Translator Note: 

This novel is deeply rooted in Korean folklore and incorporates many cultural and historical references that may not be immediately clear to those unfamiliar with the culture. While I will do my best to make the translation as clear and accurate as possible, please be aware that my understanding of the nuances of Korean traditions, myths, and historical context may not always be perfect. I am not a native speaker nor do I have deep roots in Korean culture, so there may be elements that are difficult to fully capture or explain.

I ask for your understanding as I navigate this complex material, and I will do my best to stay true to the essence of the story while making it accessible.

 

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Opening Story: Karma

Plagues, by nature, have always existed in the human world.

They were one of the many elements that cycled through the principles governing the workings of the human realm.

There were four great evils despised by humanity: plagues, harsh winters, measles, and smallpox.

These were forces beyond human control, and they could neither be stopped nor avoided.

Among these, the two calamities that claimed the most human lives were plagues and the bitter cold of winter. The harshness of midwinter and the lingering chill of late spring were the primary causes of death during those times.

During the long winter, as the Frost General reigned, humans hid in their cramped huts, waiting for his icy grip to loosen. Only when the frozen rivers thawed and the hardened ground softened, sprouting fresh green shoots in the warmth of spring, did they dare to emerge.

Yet, the joy of basking in the warm spring after a harsh winter was fleeting. Plague spirits, traveling up from the south, spread diseases that swept across human lands, leaving cries of mourning in their wake.

But this was not the end. After the wailing subsided and the plague spirits passed, gods of bountiful harvests followed in their path, bringing blooms and fruits to the land. It was as if the spinning wheel of nature’s order turned year after year without fail.

Plagues, the Frost General, measles, and smallpox were no more than parts of this natural order, weeding out some of the countless humans that populated the earth, much like pulling out unwanted weeds in a field.

For one to be born, another must die. For someone to live, another must pass away. When there are those who weep, there are also those who laugh. Life and death, tears and smiles—this endless cycle was the natural rhythm that kept the human world turning within the spinning wheel of fate.

And then, one day, something unnatural occurred.

A plague spread across the lands of humankind.

But this was no ordinary plague, unlike the ones brought by the plague spirits traveling up from the south. This was a plague born of the battlefield itself.

That year, not a single day passed without bloodshed in the human world.

War raged endlessly, and every day, more lives were lost. Rivers ran red with blood instead of water, and the skies, which should have been a clear, vibrant blue, were shrouded in black smoke and ash from the burning of corpses.

This grim cycle repeated for months, leaving the land of humans overwhelmed with corpses.

No matter how many bodies were burned, the task was endless. The land had no space left for burial, no resources for burning, and no strength left to bury or cremate. The corpses were abandoned, left to rot upon the ground.

Rain fell, and the bodies decayed. The earth itself began to fester.

From these rotting corpses and the tainted soil, a new plague emerged—not the usual plague ushered in by the plague spirits who followed the arrival of spring, but a plague born from the horrors of human warfare.

Unlike the plague of the spirits, which carried some semblance of mercy, the plague birthed by humans themselves held no compassion.

It spread like wildfire, as if it would not cease until every living being on the surface of the earth was dead.

A solution had to be found.

“At this rate, there will be no humans or animals left alive in the human world.”

“We must take action.”

“But how can we stop this plague?”

As the horrific disaster unfolded in the human realm, the mountain and earth deities from across the lands flocked to the Celestial Realm, pleading for intervention.

Even the celestial gods of the Heavenly Realm recognized that the plague spreading in the human world was no ordinary matter.

“The smoke and ash from the burning corpses are piercing the firmament and polluting the waters of Mount Sumeru. If this continues, the lower regions of Mount Sumeru will be contaminated, and even the celestial beings residing there will suffer the consequences.”

“It may start at the base of Mount Sumeru, but as the contamination rises, it will eventually reach the Boundless Sky.”

