TFN C29

Chapter 29

Having checked who sent the message, Wonhyo reread it again.

His drowsy eyes narrowed faintly.

“I’m at home now. Nothing happened. Did something happen on your end?”

He tapped out a quick reply, and before long another message came back.

[-While offering prayers, I felt something unsettling. I saw your face.]

A sigh slipped through his lips.

[-Just in case, if you go out to make a deal, be extra careful.]

I don’t even have plans to go out, though.

Wonhyo thought of his depleted stock of gwehwangji (yellow ritual paper) but decided to just order online instead.

Usually, when ordering supplies from the paper shop, you needed to order in bulk, but it was better to avoid misfortune.

“Alright. You finish your prayers properly too, sister.”

He reassured her, telling her he would remember the warning, since she had even paused her ritual to message him. Then, leaving the request board he had been about to browse, he turned into an online shopping mall.

From his list of bookmarked shops, he chose the one selling paper.

Just then, a push notification popped up, buzzing his phone.

“…Huh?”

Wonhyo squinted and read the separate announcement.

It said that due to personal circumstances, even if orders came in during the week, shipping wouldn’t be handled until a week later.

Receiving such a warning about being careful with “transactions” and then having the very shop he meant to buy from shut down for a week—he didn’t need to be told exactly what “personal circumstances” meant when the notice was marked with black chrysanthemum patterns. Clearly, it was a death in the family. He closed the notification.

There were a couple more shops that sold usable paper, but none handled online sales except this one.

Who in this day and age refused phone orders or online sales, insisting only on in-person visits? Yet such shops still existed.

In fact, theirs was the best-quality paper and they preserved it for regulars only. Even Wonhyo had only gotten on the list of customers because of an introduction by his late mother.

As effective as the paper was, it was difficult to get. He wasn’t sure they even had stock available right now.

“Don’t go out. Be careful with transactions.”

“Maybe it’s better to wait…”

He had only muttered to himself, but the words almost felt like drawing a fortune stick—his intuition pushed him forward.

For some reason, he felt a strange compulsion: if not today, then never. With groaning complaint, he kicked aside his blanket.

“No, really… they might not even have what I’m looking for, right?”

Grumbling to no one, he dug through his saved contacts and made the call.

Don’t pick up, don’t pick up.

Though he was the one calling, he prayed the recipient wouldn’t answer. But after only a few rings, a click.

-What?

No asking who it was, no pleasantries—the sharp-edged voice shot back immediately. Wonhyo already knew what to request.

“Hwangji and Cheongji. And a little bit of black paper too.”

-Hwangji, two bundles. Cheongji, one. Half a bundle of black.

He almost wished they didn’t have any—that would have excused him. But today, the stock was overflowing.

Twenty sheets per bundle, they had two bundles of hwangji (yellow ritual paper). Wonhyo sighed.

-Need anything else?

“No. Can I just come by the shop later?”

-If you’re coming, come quickly. First come, first served. Once it’s gone, it’s gone.

Since they didn’t take reservations, it meant he had to rush. He nodded to himself.

“Alright. I’ll see you then.”

Click. The line disconnected.

Rolling over, Wonhyo pushed his face into the pillow again.

“Aaaghhh!”

With a strangled cry, flailing arms and legs, he finally lifted his head.

He really had to go out.

It wasn’t a common opportunity. With good paper available, he had to go buy it even if it was a struggle to move.

“As long as I’m careful with the deal, right?”

The warning hadn’t been about going out itself, just about transactions. If he kept his wits about him in the shop, it should be fine.

After several rounds of self-encouragement, Wonhyo finally rose from the bed.

“Here.”

After gathering his things and bracing himself, it took him only five minutes to complete the purchase.

He shoved the bundle of rolled paper into his inventory and bowed.

“Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for. But don’t bother calling next month, no paper’s coming out.”

“Oh? Closing up shop?”

“Going for prayer.”

The aged shopkeeper clicked her tongue, face crinkling. Though she knew it was necessary, she clearly dreaded the hardship ahead.

“Heading to Jirisan to make black paper. If you need more, come after April.” (1)

Wonhyo nodded.

