Mudoo - Chapter 7

As she sipped the sweet cocoa and let the warmth spread through her, Seula could feel her heart, which had been pounding like crazy, finally calm down.

She still couldn’t quite believe there was a dog that could talk like a person sitting right there in the same room—she kept sneaking side glances at Dong-gil just to check.

Kang Tae-shin, meanwhile, just sat there in silence, eyes fixed on the flickering flames in the fireplace, as if he’d decided to wait until Seula fully calmed down.

Seula absentmindedly picked at a hangnail on her finger, then carefully asked,

“Are you… really human?”

“Are you asking about me?”

Only then did Kang Tae-shin turn his head to look at her. Seula just nodded several times instead of answering out loud.

After a long pause, Kang Tae-shin dropped a single line, like he always did.

“I was born human, at least.”

It was such a vague answer.

It hadn’t been that long since she’d met him, but Seula was already used to how Kang Tae-shin always spoke—he never just said things straight out. Instead of giving her the point, he’d throw her riddles that made her think way too hard just to figure him out.

“People… you said people can’t cure Mudoo.”

“Ordinary people, yes.”

“Then you’re saying you’re not an ordinary person.”

At that, Kang Tae-shin’s brow twitched a little. He shifted in his seat, leaning back deep against the chair and crossing his legs.

“It was strange from the start, you know.”

Seula’s grip on the mug tightened until her fingertips turned white.

“No matter how much I wandered around looking for this house, it never showed up until you appeared. The second time was the same.”

“And?”

“But today was different. I wasn’t even in Cheonghaedong for five minutes before this house was right in front of me. Like it was… waiting for me.”

“Maybe you’re just used to the area now. Found it faster, that’s all?”

Seula shook her head firmly. If all these strange things hadn’t happened to her, she might’ve just thought, Yeah, maybe, and moved on. But not anymore.

“This house—no one can even see it unless you allow it, right?”

Kang Tae-shin, who had been staring at her with those long, narrow eyes, let out a small laugh.

“That’s interesting.”

“You think this is interesting?” Seula shot back, bristling.

“Oh? Did I say something wrong?”

When Seula snapped at him, he casually covered his mouth with one hand, hiding his grin.

Dong-gil, who’d been staying completely still and quiet under the tense air, let out a soft whimper, trying to break the awkward mood.

“He’s always like this. His personality’s garbage, just garbage.”

Hearing Dong-gil talk again, Seula jumped and hunched her shoulders all over again.

“Can you just get used to it already, you scaredy-cat, scaredy-cat!”

“…I’m trying my best,” Seula mumbled back in a tiny voice, as if scolded.

“It’s late. Just stay here tonight. I’ve got the guest room ready for you,” Kang Tae-shin said calmly.

There was no way he’d had time to tidy up a guest room after she’d shown up in a frenzy like that. He really had been waiting.

“You knew I’d come here again tonight, didn’t you?”

“Why ask when you already know the answer?”

“Why did you make me see ghosts?”

“You said you don’t believe in what you can’t see. So I simply let you see them.”

“Then make it so I can’t see them again!”

At that, Kang Tae-shin just frowned slightly, like he was already too tired for this.

“You sure do ask a lot from me, Seula.”

“……”

“Get rid of the mudoo, explain the mudoo, now close your spiritual sight again… Meanwhile, all I’ve gotten from you is a box of ginseng.”

“So, this spiritual eye… Is it what lets me see ghosts? Anyway, you’re the one who opened it, Kang Tae-shin. So I’d like you to take responsibility for it. I don’t think that’s an unreasonable thing to ask.”

For once, he looked like he agreed—maybe he did feel a twinge of guilt about forcing open someone’s spiritual sight. But that didn’t mean he’d back down easily.

“I told you. It’s something you need if you’re going to work with me.”

“And I told you very clearly—I have no intention of working with you.”

“One billion won per wandering spirit.”

“…!”

“I’ll give you exactly half.”

Even though she’d been forced into seeing ghosts against her will, the number he’d thrown out shook Seula more than she wanted to admit. It wasn’t an amount she could even dream of making in her lifetime. Feeling her resolve waver just because of money left a bitter taste in her mouth.

“You need a job, Seula.”

“But I’ve never done anything like that before. I’ve never even thought about it…”

“There’s nothing difficult about it. You just help me summon the dead. I’ll handle everything else.”

“What if… what if I die?”

Kang Tae-shin stared at her blankly, like he hadn’t expected that question, then gave her an answer she couldn’t even begin to understand.

