Aqueducts and Bathhouses
We built an aqueduct and a bathhouse.
Tap-tap-tap!
Everyone was working so hard since the crack of dawn.
Dragging logs was kicking up a little dust, but they were building houses again today, just like yesterday.
Honestly, how industrious can you get?
Except...
"Do they, you know... eat before working?"
Something about it just felt off.
Wasn't rice the very heart of being Korean?
They'd skipped meals yesterday, too—were they going hungry again today?
Worried, I drifted through the village taking stock, and in the distance I spotted Garungda heading out of town.
I'll go catch up and ask him.
Whoosh—
I glided through the air and landed right in front of him.
"Hey, Garungda."
"Hello, Haneul."
He seemed a little startled.
Am I supposed to walk everywhere now?
Anyway. More importantly.
"You're working without eating?"
"We eat when we hunt."
Ah. So they ate when they found something, and starved when they didn't.
Life as a primitive really is a rough gig.
But then, that was apparently just how life was—maybe it wasn't my place to meddle? I wavered for a moment.
"There's grain in those baskets, though. What crops do you grow?"
"Farming?"
Oops—my thinking had slipped out of my mouth as a mumble. I'd just been reminded of the grain in the baskets from yesterday and asked offhand.
"Don't you farm at all?"
"Water far. Later."
So they didn't farm because the water was too far away?
"Would it be better if the water were close?"
"No. Water falling from sky scary."
"Ah—rain!"
Come to think of it, in modern times people only lived near rivers because they had proper embankments. Just look at any mountain valley—whenever a big rain came, didn't everything get swept away?
Oh. Riverbanks. Aqueducts.
"Garungda! Just trust me!"
"I trust Haneul!"
"Ahahaha!"
Now I had a job to do. I'd carve an aqueduct over to the village.
"Right. Give it your best today too. Aja aja—fighting!"
"Aja aja?"
"Yep! It's a cheer-up spell!"
"Aja aja, Haneul too!"
Whatever it meant, Garungda seemed delighted, chanting aja aja as he headed west.
Good grief. Off he goes on an empty stomach—what could possibly be so fun about that.
Cheer up, buddy. Take it easy.
"I guess I should get a look from above, hmm?"
I rose high into the sky to survey the surroundings.
An endless plain stretched out before me, impossibly vast.
The mountains were so distant they barely registered on the horizon.
Something about the air up here felt crisp and refreshing, too.
A little telekinesis, and pffffff.....
Whiiiiine—
The wind ambushed me.
"Ebebebek! Ptoo! Ptoo!"
Flap-flap.
And this darn one-piece dress of mine flipped right up and billowed.
"Huh?"
"Whoa?!"
How could I not be flustered?!
Since I never had occasion to change, I'd never realized—I really only had the one outfit!
Underwear and all!
I gave myself a quick once-over and hurried back down to the ground.
"Wow. So this whole time, I've just been... flying around like that?"
Was that why people muttered and whispered whenever I flew by?
"Why does she just put it all on display like that?"
"Maybe because she's not human?"
"I suppose that's why she doesn't have any body hair!"
Mutter, mutter...
"Stop it!"
Okay, I was definitely overthinking this.
My innocent primitive friends wouldn't care about any of that, right?
Exactly! As long as I didn't dwell on it, nothing was wrong!
The heat in my crimson cheeks just would not cool down.
For a long, long while...
"Wait, what's with this dress? It doesn't get dirty at all?"
I was pretty sure I'd been rolling around on the ground, yet it was pristine white, without a speck of dust.
Hmm? That's not bad at all, actually?
If it never gets dirty, then being a one-outfit gentleman is fine, isn't it?
Ah~ if only it were split down the middle like a pair of pants.
Skrrrk—
"Hm?"
With a sound like something tearing, fabric wrapped snugly around my legs.
"Eeeek?!"
Now what?!
The skirt of my dress had split clean open and turned into pants. The flowy, billowing width remained, so standing still it still looked like a skirt—but.
Hold on. Doesn't that make it practically a jumpsuit?
O divine one above, might you perhaps be listening?
...
...
Figures. No answer. Of course not.
So... does the clothing just change according to my thoughts?
I tried all sorts of wild experiments with my imagination running rampant,
and it was a bust.
At the minimum, it could shrink down to a band worn around the neck, so I could probably wear other outfits if I wanted.
