chapter 10
After the start of Ipchu (the period marking the end of summer heat), the scorching heat seemed to have finally eased a bit, making life slightly more bearable.
“Ugh, it’s been so hot.”
Without the cooling fans and fruit purees, it would have been really hard to endure.
I pressed my itchy gums with my tongue in my human baby form.
“Hehe.”
A small tooth, about the size of a grain of rice, caught on my tongue, making me giggle.
Four upper teeth, two lower teeth—six baby teeth in total. Thanks to them, I could fully enjoy the seasonal summer baby foods.
Fluffy boiled potatoes, sweet roasted sweet potatoes, crisp and cool watermelon, and refreshing peaches that could make one forget the sweltering heat—each bite felt like fireworks exploding in my head.
Every time I took a bite, placing my hands on my chubby cheeks and kicking my feet, the adults feeding me would break into broad smiles.
“Is it that delicious, our baby?”
“Eh!”
Perhaps because my tongue had yet to taste things like tteokbokki, fried chicken, or mala soup, even these simply prepared foods seemed to have a heavenly flavor to me.
Thanks to this, summer didn’t feel so unpleasant. The noisy cicadas, the hot sun at its peak, and cracking open watermelon with family on the shaded main veranda—these were experiences unique to this season.
Of course, I didn’t eat only fruits and vegetables after getting teeth. Protein turned out to be surprisingly important in baby food. At first, they gave me eggs or tofu, but now I received small meatballs.
I even got to try all the meatball specialties essential for children of the Gyeon and Rang clans—pork, beef, and chicken—all incredibly delicious!
“No picky eating, our baby is such a good child.”
After emptying my bowl and receiving praise once again, I wiggled my body in delight.
Eight months old. My baby body, now strong enough in my limbs, allowed me to sit or roll around with ease.
My crawling range had expanded, making it hard for my mother to take her eyes off me. In human baby form, I wasn’t as agile as a puppy.
If something fell from above, I had to dodge quickly, which wasn’t always easy.
I tilted my head back and forth, enjoying the occasional gentle breeze.
It was early August. Soon, one of the major holidays, Chuseok, would arrive.
I had mentioned before that this world counts dates according to the lunar calendar.
Unlike my previous life, which mostly used the solar calendar, holidays came with precise timing—Chuseok included.
August 15.
Until the day we planned to place the protective seal, no one else had learned my secret. My parents were keeping it from my great-aunt, aunt, and uncle as well.
Fortunately, the aunt and uncle said they would take a generous holiday and arrive a week before the festival. So everyone believed it was just a matter of waiting until then.
“They’re going to be late?”
“Yes.”
At least until the news of their delay arrived.
“How late?”
“They said they might barely make it the night before the holiday.”
Hearing this from my great-uncle, my father held his head in distress.
The shaman who was supposed to come was my mother’s cousin.
To spend the holiday with the family, my aunt living in the snowy mountains had to arrive before my uncle and aunt—so they could quickly set the seal, spend two days below the mountain, and then five days climbing back to return home.
The snowy mountain weather added to the concern.
It had reportedly snowed there as soon as Ipchu arrived.
Though my aunt was a skilled shaman, my mother thought she would struggle in the blizzard. So it was understandable that my father was frustrated with the disrupted schedule.
“Surely there’s a reason for the delay. What is it?”
“Summers have been unusually hot these past few years.”
At my great-uncle’s unexpected comment, my father tilted his head but agreed.
“Yes, it has been intense. This year is better, but until last year it felt like the world was burning. That’s why obtaining cooling fans was so difficult.”
I, sprawled across my great-uncle’s lap, could hardly believe it.
“That’s better?”
Even though I didn’t mind summer because of all the delicious food, it had been unbearably hot. The idea that it had “improved” seemed unbelievable.
“The southwest suffered a terrible heatwave,” my great-uncle continued.
“Was the situation really bad?” my father asked, nodding.
“The reservoirs dried up, wildfires wouldn’t stop, and people suffered.”
“I hadn’t heard…”
“The royal family had suppressed the information, but it seems it was recently released.”
“Ah… the royal family.”
My father sighed, pressing his hand to his forehead.
“Of course. The southwest is the granary. If rumors of fires spread, food prices would fluctuate and people would panic. They must have tried desperately to suppress it.”
“We were on the opposite side, so we received the information late too.”
“Were the children sent for civil aid?”
“Seems like it.”
“Ugh.”
There was nothing to do, my father sighed.
Hyundo-hyang and Hyundo-hwan, the 19-year-old fraternal twins—my uncle and aunt—had just passed the civil service exam last year.
