Korean Mythology

Captivating Myths, Legends, and

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Table of Contents
Introduction
Part I: Myths of Kings and Heroes
Part II: Animal Tales
Part III: Family Tales
Part IV: Dragons, Spirits, and Heavenly Beings
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Bibliography
Introduction
Korean mythology bears the imprint of Korean history, ranging from
tales steeped in ancient native shamanistic traditions to legends of
the exploits of Buddhist monks to stories that exemplify Confucian
values. The earliest Korean religions—and the myths that go along
with them—date at least to the foundation of the kingdom of Old
Choson in the twenty-third century BCE and are still practiced by
some Koreans today. Buddhism was introduced into Korea in the
fourth century, where it was adopted by the kingdoms of Koguryo
and Silla. Neo-Confucianism became ascendant during the reign of
the Choson Dynasty, which ruled Korea between 1392 and 1910.
There is no single unified corpus of Korean mythology, not least
because Korea’s culture is not and has not been monolithic. The
Allies created the states that are now known as North and South
Korea at the end of World War II, but at the time that many of the
myths retold in this volume were created—or at least at the time in
which the events they relate were supposed to have happened—
Korea was divided into three primary kingdoms: Koguryo in the
north; Silla, which was situated on the western side of the peninsula
and occupied much of central and South Korea; and Paekche, which
was located on the southeastern part of the peninsula. Each of these
kingdoms had its own foundation myths, histories, and responses to
religious practice changes and philosophy that happened over time.
Two important repositories of Korean myths and legends are the
Samguk yusa (“Memorabilia of the Three Kingdoms”) and Samguk
sagi (“History of the Three Kingdoms”). Samguk yusa contains
foundation myths and many legends and folktales and was compiled
in the late thirteenth century by a Korean Buddhist monk named
Iryeon (1206–1289). Samguk sagi, by contrast, was an attempt at
an official history of Korea and was compiled in the twelfth century
at the behest of King Injong of Goryeo by Kim Busik, who was a
court historian. Kim also had help from several assistants. (The
kingdom of Goryeo combined Koguryo, Silla, and Paekche into a
single kingdom in the tenth century.)
Both Samguk yusa and Samguk sagi are written in Classical Chinese
rather than Korean because Chinese was the official language of
state business and Korean literature in this period—much the same
way as Latin was, which still remained the official language of the
Roman Catholic Church. In addition to the literary tales preserved by
Samguk yusa and Samguk sagi, there was and still remains a
significant corpus of oral myth and legend, which began to be
studied and recorded by Korean scholars in the 1930s.
This volume of Korean myths and legends is divided into four parts.
The first contains tales about kings and heroes and presents the
foundation myths of the kingdoms of Old Choson and Koguryo. Two
other tales explain the origins of tutelary gods called upon for
protection, and the final story follows the exploits of a brave archer
who helps a dragon rid himself and his family of a murderous
demon.
In the second section, animal tales are presented, and stories about
families and familial relationships follow in the third section. Many of
these stories exemplify important Korean values, such as filial piety,
loyalty, kindness, and generosity.
The final section contains stories about mythical beings such as
spirits, dragons, and heavenly maidens. Most of these are myths
that follow fictional characters’ actions, but the final story is a legend
that grew up around an actual historical person, a Buddhist monk
named Wongwang.
Korean mythology is full of delightful and vibrant characters, from
dragons who live in palaces under the sea to the sons of divine
beings who establish new kingdoms to clever rabbits and loving
moles who only want a good husband for their daughter. Each of
these tales has something new and fresh to offer, and each of them
gives important insights into Korean culture and values.
Part I: Myths of Kings and Heroes
The Legend of Tangun
“The Legend of Tangun” is one of Korea’s foundation myths. In this
story, Hwanung, the son of the creator god Hwanin, decides to go to
earth. Hwanung’s son, Tangun, goes on to found Choson. The Old
Choson kingdom was located in North Korea and extended into
Manchuria in China, and was founded c. 2333 BCE. As with many
other kingdoms and dynasties throughout history, the rulers of Old
Choson attempted to establish their legitimacy by claiming descent
from heavenly beings. Today, Koreans in both the north and south
celebrate Tangun’s founding of Choson every year on October 3.
There came a time when Hwanung desired to leave Heaven and go
down to the earth to live among human beings.
Hwanung went to his father Hwanin and said, “Honorable father, I
desire to go down to the earth and live among human beings.”
“Go with my blessing,” Hwanung said. “Go and live on the peak of
Mount Taebaek. That is the best place for you to live.”
And so it was that Hwanung descended to earth with three thousand
spirits to help him. Hwanung also took the heavenly seals given to
him by his father, and he began to rule over the people. Aiding him
in his rule was the Earl of Wind, the Master of Rain, and the Master
of Cloud. Hwanung established his abode in Sacred City, which he
built on the mountain, and then set himself to order the people’s
lives. He supervised three hundred and sixty areas of human life,
including agriculture, health and sickness, punishments for crime,
and how long the people were allowed to live.
One day, a bear and a tiger came to speak to Hwanung.
“O great Hwanung,” they said, “we wish to become people and live
among the human beings.”
“I will not grant that wish,” Hwanung said. “It is good that you
should be a bear and a tiger. Learn to be content with the forms you
have.”
After a few days, the bear and tiger again came to Hwanung and
said, “O great Hwanung, we took thought about your wish that we
remain bear and tiger, but our hearts are still troubled. We still wish
to become people and live among the human beings.”
“I already told you I would not do that for you. Leave, and go live
good lives as tiger and bear,” Hwanung said.
Again and again, the tiger and bear came to Hwanung and asked to
be turned into people. They came so often that finally, Hwanung
gave in.
“Since the only thing that will make you stop asking is to give you
what you want, I shall tell you how you can become human. Here
are twenty cloves of garlic and some sacred mugwort. Take them
into that cave. Eat nothing but the garlic and mugwort, and stay
inside the cave for one hundred days. If you follow those rules, you
will turn into people.”
The bear and tiger thanked Hwanung. They took the garlic and
mugwort and went into the cave. They remained in the cave for
twenty-one days, eating the garlic and mugwort and avoiding the
sun’s light. After twenty-one days, the bear turned into a woman.
The tiger, however, did not receive a human body because he got
tired of being in the cave eating nothing but garlic and mugwort. He
left the cave before the hundred days were over and stayed a tiger
for the rest of his days.
The Bear Woman left the cave and went looking for a husband, but
she could not find any man who would marry her. She went to the
foot of the sacred sandalwood tree and prayed.
“Oh, how I wish I had a child,” she prayed, day after day after day.
Finally, one day, Hwanung saw her praying there. He saw how
beautiful she was and how much she wanted a child, so Hwanung
took human form and went to the woman. They lay down together,
and soon the woman found herself with child. When her time came,
she delivered a beautiful, strong baby boy that she called Tanung.
Soon, Tanung grew to manhood.
“Mother,” he said, “I must go into the world and establish my
kingdom.”
“Go with my blessing, my son,” Bear Woman, said and so Tanung left
the sacred mountain.
Tanung established the city of Pyongyang to be the capital of his
country, which he called Choson, which means “Bright Morning.”
After a time, Tanung moved to the city of Asadal on Mount Paegak,
and there he was king for fifteen hundred years. Later he moved to
Changdanggyong and then back to Asadal. When he was one
thousand nine hundred and eight years old, he became a mountain
god.
The Legend of King Tongmyong
This story is the foundation legend of the ancient Korean kingdom of
Koguryo. Located in North Korea, Koguryo existed between the first
century BCE and the seventh century CE. Koguryo fell in 668 when it
was invaded by the allied armies of the Chinese T’ang dynasty and
the smaller South Korean state of Silla. It is Koguryo that gives the
modern country of Korea its name.
Haemosu and Yuwha
There came a time when Haemosu, a true Son of Heaven, decided
to come down to earth. He mounted his chariot, which was pulled by
five fierce dragons. His retinue numbered in the thousands, and
musicians played and sang all the way down. Haemosu came down
during the day, but he would return to his abode in the heavens at
night.
Now, not far from where Haemosu stayed during the day was a
great river. The Earl of the River had three beautiful daughters who
liked to go and bathe in a pool called Heart of the Bear. One day,
Haemosu went out hunting and happened to spy the three young
women as they sported and played in the water. The beauty of the
young women pierced his heart, and he desired to marry one of
them. But when the young women saw a man staring at them, they
dove into the water and swam back down to their father’s palace at
the bottom of the river.
“I will just have to wait here until they come back,” Haemosu said.
“But I can’t just sit here on the riverbank. I need a proper palace.”
So, Haemosu took his riding crop and used it to trace the
foundations of a beautiful palace. Haemosu waved his riding crop,
and walls appeared, followed by beautiful tiled roofs and windows
with the clearest glass. Again, he waved his riding crop, and the
palace was full of soft cushions and the best food and wine. When
the palace was finished, Haemosu went inside to wait.
One day, the Earl of the River’s daughters went to bathe in the Heart
of the Bear pool. They were startled to see a beautiful palace on the
banks of the river.
“Let’s go and see who lives there,” they said.
And so, they went to the palace, where they found the gates open.
They came to a room where food and wine had been set out, and so
they sat down and made a merry meal. Soon they had drunk quite a
bit of wine, which made them laugh and sing.
When Haemosu heard the women singing and laughing, he went to
the dining room. The women saw him and started to run away, but
Haemosu caught one of them, the most beautiful of them all, and
her name was Yuhwa, which means “Willow Flower.”
“Don’t be afraid,” Haemosu said. “I love you and want you to be my
wife. Please stay here with me.”
Willow Flower agreed, so Haemosu sent a messenger to the Earl of
the River asking for his daughter’s hand.
The earl was enraged by this.
He stormed over to Haemosu’s palace and said, “How dare you ask
for my daughter like this! This isn’t the proper way to contract a
marriage at all. You should have sent your go-between to me, and
then I would send mine to you, and then we’d negotiate the terms
of the marriage contract. But you’ve just gone and stolen my
daughter! This is shameful! Who do you think you are?”
