“He left without even fixing it.”
“He just ran off, saying he wanted to drink Hwanggwaju.”
“Someone lured him away with Hwanggwaju.”
Really? Instead of wasting time on a stupid bet, he could’ve just treated it right there…. the Cheonrok was definitely not normal. Jae-ha muttered to himself, sulking as he patted the little spirits on their heads. They whined but kept pushing their heads closer, as if begging him to keep going.
Hae-hyun, who’d been watching with narrowed eyes, suddenly grabbed their tiny heads in his massive hands and lifted them up like prizes from a claw machine. His hands were so big that each child’s entire head fit neatly in his palm.
What the hell are you doing to kids?! Jae-ha froze, horrified—but surprisingly, the little spirits didn’t seem hurt. They didn’t even look like they felt pain. Maybe because they weren’t human?
Dangling in confusion after being pried away from Jae-ha, the little spirits finally realized what had happened. They rushed at Hae-hyun, puffing angrily as they pummeled his thighs with their fists.
Up ahead, unaware of the chaos behind him, Hallakung spoke calmly.
“Well, the Cheonrok wasn’t entirely wrong. Father’s injury really was just a single kick at first. It didn’t seem serious at all.”
At the beginning, anyway.
What they thought would fade in a day or two lingered stubbornly, no matter how much time passed. Worse, the wound grew day by day. Only after quite some time did Sala Doryeong realize that the thief he had tried to capture wasn’t just unusual—but potentially dangerous.
By then, it was already too late.
The mysterious wound drained his strength, leaving his body paralyzed. Soon, he couldn’t even move, confined to bed. They brought physicians from the Underworld, the Celestial Realm, even the Dragon Palace and the human world, but all of them admitted they couldn’t identify the illness.
The only small relief was that the thief never returned. Likely, after escalating from stealing flowers to harming the Flower Keeper himself, he panicked and fled. Infuriating as it was, at least that was one less threat to worry about.
But then even the Cheonrok—who’d said he was only stepping out for a short while—never came back. The little spirits waited and waited before deciding they couldn’t just sit around. They searched everywhere: the Underworld, the Celestial Realm, the Dragon Palace, and the human realm.
All they found was a human faintly carrying the Cheonrok’s energy.
“That must’ve been you.”
At Hallakung’s words, the little spirits fidgeted and stammered excuses.
“We thought you were the Cheonrok.”
“We figured he’d gotten distracted playing and forgotten about us.”
…So that’s how it happened. They’d mistaken Seo Jae-ha, an ordinary human, for the Cheonrok. Wanting to reach him, they tried crossing over, but as spirits of the Underworld, they were heavily restricted in entering the human world. In the end, they created a medium to send down instead—those scarlet candles.
Even if they weren’t their true forms, the candles were still crafted in the Underworld. Crossing realms weakened them and tainted their energy. That was why the Guardian Agency had classified them as cursed objects.
“So that’s how I got dragged into this…” Jae-ha muttered bitterly.
To someone who’d lived a normal modern life, Hallakung’s tale sounded like a legend out of some ancient myth. It was impossible to take as reality. But the flower field around him, the boy in hanbok before him, and the little spirits clinging to his side weren’t actors in some elaborate play. He had no choice but to believe. With a conflicted expression, he asked,
“So what is it you want from me?”
Hallakung’s gaze fixed on him. His pitch-black eyes were like bottomless pits that swallowed every emotion.
“Find the Cheonrok.”
“……”
No way. Absolutely not.
“…I don’t think you understand. I’m just a regular human. How am I supposed to track down the Cheonrok?”
“Really? My instincts tell me you can.”
What gives you the right to judge me with your so-called instinct? Jae-ha wanted to snap back, especially after being dragged all the way into Seo-cheon, which had only stoked his rebelliousness. But in the end, the one holding the knife was the other side.
Unable to hide his turmoil, he looked at Hallakung, who gave a faint smile.
Hallakung had hidden Sala Doryeong’s absence and shouldered the burden, but he was at his limit. Each year, the flowers grew fewer and weaker, and the Guardian Agency’s aid had its limits. Not long ago, even the Samjok-o (three-legged crow) had sent complaints, saying they couldn’t keep supporting them forever. Hallakung knew it well—he couldn’t delay anymore.
They needed a real solution. Sala Doryeong had to be healed.
And the simplest way was to bring back the Cheonrok.
It didn’t matter what kind of illness or symptoms plagued him. As long as he wasn’t dead, the Cheonrok could cure him. All they had to do was find him—wherever he was lazing about—and drag him back. That would end everything.
