The Contract Employee
"This one's a complete fraud!"
A man in his mid-forties lurched to his feet, face burning.
Across from him, the woman in her mid-twenties seated on a five-colored cushion snapped her eyes wide, anger flaring to meet his.
"How dare you spew filth like that in front of the General!"
"They said Bodhisattva Chuyeon took the spirits at five and was famous across the whole country! Lies, all of it! Not a single thing came true! Not one!"
"That is because your sincerity was lacking! Do not push your blame onto me!"
"Oh, listen to the pride on her! Here—take this and get lost!"
He flung a fifty-thousand-won bill and stormed out.
Bang!
Chuyeon glared after the space he had left, then sighed and bent to pick up the bill. She smoothed the crumpled note with careful fingers and slipped it into her pocket, leaned back in her chair, and squeezed her eyes shut. She looked wrung dry.
"Haa... I'm going to lose my mind... General... I really think I'm losing it..."
The shrine stayed silent. Only the soft hiss of candles burning on either side filled the room.
Only three years ago her spiritual power had been famous enough that people sought her from every corner of the country. From six in the morning until eleven at night every appointment was booked solid, and money poured in like water from a spring that never ran dry.
Then, from one day to the next, things began to sour. Her manager vanished with the bankbook. Swindlers started circling. Nothing went right, from the smallest errand to the largest contract. Collapse, it turned out, took only a moment.
Dark circles bruised the skin beneath Chuyeon's eyes. It was a face that ought to have been called beautiful, but she looked worn through, and her color had gone pale.
She rose carefully and turned. Above the altar stood the statue of the General she served, a sword in each hand, his expression terrible.
"General...!"
She bowed, and bowed again. Ten times, twenty, fifty... a hundred... two hundred... without a pause for breath. No voice answered from the General. It had already been three years. Without a single symptom or omen, his voice had simply cut off.
Chuyeon wailed.
She cried out again and again. The statue only stared back with those fierce eyes, and gave her nothing.
At the very least, tell me what I did wrong. Tell me what I'm supposed to fix. You owe me that much, don't you?
Strengthless, she dropped onto the five-colored cushion as if her legs had given out.
Thump.
Her head sank.
"...I suppose this is the end..."
And then someone pressed the doorbell.
Ding-dong.
I made my way carefully down to the basement of the villa. A sticker of the shrine's traditional manja, that sacred hooked cross, was fixed to the front door.
Business Hours: Weekdays, 2:00 p.m.–9:00 p.m.
"Hours are fine."
I nodded without quite meaning to.
Bodhisattva Chuyeon
Special Discount — Celebrating Our Shrine's Move
Readings Available Anytime
The line about a relocation discount had faded to a rusty brown. The sticker was so worn it flapped loose; she had to have moved at least three years ago.
Ding-dong.
Not long after I rang, an answer came through the intercom. The voice sounded faintly thrown.
"...Are you here for a reading?"
I'd had my fortune told once for fun with a friend, so I had no particular objection.
"Yes."
"Ah, um... it's fifty thousand won a session."
"That's fine."
"Yes, yes... one moment."
Click— and the door burst open. The woman was younger than I'd expected, somewhere in her mid-twenties, bare-faced, without so much as sunscreen. Even with nothing on her skin she was clear and lovely, though her color was pale and shadowed. She must have been under a good deal of stress; a considerable number of Red Lines swayed this way and that above her head.
A trace of wariness in her voice, she asked, "Did someone... refer you?"
"No referral. I was passing by and came in."
At that, her face eased a little.
"Ah... I'm Bodhisattva Chuyeon. Please, come in."
I followed her inside. The place was no different from an ordinary home. A small room opened off the living room, and she led me that way.
"Hm."
She came back with the gaudy outer robe peculiar to shamans thrown over her top. I glanced around. It didn't seem as if a guest had come in a long while, and yet the shrine was spotless, not a speck of dust. The robe, too, smelled of fabric softener rather than the stale funk of something forgotten at the back of a fridge. She must have been washing it regularly.
