“Still an astonishing ability. I’ve seen three Immortals in my life so far, but compared to you, I honestly wonder if the other two even deserve to be called Immortals.”
“Please don’t say that in front of other Immortals….”
“I already did when I crossed paths with the Butterfly Immortal last time. We’d just finished a match. Even that one admitted it. In fact, they got irritated, saying that if they were compared to Iri, who on earth could claim to be qualified.”
Iri pressed his fingers to his forehead. Even now, his disciple was clinging tightly to him, so he had to pat his arm a few times to wriggle free.
“The Butterfly Immortal would be my master’s friend, right? What kind of match did you have, and who won?”
“It was a transformation match. I won.”
“…If you’d suggested a transformation match to me, I would’ve lost.”
“I thought you were human, so I chose wrestling. I always wrestle with humans.”
Yori-iki rolled his eyes and scanned Dojin from head to toe.
“So that’s it.”
“…….”
“You are a ‘Jangsa’, aren’t you?”
Dojin broke into a grin. It meant he was right.
From time to time, beings born with exceptional talents appear in this world. Animals with an unusually keen sense of smell, plants that grow to extraordinary size.
Or children born with extraordinary strength.
Among humans, those born with unnatural physical power have long been called Jangsa, or sometimes Jangsu. A Jangsa was a being that was both human and Wia at the same time.
There are many folktales centered around Jangsa. Stories of a Jangsa who lived like a vagabond yet unleashed monstrous strength during wartime to save farmers. Tales of humbling an arrogant monk who wielded sorcery. Accounts of slaying a Yokai that had tormented countless people with a single blow.
However, far more of these stories end in tragedy than in triumphant heroism.
The birth of a Jangsa is an extremely rare occurrence, completely unrelated to genetics, and it was even rarer for such a child to survive and grow to adulthood. A baby capable of manifesting monstrous strength was, by anyone’s standards, an abnormal existence, and many were killed before reaching maturity.
The so-called ‘Baby Jangsa Legends’ were precisely that. Set in eras when exploitation and oppression of commoners was severe, these stories told of a baby Jangsa born into a poor peasant household who dreamed of revolution, only to be murdered early on by those who feared the threat he posed to power.
The dokkaebi spoke in an excited voice. His previously twisted expression had somehow smoothed out completely.
“Did I really have a wrestling match with a Jangsa? Win or lose aside, I’ll have to boast about this everywhere.”
“Please do. It’d be nice if a good rumor about me being a Jangsa spread instead of the bad one about me being hot-headed.”
“Indeed. Jangsa were always brazen like you. Arrogance came naturally to them. Do you know a fellow named Guunmun? He was also a Jangsu.”
“You mean the one who lived on Jeju Island?”
“So you know him! Truly an insolent and carefree fellow. I was friends with Guunmun. He hated being bothered, so he turned down official posts and planned to stay in the human realm as a Jangsa his entire life. Then one day, he became a General and ascended to the heavens. Was that two hundred years ago? Three hundred? This is the first Jangsa I’ve seen since then.”
“Yes, I imagine it must feel quite moving. Want my autograph?”
“Hahahaha!”
The dokkaebi burst into booming laughter.
Now that he knew Dojin was a Jangsa, even that cheeky tone felt endearing and nostalgic to him.
“How did Immortal Iri come to meet such a fully grown Jangsa in this era?”
“It’s not like I met him after he grew up. I’ve known him since he was little.”
“My master’s the one who let me grow up. If it weren’t for him, I would’ve died as a newborn—just like countless Baby Jangsa before me.”
“That makes sense. Only someone on the level of an Immortal could protect a Baby Jangsa from the Evil Gods of this age…. Ah!”
Yori-iki exclaimed as if a realization had struck him.
“Come to think of it, isn’t this one also a candidate for the next King? If he truly ascends the throne, then at long last the wish of countless Baby Jangsa will be fulfilled!”
“If you’d like, give me some paper and a pen. I’ll sign it for you right now.”
“Hahahahaha.”
The laughter echoed thunderously. Iri checked the time. Midnight was approaching.
“Yori-iki. It’s about time we go. If you want to chat more, you can always visit the rental shop. For now, hand over the bamboo bird eggs.”
“Understood.”
When Yori-iki stretched out his hand, his massive dokkaebi club swayed. He shook it left and right as if threshing straw, and with soft pong, pong sounds, multicolored bird eggs the size of ostrich eggs materialized in midair.
Dojin carefully gathered the floating eggs and stuffed them into his briefcase.
“Then your next path will be that of a General, I suppose.”
“I’ll become a Taoist first, then an Immortal. I’m diligently accumulating virtue right now.”
“……What?”
Yori-iki tilted his head, as though he couldn’t comprehend the sentence.