I could also alter the length and the width, but I couldn't abandon the basic dress shape. Maximum transformation: jumpsuit.
"Hmm. Well, hey, this is still pretty good."
After fiddling with this and that, my final pick was a knee-length jumpsuit.
Transformation complete, one way or another.
Isn't this fashion like a few thousand years ahead of its time?
I looked myself over to make sure nothing was out of place.
"Yep. Looks good. Pretty cute."
Then I glanced around.
The villagers were so busy today that hardly anyone was paying attention to me.
What a relief. My clothes must have been growing and shrinking the whole time—imagine how bizarre that would have looked.
"Alright, off to build the aqueduct!"
I cut through the wind and headed upstream to the river spot I'd scouted earlier.
Water flows from high to low—wasn't that just the way of things?
"Hmm. I can start digging from about here, right?"
The sea wasn't far off, and a plain this wide had to be alluvial.
I was a little worried about how much the water level would fluctuate, though.
"Oh wait—how exactly do I dig this thing out?"
I wanted to carve it out nice and neat, but that was easier said than done.
If I gouged out a boulder the size of a house, wouldn't it just leave a crater in the ground?
This wasn't going to work, was it?
"Maybe I should just press it all down tight?"
I packed the earth down firmly, like tamping soil into a mold.
Well, color me amazed.
Who knew it would come out so easy and so pretty?
It felt exactly like playing with clay.
And since pressing the ground would compact it, the channel would hold up nicely too.
"Off we go~"
I pressed the earth down, quick and smooth, carving away.
The aqueduct took shape just as I'd imagined, wide and steady.
In case anyone ever fell in, I kept it from getting too deep—about my own height?
For the width, let's try twice my height.
But working by feel alone left both the depth and the width wobbling all over the place.
"Ah. I am an adult with a crooked heart indeed..."
I looked back at my channel. It was... well.
Free-spirited would be the generous way to put it.
Who cares about the shape, right? What matters is the heart.
This time I picked up a stick, used it as a gauge as I pressed the earth flat, and dropped by the village.
"Whoaaa!"
"Haneul!"
"Haneul!"
My primitive friends gaped in astonishment.
Heh heh. That's your Haneul for you!
I waved at them.
"At this rate, I could single-handedly build some grand canal or whatever they had in that dynasty."
With my chest puffed out, I passed through the village and connected the channel down to the lower river.
When I returned, the village was in an uproar.
"Haneul. Haneul. Haneul."
The women and children especially were beside themselves with joy.
After all, hauling water back from the river had been their job.
"Ahem~ Now, now, that's about enough of that."
Their cheers brought a smile to my face all on its own.
This feels so good. Is this what being worshipped is like?
I drifted over to the finished channel for a closer look.
The water was flowing far more gently than I'd expected.
When I first carved it, it had run cloudy with soil,
but because I'd packed the bed down so firmly, it cleared up almost immediately—and watching that clear water glide along felt wonderful.
"Okay, everyone! From now on, you get your water here and wash here. Got it?"
"Haneul!"
These tribe members understand absolutely zero words, huh.
I brought the water here—what else should I add? Maybe a bathhouse?
I was worried about how rarely they washed.
Hygiene matters. A lot. If only for infant survival rates, we had to start with whatever was possible.
Time to build a modest bathhouse.
The Express Sanitation Project begins now.
"What did bathhouses look like again?"
A crisis of grave proportions.
I had never actually been to a bathhouse.
All I had were the Roman baths I'd read about in books!
"Uh... I'll just make a big square tub. That should do it."
For the first time in my life, my confidence hit rock bottom.
Carefully, I pressed the ground down beside the aqueduct.
Roughly rectangular—and since the kids would be using it too, only knee-deep?
"I'll just have to spot the flaws as we go, I suppose?"
I sat down at the water's edge of my brand-new bath.
Looking around, the villagers seemed to hesitate, unsure whether they were allowed to use it.
"Come here, everyone. Use this. I made it for you."
But of course, with no shared language, they all just tilted their heads back and forth.
Fine. I'll be an owl, then, my friends.
Behold: the universal language of all nations. Body language, go!
Point at the water. Smile benevolently. Sweep my hand gently over all of them.
Did you get it?
Blink. Blink.?
Ah. Not yet, huh.
I repeated the whole performance, and this time they crept forward sneakily, casting furtive glances at me as they scooped up water—so I nodded at them.
Smile included, free of charge.
