If Silk Flowers Bloom by the Water’s Edge Chapter 3

The high-speed train ran on rails heated by the August sun. Through the window, he could see rice paddies interspersed with rivers. The telephone poles, the sparrows, the names of the stations they stopped at—trivial things spread through his memory like a virus. The four tickets his father had produced, suggesting a trip to Seoul; his older brother sleeping with a camera in his arms; the clattering of the train wheels; the hard-boiled eggs his dexterous mother peeled for him. Some memories were forever priceless.

“We’re here. Get off.”

He wished the train tracks would wrap around the Earth once. This travel companion did not meet his expectations. She was emotional, talkative, and above all, a woman.

In the world of musa¹, there was a tendency to favor women over men. Something about their superior ability to summon and soothe spirits. For that reason, the heads of musa families or the lords of the Chukjangji² were usually women. Sarira was a woman, after all. The grotesque maengmusa³ of the Bansi clan were women, too. Every woman he had seen his whole life was either an enemy or a madwoman. A musa, and a woman on top of that—wasn’t it only natural to be cautious?

“Walk faster.”

The train dropped the two of them off in a countryside town with an unfamiliar name. He had lived for ten years in a small city in what was called the “Outside,” and eight years in a Chukjangji. Yirok’s gaze drifted to a beverage vending machine that stood as if alienated inside the station. The names of new drinks he’d never seen before; his steps slowed as he contemplated his lost years. But his damn companion couldn’t stand even that brief pause.

“Didn’t you hear me say to hurry up?”

He didn’t know why everyone was always telling him to go faster, eat faster, kill faster, finishing tasks as if they were roasting beans over a lightning fire. It wasn’t like Yirok could run away, anyway. He would accomplish what they wanted, as quickly as they desired.

His companion, who had been chirping that her time was precious, hailed a taxi as soon as they left the station. Just when he thought they would be traveling by car, they got out of the taxi and switched to a city bus. After that, it was an express bus. They passed so many road signs he couldn’t keep track of where on earth they were going.

It was 7 PM when they got off the bus. After that, they walked through a rural backwater where even the sparsely seen apartment buildings had vanished. A moon, veiled in a white mist, rose above the head of the thoroughly angry woman. As night fell, the country road, where the glow of streetlights was a luxury, suddenly became tedious. His companion, who had fallen silent, was even more so.

The bag slung over his shoulder contained only three pairs of black socks, one pair of white socks, two shirts, and a toothbrush and toothpaste. Sleeping on the street was not an option.

The pitch-black night sky had stolen even the outlines of the road. The woman chose a path up a hill, past a garlic field, as if to torture his worn-out sneakers following behind her. It was just as the suspicion that she was trying to kill him on Sarira’s orders began to rear its head.

“I am Juhee of the Baekyeong clan. A jeongmusa⁴. There is a large sacred tree in the Nanjubeol clan’s estate. If you check the wall behind it, you’ll find a broken section. I’ll leave Sarira-nim’s messages there, so go check for them whenever I instruct you. That is my role, and what’s written there is your role.”

Even Yirok, who lived with one ear blocked to the world, had heard of the Baekyeong clan. They were likely an influential family within the jeongmusa, if not quite on par with Nanjubeol. An image of the enemy he wanted to kill flashed through his mind, and a sneer formed on Yirok’s lips. It seemed Sarira’s business savvy, cooped up in her back room, didn’t discriminate between jeongmusa and maengmusa.

“You’re an Outsider, an orphan, and I’ve introduced you as someone the Baekyeong clan took in, clothed, and fed. So do your best not to get on the young lady’s bad side. Don’t bring shame to the Baekyeong clan’s name by acting like a jerk, like you are now. Of course, Sarira-nim would personally see to your life before that happens, but still.”

The “Outsider” that musa spoke of referred to someone who was not from a Chukjangji, did not have musa parents, and was born and raised normally under ordinary parents. The only lie was that the Baekyeong clan had taken him in; the part about him being an Outsider was true. Just as they say a musa is chosen by the heavens, Yirok, too, had somehow caught the eye of those in power. Sarira had told him to offer up prayers of thanks to the heavens for the rest of his life, but Yirok had just given her the middle finger.

