[CYM] 33 – Conflicting Prophecies

“Stay still.”

            Pleased with the warmth, she wiggled her body from side to side, earning a slap on the forehead.

            The dye was a mysterious medicine diluted with her mother’s talismans, which didn’t wash off easily with water. Although it needed to be reapplied over time, it stayed on well after one application.

            Her mother carefully parted her hair, checked if any parts were less coloured, and brushed her head with a comb. Upward, downward. Diagonally, then flipping the hair over and applying the jet-black dye.

            The crown of her head felt cool, her ears held by warm hands, and sleep crept upon her.

            “Firstly, those with weak energy are susceptible. If the body is weak, it is easy for evil spirits to attach themselves.”

            “I know that.”

            “Secondly, those with unstable minds. Those filled with fear, hatred, and malevolence are excellent fodder for goblins, needless to say, and those who are lacking also easily fall prey to goblins. Loneliness, neediness. They attract negative energy.”

            Loneliness, and sickness, too.

            “The young master would be a good target then.”

            Her mother paused in her hair-brushing.

            “Are you still associating with that boy?”

            The first lie is the hardest, but the second comes easier. She shook her head in denial.

            Her heart grew uncomfortable with every secret she kept from her mother, but she did not want to worry her. She was old enough to take care of herself without seeking her mother’s approval for every action, a feeling of rebellion growing within her.

            “I only see him occasionally on the street.”

            “Don’t get involved in unnecessary things. Didn’t I tell you when you were attending to him that his energy was not good?”

            Every time the young master was mentioned, her mother had nothing good to say, to the point it became almost taboo.

            A child haunted by spirits. A child led by the hand of death to the underworld. A scent of dark omen. Her mother’s opinion of the young master was too harsh and severe. The ending was always, “It’s pitiable, but what can we do?”

            “Lastly, those who have ‘pathways’ open are also susceptible to goblins.”

            “Pathways?”

            She explained that these pathways allowed the entry and exit of spirits. They could be inhabited by benevolent spirits or infested by malevolent ones. It was said that until a spirit took complete hold of the heart, it was impossible to discern whether it was good or bad.

            “Us shamans have our pathways firmly blocked by the spirits, so we won’t be bewitched by goblins.”

            “Then I should be safe, right?”

            Her spirit had been torn away with her guardian tree, forever dead. That made her an anomaly. Even after rejecting her divine calling, she had still received divine assistance twice.

            Some things cannot be completely shaken off. She was an ambiguous half. Her mother quietly put down the comb and the bowl, covered her forehead with her beautiful hand, and whispered like a sigh.

            “Sahye.”

            “Yes.”

            “When you were young, we went to have your fortune told.”

            A slender exhalation brushed her nose. The hand of her mother, which had slipped down, now tenderly covered her eyes. It was a gentle touch, yet unfamiliar.

            She held her breath quietly. She feared that if she exhaled, it would be like the butterfly perched on her nose flying away, and her mother’s hand would also depart.

            “I wonder how long your life’s line is,” her mother mused. “There’s a story I heard once. You have inherited the robust vigour of your ancestors, and if you walk the path of righteousness, you will achieve great things. However, you have also inherited traits you should not emulate, traits that will lead you to see your own blood by your own doing.”

            “What should I not emulate?” she asked.

            “The vigour represents divine energy, and what should not be emulated is probably the compassion of Hong Unyeong. He was a nobleman praised by the king, but ultimately, he could not control his heart and brought disaster upon Milguk.”

            There was silence.

            “When I heard of your destiny, I scoffed at the great achievements, and you sneered at the latter. We were struggling to make ends meet on a daily basis; where was the sympathy to spare for others? You, who weren’t even as tall as my waist back then, boldly said you would consider if given money. Both the shaman and I were so astounded that we ended up laughing. The story ended as if it were a joke.”

            She has no memory of holding her mother’s hand and going to the shrine. Her childhood memories were filled with running all day, hiding to cook without spreading the smoke from the firewood, constantly fleeing, and walking everywhere to find food and work, wearing out her old and worn clothes and shoes.