「The Tale of the Blind Musician」

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Now, once upon a time, there was a small village at the foot of a mountain.

A child was born in that village.

However, this child was born blind in both eyes.

The first thing he encountered upon entering the world was neither sunlight nor his mother's face; the world he could remember was always pitch black.

Still, the child's mother and father held him close and raised him. They said that even if he couldn't see, he had ears, a mouth, hands, and feet, so surely there would be a way for him to live.

But does a human life ever flow exactly as intended? Before the child could even learn a single character, his parents passed away one after another. Thus, the young thing was left all alone overnight.

At first, the villagers pitied the child.

"Tsk tsk, poor little thing, being blind at such a young age."

"With no parents, how will he survive?"

However, saying he was pitiful and actually reaching out a hand were two very different things. No one was willing to take the child in. If they had food, they fed their own children first; when winter came, they locked their own doors first.

Children his age were even more cruel. They mocked his blindness, intentionally threw stones in his path, and spat at him before running away, knowing he couldn't see where they were. They laughed when he fell and mimicked him when he cried.

The adults were not much different.

"How dare a blind wretch like you."

"Know your place."

Even while looking at him with pity, their words were always laced with condescension.

Thus, at a very young age, the child learned one thing.

That people do not help those weaker than themselves. And he learned another thing. That his own life was worth less than others'.

But you see. Human life is a remarkably tenacious thing, isn't it? Even when told to die, it does not; even when abandoned, it somehow survives.

The child was no different. He fumbled with his hands to beg for food and endured each day by eating what others threw away.

Then one day, the child found something he could do. It was the danso.

When he covered the holes with his fingers and blew, a slender sound flowed out. And while listening to that sound, it felt as if something was being created in his pitch-black world.

The sound of birds chirping.

The sound of dogs barking.

The crackling sound of firewood burning.

The sounds of the marketplace from afar.

Human footsteps.

The sound of the wind brushing against leaves.

For him, the world was not something to be seen with eyes, but to be heard with ears.

Strangely enough, he was very good at distinguishing sounds. He could tell who was coming just by the sound of distant footsteps, which direction they were coming from, and how many people were walking together. He also played the danso far more beautifully than anyone else.

So, he began to wander. He played the flute in this village and that village. A few coins and a rice ball thrown by people were his sustenance for the day.

Someone would click their tongue while throwing a single coin, and someone else would offer two coins out of pity.

Every time, he would bow his head deeply.

"Thank you."

That was enough. He didn't ask for much. A warm meal and a place to lie down for the night were enough.

Because he never even entertained the thought that he was someone who deserved more from this world.

Time passed like that.

Then came a certain year. The rain did not fall. There was no rain in the spring, and in the summer, the heavens kept their mouth tightly shut. The rice paddies cracked, and the crops withered and died. The wells revealed their bottoms, and laughter vanished from the villagers' faces. One by one, people began to starve to death.

Then, the people became afraid. When people are seized by fear, they seek excuses before reason.

The village elders spoke with one voice.

"The Mountain God is angry."

"A foul thing must have entered the mountain, causing this bad harvest."

"Then do we not need a sacrifice to appease the Mountain God's wrath?"

From then on, strange rumors began to circulate in the village. Rumors that a person must be sacrificed to the Mountain God.

And before long, a name was attached to the end of those rumors.

Hong Yun.

He said nothing even when he first heard the story. He just sat quietly, clutching his danso to his chest.

But just because he couldn't see didn't mean his ears were closed. He heard the low whispers of people by the well, and he heard the silence that fell as people looked at him in the marketplace. He knew that they would suddenly go quiet when he approached while they were talking about him. So, there was no way he didn't know.

That he was to become the mountain sacrifice.

Yet, he did not run away. He didn't leave the village, nor did he beg anyone to save him.

Instead, he thought very quietly.

'If my death can save the villagers...'

'Then that wouldn't be so bad.'

The people who had pitied him all his life but never reached out. The children who had mocked and looked down on him. The adults who had called him lowly names. He held no resentment even toward them. Or perhaps, he thought he didn't even have the right to resent them.

To him, his life was just one tenacious existence that had somehow continued until now. Nothing more, nothing less. So, even if he were offered as a sacrifice, he felt it was enough if he could finally be of use to someone.

And finally, the day came. People dragged him up the mountain. His hands were tied, and a red cloth covered his eyes.

But in truth, there was no need to cover his eyes with a cloth. He had seen nothing since the day he was born.

He said nothing as he climbed the mountain path.

He only listened.

The sound of gravel rolling underfoot.

The sound of leaves rustling.

The sound of the villagers' heavy breathing.

And the distant cry of a bird.

He listened to every sound as if to memorize it.

Finally, they arrived at the cave of the Mountain God that people spoke of. It was a deep, dark cave. The people stood him in front of it and backed away.

Someone said in a trembling voice,

"You are doing a great thing for the village."

At that, he bowed his head slightly. And he smiled very quietly.

"......Yes."

That was his final answer. One by one, the people retreated from the cave, and the sound of footsteps faded away.

He was left alone. In the pitch-black cave, the blind man stood alone. Since there had only ever been darkness for him, the darkness of the cave was likely not that unfamiliar.

He took the danso from his robes. And very quietly, he played one last song. The slender sound of the flute echoed inside the cave, the echoes returning again and again. Listening to that sound, he took into his ears one last time the world he had never been able to see. And in a place where no one looked back, he was left there more quietly than he had ever lived.

It is said that later, people spoke of a strange flute sound heard from the mountain starting that night. They say it was also that very night that the rain began to fall.

Water filled the parched rice paddies, and sprouts grew again on the dying crops. Everyone rejoiced, saying the Mountain God had appeased his anger.

There is no way to know what became of him, the one offered as a sacrifice. Because no one ever went back to find the blind musician abandoned inside the cave. Because there was no one who worried about the one sacrificed to the Mountain God.

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Now, the story I am about to tell you is... The story of that very day when the poor blind man was offered as a sacrifice.

The story of that day that no one cared about. Are you not curious to see how the tale of the Mountain God and the blind man unfolded?