Chapter Twenty-Five
He had not slept.
He had not slept since the grey hour at four-eleven on the morning of Sunday in March of 2026, when — on the folded futon of the heated ondol of the anbang of the middle hanok of the Bukchon compound — the Stanford-trained gyopo of the paje line of Chungcheong-do had, in the grey hour before dawn and the iron at the back of her throat and the flat un-vowelled breath of a Joseon mudang's daughter on the slope above the willow grove on the morning of the seventh of the fifth month of the first year of King Injo's reign, sat up at his right shoulder at four-eleven and walked, in his charcoal-grey wool sweater, out of the anbang into the inner courtyard, across the seven-centimeter snow of the jeong-seol, through the pine gate, down the Bukchon hill.
He had not slept for four days and nineteen hours.
He had — by seventy-three years of cedar-box discipline — slept only the two-hour sleep of the folded-futon discipline of the night of Saturday into Sunday, when the second vote at four-oh-six had let his own four-hundred-year body lay itself on the folded futon at her right shoulder and find, for the two hours, the first sleep he had not — in seventy-three years of cedar-box discipline — found.
The first sleep had been the first sleep.
The first sleep had been, by the grey hour at four-eleven, the last sleep.
He had not, since the first sleep, found another.
He was, on the Thursday morning of March 2026 at the fifth hour and the third minute, on the maru of the middle hanok of the Bukchon compound, on the folded futon of the heated ondol of the daecheong by the east door which he had — on the Wednesday morning, when the Stanford-trained gyopo and the paje-line younger sister and the four-tailed creature of the north slope had, at six-twenty-three a.m. of the first train, taken the KTX to Daejeon — moved from the anbang to the daecheong.
He had not, in the moving, taken the cedar box.
The cedar box was, after the Tuesday afternoon at the low table of the anbang, on the low pine shelf of the low pine cabinet of the western wall of the anbang.
The cedar box was, on the low pine shelf, three things: the front of the mulberry paper of the seven syllables of the Joseon-court calligrapher Lee Si-yul of the paje line of Chungcheong-do; the jade jjokji-hairpin of the calligrapher; the carved wooden bell of the Joseon scholar of the Westerners' faction on the south path of Inwangsan on the morning of the seventh of the fifth month of the first year of King Injo's reign.
The fourth — the braided four-strand white linen mourning ribbon of the Joseon-court mudang's daughter Yun Da-eun of the paje line of Chungcheong-do, braided on the granite cap of the Seonbawi rocks of the east shoulder of Inwangsan at the second hour of the fourth morning of the fourth month of the first year of King Injo's reign — was, on the Tuesday afternoon of March 2026 at four-thirty-four, on the clear square of mulberry paper at the center of the low table of the anbang of the middle hanok of the Bukchon compound, where she had — in the deliberate Joseon-mother way of a paje-line elder daughter — taken it from the inner pocket of his own charcoal-grey wool sweater on her own Korean body.
The fourth was no longer his.
The fourth had not, by seventy-three years of cedar-box discipline, ever been his.
The fourth had been, across the four hundred and three years, in the inner pocket of his own charcoal-grey wool sweater, carried.
The carrying had been the carrying.
The carrying had been the one piece of cedar-box discipline he had — in seventy-three years of his own deliberate Joseon-scholar discipline of placing the cedar box on the low pine shelf and not, on the low pine shelf, putting the fourth — known he was carrying.
The carrying had ended on the Tuesday afternoon at four-thirty-three.
The carrying had been replaced, by the Tuesday afternoon, by the Thursday-morning waiting.
He was, on the Thursday morning at the fifth hour and the third minute, waiting.
He sat on the folded futon of the heated ondol of the daecheong at the east door of the middle hanok of the Bukchon compound, the celadon cup, empty, in his own two hands.
The celadon cup was empty.
The celadon cup had been empty since seven-thirteen on the morning of Tuesday in March of 2026, when — after the four hours and forty-five minutes of the lower step of the maru at the lifted jeong-seol — he had drunk the first boricha of the Tuesday morning of the five-instrument arrangement.
He had not, since seven-thirteen on the Tuesday morning, poured the celadon cup again.