“I am Haemosu, noble sir, and I am a true Son of Heaven. I love
your daughter, and want her to be my wife.”
“Son of Heaven, eh? Well, you’ll have to prove that to me before I
will believe it. Let’s have a shape-changing contest. If you can best
me, then I’ll know you are who you say you are.”
“That is fair. Let us begin.”
The two men walked to the riverbank, where the earl dove into the
water and changed himself into a carp. Haemosu dove in after him
and turned into an otter. In no time at all, the otter had caught the
carp. The earl then changed himself into a pheasant and flew up
into the sky. Haemosu followed in the form of an eagle. He nearly
had the pheasant in his talons when the Earl of the River turned
himself into a stag and went bounding into the forest. Haemosu took
the shape of a wolf and gave chase.
When the earl realized that he would never be able to beat
Haemosu, he took his own form and said, “I give in. You truly are a
Son of Heaven. Let us go and drink together to seal the marriage
contract.”
The two men went to the earl’s palace, where they drank cup after
cup after cup of wine. Now, Haemosu had been living among human
beings during the day for some time, but he had never quite gotten
used to human wine, and soon he was quite drunk. The earl put
Haemosu into a leather bag and then put the bag on the dragon
chariot. Then he put Yuwha onto the chariot next to the bag. As the
chariot began rising through the water, Haemosu woke up and found
himself inside the bag. He sliced a hole in the bag with one of
Yuwha’s hairpins and climbed out, but as he did so, he knocked
Yuwha off the chariot and back into the water. Haemosu returned to
Heaven without his wife.
The Birth of Chumong
Now, the earl had pretended to welcome Haemosu as his son-in-law,
but in truth, he was still livid.
The earl went to his daughter and said, “You brazen hussy, going
into a strange man’s palace and letting him put his hands on you!
You are no daughter of mine. Get out of my house!”
The earl put a curse on his daughter that made her lips stretch and
stretch until they were three feet long. Then he banished her and
her maidservants to the Ubal River. There Yuwha lived, sad and
mute, for she could not speak because of the length of her lips.
One day, some fisherman sailed down the Ubal River hoping to catch
some fish. There they saw Yuwha and her maidservants playing in
the water. They stared at Yuwha and her long lips and wondered
what manner of creature she could possibly be.
“What should we do?” one of the fishermen asked.
“I’m not sure. Maybe we should ask the king,” his companion
replied.
The fishermen went to the capital city and begged an audience of
King Kumwa.
“O most noble king,” the fishermen said. “We were on the Ubal River
today and saw the most marvelous creature. It looked like a woman,
but it had very long lips and played in the water like a fish. We
wondered what we should do about it. You are wise, and we will
follow your advice.”
King Kumwa replied, “Go back to the river. Catch this creature, and
bring her to me.”
The fishermen went back to the river. Yuwha and her maidens were
still disporting themselves in the current. The fishermen cast their
net and caught Yuwha.
She was very frightened and struggled to get away, but the
fishermen said, “Don’t be afraid. We’re not going to harm you. King
Kumwa told us to come and get you and bring you to see him.”
When Yuwha was brought before the king, he asked her many
questions, but she could not answer because of the length of her
lips. King Kumwa sent for his most learned doctors.
“See whether you can trim her lips so that she can speak,” the king
said.
It took the doctors three tries before they could return Yuwha’s lips
to their normal length.
Then Yuwha said to the king, “I am the daughter of the Earl of the
River. My father exiled me and cursed my lips because I went into
the house of a Son of Heaven without his knowledge or consent.
The Son of Heaven is named Haemosu. He fell in love with me and
wanted to marry me, but my father was opposed. Haemosu went
back up into the heavens on our wedding day. I have not seen him
since.”
King Kumwa thought this was a very strange tale, but he felt sorry
for the young woman. He gave her a comfortable room to stay in
and made sure her every need was met. Whenever the sun shone
into her chamber, her body glowed. If she moved from one part of
the room to another, the beams of the sun followed her.
It soon became apparent that the young woman was pregnant.
When her time came, she gave birth to a great egg. The king took
the egg and put it in the pigsty, but the pigs would not eat it. The
king then took the egg and put it in the pasture, but the cows and
horses merely walked around it. He took it into a forest meadow,
and the birds gathered around it and shaded it with their wings. The
king became angry and tried to break the egg, but no matter how
hard he hit the egg, the egg would not break, no matter how sharp
the tool was.
Finally, the king took the egg back to Yuwha. Yuwha covered the egg
with a fine cloth and then set it in the sunniest part of the room.
After a few moments, the egg burst open. Inside the egg was a boy
child, perfectly formed and more beautiful than anyone had ever
seen before.
By the time the child was seven years old, he was already making
his own bows and arrows. It did not matter what target he pointed
his arrows at; he always made the shot. For this reason, they gave
him the name Chumong, which means “Good Archer.”
King Kumwa brought Chumong up with the king’s own seven sons,
but none of the princes was a match for Chumong. Chumong always
bested them in every game and sport, and soon the princes became
jealous.
When Chumong and the princes were grown to manhood, the crown
prince went to King Kumwa and said, “You really should do
something about that Chumong. He could be dangerous. You’ve
seen how skilled he is. It’s only a matter of time before he tries to
take your throne.”
King Kumwa decided to test Chumong’s loyalty by putting him in
charge of the royal stables. Chumong obeyed the king, but in his
heart, he felt angry and ashamed.
“I am a Son of Heaven,” Chumong said to himself. “I should have a
position of high honor, not be given the duties of a herdsman. I
should be a king in my own land.”
Yuwha heard what her son said.
She went to him and said, “You are right, my son. You should leave,
not least because I think the princes are plotting against you. But
first, you need to choose a horse, and then you need to choose
some companions to go with you.”
Mother and son went to the paddock where the king’s horses were
kept. Yuwha took out a whip and started making the horses fearful,
so they would bolt. One of them ran straight for the paddock wall
and jumped right over it, even though it was taller than a man.
“That is the horse you should take,” Yuwha said.
“The king will never allow it. That’s the best horse in his herd,”
Chumong said.
“Leave that to me.”
Yuwha coaxed the horse back into the paddock, where she put a
small needle into its tongue so that it would not eat. After several
days, the horse became thin and listless. When King Kumwa came to
inspect the stables, he saw that that horse wasn’t doing well.
“That horse is not fit for a king. Therefore, I give him to you. He is
yours to do with as you wish,” Kumwa said.
Chumong then removed the needle from the horse’s tongue and fed
it well.
Soon the horse was strong and fat, and its coat was glossy.
Chumong then went to his three closest friends and said, “I am
leaving tomorrow. I am a Son of Heaven, and I intend to found my
own kingdom. A king needs trusty companions and advisors. Will
you come with me?”
The three men said they would gladly come, and when all was
ready, Chumong bid a tearful farewell to his mother and rode out of
the city with his friends.
Chumong Establishes His Kingdom
The four men rode toward the south until they came to the Omsa
River. The river was broad and swift, but it had no bridge, and there
was no ferry.
Chumong raised his hands to the sky and said, “I am the Grandson
of Heaven and the Grandson of the River. Here I am with no one to
help me. I must cross the river. Who will give me aid?”
Then he took his bow and struck the water with it. In just a few
moments, turtles and fish rose out of the water. They linked their
bodies together, and soon there was a shining bridge all the way
from one side of the river to the other.
Now, when King Kumwa found out that Chumong had tricked him
out of a good horse and fled the city, he was furious. He
commanded the captain of the guard to take a company of picked
men to find Chumong and bring him back, dead or alive. The guards
caught up with Chumong and his friends just as they were crossing
the bridge that the turtles and fishes had made. As soon as
Chumong and his companions reached the far bank of the river, the
fish and turtles let go and fell back into the water, leaving no way for
the pursuing guards to cross to the other side.
Riding ever southward, Chumong and his friends soon came to a fair
land with thick forests and many streams and rivers on its
mountainsides.
“This is a good place,” Chumong said. “I will make my kingdom
here.” Chumong took out his royal mat and sat upon it. “I am no
longer Chumong, the Good Archer. Now I am King Tongmyong, Light
of the East, and my land shall be called Koguryo.”
Tongmyong established his kingdom and assured the loyalty of his
subjects. In the city of Moso, he built a large house above the Piryu
River to live in, and he administered the country well with the aid of
his courtiers.
One day, Chumong went out hunting, and he came across another
party of hunters. These people clearly were nobles, and Chumong
wondered who they were and where they were from.
A man who seemed to be the leader of the group of hunters
approached Chumong and said, “Greetings, I am King Songyang,
and you are in my land, which is called Piryu-guk. Who are you, and
where do you come from?”
“My name is Tongmyong, and I am the son of a Son of Heaven. I
have established my own kingdom and rule it from my capital,
Moso.”
“I see. I, too, am of noble birth. All my forbears were kings, and we
have ruled this land for generations upon generations. You may be
of noble birth, but you have newly come to this place, and there isn’t
room for two kings in the same land. I think you should make
yourself my vassal.”
“That I’ll not do. I am a king in my own right, and I bow to no man.”
“Very well. Perhaps we should have a contest to see which of us is
more deserving to rule both our lands. I see you have a bow and
arrows. Shall we have an archery contest?” Songyang suggested this
because he was a famous archer among his own people and had no
knowledge of Chumong’s skill.
“I accept your challenge,” Chumong said.
Songyang told his servants to set up a wooden statue of a deer.
When the deer was in place, Songyang said, “Since you are the
guest, you may shoot first. Distance is one hundred paces.”
Chumong took his place one hundred paces away from the deer. He
nocked an arrow to the string and let fly. Everyone watching let out
a gasp of astonishment when the arrow embedded itself in the
deer’s navel.
“That was impressive shooting,” Songyang said, “but it had to have
been a fluke. No one is that good with a bow. Let’s set up another
target, a small jade bowl. You can shoot first again, but I’ll wager
you won’t be as lucky this time.”
