TFN C74

Chapter 74

“The sea’s energy feels strange today.”

At the sudden remark interrupting the ritual preparations, Wonhyo lifted his head.

Far out beyond the yard, a thick sea fog was rolling in.

Even as sunlight broke through the clouds and shimmered over the rippling scales of the water, the mist came rushing forward like waves, devouring everything in its path.

He waited silently as the air turned damp and briny, the cold touch of salt brushing across his skin. Then, as if it had never been there at all, the sea revealed its jade-colored surface once more.

“Wonhyo, take this and toss it outside the gate.”

He blinked down at the basin of water resting in his arms.

Seeing his hesitation, Granny Park, the local shaman, narrowed her eyes in impatience.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! I said, throw the purification water beyond the gate, not spill it all over the floor!”

Wonhyo gave a brief nod and carefully poured the water over the threshold.

“My word, I’ve not had a Seoul guest to serve in ages, and the way we talk just doesn’t seem to connect. I’m losing my mind,” Granny Park muttered.

At her grumbling, his mother and older sister couldn’t help but laugh quietly. Granny Park shook her head, pretending to be offended.

“You write those fancy characters just fine, but can’t follow plain speech, eh?”

“That’s because writing’s the work of fingers,” she snapped. “Today, it’s the mouth that’s doing all the work.”

Even as she chattered away, Granny Park’s hands moved briskly over the offerings.

“Still, it’s good to work alongside you again, missy.”

“What’s good about it?”

“Last I saw you, your energy was weak as dying grass. I was worried sick, but now you’re glowing—there must be good news, eh?”

She turned to glance at Wonhyo as she spoke.

He only offered a faint smile before returning his attention to the purification ritual.

His mother clicked her tongue. “It was good news once—but things went sour again. He wasn’t even going to come this time, but I told him a little sea breeze would do him good.”

“That so? Well, that’s life—when things seem smooth, that’s when the ground gives way. But shake it off, and misfortune turns to blessing. And really, there’s no better place to breathe deep and clear the lungs than this coast.”

Wonhyo sighed quietly, gazing out over the ocean before resuming his silent work.

It wasn’t a large yard, so purifying the grounds didn’t take long.

“Madam,” his sister asked as she polished the fruits to a glossy shine, “will the altar be set outside?”

“Of course,” Granny Park nodded. “Lay the mat, set the table, and prepare the bridal room over there. The wedding clothes are already waiting.”

They all turned toward the guest room beside the shrine.

When Wonhyo slid open the door, he found it neatly arranged—inside, the wedding robes hung carefully, not a single wrinkle to be seen.

“You really went all out with the funeral wedding,” his mother said softly. “Seems the two families got along well.”

“That’s because,” Granny Park began, “the bride and groom weren’t strangers who met in death—they had ties in life. The groom passed at twenty, poor lad.”

Apparently, his parents hadn’t known their son had fallen in love with another patient from the same hospital until they were sorting through his belongings.

His mother couldn’t bring herself to see his body right away, but when she finally charged his phone and opened the album, there were hundreds of photos—of the two of them together.

“They’d promised to travel once they got out,” Granny Park continued. “But the bride… she went first. She even had her skull opened for surgery in Seoul, but she couldn’t endure it. The groom, when he found out much later, searched high and low and finally asked that they be bound together properly—even if only in the afterlife.”

The story of the young bride and groom—who’d spent their short lives confined to a hospital, dying one after another—washed through the yard like the sound of waves.

His sister’s eyes glistened with tears.

Wonhyo sighed softly and handed her a tissue before she ruined her makeup, painted a vivid red for the afterlife ceremony. She snatched it up and blew her nose loudly enough to make the others chuckle.

Once the yard was cleansed and the offerings were laid out, the air changed.

The sea that had shimmered blue-green moments ago now glowed with a faint red hue.

“Wonhyo, stay outside,” his mother said.

He obeyed quietly.

Dragging out a borrowed chair, Wonhyo sat facing the sea.

Though it was already March, the southern coast wind was sharp and cold.