"Haneul!"
This time they'd definitely understood.
They lit up, noticeably happier.
From then on, whenever they needed water, they started heading for the aqueduct.
Earlier I'd watched them hover between the channel and the river, hesitating—so this was real progress.
"Ah. Even packed down, the edges are a bit weak, huh?"
As I kept watch, I could see the soil at the corners crumbling away bit by bit.
In a pinch, I pressed the leftover wooden planks into the earth as lining.
Stone would really be better...
Still, when I hopped up and down on the planks, they held firm—sturdier than I'd expected.
"Wood will rot eventually, won't it? I should take a trip around the mountains and gather some stones."
Once the bath was there for them to use, they started hauling all their drinking water from it.
Good grief. Time for a demonstration again, is it?
"Do you all bathe?"
Head shake, head shake.
That's a "no"... or a "I don't know what you're saying," probably.
I need to tell Garungda to teach them to talk.
I gave a demonstration myself. I stepped into the water and washed my hands, feet, and face.
"Ohh!"
See? Charades works every time.
So from now on, you all wash here, okay?
No, wait—you can wash over there, but stop scooping your drinking water from the—
Anyway, these people eat basically nothing.
Was food really this scarce?
I should've flipped through some history books or something. Prehistoric lifestyles, that kind of thing...
I knew absolutely nothing.
Should I plant potatoes? Weren't potatoes a famine crop? How did you plant them, again? I vaguely remember something about cutting them into pieces and planting those.
A day of deep, deep pondering.
.
.
.
Late in the afternoon, the Three Musketeers returned.
They trudging in, drained—had they been going hungry this whole time?
"Hello, Haneul."
"Hey, Garungda."
His face was gloomy.
Empty-handed, too—the hunt had clearly failed.
Not an easy day, apparently.
I'll have to share some potatoes. You've suffered enough.
"Good thing you came back."
"Me? Why?"
"Nobody understands what the people say."
"Ah. Right. Only I understand."
"Teach them, will you?"
"Truly?"
Garungda looked utterly stunned instead.
Huh? Why?
What's going on? Did he think language was some kind of secret?
"Everyone can learn?"
"Yep. It's for everyone to share."
"Thank you."
What now—why is he so moved this time?
"I'll give you lots of potatoes, so teach them quick."
"Understood. Thank you."
I simply told him to teach everyone all at once.
A day or two of nothing but potatoes wouldn't hurt, right?
And so tonight's dinner was, once again, a potato party.
I'd lost count of how many meals in a row it had been.
Potatoes weren't exactly nutritional powerhouses, as far as I remembered... but it'd be fine. Probably.
.
.
.
The whole village had gathered to study, with Garungda as the one and only teacher.
But the atmosphere was anything but ordinary.
The villagers knelt in a semicircle around Garungda.
For once, they'd actually washed—every single face was sparkling clean.
Even the kids, normally too busy roughhousing to sit still, were quiet today.
Why is everyone being so solemn about this?
The more I learn about my friends, the less I understand them.
"Potato."
"Potato."
"Tree."
"Tree."
The class itself was simple: Garungda held up an object and called it out, and everyone repeated after him.
Then a few verbs like to do and what is that, words for we and us, all the way up to pointing things out and naming them.
Once basic conversation was possible, the vocabulary would snowball fast.
I'd have loved to teach them writing, too, but that would require writing implements and paper, wouldn't it.
When I piled the potatoes up in a mountain off to one side,
they took turns watching the fire and flipping potatoes all through the lesson.
These friends never rest, not even for a moment.
.
.
.
The lessons carried on until sunset, and since they already had their own primitive language, the pace was remarkably quick.
The mood had gotten so earnest I could hardly interrupt, so I slipped off to the forest to play instead.
Every now and then a bird called out, but otherwise it was so, so quiet.
Yikes. It is creepy. Just a tiny bit.
"Kitty~"
"Where are you~ Come play with me~"
And so the singing began.
"Kitty, oh kitty~"
"Where are you~ come play with me~"
It was nothing more than a work-song style of repeating phrases over and over.
I wasn't specifically out hunting for that leopard I'd seen before, no siree.
Still—whose household raised this voice? It was genuinely lovely.
The slight tremble in the notes was probably just my imagination.
I wandered the forest with no particular destination, figuring I'd head up into the sky and fly home once it got good and dark.
It feels like a ghost might pop out any second...