The Heavenly Realm of Emptiness, the realm governed by the Celestial Lord and the highest of all the Celestial Realms, was under threat. This underscored the immense and horrifying scale of the calamity unfolding in the human world.

“We must find a solution.”

“And what solution do you propose?”

The celestial gods, gathered in The Heavenly Realm of Emptiness, were shouting over one another, but none could present a clear plan.

“How about this?”

The suggestion came from one of the Four Heavenly Kings, the Southern Guardian King, who ruled over the lowest part of Mount Sumeru.

“We construct a wall. Within the wall, we gather all the surviving humans. Then, anyone not permitted inside is executed and burned. If we incinerate both the plague and the infected all at once, wouldn’t that end the disaster?”

“And what of the smoke and ash from the burning? How do you intend to stop it from polluting the Celestial Realm?”

“While the human world burns, the celestial gods could combine their powers to temporarily seal the firmament connecting the human world to the Celestial Realm. Then, Lady Usa of the Rain could guide the ash and smoke back to the human world along with the rain.”

The Heavenly King of Growth’s suggestion seemed reasonable to most of the gathered gods.

After all, there appeared to be no other way to halt this calamity.

Burn everything, including the plague itself.

“Does that mean we are to kill even the humans who are still alive?”

The voice of concern came cautiously from Sangah, the right hand of the Celestial Lord. With snow-white hair, eyebrows, and skin as pale as frost, Sangah, also known as Baekhui, had an expression of visible discomfort.

“Those are plague-infected humans. They are doomed to die anyway.”

“Not all infected humans die. Some survive the plague. Are you saying we should kill them simply because they were infected?”

“If we don’t, how long should we allow them to spread the plague? Are you suggesting it’s acceptable for the human world to be completely wiped out?”

“There must be another way. How can we justify killing the living merely because they’ve been infected?”

To Sangah, the idea of leaving infected humans unprotected and condemning them to death was horrifying.

How could such a thing be possible?

“There must be another way. We could bring the uninfected humans inside the walls and isolate those who are infected outside. Then, we treat the infected until they recover.”

“And how long do you think that would take? A month? Two months? Why delay it so long when it can be resolved in a single day? If all the celestial commanders move, it will take just one day.”

One day.

Sangah shuddered at those words.

It was a horrifying thought.

To end it all in a single day meant countless lives would be lost, more than anyone could count. It meant stripping away the chance of survival, even from those who could be treated and saved, and slaughtering them within that single day.

The sheer thought of it made Sangah tremble.

Finally, the Celestial Lord made his decision.

“Build the wall. Gather all uninfected humans and animals within it. Outside the wall, eliminate every living being.”

And so, fate was sealed.

* * *

From where the sun rises to where it sets, all those untouched by the plague were brought within the walls.

It took one day to erect the walls across the land and three full days for the mountain and earth deities to gather the uninfected into the safe zones.

Once the third day passed and the gates of the walls were sealed, the slaughter began.

There was no way to disguise it—it was slaughter, pure and simple.

The celestial commanders of the Thirteen Heavens descended with swords and spears, killing all those left outside the walls.

This was a death more merciless than the plague itself.

No reprieve was granted, no mercy shown. Countless humans were cut down under the pitiless gaze of the heavens.

From sunrise to sunset, the stench of blood saturated the lands of humankind.

Among those present at the horrific scene was Sangah.

Bound by the Celestial Lord’s command, she too descended with a sword in hand, cutting down living, breathing humans.

Her snow-white hair was stained dark crimson with blood, and her once-pristine robes were soiled with mud and gore. Yet she did not stop, not even for a moment.

Driven by the desperate wish to end this horrific day as quickly as possible, Sangah stepped through the blood-soaked ground, slashing through those who still clung to life.

Old men, women, and children—all perished under her blade, their numbers beyond counting.

Mountains of corpses were piled, and rivers of blood flowed.

As the sun dipped into the horizon, casting a blood-red glow over the land more crimson than the blood itself, Sangah’s gaze fell upon a woman clawing at the wall.

