Chapter 34

Cheongmun was far from cautious, yet his gaze on Wonhyo was stripped of overt intensity, steadying instead on his condition.

A hunter’s senses at his rank were strange things—no matter how subtle, he could hear the pounding of a suddenly racing heartbeat.

Swallow after swallow of dry saliva slid down Wonhyo’s throat, his hands clenched so tight the blood drained from them, circulation cut until numbness would surely sting; yet he refused to loosen.

And unlike his pale hands, the flush spread brighter still above his neck.

Cheongmun found it peculiar, how much Wonhyo feared him.

Even though in their encounters so far he had made a point of politeness, Wonhyo’s wariness remained. The way he flinched from the prospect of contact, recoiling as if to preserve distance, betrayed reasons beyond what first came to mind.

Not just instinctive response to the difference in rank.

The gap between his rank and Wonhyo’s was significant; that explanation alone could suffice. Some claimed they could dull the sense of such things, but for most, instinctive dread in the face of overwhelming difference was raw survival. Not unlike the colloquial phrase “he gives me bad vibes.”

Whatever Wonhyo saw in him to avert his eyes so nervously, Cheongmun knew there was equal reason he could not back away from.

“Does preparation take long?”

“…Yes? Well, I need offerings, which means going shopping; I have to craft several things, which takes time… and space as well.”

“And the auspicious day? You said timing mattered. Is it a matter of avoiding ill-omened dates, or choosing the right ones?”

The question left Wonhyo looking puzzled.

“…Why do you ask?”

“Because until preparation is done, I might impose on you. If circumstances arise needing ‘artificial respiration’ again, I’d rather remain nearby.”

“…That really isn’t necessary.”

Wonhyo looked almost stricken at Cheongmun’s firm refusal to leave. If he let himself show panic outright, it would be no different from blurting I want to avoid you.

Yet he still owed a debt of life, and had already promised to assist investigations. If he suddenly reversed himself now, it would stamp him precisely as what cynics always accused—a fraud unwilling to see commitments through.

Though he had skirted duties before, he had never dishonored actual agreements. So, eyes squeezed tight and then opened, he steadied himself.

Cheongmun awaited his reply with a faint smile.

‘From how others react, it doesn’t seem as if you’re the gentle sort. Don’t force it with me.’

Strengthening his core, Wonhyo sat straighter.

“The stores will still be open. If I can at least buy the most important materials, it’ll be possible today.”

He resolved to first acquire the paper needed to fold into 넋 (neok, “soul seat”), on which the spirit would be called to settle.

He already had paper for talismans, but the ritual demanded a sheet specifically intended for that purpose: material without prior intent assigned.

Better to finish swiftly and be gone, he decided.

His slightly damp lips pressed together as he bit them.

And the cost… it would come out of his own pocket, wouldn’t it?

Cheongmun had promised support with official duties, yes—but the meals for the ceremony he’d never said he’d cover. Wonhyo concluded that the offerings’ expense ought to be deducted from his own payment.

“This card should cover it.”

“…Excuse me?”

“Isn’t cash accepted here?”

“No, that’s not the problem.”

Lost in tallying the costs in his head, Wonhyo blinked as Cheongmun handed him a thin metal card, his name—이청문 (Yi Cheongmun)—engraved on its surface. Light, warm in the hand.

“You mean… I can actually use this?”

“That’s what I gave it for.”

Wonhyo brightened, eyes blinking rapidly.

“Then I can choose better quality goods?”

“You’re preparing the altar. They should be the best you can find.”

Somehow, in this moment, Cheongmun’s glow felt even more radiant than the dream-phantoms of him overpowering Wonhyo like a beast.

Secretly flinging mental praises and an unseen “double thumbs-up,” Wonhyo held the card reverently, careful not to bend it.

“Since you’re covering the sacrifices, I won’t charge labor separately. But… we’ll need a place to set things up. Where will it be?”

“Would an open ground suffice?”

“Yes. People being present won’t matter, but for quiet work it’s better secluded.”

Traditionally, rituals invited crowds, raised clamor, music and dancing—to rouse spirits into joining festivity, to keep them from lingering in gloom.

But summoning the soul of a murder victim demanded solemn quiet, lest the conjured spirit spiral violently like a vengeful ghost.

