The Blue Tiger and the Mountain Child
Turning back, I saw Grandmother watching me with a meaningful expression.
"...Other people might be a problem, but you going up the mountain? Should be fine."
"If it'll mess with the ritual you're about to do, I don't need to go up right now. We've got plenty of time."
"No, actually, I want you to go. Tell me what you see up there. Facing that massive energy might change things."
"I can't see ghosts."
She seemed dead set on turning a perfectly healthy person into a shaman. Someone like me, with my overflowing aura, draws power brokers from Yeouido offering tens of millions just for a reading—yet here she was, regretting that she couldn't witness the birth of a star junior. It had gotten worse since I'd returned from Japan with her apprentice. She'd watched Hyeon-a's videos and pieced something together.
"Your eyes are the only thing holding you back. If they just opened up..."
She figured the mountain spirit's immense energy might awaken them. Maybe that's why she'd permitted my hike—killing two birds with one stone. Rituals ban people from the mountains because everyone carries greed or impurities that stray spirits feed on. But I was built different; no petty ghost could latch onto me.
"I'll head up, then."
"Good. If you feel off or see some haze in your vision, come straight back."
"Got it."
I could tell she was hoping for exactly that as I walked toward the mountain. Lucky for me, she had her own work to do and didn't press. Otherwise, I'd smell the setup from a mile away—tying me down mid-ritual to force a possession. She even shoved a paper cup stuffed with freshly made jeon pancakes into my hands. Fried in sesame oil with just the right salting, old-school style. Michelin-level Korean cuisine vibes.
"Always trudging over rocks—stepping on dirt for once ain't half bad."
Spring was winding down, the ground carpeted in greenery with barely room to walk. Even shrouded in green leaves, this mountain brimmed with extra vitality compared to others. My senses picked up teeming spirits too—like wild medicinal roots: codonopsis, bellflower, ginseng. Dig up one, and it'd fetch tens of millions at the herbal market.
"Grab one for Mom and Dad...? Nah, people would notice if I got even younger. I'm already passing for a decade younger."
Government black-site experiments awaited if I pushed it. Still, maybe snag a single ginseng root? Give it to the shaman granny as a "long life" gift.
Musing like that, I navigated the rugged terrain effortlessly. No path? Crush leaves underfoot. Narrow ravine? One leap.
"Nice view of the village from here."
Looking down, a flat rock offered a perch, but dense canopy blocked the sky—prime feng shui spot, though tough to reach. Hauling Hyeon-a up? Impossible. Even pros would take hours.
-Krrooong...!
Stretched out on the spot, legs extended, I twisted at the beastly grunt behind me. Figured it'd be a boar or deer, common enough. Instead, a massive blue tiger stood right there. Huge build—I should've noticed it approaching—but it had waited silently, staring before flopping down beside me. Was it real? I reached out tentatively. Fur—fluffy, soft. Not quite like touching a live tiger.
"Lean on you? Thanks."
-Krring.
A cat-like purr rumbled from its throat. Just a giant kitty.
"You here to overlook the village too?"
Leaning my head on its plush fur, I chatted while gauging it. Focusing, I saw beyond the blue form: threads of multicolored strands woven into shape. Memories coiled into a single entity—first time I'd seen that.
"Guess I'll head down soon."
It yawned hugely, as if to say "whatever," then draped its head over my arm like a pillow. In folk beliefs, blue tigers were sacred—servants or guardians of immortals. Its vibe matched.
Petting its head, it sniffed, licked my face and eyes a few times, then bowed its head again.
"Weirdest damn thing."
I leaped off the cliff ahead; the tiger lifted its head in surprise. I'd left the jeon in front, so my body should be safe. By the time I reached the village, the spot was piled high with pancakes, Hyeon-a's lips gleaming with oil.
"Aigoo, missy. Come join us."
"Thanks."
The village buzzed with feast energy. At the main entrance, they were purging impurities with herbs nonstop. The cleaner, the easier for the mountain spirit to descend—hence two days of nonstop toil. Impressive stamina for folks who huffed up that steep pass.
"Road's blocked at the entrance—where are the young folks crashing?"
"Nah, we just stopped by and got stuck. Any spare rooms around?"
"That return-to-farm house over there? It's there, but water might not run."
Government-funded remodel of an abandoned place, delayed by red tape. Power and pipes connected, but no one checked if they worked. Better than car-camping—full leg stretch indoors. I asked for directions right away.
The granny who'd chatted us up hooked us up with fluffy blankets, warming the chilly rural night. After a hot bath, lotion in hand, Hyeon-a—already ready—eyed the hanging clothes.
"Find any good spots up the mountain yesterday?"
"Nah, too overgrown—even the village view sucked."
"Guess we'll watch with the grannies, then."
"Yeah, they lent us blankets—least we can do is keep 'em company."
Folding blankets, we stepped out to savory cooking smells. Villagers prepping more food. Early risers, all of 'em.
Morning came. Grandmother donned ornate shaman garb and stood at the village entrance, incense in hand. She climbed the pass once, then faced the penned pigs, still snorting obliviously.
Veteran shamans slaughter dozens of pigs and chickens, honing knife skills to national-cert level. Butchering aside.
-Kkweeeek!
Sacrificing for the mountain spirit was standard daytime rite in the main altar. Candles too dim for immortals' eyes, so auditory and olfactory hits: slaughter, roast flesh as burnt offering. Obvious to shamans, brutal to outsiders.
Rites done, mist-like wisps shimmered at the pass top.
"Hyeon-a, see that shimmer on the pass?"
"Where? Just heat haze? Nothing here."
"...Really?"
Threads rose like haze, coalescing into a blue tiger with a little girl riding it. Pleased by the dance, she descended with a bright smile. Villagers saw nothing, eyes on the rite; apprentices bowed deeper, knowing the spirit had come. Grandmother halted, ascended the shaky stone tower—built overnight, precarious—and stood steady.
"Maehwasan of Anheung, Gangwon, is the main mountain; Ilguk Jimgimsan holds the nation's primal shrine..."
"No other reason—we beseech the ridge guardian of this mountain..."
Grand proclamation of the immortal; apprentice at the boundary responded, snapping the sacred cords to welcome her in. Offend her, and poof—a village gone. Usually, rites kept them away. But this kid hopped off the tiger, snatched a pancake with chopsticks—nom—clearly loving the fan dance. She savored the fruits and dishes, then approached me with the tiger.
"Sis."
"Huh?"
"Grandpa said he'd give her to you as a gift. Begged you to live free, no trouble. Nice heart on him."
"Uh, ...thanks."
"No prob. You seem cool, sis. Call me if you're bored. Kay?"
Offering friendship for the effort, she nodded proudly. Shamans eyed us warily, terrified—but to me, just an adorable kid.