TFN C75

Chapter 75

The marriage of souls ritual that had begun the previous evening stretched on through the night, continuing well past dawn.

Even for an ordinary death, such ceremonies took five or six hours—but this time, the cleansing and purification dragged longer, as if the ailments that had plagued them in life still clung stubbornly to their spirits.

By the time the clock crept past three in the morning, the final prayers had yet to finish.

The souls had shed their worldly attachments, ready to depart at last—yet the offering table trembled, the spirits indicating they still had something left to say.

When the bamboo wands began to shake, Wonhyo’s mother gestured sharply for his sister, who had been stepping forward with a stack of spirit money, to pause and return to the altar.

“If there’s something you wish to say, speak freely before you go,” she said gently.

Across from his sister, Wonhyo watched the bride’s faint outline hold the other end of the bamboo.

A young girl’s face—too youthful to have ever worn rouge and bridal dots—turned first toward her parents, then toward her groom. After a moment’s hesitation, her lips parted shyly.

‘I… want to… throw the… bouquet…’

“Oh my.”

His sister couldn’t help but laugh softly, touched by the spirit’s innocence.

“The bride says she wants to throw her bouquet,” she announced.

Her mother, who had been bracing for words of bitterness or regret, let out a tearful sigh of exasperation.

“Oh, you silly child. Even on your wedding day? Noona, I’m sorry—she’s always been like this.”

“Don’t be,” Wonhyo’s mother replied with a faint smile. “It’s her only wedding in this world or the next. She probably never imagined she’d get to wear rouge and a coronet at all. But heavens, where are we supposed to find flowers at this hour?”

At once, the two women grew busy.

Even on a remote island, flowers could be delivered by drone these days—but not at three in the morning, and not in a secluded village at the southernmost edge of Jindo, where no houses stood for miles.

Realizing her wish couldn’t be fulfilled, the bride looked crestfallen. Her groom, flustered, tried to console her.

Then Wonhyo quietly opened his inventory.

He didn’t have living flowers—no roses, peonies, or hydrangeas—but he did have something else.

“I only have paper ones—peonies, viburnum, chrysanthemums, and double peonies,” he murmured.

He brought out a handful of colorful paper flowers, crafted with care: layers of folded petals stacked round and full, delicate yet vivid.

“If this will do, shall I make them into a bouquet?”

“People used to give paper flowers as gifts all the time,” his sister said warmly, turning to the bride for approval.

Their mother took the flowers from Wonhyo’s hands and brought them to the altar.

The young bride’s eyes went wide at the sight of the soft pastel-pink petals, and she nodded eagerly, her translucent face brightening.

While Granny Park held the bamboo wand steady, his sister deftly tied the flowers together with a length of silk cord.

It didn’t take long to weave a small, lovely bouquet—light, elegant, and full despite the few blossoms used.

“But if she throws it,” his sister wondered aloud as she tied the ribbon into a neat bow, “who’s supposed to catch it?”

All eyes turned toward the same person.

Until now, Wonhyo had stayed beyond the gate, standing guard against restless spirits drawn by the ritual.

Now, for the first time that night, he stepped into the yard.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

Receiving something from the dead wasn’t easy. The parents bowed deeply, gratitude and apology mingling in their expressions. Wonhyo only inclined his head in silent acknowledgment.

Whether a bouquet came from the living or the dead didn’t matter to him.

It could never tie him to anyone; multiplying zero still yielded zero.

He stood at a safe distance, where no ghostly energy lingered, and waited.

His sister called the bride closer.

The groom clapped his hands to encourage her, and the girl, nervous, inhaled deeply—an old habit from when she’d been alive—and exhaled once more.

Borrowing his sister’s body, the bride glanced around, gauged the distance, then faced forward and threw with all her strength.

The paper flowers arced gracefully through the night air, rustling softly as they landed in Wonhyo’s arms.

Her aim perfect, the bride leapt in delight, and the groom reached for her hand, laughing.

She took it, smiling brightly, then bowed toward Wonhyo in thanks before her spirit gently slipped free of his sister’s body.

Their regrets released, the young couple turned to one another and laughed—radiant and unburdened—as they began their journey onward.

Wonhyo tucked the paper bouquet carefully away and wished them both peace.

He hoped they would reach their next life—whether heaven or paradise—without strife, and with joy.

Even if their path led through hell, as long as they were free from the weight of the living world, that would be enough.

Granny Park lifted the pair’s spirit tablets onto the silk-draped altar.

Instead of a coffin, a flower palanquin awaited; she placed their souls upon it, and the attendants carried them away—drifting gently toward the afterlife.

Tears welled up in every eye, flowing like the tide, sending them off.

