Mount Yongma rose like the high storm waves, as though a gigantic dragon swam underneath. With every passing hour, more people appeared on the road, evidence that I was nearing a village of sorts. A farmer leading a string of ponies loaded with salt, a woman with a basket of country produce resting on her head, and another water carrier. I stopped each passerby to ask where Myeonmok village was located. They pointed, and their bony fingers led me to the southern base of Mount Yongma. My legs, which had carried me for surely more than five hours, trembled beneath my heavy heart.
I had arrived.
The scents of pine and snow filled my nostrils as I approached a village of rickety stables and thatched-roof huts. Horses with thickly lashed eyes watched me, nodding their heads while standing in their stalls. The first person I encountered inside this quiet village was an old man in a bulky white robe, sitting outside on a wooden stool as he brushed out his long, long black hair.
He looked me up and down. “A stranger! Now, I have not seen a stranger since a month ago! He snuck into the village at night then was gone by the morning. Perhaps it was you?”
My brows twitched. “No.”
“I see, I see. Then what brings a young man like you to Myeonmok?”
I cleared my throat and lowered my voice to sound like a man. “Questions.”
“Mmm.” He continued to brush his hair, and I wondered if I was speaking to the wrong person, for the man looked rather ridiculous with his hair hanging down his shoulders. He also had an old man’s smell to him—strong, spicy herbs and ginseng.
“Do you know Councillor Ch’oi?” I asked casually.
“Councillor Ch’oi?” He laughed. “We know nothing about lords and ladies in these parts.”
“How about an Officer Shim?”
“Officer?” He pursed his lips and shook his head.
“I am told a woman by the name of Byeol used to live here.”
“No—” Then his cracked lips formed into a silent O. “You mean the ghost of Myeonmok village.”
“Ghost?”
“A few days ago, a man was drinking in the forest and heard cries coming from an abandoned well. He shone a lamp over but saw no one. He swears it was the ghost of Byeol. She threw her son into that particular well many years ago.”
A boy thrown into a well. This matched Madam Song’s story.
“Ghosts roam this world because they are kept here by too much anger,” I said. “So what made her accumulate so much pain and resentment?”
Lowering his gaze, he continued to brush his hair. “The shaman comes down from the mountain every full moon and tries to resolve Byeol’s accumulated han. The shaman says collective repentance is the only way we’ll sleep peacefully at night.”
“Collective repentance,” I repeated. “So you think the reason why Byeol roams this earth is because of the villagers?”
He kept avoiding my gaze. One thing I had learned in the capital was how many dark secrets an individual had, layers and layers—like Soyi, who had taken days to confess her last secret, and I’d finally witnessed her release a few days ago, her mind and legs crippled by torture. This was what it took to find the truth, sometimes. But I did not have time to peel each layer off to examine them. I needed to speak with someone who would answer my questions, not clam up. “Where might I find the shaman?”
He set his comb down and waved at me. “I will take you to her. All I’ve got is time.”
I followed him down the dirt path, through the village and its silent alleys, and at last we arrived before the forest entrance into Mount Yongma. A little to the side was a hut covered in strips of fluttering charm paper. The resident had left the door wide open, gesturing for any and all to enter without hesitation.
“Go on.” The old man nodded. “I will follow in behind you.”
I stepped in, and my nose was assaulted by the strong scent of herbs and oil and smoke from the incense that filled the dark room. Behind a low-legged table sat a woman smoking her pipe. Her face was rectangular, with deep pouches beneath her drooping eyes, her lips pressed together and pursed as though she found the entire world a great disappointment. Her hair, parted sharply in the middle and drawn tightly back, made her look severe and cruel.
“A boy with yin energy.” Her voice was quiet and mischievous, the way one