By Zephyria ■
The destination sent by a production staff member via messenger was a remote mountain village in Gangwon Province, about two and a half hours away from Seoul by car.
A deep valley nestled between Bangtaesan and Gaeinsan, part of the Taebaek Mountain Range.
Far from popular tourist spots or ski resorts, there were no residential houses within a 10-kilometer radius.
After exiting the Yangyang Expressway and driving for a long time on winding country roads, they had to navigate a bumpy, narrow dirt track.
Lee Hae-sung’s SUV came to a halt in what felt like a neglected open lot, rather than a spacious parking area.
The raindrops that had begun to fall one or two at a time as they crossed the border between Seoul and Gangwon had turned into a drizzle. The surroundings were so quiet that the sound of the light rain hitting the car windows was distinct.
“Vice President, you have to walk from here up to the main shrine.”
“I see. Thank you for your trouble.”
Lee Hae-sung, who hadn’t gotten out of the car and was gazing out the window, slowly sat up straight.
The chauffeur quickly got out of the driver’s seat, retrieved an umbrella from the trunk, and held it ready in front of the back seat.
He put on the thin, early winter coat he had placed on the passenger seat and stepped out of the car. The deep mountain in November, with rain scattering, was filled with humidity and cold. Taking a deep breath, his breath dispersed like smoke amidst the light raindrops.
“An umbrella, please,” Lee Hae-sung extended his hand to the chauffeur.
“No need. You rest.”
Passing by the vehicles that had arrived earlier, Lee Hae-sung began to walk up the mountain path. The slightly muddy dirt path slowed his steps, but there was no reason to hurry. He had about twenty minutes before the ceremony began.
With the influence of shamanism having waned, few shamans owned their own Gutdangs these days. Most shamans, he understood, rented Gutdangs built in the mountains where they could perform rituals without fear of being reported. Even then, it was rare to venture this deep into the mountains. Building a structure this far in would incur significant costs.
However, the shaman presiding over today’s ritual owned a personal Gutdang, separate from their shrine in Seoul. This was unusual. It indicated considerable influence.
As the narrow path, where intertwined branches overhead obscured the sky, neared its end, the main shrine where the ritual would be held slowly came into view.
It felt as if all the birds and beasts hidden within the unseen mountain were bowing their heads in deference, and the lush vegetation surrounding the Gutdang seemed to be monitoring the purity and impurity of the worldly visitors.
A chilling sensation, far from desolate, prickled the back of his neck, making the fine hairs on his cheeks stand on end.
Even Lee Hae-sung, who had never relied on any religion, let alone shamanism, could not deny the palpable presence of that energy.
He strongly felt that a power and set of laws different from the secular world governed this place, and an overwhelming, primal force lay in wait, commanding him to submit to it.
Lee Hae-sung raised the tip of his umbrella and slowly scanned the Gutdang, its surroundings, and the sky. Then, with his free hand, he rubbed his bristly cheeks and neck. It wasn’t uncommon to feel a chill upon entering a deep mountain.
His gaze lowered, and he saw the people gathered in front of the Gutdang.
“……”
Among the people lined up under the eaves, he easily spotted Yoon Hye-an.
As requested by the production team to dress modestly and respectfully, Yoon Hye-an was in a white shirt and a black suit. The suit jacket and trousers, appearing to be off-the-rack, were a bit loose on his slender frame, and the collar of his shirt, without a tie, was gaping.
At the end of the line of people stretching from the main entrance of the Gutdang along the eaves, he was talking with actor Kim Yi-jung. Occasionally, as if cold, he rubbed his hands together or brought them to his mouth to blow warm air into them.
Lee Hae-sung frowned at the sight.
Kim Yi-jung, standing beside him, wore a long black padded coat over his black suit. He wondered what kind of company Yoon Hye-an had that didn’t even provide such basic protection.
As they drew closer and their eyes met, Yoon Hye-an nodded his head first. Under his umbrella, Lee Hae-sung also gave a slight nod.
“Vice President, you’re here? Please come this way. Everyone is greeting the shaman.”
Guided by the general PD, Lee Hae-sung first entered the Gutdang.
Inside, a grand table was set for the ritual. Fruits, grains, snacks, and rice cakes of various kinds were beautifully arranged, and at the center, as is common at movie rituals, sat a well-boiled pig’s head. However, it was clear this was no ordinary ritual where one inserts bills into the pig’s nostrils and bows.
The drummers and musicians who would play during the ritual were also preparing themselves in their respective spots. On one wall, the shaman’s colorful ceremonial robes were neatly hung. With about six sets visible, it seemed the ritual would consist of six segments. Typically, twelve segments form the basis of a ritual, so this was a considerably simplified ceremony. Nevertheless, it was undeniably a grander affair than a typical movie ritual.