“Mercy, what a night. You all worked hard—now eat up,” Granny Park said, pressing spoons into their hands.

Wonhyo bowed his head gratefully.

They’d gone straight from the ritual to a small diner about twenty minutes away—none of them had the energy to cook breakfast.

The owner, already up before dawn, quickly served steaming bowls of rice with an array of side dishes: savory braised cutlassfish, thick crab marinated in soy, and more.

“I wish I’d fed you something better,” Granny Park sighed.

“Oh, please,” Wonhyo’s mother replied. “This is more than enough. We can’t even get this in Seoul.”

“Seoul, eh? Then eat plenty while you’re here. Shall I ask for more greens for you, ma’am?”

“This will do fine,” she said, smiling faintly.

Because of her spiritual vows, she ate only vegetables, and the table was lined with plant-based dishes for her.

“Don’t mind me. Eat well, both of you.”

“Yes, thank you for the meal,” Wonhyo said, clasping his hands.

He wasn’t particularly fond of seafood, but the humble diner’s dishes were spectacular.

He picked up a bit of marinated seaweed and beans with his chopsticks—crisp, nutty, perfectly seasoned—and couldn’t help but let out a sound of quiet admiration.

His sister also dug in enthusiastically, eyes bright as she sampled every side dish within reach.

After a while, Granny Park set down her spoon and leaned closer.

“So… I’ve been meaning to ask something.”

His mother looked up curiously.

“Your younger brother,” Granny Park began cautiously, “he’s still with the police, isn’t he?”

“Why?”

The old woman darted a glance around, lowering her voice.

“Have you heard about the one possessed by an animal spirit in Seoul?”

The clatter of crab shells stopped abruptly. Wonhyo’s sister froze mid-motion.

“An animal spirit?”

“Aye,” Granny Park said grimly. “I had a lad training under me for about six months—learnin’ the drumwork, you see. Then one day, word came that he’d been arrested. And from what I hear, it wasn’t him doing the harm—it was something inside him.”

She leaned in, voice dropping further.

“You know that shrinekeeper near Dongdaemun, don’t you? Word is, one of their people got overtaken by a beast spirit and hurt someone. I tell you, it near split my head hearing it.”

Wonhyo’s mother frowned deeply.

“The one in Dongdaemun—old Jeong, the Taoist priest?”

Her daughter wrinkled her nose, and even Wonhyo’s expression stiffened.

There was only one man that fit that description—a venerable ritualist who worshipped Mazu, the Chinese sea goddess.

He was an old friend of their mother’s, one of the few still practicing traditional rites in the old ways.

Among shamans, everyone from the older generations was family—brothers and sisters bound by the same lineage of gods.

“Has it really come to that?” his mother murmured.

Granny Park nodded.

“Just last month, there wasn’t a hint of trouble. If the spirit gate had opened, I’d have sensed it—but there was nothing. Nothing at all.”

Her voice carried a deep sorrow.

The boy had been studying to preserve the dying traditions of inherited shamans—and now he was gone, consumed by what he sought to understand.

“If I’d known sooner, I’d have sent word and sealed the area,” she sighed.

“You couldn’t have known,” Wonhyo’s mother said gently. “It’s not your fault. If every student could open the gate to the spirit world, there’d be no such thing as a shaman’s fate.”

Granny Park managed a tired nod.

To reach the West Coast Expressway from Jindo, they had to drive north to Mokpo.

“Should we grab coffee before we leave the island?” his sister asked from the driver’s seat, glancing at the navigation screen.

“There’s a café in the next town—looks like two across the street from each other.”

She skillfully changed lanes and peered into the rearview mirror.

“You’re not going to nap, Wonhyo?”

“I think I’m the only one still functioning,” he grumbled.

It was true—he avoided driving mainly because of the ghosts he sometimes saw drifting along the roadside, not from fatigue.

His sister laughed.

“You’ve been sleeping at night lately. It’s been a while since you stayed up all night.”

Both his mother and sister often took early evening naps after long prayer sessions. Wonhyo’s sleep schedule shifted with his work, but this wasn’t his usual waking hour.

“And you?” he asked.

“I’ll be fine. Once we hit the highway, I’ll switch to autopilot. If it gets bad, we’ll stop at every rest area if we have to.”

She turned into a narrow street and parked neatly in front of the café.

Wonhyo handled the drinks, grateful he could order through a kiosk instead of talking to a person.

An extra-shot Americano for his sister, a half-shot latte for his mother, and for himself—a fizzy citrus ade.

Once they were back on the road, the car fell into a comfortable silence.

After an hour of quiet driving, the first rest stop came into view—Hampyeong Service Area, their planned stop for breakfast and a little peace before heading north.