the Land of the Morning Calm in the midst of Jumong’s Goguryeo. A practice taught by the mountain sages, but an influence that reached the throne. Taoism trained the Hwarang of Silla and taught discipline of the mind. A discipline that some thought could transcend death.
Yi Hwang was a Confucian scholar and a gifted Taoist who could wield magic. As a man of discipline, he chose to use his powers sparingly. Still, tales of his deeds traveled across the land. He saved a disciple from a ghost. Extended the life of his nephew. Foretold the crisis of a descendant who wouldn’t be born for nine generations.
He was so renowned he was called upon to restrain another Taoist master, the geomancy expert who served King Seonjo and who did not use his Taoism for good.
They said Yi Hwang’s eyes were so intense they could make a child fall from a tree.
They said he could speak to beasts.
They said he swallowed a fox bead to gain its magic.
Perhaps this was when foxes started fearing the Taoists.
9
JIHOON ZIPPED THROUGH traffic on the small scooter. A flag on the back flew the name of Halmeoni’s restaurant.
The moped never hit over forty kilometers per hour and was always five seconds away from dying. A deathtrap on two tread-bare wheels. Really, Jihoon wondered why his halmeoni had such little regard for his personal well-being.
He prayed it wouldn’t break down as he veered around a large bus spitting out exhaust.
Here the neighborhood had given in to chain stores. Doors swished open to let customers out. Blaring pop songs followed them. Jihoon bopped along to the beat.
The scooter protested as he turned onto a steep hill, and despite Jihoon’s urging, it gave up five blocks from the restaurant. He debated leaving it in the middle of the street, but dutifully pushed the scooter along. His halmeoni wouldn’t be happy if he abandoned the piece of junk.
“Halmeoni, your favorite grandson is back,” he called, stripping off his jacket as he entered the restaurant. The scents of jjigaes still hung in the air, though the kitchen was closed for the rest of the day like it did every Monday evening while his halmeoni made kimchi and other side dishes for the week.
Jihoon already smelled the pungent aroma of fermenting cabbage.
“I’m up here,” she called from the front of the restaurant.
Jihoon found her surrounded by plastic tubs. She’d pushed the tables aside to make space for her work. Some of the tubs were filled with raw cabbage; others held leaves rubbed with bright red paste. Jihoon plucked off one, red as blood, with his fingers. It tasted bitter and spicy, just the way he liked his kimchi.
His halmeoni sat with her plastic-gloved hands deep in a tub of cabbage.
“Jihoon-ah, one more delivery.”
“But we’re closed. And the scooter’s dead.” Jihoon took another bite of kimchi.
“Again?” Halmeoni slapped his hand away when he reached for a third piece. “It doesn’t matter. You’ll need to use the bus. Take those to Hanyang apartments.” She gestured to two containers, packaged and tied up neatly in pink satin cloth.
“Why?” Just the name of the apartment complex put him on edge. “Who are they for?”
“Who else do we know who lives there?” Halmeoni clicked her tongue at him. Usually it would be enough to make him stand down, but he held his ground and crossed his arms.
“Why would you be sending her anything?”
“Take them, and be polite,” Halmeoni said without looking up.
“Just because she’s your daughter doesn’t mean you have to take care of her. She has a husband for that.”
“Don’t speak that way about your mother,” Halmeoni said, this time with enough iron to make Jihoon stop arguing.
“She’s not my mother anymore,” Jihoon mumbled, but he hauled up the two containers. Outside, thick angry clouds gathered, matching his dark mood.
As Jihoon trudged toward the bus stop, he realized he’d forgotten his jacket. He glanced up the road and decided against returning for it. The heat of his anger was enough to ward off the chill in the air. He reached the main road as an approaching bus stopped with a huff of lung-clogging exhaust.
Dropping into a seat at the back, Jihoon balanced the containers precariously on his knees. Every time the bus bounced over a pothole, they jumped and slammed on his thighs, building his aggravation.
Glaring out the window, Jihoon tried to think of anything but the woman who’d left him. So of course she was exactly where his mind traveled.