“Payment of about four hundred dollars approved.”
That was the first thing Yoon-jung Kang saw on her banking app when she got home from the district office. She confronted her husband at the table, but Baek Kyung-soo only pressed his lips together and stared at the wooden grain like it held the answer.
She’d known him forever.Same neighborhood.Same school.Same worn paths leading them from childhood into college, and eventually into marriage.
Thirty years together had taught her everything about him—the flicker of his eyes when he lied,the cracks in his tone when he was nervous,and the excuses forming in his head before he even said them.
When he lost his job during COVID, she never complained.She stood beside him.
When he said he wanted to open a “philosophy consulting room,” she didn’t fight him then either.She simply asked her father to help them rent a small unit on the first floor of a villa building.
“It’s okay,” she told him.“Live the way you want now.”
And she meant it.
But tonight, she sat across from him again—same table, very different mood.
“So that mysterious charge was for a notebook?” she asked.“You collect fortune-telling books, fine. But this wasn’t even published. Just someone’s scribbles.And you paid that much for it?There’s being na?ve… and then there’s whatever this is.”
Kyung-soo finally sighed.
“I’ve noticed something while counseling people… Everyone wants precise answers now.Like the shamans on TV—‘You’ll turn into this,’‘Money comes on this date,’‘Someone visits today.’People want certainty. Clean predictions.
And the more they wanted it, the more I wondered if maybe… such answers really did exist.So I stopped by a used bookstore and—of all days—this notebook was just there.”
He hesitated.
“But this notebook…I’ve never seen anything like it. One look and I thought, This is real.The seller said the owner might come back soon, so I bought it right away.If I didn’t, I knew I’d regret it for the rest of my life.”
Yoon-jung barked out a short laugh.
“So after long, careful thought… you just swiped the card?Amazing. Truly.”
She leaned back, folding her arms.
“Remember that fortune-teller on TV earlier this year?White beard, long hair—the dramatic guy.He heard one audience member’s birth date and immediately said,‘You’re a firefighter, right?’
The guy nearly passed out.The whole studio erupted.Now that fortune-teller’s booked out for a year.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
If you had skills like that, we wouldn’t be eating kimchi every night.
So tell me—does your four-hundred-dollar notebook teach tricks like his?”
“No,” Kyung-soo said sharply.“That was staged. Manufactured. You didn’t think that was real, did you?”
He laughed bitterly.
“That was the network chasing ratings.If K-Bazi were that kind of scam, I’d have walked away years ago.
And the notebook—it explains how to become an immortal.It details Soo-gyeong-shin-beop (守庚申法), some kind of spiritual cultivation method.Looks like a hermit’s personal training journal.
And the K-Bazi principles inside were cleaner than anything I’ve studied.Logical.Structured.Alive.
People call it superstition.But honestly?The ones who scoff so quickly…they’re the na?ve ones.”
He didn’t even finish before something in Yoon-jung snapped.
Her chopsticks hit the table with a sharp crack.
“So? What’s this ‘secret method’ then?”
Sensing danger, Kyung-soo lowered his voice.
“Uh… to start the ritual, you fast for a week.Then you stay awake for two full days.Repeat that cycle every sixty days—six times.And supposedly… you become an immortal.”
He winced as he said it.
A slow, cruel smile pulled at Yoon-jung’s lips.
“Well, isn’t that perfect.So you paid four hundred dollars…to start a diet?Ha! Unbelievable.It’s a miracle I’ve survived this long with a man like you.
Starving yourself into enlightenment?I’d pay to watch.”
Their daughter, Da-hye, nearly fell over laughing.
“Wait—seriously?That’s what it said?Dad, are you trying to become a mountain spirit now?Which mountain? The spring behind our building?
Wow, Dad.You won’t have to see Mom or me anymore.You’ll just float around being immortal—oh my god—my stomach—”
Kyung-soo’s expression hardened.
“Why are you two doing this?I’m being serious.Is it really that funny?
You asked because you were curious.Now the only way you’re satisfied is if I look like a fool?”
Yoon-jung stopped wiping the table.Slowly, she turned toward him.
“Well, well… Baek Kyung-soo.”
Her voice dropped—flat, dangerous.
“Four hundred dollars could’ve gotten us steak and wine somewhere nice.You know how tight things are—we’re eating kimchi every night.And you expect me to believe that occult nonsense?
You’re so buried in those books you don’t even see how the world works anymore.Did something break inside your head?”
Kyung-soo covered his face with both hands.After a long breath, he rose with slumped shoulders.
“You’re right.I can’t even make four hundred a month,and I spent that much on someone’s scribbles…It was stupid.I’m sorry. Really.”
She stared at him, exhausted.
“Oh please.You and your schemes…You have no idea how many times I’ve fallen for them.
Enough.Take out the food waste.And the regular trash.Now.”
Then she turned to her daughter.
“And you—clean your room.A surfboard? Skis?What is this, a storage locker?
And now you want a tripod for YouTube?Do you have any shame?
No more begging.Buy it yourself.
You want to quit school and live off part-time jobs?Fine.Starting now, you’re paying rent and meal costs.Wake up already.”
Da-hye groaned and trudged away.
“Great.Yelled at because of Dad again…”
Silence finally settled over the house.Only the clatter of dishes echoed from the kitchen.Even the TV anchor’s mumbling faded beneath it.
A weary sigh slipped out.
“I’m going to die early because of that man.”
Then—a door slammed.Hard.