When the bowl was in place, Chumong again bent his bow and let
fly. The arrow went straight to the target, and soon the bowl was
shattered into a hundred pieces.
Everyone who saw Chumong’s feat was silent with awe.
Songyang glared at Chumong for a moment and then mounted his
horse and rode away with his retinue, not saying a word.
Chumong, for his part, was pleased that he had won the contest but
was still angry that Songyang thought of him as inferior and that he
hadn’t even had the courtesy to congratulate him or even to say
goodbye.
Chumong continued with his hunt.
Suddenly, a white deer appeared. Chumong shot the deer but only
wounded it.
He then tied the deer up and said, “White deer, I will never let you
go free unless you do as I bid. Make it rain on Piryu. Make it rain so
that everything floods. Make it rain so that the floods wash away
everything in that land.”
The deer began to cry, a sound so heart-wrenching that Heaven
could not but answer the poor animal’s plea. It rained on Piryu for
seven days. It rained so hard that soon all the rivers rose and
washed away the houses. It even flooded Songyang’s palace.
Songyang cried out for help. “Make it stop! I agree that Tongmyong
is indeed a Son of Heaven and my superior! Just make the rain
stop!”
Tongmyong heard Songyang’s cry. He took his riding crop and drew
a line with it. The rain stopped, and the floodwaters receded.
Tongmyong released the deer, as he had promised.
Suddenly, the sound of a thousand stonemasons hammering away
filled the air.
All the people wailed with fright, but Tongmyong said, “Have no fear!
Heaven is building me a palace up on the mountainside!”
No sooner had Tongmyong uttered those words than a mist lifted,
and there on the mountain was the most beautiful palace anyone
had ever seen. Tongmyong ruled over the land for nineteen years
and then left the earth behind and returned to Heaven.
The Tale of Pihyong
In his translation of this story, James Greyson notes that it functions
as a just-so story that explains how Pihyong became a household
deity. Greyson observes that Pihyong’s miraculous conception and
birth, combined with his ability to control various spirits, made him a
desirable patron for those who wished some protection from
malevolent spirits.
Modern Western readers might wonder what Kildal did that was so
bad that he deserved death. Greyson explains this by saying that
Kildal’s transforming himself into a fox reveals his bad nature since
the fox was associated with evil spirits in Korean folklore.
Pihyong’s supposed father, King Chinji, was an actual historical
person. He reigned over Silla between 576 and 579 CE.
Once, there was a king of Silla named Chinji. He ruled for only four
years, and this was a good thing. King Chinji did not rule wisely. He
allowed his lands to fall into disorder, and the government was
incompetent. The only thing Chinji really cared about was feeding
his own appetites.
One day, Chinji heard of a beautiful woman named Tohwa-rang,
which means “Peach Blossom.” Chinji demanded first that his
advisors find out as much as they could about the woman and then
that she be brought to him. When Chinji saw Tohwa-rang, he burned
with desire. Tohwa-rang was everything his advisors had described
and more.
“I would like to be your husband,” Chinji said. “What would you think
of having a king for a husband, eh?”
Tohwa-rang replied, “It is said that it is bad fortune for a woman to
have more than one husband at a time, noble sir. I already have a
husband and so must decline your invitation.”
“You know that I could have you killed for refusing me.”
“Yes, I know that, but I don’t want to marry you. I only want my
own husband.”
“What if your husband were dead. Would you consent to marry me
then?”
“Yes, if my husband were dead, I would be free to marry you.”
Chinji then let Tohwa-rang return to her home. Not long after Chinji
had spoken to Tohwa-rang, the people of Silla rose up. They
deposed Chinji and killed him.
Two years after Chinji’s death, Tohwa-rang’s husband also died. Ten
days later, Tohwa-rang woke in the middle of the night with the
strange feeling that she was being watched. She peered about in the
darkness, and there at the foot of her bed was the ghost of King
Chinji.
“Your husband is dead now, so you can marry me,” Chinji said. “You
haven’t forgotten your promise, have you?”
Tohwa-rang said she had not.
“Well, then,” Chinji’s ghost said, “let’s get married.”
“I would like to discuss this with my parents first.”
“Very well,” the ghost said, and then it vanished.
Tohwa-rang went to speak to her parents the next morning. She told
them everything that had passed between herself and Chinji, both
when the king was alive and when he had visited her as a ghost.
“Should I marry him?” Tohwa-rang said. “It seems odd to marry a
ghost, but I did promise.”
“You could do worse than marrying the ghost of a king,” Tohwa-
rang’s parents said. “It’s odd, but he’s still a king, for all that.”
Tohwa-rang went home. That night, the ghost of King Chinji
appeared to her again.
“So, what did your parents say?” he asked.
“They said that I should marry you if I wished,” Tohwa-rang replied.
“Will you marry me?”
“Yes.”
As soon as she said yes, a great cloud came down and covered
Tohwa-rang’s house so that not one window or eave was visible, and
from the cloud came the scent of delicious perfume. The ghost of
King Chinji spent seven days and seven nights with Tohwa-rang, and
at the end of that time, it disappeared. Tohwa-rang soon found
herself with child, and when her time came, she delivered a baby
boy. Just at the moment that he was delivered, there was an
earthquake. Tohwa-rang named her son Pihyong.
King Chinji’s successor was a man named Chinp’yong. He heard
what happened when Pihyong was born, so he sent messengers to
Tohwa-rang to ask whether he might foster the child at his palace.
Tohwa-rang gave her consent, so Pihyong was brought to the palace
and raised by King Chinp’yong.
Pihyong grew up tall and strong and proved to be very intelligent.
King Chinp’yong gave him many duties about the palace, which
Pihyong did very well.
One day, some of the other palace administrators went to King
Chinp’yong and said, “You know that boy Pihyong? The one with the
odd birth story?”
“Yes,” the king replied.
“Well, every night, he disappears. Nobody knows where he goes or
what he does. He doesn’t come back until dawn. Doesn’t this seem
odd?”
The king agreed that it was odd, so he ordered fifty of his soldiers to
keep a close eye on Pihyong. The men watched Pihyong for several
nights. Each night, Pihyong flew away from the palace and went to
the west. A group of spirits gathered around him as they flew, and
when they arrived at a stream on the slopes of a hill, they sang and
danced together all night long. Just before daybreak, when the
temple bells began to ring, Pihyong flew back to the palace, and the
spirits disappeared.
The captain of the soldiers told the king what he and his men had
seen.
The king then summoned Pihyong and said, “My men say that you
fly out of the palace at night. They say that you go into the hills to
the west, where you sing and dance all night with some spirits. Are
my men telling me the truth? Do you really do that?”
“Most noble sir, it is the truth,” Pihyong replied.
“Well, if you and your spirit friends have enough energy to dance
and sing all night, maybe you can do some things for me too.
There’s a stream in Sinwon-sa that needs a bridge. Ask your spirit
friends to help you build one there.”
“As your majesty commands.”
That night, Pihyong flew out with the spirits, but instead of having
fun, they gathered materials to make a bridge. Before daybreak, a
fine new bridge spanned the stream in the place the king had
commanded it be built.
In the morning, the king summoned Pihyong again.
“Did you and your friends build the bridge?” the king asked.
“Yes, most noble sir, it is built.”
“Excellent! Now, do you think one of your spirit friends might be able
to turn himself into a human and help with some other things that
need doing?”
“One of them is a spirit named Kildal. I think he would be willing to
help if he knew it was the king who asked.”
“Very well. Please ask him when you see him tonight.”
The next morning, Pihyong went before the king and presented his
friend Kildal, who had taken human form. The king made Kildal one
of his administrators. Kildal did his work very well, and the king was
pleased.
The head of all the administrators in Silla was a man named Imjong.
Imjong was a good man and loyal to the king, but he had no son.
King Chinp’yong asked Kildal if he would let Imjong adopt him as his
son. Kildal said yes, and so he became the son of Imjong.
After Kildal had lived with Imjong for a time, Imjong said, “My son, I
wish you to go to the Hungnyun-sa temple. I wish you to build a
guardhouse near it. When the guardhouse is built, you will live in it.”
Kildal built the guardhouse as Imjong had commanded and lived
there for a time. But one night, Kildal turned himself into a fox and
ran away into the hills. When Pihyong heard what Kildal had done,
he ordered the other spirits to chase after Kildal and kill him, and
this is why spirits are always afraid when they hear Pihyong’s name.
Someone even made up a song to sing, to keep the spirits away:
The spirit of the King of Heaven
Has a son named Pihyong.
Pihyong lives here;
All you bad spirits
Should fly away as fast as you can!
Pihyong lives here!
Ch’oyong and the Plague Demon
King Hongang was a historical ruler who reigned over the Korean
kingdom of Silla from 875 to 886 CE. The events of the story retold
below supposedly took place in 879. A formal dance involving
costumed singers, including one dressed as Ch’oyong, was
performed at court in Silla at the New Year to drive illness and
plague away from the kingdom. A thirteenth-century version of the
dance text incorporates the song Ch’oyong sings at the end of the
tale below.
During the reign of King Hongang, the entire country was happy and
prosperous. All the houses were roofed with tiles instead of thatch,
there was always rain and sun in just the right amounts to make the
crops grow, and the sound of music and song was always in the air.
One day, King Hongang decided to go to the waterside at Kaeunp’o.
He spent a happy day there, delighting in the sunshine and the sea
breeze. But in the afternoon, a strong wind began to blow, and the
waves on the water were frothed into whitecaps. Great, billowing
black clouds covered the horizon and blew toward the shore, and a
thick fog came down and covered everything so that it was
impossible to see even a few feet in any direction. King Hongang
was greatly afraid.
He turned to his wise ministers who had accompanied him and said,
“What is causing this storm? Can I do anything to make it stop?”
The king’s astrologer replied, “I think I know what this is. It is a
message from the Dragon of the Eastern Sea. He wants you to do
some act that is both great and good. If you do such a thing, the
Dragon will be content, and the fog and the storm will go away.”
“I will appease the Dragon very well,” Hongang said. “I will build a
temple in his honor, right in this very spot.”