But there was a problem: as the Flower Keeper, Hallakung couldn’t leave the flower field. Neither could the little spirits.
And who else could they rely on? They didn’t even know who the flower thief belonged to. Borrowing manpower from the Underworld or Celestial Realm wasn’t trustworthy. The Dragon Palace was too closed-off, and the Guardian Agency would never push their treasured exorcists into an unrelated mess.
Worst of all, Hallakung’s instincts—so close to foresight—kept whispering that nothing else would work. No one was more frustrated than him.
Then, before him appeared the Cheonrok’s descendant. The moment he saw Jae-ha, he had to stifle the smile tugging at his lips. His instincts, which had shown him nothing but bleak, repetitive futures, now leapt with joy, declaring they’d finally found the answer.
This human can find the Cheonrok.
It was something Hallakung couldn’t do. Something the little spirits couldn’t do. Something even the arrogant young Imoogi and the proud Haetaeson couldn’t do. But this human could.
There was no way he would let this chance slip away.
“If you refuse, I’ll just send them all to hell, as the laws of the Underworld dictate. It doesn’t matter to me.”
For both Hallakung and Jae-ha, the choice was obvious.
“…This is more than a little troublesome.”
Su-min’s face had gone pale. He could feel it—this was turning into something far bigger than expected. Normally, a young Imoogi like him should’ve been training quietly in the human world. Maybe in the Celestial Realm, where the Hwang-ryong Palace stood—but in the Underworld? He couldn’t possibly know anything about affairs here.
“Why the hell did you have to wreck the flower field…” Su-min grumbled under his breath. Because they had to follow Hallakung’s stately stride, their pace was slower than usual.
“Shut it. If you’d set the coordinates right, none of this would’ve happened.”
“My coordinates were fine. You sure you didn’t miscalculate?”
“Who are you trying to pin this on?”
Their bickering carried a strangely familiar air, almost like siblings. Had they gotten closer already? Watching from behind, Jae-ha muttered without thinking,
“You two actually look good together.”
“Hyung, what the hell?”
“Sunbae! Don’t say weird stuff!”
They snapped back immediately, voices sharp. Ironically, it only made them look even more like brothers.
Hallakung eventually brought them to the building where Jae-ha had first woken up. Passing the room he’d come out of, they walked deeper until he stopped before a large door. His small hand slid the latch open.
Inside lay a bedding spread across the floor, wide and opulent.
The golden embroidery gleamed, no less lavish than Hallakung’s own robes—a sign that the bedding’s owner was no ordinary person. At this point, there was only one possibility.
“Father chose to remain asleep, conserving what little energy he has.”
On the bed lay Sala Doryeong, locked in a deathlike slumber. Red stains stretched across his neck and chest like tattoos, dark and sprawling, flickering faintly with streaks of golden light.
“That’s… no ordinary wound.”
Su-min knelt beside him. Without disturbing the clothing, he leaned closer, studying the exposed markings intently.
“Do you recognize it?” Jae-ha asked carefully. Su-min was the one among them most familiar with the realms beyond. Maybe he’d seen something like it before. But that faint hope vanished as Su-min shook his head.
“No. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
So there’d be no clues from Sala Doryeong himself. Jae-ha tried a different approach.
“Do you at least know where the Cheonrok went?”
“He said he was going to drink Hwanggwaju.”
“He promised he’d be right back.”
The little spirits chirped in unison.
Hwanggwaju? Jae-ha instinctively reached for his phone, only to remember there was no signal here in the Underworld. Grimacing, he shoved the useless thing back into his pocket. The only encyclopedia here was the kids in hanbok.
“What’s Hwanggwaju?”
“No idea.”
“Isn’t it some kind of alcohol?”
Well, they were just kids. Jae-ha turned to Hallakung. Their eyes met—black pupils blank and unreadable.
“I don’t know either.”
“……”
…And what the hell am I supposed to do with that? Jae-ha glared at him, but Hallakung didn’t seem fazed at all. Out of desperation, Jae-ha turned to Su-min.
“Have you heard of it?”
“Never. I’ve never even come across the name.”
“That’s what you get for being a two-hundred-year-old brat.”
Hae-hyun jumped in with a sneer. Su-min’s eyes sharpened instantly. Before the two could start going at each other again, Jae-ha quickly raised a hand to cut it off. Thankfully, they weren’t so reckless as to actually fight here. They both backed down.