The pouring of the celadon cup was, by the four-cup pouring on the low table of the anbang on the Tuesday afternoon at four-forty-three — the four cups for the Stanford-trained gyopo and the paje-line younger sister and the Hongdae-coded dokkaebi and the four-tailed creature of the north slope — and the not-pouring for himself — the piece by which the one creature at the north side of the low table, on the Tuesday afternoon of March 2026, had been the fifth instrument the braided four-strand white linen mourning ribbon, on the granite cap of the Seonbawi rocks at the second hour of the fourth morning of the fourth month, had been braided to be.
The not-pouring was the discipline.
The discipline was, across the four days the paje-line elder daughter and the paje-line younger sister and the four-tailed creature of the north slope were, in Daejeon, the one discipline he had — on the Thursday morning at the fifth hour — to keep.
He sat on the folded futon.
He breathed.
He breathed, slow and even.
The maru of the middle hanok was — at the fifth hour and the fifth minute of the clear cold winter morning of a Thursday in March of 2026 — the maru.
Mr. Kang was at the low pine bench at the east end of the maru.
Mr. Kang was, on the east end of the bench, in the quilted brown vest the color of a winter river and the black baseball cap with no logo, the Yamazaki 18 in the glass at his right hand.
Mr. Kang had been at the east end of the bench since the fourth hour of the morning of Wednesday in March of 2026, when — after the Tuesday afternoon — he had, in the unhurried Hongdae-coded way of a six-hundred-year dokkaebi, declined the chairman's offered guest hanok at the east compound and asked instead to be allowed to keep the east end of the low pine bench of the maru of the middle hanok for the four days.
Mr. Kang had said: Sajangnim. The Yamazaki 18.
Mr. Kang had said: The bottle, by the five-instrument arrangement, is, on the low pine bench at the east end of the maru, mine.
Mr. Kang had said: I will, on the four days, drink it.
Mr. Kang had said: The Yamazaki 18 will, by the four days, be — at the first hour of the morning of Saturday in March of 2026 — gone.
Mr. Kang had said: I will, in the gone, be sober.
Mr. Kang had said: Sober is the one discipline of a six-hundred-year dokkaebi at a Bukchon compound on a Saturday morning of a five-instrument arrangement on the ascent of the east shoulder of Inwangsan.
Mr. Kang had said: You should sit.
Mr. Kang had said: On the folded futon of the heated ondol of the daecheong at the east door. Not in the anbang.
The chairman had not, on the maru, asked.
He had moved.
He had moved the folded futon, on the Wednesday morning at the fifth hour, from the anbang to the daecheong.
He had sat.
He had sat for the Wednesday morning and the Wednesday afternoon and the Wednesday evening and the Wednesday night and the Thursday morning at the fifth hour and the fifth minute.
He had not slept.
He had, in the twenty-six hours of the folded futon of the daecheong, breathed.
The breathing was the discipline.
At the sixth hour of the morning of Thursday in March of 2026, the east light of the Bukchon compound came up the east wall of the inner courtyard.
The east light was the clear cold winter light of a Thursday morning in March of 2026.
The east light reached the maru.
The east light reached the folded futon of the daecheong.
The east light reached the celadon cup, empty, in his own two hands.
The celadon cup, in the east light at the sixth hour, was the celadon cup.
It was empty.
The chairman set, in the unhurried Joseon-scholar way of a creature whose own four-hundred-year discipline had ended, the celadon cup down on the wood of the folded futon.
He set it down a half-step from his own right hand.
He set it down empty.
He did not pour.
The not-pouring was, by the four days, the discipline of the one creature on the folded futon at the sixth hour of the morning of Thursday in March of 2026 whose own four-hundred-year discipline had — on the second breath at the low table at four-oh-six on the Sunday afternoon of February twenty-second of 2026 — ended.
Mr. Kang said, from the east end of the low pine bench, in the flat Hongdae-coded Korean of a six-hundred-year dokkaebi at the maru of the middle hanok of the Bukchon compound at the sixth hour of the morning of Thursday in March of 2026:
Sajangnim.
