TCBW C2

Chapter 2

Of course, that did not mean he was taking in all of this with perfect composure.

Having been raised his entire life under the care and protection of others, the fact that he must now serve as someone’s aegbaji¹ — and, in that role, be of benefit to the man — filled Suhoe with intense nervous tension.

On top of that, the added anxiety that he might fail to fulfill his duty and thereby harm the man who was to be his husband caused Suhoe, without realizing it, to release his pheromones.

Before long, the grassy scent they carried began to seep slowly into the shrine hall’s aged wooden walls and floors.

But Suhoe was not even aware that his pheromones were leaking out into the air.

For a grown adult to be unable to control their pheromones was a rather shameful matter; but, by a stroke of fortune, all the shrine’s servants were betas, meaning there was no chance that anyone would notice the faint scent escaping from his body.

Moreover, with his head bowed low in a deliberate effort to let no expression be visible, it would have been difficult for anyone to perceive just how tense he truly was from outward appearance alone.

Thus, among the roughly thirty servants present within the main hall, there were only two people who understood his fragile state with precision.

One was Unhyo — the servant who had stayed by Suhoe’s side like a shadow for many years.

Having served as his caretaker since he was small, Unhyo had never once missed even the slightest shift of expression or tiny tremor of the boy’s fingertips.

So even now, in this moment, he could tell before anyone else exactly how small and subtly Suhoe’s shoulders were trembling.

The other was Gye-geum.

Looking through Suhoe’s trembling, delicate soul with eyes faded to gray-white by the passing of many years, she continued to watch, waiting to see if he might regain his composure.

But when the tremors failed to subside even after several minutes, she seemed to judge that it could not be delayed any longer — giving a simple, calm gesture to signal the next step.

Though Suhoe’s face was pale and his body still trembling, he was a man who had been trained for his entire life for this one single day.

Just by catching that fleeting motion from Gye-geum, he immediately understood what it meant; and without hesitation, he began to remove the white hanbok² draped over his body.

The thin fabric that had been covering him slipped to the floor at once in the cold air, leaving the pale, thin frame in only underclothes exposed plainly at the center of the hall.

From among the servants standing along the wall, half a dozen women stepped forward toward him, carrying the bundles of clothing they had set down by their feet.

They surrounded him in a loose ring, picking up the garments from the stacked pile, and without a word began dressing him in them layer after layer.

At times, the rough handling — grabbing and pulling his thin frame without care — left shallow scratches on his skin; but Suhoe, though he bit his lip, did not let so much as a small groan escape.

As the garments accumulated, their weight and bulk threatened to swallow him whole, yet he pressed his lips tightly together and quietly endured the burden.

Once all the clothing had been put upon him, the servants withdrew again, returning each to their original post.

Then Gye-geum herself approached Suhoe.

First, she examined the golden dragon emblem embroidered clearly on his shoulder, and the neatly braided topknot of his hair, her eyes meticulously sweeping over them.

Next, she carefully checked that his frame no longer appeared like a bare stick, and that the overall silhouette padded by the clothing did not look unnaturally awkward.

“Remember — until midnight passes tonight, you must not remove these garments under any circumstances. It would not do for you to appear overly thin.”

“…Yes.”

Turning away, she walked to the altar, and with hands dried to skin and bone, lit the incense burner atop it.

In the cold air, pale smoke bloomed upward in an instant — a signal marking the beginning of the ritual.

As if waiting for that very sign, the servants quietly filed out of the main hall.

Only once she had confirmed that she and Suhoe were the only two left in the room did Gye-geum take a worn sheet of paper from her breast and unfold it.

It was the ritual text.

In a weakened voice, she began to recite it in low tones:

“Yusecha… Unbang-san jeon No-u Gye-geum, sukgyeon go-eo Yeongryong-jijeon… geum-il jeonggimyeong wal Suhoe.”³

Then, as if time were rewinding, the swirling incense smoke that had filled the shrine’s hall began slowly drawing back together toward the burner.

“Geum Suhoe dangbong-gisin, geogimun, sokgimaek. Yak ilmu yuja, dangi choseong-jihyeol, bong-wi heonhui, heon-eo Yeongryong-jijeon, isok-gijoe. Sasai-jeong, bicheongmyeong, bigu-eun, bulgam-won, bulgam-hoe, yusil-igo, seong-i bongshin. Yeongryong gigamji, muljin-roejeong-jino.”⁴

When Gye-geum finished chanting the ritual script, the smoke from the burner shot upward toward the sky in a straight, furious column.

The thickened stream gathered into a single solid rope of smoke, like a sturdy cable linking the shrine to the heavens above.

Having undergone such rites more than a few times before, Suhoe did not freeze or flinch at the unreal sight; he simply lowered his head, accustomed to it.

