chapter one. / ANGELIC.
strings of death and hunger
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The summer dusk fell slowly over the narrow alleys of Hanseong, the capital of Joseon. The golden hue in the sky filtered through the smoke of cooking fires, and the oily scent of grilled mackerel clung to the air. 

Jinu crept through the edges of the bustling market, his frame thin and lithe, clothing tattered at the hems and darkened with dirt. His eyes darted like a sparrow's, nervous, hungry, calculating.

He wasn't a thief by nature. He was a son, a brother. 

His mother's cough had grown wet and labored since spring, and his little sister Hwa-yeon hadn't eaten in two days. 

He clutched his biwa, a weather-worn instrument slung across his back, its wooden texture peeling but still capable of singing the songs of sorrow and seasons. Jinu's fingers longed to play, but hunger had made his hands shake, and art didn't fill an empty stomach.

That day, he spotted a rice cake vendor leaving his stall momentarily to shout at a noisy child. 

Jinu saw his chance.

He lunged forward, hands trembling as he grabbed two flat cakes and shoved them under his tunic. But as he turned, a sharp grip clamped down on his wrist.

"Thief!" the vendor roared. Others joined the scrabble, men with belts and sticks, shouting curses and descending upon Jinu like wolves.

He was thrown to the ground. A boot pressed into his ribs. Sticks rained down. One struck his temple, and his vision burst with white stars.

Then... black.

He awoke, not to pain, but to an eerie quiet. 

The sounds of the market were gone. The air was oddly still. He pushed himself up, expecting agony, but found none. 

No bruises ached, no bones protested.

The world was gray. Not dark, but dull, as if wrapped in fog. He wandered through the street, calling out, but no one answered. 

The market was frozen in time, vendors unmoving, customers mid-step like actors paused mid-play. But the strangest thing was these illumious lines that surrounded him, that shift in hues and tones, something ethereal and alive.

And then, he saw himself. His own body.

Lying in the dirt. Bloodied, unmoving. Eyes closed. 

Breath, barely there.

A scream rose in his throat, but came out only as a dry rasp. He stumbled backward, heart racing. " I died," he whispered. " I've died."

"No, not quite," came a soft but heavy voice behind him.

Jinu turned, startled. A figure stood at the edge of the street, robed in black silk. He bowed politely.

"You are in the in-between. Your soul wandered too far while your body barely clings to life. You should not be here yet."

Jinu swallowed, unsure what to say at first, then picked up his courage. " Who are you? "

The figure extended a hand. " You may call me Da-hye Song. I was here to investigate the soul that's stuck between the living and dead, "indicating that he was searching for Jinu the moment the poor man's soul left his body.

"There is a place you may rest. A guest house for those not yet departed, but not quite living. Come."

Too dazed to question, Jinu followed. They walked through alleys that twisted in impossible ways, turning corners that shouldn't exist.

 Eventually, they came to a house that rose from the mist like a memory, tile-roofed, ancient yet pristine, the wood glistening as though it had just been built.

Above the gate hung a faded sign: " The Full Moon Inn."

Inside, it was warm. Ghostly servants in hanbok walked from room to room, carrying trays of food, folding linens, and attending to every guest's needs.

"You're the first living soul we've had in some time," the servant said, smiling faintly. " But the mistress will see you. This way. "

They led him to a grand room lit with paper lanterns that didn't burn but glowed. At the far end sat a ( h/c ) lady, the owner of the guest house. 

Draped in flowing, rich, dark blue hanbok, decorated with golden stitches of stars and moon, she bore an otherworldly calm.

Her presence was as steady as a stone in a river.  She looked at Da-hye Song then at Jinu, " Thank you for bringing him, that will be all," she commanded, finishing counting the coins and writing them on the scroll next to her.

Jinu walked in hesitantly as Da-hye Song did a quick but respectful bow at the two, then left, closing the heavy door, leaving the once-alive man and the mistress of the ghost inn.

She studied him, her eyes lingering on his disheveled hair, blood-stained sleeves, and torn shoes. " I'm ( Name ), the owner of The Full Moon Inn. This place caters to ghosts and spirits that are yet to pass."

Jinu kept silent, his thoughts overwhelming him, yet he kept quiet after hearing the rich, steady voice that was coming out of her; he knew that she held power and presence in the room.

"Sit," she said gently. "You look like a man who has not eaten in days."

He sat down, surprised by the comfy cushions that he had never sat on once in his life, since it was a luxury for the rich. " I... I haven't, " Jinu stammered.

