The Taoist and the Fox
In the legends of Jangsan in Busan, the tiger tale (4). What exactly is a Taoist master? A Taoist is one who polishes the Dao and wields Taoist Arts. They are those who follow the will of the Six Ding and Six Jia Divine Generals and fulfill the role of protectors. That is what a Taoist is. Taoists use their Taoist Arts to exterminate yokai.
The Taoist Arts employed by these masters differ fundamentally in principle from the Force Arts used by Force Art practitioners. Force Arts are powers rooted in overwhelming 'physical force.' They are brutally strong to the point of simplicity and intuitively destructive. In contrast, Taoist Arts draw their strength from the Dao itself. They can feel excessively complicated and far from intuitive, yet no one can deny that they are profoundly mystical powers that naturally inspire awe.
A Taoist can ride the wind. They can move the earth, command fire, and walk upon water. The Taoist Association to which these masters belong was founded roughly five hundred years ago by the winged immortal Uchi, a man who ultimately ascended to the rank of sage while still in human form. For the past five centuries, they have faithfully carried out their role as saviors, honoring the command of their ancestor to save humanity through the Taoist Arts.
However, after the creatures known as goblins vanished almost overnight, and for reasons no one quite understood, the powerful beings called 'great yokai' disappeared along with them. This allowed the country to enjoy five hundred years of prosperity. In an era of peace, such immense power was no longer necessary. Gradually, the Taoist masters of the Association began to distance themselves from combat techniques.
This is not to say they grew lazy in their cultivation of the Dao. There are different kinds of Taoist Arts—techniques specialized for battle and those meant to cultivate the human spirit. Since they had entered an age of peace, there was simply no reason for them to grind away at combat spells with gritted teeth. They chose the path of spiritual refinement over martial training, setting aside yokai extermination to ascend sacred mountains and meditate on their teachings.
Occasionally, particularly troublesome yokai would still appear, but by modern times an organization called the Yokai Extermination Office had been established, and Force Art practitioners remained strong. It seemed the moment when the power of Taoist masters would once again be needed would never come.
In that sense, the elders of the Taoist Association had no choice but to put their heads together and agonize over the current Jangsan tiger incident. If they had continued diligently training in combat techniques even into the modern era, they could have sent a mere yokai like this to the afterlife with a single gesture.
In the end, to fulfill their role as protectors, the Association was forced to pull out the joker card they had kept carefully hidden in secret all this time.
The Taoist master affiliated with the Association—Hojun.
Some called him the return of the winged Taoist. The descendant, or perhaps the reincarnation, of Uchi. Unlike the modern Taoist masters who had no talent whatsoever for combat, Hojun possessed such prodigious talent for battle techniques that calling him Uchi's reincarnation felt entirely fitting. With a single wave of his hand he could summon karmic flames. He could ride the clouds and soar through the sky, and he was even capable of creating up to ten clones of himself.
The Association, whose forces were already desperately short, had been inwardly worried beyond measure. They rejoiced at the appearance of Hojun, the man called the twenty-first century reincarnation of Uchi. But they could not celebrate without reservation. The reason was simple.
Hojun resembled Uchi not only in talent, but in personality as well.
He was a scoundrel. No—an absolute, irredeemable, first-rate bastard of a scoundrel.
The guy who was supposed to be polishing the Dao spent his days spiking his hair up and heading to clubs to chase after carnal pleasures. With that trademark handsome face and rock-solid body, he bewitched countless women and drank through the night. The reason he had departed for Busan so late was, of course, because of that damn drinking habit of his.
The Association's greatest fighting force—or perhaps the greatest fighting force in all of South Korea—was this kind of absolute degenerate. From the elders' perspective, it was impossible not to sigh in dismay.
Still, he apparently retained at least the minimum sense of identity required of a Taoist master, because he accepted the elders' orders without complaint and headed for Busan. Of course, the fact that his mind was already filled with delinquent thoughts like 'While I'm at it, maybe I'll have a drink with some Busan girls' was just a bonus.
Once aboard the train, he clutched his throbbing head. It was the aftermath of last night's heavy drinking. There was still a long way to go before they reached Busan, so he was about to close his eyes for a nap when—
"Grrrr… Grrrrrrrr."
From somewhere came the low growl of a beast, echoing through the train car. He had no idea what kind of crazy person had brought a dog onto the train, but he was far too exhausted to get angry. So he closed his eyes and tried to sleep…
"Chomp, chomp, chomp, chomp."
Sleep…
"Grrrrrr… Whine, whine."
Sleep…
"Grrrrrr."
"Goddamn it! Shut the hell up already!"
