Chapter 56

Unable to comprehend her words, the dog simply wagged its tail, thrilled by the embrace. Strolling closer with his hands shoved into his pockets, Choi Sijin showed his irritation.

Choi Sijin snapped, “Stop being so melodramatic. You said it was scheduled to be euthanized anyway. It’s not like it has a pedigree, and it isn’t a puppy anymore. Why get attached when you’re going to kill it for my sake in the first place?”

Hearing the dog’s fate laid bare in plain words, a scream threatened to rip from the depths of Mu-yeong’s chest. He gritted his teeth. The words he had heard at the shamanic academy rushed back instantly. When asked if there was a way to alter destiny, the director had chirped excitedly.

“Hmm? What, you mean Daesudaemyeong—substituting one life for another? For that, you have to slaughter a chicken or a pig. Transferring the misfortune onto it and hacking off its head works like a charm.”

The sacrificial offering needed for that rite had merely been substituted with a dog in this ritual. Even after stealing Mu-yeong’s name, Choi Sijin was not satisfied. He intended to slaughter an innocent dog to ward off the encroaching misfortune that threatened him at every turn.

His breath threatened to turn ragged. Mu-yeong forced himself to inhale deeply, then exhaled at a measured pace. Meeting the dog’s pitch-black eyes was almost unbearable. Wearing a mournful expression, Kim Jeong-seon let out a heavy sigh.

“No matter how heartbreaking it is when the time comes to send him off, pouring love and devotion into raising him makes him that much more significant as your substitute,” Kim Jeong-seon reasoned. “And of all the white dogs we’ve raised over the years, he was by far the sweetest. Give him one last pat before you go.”

Mu-yeong recalled the dogs whose names had been assigned simply according to the color of their fur. He had thought the naming method remarkably simplistic, but just how many white dogs had preceded the one before his eyes? In all likelihood, even Choi Sijin didn’t know. Visibly disgusted, Choi Sijin rebuked his mother.

“Forget it, my hands will reek of dog,” Choi Sijin muttered. “When the hell is the Taoist Master coming out? I just want to get this over with and leave.”

Kim Jeong-seon murmured soothingly, “He’s preparing inside while offering prayers. He said he’d be out in ten minutes. Just be patient.”

“I’ve got things to talk to him about too. Mom, come with me.”

Stamping with impatience, Choi Sijin headed toward the hanok. Flustered, Kim Jeong-seon turned back to the dog to instruct it.

She stroked the dog’s head one last time. “Heendoong-ie, lie down. Good boy, stay. You understand? You have to stay right here. Stay. What a good boy.”

Having repeated the command several times, she hurried after Choi Sijin. Lying quietly on its belly, the dog simply wagged its tail as it watched her walk away, paying no mind to the grease-scented altar, so unlike the time it had grown ecstatic over the faint smell of hot dogs.

Mu-yeong had originally planned to follow Choi Sijin and Kim Jeong-seon. Yet his feet refused to budge. His wavering gaze kept returning to the tethered dog.

Frozen in place, Mu-yeong quickly stepped back as laborers walked past him. Chattering among themselves, they tidied up the area around the altar.

“At least they’re generous here,” one worker said. “They never treat people poorly. The day rate is double anywhere else.”

Another laborer replied uneasily, “Still, it leaves a foul taste in my mouth. Look at that creature over there—staying perfectly still just because it was told to wait. They’re going to hack down on that gentle thing with a blade over and over. Ugh, I only hope divine retribution doesn’t come down on me for this.”

“If lightning were going to strike, it would’ve struck a dozen times already. You think divine retribution falls that easily?”

A slender middle-aged woman waved her hand dismissively. With his senses keyed to their sharpest pitch, Mu-yeong surveyed his surroundings.

There were far too many people gathered here. At this rate, merely slipping the leash from its ring would immediately draw every eye. Fleeing with the dog in tow was entirely out of the question.

Even so, he was going to ruin this ritual.

Setting down the backpack slung over his shoulders, Seo Mu-yeong crouched low. He retrieved the mini screwdriver from his nail clipper kit and carefully loosened the screw on the collar until the threading went slack.

“Get up,” Seo Mu-yeong coaxed in a low whisper, urging the dog. “Run. I told you to get out of here!”

Though he could tamper with the collar, actually breaking free and bolting had to be up to the dog itself. Yet the animal remained lying flat, merely looking back at Seo Mu-yeong and wagging its tail. It was a relief that the dog didn’t bark, but there was no time. Constantly scanning his surroundings, Seo Mu-yeong patted the dog’s haunches.

“Go, quickly. They’re doing all this to kill you. Don’t just wait here—run as far away as you can.”

Being gentle and fond of humans only got you treated like a fool. So when someone warned you about what was coming, why couldn’t you just take the hint and run?

“I’m warning you right now,” Seo Mu-yeong pleaded under his breath. “I’ve told you everything, so you can escape.”

A surge of scalding anger flared up from deep within his chest. Whimpering softly, the dog licked Seo Mu-yeong’s face. Its warm, wet tongue swept away the beads of sweat that had gathered between his cap and mask. Catching his own reflection in those obsidian eyes, Seo Mu-yeong faltered and stepped back.

Having never raised a dog, he had no idea how to make it understand his words. Nor could he raise his voice to threaten it into moving. Doing so would only expose his presence.