Hongang sent for architects and builders, and soon a beautiful
temple dedicated to the Dragon of the Eastern Sea stood near the
beach. No sooner had the last nail been pounded than the fog lifted,
the wind subsided to a gentle breeze, and the clouds drifted away.
Everyone was in awe of the beautiful temple, which shone with gold
and whose roof tiles glinted in the bright sun.
The Dragon of the Eastern Sea saw the temple that Hongang had
built, and he was greatly pleased by it.
The Dragon called his seven sons and said, “We are going to pay
King Hongang a visit of state. He has erected a beautiful temple for
me, and we need to go and thank him.”
The Dragon and his seven sons came up out of the waves. King
Hongang, who was there for the dedication of the temple, bowed
low.
“Welcome, Lord Dragon,” King Hongang said, “and welcome to your
many fine sons.”
“Greetings, King Hongang,” the Dragon said. “My sons and I have
come to thank you for the temple you have built. Your architects and
craftsmen have plied all their skill, and I am most honored.”
Then the Dragon and his sons danced and sang in the king’s honor.
King Hongang thanked the Dragon and his sons for their song and
dance and said, “I must return to my palace now. Would any of you
care to come with me and be my guest? I would be honored for you
to stay in my home even for a little while.”
The seventh son of the Dragon said, “Father, may I go? I would like
to see King Hongang’s palace and see what his country looks like.”
“Certainly,” the Dragon said. “You may go with King Hongang and
stay as long as he will have you.”
The seventh son, whose name was Ch’oyong, accompanied Hongang
on the journey back to his palace. Hongang gave Ch’oyong his own
apartments and saw to it that he lacked for nothing. Ch’oyong
proved to be very wise, and soon he was one of Hongang’s most
trusted advisors. Hongang arranged for Ch’oyong to marry a
beautiful woman, and so Ch’oyong lived in great contentment for a
long while.
One day, the Plague Demon looked upon Ch’oyong’s wife and
desired her. The Plague Demon transformed himself into a
handsome man, and when Ch’oyong was away, he went into
Ch’oyong’s wife’s bedroom and seduced her. Ch’oyong came home
while his wife and the Plague Demon were in bed together. Ch’oyong
wasn’t fooled by the Demon’s disguise; he knew who was in bed
with his wife. Ch’oyong began to dance and sing to drive away the
Demon, and this is what Ch’oyong sang:
Tonight I went out into the city
To dance and sing with my friends.
And now I come home to find
Four legs in my bed
Where there should only be two.
I wonder who has stolen
The two legs that once were mine?
The Plague Demon heard Ch’oyong’s song and became very
frightened. He leaped out of Ch’oyong’s bed and took his own
disgusting shape.
The Demon knelt in front of Ch’oyong and said, “Yes, it is I who
seduced your wife. It was an evil thing to do, and I beg your
forgiveness. From now on, I will not enter the home of anyone who
hangs your likeness above their door.”
And this is why even today, people hang pictures of Ch’oyong’s face
above the doors of their homes.
Kot’aji and the God of the Western Sea
This story is set during the reign of Queen Chinsong, who lived
between c. 865 and 897 CE. Because her two brothers died without
issue, Chinsong was able to take the throne. However, Chinsong
herself does not play much of a role in this tale, which centers on
the adventures of an archer named Kot’aji.
In this tale, dragons are first encountered, one of the most
important mystical beings in Far Eastern mythologies, including that
of Korea. Unlike their fire-breathing western counterparts, the Far
East dragons are creatures of water, and although they might cause
mischief and occasionally kidnap humans and other creatures, they
are largely benignant beings with the power to confer wealth and
good fortune on those who treat them well.
Queen Chinsong of Silla had a son named Yangp’ae. Yangp’ae was
the youngest of all of Chinsong’s sons, but he was intelligent and
honest, and therefore his mother trusted him greatly.
One day, Chinsong summoned Yangp’ae and said, “I need you to go
on an embassy to T’ang in China. Take a good ship and as many
men as you need.”
Yangp’ae did as his mother asked. He commissioned a fine ship and
her crew and brought along fifty of the finest archers in the land to
protect the ship from the pirates who sailed the waves between Silla
and China. At first, the ship had a smooth passage. The winds were
in her favor, and the sea was calm. But when the ship came within
sight of Kokto Island, a huge storm blew up out of nowhere. The
crew reefed the sails, and the helmsman struggled with the tiller.
The ship was tossed to and fro on giant waves and could make no
headway but rather remained close to the island.
After several days of this, Yangp’ae consulted the advisor he had
brought along to help with the embassy.
Yangp’ae said to the advisor, “You are practiced in the art of
divination. See whether you can find out why this storm is keeping
us here.”
The advisor read the signs and said, “There is a sacred pond on this
island. The deity who lives there is demanding we pay our respects.
We should go and put sacrificial objects into the pond. Then we’ll be
able to sail away.”
Yangp’ae agreed that this was a good plan and ordered that the ship
sail directly for the island. The storm abated just enough for them to
be able to make landfall, but it was still far too dangerous for them
to sail any farther. Yangp’ae, his advisor, and the ship’s captain went
to the sacred pond with many precious things to offer to the deity.
They threw the things into the water one by one, and when they
were finished, the water in the pond suddenly heaved up and then
splashed down again.
“What do we do now?” Yangp’ae asked the advisor.
“We wait and see whether the deity gives us a sign,” the advisor
replied.
That night, Yangp’ae had a dream in which an old man appeared to
him and said, “If you leave one of your archers behind, the storm
will end, and you will be able to sail on.”
In the morning, Yangp’ae told his dream to all the men aboard the
ship.
When he finished his tale, he said, “All of you are fine men and good
archers. How shall we choose which of you is to remain behind?”
The archers discussed it among themselves for a bit and then
answered, “We can cast lots. We’ll each write our names on little
pieces of wood. The person whose piece of wood sinks will stay
behind.”
The ship’s carpenter took out his plane and made fifty strips of wood
for the archers to use, and Yangp’ae’s advisor lent them his ink and
brush. When all the pieces of wood were ready, the archers all stood
along the gunwales of the ship, their hands poised over the water,
ready to release their pieces of wood. Yangp’ae gave the signal, and
all the archers let their pieces of wood go. One of the fifty sank
below the water, and this was the piece belonging to a man named
Kot’aji.
“You will have to go ashore,” Yangp’ae said. “We will return for you
when our embassy is done, unless it becomes possible for you to
leave before that.”
Kot’aji bowed to his prince, bade farewell to his comrades, and then
went ashore. As soon as Kot’aji’s foot touched dry land, the storm
completely abated, and a favorable wind blew up. The crew hoisted
the sails, and the ship sailed off on the rest of its journey.
Kot’aji decided to explore the island.
“If I’m going to live here for a while,” he said to himself, “I should
figure out what there is to eat and drink and maybe make a shelter.
This fine weather isn’t going to hold forever.”
In the course of his exploration, Kot’aji came across the sacred
pond. As he stood gazing at the clear, still water, ripples formed on
the surface of the pond. The ripples grew bigger and bigger, and
soon the center of the pond was a boiling mass of bubbles. Out of
the mass of bubbles rose a form that looked like it might be a
person. Soon the form took the clear shape of an old man.
Kot’aji bowed to the man.
Then the man said, “I am the God of the Western Sea. I’m the one
who asked for an archer to stay behind. I saw your ship coming my
way, with so many fine archers aboard, and I just couldn’t miss that
chance. Thank you for staying on my island.”
“You are most welcome, honorable one. What can I do for you?”
“My family is in terrible distress. Every day, a creature that looks like
a monk comes to the pond and summons me and my family. It
chooses one of my children, kills them, and eats their liver. The
creature has eaten all but one of my children, my dearest daughter.
Can you wait near the pond in the morning and use your bow to kill
that creature?”
Kot’aji felt sorry for the god and his family. He said, “I surely will
help you, honorable one. It shall be as you ask, and soon your
family will be free.”
In the morning, Kot’aji concealed himself in the trees near the pond
and waited for the monk-creature to arrive. Not long after daybreak,
a figure floated down from the sky. It took the shape of a monk and
began to walk around the pond while chanting strange words. Kot’aji
put an arrow to the string and let fly. The arrow hit the creature
right in the heart. It cried out once in pain and then transformed into
the shape of a fox and died.
As before, the pond waters began to roil, and the old man appeared.
He saw the dead fox with Kot’aji’s arrow sticking out of its side.
“Oh, thank you, thank you!” the old man said. “You have delivered
me and my family. I would like to do something good for you in
return. Will you take my daughter’s hand in marriage?”
“I will be honored to be your daughter’s husband,” Kot’aji said, “and
I will do my best to be good to her for all my days.”
The waters of the pond roiled again, and soon a lovely young
woman was standing next to the old man.
“This is my daughter,” the old man said. “She has agreed to be your
wife.”
The young people gazed upon one another and instantly fell in love.
“Now, we have to get you off this island,” the old man said. “This is
no place for a young couple to start a family.”
The old man and his daughter said their farewells. Then the old man
transformed his daughter into a flower and gave it to Kot’aji.
“Keep this flower safe, for it is my daughter and your wife. She will
turn back into a woman when you arrive safely on dry land,” the old
man said.
Kot’aji promised to look after the flower and placed it inside his shirt
next to his heart.
“Now, to return you to your prince,” the old man said. “Come with
me to the beach. I’ll provide you with a ship.”
Kot’aji and the old man went to the beach. A small but sturdy ship
appeared. Kot’aji said farewell to the old man and boarded the ship.
“Thank you for the ship,” Kot’aji said, “but I’m an archer, not a sailor.
I don’t know how to steer or sail.”
“Never fear. Two of my friends will help you.”
