The Kiln of Three Hundred Faces

The next day began with a phone call from Kwak Young-ho.

"Yes, Department Head."

Kang Hyeong-seok, who had only just opened his eyes, sat up as he answered, his voice still pressed flat with sleep.

"Section Chief Kang! Sorry to call so early in the morning."

"Not at all. Is something the matter?"

"Well, it's that place—you know, the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one you said felt off a while back?"

The last of his drowsiness burned away in an instant.

"Yes."

Kang Hyeong-seok answered, his voice gone clear, and Kwak Young-ho's sigh-laced voice came rushing straight out of the phone.

"Man, there really is something to you, Section Chief Kang."

"What do you—"

"There was a huge fire there yesterday!"

"...I'm sorry—what?"

Kang Hyeong-seok's face stiffened in a flash at the last thing he could have imagined hearing.

"Truth is, I've been having people I know keep an eye on the place. Made some calls, been watching it."

"Uh-huh. Yes, yes."

"Word is, they did sign the contract yesterday. Which is to say, the fire broke out the moment the paperwork was done."

"Ah..."

"They'd even asked for the payment up front, they say. Just like you said, Section Chief Kang—those people had it in for us. Had it in for us, plain and simple."

Was it really, though? Had he not known what he knew about that place, Kang Hyeong-seok might well have said the same thing.

But it was different now. He knew a thread of sorcery had been wound through it all—and word that fire had broken out in a place like that felt ominous down to the bone.

"Do you happen to know what became of the owner?"

"Ah... I only heard it passed along secondhand, so I can't say I know the details."

Which meant he did know something. Ask clumsily, and he might be met with a why are you so curious about that?—so Kang Hyeong-seok held his silence.

"From what I hear, it looks like arson. They found a kerosene can and all. But something must have gone wrong for him—word is they found him right there at the scene with it."

Kang Hyeong-seok swallowed without meaning to. The man ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he had met only days ago had burned to death.

Was all of this coincidence?

Fire symbolized purification. If the owner truly had performed hitobashira, then his frantic scramble to find a buyer and his demand for payment up front could be read as an attempt to ward off calamity.

Had he tried to burn his karma clean and gotten it wrong?

And if not? What if someone other than him knew what that man had done? The thoughts kept multiplying, and his head began to burn.

"Anyway! I probably shouldn't even be saying this, but I guess there really is such a thing as karma."

"...Yes."

"The executive directors and the managing director got calls, and it was total chaos. If we'd signed with them, we'd have bled for it, properly."

From the top brass's seat, it made sense to see it that way. Kang Hyeong-seok smiled bitterly, and Kwak Young-ho, on the other end, let out a laugh laced with the same tangled feelings.

"Still, it all worked out in the end. Like they say—no one knows what tomorrow holds for a man."

"Has something happened, sir?"

"Why else would I be calling this early in the morning?"

Kang Hyeong-seok pulled the phone from his ear for a moment and checked the time. It was early—early to the point of excess.

"I really couldn't say."

"Aigoo, Section Chief Kang!"

As if to shake off the heavy talk from before, Kwak Young-ho forced a brightness into his voice and pressed on.

"The higher-ups had nothing but good things to say about you two—said Section Chief Kang and Section Chief Shin saved them from a serious loss."

"...What?"

"So the decision came down fast. Been on the phone with the head of HR since daybreak—what a production, let me tell you. Honestly."

"Wait, what are you—"

"Starting today, you and Section Chief Shin both get two days of paid leave. Tack the weekend on top of that, and that's four days. Go rest. Really rest."

Kang Hyeong-seok blinked like a man who had just woken up. How on earth had things flowed into shape like this?

"D-Department Head?"

"You know how the executives are. They take this kind ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of thing very much to heart."

He supposed that was true. There had been that dinner with the executives a long while back—the moment they learned he had come out of a folklore program and knew Lee Geum-kyeong personally, the look in their eyes had changed on the spot.

"Honestly, I half wonder whether this is the right call myself—but hey, it worked out!"

"Ah..."

"You've been through the wringer lately, you know."

Kwak Young-ho knew nothing at all. And yet that low, weighty voice of his—like a father's—seemed to soothe some corner of his chest.

"I don't know what it is exactly, but I could see it, that lately you've been having a hard time. So take this chance—rest up, eat something good, go somewhere nice. Do it all."

"Department Head..."

"Aigoo, look at me, holding a man who's supposed to be resting. Anyway, Section Chief Kang! Rest up well, and let's see that smiling face next Monday!"

Before he could get a single word out, Kwak Young-ho hung up first.

With the storm of a call ended, stillness flowed through the room.

"Ha."

Kang Hyeong-seok set the phone down and laughed helplessly at the ceiling.

It had worked out for the best, he found himself thinking. As if heaven itself were lending a hand, he now had time he could move freely through.

Work still remained, true. But watching his heart swell and strength he hadn't had come seeping back all the same, he concluded there was simply no helping an office worker.

"Pheeew!"

Exhaling as though to purge the stale air from his body, Kang Hyeong-seok climbed out of bed with eyes gone clear. Then he readied himself for the day with practiced lightness, picked up his car keys, and stepped out of the house.

Vroooooom.

As he drove, Kang Hyeong-seok kept flicking glances at the navigation screen. His destination was the factory that had burned. He had been there only days ago, yet this trip felt like an entirely different one.

Vroooooom.