Being low-ranking officials, they were deployed to every task the state required, just like in my past life.
“So if they could come home, the southwest must have stabilized. Do we need to help?”
“The Emperor has risen, so the fire should have been dealt with.”
“The Emperor?”
“Lightning brings rain.”
“It seems the fires were more severe than expected. We should sort out relief supplies separately.”
“As soon as I heard, I already sent the orders.”
“Thanks. The rest I’ll handle at Ilwol-gak.”
My father and great-uncle swiftly handled matters. Their efficiency never ceased to impress me.
“Ha… but what about the shaman?”
“There’s a way to manage without them.”
“No, that’s not right. As Mother said, Do-hyang and Do-hwan must know. Unlike us who stay in one place, they travel the country, gathering information and gauging external opinions…”
But why are they late? My father groaned in distress.
“If it’s the shaman, it’ll be fine.”
My mother returned, having left me briefly with my father and great-uncle. She carried a letter stamped with a falcon seal, with a red feather like the one decorating my grandfather’s head.
“They’re also delayed. They said they might barely arrive two days before the holiday and asked for understanding.”
“What happened?”
“An early heavy snowfall trapped a tribe. They’ll only arrive two days before after resolving it.”
My great-uncle commented briefly:
“Chaos everywhere.”
Indeed, it seemed so.
Even as fires raged in one part of the country and snow piled up in the mountains, time passed smoothly.
Two days before the holiday, even the quiet annex felt lively with arriving guests.
I examined my reflection in the large mirror my mother had set up.
In human form, I was growing rapidly, but in puppy form, I remained mostly the same. My eyes had become clearer, my paws slightly longer, but I still looked like a ball of fur.
Strange.
I should have grown bigger by now, looking at my parents. My fur, however, had thickened since the cool breezes began, nearly half my body now.
It wasn’t just me. My parents’ fur also thickened with the season, shedding and regrowing.
“Hng.”
I wagged my especially full and pretty tail.
I saw shed fur floating gently in the air!
No wonder my parents had been so diligent with cleaning and airing out the house recently.
“Phew.”
Quickly shifting to human form, I sighed. Hopefully, fewer hairs would fall this way.
This time, a smiling baby appeared in the mirror.
Clad in bright yellow clothing—cotton garments dyed with onion skins—they were soft, comfortable, and loose-fitting. My bare feet peeked out from the pants, wiggling as I practiced crawling and standing without slipping.
When going outside, I always wore socks.
“Ahh.”
The baby in the mirror smiled, revealing adorable rice-grain-sized teeth. My hair, fluffy like fur, spread freely like dandelion seeds. The yellow clothing made it seem as if a dandelion had rolled along the ground.
While I was intently observing myself, a sound outside heralded a visitor.
“Long time no see, sharp and clean teeth.”
“Clever prodigy!”
It was my mother’s cousin, my aunt.
My mother’s tribe had a different naming system.
As a child, one received names like gentle breeze or tiny snowflake. Upon adulthood, names reflected one’s personality.
Thus, my mother’s real name was Sharp and Clean Teeth, and my aunt’s was Clever Prodigy.
“Down the mountain, you go by Ye-ryeom, right?”
“And you?”
“Hye-seo.”
They repeated each other’s names in Chinese characters a few times, unfamiliar but melodious.
“Hye-seo… Hye-seo… The pronunciation is pretty.”
“I actually prefer my mountain name,” my aunt said.
“Easier to call too.”
“Yes, our given names are long.”
Their conversation was short but comfortable, like close sisters or friends.
They were indeed close in age—my mother 25, my aunt 24. My mother’s ease likely stemmed from childhood shared experiences.
While talking to my mother, I carefully observed my aunt standing in the courtyard.
Hye-seo had long ash-colored hair like my mother’s, braided with colorful strings and red feathers.
But what stood out the most were her eyes—two different colors.
Left eye yellow, right eye blue.
Her mysterious gaze shifted from mother to me.
“Is that Ye-ryeom’s child?”
Finally, she was interested in me!
My mother picked me up, bouncing me toward my aunt.
“My name is Hye-on. It means ‘Stars Piling Up.’”
“Aah!”
Hello! I raised one hand to greet, and Hye-seo’s eyes widened in surprise.
“…Did you secretly become a Grand Shaman?”
She gently held my tiny hand, incredulous.
“Otherwise, Ye-ryeom couldn’t have made such a cute and beautiful child…”
“You’ll get a spanking,” my mother smacked my aunt’s back playfully.
