“Long time no see.”
Iri greeted it as well. Jiyon’s face twisted. She couldn’t see anything. They were clearly having a conversation with something, yet she couldn’t hear so much as the voice of this so-called musician—whether yokai or spirit. Being unable to see or hear anything in this reality frustrated and saddened her.
“Just a moment.”
After speaking to someone, Iri approached Jiyon.
“I’ll open it briefly. Don’t say anything.”
Iri whispered, lightly tapping Jiyon’s shoulder—and something astonishing happened.
The thatched house before her eyes began to change as if time itself were rewinding. The roof that had looked ready to collapse vanished, replaced by a tightly woven thatched roof of silver grass and reeds, with yellow gourds hanging in clusters. The crumbling earthen walls transformed into neat, freshly built ones. Straw mats and bundles of reeds hung neatly, and there was even a small wooden porch. Jiyon gaped as she took in the stacked firewood in one corner of the yard and the sturdy fence surrounding it.
But the most shocking sight of all was the one Dojin was conversing with. She had imagined a dokkaebi or some monstrous yokai—but instead, it was an old man dressed in hanbok.
He wore a gray jeogori and loose, wide-legged trousers, with a white hakchangui draped over him without fully fastening it. A long pipe hung from his mouth, his face was densely lined with wrinkles, and his sun-darkened skin gave him the unmistakable look of an elderly farmer.
“And who might this young lady be, that you’ve brought her all the way here? Have you hired another employee?”
“That’s not the case. Please don’t concern yourself.”
“How could I not? There are two humans here. Tsk. Of all the humans out there, you had to pick one with such bulging eyes. Honestly.”
The musician clicked his tongue the moment Dojin replied. His dislike for Dojin was painfully obvious.
“Musician-nim, do you even know what ‘bulging’ means? It means big in a refreshing yet intimidating way. So are you saying I’m refreshingly handsome and kind of scary?”
“How can a human brat be this insolent? Immortal Iri, why do you even keep someone like this at your side? All the Wia are terrified of him.”
“He provoked me first and now I’m the insolent one? Master, this is unfair. I didn’t start it.”
Iri smiled faintly and stepped between them.
“That’s enough, both of you. Dojin, the musician is just teasing you. And you too—if you keep pushing Dojin’s buttons, even I won’t be able to stop him.”
“If Immortal Iri can’t stop him, then no one under heaven can. Perhaps the King himself, or Princess Chalma. Doesn’t letting him run wild like that only make him more arrogant?”
The musician clicked his tongue at Iri for taking his disciple’s side, then muttered as if to himself,
“And to think you’ve got someone like this as a candidate for King… your taste is truly incomprehensible.”
A candidate for King?
Jiyon’s curiosity flared, but she remained silent.
“I told you not to provoke Dojin. Anyway—how long will the tuning take?”
“There’s quite a lot. Three or four days, I’d say.”
“Contact me as soon as it’s done.”
“OK.”
Hearing “OK” come out of a man who looked like an Immortal almost made Jiyon cry out loud.
At Iri’s instruction, Dojin carried the boxes into the thatched house’s inner room. Peeking through the open sliding door, Jiyon spotted a modern all-in-one computer—and what looked suspiciously like a poster of a top-tier male idol currently at the height of popularity. She nearly jumped again.
“Should I close the door?”
Dojin asked curtly. Jiyon didn’t understand, but it meant Should I restore the space to how it was?
“No need. No one else will be coming.”
After brief farewells, Iri and Dojin turned to leave. Jiyon hesitated, regretful that she hadn’t been able to speak with the old man—but if she stayed with these two, surely there would be another chance someday. Clinging to that hope, she hurried after them.
“What were all those strange things in the boxes? Was the Musician-nim a Mountain Divine Spirit? How was I able to see him? Can’t you let me keep seeing them from now on?”
The moment they got into the car, Jiyon’s questions poured out. Iri smiled brightly.
“The strange things in the boxes are called curios. And yes, the Musician is a Mountain Divine Spirit. I briefly opened your spiritual sight, but it was only temporary—I can’t let you keep seeing them.”
The realization that Mountain Divine Spirits truly existed—and that she had actually seen one—hit Jiyon belatedly, filling her with rapture… only to plunge her back into disappointment at his next words. Still, there was one thing she had to do.
“This feels like a dream. Thank you so much… truly.”
Jiyon bowed deeply. The problem was that she was still tightly holding Iri’s hands. She didn’t even seem aware that she’d grabbed them so casually. Iri felt awkward, but she was endearing enough that he let it be. Dojin’s driving grew increasingly aggressive.
“Dojin. Let’s stop by the hospital before heading back.”
“Yes.”
When Iri gave him the hospital’s name, Dojin entered it into the navigation system and stepped on the accelerator.
On the way, Jiyon kept asking questions.