True to his reputation as a scoundrel, he had a fiery temper. Deciding to give them a piece of his mind, he stomped off in the direction the beastly sounds were coming from.
What he saw when he arrived left him speechless.
"…"
"…Nine-tailed fox?"
Chomp. Chomp chomp.
A beautiful woman with several tails was sitting there chewing dog gum. It was a rather surreal sight.
His brain had frozen from the shock of the scene before him. She opened her mouth as if making an excuse.
"I'm not a nine-tailed fox. I'm a six-tailed fox."
"…"
"I'm a six-tailed fox cosplayer. My name is Miho."
"…"
"The character's name was… um, what was it again… I forgot."
"…"
Cosplay? What a load of bullshit. Those tails looked way too realistic for cosplay.
Hojun was a Taoist master with pretty good instincts. His gut was already sounding the alarm. The seductive woman lying in front of him right now was clearly not human. She was undoubtedly a yokai.
When Hojun gave her a suspicious look, she seemed to feel the pressure and began waving her hands in frantic explanation. She claimed she was just a huge dog lover and was on her way to Busan for a cosplay event.
Of course, it was a completely unbelievable excuse.
Busan was closed off.
He began to consider his options. Should he risk using combat techniques inside a train, or not? She didn't seem to harbor any malice, and from Hojun's perspective—who had a weakness for pretty women—her beauty was enough to make his head spin. Her full, perky breasts and excellent figure were also impressive. But no matter how much of a scoundrel he was, Hojun was still a man capable of proper judgment.
She was a yokai. He was human. Coexistence was impossible.
He decided to keep an eye on her for now and exterminate her as soon as they got off the train.
With that settled, he casually sat down in the seat beside her.
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He had heavy dark circles under his eyes from exhaustion, but he was staring at me with both eyes wide open, keeping me under surveillance.
He was a Taoist master. He hadn't exactly introduced himself kindly to someone as suspicious as me—a yokai—but his clothes, his sturdy build, and the fact that he was riding a train to Busan at a time like this… Anyone could tell at a glance.
My brilliant 'cosplayer cosplay' plan had failed spectacularly. It couldn't be helped. The situation was terrible from the start. This was a train heading into Busan, which had turned into a demonic hellscape. I'd taken off my hat thinking I was alone in the car, and I'd been chewing dog gum the whole time. I was so addicted to the flavor that my tails had been wagging back and forth. There was no way any excuse would work now.
Even so, I decided to play it completely shameless. If I insisted I wasn't a yokai, what could he do about it? I didn't know if it would work, but it had to be better than staying silent. The moment I tried to come up with some story and start making excuses, he silently plopped down in the seat next to me, crossed his arms, and started glaring.
It was an uncomfortable situation.
Sniff. Sniff sniff. Sniff sniff sniff.
I'd been so focused on eating the gum that I hadn't noticed, but now that he was sitting right beside me, the sour stench of alcohol was overwhelming. There was a cigarette smell mixed in too.
…Were all Taoist masters just trash like this?
Anyway, I finally spoke to the guy who was staring holes through me, basically telling him to say something or shut up.
"What?"
"…"
"If you've got something to say, say it. If not, stop staring like that."
I was ready for whatever came. I'd probably screwed up big time. Sorry about this, Director. My bad, Director.
"…Pfft."
The moment I spoke, for some reason—
"Kuh, kuhahahahahaha! Heh, heh… In all my life, I've never seen such a crazy yokai!"
He started laughing like a madman. His laughter carried the absolute confidence of someone who could kill me whenever he felt like it.
He wiped away the tears that had gathered in his dark-circled eyes with a finger, then finally spoke to me.
"Alright, since you said it straight to my face, I'll ask straight too. Who the hell are you, lewd fox?"
"I'm a six-tailed fox cosplayer."
"I heard the fox yokai from Jirisan was exterminated two weeks ago. What's your real identity?"
"I'm an anime-loving otaku. Cosplay is my hobby."
"Why are you going to Busan?"
"To participate in the Busan Comic Festival."
"Your intelligence is absurdly high. How did you learn human culture?"
"I saw it on SeedWiki and in the galleries."
"How did you avoid the yokai detection radar? Do you have some ability to hide your demonic energy?"
"Yeah, I roughly hid it. With lunchboxes and beef jerky."
"…We're not getting anywhere."
"We're really not getting anywhere."
Shit. I think I really picked the wrong person to mess with. If I'd been this shameless with my answers, he should've backed off by now. Our game of twenty questions between the Taoist master and me continued all the way until the train approached the outskirts of Busan.