At that, two dragons appeared: one at the prow and the other at the
stern. The dragons propelled the little ship faster than the wind until
they neared Yangp’ae’s ship, which was still about half a day out
from T’ang. Yangp’ae and the others aboard the ship were pleased
to see Kot’aji and very impressed indeed by the manner of his
arrival. Kot’aji stayed in the dragon ship until they arrived on the
coast of T’ang. Envoys who had been sent to keep watch for the
embassy from Silla saw Yangp’ae’s fine ship and Kot’aji’s dragon ship
and ran to tell the emperor who was arriving.
“We must make the embassy from Silla as welcome as we can,” the
emperor said. “Anyone who merits a dragon ship as part of their
flotilla must be treated with the highest respect.”
The emperor commanded that a fine banquet be prepared and
invited Yangp’ae, Kot’aji, and all the crew and archers to attend. The
finest food and drink were served, and the emperor gave many
costly gifts to the men from Silla. Yangp’ae and the emperor had
several fruitful talks together, and soon it was time for the men from
Silla to return home. Kot’aji kept the flower next to his heart all the
way home. When he disembarked, he took it out, and it turned into
a woman. Kot’aji and the sea god’s daughter had a joyful wedding
provided by Queen Chinsong herself, and Kot’aji and his wife lived
together in much happiness until the end of their days.
Part II: Animal Tales
The Mole and the Mireuk
This simple folktale centers around the universal desire of parents to
marry their children well. In this case, a family of moles wants to
make the best marriage possible for their daughter.
This tale’s mireuk is probably a Buddhist stone carving representing
the Maitreya, a figure who Buddhists believe will return in the far
future to lead humanity to a just and peaceful existence. However,
the mireuk also exists in Korean folklore as a god of fertility and is
often represented by a standing stone carved into a phallic shape.
There once was a family of moles who lived in cozy little tunnels
under the ground. They lived near a statue of a mireuk, which stood
just outside a temple. The mother mole and father mole were very
handsome, with shining, soft fur, but neither could compare with
their daughter. She was the most beautiful mole anyone had ever
seen.
One day, the father mole went to the mother mole and said, “It is
high time our daughter got married, Mother.”
“Yes, Father,” the mother mole said. “I agree that she is ready for a
husband. Who shall we ask to marry our daughter?”
“Our daughter is the most beautiful and most precious thing in the
whole world, so we must marry her to the most powerful person we
can find. No one must be more powerful than our daughter’s
husband.”
“What about the king of the moles? He is very powerful indeed.”
“Yes, but he is not the most powerful. I think we should ask the sky.
The sky looks down on everyone, even the king of the moles.”
And so, the father mole set out to ask the sky to marry his daughter.
It took him a long time, but finally, he arrived at the sky’s home.
“O sky,” the father mole said, “I am looking for a husband for my
daughter. I respectfully ask you to marry her because you are the
most powerful being in the whole world.”
“I am honored to be asked,” the sky said, “but I am not the most
powerful. The sun is more powerful than I am because he tells me
whether I can be the blue of the day or the black of the night or any
of the colors in between.”
So, the father mole resumed his journey.
He went all the way to the house of the sun, and when he arrived,
he said, “O sun, I am looking for a husband for my daughter. Would
you consent to marry her? I am asking because you are the most
powerful being in the world, and only the most powerful being is
good enough for my daughter.”
“Thank you for asking me,” the sun said, “but I am not the most
powerful. You should go and talk to the king of the clouds. The cloud
is the one who decides whether my light goes all the way to the
earth or not. If he stands in my way, there is nothing I can do about
it! Go talk to the king of the clouds.”
The father mole journeyed on and on. Finally, he came to the home
of the king of the clouds.
“O king of the clouds,” the father mole said, “I am looking for a
husband for my daughter. I have been told that you are the most
powerful being in the whole world. Will you consent to marry my
child?”
“You honor me,” the king of the clouds said. “But although I am very
powerful, I am not the most powerful. The wind is more powerful
than I. One puff of his breath can blow me quite away!”
The father mole then set out to find the wind. He searched up and
down and all around, and finally, he found the wind’s home.
“O wind,” the father mole said, “I understand that you are the most
powerful being in the whole world. I would like you to marry my
daughter because she deserves such a powerful husband as you.”
“I’m sure your daughter is a very fine young mole,” the wind said,
“but I am not the most powerful being. That title belongs to the
mireuk who stands near your own home. I can’t tell you how many
times I have tried to blow that mireuk down, but he just stands
there like nothing is happening!”
The father mole turned and headed for home.
“I hope the mireuk consents to marry our daughter,” he said. “I am
tired of journeying up and down and all around. I want to find our
daughter a nice husband so that she will be happy and safe and so
that I can stop traveling all over the world.”
Finally, the father mole arrived at the temple.
He stood at the feet of the mireuk and said, “O mireuk, I am looking
for a husband for my daughter. I have been told that you are the
most powerful being in the whole world. Would you consent to be
my daughter’s husband?”
“It is very kind of you to ask me,” the mireuk said. “And it is true
that I am very powerful. The sky looks down on me, the sun beats
down on me, the clouds rain and snow on me, and the wind tries to
blow me down, but still, I stand strong and tall. But I am not the
most powerful. There is one creature on earth more powerful than I
am, and I’m afraid of it.”
“What creature is that?” the father mole asked.
“It is the mole. If a mole should ever tunnel under my feet, I shall
fall right over and shatter into a dozen pieces, and that would be the
end of me! No, if you want your daughter to marry someone
powerful, you should find a nice mole husband for her. Then she will
be very happy.”
And so, it was that the mother and father moles found a very nice
mole husband for their beautiful daughter. The young couple was
very happy together, and the mole parents were all glad they had
made such an advantageous match for their children.
Why Cats and Dogs Are Enemies
This just-so story explains the origins of the enmity between cats
and dogs, which arises when the cat fails to keep its mind on its
mission. The story centers around the search for a piece of magical
amber, which the dog and the cat identify by its scent. Natural
amber is a fossilized form of resin produced by certain coniferous
trees. As such, it retains a faint scent that tells of its origins.
There is also another old Korean tradition in this story, which is
carrying money on a string. In the past, Korean coins were pierced;
threading them on strings made for easy carrying and storage.
Once there was an old man who had a wine shop on the banks of a
river near a ferry landing. Although he only ever sold one kind of
wine, and only sold it to people who brought their own vessels to be
filled and then brought home again, the old man had a steady
stream of customers because the wine was good and the shop was a
respectable place, not a noisy tavern full of carousers and drunkards.
Now, the truly odd thing was not that the old man only sold one kind
of wine, or that his shop was respectable; no, the odd thing was that
he only ever poured out the wine from a single jug, and that jug
always seemed to be full. The old man clearly did not make his own
wine, and no one ever saw barrels being unloaded from carts and
then wheeled into the shop. But since the wine was good and the
old man was a good neighbor, nobody complained, and nobody
asked questions.
The old man was unmarried and had no children, but he did not live
alone. With him lived a little dog with a curly tail and a rough coat,
and a striped cat. The dog and the cat got along famously because
this was in the time before dogs and cats learned to hate each other,
and you will soon learn how that came about.
The old man had not always kept a wine shop. In his younger days,
he was the ferryman, and made his living taking people from one
side of the river to the other. One night, he moored his ferry and
walked his weary way home. It had been a cold and stormy day, and
he was glad to be done with his work and was looking forward to a
hot meal next to a warm fire. Barely had the old man changed into
dry clothing and prepared his meal when there came a knock on the
door. The old man opened the door and saw a poorly dressed
traveler, soaked to the skin and shivering.
“The ferry’s closed,” the old man said. “I don’t take anyone in the
dark.”
“I don’t need the ferry,” the stranger said. “But I’m wet and very
cold, and was wondering whether I might warm myself by your fire
and maybe have a bite to eat and something to drink.”
The traveler looked very bedraggled, so the old man felt pity for him.
“Come in,” he said. “I don’t have much, but you’re welcome to share
what I have.”
The old man gave the stranger a blanket to wrap himself in then
wrung out the stranger’s sodden clothing and hung it over the
hearth to dry. Then he gave the stranger a bowl of rice with a bit of
spicy fish and some kimchee, and a cup of good wine.
“I’m afraid that’s the last of the wine,” the old man said, “but you
seem to need it more than I do, so please do drink it all. I can get
more another time.”
When the meal was done and the stranger’s clothing more or less
dry, the stranger dressed and made ready to leave.
“Thank you for your hospitality, honorable sir,” the stranger said. “I’ll
never forget your kindness, and I’d like to give you a gift to
remember me by.” The stranger handed the old man a little piece of
amber. “Drop this into your wine jug, and you’ll never run out of
wine again.”
Then the stranger went out the door and disappeared into the night.
“Well, either that was someone who is a little touched in the head,
or else it was a good spirit come to test my compassion,” the old
man said to his dog and cat. “Either way, I’m glad I could help, even
if this piece of amber is nothing more than a pretty stone.”
The dog wagged his tail, and the cat purred in reply.
“What’s that?” the old man asked his pets. “You want me to try it?
Very well.”
The old man put the wine jug on the table and dropped the amber
down inside it. The amber made a loud clink when it hit the bottom,
just as one would expect it to do in an empty jug.
“See?” the old man said. “Nothing but a pretty stone.”
Then the old man lifted the jug, and to his surprise, it was as heavy
as it would be if it were full, and he could hear the sound of liquid
sloshing around inside it.
“Oh my!” the man exclaimed. “I guess it worked after all. Let’s see
what manner of wine this is.”
The man poured himself a cup of the wine and took a sip. His eyes
grew very wide. Then he took another sip, and another.
“This is the best wine I have ever tasted!” he said. “Blessings on that
traveler who brought the stone to me!”
The man had another cup of wine to celebrate. Then he sat down
and began to think.
“What do I do with this bottle, now that I have it? If I leave it here
in the house, someone might take it while I’m running the ferry, but
being a ferryman is the only thing I know how to do.”
The man thought and thought, and then he had an idea. “I know! I’ll
open a wine shop. I’ll make lots of money because I’ll never need to
make or buy any wine. The magic piece of amber that traveler gave
me will do all that work for free!”
And so it was that the man opened a wine shop on the banks of the
river, and another took his place as the ferryman.