The heavily pregnant woman, sobbing, scratched at the unyielding surface of the wall with her nails, desperate to be let inside.

“Please… please let me in. I’m not infected. Please…”

The woman’s face and body were smeared with blood, and her wounds spoke of unimaginable suffering.

Her face, hands, and entire body were covered in cuts and bruises.

It was clear she had dragged herself here, enduring countless injuries along the way, likely from swords that had tried to stop her.

“Please… at least save my child. The baby will be born soon. Please…”

Where had she come from, Sangah wondered as she approached the woman and gazed at her.

The wounds were severe.

The woman’s wounds were severe, as if she might die at any moment. But they weren’t beyond saving—not if Sangah set her mind to it.

Sangah was a celestial being.

Even a human on the brink of death could be saved by her power.

These injuries were something she could easily heal.

But what then?

If this woman couldn’t enter the walls, she was destined to die regardless.

That wall—so cold and unyielding—had already divided the fates of the living and the dead.

This woman’s fate was to die.

“Please, save my child… Even if I die, just let my child live…”

The woman, who had been clawing desperately at the wall, noticed Sangah’s presence. Crawling over, she clung to Sangah’s feet.

The sword Sangah held in her hand had long been soaked in blood.

The bloodied sword in Sangah’s hand was enough for anyone to recognize who she was. But to the desperate woman, such things didn’t matter.

Her entire being was consumed by a singular resolve: to save her child, no matter the cost.

“Please, save my child. The child is innocent… The child isn’t even infected…”

The woman was right.

The child was innocent.

And so was the woman.

How could being infected with the plague be a sin?

How could failing to secure a place inside the wall be a crime?

And what fault could an unborn child, born to a mother denied entry, possibly bear?

If there was any guilt in this situation, Sangah thought bitterly, it was hers.

At least in this moment, she believed herself to be the greatest sinner in all the heavens and earth.

“Please…”

The woman’s labor had already begun.

Her water had broken, and she writhed in pain, as if the child might be born at any moment.

To give birth in the midst of this carnage was madness.

Even if the child were born, it would only die immediately afterward.

“Just the child… please, just save the child…”

The woman pleaded desperately, but Sangah turned away.

“It’s pointless. They will die anyway,” Sangah said coldly, her voice devoid of warmth.

“That child… even if born, cannot be saved. Neither you nor your child can survive.”

All the celestial beings who had descended to the human world today wore masks.

The celestial beings wore masks to hide their faces as they carried out the grim task of killing humans, but Sangah had refused the mask.

She knew that covering her face wouldn’t erase the horrors of what they were doing.

Sangah understood all too well that the atrocities of this day would never fade, never be forgotten.

While their actions could be justified as necessary and inevitable, such reasoning would be meaningless to those who perished today.

“Offering you peace in death is all I can do… and for that, I’m sorry.”

With those words, Sangah swung her sword at the woman.

The blade struck true, piercing her heart. As the woman’s life slipped away, she managed to whisper her final words.

“The child’s name… is Hyee… Joy…”

And with that, the woman’s breath ceased, her body crumpling lifelessly to the ground.

As Sangah withdrew her sword, a small, fragile life came into the world.

At the exact moment the mother died, her child emerged from her body, still attached by the umbilical cord.

The newborn did not cry. It only squirmed faintly, as if to prove it was alive, but no sound escaped its tiny lips.

On the day everything outside the walls was condemned to death, the child was born.

‘Why here, of all places…’

Sangah bit her lip as she gazed at the newborn wriggling before her.

She didn’t know what to do.

Should she kill the child, or should she turn away and pretend not to see?

Her hands, stained with the deaths of thousands today, could not bring themselves to end the life of this helpless infant.

But saving the child was no option either.

If she left it, the baby would die here, alone.

Once the slaughter ended, this place would be set ablaze.

Every corpse here would burn to ash, and the child, still alive, might perish in the flames.