Mr. Kang said: The east light has come up The east light, by my reading of the clear cold winter sky of the Bukchon roof at the sixth hour of the morning of Thursday in March of 2026, is the east light of the second morning of the four days, the morning at the heart of them. The first morning was the Wednesday morning, the paje-line elder daughter and the paje-line younger sister and the four-tailed creature of the north slope arrived at the low pine gate of the herb garden in Bong-myeong-dong at eight-eleven a.m. The second is, on the Thursday morning at the sixth hour, the second. Have you slept. The not-sleeping is, by seventy-three years of cedar-box discipline that has, on the second breath at four-oh-six, ended, no longer the discipline. The paje-line elder daughter has — by the two-minute phone call my grandmother in Bong-myeong-dong made to her own granddaughter in Daejeon at eight-thirty-six a.m. of Wednesday morning of March 2026 — asked.
The chairman said: The two-minute phone call Your grandmother in Bong-myeong-dong.
Mr. Kang said: Sajangnim. The Hongdae-coded dokkaebi of the Sangsudong twenty-four-hour bingsu place is — by seventy-three years of his own discipline of the Hongdae alley and the ethics of the muljabi-coded broker friends — also the grandson of a Daejeon herbalist of seventy-nine years on the low pine maru of the herb garden in Bong-myeong-dong.
The chairman did not, on the folded futon, blink.
The chairman said: I have, in seventy-three years of cedar-box discipline, by the paje-line carried onward, kept the five-instrument arrangement of the chairman's Saturday-morning instruction at the unhurried Joseon-scholar grammar of four instruments and not five. I have, in seventy-three years, not asked the Hongdae-coded dokkaebi of the Sangsudong twenty-four-hour bingsu place the one question of the grandmother in Bong-myeong-dong. I have — by the careful Joseon-scholar discipline of the fourth strand of the braided four-strand white linen mourning ribbon — kept the Hongdae-coded dokkaebi at the eleventh hour of every Saturday morning of every Sangsudong twenty-four-hour bingsu place at the seven-meter distance from the paje-line. Forgive me.
Mr. Kang did not, on the east end of the low pine bench, weep.
Mr. Kang set, in the unhurried Hongdae-coded way of a six-hundred-year dokkaebi at a Bukchon compound at the sixth hour and the sixth minute of the morning of Thursday in March of 2026, the glass of Yamazaki 18 down on the wood of the low pine bench at his own right hand.
He stood.
He stood at the east end of the low pine bench.
He walked.
He walked, in the unhurried Hongdae-coded way of a six-hundred-year dokkaebi at the maru of the middle hanok of the Bukchon compound at the sixth hour and the seventh minute, to the folded futon of the daecheong at the east door.
He sat.
He sat a hand-span away from the one creature whose own four-hundred-year discipline had ended.
He did not, on the folded futon, bow.
He inclined his head.
Five degrees.
He said, in the clean Hongdae-coded Korean of a six-hundred-year dokkaebi at the folded futon of the daecheong at the east door of the middle hanok of the Bukchon compound at the sixth hour and the eighth minute of the morning of Thursday in March of 2026:
Sajangnim.
The chairman inclined his head.
Five.
Mr. Kang said: Sajangnim. The forgiveness stands. It was — on the Imjin War of fifteen-ninety-two, when the Joseon-court yangban of the Bukchon compound saved the Hongdae-coded dokkaebi of the Sangsudong twenty-four-hour bingsu place from the Japanese musket-shot in the lower alley of the Tongin market at the tenth hour of the second day of the second month of the twenty-fifth year of King Seonjo's reign — already given.
The chairman did not, on the folded futon, blink.
The chairman said: The lower alley of the Tongin market Fifteen-ninety-two Mr. Kang. You have, across the four hundred and thirty-four years of my own discipline, been the one creature in Seoul whose own debt to the one creature in the Bukchon compound has been — across those four hundred and thirty-four years — the debt I have, in seventy-three years of cedar-box discipline, kept on the ledger. I have, by seventy-three years of cedar-box discipline, kept the Hongdae-coded dokkaebi at the seven-meter distance from the paje-line. I have, across the four hundred and thirty-four years, kept the Hongdae-coded dokkaebi at the seven-meter distance because the Hongdae-coded dokkaebi of the Sangsudong twenty-four-hour bingsu place was, in the spring of nineteen-forty-seven, the grandson of a Daejeon herbalist in Bong-myeong-dong — the one Korean creature whose own grandmother had, on the wooden maru of the house in Bong-myeong-dong in the spring of nineteen-forty-seven, given the private grammar of the paje-line to a Daejeon herbalist of nineteen years on a bangseok cushion. And I have, by the four hundred and thirty-four years of my own ledger, by my own Joseon-scholar discipline of cedar-box hoarding, kept the one debt of the lower alley of the Tongin market of the second day of the second month of the twenty-fifth year of King Seonjo's reign — the debt — at the seven-meter distance also The one piece I have, in the four hundred and thirty-four years, never asked you The question Ask now.
