Chapter 24
The Language of Animals
It had been less than two hours since Jinbu had delivered the news when Hwang-hee arrived at the Gongju vegetable market, wearing a cheollik robe and a military coat, flanked by two officers and a squad of constables.
“Wow, a man really does look good in uniform—and showing up with all these constables makes you even more impressive,” Miu said with a playful smile as he stopped in front of her.
Hwang-hee cleared his throat, voice low and barely audible.
“Let’s not act too familiar. Rumors are still circulating about that incident at the market…”
A faint flush colored his cheeks.
“Are you… embarrassed right now?”
“W-what nonsense is that? And how do you even know about the Podocheong?” he suddenly boomed, deliberately loud enough for the constables behind him to hear.
The phrase—“How do you know the Podocheong!”—was the sort of barked threat usually reserved for intimidating peasants or criminals. As the government office that arrested and judged offenders, the Podocheong inspired fear.
“What does that have to do with anything? Are you trying to scare me?” Miu narrowed her eyes and lowered her voice.
“No, I only mean that the Podocheong handles serious matters,” he said, backpedaling.
“Oh dear, I guess I’d better keep my mouth shut before the mighty Podocheong hauls me off,” she said, looking away and shaking her head.
“Didn’t you say you’d found the culprit in Dapsimni?” Hwang-hee asked after a loud cough, casting a wary glance at his men.
“Maybe I should stay quiet, or I might get arrested for saying something wrong,” she teased, still not meeting his gaze.
“W-why are you like this?” He was flustered. He had no desire to throw his weight around; raising his voice was simply an ingrained habit. But he suddenly realized how much it made him look like someone used to lording over others.
“My apologies. I’ll be careful from now on.”
She had thought him stiff, but he could be surprisingly frank and flexible.
“I didn’t say I’d found the culprit—just that I know how to find him.”
“What method? What must we do?”
“It’s a bet. You’ll have to pay a price.”
“Of course.”
“It might be a difficult demand.”
Miu studied him carefully.
“I understand,” he said, closing and opening his eyes as if steeling himself. Solving the case was worth any cost—except perhaps working at the vegetable market again.
“The answer lies with our U-yu,” she said, smiling at the white dog.
“Now there’s a plump little fellow.”
“Perfect for a midsummer stew,” said an older and a younger constable, approaching U-yu menacingly with heavy clubs.
A question flickered in the dog’s bright eyes before he rose onto his hind legs, gaze fierce.
From about twenty paces away, Hwang-hee, Miu, and the old grandmother of Gongju watched.
“What are you doing?” the grandmother asked.
“Investigating a crime,” Hwang-hee replied without looking away from the dog.
“A crime? What could our U-yu have done? Jumped someone’s fence to steal food? Picked pockets?” The grandmother shook her head sharply.
When the constables swung their clubs, U-yu lowered his shoulders, tail bristling, and bared his teeth with a low growl.
“You mangy mutt, how dare you bare your teeth at officers of the law?” the younger constable shouted.
U-yu answered with a furious volley of barks, fur standing like tiny quills.
“Want a taste of this club?”
“Shall we rope him up and hang him?”
The dog barked even louder, body quivering with defiance.
“Enough. Step back,” Miu ordered.
Startled, the constables quickly retreated.
“My, he’s still a pup but fiery as a wolf,” the elder said, and the younger agreed.
At that, the grandmother snapped, “Fiery? Our U-yu is gentle! You threatened to beat and eat him—who wouldn’t be angry? Animals have eyes and ears too. Don’t you dare!”
“Then shall we try again, this time with kindness?” Miu took the grandmother’s hand and walked toward U-yu.
The dog’s whole demeanor changed. Tension melted from his body; his eyes brightened, muzzle curved into a canine smile, and his tail spun like a pinwheel.
“Oh, my sweet U-yu. Are you all right? Those constables threatened to beat and take you? Don’t worry, Grandma will jam a cucumber right into their bellies if they try,” the grandmother huffed.
