At that moment, Jangbok, who had been woken by the commotion, crawled out groggily and wore a look of great surprise.
"Good. Hit the beat."
"Sato! What in heaven's name is going on? Have those people committed some sort of offense?"
Not a bad rhythm. Then let's begin.
I deliberately opened my mouth without even looking at Jangbok.
"Among extraordinary things, there are many kinds: they can arise when people or animals die, or when the energy of heaven and earth accumulates. Among these, those that are evil and cause harm are called 'gui (鬼)' [demons], and those that are divine and auspicious are called 'shin (神)' [gods]."
Yeon quietly bowed her head and listened. I continued my lines.
"For this reason, demons are driven away [逐鬼], and gods are welcomed [接神]. That ancestors' spirits descend at rites is naturally a matter of gods, for all forebears wish to aid their descendants' prosperity.
As gods come down with care, you shall receive many blessings [神之弔矣 詒爾多福], and your lineage shall not cease [無不爾或承, ≪Shijing≫]; that is the song in question."
Confucius spoke of not mentioning monsters, feats of strength, chaos, and spirits [子不語 怪力亂神, ≪Analects≫].
However, this does not mean Confucius denied supernatural phenomena. If Confucius were a perfectly rational atheist, what would you make of the rituals in Confucianism, which purify such rites?
In ancient times, there was no knowledge to deny supernatural phenomena. Therefore, it should not be understood from a modern rationalist perspective.
Confucius did not deny them; he simply did not care. Hence, it is not that he said they don't exist [否定], but rather that he did not speak of them [不語].
Mystery [怪], people with special abilities [力], chaos [亂], occult [神].
Such 'unique' and 'unrepeatable' cases simply did not fit the universal concerns of Confucius as a political realist. Would he plan annual farming and taxes based on the blessings of mountain spirits or river gods?
Conversely, fantasies applicable to politics were spoken of freely by Confucius, rituals being a prime example.
In short, misunderstanding arises when one equates the category of monsters, feats of strength, chaos, and spirits with modern supernatural phenomena.
In premodern times, there were two types: good fantasy and bad fantasy. The former was accepted.
Thus, I developed my logic on a foundation that Koreans could understand, rather than a one-dimensional attack saying, "Ghosts don't exist; your shamans are all frauds!"
"But what kind of gods do shamans like you and others summon? Collecting spirits of stones and trees, goblins in bloodied brooms, restless souls who drowned or were beheaded—these are forces that threaten people unless offerings are made. Can these really be called gods? Would you call a pig's head a sacred offering?"
Yeon did not back down.
"Even if something has been passed down and many people believe it, there is usually a reason. Hyeokgeose broke from the egg; the Wang clan had scales in their armpits; and our Taijo also defeated the dragon at Cheokji. By these accounts, the sun, moon, stars, and earth's deities always show wonders in overseeing the Mandate of Heaven. How can one dismiss this?"
It was hard to believe she had been the one causing a scene over a pig's head, given how knowledgeable she sounded.
Surely it wasn't for money.
The moment one loses face, it's over—this is true for all gangsters. And the local powers of this era were essentially gangsters.
Even so, to talk back in front of me—she was clearly no ordinary shaman. Her skill with words aside, her courage was exceptional.
But in this country, you cannot beat me if you are not Joseon-born.
I raised my voice.
"I have already distinguished omens from heaven and malevolent spirits; how dare you invoke Taijo again to belittle his legacy!"
No matter how bold that shaman was, she could not help but stop at this conditioned reflex.
I used this gap to snap the folding fan shut and point it toward Yeon as if to strike. This was the punchline I had prepared.
"Shamans, doctors [博士, referring to baksu], and Hwarang [花郞, hereditary baksu] who perform rituals or make people drink water with burnt talismans to extort gains, if the leader commits execution [교살] and followers are exiled for 100 days, know that this is the law!
Even knowing the gravity of the law, you still speak disrespectfully, disregarding magistrates, manners, and etiquette—your intentions are clear to me!"
Whether Confucianism is a religion or a philosophy remains debated even today.
But as with many concepts arbitrarily divided by modern standards, both aspects coexist.
Confucianism did not tolerate heterodox beliefs. Not only shamanism but also Buddhist lanterns or private animistic rituals in households were legally prohibited.
The cited provisions of the ≪Great Ming Code≫ were not quoted for argument alone.
They were aimed at not only Yeon but also the guards outside—better said, the lackeys.
People of the Joseon era, living day by day, could not be careless. At night, they might think to ignore magistrates or pretend officials never came.
Hence, I shouted loudly, partly to assert authority.