Mr. Kang said: In the lower alley of the Tongin market at the tenth hour of the second day of the second month of the twenty-fifth year of King Seonjo's reign, you saved the Hongdae-coded dokkaebi from the Japanese musket-shot of the Hideyoshi-coded ronin who had, in the invasion of fifteen-ninety-two, come into the Tongin market at the tenth hour of the second day with the musket. The ronin had fired the musket at the dokkaebi at the seven-meter range of the lower alley. The Joseon-court yangban of the Bukchon compound had — by his own discipline at the tenth hour — stepped between the ronin and the dokkaebi one second from the firing. The musket-shot, against the Joseon-court yangban's chest, had not — at the seven-meter range — killed him In the four hundred and thirty-four years, I have known why the musket-shot did not, at the seven-meter range, kill The reason was the marble at the back of the Joseon-court yangban's own tongue.
The chairman did not, on the folded futon, blink.
Mr. Kang said: The marble held. The marble was the breath of the paje-line elder daughter on the slope above the willow grove of the east shoulder of Inwangsan at eleven-oh-three on the morning of the seventh of the fifth month of the first year of King Injo's reign, whose own flat un-vowelled breath had — by seventeen generations and the loom of Samshin halmoni and the braided four-strand white linen mourning ribbon at the granite cap of the Seonbawi rocks at the second hour of the fourth morning of the fourth month of the first year of King Injo's reign — sent the private call forward. The marble at the back of the Joseon-court yangban's own tongue had been — by thirty-one years of frozen stasis at year nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine and one — the marble of an older creature whose own discipline had been the careful Joseon-scholar discipline of refusing the one thousandth liver. The marble had — by the flat un-vowelled breath of the paje-line elder daughter carried forward — been, one second from the firing of the ronin in the lower alley of the Tongin market at the tenth hour of the second day of the second month of the twenty-fifth year of King Seonjo's reign, the marble of the paje-line itself. The marble of the paje-line had, at the seven-meter range, stopped the Japanese musket-shot. I have, in the four hundred and thirty-four years, known. I have kept the knowing in the Hongdae alley pojangmacha and the ethics of the muljabi-coded broker friends and the injeolmi-bingsu of the Sangsudong twenty-four-hour bingsu place — and not in the Bukchon compound, because the Joseon-court yangban of the Bukchon compound had, by seventy-three years of his own cedar-box discipline, decided that the one creature in Seoul who knew the piece of the marble was, by the Bukchon compound, the Hongdae-coded dokkaebi at the seven-meter distance. The forgiveness stands. I have, in the four hundred and thirty-four years, given the forgiveness. It was given — by the marble at the back of the Joseon-court yangban's own tongue at the tenth hour of the second day of the second month of the twenty-fifth year of King Seonjo's reign, in the lower alley of the Tongin market, one second from the firing of the Japanese musket.
The chairman bowed Forty-five degrees, on the folded futon.
He held the bow.
He straightened.
The chairman said: Sleep.
Mr. Kang said: I will, on the forgiveness, not sleep.
The chairman said: Sleep.
Mr. Kang said: Sajangnim. The Joseon-court yangban of the Bukchon compound has, on the folded futon of the daecheong at the east door of the middle hanok at the sixth hour and the seventeenth minute of the morning of Thursday in March of 2026, not slept since the grey hour at four-eleven on the morning of Sunday in March of 2026. Sajangnim. You.
The chairman said: The one creature in the Bukchon compound whose own discipline is now, by the paje-line, the discipline of sleeping is the one creature on the folded futon at the sixth hour and the eighteenth minute. Lie down.