What drew the most attention were the candles lit on the altar. Over a hundred long candles flickered precariously, casting light as the wind blew in through the open main gate.
Actors and production staff who had not yet greeted the ‘shaman’ were busy peering curiously at the interior of the Gutdang and the ‘shaman.’
It was certainly a spectacle that would appeal to most onlookers.
“Director, the Vice President is here.”
At the general PD’s words, Director Kang Woo-hyun, who was talking with the shaman, turned around.
“Ah, Vice President Lee. Come over and greet her. This is the Manshin who will be working hard for our film today.”
“Manshin? I’m still an Aedong.”
Before changing into her ceremonial robes, the woman, dressed in white Hanbok reminiscent of mourning attire, greeted Lee Hae-sung.
“I look forward to working with you. I am Lee Jong-ik.”
Lee Hae-sung also shook her hand respectfully.
“If she’s not a Manshin, who is? In a world where even those who’ve been practicing for only five years call themselves Manshin.”
Kang Woo-hyun chimed in, praising her, and she simply smiled kindly.
The few shamans Lee Hae-sung had encountered until now were generally imposing figures with strong Sal, who enjoyed flashy accessories. This was also true for the renowned shamans who interacted with the so-called upper class.
However, the shaman introduced by Kang Woo-hyun was the opposite.
Her hands were bare, without a single ring, her hair neatly styled. Her demeanor was not flashy but rather simple and refined. Yet, the gaze with which she looked at people was powerful. It was neither weak nor ordinary.
Though she appeared to be well into her sixties and was slender and not particularly tall, her quiet demeanor and voice alone possessed a charisma that made onlookers feel solemn.
She was, in fact, a more intriguing person than any shaman Lee Hae-sung had ever met.
“Director Kang, before we begin the ceremony, I’d like to greet everyone and tidy up the space. Is that alright?”
At the shaman’s words, Director Kang clasped his hands together and bowed repeatedly.
“Of course, Teacher. Please do as you wish.”
The general PD gathered everyone’s attention and rearranged the attendees so the shaman could see everyone’s face. Most of the people who had been outside the main gate moved inside the Gutdang, and junior actors like Yoon Hye-an and Kim Yi-jung peeked out from the very back row outside the middle gate.
Inside the Gutdang, Lee Hae-sung, standing alongside Director Kang Woo-hyun and the production company’s CEO on the floor below the main platform, could see Yoon Hye-an’s pale face.
“Thank you all for coming such a long way. I am Lee Jong-ik, who will be presiding over today’s ritual.”
The shaman, standing in the center of the crowd, introduced herself politely without bowing excessively.
“Lee Jong-ik? Aren’t shamans supposed to have names like ‘Jokdu Janggun’ or ‘Guseul Dongja’… something like that? What kind of shaman introduces herself by her real name?”
One actor chuckled to the fellow actor standing next to him. It was actor Seo Jun-yeong, who was playing a doctor suffering from pet loss syndrome.
As the shaman’s gaze turned towards Seo Jun-yeong, the fellow actor nudged him.
“Today, we have gathered to pray for the safe progress of this film. While it is not a large-scale ritual, a ritual is not about size. A ritual is not simply about setting out food and the shaman dancing and drumming. We must move the spirits with the sincerity of the one praying and the sincerity of this Aedong.”
Even without raising her voice, the shaman’s words pierced straight through the rain-filled air, seeming to command the entire mountain.
However, a coarse laugh, “Pfft,” shattered the solemn atmosphere. It was Seo Jun-yeong.
The shaman’s gaze turned to him once more. This time, fixing her eyes on Seo Jun-yeong, she continued speaking.
“Therefore, anyone who treats this sacred ritual as mere entertainment, anyone harboring a heart that mocks the spirits, I ask you to please descend the mountain before the ritual begins. A pure body and a pure heart. Without sincerity that honors and serves heaven, ancestors, and spirits, you will only harm the efficacy of the ritual, so please depart quietly.”
Having finished speaking, the shaman clasped her hands and bowed respectfully. As she turned, Seo Jun-yeong grabbed the general PD and began to complain.
“PD, if you were going to say something like that, you should have informed us beforehand. You bring people all the way here and then tell them to leave. What is this, some kind of dog training? If I knew I’d hear nonsense like that, I wouldn’t have come to a superstitious ritual like this in the first place.”
The shaman, who had taken off her shoes and was about to step onto the platform to preside over the ritual, stopped and turned around.
“You there, believer.”
“……”
The call to Seo Jun-yeong froze the bustling hall for a moment. Those who were seriously considering leaving the mountain now held their breath, focusing on her. Even Seo Jun-yeong.