“A Jangsa cannot become a Taoist. Humans are divided into Jangsa and Taoists—Jangsa become Generals, Taoists become Immortals. Immortal Iri, your disciple seems ignorant of even basic common knowledge.”
“Sorry, but we really need to go. We’ll talk again later.”
“Very well. Immortal Iri certainly lives an inconvenient life.”
After parting with Yori-iki, Iri and Dojin descended the mountain far faster than they had climbed it. The Dragon Horse was already waiting in the parking lot. The black horse, which had been wagging its tail impatiently, transformed into a black van. Dojin hurriedly opened the door.
“Let’s go as fast as we can. At this rate, your master’s going to stay up all night.”
[ヾ(⌐■_■)ノ]
The Dragon Horse put on a reassuring expression, as if to say “leave it to me”, and started the engine.
Back at the rental shop, the two moved in perfect coordination. Dojin lit the fire in the ‘Paulownia Brazier’, while Iri measured the weight of the bamboo bird eggs. After cracking five eggs of suitable weight, he mixed them into a paste made with pokeweed root and snake horn. Iri adjusted the amount of water, while Dojin was in charge of kneading the dough.
When the paste reached a perfectly elastic consistency, Iri brought out a new curio. The curio called ‘Shinhwaji’ was more or less in the shape of a sketchbook.
Iri tore out a pristine blank sheet, placed the paste inside, then crumpled it up tightly. When he rolled it into a ball and unfolded it again, the ink-colored paste was gone without a trace, leaving only white powder behind.
“So this white powder is ‘Grass Seasoning’?”
“That’s right. If you add it to food, it won’t spoil no matter the environment. It acts as a kind of preservative.”
“Can humans eat it too?”
“Of course. Why, do you want to try it?”
“No matter how I am, I’m not about to steal food meant for ants.”
Dojin took out the provisions he’d prepared earlier from the refrigerator. He sprinkled the white powder lightly over a generous amount of freshly cooked white rice that filled a double-handled pot, then closed the lid.
“That’s it. Just give it to the Pseudo-Ants when they come in the morning.”
“Good work, Master. Please go wash up and get some sleep. I’ll wash up downstairs.”
“Okay.”
When Dojin checked the time, it was already past 3 a.m.
Thinking about finally delivering food to the Pseudo-Ants—who had lost their painstakingly stockpiled provisions, struggled alone, and then asked for help as a last resort—made him feel satisfied. Still, the fact that frail Iri had been going to bed at dawn for several days in a row worried him.
Of course, Iri was an Immortal, not someone who’d collapse from lack of sleep. That sense of fragility was purely from Dojin’s perspective.
The next day, Dojin woke before sunrise and opened the rental shop. He turned on the sign light, which stayed lit even in broad daylight, powered up the computer and workshop lights, and raised the boiler temperature. After finishing the cleanup he hadn’t managed the night before, he was just about to pour some tea when Iri came downstairs.
“You’re already up? You’re diligent.”
“Please sleep more. I’ll handle delivering the food to the Pseudo-Ants.”
“No, it’s about time I got up.”
“Would you like a cup of tea?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Iri sat beside Dojin. There was a comfortable sofa in the living room, but instead of the sofa, they preferred sitting side by side at the worktable that offered a direct view of the yard. Strictly speaking, it was Iri’s habit, and Dojin—who’d frequented the rental shop since childhood—had picked it up by following him.
“It’s time to prune the trees.”
“Next week is the regularly scheduled date.”
“Should I do it myself? I can handle it.”
“I know. But that person’s been pruning here for over twenty years now. How am I supposed to tell him not to come anymore?”
“True. I don’t really want to put that man out of a job either.”
Dojin glanced at Iri’s reflection in the window. He let a brief silence settle before asking casually.
“Master. About what Yori-iki said yesterday—‘a Jangsa can’t become a Taoist.’ That doesn’t apply to me, right?”
Iri took a sip of the steaming tea, then answered calmly.
“You didn’t ask yesterday…. I figured you’d end up asking after all.”
“I held back on purpose so you could sleep early.”
“Thank you.”
Iri smiled gently.
“It’s true that a Jangsa can’t become a Taoist. The two paths are completely different—like an elephant growing up and becoming a bird. But a Jangsa can become an Immortal.”
“You mean I can go straight to becoming an Immortal?”
“Yes. And the way to do that is to become an Immortal’s disciple. An Immortal’s disciple is recognized as a Taoist within the true mortal realm. It’s such a rare case that young dokkaebi like Yori-iki don’t know about it.”
Iri spoke without hesitation, calling the five-hundred-year-old Yori-iki ‘young’.
“You’re already somewhere between a Jangsa and a Taoist. You just haven’t gone through the official procedures. You possess the traits of both. So there’s nothing to worry about.”
“I’m….”
Dojin trembled all over, then snapped his head up.
“I’m actually an incredibly amazing person!”
