The Face Beneath the White Cloth

Step.

Kang Hyeong-seok set foot into the deep darkness.

A familiar, hushed space. A dream. He had arrived here in the span of a single moment, yet he did not panic — there was no need to.

There was no Chang-gwi's corpse this time, none of that dreadful reek of blood. In the heavy, silent dark he looked down at his hands, and found a pair of sacred implements held in them.

Chime.

The sacred shaman bells rang. The sound spread as though melting into the darkness, purifying the energy around him — washing clean the road along which the god would come.

Clang.

He pressed his palms together in prayer, and the bells struck against the Sinjangkal, ringing out. Hands still joined, Kang Hyeong-seok bowed his head toward the darkness.

"You have come."

He did not need to look to know. The god was before him. The being who had made him a mudang and granted him his wondrous power now stood revealed.

"Your disciple offers his greetings."

He felt the Momju-sin's gaze settle upon him.

"Speak. I am ready to listen."

Ah, my child. My vessel.

Kang Hyeong-seok bowed his head deeper still, and the Momju-sin's voice followed — low, vast, resonant to the bone.

You subdued the tiger and broke free of the Chang-gwi.

Eyes closed, Kang Hyeong-seok listened in silence.

You saved one who was nearly made a sacrifice, and turned back a death that came before its time.

He knew who, and what, the god spoke of. All of it was work his own hands had done. The Momju-sin had seen everything — a great god, one before whom even other gods stood in awe, had been watching over Kang Hyeong-seok all along.

His lips moved slowly, and then the words came.

"Now I know, clearly, the path I must walk."

It was right after that the Momju-sin answered — not in voice, but in deed. A great hand landed on his shoulder. It carried neither warmth nor weight, and yet it held him gently, the way one steadies a child. Kang Hyeong-seok let the corners of his mouth lift, and nodded his thanks.

"Tell me why you have shown yourself."

And then he went on, in a level voice, like a prayer. A mudang and a god — theirs was a bond tied by a thread that transcended cause and effect. The god stood ready to grant revelation; the one who prayed stood ready to receive it.

There is one who seeks to awaken the unclean.

In a voice as heavy as the reverence filling Kang Hyeong-seok's heart, the Momju-sin began to show him the road ahead.

That, unmistakably, was what the god was saying.

"I understand what you are telling me."

Kang Hyeong-seok — who had already learned, through Shin Yo-sep, of those who served unclean gods — said this, and then the voice came again.

He ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠is one who weeps.

Who could he mean? Kang Hyeong-seok knitted his brow and waited for the next words—

Shin Yo-sep? Or someone else entirely?

His brow drew tighter still, and the Momju-sin's presence began to thin. It was not that the god's descent was being cut short — the god meant to show him something else.

Flap!

Far above, in the dark, a white cloth unfurled and drifted down. A revelation. This was the god conveying his message through symbol and form.

Kang Hyeong-seok looked up at the white cloths, multiplying until they fell like rain, then lowered his gaze — and fixed it on a Buddha statue standing far across the darkness.

Step.

To confirm it with his own two eyes, he began walking toward it. The white cloths went on falling like rain, yet they neither piled upon the floor nor so much as brushed his body.

He knew what those white cloths — pure enough to feel almost innocent — were trying to say. Once, there had been those who sought to drape the whole world in pristine white.

The Baekbaek Cult.

Step. Step.

Walking beneath the pouring cloth, he drew near — and at last saw clearly the thing he had taken for a Buddha. It was no ordinary statue. It wore a garish red robe, sagging and faded, and the hands emerging from beneath its sleeves looked like a mummy's.

A sokushinbutsu.

Its face was hidden beneath the white cloth; he could not see it. Slowly, Kang Hyeong-seok reached out toward the sokushinbutsu's face. That was when—

Snap. The sokushinbutsu's hand seized his wrist.

He flinched and looked up — and the white cloth veiling the face slid away, smooth as water.

The face beneath was familiar.

Trickle.

Red tears of blood ran down it. Familiar features surfaced through the blood. It was Shin Jeong-ah.

Startled, Kang Hyeong-seok tried to pull his arm back, but the statue's grip only tightened around his wrist. And then his eyes met Shin Jeong-ah's.

At the same instant, he woke.

Clutching his chest, he opened his eyes in bed and fought for breath while staring at the ceiling. His heart hammered as though it would burst clean through his ribs.

"Hah! Haaah!"

He calmed his breathing with slow exhales, swallowed drily, and pushed himself upright. As he wiped away the cold sweat, gooseflesh rose along his arms at the memory of Shin Jeong-ah in the dream.

This is genuinely dangerous.

The clearer a revelation, the more threatening its imagery, the greater the danger it heralded. Every revelation the Momju-sin had shown him so far had been exactly like that. And this time he had seen Shin Jeong-ah — someone he could call close to him — drenched in blood. By every measure, this was shaping into a treacherous affair.

He had already learned it with Kwak Young-ho: how utterly despairing it was when someone dear to you got swept into the current.

"...Whew! Tsk!"

Rubbing his screwed-shut eyes with his palms, he picked up his phone.

It was Saturday morning. No clients to visit, no one he needed to contact, and no paperwork that couldn't wait until Monday.

Time to look into it.