‘Already…’

Sangah’s thoughts trailed off, unable to find clarity amidst the tragedy.

Sangah lifted her gaze.

The flames had already begun.

It was the fire set by the celestial beings to burn the countless corpses left in the aftermath of the slaughter.

The fire would rage throughout the night.

By dawn, when the flames finally died down, a torrential rain would fall to return the ash and smoke to the earth below.

Until then, nothing in this place would survive.

Sangah lowered her eyes back to the squirming infant.

“What am I to do with you…?”

She took the sword in her hand and severed the umbilical cord still attached to the baby’s fragile body.

Then, letting the sword fall from her hand, she gently cradled the child in her arms.

The tiny, blood-covered infant, sensing Sangah’s touch as that of a mother, let out a soft whimper, followed by a faint cry.

“Don’t cry,” Sangah murmured, her voice soft yet weary.

She gazed intently at the squirming baby nestled in her arms, then closed her eyes.

There was nothing she could do for this child.

She could not bring the baby to the Celestial Realm.

Nor could she take it inside the wall.

“This is all I can do for you,” Sangah whispered softly.

She bit her finger, letting her blood flow, and carefully dripped it into the baby’s mouth.

It was celestial blood.

Though the infant had yet to taste milk, this would grant the child enough strength to survive for a little while longer.

The baby latched onto Sangah’s finger as if it were its mother’s breast, suckling desperately.

Watching the tiny, fragile life cling to her bloodied hand, Sangah lowered the child into the depths of the corpse pile.

She pushed the infant deep into a hollow, covering it beneath several layers of bodies.

The baby might die.

No, the baby would die.

It could suffocate, succumb to the smoke, or be consumed by the unbearable heat.

Knowing this all too well, Sangah continued piling bodies over the infant.

Before she finished, she removed her outer robe and gently laid it over the child.

Celestial garments could shield against flames and provide warmth.

“Live… please, survive, Hyee,” Sangah murmured, calling out the name the mother could not.

Then, Sangah rose to her feet.

The flames had drawn close, licking at the edges of the horrific scene before her.

The sight that met Sangah’s eyes was nothing short of hell.

The fires consuming the dead burned fiercely, their smoke carrying a stench so foul it choked the air. The sky was stained a deep, blood-red.

This was hell.

No vision of an underworld could be more harrowing than this.

It was all laid bare before Sangah’s eyes.

The burning corpses, the sky and ground blackened with soot, the smoke rising in thick plumes, the ash drifting in the wind, the stench that assaulted her senses, the scorched bones left unburnt, and herself—standing amidst it all.

The blood staining her hands.

This hellish scene was her doing. The fire consuming the land was fueled by her own sin.

“The stench… it reeks,” she muttered, her voice hollow, making no attempt to wipe the blood smeared across her face.

Her lifeless eyes caught sight of the celestial beings ascending to the heavens.

One of them approached her, urging her to leave.

“It’s over. It’s all done now. You’ve fulfilled your duty. There’s no reason to linger in this foul place. Let’s go back.”

But no matter what was said, the dreadful scene before Sangah refused to fade from her mind.

The stench clinging to her wouldn’t dissipate.

Would closing her eyes make this vision disappear? Would covering her ears silence the screams of the day? Would holding her nose banish the stench?

Finally, silent tears began to trail down Sangah’s face, the weight of her guilt too immense to allow her to sob aloud.

Her heart felt as if a stone of eternal torment had lodged itself within it, and all she could do was let the tears fall endlessly.

“How… how can I ever wash away this sin?”

Some might say it was a necessary task, one that someone had to carry out.

But even so, sin was still sin.

Sangah already understood.

She knew she would never escape this stench, this taint of guilt.

This burden, this bloody stench, was a mire of sin she would carry for the rest of her life.

And she knew, deep down, that it would never fade.

* * *

Miraculously, the child survived.

It took ten full days for the flames to die out and for the rain summoned by Lady Usa to finally cease.