Though he understood not a single word of the incantations Gye-geum recited, he knew this much:

If he bowed his head and waited quietly, the master of the ritual — the heavenly dragon that had cursed the Lee family — would, in time, descend here along that rope of smoke.

Although it was midday, a heavy, dense fog blanketed the mid-slope of Mount Unbang, so thick one could scarcely make out the surroundings.

The only beam of light cutting through the mist came from the hazard lights of a black sedan blinking intermittently.

After stepping out to scan the road ahead, Hae-eon followed the glow of the hazards back to the vehicle.

But instead of heading straight for the driver’s seat, he approached the rear passenger window, bending slightly at the waist.

He rapped softly on the glass.

Tok, tok.

At the short knock, the tinted glass slid soundlessly down, revealing the profile of a man inside, seated without a single movement, his gaze fixed on a document.

“President, it seems we won’t be able to take the car any further from here.”

Shielding his forehead with his hand to block the light drizzle beginning to fall, Hae-eon reported the situation to his superior, Dowoon.

“Other routes?” Dowoon asked in a low voice, his eyes still not leaving the papers. His tone carried no emotion.

“I checked, but it’s a single narrow road leading up to the mid-slope. There’s no further roadway.”

Nervously swallowing, Hae-eon gave his reply.

Only then did Dowoon lift his eyes from the document, remove the glasses from his face, and lay both down.

As he rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingertips, Hae-eon quickly moved to open the rear door for him — not forgetting to retrieve and open the large umbrella standing in the door’s side pocket.

It was the smooth motion of a seasoned aide.

Dowoon, for his part, accepted such courtesy as easily as breathing, showing no visible reaction and stepping leisurely out of the car.

Once he stood upright, the umbrella Hae-eon held rose to match his height — revealing the whole of Dowoon’s figure.

He was a man taller by a good three finger-widths than Hae-eon, who was already in the mid-180s; from head to toe, in his thick coat and polished shoes, he was clad entirely in black, with a composed, cold aura.

The only feature that drew the eye any differently were his light brown eyes — yet even they did not warm his expression, instead adding a chill to the masklike face devoid of all kindness.

“Are you intending to go there yourself?”

“…···.”

“Shall I go ahead first to scout the route to the shrine?”

“…….”

“If I confirm the way, it will be more comfortable for you to follow.”

Though Dowoon made no reply, Hae-eon persisted — well aware that his superior’s silence was as good as assent.

In truth, it was a reflex built on the habit of always placing Dowoon’s safety and comfort above all else.

After so many years as an aide, it had become second nature — but in this case, the situation was unusual even without habit as an excuse.

The truth was, Dowoon was not the type of man to wander up a hazardous mountain road to some unknown destination without even a map or navigation system.

Even with a map, he was the kind of man whose position demanded the accompaniment of several attendants.

But here he was, having come to such a mountain — one not even marked on maps — with only a single secretary, and now intending to abandon the car and walk to an imprecise destination?

It went beyond unusual; for Hae-eon, it was almost unthinkable.

At the same time, though, he knew better than anyone that Dowoon was not the kind to stand still and wait if told it would take time to confirm the path.

“To find a strange shrine on a mountain that doesn’t even appear on maps — and do it alone? By what means?”

Sure enough, Dowoon’s voice came sharp, his eyes glanced briefly at his watch.

“The appointment with the shrine is in 30 minutes. Can it be found within that time?”

“…That, I…”

Knowing full well he had just made a suggestion that could not possibly restrain Dowoon, Hae-eon gave an awkward smile, bowing his head.

“I suppose not.”

Even before Hae-eon had finished speaking, Dowoon was moving forward without the slightest hesitation — as if he had already known what the answer would be.

Without another word, he stepped into the fogbound mountain path, and Hae-eon, lacking the courage to argue further, hurried after him with the umbrella held aloft.

Footnotes:

1. Aegbaji (액받이): In Korean folklore and shamanism, a person designated to take on another’s misfortune, curse, or ill fate, thereby shielding the intended target. In this story’s context, Suhoe has been raised to be such a spiritual “lightning rod” for his future husband.

2. Hanbok (한복): Traditional Korean clothing; here specifically a white ceremonial set worn for a ritual context.

3. The opening of the ritual chant (“Yusecha…”) follows the archaic style of formal shamanic invocations, setting out the officiant’s name (Gye-geum) and the ritual subject’s name (Suhoe).

4. The following long passage of incantation is written in classical-style Korean mixed with ritual Chinese, calling upon spiritual forces — in this case, appealing to the dragon spirit that has cursed the Lee family — to accept the offering or participant (Suhoe) into the ritual purpose. Its precise meaning is deliberately opaque to the characters and readers, reflecting the mystery of the rite.