The former ferryman opened his wine shop, and once word got
around that good wine was to be had at a good price, he began to
do a lot of business. The old man never became rich, but he was
more comfortable now than when he had worked the ferry, and
selling wine was a lot less strenuous.
The dog and the cat prospered, too, because their human friend
could now afford a warmer, drier house and better food for all three
of them.
For many years, the wine selling went along without any problems.
But one day that all changed when a customer came to get their
usual jug of wine. The old man took his magic jug and went to pour
out a measure of wine, but the magic jug was empty! He shook the
jug, but not a sound came from inside, neither the slosh of wine nor
the clink of amber.
“Oh dear,” the old man said to his customer. “I’m afraid that I’m
fresh out and won’t be getting more for a while. I’m very sorry. I’ll
give you a discount in compensation for having to wait when next
you come back.”
Now, the old man had spoken in a very calm and businesslike
manner to his customer, but internally, he was shaking with anxiety.
Without the piece of amber, he had no livelihood. He actually knew
nothing about wine, and had no idea how to order some to sell.
“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!” the man said. “Whatever shall I do
without that piece of amber? I must have poured it out into some
other customer’s jug, and I have no idea at all how to get it back. I
don’t even know which customer’s jug it went into!”
That night, the old man went to bed very disconsolate.
However, the dog and the cat lay next to the fire and discussed what
they might do to help their friend.
“Have you ever smelled amber?” the dog asked the cat.
“Yes, I smelled it once,” the cat replied.
“Could you find the old man’s own stone if you could smell it?”
“Yes, probably. Could you?”
“Yes, I think I could.”
“That settles it, then. Tomorrow, we will work our way through the
village, and even through the whole district if necessary, until we
find that bit of amber. We can ask all the other dogs and cats to help
us.”
The dog agreed that this was a fine plan; they would start first thing
in the morning.
When the sun came up, the dog and the cat set out on their mission.
The dog made inquiries of the other neighborhood animals, while
the cat, who was silent and stealthy, crept her way into the houses
and made a thorough search. This went on for many days, and then
many weeks, without any result, and soon they had searched all the
houses they could find on that side of the river, and had asked all
the animals who lived there too.
“We need to check on the other side of the river,” the dog said.
“Yes, I agree,” the cat said. “But how do we cross? We can’t take the
ferry. The new ferryman doesn’t allow pets.”
“I think we’ll just have to wait until winter, when the river freezes.
Then we can walk across as soon as the ice is thick enough.”
“Very well.”
The dog and the cat put off their search until one winter day it
became clear that the river was frozen indeed. They trotted across
the ice and began to search the houses on the other side of the
river, and to ask the animals who lived there. The dog and the cat
did this every day for several weeks, until the winter was almost
over and the ice was beginning to thaw.
“We still haven’t found the amber, and the ice will be melting soon,”
the dog said. “We really need to find the amber today.”
“Yes,” the cat said. “Otherwise, we’ll have to wait until next winter,
and who knows what might happen to the amber between now and
then?”
The dog and the cat made their trek across the ice and redoubled
their efforts to find the amber.
They had just reached the very last house in the late afternoon,
when finally, the cat said, “Hey! Do you smell that?”
“Oh, yes!” the dog replied. “That’s the amber! It’s coming from in
there. You can sneak in without being seen or heard, but I can’t. Go
see where it is. I’ll wait for you here.”
The cat slipped silently into the house, while the dog waited
patiently in the street outside. Soon enough, the cat came back.
“Well?” the dog asked.
“I found it!”
“Where is it?”
“It’s in a big wooden chest, but I don’t know how to open it.”
“We need help. Maybe some local rats can gnaw a hole in the chest
that’s big enough to get the amber out. We’ll tell them that we
promise to leave them alone if they help.”
The dog and the cat then found some friendly rats who were willing
to help. The rats went into the house and began nibbling at a corner
of the chest. Soon they had a fine hole that was big enough for the
amber to fit through, but not so big that the people of the house
would be likely to notice it without looking for it. The cat went and
put her paw in through the hole, but she couldn’t reach the amber.
“We need another helper,” the cat said.
“We know a mouse who’s small enough,” one of the rats said. “She’ll
help if you promise to leave the mice alone too.”
The dog and the cat agreed to this plan. Presently, the mouse
arrived. She slipped through the hole, found the bit of amber, and
then carried it out to where the cat was waiting.
“Oh, thank you!” the cat said. “Our friend will be so pleased.”
“You won’t forget your promise, now, will you?” one of the rats
asked.
“Certainly not. I am a cat of my word, and my dog friend is honest
as well.”
The cat and the dog took the amber to the riverbank, but what
should they find but that the warmth of the spring day had caused
the ice to begin to break up and the river to flow. It wasn’t flowing
as swiftly as it did in the summer or autumn, but still, there was no
way to get across without swimming.
“Oh, no!” the cat cried. “How will we get home? You can’t swim with
the amber in your mouth, and I can’t swim at all!”
“Let’s do it this way,” the dog said. “You carry the amber, and ride on
my back. I’ll do the swimming, and you do the carrying. Mind you,
don’t drop that stone!”
The cat accordingly took the bit of amber in its teeth and climbed up
onto the dog’s back, where it clung to the dog’s thick fur. The dog
swam across the river as fast as it could, not least because the water
was very cold, but mostly because he wanted to see how happy the
old man would be to have his piece of amber back. The dog and the
cat had almost reached the riverbank when a group of children saw
the two animals and began to laugh.
“Look!” they shouted. “It’s a cat riding a dog! Have you ever seen
anything so funny?”
The dog paid the children no mind; he was too busy swimming. But
the cat heard their laughter, and he realized the children were right;
a cat riding a dog across a river must look ridiculous indeed. The cat
began to laugh along with the children, but when he opened his
mouth, the bit of amber fell out and went down to the bottom of the
river.
When the dog saw what had happened, he was furious. He threw
the cat off his back and chased it out of the water, onto the
riverbank, and up into a tree, where the cat arched its back and
hissed while the dog ran in circles around the tree trunk, barking
madly.
“You . . . you . . . you . . . you horrible cat!” the dog barked. “How . .
. how . . . how dare you drop that piece amber! After all our hard
work!”
The cat remained in the tree until the dog finally went home, and
when night fell, the cat ran away and never came back. And this is
why cats and dogs are now enemies; why dogs chase cats and cats
hiss and spit at dogs.
But the tale does not end there. The old man did get his bit of magic
amber back, and all because of his faithful dog’s efforts. The dog
tried many times to dive down to the riverbed to get the amber, but
he could never find it.
I need to find a different way to get the amber, the dog thought. But
I don’t know how.
The dog sat on the riverbank, watching the fishermen casting their
lines and pulling shining, flopping fish out of the water. This gave the
dog an idea.
Maybe the amber was eaten by a fish. If I just go sniff the fish, I’ll
be able to smell the amber. Then I’ll snatch that one fish and bring it
home. Nobody will question a dog taking a sniff around fish. We do
it all the time.
The dog then spent all his time trotting up and down the riverbank,
poking his nose into the fishermen’s creels. After many days, he
finally caught the scent of amber in a fine silver fish that one of the
fishermen had just landed. While the fisherman was busy with his
next catch, the dog snatched up the fish and brought it home.
“It wasn’t very nice to steal someone else’s fish,” the old man said to
the dog, when the dog presented the fish. “But I don’t suppose you
can bring it back, and you’re not going to tell me whose it is, so I
guess we’ll have fish for dinner tonight.”
The old man slit open the fish to gut it, when what should fall out of
the fish’s stomach but the piece of magic amber! The old man
danced and shouted with glee, and the dog barked with joy to see
his master so happy.
“Oh, this is marvelous!” the old man said. “What a good dog you
are! You found my magic amber! This calls for a celebration. I’m
going to put on my best clothes and go buy some wine to go with
dinner. You wait here. I’ll be back soon.”
The old man went to the chest where he kept his money and his
best clothes. He changed into his best suit and took a string of
money from the chest. Then he put the piece of amber into the
chest and closed the lid. The old man went to a nearby wine shop
and bought a jug of the best wine they had. When he got home, he
opened the chest to put back the leftover money and put away his
fine clothes, only to find an identical suit of clothes and another
money string with the same amount he had taken out earlier!
“Oh, my!” the old man said to his dog. “I guess the amber works on
clothes and money, too, not just on wine! We are going to be very
rich indeed!”
And so it was that the old man became quite wealthy and lived a
very comfortable life. The dog for his part kept his word and never
chased another mouse or rat to the end of his days, but any cats
who crossed his path were very unlucky indeed.
The Frog Husband
Many cultures have folktales centered around a handsome prince
who has been turned into some kind of loathsome creature and can
only be made human again by marrying a woman. Korean culture is
no exception to this tradition. In Western iterations of this trope,
often it is the princess who finds the frog prince and brings him
home, but in this Korean tale, the frog has his adoptive family find
the princess for him, and, of course, everyone lives happily ever
after.
Once there was a poor farmer who lived in the mountains with his
wife. The farmer worked very hard, but his land was steep and full
of stones, making it difficult to grow enough food for him and his
wife to eat. The wife worked very hard keeping their house and
sewing their garments, but even with all her skill she could not turn
poor cloth into fine silk. Even then, those were not the most
sorrowful things about their lives. Although they had been married
for a long time, they had never had a child, which made them very
sad.
Sometimes the farmer would go to a lake near his home to catch
fish. Some of them he took home for his wife and himself to eat, but
most of them he brought to the village down in the valley to sell or
to trade for things that he and his wife needed. He was never going
to grow rich from these fish, but he always caught enough that he
could make a little money and keep himself and his wife clad and
fed.
One day, the farmer went to the lake to catch fish. He was
concerned to see that the water level had gone down, and that
some fish lay dead in the mud that ringed the lake.
I wonder what’s causing that, the farmer thought. Maybe it’s
because we haven’t had enough rain.
The farmer cast his line and caught some fish, but he caught many
fewer than he used to.