His mood ran as smooth and open as the car racing down the road. He had a destination, yes—but with four days of free movement secured, the drive felt light for it.

Beep.

Tapping the screen of his phone, Kang Hyeong-seok dialed Shin Jeong-ah.

"Mmmnh... hello?"

Just as expected. It was past nine-thirty in the morning, and Shin Jeong-ah's voice was drenched in sleep.

"Section Chief, it's me—Section Chief Kang."

"Mmh..."

Kang Hyeong-seok laughed without a sound, then continued as he merged off the highway.

"I need to ask you for something."

"Oh—oh, sure. Go ahead. Mm-hm."

Hearing the life creep back into Shin Jeong-ah's voice, he took a moment to steady his breath before speaking.

"When the burial shroud arrives, would you take it over to Lee Geum-kyeong for me?"

"Want me to come with you?"

"There's something I need to check separately. I'm in Gangwon-do right now."

"Whaaat?"

Wide awake now, Shin Jeong-ah spoke, and Kang Hyeong-seok turned his gaze to the willows spreading out along both sides of the road.

"I doubt I'll be gone long. And it may be safer if I move alone."

"You're not planning to do anything dangerous, are you?"

"Nothing like that. I only intend to check on something."

"Haaah... fine. Got it."

"Then I'll leave the shroud in your hands."

Call ended, Kang Hyeong-seok pressed the speed a little higher.

After a long stretch of driving, he grimaced at the burnt smell sweeping past his nose. Woven into that char was a raw, bloodlike reek. Ghost-reek... It was a smell that turned the stomach inside out, and so, brow furrowed the whole way, Kang Hyeong-seok drove on toward the factory.

And when he reached his destination, he stepped out of the car and beheld a factory utterly changed from his memory.

He stood in a small empty lot across the road. After checking that no cars were approaching from either direction, he shouldered his backpack and made for the factory.

Fzzt.

So the fire truly had been a big one. The earth, soaked through with water, was churned with ash and had gone the consistency of a tidal flat.

"Hweeeiiii."

Tracing the wandering souls through a spirit-seeking rite, Kang Hyeong-seok walked slowly around the factory where everything had come crashing down.

Squelch, squelch. The mud clutched at his soles like some vengeful ghost as he made a full circuit of the factory, then lifted his gaze to the structures standing outside it.

This was where the jars were fired. The flames hadn't managed to bring the place down, but the heat had reached it all the same—the tarpaulin had melted, and every last jar lay in pieces.

"Hweeeiii, hweeeiii."

Kang Hyeong-seok drew closer to the place. The warehouse where the wandering souls had thronged had stood where the shrouds were made. Then what of that place? What had been festering in the place he had failed to inspect back then?

Creeeak.

The door of the kiln house was not locked. Watching his surroundings, he slipped ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠inside, and moving through an interior where the burnt smell lay pooled and still, he drew out the sacred shaman bells.

Shrrrrrrang!

And then—

Shrang. The sacred shaman bells rang out though his hand had not moved.

Shff. Drawing the Sinjangkal as well, Kang Hyeong-seok advanced on the kiln where the ossuary urns were fired.

Shrang, shrang, shrang. Had his heart reached the heavens? Was the scripture that begged the gods for aid proving its worth? The nearer he drew to the kiln, the faster the sacred shaman bells rang.

Shrrrrang! The moment he stood before the kiln, the bells let out a great cry.

Steps and chant alike halted, Kang Hyeong-seok carefully opened the kiln.

By rights, a kiln was a thing that turned lumps of clay into smooth porcelain with sheets of roaring flame. This one was now as cold as a mortuary chamber—as though yin energy had condensed and settled inside it.

"Hoo... hooo."

Strange, how the nape of his neck kept going rigid. But he had come this far; there was no turning back now.

Clack. With the Sinjangkal clenched between his teeth, Kang Hyeong-seok took out his phone. If what had truly been practiced here was sorcery, then its trace had to remain. Where. Where is it?

He was sweeping the kiln—no larger than a small room—from the floor up when his whole body stopped mid-motion. Someone was watching him. That was the sense he had, and the gaze was not coming from the kiln's open door, but from above his head.

Shrrrrrrang. Shaking the sacred shaman bells, Kang Hyeong-seok slowly lifted his head toward the kiln's ceiling.

And he saw.

...You mad bastards.

Hitobashira. Or, to call it by its other name, inju—the human pillar. And the in of inju was written with the character for person. A rite that took human beings as its offering.

"Hooo."

The sigh spilling out around the blade in his teeth froze white in the air. And then, staring up at the lumpy, blistered patterns crowding the kiln's ceiling, Kang Hyeong-seok swallowed drily. Every single blot was the shape of a human face. The kiln's ceiling was packed dense with them—easily several hundred faces embedded in raised relief.

Suddenly, it was as if the onmyoji's voice from his dream had begun to drift into his ears.

The count reached one hundred, climbed past two hundred, and arrived at three hundred. Only then did Kang Hyeong-seok understand what the onmyoji's numbers had meant.

So this was it.

The heads packed tight into the kiln's ceiling—their number was three hundred. The onmyoji's ritual from his dream and this factory were bound together by a connection deep beyond all reckoning.

Looking at the faces peering down at him from overhead, Kang Hyeong-seok's lips twisted. Whatever agony they had endured, the faces up there were twisted too—as if they were screaming even now.