“Space requirement?”

“The altar is small… but I need three square meters of room, for the dance.”

Large or small didn’t matter—space enough to turn through prescribed bearings was vital.

“Any other condition?”

“…If mana is strong at the site, the summoning succeeds more easily.”

Though he doubted such a place existed nearby, he spoke honestly.

Cheongmun keyed notes into his phone, considering suitable ground, while Wonhyo slipped into shops one by one: acquiring white ritual sheets, fruits for offerings.

At one shop, the proprietor glanced between Wonhyo and Cheongmun with suspicion. Knowing Wonhyo’s constitution, their questions burned silently in their eyes. He chose silence, paid quickly for fresh sheets.

The shopkeeper whistled softly as he processed the unusual card payment, finally muttering only as Wonhyo turned to leave.

“You’ll need greens. Go pick them up outside.”

“They used to sell some on the first floor restaurant, didn’t they?”

“Not good anymore. Owner skimps. Outside, right turn: noodle shop. Ask them. They’ll give you a plate.”

“Thank you.”

Ritual fare customarily included fruit, rice cakes, liquors; other elements filled at the shaman’s discretion. Today, greens were required. Normally, meat might accompany the scent of blood—but not in this case.

He followed directions and found the noodle house.

“Do you have greens?”

Addressing the lady there, she looked at him as though he had lost his mind.

But then, noting the fruit in Cheongmun’s hands and paper tucked beneath his arm, she sighed, fetched sprouts and fernbrakes from the fridge, plating them silently.

“How much?”

“Not for sale. Just take it.”

Wonhyo refused, digging for cash instead of offering the card.

“Since I’m taking what was yours to eat, at least take payment for two bowls of noodles.”

He handed her ten thousand won. Hesitation flicked across her eyes before she nodded.

“…Alright, then.”

“Thank you.”

Exiting the shop, offering settled, Wonhyo glanced back at Cheongmun.

“The offerings are complete. Where to now?”

“Noticed at the noodle house—no male worker present. May I ask whose presence you obtained them from?”

Instead of answering directly, Cheongmun redirected with another question.

Blinking, Wonhyo cast a brief look at the shop.

“…The late husband by her side. He showed up for his memorial day, following his wife around, still nagging her.”

That was why the paper-shop had sent him here, he realized.

“A memorial day, then.”

“Not exactly common. Most of the dead don’t linger. The dead have their own world, and revealing themselves here rarely fares well. Most know better than to breach the boundary. Those who command others to entertain and feed ancestors with grand rituals? Empty folly. Food cooked in resentment feeds curses, not kin.”

“…So in this case…?”

“This time, he simply came to offer his farewell. Likely within his forty-nine-day rites. It’ll be the last time she sees him.”

“I see.”

With his explanation settled, Wonhyo returned to his earlier ask.

“So, where are we headed?”

Cheongmun checked his watch.

“If we set off now, timing will be perfect. Come.”

He walked on—eschewing his car—heading north toward the subway.

Before long, he stopped in a narrow alley where faded signs for inns and motels still hung. At the farthest end, behind reinforced clear barriers and warning signs forbidding entry, stood what Wonhyo recognized instantly.

“…A dungeon?”

“This is what they call the Seoulsang Dungeon. Cleared countless times, but never disappearing, so now used by the Bureau as a controlled test site.”

Cheongmun pressed his hand to the security terminal by the barrier.

[Identity confirmed. Access valid until 21:45, February 9th.]

Wonhyo flinched as the barriers parted, but seeing Cheongmun walk calmly, he fought his own dread.

“…It’s safe, right?”

He knew what dungeons were.

But though he aimed one day to climb the Tower, he had never dared approach the more unstable, dangerous dungeons. It was his first time in life standing at the edge of one.

“There is nothing inside. You are safe.”

Cheongmun extended his hand, gesturing inward.

Wonhyo inhaled deeply.

Think of it as practice, before the Tower.

Fear surged nonetheless, urging him to clutch Cheongmun’s hand. But instead, he hugged the ritual materials to his chest, leaving them out of inventory on purpose.

“…I’ll go.”

He wanted to sound bold, confident. Instead, his voice quavered. Still, his steps forward did not halt.