seoul was just too crowded for me."

"Seoul?"

"Yes."

I rambled on about how I'd suffered from chronic headaches and worsening ringing in my ears until I'd finally hurled my resignation letter at the company. The doctors had called it a stress disorder, but no medication had helped. Then I'd come here and the illness had vanished as if washed away — and I'd made a lot of money, too, I added with a sheepish chuckle.

I left out the part about the meteorite.

"It feels like I've found a new life. Every single day, I just want it to stay exactly like today — that's the feeling."

Pouring out everything in my heart left me strangely light, unaccountably relieved.

It was as if I'd emptied out even the last little residue of grime still clinging to it.

"You must have suffered terribly."

The old woman patted my arm gently.

"All that sickness was because your spirit runs too clear. All sorts of lowly things kept trying to latch on to you."

"Lowly... things?"

"Precisely. A few days ago, your Yeongan opened, and now you can protect yourself."

I half understood what she was saying — and half didn't want to.

"When you say my Yeongan opened... you mean I've got shaman's blood or something? Because I've honestly never thought of myself that way."

I'd been through plenty of inexplicable things in the past few days, things no logic could account for.

But I didn't want to dig any deeper than that.

My dream was simple: fix up the old house until it was pretty, and live out my days like a gentleman of leisure. The blueprints my friend Ko Min-seok had sent were taking shape, and before winter came, the place would transform into a beautiful hanok.

I liked my life exactly as it was, right now.

The old woman seemed to read that wish straight off my face, and she smiled.

"Everything will turn out as you want it to. You're simply in a different class altogether."

"A different class?"

"Even mediums have their ranks. You are receiving the energy of the entire universe into a single body."

Was that why the meteorite had landed right next to the tent where I was sleeping?

I should have let the words slide right past me, but I couldn't. Curiosity had a grip on me I couldn't shake.

"How do you know all that, Grandma?"

"Live long enough, and it just happens."

She went on.

"And don't you dare breathe the word 'shaman' around me. Shamans are the ones who divine fortunes through second-rate petty spirits, no? They use ghosts to do all manner of vulgar, dirty work."

She shuddered and shook her head in disgust.

"I lectured that man time and again — never, ever keep company with such things — but the former-former village chief wouldn't listen. He went and hired a shaman to hold a gut ritual, if you please."

Just a moment ago, the old woman had told me the former-former village chief was the old man in the Saemaeul cap I'd seen.

And she'd lectured him?

I quietly shortened my stride, putting a little distance between us.

If anything scary happened, my plan was to recite the Lord's Prayer and bolt.

Not that I'm sure that would actually work.

The old woman stopped abruptly and turned back to me.

"Well, the former-former village chief couldn't have taken my words fully to heart anyway. His spiritual energy was weak. Though he wasn't utterly devoid of it, like the current village chief."

The current village chief has no spiritual energy?

"S-so, Grandma, there's really nothing you don't know, is there?"

Frankly, I regretted asking the moment it left my mouth.

Unless she was a dementia patient, this woman was a ghost.

"Didn't I tell you already? Live long enough, and it happens. That's how I gained my Yeongan, too."

"H-how long have you been alive, exactly?"

"A very, very long time. Oh, by the way — do they still run streetcars through Gyeongseong these days?"

"Gahk!"

My face crumpled like I was about to cry. I knew it.

How would a woman with dementia know anything about Gyeongseong?

Hanyang had been the capital of Joseon; Hanseong, the capital of the Korean Empire. And Gyeongseong was the name of the capital under Japanese colonial rule.

A wistful look drifted across the old woman's face.

"Before I came to this village, I lived in Busan. And before that, Gyeongseong."

"Oh. I see. Shall I buy you a bus ticket from the terminal tomorrow, then? Gyeongseong is called Seoul now — would you like to go see it?"

There was no bus bound for Gyeongseong, but so long as the destination was Seoul, any road would do, wouldn't it?

I was offering to send her to Seoul.

Never in my life had I heard of putting a ghost on a bus, but I supposed there was no reason it wouldn't work.

True to form, the old woman's face lit up with pure delight.

"You'd really do that? You'd send me to Gyeongseong?"

"Yes, I will."

"Bless you. A great fortune will come your way for this."

The old woman pointed her chin toward the middle of the hill.

"We're nearly there. That's the house where the old man you saw used to live. Still playing village chief even in death, it seems."

She urged me to hurry, but I shook my head.

"I'd rather not go up there right now. It's too late."

So the former-former village chief had lived in that house halfway up the hill — and he was the old man in the Saemaeul cap. Now that I knew that much, we could call it a day.

He wasn't a mountain god, nor a spirit creature. Just a ghost.

Not that either of them seemed likely to do me any harm.

Still.

"I'll come back in the morning. I'm tired."

"Is that so? Then shall I head down too? I'll ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠be your guide."

The old woman turned, stepped in front of me, and started down the hill.

She was remarkably spry for a ghost.

Trembling from head to toe, I trailed after her.

Then —

The old woman, who had been walking ahead of me the whole way, came to a dead stop.

"This is where I live. Shabby, isn't it? It's enough to make your blood boil."

"G-Grandma, this is where the go-stop grandma lives?"