“I’ll sell all of these and come back another time. Maybe after some
rain the lake will be full again.”
The next time the farmer went to the lake, he saw that the water
level had dropped even farther, and that there were even more dead
fish lying about.
“This can’t be!” he said. “We’ve had plenty of rain since the last time
I went fishing. Oh, I hope this lake won’t dry up altogether. My wife
and I depend on it!”
The farmer cast his line and caught a few fish, but they were small,
and there weren’t enough of them to bother with the trek down the
mountainside to sell them in the village.
“I’ll take these home so my wife can make us a meal. That at least
will be one good thing that has happened today.”
A few days later, the farmer went down to the lake to go fishing
again. Disaster! The lake was nearly empty of water, and dead fish
were everywhere. And in the middle of the lake sat a giant frog. As
the farmer watched, the frog sucked up the last of the water.
The farmer couldn’t bear it.
“You!” he shouted at the frog. “Yes, you there! How dare you dry up
my lake and kill all my fish! What are my wife and I to do now, you
horrible old toad? How shall I water my fields? How shall I get fish
to sell in the village? A curse on you and on all your relations, and
on their relations too!”
“I understand why you are upset,” the frog said, “and even why you
called me a toad when I am, in fact, a frog. I am upset too. Now
that the water is gone, I have no home. Take me home with you. Let
me live with you and your wife. You won’t regret it.”
The farmer was nearly speechless with rage.
“I’ll never take you home with me!” he shouted. “You have made my
life so much harder. You have made my wife’s life so much harder.
No, you’ll just have to hope it rains. A lot. Stay here and wait for the
rain.”
Then the farmer turned his back and stomped away from the frog,
muttering curses under his breath the whole time.
The farmer hadn’t been home for more than a few minutes when
someone knocked at the door. The farmer’s wife opened the door,
and who should be sitting there but the giant frog.
“Please let me live with you,” the frog said, its eyes glistening with
tears. “I have no home. Let me live here, and good fortune will
follow.”
Seeing the frog’s distress, the farmer relented. The farmer’s wife
made up a nest of damp leaves for the frog to sit in, and every so
often, she poured water over the creature’s green skin. At the end of
the day, the wife cooked rice and vegetables and other good things
for herself and her husband, and the farmer brought in a big pile of
fat worms for the frog to eat. Everyone went to bed comfortable and
well fed.
Early in the morning, the farmer and his wife were awakened by a
loud croaking that sounded almost like a song.
“Whatever is making that racket?” the farmer asked.
“I have no idea,” his wife replied. “But it sounds a lot like a frog
that’s trying to sing.”
The farmer and his wife jumped out of bed and ran to the front of
the house. The frog was not in the bed made for him, and the front
door was wide open. The strange, croaking song came from just
outside the door, so the farmer and his wife ran outside. There they
saw the giant frog, its head pointed toward the sky, croaking out its
strange tune. But this wasn’t the most surprising thing they saw: no,
what was even more shocking was the collection of things and
people lined up in front of their house. There were huge sacks of
rice and enormous jars of kimchee and baskets piled high with fruits
and vegetables. There were bolts of brightly colored cloth and piles
of hats and shoes. There were carpenters and painters and roofers
and all manner of workmen.
As the farmer and his wife stared, the carpenters and roofers got to
work, and soon the couple’s modest cottage had been rebuilt into a
fine home. When everything was built, the workmen brought in
much fine furniture, and put away all the other goods that had stood
on the front lawn. Then the workmen all bowed to the farmer and
his wife, and went away down the mountainside.
“Well,” the farmer said, “I guess the frog really did bring us good
fortune. I take back all the bad things I said about him when I was
angry.”
The couple then went and bowed to the frog and thanked him
profusely.
“It is no trouble,” the frog said. “I am happy to help the people who
help me.”
The couple lived in comfort and ease for a time, and all their
neighbors remarked on the strange turn in their fortune. The farmer
and his wife continued to care for the frog, seeing that he lacked for
nothing, for they were most grateful for all he had done for them.
Everything went very well, until one day, the frog approached the
couple and said, “You have cared for me very well, but there are two
other things I need you to do for me.”
“Certainly,” the farmer and his wife said. “You have but to name it.”
The frog said to the wife, “I need you to make me a fine suit of
clothes.”
“Hmm,” the wife said. “I’m not exactly sure how to go about sewing
for a frog, but I will try. We certainly have enough good silk to clothe
you well.”
Then the frog turned to the farmer and said, “I need you to help me
get a wife. Only the most exalted woman in the land will do. You
must be my go-between, and get the hand of the woman and make
the marriage contract on my behalf.”
“Now wait a minute,” the farmer said. “You’re asking me to go to a
powerful family and get them to marry their daughter to a frog? Are
you out of your mind? Making a suit of clothes is one thing, but
marriage to a noblewoman is quite another.”
“Have I not done all that I promised, and more? Do as I ask, and
your good fortune will only increase.”
“Very well, but don’t blame me if I’m not successful.”
The farmer dressed in his very best clothes and went to pay a visit
to the nobleman who lived on the other side of the village. The
nobleman was aware of the change in the farmer’s fortunes, and so
let him into the house as an honored guest.
Now, the nobleman had three lovely daughters. Two of them were
already married, and the youngest had only just come of age. This
youngest daughter was very beautiful, and had been sought out by
many of the other wealthy families in the neighborhood to be a wife
for their sons, but her father never said yes to any of them. The
farmer knew this, and was trembling with fear at what the nobleman
might do when he heard why the farmer was there.
After greetings and pleasantries were exchanged, the nobleman
said, “So, honorable farmer, why are you here today?”
“Most honorable sir, I am here to ask the hand of your daughter in
marriage,” the farmer replied.
“Indeed. Which family do you represent?”
The farmer swallowed hard. “My own, most honorable sir.”
“Your own? But I know well that you and your wife are childless.
Have you adopted recently?”
“You could say that, most honorable sir.”
“What is this son of yours like?” the nobleman, asked his suspicions
beginning to rise, for like everyone else in the district, he knew all
about the frog.
“He is very polite and well bred, and he will be a most auspicious
match for your lovely daughter.”
“What color is his skin? What color is his hair? Is he as pale as ivory,
with shining black hair, as befits a nobleman’s son?”
The farmer paused, wondering whether it would be better to be
truthful or excuse himself without completing his errand.
Finally, he said, “I’m afraid not, most honorable sir. He has no hair at
all, and his skin is quite green.”
“You want my daughter to marry that great frog of yours?” the
nobleman shouted. “I have never been so insulted. I will have you
beaten for this!”
The nobleman ordered his servants to tie up the farmer and beat
him with paddles, but before they could strike the first blow, a great
storm began, with thunder and lightning and lashing rain. The
nobleman was very frightened by this, and ordered his servants to
stop. No sooner had the servants untied the farmer when the storm
disappeared and the sun shone brightly in a blue sky.
“It is surely an omen,” the nobleman said. “I give my consent. My
daughter can marry that frog of yours. But woe betide him, and you,
if he mistreats her!”
When the wedding day came, the ceremony was held with great
pomp. The nobleman’s daughter had no idea that she was marrying
a frog, for her father had told her only that he had found a worthy
husband, and on the wedding day, the young woman was heavily
veiled and her eyes were sealed with wax, as was the custom at the
time.
After the wedding feast, the young couple were led to their chamber,
where the bride took off her veil and unsealed her eyes. When she
saw her frog bridegroom, she screamed and tried to run from the
room, but the great frog took one leap and barred the door.
“I will never be the wife of a frog!” the young woman cried. “Oh,
how I have been betrayed!”
“Most honorable wife,” the frog said with great gentleness, “you will
not be the wife of a frog, that I promise you most solemnly. Please
trust me, as a wife ought to do, and do as I say, as a wife also ought
to do.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Get the knife from that bureau over there, and use it to cut open
my jacket. Slit it up the back.”
The young woman got the knife and cut open the jacket as she was
instructed. When the pieces of the jacket fell away, the frog’s green,
slimy skin was exposed. It was all the young woman could do not to
recoil in horror.
“What am I to do next?” the bride asked.
“Take the knife and cut open my skin. Slit it up the back, as you did
with the jacket.”
Very reluctantly, the young woman took the sharp knife and drew it
up the frog’s back along his spine. But as the skin began to split and
pull apart, instead of a frog’s bones and muscle was revealed the
back and shoulders of a young man. When the bride stopped
cutting, the frog’s skin fell away, and who should stand before her
but the most handsome young man she had ever seen. His skin was
as pale as ivory, and his long black hair fell like a waterfall over his
shoulders.
“You see? You have not married a frog at all, but a prince. My father
is the King of the Stars. I did something to displease him, so he
turned me into a frog, and made it so that I could not regain my
true form unless I did three things. First I had to drink up all the
water in a lake. Then I had to find a family to take me in and treat
me as one of their own. Then I had to marry the noblest woman in
the land. Thanks to the kind farmer and his wife, and to your father
and yourself, I have done all those things. Now, if you consent, we
will go up to my father’s kingdom and live in the heavens.”
The bride gladly consented, for she had fallen in love with the
handsome young prince. A chariot drawn by dragons came down
from the skies and took the young couple up into the heavens. And
from that day forward, two new stars shone in the night sky.
The Rabbit and the Dragon King
In Korea, as elsewhere, the rabbit is a clever trickster who uses his
wiles to escape all manner of predicaments. Here, the rabbit’s quick
wit saves him from becoming medicine for an ailing dragon.
There came a time when the Dragon King fell ill. He lay on his bed in
his palace at the bottom of the sea, so weak that he could barely
stand. He sent for all the wisest doctors in the world. All of them
examined the Dragon King. They poked and prodded him, they
looked at his scaly skin, they examined his teeth and claws, but
none of them could name the malady, nor could they propose a
cure. The Dragon King was becoming desperate.
“Surely I will die if a cure is not found soon,” he said. “Maybe there’s
one more doctor who hasn’t been here yet and who knows what to
do.”