Ten days—a time far too long for a fragile newborn to endure.

Yet, when Sangah returned to the site and sifted through the ashes of what remained, she found the baby still alive.

The celestial robe she had used to cover the child had shielded it from the flames, leaving the baby unscathed. As soon as the infant saw Sangah, it began to coo softly.

The baby remembered the scent of Sangah’s flesh, the taste of her blood, much like a child remembers the smell of its mother’s skin and milk.

When Sangah picked up the baby, it immediately latched onto her finger and bit down.

“Ouch…”

The infant’s suckling was so strong that the wound on her finger began to bleed anew.

The baby, desperate to fill its empty stomach, didn’t stop until it had satisfied its hunger, greedily drawing Sangah’s blood.

“Hyee, that hurts. Try to be gentle,” Sangah murmured softly, though she knew the baby couldn’t understand.

Only after its belly was full did the child release her finger.

Though Sangah could feed the baby her blood, there was little else she could do.

The gates of the wall remained closed, and no life from outside the wall was permitted entry.

Nor could Sangah bring a human child to the Celestial Realm.

All she could do was return to the child intermittently, feeding it her blood until the gates opened and humans were allowed to emerge from the walls again.

But even visiting every day was impossible. Sangah could only return every five or ten days to nourish the child.

The child, remarkably resilient, was alive each time Sangah returned, latching onto her finger to feed and satisfy its hunger.

The wounds on Sangah’s hand never had the chance to heal.

Every time they began to close, the child’s relentless sucking would reopen them, leaving her hand raw and scarred. Still, Sangah thought, compared to the weight of her sin, these scars were nothing.

Time passed.

At last, the gates of the wall opened, and people returned to their lands and homes.

The land, stripped bare by the plague and fire, was now a wasteland of ash, but even so, the people picked up their hoes and plows and began anew.

Seasons changed, and green sprouts emerged from the ashes. Soon, the trees turned lush and green, the once-blackened mountains became cloaked in vibrant foliage, the rivers cleared, and golden grains ripened on the fields that had once been strewn with corpses.

The skies were blue once more, and the mountain and earth deities returned to their posts. New children were born, and the horrifying memory of the disaster faded from the minds of the people.

Around that time, Sangah took the child to a village. She left the child at the edge of the settlement, watching over it from a distance.

The child was just beginning to crawl and take its first steps.

With the baby now mobile, hiding it in the ashes was no longer an option.

More importantly, the child needed to grow among people, to live as one of them.

Sangah waited until someone discovered the baby.

Before long, a woodcutter returning from the forest spotted the child. Picking the baby up in his arms, he carried it away.

Watching this, Sangah felt her task was complete.

She hoped the child would thrive with its new family and grow up safely among humans.

Even if the name “Hyee” could not remain with the child, it was enough for the baby to live as a human.

Sangah hadn’t been able to save the mother, but she had saved the child.

Though this did not absolve her sins, the child’s survival brought Sangah a faint sense of solace, enough to let her breathe a little easier.

And so, she let the child go, leaving behind nothing but the scars on her hand.

* * *

After parting with the child, Sangah turned her focus to deciding her own path.

“Must you do this?”

The Celestial Lord tried to dissuade her, speaking to her many times in hopes of changing her mind.

It wasn’t just the Celestial Lord—all the celestial gods in the Heavenly Realm implored her to reconsider. Yet Sangah’s resolve remained unshaken.

“I intend to withdraw to a quiet place and fulfill the purpose I’ve set for myself.”

Her decision was to relinquish her hard-earned position as a celestial being and retreat to the mountains of Bukak, making it her home to carry out the task she had chosen.

Bukak was not part of the Celestial Realm. It was a mountain in the human world.

Although cloaked in clouds that made it difficult for humans to access, it was still firmly within the realm of humanity, not the heavens.

“What do you plan to do in Bukak?”

“To atone for my sins.”

Sangah’s response to the Celestial Lord’s question was calm and composed.