The chill brought his mind into focus, and he thought again of his latest quest.

His heart, once uneasy, now felt heavy and sodden like a soaked wad of cotton.

If he’d known the next quest would come so soon after the last, he might’ve prepared something—anything.

But there hadn’t been time.

Even if the world had conspired to make him fail, it couldn’t have done it better.

At least, he thought wryly, the penalty hadn’t increased to the next stage.

As the sun sank swiftly into the sea, twilight spread its veil across the shore.

Two cars approached along the lonely coastal road, their headlights slicing through the dusk.

When the parents of the deceased bride and groom stepped into the yard—faces darkened by grief—Granny Park hurried to greet them.

Their wary eyes softened once they spotted Wonhyo’s mother and sister, clearly identifiable as shamans by their traditional garb.

“These folks came to help with the ceremony,” Granny Park explained.

That was introduction enough.

Then she turned to face the sea beyond the gate once more.

“Let’s begin.”

The sahongut—known here as the “wedding of souls” ritual—was mostly Granny Park’s domain.

She wasn’t a spirit-medium herself, but had learned the rites passed down in her family.

Different, yet just as formidable, as Wonhyo’s mother, whose lineage of spiritualists stretched back generations.

The bereaved parents—two couples—took their places opposite each other at Granny Park’s bidding.

At her side, Wonhyo’s mother began calling the spirits of the bride and groom.

Dressed in a white hanbok, over which she wore a black-and-red vest, she held a fan imbued with the essence of seventy-two spirits. Seven bells dangled from its ribs, chiming softly as she began to chant.

Soon, the two souls appeared—a young man and woman, pale and thin, their vitality long since drained.

They still wore hospital gowns, IV lines dangling from translucent wrists.

Wonhyo’s sister quietly whispered something to Granny Park, who, with her poor eyesight, hadn’t noticed the spirits’ frailty. The old woman quickly began a purification rite.

As she cleansed them, Wonhyo’s mother soothed the wandering spirits nearby, guiding them away so that the bride and groom could move freely.

The oppressive air lightened; their faces, once sunken and sickly, slowly filled out.

Granny Park hurried between the families, relaying the words of the spirits.

Wonhyo stayed a step back, avoiding unnecessary contact with the lingering aura.

While the bride and groom changed into their wedding robes, he prepared wards to keep away uninvited guests.

Whether it was the proximity of the sea or the blurring of realms as night fell, the whispers of water-spirits rose from beneath the waves.

Come play with me… look here… come play…

The voice, that of a child no older than seven, tried to draw him in.

But Wonhyo didn’t move.

He’d trained too long to be swayed by a creature that, despite its innocent voice, reeked of middle-aged malice.

Meanwhile, the ceremony inside carried on. The parents wept quietly, their faces bathed in the flickering glow of ritual candles.

They spoke words they had never been able to say in life—grief, love, regret—and then reassured their children not to worry, to go in peace.

Wonhyo’s chest tightened.

He thought of his own parents—how they must have worried for him, even in death.

Did they resent him once they learned the truth of his curse?

The thought stung.

When he turned his head, his sister caught his gaze and smiled faintly.

Greedy again, huh? he thought to himself.

Perhaps it was human nature—to long for what one could not have.

He always found himself mired in such thoughts whenever he met families like these.

But he wasn’t alone. He still had his mother, his sister… and recently, a strange new connection as well.

A composed face came to mind—silver-rimmed glasses, calm eyes.

He hadn’t seen Cheongmun since ten days ago, though they’d kept in touch.

Cheongmun had been drowning in overwork, ever since an entity capable of forcibly opening dungeon rifts had appeared. No one at the Special Bureau seemed to be leaving on time; it was like a prison of endless overtime.

Apparently, their direct superior—father of five high-school twins—refused to go home because of the overtime pay.

Yet somehow, Cheongmun had managed to escape at 5 PM that day to have dinner with him.

Whatever the case, Wonhyo thought with a faint smile, he still had a few precious ties in this world.

He didn’t need to chase what could never be filled.

After all, not every bond was meant to last beyond death.