I had just delivered the go-stop queen — the granny who'd fleeced every last coin from the village's elders — here to this very house a little while ago.

And now this woman claimed to live here too?

"The former-former village chief went and gave me away to this house. How can a man be so utterly blind?"

"Gave you... away? He gave you away to this house?"

"That's what I said. That scatterbrained woman — you wouldn't believe how she lords it over me. I live every day buried in filth."

Her eyes glistened with tears as she looked at me, as if begging for help.

"Hurry along now. You promised to send me to Gyeongseong, remember."

With that, the old woman stepped briskly into the yard.

I already knew the layout of the house, having delivered the go-stop grandma here earlier. Through the glass sliding door on the left side of the yard was the go-stop grandma's quarters.

But this woman, the one with the traditional bun, walked past the outdoor tap and climbed right up onto the jangdokdae — ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the platform of fermented-food jars.

"You must take me to Gyeongseong. Understood?"

Those were her last words before she vanished — into a white jar sitting among the rows of earthenware.

Hey, what the— You can't just evaporate like that! What am I supposed to do with that?

I squeezed my eyes shut, opened them again, and swept my gaze around the yard.

"Not a dream!"

I stood there for a long while before finally making my way to the jar platform.

There was grime on it, sure, but the jar's shape was extraordinary — elegant, somehow stylish, you might say.

White porcelain? Joseon white porcelain?

I knew next to nothing about antiques, but this was not an object meant to be left sitting out in the dirt like scrap.

Suddenly, something the old woman had said floated back to me.

"How do I know all that? Live long enough, and you gain Yeongan."

Was that really it — had she lived so long she'd simply comprehended the whole world?

Ugh, I give up!

Just as my thoughts were churning themselves into a knot —

"Hey there, young man. What do you think you're doing with that chamber pot jar?"

The go-stop grandma, apparently ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠awake now, had pushed open the sliding door and come out.

"You haven't gone home yet? What, need to pee? The outhouse is over there — and don't you dare go in the pot."

"The... chamber pot?"

"That's right, that's a chamber pot jar. If you like it, take it."

"No, no way. This might be late-Joseon white porcelain. What if it turns out to be worth a fortune?"

"Aigoo, kekeke. Are you sure it's me with the dementia, and not you, young man?"

The go-stop grandma clutched her belly, laughing, then said,

"The former-former village chief gave us that when my old man collapsed from a stroke. For a chamber pot."

"I'm sorry, what?"

What the bun-haired old woman had said matched exactly.

"The former-former village chief gave me away to this house. How can a man be so utterly blind?"

"After my old man passed, I couldn't bring myself to throw it out, so it just sat there. Take it and use it. There's no bathroom at the place you're living yet, is there?"

"No, really — if this is a genuine antique, it could be worth a fortune."

"Which is why you should take it. I have no use for it."

The go-stop grandma snatched a towel off the clothesline and wiped the moisture from the white porcelain.

"There. Take it and go. I'm going to use the outhouse and grab another nap."

"What do I do with this?"

I carried the white porcelain down to the stream and scrubbed it spotless.

Since I was there anyway, I washed my face and brushed my teeth, too.

Along the path to the stream and all around it, I'd installed garden lights powered by little solar panels.

Korea Electric had connected the house to the grid, but keeping lights burning all night all the way down by the stream would have been a waste. Once the electricity stored in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the solar panels ran out, the lights simply went dark. It didn't seem likely to harm any nocturnal animals, either.

"It looks even more precious like this, doesn't it?"

The water-beaded porcelain glowed all the more beautifully under the soft light.

This really does look like white porcelain shaped by a master artisan's hands.

The spirit inside this porcelain — assuming that's what it was — had said she wanted to go to Gyeongseong.

Would packing up the jar and shipping it to my place in Seoul by courier count as granting her wish?

No.

The old woman longed for the days when she'd been treasured in a Chief State Councillor's ninety-nine-room house.

Which meant, in the end, was I supposed to donate it to a museum?

I pulled out my phone and searched.

What? Nine point eight... hundred million won?

They don't disclose the hammer price.

"Grandma really was somebody special, huh."

That night, I stayed up poring over my phone's search results until the small hours before sleep finally took me.

"Hey, come on — wake up!"

A voice was calling to me from outside the tent.

When I opened my eyes, daylight was already streaming in bright and clear.

"Who is it? Oh — CEO Lee Ho-young?"

Lee Ho-young, CEO of Miho Gallery.

A man who dealt in rare books and antiques as a hobby, who'd supposedly made a cool billion won off a Joseon-era cursive manuscript not long ago.

He'd come out here hunting for the meteorite, left his metal detector in my care, and gone off.

It looked like he'd come to collect it.

"You remembered my name."

"Oh, yes. You gave me your business card, after all."

I was still shuffling blearily out of the tent when —

"Good lord, this is—!"

Suddenly, Lee Ho-young shoved past my shoulder.

Then, with both hands, he gingerly lifted the white porcelain I had set out so carefully inside the tent.

"Joseon-era white porcelain! Where on earth did you get your hands on something this precious?"

Well, he was a businessman who dealt in rare books and antiques, after all.

Lee Ho-young had recognized at a single glance that the porcelain was something extraordinary.