Perhaps I went slightly too far.
When execution and exile were mentioned, the men waiting outside rushed in.
One carried a torch, and there were four or five in total. Faces glaring under the firelight were so fierce that it was hard to distinguish them from local officials or skeletons.
The reason they were not brought in earlier for causing a scene was likely to avoid later punishment by the authorities.
Even in this night, Jangbok's face had turned pale. Echoes of his desperate calls resounded.
Yet they did not hurl insults, likely having guessed my status.
They seemed uneasy but only looked at Yeon.
A trained group.
But humans are still just humans.
It was not that I had suddenly become a superior combatant.
A similar person had finally stepped out of the room.
Aoji, still yawning with a confused expression, asked me,
"Shall… shall we hit them all?"
"No. Just stand by me."
That was enough. Even the larger numbers flinched under the intimidation.
Suddenly, Jangbok regained his spirit and raised his arm.
"How dare you threaten the magistrate!"
Step aside. Don't ruin the impression.
Now that I think of it, what guts did Jangbok have to kick her the first time he saw her?
I quickly glanced at Yeon.
She had already risen, likely startled at Aoji.
Now we finally saw each other's faces. About the same age, as expected… and a good-looking figure. Not that I cared.
Not for beauty.
I wanted to see Yeon's expression of fear. No one had shown fear seeing Aoji in a hostile environment before.
Ah, the wording is awkward—this isn't a perverse enjoyment of a young woman's fear.
It was about timing: seeing fear meant I could step in and assert authority.
Yet Yeon's fear was minimal.
She first observed Aoji, then fixed her gaze on me, then bowed her head again.
Looking a magistrate in the eye naturally would have been considered impertinent, but she did it in a smooth, brief gesture (Jangbok did not see).
Yeon spoke with authority.
"Raising your head and standing idly before the magistrate—what insolence! I am the divine magistrate Sato. All shall kneel and salute!"
The men immediately kneeled, likely expecting such an order.
Yeon, kneeling, spoke calmly.
"As you have heard, I am a shaman living in a small shrine in the valley of Cheoiam Mountain (鷲岩山), Mokcheon County. My humble name is Yeon. Though I spoke out of turn, I beg your forgiveness for my ignorance."
A local.
Cheoiam Mountain, though not as prestigious as Gyeryongsan, was a sacred mountain for state rain-making rituals.
I showed leniency since she bowed first.
Tomorrow, the county would know what happened. I had not forgotten my goal.
"Though you argued over a few coins, your reasoning has merit. I shall pay for the pig's head; as I am a humble scholar with nothing to spare, I shall write on this fan to cover the extra cost."
Not because I was broke.
Fans were unexpectedly valuable in Joseon, sometimes used as currency when envoys went abroad.
And with elegant writing, the value could multiply.
Yeon accepted the fan gratefully, recognizing its worth.
"I lack silk to present, but now that a distinguished magistrate serves here, I shall prepare proper offerings immediately."
"Living in the mountains, walking valleys, drinking creek water is already difficult. Do not complicate offerings. Properly honoring the gods of the sacred mountains and rivers to ensure bountiful crops is enough."
"I understand that the virtuous governance of a magistrate who encourages agriculture aligns with morality."
Alliance established.
Yeon's authority as the county's most powerful shaman was recognized, and I was confirmed as the virtuous magistrate by the most powerful shaman.
They would have much to assist each other with.
I hoped she wasn't the weakest of the Four Heavenly Kings.
Kim Unhaeng's thoughts had some exaggeration.
Shamans and monks were influential locally, but rarely enough to threaten the magistrate—except for those with central connections.
Religion influenced daily life, and vice versa. Even folk shamanism could not escape bureaucratic influence.
Hence, traces of state systems are evident everywhere—the left and right assistants of the Jade Emperor, and why the messengers of the underworld act like officials.
Even ritual texts in shamanism mimic government phrasing: "Implement urgently according to law" = "Please take swift action according to law."
Officials and shamans shared a professional understanding. They understood secular authority; they drove away evil spirits with official warnings.
Yet emotions were another matter.
Even kings cursed unseen; Joseon people did so openly, though it required courage and scholarly skill.
Yeon's followers lacked the scholarly aspect. They disliked the brash newcomer's boldness in front of the magistrate.
Now the magistrate was absent, and they muttered among themselves.
"That fool will soon be punished by the gods. He stole offerings, and misfortune will follow!"
"Yes. What is a magistrate anyway? How can one oppose the land and mountain gods?"
"Previous magistrates only oppressed, offering no benefit. All was due to the gods' blessings!"