“Well, that too would be a blessing—and a destiny.”

Seula had never dreamed of living a long, healthy life. But she’d also never been completely swallowed by the idea that dying might be better than living. After she left the orphanage and got into college, she poured herself into volunteer work just to find a reason to keep breathing. She just wanted proof that she deserved to exist.

Just when she’d finally started to feel like she was doing her fair share as a member of society—like maybe she belonged here, at least a little—Seula found herself caught up in something like this, and the feeling was downright miserable. But Kang Tae-shin, completely oblivious to how crushed she felt, asked as if it were nothing:

“Do you want life insurance? Who should I list as the beneficiary?”

If she were to die, there was no family who’d be around to collect that money anyway. Seula’s first memory started at the orphanage. Back then, she’d had people who were like family, but they’d all drifted away and scattered long ago.

“No. Not life insurance…”

Kang Tae-shin looked like he was ready to wrap up the conversation and stood up. He reached for the mug Seula was still holding, but just as he was about to take it, Seula quietly added,

“I’d like the standard four insurances*.”
TL/N: *Standard term in South Korea, they stand for: National Pension, National Health Insurance, Employment Insurance, and Industrial Accident Compensation Insurance.

His hand, still holding the mug, froze in midair. Slowly, he turned his head and locked eyes with her.

“Keep dreaming.”

He shut that down in a tone that made it clear there was no room for negotiation, then turned to Dong-gil.

“Dong-gil. Show our guest to her room.”

Just like Kang Tae-shin had said, none of those unclean spirits showed themselves inside this house. Her own place always felt chilly and unsettling, but this place was strangely warm. Seula had assumed a house owned by a man who wasn’t quite human would be plastered with talismans and reeking of incense, but it was nothing like that.

She trailed after Dong-gil, watching his plump little backside wiggle as he wagged his tail down the hallway.

“This room, this room,” Dong-gil said, stopping in front of a sliding door at the end of the hall.

Seula carefully slid the door open. In the middle of the room was a thick mattress, neatly topped with a pair of matching silk quilts.

“This landlord really has… unique taste.”

No sooner had Seula muttered that than Dong-gil started spinning around in excited circles, like a puppy showing off tricks for its favorite treat.

“My favorite silk quilt set! I love the silk quilt, the silk quilt!”

So it was Dong-gil’s taste, not the landlord’s… figures.

“Anyway, sleep well! The silk quilt is so cozy, so cozy!”

Dong-gil turned to leave after his cheerful send-off, but suddenly last night’s horror flashed through Seula’s mind. Her breath caught in her throat, and all the color drained from her face.

“Dong-gil. Do I… have to sleep alone?”

Dong-gil tilted his head, puzzled. “Then who else, who else are you gonna sleep with?”

Seula’s eyes drooped pitifully as she looked at him for help. Realizing she was begging him to stay with her, Dong-gil bounced on his paws in protest.

“Boys and girls shouldn’t share a bed after seven, after seven!”

“That only counts for people. You’re a dog. And who even says that these days? Did Kang Tae-shin teach you that?”

“I’m not a dog, I’m a spirit beast! A spirit beast!”

“Whatever you are… look, I’m really scared to sleep alone. What if it happens again? Last night I had ghosts swarming all around my feet.”

“That won’t happen here, won’t happen here!”

“But what if I can’t sleep? What if I wake up in the middle of the night?”

“Scaredy-cat, scaredy-cat. Just go wash up and lie down. The bathroom’s right next door, right next door.”

Dong-gil scolded her in his grumbly way, then flopped down neatly in front of the sliding door—clearly planning to stand guard there for the night.

Feeling her heart loosen at his tiny show of care, Seula spoke up in a choked, grateful voice.

“Thanks. I wasn’t always this much of a coward, you know. It’s someone’s fault I ended up like this…”

***

The night view of Seoul from the Cheonghaedong pavilion was nothing short of breathtaking. The endless rows of high-rises and the lights of cars speeding down the roads created a city that never slept—always the same, yet somehow different every night.

Sitting alone in the pavilion, gazing past the Han River, Kang Tae-shin felt, for the first time in a while, that winter had truly come. No matter how many times he went through it, the shift in seasons always found a way to feel strangely new.

What if I die…?

To fear death was the most natural instinct of any human being. So why had he, born as a human, ended up forgetting what it was to fear dying?

It had been ages since he’d let himself wonder about life and death at all.

Beyond the low garden wall, in one corner of the yard, a peach hung ripe on its branch—lush and full even in the dead of winter, under the frozen night sky.