The Straw Effigy and the Plague God
In Japan, Jeung refers to a doll made of straw. Its origin is said to come from Cheoyong, the protagonist of the Silla-era Cheoyong legend. Perhaps because of the nature of that tale, the straw dolls used in Korea possess the power to ward off misfortune, to exorcise evil, and to drive away plague spirits. Pairing it with the Cheoyongmu only doubles the effect. How delightful. Even if the space is narrow, if one pours their whole heart into the wish, surely a secret method will reveal itself.
Inside the pitch-black vertical cave, the torchlight and the Jeung constantly shifted their shadows, revealing grotesque shapes. Though there was no proper wind, the torch flame danced as if caught in a typhoon. The Jeung remained fixed in place, yet its form seemed to roam the cave, twisting and moving as though alive. The sight truly resembled a dance.
Like a Jeung that could not move its own body sending its soul through shadow to dance, the straw doll dangled its arms in every direction, flailing like a madman. Its legs stiffened, twisted, and darted here and there. The spectacle was exactly like a shaman communing with the divine.
"Ah, today, what shall I do?"
"Ah, today, what shall I do?"
"Ah, today, what shall I do?"
"Cheoyong father, in this human life, do not speak of it."
"In this human life, do not speak of it."
"In this human life, do not speak of it."
And with that, Jinseong’s Cheoyong song rang out. At the same time, the tape recorder embedded in the center of the straw doll began to play another Cheoyong melody accompanied by instrumental music. The inside of the cave became a tiny stage, and the Jeung transformed into a performer dancing with life to the rhythm of the song.
"Who is it that stands there? Who is it that stands there?"
"Without needle or thread, without needle or thread."
"Cheoyong father, who is it that stands there?"
"Plague spirit, plague spirit—Cheoyong father, who is it that stands there?"
Beyond the madly dancing shadows stood the one who would become Cheoyong’s enemy, his polar opposite. A human figure hung suspended above a pile of bones that had not yet been fully cleaned away.
What had once been a trained martial artist now looked as if every ounce of muscle had been sucked dry. Only loose flesh remained. Nailed to the damp, fishy-smelling cave wall in the shape of a cross, the figure bled profusely, exactly like the ancient saint once crucified. The only peculiarity was that its upper body was completely covered by a burlap sack, leaving only the lower half exposed.
The naked lower body, stripped of even its underwear, trembled violently as if seized by convulsions from the pain. From the man’s mouth came a tiny sound.
“You… sorcerer bastard… I already told you everything… Let me go…”
Whether it was too difficult even to move his tongue, or whether the sack covering his upper body so tightly prevented proper breathing and left his mind hazy, no one could say. The voice was smaller than the cry of an ant, weaker than the sound of water droplets bursting from the stalactites above. It was nothing more than a desperate plea that could only echo in the immediate vicinity.
Yet perhaps that earnest wish had reached its mark. The tape recorder lodged in the Jeung’s chest suddenly stopped. At the same time, Jinseong’s mouth, which had been endlessly reciting the Cheoyong song, clamped shut. Even the madly dancing torch flame grew calm, as if remembering its proper duty, and everything returned to stillness.
"Śrī śrī mahā śrī su śrī svāhā."
Jinseong quietly recited the mantra toward the Jeung, then seized its head and walked toward the martial artist nailed to the wall.
Step. Step.
With every step Jinseong took, the bone fragments littering the floor crunched and shattered beneath his feet, yet he paid them no mind. An ordinary person might have suffered greatly from the angry grudges and curses of vengeful ghosts whose remains had been desecrated. To Jinseong, however, such things were no more threatening than a mosquito bite. On the contrary, any curses that failed to affect him would rebound upon their senders with double the force.
Kiii—aaaak!
Jinseong’s power, the warding force contained within the Jeung, and the curses that returned amplified. All of it kept him safe from the evil spirits and ghosts. Yet creatures that had lingered for so long at the bottom of this vertical cave, stewing in resentment until they lost their minds, could no longer think even the smallest rational thought. Like moths drawn to flame, they burned themselves away.
Kyaak!
The more souls burst apart, the stronger the shamanic power infused into the silver coin embedded in the Jeung’s head. The tarnish that had accumulated over the years gradually peeled away. Though the only light source was the torch, the coin began to shine brighter and brighter, as if trying to become a light of its own. By the time Jinseong had crushed most of the bone fragments underfoot and reached the martial artist nailed to the wall, the coin glowed like a tiny moon, illuminating the cave in a soft radiance.