"What is it you want to know?"
Chuyeon looked at me with a flat face, but under the expression I could feel a quiet anxiety. Red Lines streamed wildly overhead. One pushed in from the left and swept away to the right, like someone riding a wave.
"Uh, well... I'm a contract employee. Any chance I convert to permanent?"
I tossed out a plausible question and scanned the room, searching for the yellow line I'd noticed earlier.
"Hmm... conversion to permanent... please wait a moment."
She brought out a handful of small five-colored flags and began shuffling them in a blur.
Shff, shff, shff—flutter, flutter.
That was when a yellow line shivered in the corner and leapt free. Found it. There you are.
Chuyeon mixed the flags even faster. Each time she did, the yellow line twitched.
"Cheonji General... Cheonji General..."
Sweat beaded on her forehead. The five-colored flags never stopped turning.
Shff, shff, shff—flutter, flutter.
The yellow line jerked as if it meant to rise, then collapsed sideways like a puppet with its strings cut.
Thump.
It writhed the way a bug does in the moment after it dies.
Shff, shff, shff—flutter, flutter... tap.
Chuyeon set the flags down on the low table, all the strength gone out of her hands.
"...I'm sorry. The reading just... isn't coming today... I won't take your money..."
Her face was calm. Her body couldn't manage the lie.
Not today. Today, again.
Red Lines and Black Lines tangled together until there was no telling which way they would lash. She seemed furious at her own helplessness. The lines kept jabbing at her forehead, and the energy coming off her was wretched, thick with despair. It was close to how I'd felt the day my probation ended and I was posted to the Information Archives—the feeling of being unable to let go of a rope that had long since frayed.
"..."
I stood. Chuyeon lowered her head as if she were certain I would walk straight out. Instead of leaving, I went to where the yellow line lay sprawled across the floor.
I crouched and lifted the piece of porcelain it was draped over. Chuyeon shot to her feet.
"What do you think you're—!"
"This."
I turned the porcelain over and shook it hard.
Tok.
A dead cockroach fell out. It was dried stiff, nearly mummified, and looked as if it had been dead for years.
Chuyeon's eyes shook.
"H-how was that even in there... I always keep everything perfectly tidy for the General..."
I pulled a tissue, picked up the cockroach, and dropped it in the trash. Only then did the fallen yellow line seem to find its strength again. It surged toward the ceiling.
Streeetch.
I sat back down in front of her. Her face was flushed red.
The yellow line was seeping, slow and smooth, into her body.
"I'll ask again. Can I convert to permanent?"
"..."
Instead of answering, she stared at me for a long moment with a grim, resolved look, and then—having made up her mind—seized the five-colored flags.
Shff, shff, shff—flutter, flutter... tap!
A single yellow flag lay on the table. I had no idea what it meant, but it looked like a clean answer.
"...This isn't simply a matter of conversion."
She looked down at the yellow flag, grave, and then looked up at me. Shock, sorrow, joy—several feelings were mixed across her face. Her red lips parted carefully.
"...Who exactly are you?"
I told you. A contract employee.
I came home, sat at the dining table, and sorted through the day.
"Yellow lines are special."
A yellow line held a peculiar energy. It was what shamans called divine power. But anything with the word god in it left a chill on my skin and a bad taste behind it.
"Don't tell me ghosts are real, too."
I opened the window and looked out. The lights were too bright; the yellow lines wouldn't separate from them. This was something I'd need to look into a little further.
My fingers brushed the business card Chuyeon had forced into my hand on the way out of the shrine. She had bent at the waist until her head nearly touched the floor.
A shaman promising repayment—did that mean she'd fling a killing curse at someone I disliked? Or just read my fortune for free?
Either way, I'd only moved on instinct, and it wasn't a bad thing when matters arranged themselves nicely.
The itch to read crept up again. I set my bag down and headed back to the library.