They say that Outsiders born with the power of a musa are fated to have a rough life. Since the outside world knows nothing of musa, the standard path was to become a shaman or a monk. Even if one had the qualities of a musa, if left unpolished, it was like a gemstone turning into a common stone. In less than ten years, they would end up at the level of an ordinary person with strong spiritual energy, and nothing more.

If he had to be picky about it, Yirok’s luck was on the foul side. That he was chosen from among all the numerous Outsiders, that he was the same age as the precious young lady, that he had an older brother to be taken hostage—every single detail gave the impression of bad luck. He had never tormented anyone like that good-for-nothing, kill-worthy Sarira, yet he’d ended up in this state. From a certain day on, Yirok had humbly accepted the fact that he was hated by the heavens.

“But what do I do?”

“What do you mean, ‘what do I do’?”

“I have no history of getting along with women. I’ve received death threats and been slapped on our first meeting, but that’s it.”

The woman, who had been kicking at the dirt path with her heels, came to a dead stop. Turning around for the first time in a while, she shot him a cold smile.

“You have your face, don’t you? Be gentle and warm. Be kind. So that no one will know when you might just choke the life out of them.”

She introduced herself as a jeongmusa, but this was a way with words that could put a maengmusa to shame. Under the night sky where a constellation of stars marched irregularly, Yirok hid a hollow laugh.

“I’m not a chicken with a death sentence. Be gentle and kind by her side?”

“That’s your job. If you can’t do it, Sarira-nim will take care of it, I suppose. Your brother.”

“Why are you talking about some guy’s brother I’ve never even met? Making me want to grab your wrist again.”

“You…!”

“Should I grab it?”

The woman, trembling with rage, seemed to give up on the argument. Lifting the hem of her skirt, she continued walking. It’s only right that I get to piss people off sometimes, too. He sneered with all his heart at the back of the woman hiking in the dead of night.

A warm wind blew between the two, walking apart from each other. For the past eight months, his world had been winter. A summer that didn’t feel like summer swam through the depths of his heart, its fins fluttering languidly.

In the Bansi clan, they taught you to rip apart an opponent’s soul with your tongue, with your gaze, with physical force. And now they were telling him to move the heart of a lotus-like young lady? He figured it would be easier to plant a dandelion on land being swallowed by a tsunami.

Yirok’s primary goal was to interact with no one and be indebted to no one. That was the conclusion he had reached after three months of deliberation following Sarira’s orders. If he just kept his mouth shut, he’d at least get by. If there were absolutely no results, Sarira would probably just call him back.

There wouldn’t be any great expectations for someone like him, whose personality, tastes, favorite memories, and hated memories were all incomplete. But Yirok’s thoughts didn’t have time to inflate like a balloon carriage. The pointed-toe shoes that had abruptly changed direction came down the hill with a sharp tap, tap.

“Come here and stick close.”

Juhee of the Baekyeong clan. He had zero interest in the woman he’d met in the morning and learned the name of in the evening. But her misfortune was tantalizing. The story of a person betrayed by the earth and scorned by the heavens was always fascinating. Look at this. There were no longer any normal thought circuits left in Yirok’s own head. The day would surely come when she would regret inserting him into Nanjubeol like a bookmark, just because they were the same age. It was water Sarira had already spilt.

“So why are you betraying them?” he asked, moving to the side of the woman, who was looking up at the moon as if she’d received a divine revelation. The idea that the history of hatred between the jeongmusa and maengmusa is passed down through genes was no nonsense. Why would a pure-blooded descendant of a jeongmusa clan commit betrayal? The woman’s lips, which he expected to ignore him, opened with surprising ease.

“Because there’s someone I want to kill.”

Even in her emotionless voice, Yirok could pick up a clue. He was an unofficial expert when it came to grudges and revenge. He felt closer to her than when they were trading insults and slaps. Doesn’t every modern person live with someone they want to kill tucked away in their heart?

“Now, be quiet.”

