< An Unexpected First Job (1) >
On a quiet afternoon, the scenery of an anonymous temple, accompanied by the chirping of mountain birds, was peaceful beyond description.
From a hermitage, distant from the main temple where Buddha was enshrined, the head monk, calmly observing the serene temple view, spoke to the slightly over thirty-year-old man seated before him.
“So, have you made up your mind?”
“Yes.”
The head monk, his face creased with wrinkles, looked gently at the tranquil face of Young-Hoon and asked,
“Have you thought about what you will do?”
“I’m not really sure. I plan to just go with the flow.”
“Life will be tough, you know?”
“Is it possible to live in this world without hardship?”
The head monk spoke with an apologetic expression.
“I regret that I made you waste your prime years in such a mundane place. Even if I were to die and my ashes scatter in the wind, my guilt towards you wouldn’t fade.”
“Please don’t say that. I could have left earlier if I had the will. It’s because of my laziness that I’ve only just decided to do so. I’ve eaten well and had a good time.”
“Won’t you regret it?”
“I’ve enjoyed an easy, jobless life for a decade that others can only dream of. How could I regret that?”
Young-Hoon truly had no regrets.
Surprisingly, the power of modern culture was a significant factor that allowed him to endure being confined in this dreary temple.
In his youthful, spirited days, the popular game StarCraft held him back, and as StarCraft became dull, World of Warcraft took its place, anchoring his heart.
Whenever he fussed about wanting a new computer due to poor performance, the head monk, sympathizing with his confinement in the temple during his youth, would replace his old computer with a new one, despite the cost.
In reality, it was not until his mid-twenties that he felt he could control his desires.
However, he could not bring himself to leave then due to fear.
Fear of facing the real world beyond TV and the internet.
Despite being certain that he could control his desires, he dared not tell the head monk that he was leaving, fearing his assumption might be wrong.
“Can you restrain yourself?”
“Yes.”
Despite his reassurance, the head monk remained worried.
Young-Hoon was born to be a shaman.
The head monk had not told Young-Hoon’s mother everything, but he had shared the most crucial truth.
That Young-Hoon would become a powerful, yet harmful fortune-teller, capable of causing turmoil in the world.
He thought it was absurd when he was young, but as time passed, he realized it was true.
He was born different from others.
When he held another person’s hand, he could sense a peculiar temperature besides their body heat.
As a child, he didn’t understand what it was. Only later did he realize that it signified the time of the person’s birth.
This alone was strange enough, but he felt he could potentially understand a person’s feelings or worries just by will.
It was only after he discovered this that he started to fear his own abilities.
For this reason, he did not resent his quasi-imprisonment from a young age and followed the monk’s teachings, striving to control his mind.
The reason was simple.
He wanted to live a normal life like everyone else.
“I’ve told you hundreds of times, but you should never tell fortunes for profit.”
“I know.”
He couldn’t change his birthright.
That’s why he deliberately learned fortune-telling and physiognomy to avoid becoming a shaman.
It was a sort of patch.
If one tries to live a completely different life against their destiny to become a fortune-teller, they risk accidents or being possessed by a spirit, also known as shaman sickness.
Telling fortunes and profiting from it is a different context altogether.
If one becomes a real fortune-teller, a spirit will inhabit them.
Although he learned geomancy according to his destiny, if he becomes a real fortune-teller, the inherent nature of his destiny will emerge and harm people.
Now, he understood his destiny better than anyone.
“All you’ve learned is that, so how do you plan to make a living in the harsh world?”
