Chapter 21
Chapter 21
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 21
Chapter Title: The Wind Blows (6)
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Perhaps because there was rarely any conversation between the old woman and her grandson due to their age difference, Choi Mi-kyeong's grandmother spilled out an endless stream of stories—from her own birth and childhood to tales of the Japanese colonial era and the Korean War.
"...Heavens are heartless, ain't they? My one and only brother-in-law got himself eaten by a tiger up on this here mountain. Foggy day it was, headin' up to cut down some kinda tree. I was twelve at the time."
She claimed age had dried up her tears, yet she dabbed at her eyes nonstop with her sleeve.
Jin-hyuk's shoulders trembled faintly. It was the chill seeping in as his sweat cooled and the fog wrapped around him. She was the grateful grandmother who had helped deliver Yu-jin at her birth. He listened quietly, pretending it was just venting, while raising his body temperature with meditative breathing.
"Jang-hwan's daddy ran off dodgin' the bayonets durin' the war, leavin' me to handle everythin' alone. What choice did I have? Gotta eat to live with the young'uns. Over yonder in Jaedong Village, the youth group was all commies. Those fools would come marchin' in with torches and bayonets, callin' for some party or whatever. So my man would hide up this mountain, and the next day he'd flee to the one over there. Folks just tryin' to farm—what'd they know? All they knew was it weren't good, so they hid."
Her breath came quicker—maybe from the excitement, or the emotion. She let out a weary "whew" with a sigh. Still, she showed no sign of stopping.
"Jang-hwan had an older brother, but he lost his friends to the North Korean army durin' the war and joined up with the ROK forces for revenge. Fought and died right here on this mountain. This place used to be called Shipbong Mountain. Took so much shellin' that one peak got blown clean off. That's why they call it Gubong Mountain now. We recovered our eldest's body, but plenty of wives lost husbands and sons without even a corpse."
She'd borne a son at nineteen, and he fell in battle at twenty. Jin-hyuk couldn't even imagine a mother's grief at losing her child; he clamped his lips shut.
Yet it was hard to believe this mountain had been such a fierce battlefield. It wasn't anything he'd encountered in history class. For a moment, he wondered if it was true. Maybe she was spinning tales for her grandkids like old folks do. But her expression and voice were too earnest for that. Conflicting accounts from records and a living witness left him confused.
No, more than that—what was she going on about this for now?
He wanted to ask, but there was no opening to interrupt.
"I had Jang-hwan at thirty-six, so he never met his own granddaddy. We only had girls under him 'til the youngest boy, Jang-hwan. By the time he had Tae-yang and Mi-kyeong, makin' two kids of his own, even I got to see my great-grandbabies. All grown fine, they did. Real good. Heh. I've done my part."
Her face held a mix of resolve and relief. When was the last time he'd seen an expression like that? He tried to recall, but it slipped away like rain streaking down a window.
It was still winter—where was she headed alone? The path was too high and treacherous for a shortcut, and the weather was foul. Fog blanketed everything.
"Where are you headed... ma'am?"
"This mountain's got another name: Bukmaeng Mountain."
Bukmaeng Mountain? It rang a vague bell, but not quite.
Everything felt hazy. Like dreaming—familiar yet alien, mind awake but foolish, unsure what to do.
For the first time, he understood his dad's occasional dopey expressions. Ah, Dad must've turned simple for a bit, encountering things from Seoul life he never knew.
Was there a phrase for feeling this dumbstruck?
'Where'd she go?'
While lost in thought, the grandmother had wandered off ahead.
She trudged along briskly, her pace defying common sense.
"Grandma! Wait, come with me. Weather's bad—it's dangerous."
Jin-hyuk hustled after her, channeling his old gamer reflexes.
He'd left home that morning, but now it was dim all around, like dusk after sunset. The fog had thickened too.
The weather had thawed a bit, but it was still winter, and so dark already. What if she slipped? Despite his suspicions about her nature, worry gnawed at him.
"Want me to carry you?"
Huff—pant—the effort winded him quick. If he was struggling, how was she marching on without a glance back, like someone late for an appointment?
'Kinda scary now...'
His senses were sharpening at last.
It was déjà vu, like waking from a long sleep and returning to the past.
Should he grab her arm? Make her stop? She ignored his calls—what to do?
As he pondered—
Mi-kyeong's grandmother halted abruptly and whipped around to face him.
A sly crescent-moon smile curved her eyes.
Chills raced from his spine to his cheeks.
The shock of clashing resolve and instinct shattered even the stoutest mental barriers.
'Doesn't seem like she's offering some blessing...?'
He hesitated, at a loss for words.
It was a fateful encounter, but nothing like the ones he knew.
The scent of earth rises.
Frozen ground thaws into something cool, damp, and soft.
Dogs love that kinda dirt—they bury their noses and roll in it.
Today, General rolled gleefully, wallowing in a mud bath.
Snuff-snuff-huff.
The kid's off exercising again.
But he can't follow for a while.
It's some doggy instinct he can't put words to.
Somethin's changed in that old ditch he used to poop in, but what, he don't know.
Anyway, loyalty to the old toilet keeps him guarding it.
Twitch. Growl.
Old lady from the Nurung house came by.
Thought she was visiting the owners, but she didn't go in.
Woof! Woof! Growl-grr!
Barked, and the owner-man came out.
She patted his face.
"Achoo! General, what's wrong, boy?"
Ah, owner-man can't see her.
Just sneezing away.
Can't let him misunderstand.
Time to play dumb.
Keep barking and he'll think I'm a mad dog yapping at him.