They glanced at Yeon. A single word of agreement could turn their murmurs into loud protest.
But she did not.
"Cannot you shut your insolent mouths?"
"Even so, Mistress…."
"You think kneeling before me alone makes you virtuous?"
"Then what is the reason?"
She walked slowly.
"Did you see the business?"
"Yes. That goblin-like creature. How it will continue to beat people… unimaginable."
"That is not what I meant. You cannot see it anyway. Even the divine magistrate could not fully perceive it."
"Being the head of the shrine, how could we look directly? Criticism would bring punishment."
Yeon smiled at their complaints.
"The pig's head was trivial. I was irritated because the divine energy had been suppressed since yesterday."
"Eh?"
"And now I understand why. The two of them each harbor a powerful god who commands even the old gods here to kneel."
Shamanistic exorcisms rely on borrowing greater divine power to subdue lesser spirits; hierarchy among gods is critical.
"The general spirit seen in the merchant was great, but the divine magistrate was nearly impossible to gaze upon. His young age belies his rank."
Her followers exchanged looks: should they hang a portrait of the divine magistrate in their hall?
Yeon continued.
"An unimaginable energy protects him. Though he will leave in a year or two, you cannot resist it now. Remember this."
"Yes, Mistress."
If Kim Unhaeng had seen it, he would have laughed, calling it the skill of a cult leader to justify actions.
Yet Yeon inspired unquestionable confidence.
The Mokcheon County magistrate's assignment proceeded rapidly, leaving only minor commotion behind.
Yeon and her group departed. At dawn the next day, the new magistrate procession arrived.
I got up and saw about sixteen people already having breakfast.
This house must be famous locally; the pork was indeed delicious.
I received their offerings and the official register.
Following tradition, I gave my name—my courtesy name.
The procession was led by the administrative chief, Ibang, named Shin Manheung (申萬興).
I received the documents and records from him and was surprised.
'Are these crazy?'
But I would deal with that later. Acting rashly would only embarrass me.
Yeon might not be the weakest of the Four Heavenly Kings, but she seemed the best.
I clenched my teeth and followed the Mokcheon County escort.
After the rites at the guest house and Confucian school, we entered the main hall, Dongheon (東軒).
Everyone else of rank—six offices, local self-government representatives—was present.
There were also messengers, military clerks, and servants, numbering dozens, gathered to greet the new magistrate.
'Like a king.'
The scale was compact, but the purpose and structure mirrored royal audiences.
The magistrate's duties were similar: delegated authority from the sovereign.
Even in a small county, the magistrate's authority was immense.
The morning ritual was strict: at dawn, a trumpet sounded, and a notice board was placed outside the Dongheon.
This opened the office; outsiders could not enter. Even guests had to follow the same rules.
I walked confidently to the raised platform and sat.
Ibang Shin Manheung presented various seals, most importantly the military token.
From this moment, I formally held responsibility and authority over Mokcheon County.
After counting personnel, I ordered a large piece of cloth.
A white sheet was draped before me. I took the thickest brush and wrote:
廉 (Integrity), 清 (Purity), 信 (Faith).
Cleanly, clearly, confidently.
Initially mocking, the clerks' eyes widened seeing my calligraphy. They knew how to appreciate it.
I threw down the brush and raised the cloth.
"Hang this flag always in the Dongheon. The governance of Mokcheon shall be based on these three characters. Let them shine clearly like water, trusted by all who see it.
To violate this is to insult me, the clan, the court, and His Majesty—treason punishable by death. No complaints shall be heard."
A dull but conventional proclamation.
The clerks could answer without feeling anything. All is seen, you fools.
But this was not meaningless display.
The real point: fail this, and you die. They had responded—they agreed.
I held the transfer register from the inn, the county compendium, in my hand.
The compendium contained everything: population, land, military equipment, yields, geography.
It was thorough; it even included embezzlement manuals.
I was aware of almost all crimes, corruption, and malfeasance possible in Mokcheon.
Why? It was written there.
The scoundrels had brazenly documented embezzlement in the transfer register, offering it to me as if to share.
I had already received it; my silence implied agreement. The flag went up, and they could only smirk.
But they misjudged.
Share? Laughable.
These traitors dare not touch my treasury… or exploit the humble subjects of His Majesty.
Even joking, it did not lighten my mood.
If this is true, it is more than simple embezzlement. I would not be this angry otherwise.
I almost wanted to seat Yeon and Jangbok in the six offices.
They were wretches, lacking brains, pride, or morality.
I had warned: break the three characters and you die. You responded.
Try to experience my fate… or die.