With nothing left to say, the two stood in an open field—he couldn’t tell if it was a field, a mountain path, or a common dirt road—and waited for something. As Yirok’s boredom led the toe of his sneaker to dig at the ground, the woman’s voice rose.

“The gate will open soon. Keep your wits about you. They say that even if you walk into a tiger’s den, you can survive as long as you stay sharp.”

Anyone hearing this would think she was the champion of justice and the other side was a den of evil. Yirok’s sigh reached the woman, who was steeling her resolve all by herself with such solemnity. He’d been wrong. Even if they had revenge in common, she was a character he just couldn’t warm up to.

“This is Juhee of the Baekyeong clan.”

At that moment, the woman pleaded to the sky in a quavering, goat-like voice. A few seconds passed, and then a tricolored light fell upon Yirok’s eyes. Red, blue, and yellow light settled on his eyelids and lifted off again, repeating and making him feel nauseous.

Ting. A bell sound, farther than the woman but closer than the stars, drove the light away. After the scattering points of light transformed into lanterns, his vision cleared. On the large gate, illuminated by a soft glow, were the words ‘Yeon-gwa Mang-ul’ (Lotus and Bud). Then the massive gate, which he’d thought was large because it was made of heavy timber, grew taller, as if it were a cornstalk.

“It is Juhee. I am late, am I not?”

The woman’s subservient voice, like she was a different person, grated on Yirok’s nerves. A decorative golden bell hung from the top of the now fully grown gate.

“Don’t look away.”

Before letting the guests in, the disk-shaped doorknob changed into a rolling eyeball. Juhee, who had positioned Yirok behind her, muttered quickly. The two of them, with so much to feel guilty about, forgot even to blink. The midsection of the eye-adorned gate bent like rubber, looking down at the visitors. It bore down on them with such an ironclad gaze that even the trees and the wind held their breath.

[Pass]

As the gate rang its bell of passage, the iron bolt slid out with a clank. The current season in all the Chukjangji across the country was winter. Familiar white snow covered the tree branches that peeked over the wall. A crimson lantern-light stained Juhee’s cheek as she pushed the gate open with her hand.

“Let’s go.”

Nanjubeol’s courtyard was covered in a milky-white carpet laid out by winter. Contrasted with the black-veiled night, it looked like an ink wash painting. A mansion that lit blue and red silk lanterns at night so that no one would fall on the snowy path. The back of the woman who crossed the threshold was wrapped in the glow of the lanterns she was so taken with. A place that drove a stake-like boundary between those who belonged and those who did not. Yirok had no desire to enter rashly until he was formally invited.

“Come in. What are you doing out there?”

A shabby travel bag and his own body were all he had. He calmed his breath as he stepped over the threshold of the gate, which had now retracted its eyeball. He passed by five pine trees planted at the entrance. The night didn’t feel like night, probably because of the bright lanterns. Judging by the fact they kept the lights on even in the middle of the night, this was a wasteful household.

“Yirok, come here. Greet her.”

He let out a white puff of breath as he was dragged to the side of the thick-skinned woman. He knew in his head what he was supposed to say at a first introduction. The old woman who came out to greet them had taken off her outer coat and bowed formally. A shyness peculiar to reserved people lingered in her eyes, but her lips were smiling kindly.

“My, my… At this rate, he’s one of the most handsome among the children of the house. Why did you not tell me sooner that you were bringing such an outstanding child?”

It was a house of disorienting colors, atmosphere, and scents. In front of the old woman who had opened with honeyed praise, the woman smiled deceitfully.

“He had to be at least this good for me to introduce him without tarnishing the Baekyeong name, wouldn’t you agree? He may be lacking, but please look upon him kindly. Though he is an Outsider… he is a child our Matriarch has raised with love.”

A shadow fell over the face of Yirok, who had received the abundant love of a Matriarch he’d never even met. It was an atmosphere he could neither interject into nor blend into naturally. The other two people, excluding the person in question, were amiably smiling as they went through the procedures. Yirok’s gaze, which had been wandering aimlessly, turned toward the gatehouse adorned with blue and red silk lanterns.