He wagged at sparrows on the persimmon tree.
Did a loop around the yard, then she left.
Heading up the hill—man, her speed's no joke.
Howl!
Ah, so she ain't human after all.
Village guys whisper 'round this time of year.
When it warms sudden after cold snaps, old folks drop like flies.
Probably her last round of goodbyes.
She cut my umbilical cord, they say. Farewell.
She's alone now.
What were those guys called? Wet Lion or somethin'? Black clothes, blue lips. No sign of 'em.
So she's off to a good place.
General's a smart pup—he knows these things.
Plenty of ghosts down in the lower village.
They say it's 'cause the land's gloomy.
Sea full of yin energy hits the concave spot, makin' it worse—whatever that means. Dokku from the next village over, seven years older'n me, said there used to be way more back in the day. Not many now, though. That's why folks keep dogs at home.
Dogs ward off ghosts?
Huff-heh.
What a load of dog crap, you dumb humans!
We can see 'em, sure, but can't stop 'em.
Can't even bite—how we gonna ward off squat?
Well, sometimes barkin' scares off the wimps. They just live alongside us in the village. Mostly inner village, near that Yuk guy's place.
Anyway.
Why's she haunting the village instead of leavin'?
Lookin' for someone to take along?
Sometimes ghosts lure kids into water or off cliffs.
Grudge against goin' alone or whatever. Humans, man.
Twitch. General bolted up.
Growl. Then the kid's in danger.
She always smiled.
But this smile was different.
A cold rising from his gut froze his heart, then flash-chilled his cheeks.
'Heard about this from Uncle Jo Il-heon.'
Kid days, playing in an old cemetery-turned-ghost-spot.
Said he saw a goblin too. Smiling face, but it froze your heart weird-like.
'Grandma's eyes are scary.'
Not human eyes.
Her pupils held cosmic voids, empty nihilism.
Any kid would've collapsed or bolted. But Son Jin-hyuk wasn't some kid, nor one swayed by illusions.
'Sad.'
Not fear—pity filled him.
He quelled his momentary shiver and spoke.
Straightforward, as was his way.
"Grandma. You came after leaving your last words?"
Asking made his heart ache more.
Not Bukmaeng, but Bukmang Mountain—heading north to perish. That resolute yet relieved face matched old comrades leaving wills before missions, or memoir writers reflecting back.
"Worried 'bout this old lady? I scared ya with my fierce look?"
Soft, hollow laughter.
Beaming, yet sad. She gazed at him proudly.
"What'd I have to leave? Just come when it's time, go when it's time. Folks say I delivered every kid in the village, so they're callin' me to a nice place. Gettin' a send-off like this at the end—feels good. Come to think, I never took you or Young-gu's boy. Shaman geezer said I'd bring good fortune as midwife, so that's what I did."
She took both his hands.
No sensation of skin.
Yet when she lifted, his hands rose too.
Locking eyes briefly, her gaze slid from his forehead upward.
She smiled awkwardly, lips twitching.
"Well... guess I'll be goin'."
"Pardon?"
No dementia before.
What was that?
Jin-hyuk glanced around, ruffling his hair. Nothing there.
Maybe the grim reapers urging her on.
"This old lady's a bit fierce, kiddo."
Childlike giggle.
She loved kids and pranks so much, even in death. Jin-hyuk sighed lightly.
"Any last message—"
"Don't talk nonsense. Don't wanna be called crazy."
True enough.
Plenty claimed ghost sightings, but chasing the departed for chats? Only mighty shamans.
"Still, something for Mi-kyeong's family? They might feel slighted."
"Mercy me, such a kind boy. No need to fret. I'll visit 'em all in dreams tonight. You just keep mum, hear?"
For his sake.
Understanding, he nodded.
"Live like a kid—full of joy. Growin' up too soon robs the fun. Honor your parents, look after your sibs. Find a pretty lass, have lotsa babies. Got it?"
"Yes..."
As he replied, his throat caught.
Tears fell unbidden, grief surging.
Nostrils flared, nose stung like a shock.
First time.
Watching someone depart, living or dead.
No one close enough to share deathbeds.
As if to hush his tears, her grip bustled warmly.
Comfort seeped through.
"Your family—you gotta protect 'em."
Protect your family.
A duty to heed.
Jin-hyuk bowed deeply to the departing soul.
He had no grandmother. How nice it'd have been.
'Should've acted spoiled more, greeted her often.'
Brief regret.
Even in his first life as a kid, it'd have been distant. Kids with elders always are. He knew the regret wouldn't linger.
Unreal phenomenon.
Ghosts and goblins? Adult tall tales. Jin-hyuk was strong-willed—no sleep paralysis ever.
'Body sent back in time. Nothin' more wondrous or scary than myself.'
Today's encounter? Lucky timing. More fortunate than frightening. Who else gets this? Tell General—he'd love it. Yu-jin when grown, embellished. Not Mi-kyeong kiddo—she'd cry.
He looked up; she was gone like a lie.
A fresh breeze swept her spot.
'Rest easy.'
Fog lifted, world brightened. Sun poured from blue skies.
Jin-hyuk stood somewhere new. Chasing her blindly brought him here; summit visible nearby.
Turning back, a wooden sign caught his eye.
Selnyeobawi
Someone else had this tale before.
Maybe an old woodcutter.
A faint smile curved his lips—light as cirrus clouds.
Near the rock: incense burner, traces of offerings. Someone still pays respects.
Ask Mi-kyeong her favorites.
Bring some now and then.
Bow to the fairy rock, then turned.
"Status window..."
he muttered idly.