RPPL C41

Muyun is not Bipa. He didn’t ask why she was here or try to soothe her. He crouched down in front of her and simply stared. The girl’s guard was up against his ominous, dark red eyes.

“What is it? What are you doing? Huh? Are you a shaman, by any chance?”

“Not really.”

He had never received a spirit, so he wasn’t a shaman. Muyun reached out and unceremoniously snatched the girl’s hand. It hurt, like a hand made of Siberian ginseng thorns.

Feeling the pain as well, the soul began to wail at the agony of being torn apart alive. The sound was so piercing that Muyun couldn’t help but frown.

“I don’t know how to do it like my master does. And I don’t want to.”

Instead of comforting her, Muyun muttered as if threatening her. He crouched down and stared deeper into her eyes. The girl was on the verge of having a seizure.

“I don’t care if I rip you out of here, leaving only your feet behind. What will you do.”

At his chilling words, the merchant behind him rolled his eyes back and forth and then darted inside. To borrow some salt.

The sobbing child, realizing there was nothing she could do, gave up. Held tightly in Muyun’s hand, she scattered, speck by speck, like ash. The skin on her cheeks, her worn clothes, her hair, one layer at a time.

Muyun frowned as he saw the child’s moving lips. With a final, futile cry of ‘mom,’ she completely disappeared.

“What, what! Is it gone? Did it disappear?!”

The merchant, who came out late, cried out, cradling the salt preciously. Muyun stood up. The merchant, still feeling uneasy, sprinkled salt here and there.

“What was that? Huh? Was it some kind of evil spirit trying to ruin our business…”

“What’s the standard for an evil spirit.”

“Huh?”

The merchant, who hadn’t heard Muyun’s mumble, asked again. Muyun pulled the half-gourd he was holding, dipped his pinky finger in the salt, touched it to his tongue, and then shook his head.

“It’s gone. It’s definitely gone.”

“Really?”

“Yes. So I can take one, right?”

Muyun unhesitatingly reached for the norigae. But the merchant said, “Hey, now,” and instantly grabbed his wrist. With a rather servile smile, he trailed off, “I don’t even know if there really was anything or not…” In short, his attitude had changed completely now that his problem was solved.

The corner of Muyun’s mouth twisted up.

“H-how about a daenggi.”

“It must be nice to be one of those who can’t see.”

Muyun picked up the best-looking daenggi from the stall and tucked it into his robes.

“Sprinkling the salt in that corner over there should do it. Put as much as you can.”

At his words, the merchant’s hesitation was palpable. Salt was precious. Honestly, it felt a little wasteful to sprinkle it all.

Muyun, thinking it was his choice to make either way, turned to leave. His words, in turn, made the merchant feel uneasy, and he grew antsy.

“Really? Is it right to sprinkle it here?”

As the fast-walking Muyun began to move away, the merchant asked urgently. Muyun didn’t answer.

“Sir, is it really true?!”

He was calling him ‘sir’ just for chasing away one little evil spirit.

“The end of the world is truly here.”

Muyun said self-deprecatingly, pulling the daenggi from his robes, tossing it in the air, and catching it.

“A slash-and-burn farmer can even be called ‘sir,’ what a world…”

His self-pity dragged on. Muyun, who burst out laughing, “Ahaha,” muttered with a dry gaze.

“It’s a complete mess.”

❀࿐

Muyun returned straight home, fiddling with the daenggi as he opened the main gate. But something was blocking the gate in front of him, and it wouldn’t budge.

He pushed with his elbow and squeezed his body through to find Gapdori lying on a snowdrift he had piled up right in front of the gate, flailing his arms. Muyun stood at his feet and looked down at him with a pathetic expression.

“What are you doing.”

“Hehe. Playing.”

“You have nothing better to do.”

Gapdori, looking up at Muyun who was about to turn away, suddenly shot his torso up. Unaware that his backside was getting soaked, he looked at Muyun and shouted a question.

“You, you hate me, don’t you?”

Muyun, who had been striding forward, stopped dead and turned around. He didn’t know why these things kept asking about liking and disliking.

As Muyun approached, Gapdori flinched his shoulders, thinking he was coming back to hit him. But there was no pain of a blow. He slowly lifted his eyelids. Dry, emotionless eyes were looking down at him.

“I don’t hate you, I hate your kind.”

“My kind?”

“I hate them too.”

“Them?”

“Think of it this way. I could even hold you in special regard.”

Because my master likes you.

Bending at the waist, Muyun tilted his head and half-heartedly patted Gapdori’s head, pat, pat. It was a hand so strong that his neck shrank every time the palm landed on the crown of his head.

Even though there were thorns in his words, Gapdori was all smiles, fixated on the single phrase ‘could even hold you in special regard.’

“Really? I like you. You have a familiar smell.”