As he was at a loss for what to do, the traditional paper door of the hanok flew open. Beneath door lattice carved with peonies, the profile of a foot clad in a white beoseon sock stepping with dignified weight onto the wooden veranda caught his eye. Anyone could tell at a glance that it belonged to a baksumudang.

Though they said it would take ten minutes, the male shaman’s preparations seemed to have finished early. It might also have been because of Choi Sijin, who had been knocking on the door and hurrying him along.

“Master, are your preparations finished?”

With an awkward smile, Kim Jeong-seon slipped the shoes waiting on the stepping stone onto his feet. Her spotless, unblemished hands supported the dirt-stained outsoles without the slightest hesitation.

Seo Mu-yeong darted swiftly into the thicket. The dense grass and trees provided him with decent cover. Soon, the baksumudang addressed as “Master” revealed his full presence.

Clad in shamanic robes with a white band tied around his forehead, he was a middle-aged man who seemed to have just crossed into his fifties. His hair was neatly slicked back with pomade without a single stray strand, and a dark mole stood out sharply beneath his lower lip. It was unmistakably the same man who had sought out Yoon Hee-sook to fish for Seo Mu-yeong’s whereabouts.

He’s not handsome at all, though. Seo Mu-yeong wanted to draw a red line through Yoon Hee-sook’s notebook and correct her note. Even when consumed by a grudge, Choi Yook’s good looks had never faded, but this man fell so far short of handsome that he barely even qualified as presentable. Still, his features were surprisingly mild.

The shaman stretched out both arms without a word. At once, half a dozen disciples emerged from the room and draped a crimson robe gilded with gold foil over his shoulders.

Tension marked their faces as they reacted nimbly to his every minute gesture. They looked just like court ladies and eunuchs attending upon a king.

His disciples fell into a single line behind the shaman as he headed toward the altar. A fierce battle of nerves unfolded over who would get to stand closest to him. Choi Sijin, entirely unconcerned by such petty rivalries, fell in step right beside the master.

“Master, you need to talk with me,” Choi Sijin pressed.

“Now, now.”

With his hands clasped behind his back, the master came to a halt and clicked his tongue in reproof. At that alone, Kim Jeong-seon gasped in terror and bowed her head low.

“Sijin, apologize to him this instant!”

Fidgeting with anxiety, Kim Jeong-seon wrung her hands. Yet Choi Sijin made no effort to conceal his irritation.

“No, I mean, why won’t you make time for me? We could’ve just talked for a moment earlier.”

“Enough. Your mind is turbulent, so we must first purge that impurity,” the master said.

The master spoke in a voice that was notably dignified yet smoothly refined with warmth. Stepping away from his disciples and the laborers, he approached the edge of the thicket—the exact direction where Seo Mu-yeong was hiding.

Seo Mu-yeong pressed his back flush against the trunk of a massive tree, holding his breath. Following right behind the shaman, Choi Sijin lowered his voice with a sharp scowl.

“I’ve been getting a ton of hate comments lately.”

Straining his ears to listen, Seo Mu-yeong looked at him with an incredulous, deflated stare. So what? Is that all you had to say?

Hate comments had existed long before Choi Sijin ever debuted. Seo Mu-yeong knew this because he had read through those comments one by one. Even without comparing him to other celebrities, given his actual talent and behavior, it felt like he barely received any at all.

The master seemed to share the exact same thought. He fixed Choi Sijin with a cold, unimpressed glare.

“They only seem like a lot because you’re looking at them so much.”

“It’s not just about that!” Throwing his hands up in sheer exasperation, Choi Sijin protested defensively. “A staff member was caught badmouthing me behind my back, and lately not a single script I like has come my way. The overseas reception is worse than domestic, too. Has the potency of my name completely run out? Or is it because it’s a woman’s destiny that it doesn’t suit me? Anyway, I don’t need rituals like this—I need a fundamental solution to my problem!”

Seo Mu-yeong was rendered utterly speechless. His grandmother had indeed once spoken of his destiny like that.

“Once you turn eleven, there won’t be a soul in this world who doesn’t adore you. Your body will stay healthy just by breathing, and money will pour in simply by reaching out your hand. Like a spring that never dries, fortune will gush forth endlessly and flow all the way to the sea.”

Even so, did anyone actually think that meant a superpower where reaching into empty air conjured money? It was obviously an exaggerated metaphor.

The part about being universally adored was the same. Seo Mu-yeong had received the deep affection of his grandmother and his older brother, and the shamans who frequented their house had generally doted on him and paid him fond attention. But Yoon Hee-sook had loathed him beyond endurance.

How could Choi Sijin expect any different? The master gazed quietly at him. Only after Choi Sijin flinched and shut his mouth did the shaman finally break his silence.

“No destiny is ever flawless. If it were, would it still be a human fate? Does that name belong to a god? No matter what fortune one is born with, life can never be completely smooth. That is why humans must believe and pray.”

Choi Sijin remained struck dumb. “……”

Observing Choi Sijin’s sullen silence, the master continued, “I understand your anxiety. That is how the human heart works—never knowing contentment and endlessly chasing greed. At times like this, only by holding onto faith will the spirits look after you. By the way, when was the last time you offered a prayer?”

Though visibly resentful, Choi Sijin could no longer offer any rebuttal. The master released a long, weary sigh.

“Enough. Let us end this here. For some reason, my head has been pounding and my spirit has been restless since dawn. It is thoroughly ominous.”