Mr. Kang lay down.
Mr. Kang lay down on the folded futon across the table from the one creature whose own four-hundred-year discipline had ended.
Mr. Kang said: I will, in the twenty minutes of the one sleep a six-hundred-year dokkaebi takes in a lifetime, take the one sleep.
Mr. Kang closed his eyes.
Mr. Kang did not, on the folded futon, snore.
Mr. Kang breathed.
Mr. Kang breathed in the measured Hongdae-coded breath of a six-hundred-year dokkaebi at the folded futon of the daecheong of the middle hanok of the Bukchon compound at the sixth hour and the twentieth minute of the morning of Thursday in March of 2026.
The chairman sat at close range from the breathing.
The chairman set, in the measured Joseon-scholar way of a creature whose own four-hundred-year discipline had ended, his own right hand on the wood of the folded futon at the one-centimeter distance from the right shoulder of the Hongdae-coded dokkaebi.
The chairman did not touch.
The chairman did not, at the one-centimeter distance, lift the hand.
The chairman kept the hand at the one-centimeter distance.
The chairman kept the hand for the twenty minutes the Hongdae-coded dokkaebi was, on the folded futon, going to sleep.
The chairman did not, on the folded futon, weep.
The reservation, across the four hundred and thirty-four years of his own cedar-box discipline of the lower alley of the Tongin market on the second day of the second month of the twenty-fifth year of King Seonjo's reign, was held.
The chairman breathed.
The chairman breathed once. The chairman breathed twice. The chairman breathed a third time.
At the seventh hour of the morning of Thursday in March of 2026, the phone in the interior pocket of the charcoal-grey wool overcoat of the one creature on the folded futon of the daecheong at the east door of the middle hanok of the Bukchon compound rang.
It rang at seven-oh-three.
The phone — which the chairman had, in seventy-three years, never taken out of the interior pocket of the charcoal-grey wool overcoat on a folded futon of a daecheong — was, at seven-oh-three, going to be taken out.
The chairman took it out.
The chairman took it out in the deliberate Joseon-scholar way of a creature whose own four-hundred-year discipline had ended and whose Wednesday-and-Thursday discipline of not taking the phone out had, by the seven-oh-three of the Thursday morning, been agreed to be — on the Thursday morning at seven-oh-three — the new discipline of the one creature whose own seventy-three years had, by the paje-line, ended.
The phone said: Halmoni Yun.
The chairman did not, on the folded futon, blink.
The chairman answered.
He answered in the careful Joseon-scholar voice of a creature whose own four-hundred-year discipline had ended:
Halmoni.
The grandmother in Daejeon said, in the clear Chungcheong-coded jondaetmal of a Daejeon herbalist of seventy-nine years on the low pine maru of the herb garden in Bong-myeong-dong at seven-oh-three of the morning of Thursday in March of 2026:
Sajangnim.
The grandmother said: Sajangnim. The four days are, on the Thursday morning at seven-oh-three, the second day.
The grandmother said: Sajangnim. I have, by seventy-nine years of carrying the private call forward, the one piece I have not, in the Wednesday on the low pine maru with my own granddaughter and the paje-line younger sister and the four-tailed creature of the north slope, taught.
The grandmother said: The piece is the piece of the forty-eight-hour fast.
The grandmother said: The forty-eight-hour fast is, by seventy-nine years of carrying, the one fast a paje-line elder daughter on the morning of the seventh of the fifth month of the second year of a president of the Republic of Korea at the east shoulder of Inwangsan is — by seventeen generations and the loom — to perform.
The grandmother said: The forty-eight-hour fast is, by seventy-nine years and the piece I have not yet, on the low pine maru, taught my granddaughter, the fast of the paje-line elder daughter — and the one creature whose own four-hundred-year discipline has ended.
The chairman did not, on the folded futon, blink.
The grandmother said: The fast begins on the Thursday morning at seven-oh-three.
The grandmother said: The fast ends, by the forty-eight-hour count, at seven-oh-three a.m. of the morning of Saturday in March of 2026, when the paje-line elder daughter and the paje-line younger sister and the four-tailed creature of the north slope are, on the first train from Daejeon Station to Seoul Station at six-thirty-one a.m. of the morning of Saturday in March of 2026, on the KTX back to Seoul.
