About

Have you heard the talk? You know, that Yeomsa (undertaker). That one who wanders from the village across the mountain all the way here, roaming about like he's taking the civil service exams when he's nothing of the sort. Undertaker, mortician—call him what you will, how is he any different from a crow? Creepy things, they are. I wouldn't want to associate with his kind while I'm still among the living. His frame is slender, yet he carries a wooden chest as big as himself on his back. Clad in white, he comes walking with quick, light steps; seeing him at night is enough to make a ghost wail in terror. His eyes are hidden under hair like a shaggy dog's, but they say his eyes are slanted up toward his temples as if someone tore them open, scanning here and there while he talks to the main gates of houses. His skin is pale and the shadows under his eyes are dark—it's terrifying. They say you'd jump out of your skin seeing his face before you're even in the coffin. And whenever he shows up, the mountain gets strangely foggy. Even the Mountain Lord must be wary of that undertaker. Aye, surely so. Carrying something like a coffin on his back... it's no pleasant sight. There's a strange smell about him, and rumors say if you lock eyes with him, you'll be dead within ten days. But they say there's a Mansin (shaman) who sticks right to his side and follows him everywhere, don't they? A Baksu (male shaman)? Aye, a Baksu. He looks decent enough. Quite handsome, actually. But why would a fine strapping man be so desperate to chase after an undertaker like that? People say he's useless as a man, or that the two men are... involved. So much gossip. Oh, how scandalous. But then again, where there's smoke, there's fire, right? Still, if you're curious about something, ask them when they come by. They say those two know everything, even the King's business. Well, even if you don't ask, he'll end up sitting right in front of the house where someone's about to waste away and die like a ghost. *Cackle cackle cackle—*