Back in place, Miu addressed the constables. “Go again. This time no threats, no harsh words—approach with friendly smiles.”
They glanced at Hwang-hee, who nodded. “Do as Lady Miu says.”
With forced cheerful grins, they strolled toward the dog.
“I’ve seen every dog in Songpa, but you’re the finest of them all.”
“How can anything be this cute? Next time I’ll bring you a bone.”
But U-yu wasn’t fooled. He growled, then barked even more fiercely than before.
“Do you see?” Miu turned to Hwang-hee.
Observing closely, he nodded in admiration. “I understand.”
“Animals speak differently from humans,” Miu said, smiling at U-yu, who wagged his tail lightly in response.
“Indeed. Thank you.”
“Don’t forget, I’ll collect my payment,” she said brightly.
A soft spring breeze carried a swirl of cherry blossoms between them. Hwang-hee found himself staring.
“Is something on my face?”
“No. Nothing. You’re… perfectly fine,” he stammered, wondering where this remarkable woman had been hiding until now.
The next morning in Dapsimni village, a crowd of residents gathered in the yard of the Ahn household under the watch of stern constables.
Inspector Hwang-hee studied the household’s ox: wool-like hair on its forehead, forward-curving horns, ribs chafed raw from stress. Its large moist eyes seemed to plead silently.
“Have you withheld water since last night?” he asked the couple.
“Yes, sir. As ordered. We fed it plenty of hay, so it must be parched by now,” they answered with deep bows.
Hwang-hee nodded to Jang, the bearded officer.
“Proceed.”
“Yes, Inspector.” Jang turned to the villagers and barked, “One by one, bring a bucket of water to the ox. Step back the moment it tries to drink. Understood?”
“Yes!” the villagers chorused.
One by one they approached, each holding a brimming bucket. The thirsty ox lunged forward each time, only to have the water whisked away, letting out a mournful “Moo!” in frustration.
“Just a little longer,” Hwang-hee soothed as if speaking to the animal. “You’ll drink your fill soon.”
When it was carpenter Gong’s turn, he grumbled as he stepped forward, bucket in hand. “What nonsense. I’m busy.”
But as he reached the ox he suddenly flashed a wide grin, yellow teeth and dark gums exposed.
Instantly, the ox startled as if seeing a tiger and stumbled back violently, nearly snapping its rope.
“What—what’s wrong with it?” Gong sputtered.
The ox let out a series of high, sharp cries that sounded almost like screams.
Hwang-hee’s sharp gaze fixed on the carpenter. “You there!”
Under the piercing look, Gong dropped the bucket and collapsed.
“I—I’m sorry. I must’ve lost my mind for a moment.”
“What possessed you?”
“I was angry because Master Ahn gave the roof-repair job he’d promised me to another carpenter…”
“You fool!” Master Ahn exploded. “It’s my house—I’ll hire whomever I please. What fault is it of the ox?”
“And you, Ahn! Didn’t you share drinks with me? Then you betray me?”
“Ha! Even if I’d shared two feasts with you, that gives you no right, you scoundrel!”
“Officer Jang, bind this man and take him to the Podocheong,” Hwang-hee ordered.
“Yes, Inspector! Men, seize the culprit!”
The constables swiftly tied Gong up.
Arms folded, Hwang-hee watched the resolution and thought of Miu’s instructions:
First, deny the ox water for a long time.
Then have neighbors offer buckets, only to snatch them away.
The thirsty ox will rush to drink.
But if the one who cut its tongue approaches, the memory of that pain will make it recoil, no matter how thirsty it is.
Animals speak through their actions—watch carefully, and you’ll understand.
“Remarkable,” Hwang-hee murmured as he stepped out of the barn into the soft spring air. Cherry blossoms drifted like falling snow while he walked slowly, heart unexpectedly light, into the very center of spring.