“That divine spirit mentioned the King and Princess Chalma—who are they?”
“The King rules the True Mortal Realm… the place where Immortals live. Princess Chalma rules the lower realm.”
“And the divine spirit called Dojin a candidate for King.”
“The current King of the True Mortal Realm will soon step down. One of three candidates will ascend—and Dojin is one of them.”
“Woooow….”
Jiyon stared at Dojin with sparkling eyes. He added casually,
“You should mention that I’m currently the most likely candidate.”
“That’s right.”
“Woooow… you’re incredible.”
Dojin smiled crookedly.
“The truly incredible one is Immortal Iri, right beside you. The reason I’m the most likely candidate is because of my patron—and that patron is him. He’s the only being in existence that even the King can’t treat lightly.”
“The only being in existence….”
“Master of all things, shadow of all creation, the last primordial Immortal, the foremost of all heaven and earth’s divine spirits. That’s my Master.”
“Wooooow….”
This time, Jiyon looked at Iri with shining eyes. Embarrassed, Iri scratched his cheek.
Truthfully, Dojin himself didn’t fully understand what those titles even meant. Every Wia he met revered Iri and described him that way, so he’d simply assumed they were immensely grand and awe-inspiring epithets.
Before Jiyon’s curiosity could be fully satisfied, they arrived at the hospital.
She opened the door energetically and stepped out.
Hospitals had lots of people dying—so this time, would she see ghosts? Would she witness an exorcism? Her anticipation soared.
“Dojin. The bag.”
“Yes.”
Dojin held the briefcase he’d been carrying for Iri with both arms. When Iri entered the password and opened it, the inside revealed a pitch-black space.
This briefcase was a curio called the “Mouth Door”. It could store items without limit in size, volume, or quantity. However, the weight accumulated normally—meaning no one without monstrous strength like Dojin could lift it. Even now, it weighed over 200 kilograms; placing it on a flimsy shelf would cause it to tilt or collapse outright.
Iri shoved his arm into the black space, rummaging as he grumbled,
“We really need to organize this. Why is there so much stuff?”
Because it couldn’t be seen, it would quickly turn into a storage closet if one wasn’t careful… or rather, it already was one. Before Dojin joined him, it hadn’t been used much. Afterward, Iri simply left everything to him and stopped paying attention.
In truth, Dojin had never once thought about organizing it. If he just reached in while thinking I need this, it would automatically come to hand.
“I’ll pick a day and clean it up properly.”
“Let’s do it together.”
Even as he said that, Iri was already tidying it up in the short time they had. Dojin found the sight irresistibly cute and didn’t stop him.
What Iri pulled out was a white fan painted with ink wash art. Since he snapped it shut immediately, Jiyon couldn’t tell what the painting depicted.
“Let’s go.”
As Iri headed into the hospital, Dojin quickly matched his pace. Jiyon followed, glancing around. It was a bright morning with plenty of people about—yet no one paid them any attention. With faces like Dojin’s and Iri’s, that felt impossible. Did they use some kind of strange spell again? Her heart pounded.
“This way. Dojin, you can see it too, right?”
“Faintly.”
“Want to guide us?”
Dojin snorted, running a hand through his hair.
“Ah, testing me again, Master? Fine. Let’s go. We won’t get lost in a hospital, will we?”
“Um… what exactly are you seeing?”
When Jiyon gathered the courage to ask, Iri answered kindly.
“There’s something like a white current… starting here, running along like this.”
He traced a long line in the air with his finger, beginning from the upper part of the hospital… and stopping right in front of Jiyon.
Jiyon’s expression twisted—half smile, half tears; half fear, half excitement.
“Is a ghost attached to me? What kind of ghost? Someone who died in this hospital? Can I see it too? Like I saw the Mountain Divine Spirit earlier?”
“We’re about to go see it now. Dojin, let’s go.”
“Yesss.”
Dojin strode forward. Jiyon hurried after him, her heart racing. Seeing a ghost was thrilling—but if it looked like the horrifying beings from the exorcism video, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Those ghosts had been truly terrifying….
But she couldn’t let this chance slip away. No matter how dreadful or grotesque the sight, she had a sinking feeling this would be her last opportunity. She was certain these two wouldn’t keep taking her along. And maybe they’d even use some strange Taoist art to erase her memories…. Leaving today behind like a waking dream.
After taking the elevator to the seventh floor, Dojin stopped in front of a single-patient room. Iri nodded for Jiyon to go in. She carefully turned the doorknob and stepped inside.
And at that moment, she realized her premonition had been correct.
Seated beside the bed were her mother and younger sibling, their faces heavy with grief. They didn’t seem to notice the three who had entered.
Lying in the bed, bathed in yellow sunlight, was a patient with a face Jiyon knew all too well.
The face she saw every time she looked into a mirror—
a face impossibly familiar to her.