The grandmother said: The water of the paje-line fast is, by seventy-nine years, the boricha of the Daegu-coded barley tea of the cylindrical boricha canister of the daecheong of the middle hanok of the Bukchon compound. The water is the boricha. Nothing else.
The grandmother said: The fast is, by seventy-nine years, the one fast on the strength of which my own granddaughter, at the pine gate of the Bukchon compound on the Saturday morning of March 2026 at the ninth hour, is going to be able to be — by the five-instrument arrangement of the paje-line — the paje-line elder daughter.
The grandmother said: Drink the boricha.
The grandmother said: Sleep.
The grandmother said: On Saturday morning at the ninth hour, I will be at the pine gate.
The grandmother said: Open it yourself.
She hung up.
The chairman set the phone down on the wood of the folded futon at the one-centimeter distance from the right shoulder of the breathing Hongdae-coded dokkaebi.
The chairman stood.
The chairman, in the unhurried Joseon-scholar way of a creature whose own four-hundred-year discipline had ended, walked from the folded futon of the daecheong at the east door of the middle hanok across the maru to the low pine shelf of the daecheong by the east door, where, in the same measured way, he took the cylindrical boricha canister of the Daegu-coded barley tea and the porcelain cup he had — on the Tuesday afternoon at the low table of the anbang — used to pour for himself, and not for the four others, and which had, on the Tuesday afternoon, by the not-pouring for himself, been set on the low pine shelf.
He took the porcelain cup.
He took the cylindrical boricha canister.
He took the kettle.
He came back to the folded futon at seven-oh-eight of the morning of Thursday in March of 2026.
He poured.
He poured, in the deliberate Joseon-scholar way of a creature whose own four-hundred-year discipline had ended, the Daegu-coded boricha of the porcelain cup of the not-pouring for himself.
He drank.
He drank the boricha in the unhurried Joseon-scholar way of a creature on the folded futon of the daecheong of the middle hanok of the Bukchon compound at seven-oh-nine of the morning of Thursday in March of 2026 whose own forty-eight-hour fast had, by seventy-nine years of his Daejeon grandmother's discipline, begun.
He breathed.
He took a slow breath.
He set the porcelain cup down on the wood of the folded futon a half-step from his own right hand and a centimeter from the phone that was, on the wood of the folded futon at seven-ten, no longer ringing.
He lay down.
He lay down on the folded futon an arm’s length off from the right shoulder of the breathing Hongdae-coded dokkaebi.
He kept the porcelain cup a half-step from his own right hand.
He kept the phone a centimeter from the half-step from his own right hand.
He kept his own right hand a centimeter from the right shoulder of the breathing Hongdae-coded dokkaebi.
He closed his eyes.
He slept.
He slept on the folded futon of the daecheong of the middle hanok of the Bukchon compound at seven-eleven of the morning of Thursday in March of 2026 the second sleep he had — by the paje-line — found.
The second sleep was, by the four hundred and thirty-four years of his own cedar-box discipline of the lower alley of the Tongin market and the forgiveness of the Hongdae-coded dokkaebi at the folded futon of the daecheong and the two-minute phone call of the grandmother in Daejeon and the boricha of the not-pouring for himself, the second sleep.
The marble, at the back of his own tongue, kept the steady warm.
The steady warm was the steady warm of the paje-line.
The jeong-seol had — by the Cheongju grave on the grey morning of a Sunday in March of 2026 and the east shoulder of Inwangsan in the third month of King Injo's first year and the inner courtyard of the Bukchon compound at four-fifteen of the grey hour before dawn — melted.
The five-instrument arrangement of the paje-line was, by the second sleep of an older creature whose own four-hundred-year discipline had ended and the forgiveness of a six-hundred-year dokkaebi at the folded futon and the forty-eight-hour fast of a Daejeon herbalist on the low pine maru of the herb garden in Bong-myeong-dong, in motion.
The morning of the seventh of the fifth month was, across the four days the grandmother in Daejeon had — on the two-minute phone call of the Tuesday afternoon at three-eleven — given the five-instrument arrangement to learn the grammar, two days and seventeen hours away.