"Plague ghost, fever spirit. Filth that spreads pestilence. Here comes Cheoyong. Not gold, not jewels—Cheoyong has come to seize you, evil god, and drive you out."
Straw, it was said, signified “a form beneficial to mankind in many ways.” But what exactly was beneficial to people, and what was harmful? Benefit and harm were decided solely by subjective judgment. Establishing a clear standard was exceedingly difficult.
If straw burned hotter than firewood and its flames pierced the heavens, was that beneficial? If it was twisted into strong, durable rope, was that beneficial? If it decayed faster and hastened the spoilage of fermented foods, was that beneficial? The concept of a “beneficial form” was profoundly ambiguous. Handled skillfully, it could accomplish anything. Handled poorly, it was worth less than a pebble on the ground. It was the perfect symbol.
Jinseong was confident he could wield it well. Yet this “beneficial form” was both a magnificent power and a shackle. To shape it into what he desired, refinement was necessary. That was why he had used the Cheoyongmu to knead the very idea of a “form beneficial to mankind” and achieve his goal.
Straw became a person. It stood beside a person, adding weight to its presence. And on the opposite side, it placed humanity’s enemy.
The original Cheoyong had moved the plague god who coveted his wife to compassion and driven it away, becoming a symbol of warding off evil and inviting good fortune. Among things that could be made from straw, it was one of the most powerful forms capable of expelling the unclean and summoning auspicious events. Because the straw had been shaped into human form, it drew closer to people, strengthening the shamanic power even further.
By nailing the martial artist to the wall and covering his upper body, Jinseong had made the man’s silhouette identical to that of the plague god, thereby granting it the plague god’s symbolic attributes. And the plague god, in the face of Cheoyong’s overwhelming symbolic superiority, had no choice but to make a vow.
It had to harbor a wish. It had to express a desire.
“Let me go…”
“Yes, plague god. Do you wish for me to pull out the stakes piercing your body, restore your breath, and drive you a thousand li away?”
“Let me go…”
If one made a wish, a price had to be paid. The original Cheoyong ritual might not have required one, but the martial artist hanging before him now would have to pay without fail.
The burlap sack wrapped around his body bore a drawn symbol. A ‘Y’ shape representing the three-way junction where gathered misfortune could be scattered was trapped inside a circle signifying an inescapable wall. Until that circle was erased, the misfortune could only swirl within. The person inside the sack had been made to play the role of the plague spirit, rendering him incapable of expelling the curse through his own power.
The result was a burlap prison he could never remove by himself. If he could not shed the curse, he could not shed the sack that bound him. Therefore, he would have no choice but to pay the price Jinseong demanded.
And the martial artist’s wish was “Let me go.” Not “Save me,” but “Release me.” Which meant—
If the price of the wish is not paid, even after eons pass and the end of the world arrives, not even your soul will be able to escape that sack.
Jinseong poked a small hole for the eyes in the burlap and spoke.
Human speech changes shape according to the moment. Through the image reflected in the window, speak your true heart. Draw the form with all your soul and pull it forth. Reveal everything that lies in the deepest part of the hippocampus.
“You have paid the price most faithfully. Since you have fulfilled your long usefulness, you may now return to your homeland.”
Jinseong spoke while looking at the martial artist, who, even after the burlap had been removed, could not regain his senses. The man’s eyes were unfocused, drool spilling from his slack mouth. The bluish mana swirling in his pupils moved as if forming holograms, and thick nosebleeds continued to pour down, soaking his entire front.
“Can you not answer?”
The martial artist rolled across the floor without reacting to Jinseong’s words at all.
“It has been quite a while since I interrogated someone with a spell other than a parasitic one. I hope you will forgive any slight errors.”
With those words, Jinseong turned his back on the man.
“Interrogation is truly a difficult task. Still, I can at least pray for your soul’s repose. Om mani padme hum. Om mani padme hum. Om mani padme hum.”
Creak.
Thus Jinseong used the chukji technique and vanished from sight.
What remained in the cave after he disappeared were a torch with almost no wick left, bone fragments ground nearly to powder, and—
And…
“Heuk…”
A single martial artist who had attained his wish and now wore an expression of blissful happiness.