Her mind was made up: however long or short her remaining life might be, she would dedicate every moment of it to atoning for her sins.

Having taken the lives of thousands with her own hands, she believed she had no choice but to save lives with those same hands, however many she could.

“That burden is not yours to bear…”

“It is my burden.”

No matter what anyone said, Sangah considered it her sin.

Even if it had been a collective act, even if it had been done to save more lives, no matter how justified or logical the reasoning, the guilt was hers alone.

The guilt of failing to refuse.

The guilt of wielding the blade.

The guilt of not finding another way.

And above all, the guilt of still being alive.

The list of her sins was endless.

Even now, Sangah could smell the stench.

Though so much time had passed, the foul odor of that day lingered with her.

No amount of cleansing could rid her of it.

“Allow me to pay for my sins,” she pleaded, bowing her head before the Celestial Lord she had served faithfully until now.

Her bow was a final act of reverence, coupled with her decision to never set foot in the Celestial Realm again.

Thus, Sangah, once a celestial god, renounced all her titles and departed from the heavens.

* * *

About a century after Sangah left the Celestial Realm and retreated to Bukak, she ascended to the rank of Immortal.

Immortals, by definition, are beings who abandon worldly ties, devote themselves to rigorous cultivation, and ultimately transcend their mortal bodies to achieve a near-eternal existence.

It was exceedingly rare for a celestial being to become an Immortal, as they had to endure even greater trials than those required of humans to achieve enlightenment.

Sangah, now revered as an Immortal even by the celestial gods, came to be known as the White Immortal of Bukak.

Her pure, unblemished appearance, from head to toe, inspired this name.

With hair as white as snow, skin flawless and pale, clear eyes, and lips tinged with a faint bluish hue, Sangah’s beauty was otherworldly—something no mortal could hope to match.

Everyone admired her, loved her, and aspired to emulate her.

Yet after ascending to Immortality, Sangah secluded herself in Bukak, avoiding all contact with others.

As a result, Bukak gradually became devoid of visitors, and in time, no one dared to venture to her remote sanctuary.

 

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1. Mount Sumeru (수미산):
Meaning: A sacred and mythical mountain, often depicted in religious and mythological contexts.
Cultural Context: In many Asian traditions, particularly in Hinduism, Buddhism, and Jainism, Mount Sumeru is considered the axis of the world and central to the heavens. It’s thought to be the residence of the gods and is located at the center of the universe.
Significance: The mountain is seen as a symbol of the cosmic center and spiritual aspiration, often described as towering above all other mountains in the mythological cosmos. It is believed to be the place where divine beings reside and is sometimes depicted as the highest point in the universe.

2. 사천왕천 (The Realm of the Four Kings) is a concept rooted in Buddhist and East Asian mythology, representing a divine realm ruled by the Four Heavenly Kings, who protect the world and uphold cosmic order. Each King guards one of the four cardinal directions (East, South, West, North) and ensures the protection of the Buddha’s teachings. Cultural Significance: The Four Kings are major figures in Buddhism, symbolizing strength, protection, and balance in both spiritual and physical realms.

3. The Heavenly King of Growth – Jeungjangcheonwang (증장천왕), also known as the Southern Guardian King, is one of the Four Heavenly Kings in Buddhist cosmology. The title “Heavenly King of Growth” refers to his role in nurturing and promoting the growth of both the physical world (such as crops, life, and prosperity) and spiritual growth (the development of wisdom, virtue, and Dharma).

4. Mount Bukak (북악) is a prominent mountain located in Seoul, South Korea.

5. Lady Usa of the Rain (우사첩) refers to a historical figure in Korean literature and folklore. The name 우사첩 (Usacheop) typically translates to “Lady Usa” or “Usa’s Concubine,” with 첩 meaning a concubine or secondary wife in Korean. Lady Usa is often associated with traditional Korean stories and may not refer to a specific, widely recognized historical figure but rather a legendary or literary character.