Kang Hyeong-seok reached out to Shin Jeong-ah first of all. Damn it all, the call wouldn't connect — and just as he moved to press the call button a third time, a text arrived.

Nothing had happened. Not right now, at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠least. Kang Hyeong-seok exhaled in relief and let his head fall back. Still, he could not fully relax. The revelation from the dream had been too vivid; even now, the wrist the statue had seized seemed to throb.

...I should ask the professor.

As he readied himself to go out, he found Kim Jae-sik's number in his phone and dialed. The Momju-sin had pointed the way through revelation; interpreting that path and walking it fell to him, and Kim Jae-sik's knowledge looked to be the greatest help he could ask for.

Brrring, brrring.

"Yes, Professor. I'm truly sorry to bother you on a holiday. Might I trouble you for a meeting? ...Yes? Ah — yes, yes. No, no, I'll come to you."

Phone wedged between shoulder and ear, Kang Hyeong-seok stepped out of the house.

The meeting with Kim Jae-sik took place in the professor's office at the university — Kang Hyeong-seok's alma mater. It being a holiday, there were no undergraduates in sight, though a few people who could only be graduate students were. Could a person really look that worn down? He watched them for a moment with a complicated feeling, then took his eyes off them.

Then he was driving again, running through the campus he had returned to for the first time in years. Facades built to imitate Western architecture. An athletic field laid with track lanes. A fountain that had long since stopped working. He couldn't imagine why the statue standing in it, one wing broken, had never been repaired.

Where does all that tuition money even go?

It put him back in his student days. Back then he had gotten by on public transit and his own two feet; now he was a working man behind the wheel of a car.

Sipping his coffee, Kang Hyeong-seok pulled up in front of the building Kim Jae-sik had directed him to, and grabbed the bag of recovery tonics and bread he had set on the passenger seat.

Knock, knock.

"Professor, it's me."

"Oh! Come in, Hyeong-seok!"

He opened the door bearing the nameplate Professor Kim Jae-sik and gave a small bow.

"That was quicker than I expected. Sit, sit."

Kang Hyeong-seok pulled a counseling chair over and sat down across from him.

"It's been a long time since I've been in this room, too."

The office smelled like a book repository — all the more so for the aged volumes that came with a folklore scholar's trade. He studied the shelves, more crowded than he remembered, then shifted his gaze to Kim Jae-sik.

"How have you been keeping? Your health, I mean."

"Me? I'm in my prime, you rascal."

Kim Jae-sik laughed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠as he said it, and Kang Hyeong-seok saw his gums showing between his thin lips. Professor Jang Jun's death was not yet old news. The man's expression had recovered a great deal, but the marks of his grief still lay plain on Kim Jae-sik's face.

"You've gotten awfully thin."

"Then should we go out for some meat?"

"You don't even like meat, Professor."

"No, no — the doctor tells me I need more protein. Old age, I suppose. The muscle's just wasting away."

Kim Jae-sik kneaded his forearm with a doleful ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠look, and Kang Hyeong-seok lifted the bag.

"I brought some things to snack on. Have them while you work."

"Aigoo, you rascal. Why would you buy all this?"

"I'm a working man myself, Professor."

"Set it down over there. Hold on now — let me pour you a cup of coffee."

"You didn't have a coffee machine, though?"

It was a needless question; Kim Jae-sik faltered, if only for a moment. Still, he pushed out a laugh, went to the machine, and began to brew.

The machine he fumbled with in clumsy hands was a familiar one.

It's Professor Jang Jun's.

A memento of the dead man. Kang Hyeong-seok pressed his lips together. Soon a heavy coffee aroma filled the office. Judging by the smell, the beans had gone somewhat stale, but he accepted the cup with his thanks all the same.

"So what's this about? Why did you ask to meet?"

"What do you mean, what's this about? I came to kill two birds with one stone."

"Oh, come on, kid. Out with it."

Kim Jae-sik settled into the chair across from him with the easy manner of an old neighborhood brother, and then—

"You know I've received a god."

"...That's right."

Kim Jae-sik had learned as much during the beomgwi incident — that Kang Hyeong-seok had received a god.

"Recently, I received a revelation."

Calling the scenes of the dream to mind, Kang Hyeong-seok frowned and let the words out like a sigh.

"I saw a sokushinbutsu. The cloth covering its face slipped away, and the face of someone I knew appeared beneath it. It was weeping tears of blood."

"A sokushinbutsu?"

"Yes. It looked like a Buddha statue — but it was a mummy."

He said only that much. Even so, Kim Jae-sik grimaced as though a fishbone had lodged in his throat, his lips moving as if chewing over the words.

"A god showed you a sokushinbutsu?"

"Why...? Why do you ask?"

Kim Jae-sik's voice was so heavy that Kang Hyeong-seok had to ask cautiously. Then—

"If what you saw was truly a revelation, Hyeong-seok, then that was no sokushinbutsu."

Kang Hyeong-seok looked back at him, his face plainly asking for an explanation. If the professor was right, this was his chance to correct a misreading before it took root — before he started off on the wrong foot entirely.

Then what was it? What on earth had my Momju-sin been trying to warn me about?

Eyes narrowing, Kang Hyeong-seok studied Kim Jae-sik's gaunt frame.