Normally, yellow, red, or white paper was used in making talismans, but sometimes blue (cheongji) or black paper were required too. Black paper was rarer—clearly the shopkeeper had resolved herself to the arduous task this time. That type had to be bought while available.

So Wonhyo immediately logged it into his calendar. Otherwise, he’d forget and miss the chance.

“See you next time, then.”

“Go on now.”

Waving curtly, the aunt dismissed him.

Leaving the tucked-away stall, hidden in a corner of Cheonggye Arcade’s building, he didn’t have far to walk.

Since he was already here, he checked the surrounding shops. Once electronics stores, now the place was full of odds and ends. The whole arcade had been gutted—after the sudden rise of the Tower, there’d even been a major fire, leaving the building derelict nearly ten years before it was restored.

Because cheap materials were easy to obtain here, many item workshops had moved in. If costs for climbing the Tower weren’t so heavy, Wonhyo might’ve tried to rent his own stall here too.

In the early days of his business, he’d struggled to sell talismans, even considered doing live demonstrations offline just to entice people. But in the end, he hated wandering around outside, and the site itself didn’t align with his ritual energy. He stopped.

He had no connections to people nor to proper spiritual sites. So he gave up.

Anyhow, the errand was over quickly. With time to spare, his eyes wandered.

“Transaction” meant purchasing items—so just browsing wouldn’t count, would it? The thought tempted him.

This wasn’t good.

But despite himself, his legs moved.

It was the same psychology as junk food—you know it’s bad, but still you eat. Some impulses only end by giving into them.

“…Maybe I’ll just buy something to eat.”

He needed food anyway, the safest “transaction”—unless there was food poisoning.

“Eating’s risky too?”

He shook his head and rode the escalator upward. He moved with no hesitation, like he already knew his destination. Crowds ebbed and flowed, emptying the elevator car.

Pressed small against one corner, he darted out when doors opened.

“…Tsk.”

Wonhyo winced, eyes screwed shut as a chilling aura jabbed at his skin like needles.

He swallowed hard, staring into empty air.

Normally, at first contact with ghost-qi, his system should have triggered an alert. But the interface remained silent.

He blinked.

“What’s this?”

A malfunction? The system was absolute, surely flawless—but that was the first thought he had.

He fidgeted nervously, resolving to turn right back into the elevator if the system raised any alarm.

But even after waiting a long while without leaving, the interface stayed silent.

Checking and double-checking, then suddenly the reason dawned on him. He clapped his hands.

“Contact.”

He realized he hadn’t physically touched any ghost energy for some time. Recently, his ghost-qi stock rose so fast he’d forgotten the original method.

“You had to touch it.”

The quiet system meant he hadn’t made direct contact.

Relieved, he tilted his head—though the aura felt the same as ghost energy to him.

“…Am I mistaken?”

Carefully sensing again, he was certain. It was ghostly aura all right.

“…An old trace?”

That sometimes happened too—a haunted object’s aura pressed down by other factors or faded with age so only faint traces lingered.

Either way, it was a lead.

“…No need to report it?”

If it was old enough, it might have nothing to do with any current investigation.

For now, he decided simply to find the source.

Hands shoved in his pockets, he walked cautiously.

The old shopping district was restored as faithfully as possible: narrow entrances leading to wide inside spaces, each shop marked by vintage signs on their glass fronts and walls.

Most were personal workshops; half the rest, retro trinket stores, antique-style cafés, and bookstores. Though it looked more like a tourist attraction, few restaurants were here.

Step by step, skimming carefully, Wonhyo stopped before a clothing shop far inside, well past the elevator.

A heap of clothes piled floor-to-ceiling, with squat bathhouse stools scattered around. Hung above the mound, a paper scrawled with “Floor Stock – 1,000 won.” Clearly, a secondhand clothing outlet where customers scavenged for bargains.

From that heap of clothing, he felt the distinct trace of a vengeful ghost.

Footnotes

1. Jirisan / 지리산 – A real mountain in South Korea, historically associated with shamans and ascetic practices. Gathering rare materials there has spiritual significance. 
2. Hwangji (황지), Cheongji (청지), Heukji (흑지) – Colored ritual papers: yellow, blue/green, and black paper traditionally used for talismans. Black, in particular, is rare and considered most powerful against malevolent spirits.