I’m not the least bit curious. Letting out a sigh of utter exasperation, Muyun started walking towards where Bipa was again. Gapdori shouted a question after him.

“What do you want for lunch?!”

“Red bean porridge. Boiled red beans. Red bean rice cakes.”

Listing only the things Dokkaebi detest, Muyun paid him no more attention. He just walked, almost running, and pulled the daenggi from his robes, clutching it in his hand.

It would be perfect for Bipa, who would let his hair down haphazardly at home, not caring if it got messy or tangled.

Will he like it? I hope he likes it. His heart swelled up on its own.

“Mas—”

But Muyun’s steps soon came to a halt. He had spotted a man coming out from the building right behind Bipa.

Anyone could see that he was of high status. A purple robe, sapphire earrings, a fancy folding fan. It was to the point where Chajo, upon seeing him, would have immediately sung praises like, ‘This is exactly the kind of attire that suits the capital city.’

“I’ll be on my way now.”

Bipa, uncharacteristically showing a hint of awkwardness, bid him farewell. At that, the man guffawed. From his appearance, he looked about fifteen to twenty years older than Bipa.

“Is it because we haven’t seen each other in a long time? Why are you so formal with me?”

“…Because you’ve gotten much older in the meantime.”

“What?”

The man didn’t seem particularly offended by those words. It seemed he had a habit of throwing his head back and laughing. The light scattering from his jingling accessories and norigae pierced Muyun’s eyes.

“Don’t be so cold. Weren’t we close at one point?”

The fist holding the daenggi turned white at the sight of him acting friendly with Bipa, at the casual contact and easy greeting, and at the fact that they shared a time Muyun didn’t know.

Even as his vision went black with an unknown emotion, the conversation between the two came through clearly.

“By the way, isn’t the house too desolate? I’ll send over some clothes and meat, among other things. The winter here is long and cold. Isn’t good health the most important thing?”

“This house is more than I deserve in the first place. You don’t have to do that. So when is your father…”

“He’s been a little better for the past few days, but this is followed by a relapse, so I can’t be at ease. So it would be great if you could stop by in the near future.”

Bipa’s eyes narrowed.

“Just how unwell is he? I’d like to hear what the physicians said first.”

Songui secretly lowered his voice and made an excuse.

“He’s been vomiting blood and talking nonsense… It’s not a story to be spread over the wall, nor is it a pleasant topic to discuss, so I’d just like you to come and see him.”

Whether it was due to excessive worry for his father, or if his body had truly wasted away from the difficulty of nursing him, his eyes had a strange gleam.

Bipa, who had been unconsciously tilting his head because he had lowered his voice so much, straightened up and nodded. Unaware that this very action had once again shaken the heart of Muyun, who was watching in secret.

“I’ll send a messenger again soon. Let’s have a drink.”

“I only came to grant your request because…”

“Don’t be so cold. Between old friends.”

Friends…?

At those words, Muyun’s body went rigid. Wasn’t he just someone he was indebted to? His master had friends?

The light scattering from the jingling accessories and norigae pierced Muyun’s eyes. The well-dressed clothes, the hair tied up, every little movement—a being different from himself… In front of Bipa, that man truly looked impressive.

In an instant, Muyun compared himself to him. But that action only made him realize that he had nothing. The overwhelming sense of wretchedness was incomparable to the jealousy he had felt towards Gapdori.

He had been arrogant. He had thought that, while he couldn’t help the strange beings, among people, he would be the closest. On what grounds had he believed that?

The fact that, unlike his own, Bipa’s world didn’t just contain Muyun—that potentially obvious fact—came as a huge shock to Muyun.

Other than being Bipa’s disciple, Muyun was nothing. A shabby child with nothing to his name. Even if Bipa’s heart was stolen by someone else, there was no way for him to turn that gaze back.

‘He’s going to leave me.’

It was the moment the seeds of doubt and anxiety planted in his mind began to sprout.

And that was precisely it, the shadow of Muyun that the wicked things had been eagerly waiting for.

“Someone was there.”

Just then, a cold voice cut through the air. Songui was now looking at Muyun. Bipa also quickly turned his gaze.

“Muyun.”

Surprised by the familiar address, Songui leaned towards Bipa and whispered something in his ear. Muyun’s gaze trembled as he watched them. Just seeing that sight felt like the ground was splitting and crumbling beneath his feet.

Crack.

Instead, the back of Muyun’s hand cracked like dry earth along the knuckles. It had been weakened from the earlier abuse, and when he put too much force into it, it had finally split open, drawing blood. Muyun hurriedly hid the fist he had been clenching inside his robes.

In the meantime, Songui strode closer. Bipa, running a step ahead of him, subtly leaned his body as if to block Muyun’s view and said.

“Muyun. This person, well…”

“It’s fine. Knowing he’s a disciple is enough.”

Songui immediately drew a line. With that one remark, a distance was created between Songui, Bipa, and Muyun.