The ( h/c ) woman waved a hand. One of the ghost servants vanished, then returned moments later with a tray that had steaming rice, pickled radish, bean sprouts, and beef soup. 

Jinu hesitated. Could a ghost eat?

" I've had the kitchen prepare this for you; food here can be eaten and enjoyed by all guests living here," she explained, curiously looking at the young man sitting in front of her. "It will sustain you here."

He devoured it with shaking hands, barely breathing between bites. When he was done, she poured him warm tea and gestured for him to speak.

"My name is Jinu," he said. 

"My mother is ill. My sister is only ten. We live in a shed behind the abandoned scholar's house near the river. I play the biwa at the edge of town sometimes. People used to give coins. But now... now they just walk past."

The lady leaned forward slightly. " Your music," she said. "Is that how you speak to the world? "

Jinu looked up, surprised. "It's the only thing I have. I used to sing with my father before he passed. He always said the voice is where the spirit lives."

( Name ) nodded slowly, and from beneath the table, she drew a small silk pouch. It clinked when she placed it before him.

"There is enough in there for a few months," she said. Jinu stared. "Why... why would you give this to me?"

"Because," she said, voice soft as wind on leaves, " You remind me of someone I once knew... long ago."

Tears welled in Jinu's eyes. He bowed deeply.

"But," she continued, her voice sharpening slightly, " You are not safe here. Your soul is far from your body. It weakens by how long you remain here. Soon, the tether will break, and you will truly die."

Jinu looked stricken. "No. I can't. I have to go back. My family can't survive without me."

He crawled forward, clasping her sleeve with both hands. "Please. Let me return."

( Name ) was silent for a long time.

"There is a way," she said finally. "But I will not return you for free."

Jinu felt a lump in his throat, hesitated, but knew he needed to stay alive. "I'll do anything."

She studied him with eyes that had seen centuries. " Then play your biwa. Sing for the dead who cannot rest. My guests have grown weary and lack the motivation to move on to the afterlife."

She turned to him, " So if you play something that will move their souls, you can return to your body as promised."

He blinked. "Only... only for tonight?"

" Tonight," she confirmed. "Then I will send you back."

He bowed so low his forehead touched the floor. "Thank you. I swear, I will not forget this."

That night, Jinu sat in the guest hall under pale lantern light. Ghostly figures gathered, peasants with sunken eyes, nobles in bloodstained robes, children clutching wooden toys. 

They sat silently on the floor, eyes fixed on him.

He raised his biwa.

The strings hummed to life under his fingers, soft at first, then soaring, trembling with the aching beauty of loss and longing. 

He sang of a boy on a mountain watching the plum blossoms fall. He sang of a mother whose breath faded with winter's last snow. He sang of love found and love lost in a rain-soaked alley.

The ghosts wept. Some smiled. A few finally boarded the carriage to the afterlife, at peace. When the music faded, silence hung for a moment, as sacred as prayer.

Then ( Name ) stepped forward. Her hanbok gown flowed, the fabric moving like dark waters as the housekeeper and a few servants trailed behind her as well. 

"You have honored your promise, Jinu," she said. "Your music gave peace to many."

He bowed. "Thank you for trusting me."

"I will return you," she said. "But the gift you have... it is rare. Should fate be cruel again, and you find yourself near death, this house will open to you once more."

She walked up to him, Jinu slightly stumbling back from the intimate distance between them as she placed her soft, tinted lips on his forehead.

A light surrounded him, warm, golden, like the soft sunlight through spring leaves. It tugged gently at his spirit. " Close your eyes," she whispered. "And remember who you are."

Jinu awoke to pain.

Real pain. His ribs throbbed, his head pounded, his mouth tasted of iron. 

But he was alive. Above him, Hwa-yeon was crying. "Jinu! Jinu, please wake up!"

He groaned. Her tear-streaked face lit up. " You're alive," she sobbed.

He clutched her hand weakly, eyes fluttering. A pouch lay beneath his hand. Silk. Familiar. With coins inside.

And beside him, his old biwa... no longer cracked. It gleamed as though freshly carved.

The next night, beneath a pale moon, Jinu sat at the edge of the market street, biwa in hand. His fingers found the strings, and his voice rose, clear, bright, filled with a story of a ghostly lady with hair black as magpie wings, and lips flush as mugunghwa flowers in bloom.

People gathered.

And for the first time, they stayed to listen.