At that moment, the sound of a door slamming shut echoed through the corridor and out into the courtyard. Something approaching, lighting up one room after another, cast a shadow on the paper screen. The sound of the gatehouse door opening stole the attention of even the chattering women. From the center of the illuminated space, a yellow hanbok skirt came rolling out.

The feet of the woman, whose hair was neatly braided even late at night, were white. He had never seen a woman so barefoot, without a single sock on. The woman, holding her skirt up, leaped nimbly down to the stepping stone and shouted.

“Grandma!”

Sarira must feel both love and hate for this detestable young lady. The words always on her lips were, ‘Our Chaehwa, our Chaehwa.’ Among the things he’d heard until his ears were about to fall off was just how beautiful and how virtuous Lady Chaehwa was.

“Grandma! Can’t you hear me?”

“Young Lady, I… We have guests, so later…”

“My cell phone! Where did you hide my cell phone!”

A lovely flower stood facing the snowy field and threw a fit. The sight of the young lady jumping in place like a snow rabbit was different from what he’d heard.

“Young Lady, are you really going to be like this? With guests here, no less.”

The old woman, grinding her teeth, scolded her young lady, saying she could die of embarrassment. But the young lady, not one to back down, deliberately came down the stone steps and crossed her arms. In the front yard, which looked like a lantern festival, he saw her magnificent figure in full for the first time.

“See, wouldn’t it have been nice if you’d just listened when I was talking? Earlier, I…”

She chattered excitedly, tapping one foot insolently. She paid no mind to the gazes of the guests, who were speechless at the unexpected encounter. Her white jeogori⁵, her yellow skirt embroidered with a butterfly, and a flower hairpin adorned with jade beads could not hide her vivacity. Yirok’s gaze, which had been drifting like a foreign object that didn’t belong, turned toward the precious young lady. Only then did the young lady’s mouth close as she noticed the two guests. Under the night, illuminated by lanterns, moonlight, and electric lights, their eyes met.

“Ah… so it’s you.”

Just as he knew of her, she, too, knew of him. The playfully smiling woman, the young lady, or the target he was supposed to ruin. Yirok was in the middle of reflecting on his life, helplessly swept along by someone else’s whims. A smile, something akin to a come-hither look, was sent toward the awkwardly standing Yirok.

“I’m Chaehwa. I’ve waited a very long time for an Outsider like you.”

At Chaehwa’s puzzling greeting, Yirok habitually narrowed one eye. The young lady he first met at ‘Lotus and Bud’ was brighter than the rumors, more innocent than he had thought, and more difficult than he had braced himself for. She didn’t call him rude for being silent. Yirok was the first to look away from her eyes, which seemed to gaze into him as if understanding his desolate feelings. The young lady who had come running out looking for her cell phone, for some reason, just kept staring at Yirok. Until Juhee of the Baekyeong clan handed Yirok over, as if cleaning up the mess.

“Uh… It’s an honor to meet you, Lady Chaehwa. But I believe I must be going now.”

“Ah, yes. I will contact the Baekyeong clan again later. Thank you for personally bringing him all this way. We will take Yirok from here, then.”

The old woman brought a lantern and placed it at the feet of Yirok, who hadn’t said a single word since arriving. He could feel her trying to quickly get away from the front yard, and perhaps, to get away from Chaehwa’s attention. Since there was no harm in it, he too kept his mouth shut and followed the old woman. Whether it was Sarira or Chaehwa, he hoped to stay as far away from their attention as possible. When he thought they were some distance from the gatehouse, Yirok glanced back.

Chaehwa, like a yellow flower, was still standing in the same spot, watching him.

T/N:

1. Musa: A term for individuals with spiritual or supernatural abilities, akin to exorcists, shamans, or spiritual warriors. It’s a core concept in the story’s world.
2. Chukjangji: Literally “storage ground” or “sacred ground.” A special, secluded area where musa clans reside and spirits are managed.
3. Maengmusa: A type of musa who seems to be more aggressive or ruthless.
4. Jeongmusa: A type of musa who seems to be more orthodox or traditional compared to maengmusa. The two groups appear to have a rivalry.
5. Jeogori: The upper garment of the traditional Korean hanbok.