The Grandfather's Warning
Shin-wol’s pupils had grown even narrower than usual.
He stretched his body with languid grace, as though intoxicated, and exhaled a plume of smoke.
When he reached toward the sleeping Yeo-won as if to test the thought, the spirit’s light flared violently and small sparks leaped across his fingertips.
The force was barely enough to tickle, yet the spirit’s intended meaning came through clearly.
Shin-wol curled his lip in a sneer and slowly rubbed his fingertips together.
Shin-wol murmured while stroking the spot where the sparks had struck.
The moment he emphasized the word “lowly spirit,” a mocking smile settled on his lips and the temperature around them plummeted.
Even the faint moonlight slipping through the paper door vanished, plunging the room into absolute darkness.
Something writhed within the pitch-black void. It swelled slowly like black mist, then seized the spirit in an unbreakable grip.
One twitch of his finger and the spirit would cease to exist entirely.
This was not ascension to the afterlife—it was total annihilation.
Shin-wol watched the fading blue light, then let out a quiet laugh.
With those faintly self-mocking words the mist dissolved, and the room returned to tranquil stillness as though nothing had occurred.
Erasing the spirit would have been easier than crushing an insect, yet Shin-wol wore an expression that suggested even that was too much trouble. He lifted the pipe to his lips once more.
His eyes were hollow, as if staring at something no one else could see.
Shin-wol turned his gaze back to the window. The spirit trembled with unease as it watched his mesmerizing profile. Beneath that beauty no human could possess lay the fangs of a beast, ready at any moment to sink into Yeo-won’s nape and tear her apart.
Only the spirit knew the truth: his appearance was merely a shell. The savage nature hidden inside had nothing to do with beauty.
Just then a breeze stirred. As Yeo-won’s hair fluttered, Shin-wol frowned and let out a sigh.
He snapped his fingers, erecting a sorcerous wall that prevented air from entering the room. It was as if he refused to let even the cold wind touch her.
To Shin-wol it was the bare minimum required to keep a fragile human child alive, but the spirit did not miss the fleeting thread of tenderness.
Only then did the spirit seem relieved. It slowly faded from sight. Just before vanishing completely, its voice brushed against Shin-wol’s ear.
At the plea to look after Yeo-won well, he answered in clear displeasure.
He should have simply erased it. Why hadn’t he? Shin-wol tilted his head back and swept a hand through his hair in frustration.
Leaning against the wall with his eyes closed, he heard the sound of grass being crushed in the garden.
If you’re going to breathe, at least do it properly. The creature had been loitering and rustling for some time now, and it was beginning to grate on his nerves.
At the low, resonant sound of Shin-wol’s voice, Cheong-sil—who had been hiding behind a tree—flinched visibly.
“I-I’m sorry-seumnidayo, Lord Shin-wol……”
With ears and tail drooping pitifully, Cheong-sil shuffled out from behind the tree.
Beneath Shin-wol’s icy stare, Cheong-sil shrank even smaller and mumbled.
“I’m sorry for losing the human-seumnidayo… It was only for a moment, but I looked away……”
Cheong-sil hesitated, lifting one small foot then setting it down again, unsure whether he should come any closer.
Despite a hundred years of training, Cheong-sil still looked hopelessly clumsy. Shin-wol was thoroughly fed up.
The words struck like a blade. Cheong-sil’s eyes brimmed with tears.
Cheong-sil’s head snapped up. Pure terror now swam in his golden eyes.
For Cheong-sil, who had once been culled from the fox pack and nearly killed during his days as a young fox, being told to return was harsher than death itself.
He flattened himself against the ground and began to beg.
“Kyang! Lord Shin-wol! I’m sorry-seumnidayo! I won’t ever do it again-seumnidayo!”
His tiny body shook pathetically, yet Shin-wol simply looked down at him with dry, emotionless eyes.
After a brief silence, he spoke.
“Sniff, sniff. Y-yes. I will remember it well-seumnidayo, Lord Shin-wol.”
Shin-wol closed his eyes as though he could no longer bear the sight, but Cheong-sil still offered a proper bow before leaving. After he departed, a few wild strawberries lay scattered on the spot where he had stood.
Shin-wol summoned a breeze and lifted the berries into his palm.
They were nicely shaped and perfectly ripe; clearly picked to give to Yeo-won.
So he had been feeding her only these while I slept.
No wonder the child’s face looked strangely gaunt after only a few days.
A quiet sigh slipped from Shin-wol’s lips.
With an unreadable expression, Shin-wol gazed at the sleeping Yeo-won for a long time.
*
Tap. Tap.
The sound of wooden pieces striking each other echoed. Rhythmic, yet slightly off-beat.
It was a strangely familiar, nostalgic noise.
Ah, that’s Grandfather playing janggi.
Yeo-won slowly opened her closed eyes. Her still-dreamy gaze curved beautifully.
“Grandfather…?”
Yeo-won blinked. The blurry figure before her looked oddly unfamiliar.
Grandfather was smaller than that. His hair wasn’t that long.
Just then, a low chuckle like a sigh reached her ears.
The voice was so sweetly low that Yeo-won’s half-lidded eyes flew wide open.
She sat up abruptly. The sudden movement made her head spin.
“Ah, ugh… low blood pressure…”
As Yeo-won groaned and clutched her head, a calm voice spoke beside her.
She turned toward the voice—so pleasant it raised goosebumps—and saw Shin-wol.
He sat by the window, playing janggi alone. When their eyes met, he smiled as though nothing at all had happened.
That smile brought back memories of the previous night. Yeo-won quickly looked away.
The countless kisses, the way she had eventually followed his tongue with clumsy eagerness—they flooded her mind and heat rose to her cheeks. Yeo-won shook her head, trying to banish the dizzying recollection.
Now that she thought about it, her whole body did feel stiff and heavy, just as he said. She massaged her aching arm and looked outside.
The moon still hung in the sky. Gazing at the night, Yeo-won asked,
“Does morning never come here?”
Yeo-won accepted the answer with surprising calm.
The apricot tree outside was in full bloom at the wrong season, and the being before her was already beyond the bounds of reality. A place where time had stopped no longer seemed particularly strange.
The real question was how much time had passed in the human world.
She also had to figure out how to ask him to send her home. After a few seconds of hesitation, Yeo-won gathered her courage.
“Um… there’s something I’d like to say—”
At that exact moment, her stomach let out an embarrassingly loud growl.
It wasn’t even a proper rumble—it sounded like air leaking from a sad, deflating balloon.
Yeo-won’s face flushed crimson with shame.
“No, that wasn’t—”
She hunched over, trying to silence it, but the effort was useless. Once awakened, the hunger only grew fiercer.
Shin-wol gave a small laugh and set down the janggi piece he had been holding.
But I need to ask to be sent home, not eat—
Before she could finish the thought, a ravenous hunger slammed into her like a vise around her stomach.
Ugh. I’m so hungry I might actually vomit.
As though he had read her mind, Shin-wol waved a hand through the air. In an instant, a lavish twelve-dish banquet appeared before her eyes.
The glossy white rice, the savory aroma of grilled gulbi, the fragrant bulgogi—every last scrap of her reason fled.
“Thank you for the meal.”
Yeo-won snatched up the spoon and began shoveling rice and side dishes into her mouth.