The Dragon King sent his servants to find any doctors who had not
yet visited the Dragon. Finally, they found one very old, very wise
doctor and brought him down to the king’s palace.
The doctor examined the Dragon King very carefully and then said,
“Your malady does have a cure. You must eat a rabbit’s liver.”
The Dragon King then summoned the sea creatures to his palace. He
asked them one by one whether they could go to find a rabbit’s liver
for him, but one by one, they said they could not.
Finally, only the turtle was left.
“Can you go and get a rabbit for me?” the Dragon King asked the
turtle.
“Yes, I can, honorable one” the turtle replied, “but you’ll need to tell
me where to look. And I’ll need a description of a rabbit, or a picture
of one. I’ve never seen a rabbit before, and I don’t want to bring
back the wrong thing.”
The Dragon King had one of the artists who lived in his palace draw
a picture of a rabbit for the turtle. The artist also told the turtle
where he might find such a creature.
The turtle studied the picture carefully and then said, “I know what I
need to find now, honorable Lord Dragon. I’ll be back as soon as I
can.”
The turtle swam up to the surface of the waves and then paddled his
way to shore. He walked over the sand and onto the green grass
that grew above the beach. It didn’t take long before he spotted a
rabbit nibbling at the fresh green grass. The turtle studied the rabbit
for a moment to make sure he had the right creature and to devise a
way to get the rabbit to come with him.
When the turtle had decided what to do, he said, “Good morning,
honorable rabbit. I am an emissary from the Dragon King. His
majesty the king has sent me to invite you specially to come to a
feast at his palace.”
The rabbit looked at the turtle with suspicion. “Why would the
Dragon King want to invite me, of all creatures? Surely a creature
that lives in the sea would be a better guest.”
“Oh, no. His majesty asked for you specifically. He thought that you
might like to see his palace. It’s all carved of precious stones, and
the walls are covered with silk hangings. The musicians are the best
you’ve ever heard, and the food—it’s like nothing you’ve ever tasted
or will ever taste again! Please do come. The Dragon King so wants
you to be his guest.”
The rabbit was impressed by the turtle’s description of the palace.
“Yes, I will come. But how will I get there? The Dragon King lives at
the bottom of the sea, and I can’t swim very well.”
“Never fear. You can ride on my back. I’ll get you there safely.”
The rabbit climbed up onto the turtle’s hard shell, and the turtle
carried him down to the sea dragon’s palace. The rabbit was most
impressed by the palace’s beauty.
“You were right about how lovely this palace is, turtle,” he said. “I
can’t wait to see what the feast will be like.”
The rabbit went into the palace, but no sooner had he crossed the
threshold than the king’s guards laid hold of him and carried him to
the Dragon King’s chamber.
When the rabbit was stood trembling in front of the king, the king
said, “Welcome to my palace, little rabbit. You are most honored
today, for it is your liver that will cure me of my disease. You will
always be remembered for your service. We’ll hold a banquet in your
memory every year on this very day.”
The rabbit realized that his predicament was even worse than he
had thought it was when the guards seized him. He needed to find a
way out as soon as possible.
Then he had an idea.
“Noble Lord Dragon,” the rabbit said, “I am flattered that you would
honor me this way, but I am ashamed to admit that I came here
without my liver. You see, we rabbits have to launder our livers once
a month, and today was the day I did mine. I left it drying on a bush
near the river. May I go and fetch it for you?”
“Certainly,” the Dragon King said, “but don’t be too long.”
The rabbit bowed low to the Dragon King. Then he got back on the
turtle’s back, and the turtle brought him up to the beach. No sooner
was the sand within leaping distance than the rabbit jumped off the
turtle’s back and ran as fast as he could up the beach and onto the
grass.
“Mind you don’t forget your liver,” the turtle said. “I’ll be waiting for
you.”
“You’ll be waiting an awfully long time, then,” the rabbit replied.
“Don’t you know that animals can’t really take out their livers and
wash them?”
Then the rabbit ran away as fast as he could, and never again did he
go to the beach to nibble the sweet grass that grew above the sand.
Part III: Family Tales
Kongjwi
The common trope of an abused young woman briefly encountering
a well-off young man who then seeks out the woman because he
wants to marry her occurs in many cultures’ folklores. Westerners
know this story as “Cinderella,” but in Korea, the Cinderella character
is named Kongjwi, and she exhibits all the qualities one might expect
in this instance. Kongjwi is kind, patient, generous, and hardworking
and endures much abuse with equanimity. Just as in the Western
version of the tale, Kongjwi’s nasty, selfish stepmother and stepsister
get their comeuppance for their mistreatment of Kongjwi and
attempts to lie their ways into a marriage with the powerful
government official who is looking for Kongjwi so that he can give
her back her slipper.
A long time ago, a government official and his wife lived very happily
together, but they had no child. They prayed and prayed, and finally,
they were blessed with a little daughter, who they named Kongjwi.
Unfortunately, Kongjwi’s mother died when she was still a very
young child.
For a time, Kongjwi’s father remained a widower and looked after
little Kongjwi by himself. But as the little girl grew, the magistrate
thought it might be best for her to have a mother teach her what
she needed to know, so he began to look for a new wife. Eventually,
he married a widow who had a daughter herself, a little girl named
Patjwi, who was about the same age as Kongjwi. At first, everything
went well, but once Kongjwi’s stepmother had established herself as
the lady of the house, she began to mistreat Kongjwi. She never did
this when Kongjwi’s father was home, but only when he had gone
out on business or visited friends. Kongjwi bore this all bravely
because she knew her father loved her, and she didn’t want to upset
him with tales about how she was being treated.
Not long after Kongjwi’s father remarried, Kongjwi’s fortunes truly
turned for the worst. Kongjwi’s father died, leaving poor Kongjwi
with no other family than her cruel stepmother and stepsister.
Kongjwi’s stepmother turned her stepdaughter into a servant, forcing
her to do laundry, tend the garden, clean and cook the rice, and do
many other tasks. Patjwi, on the other hand, was treated as though
she were a princess. She never had to do any work. She had the
finest clothes and ate the finest foods. And she followed her
mother’s lead in her behavior, also treating poor Kongjwi very badly
indeed.
One day, Kongjwi’s stepmother handed her a wooden hoe and
demanded that she go to the farthest field from the house and dig
up all the weeds. Kongjwi dutifully took the hoe and went to the
field, but there were so many stones in the soil that she had barely
pulled any weeds at all by midday. Kongjwi saw how little she had
accomplished after so much work and began to cry.
“I can’t go home until the whole field is clear of weeds,” she sobbed,
“but I don’t see how I will ever finish this.”
As she was crying, Kongjwi heard the footsteps of a large animal
approaching behind her. She turned around and saw a large black
cow.
“Don’t be afraid, small one,” the cow said. “Tell me why you are
crying.”
“My stepmother wants me to clear this whole field of weeds, but she
only gave me a wooden hoe, and the ground is so full of rocks that I
can’t make any progress. If I go home without finishing the field, I
won’t be given anything to eat.”
“Never fear. I will help you.”
The cow then broke up the ground for Kongjwi and pulled all the
weeds. Then she dipped her head and lowed, and a basket full of
delicious food appeared.
“Oh, thank you!” Kongjwi cried, but before she could say anything
else, the cow vanished.
Kongjwi ran home with the basket full of food.
“Look what the black cow gave me!” she said to her stepmother and
stepsister. “Come and have some of this delicious food. The cow
even weeded the field for me!”
But instead of being grateful, Kongjwi’s stepmother was suspicious.
“Why are you telling such lies? Where did you steal that food? You
no-account girl, I sent you to weed the field, but instead, you went
out taking food from other people, and then you make up stories!
Go to your room right now, and don’t come out until tomorrow
morning!”
Kongjwi tearfully obeyed her stepmother and went to her room.
The stepmother, for her part, shared out the food between herself
and her daughter. She may have accused Kongjwi of stealing the
food, but she had no intention of making an effort to find who it
belonged to and instead gobbled down her share.
The next day, there was to be a festival in the village. Patjwi and her
mother dressed in their finest clothes and prepared to leave.
Kongjwi said, “Please, stepmother, may I also go to the festival?”
“Certainly,” the stepmother replied, “after you have filled this clay
water jar and hulled all the rice in those sacks.”
Then the stepmother and Patjwi left the house and went to the
festival, leaving poor Kongjwi all alone with two impossible tasks that
she had no hope of finishing before the festival was well over.
Kongjwi decided to try to hull the rice, at least. So she brought it
outside and poured it out on the hulling mats, but there was so
much rice, and it was taking so long that she was sure she would
not finish before her stepmother and stepsister came home. Kongjwi
sank to the floor, weeping.
“Oh, dear, oh, dear,” she cried. “I will never fill that jar, and I will
never hull that rice. What am I to do?”
As Kongjwi sat weeping, a flock of sparrows settled in the tree next
to her. Suddenly, the little birds flew down onto the hulling mats and
began pecking at the rice. Kongjwi nearly began to shoo them away,
but soon she saw that the sparrows were hulling the rice for her.
With the industrious little birds’ help, Kongjwi soon had all the rice
clean and ready to be cooked.
“Thank you for all your help,” Kongjwi said to the sparrows. “But I
wish you could fix the water jug for me, too, little birds.”
Just then, a voice said, “I can help you with the jug.”
Kongjwi turned around and around to see who was speaking, but
there appeared to be no one there. Then Kongjwi looked down near
her feet, and there she saw the owner of the voice. Now, some say
that this was a bee, while others say that it was a toad or tokgabi, a
little imp that sometimes lives in people’s houses. But whichever
creature it was doesn’t matter as much as the fact that it helped to
plug the hole in the jug so that when Kongjwi filled it, the water
stayed inside, just as it was supposed to do.
Kongjwi went to the festival, where she met her stepmother and
stepsister.
“What are you doing here?” the stepmother demanded. “I told you
that you couldn’t come to the festival until you finished all your
work.”
“Oh, but it is finished, stepmother,” Kongjwi replied. “A flock of
sparrows helped me hull the rice, and a little creature helped mend
the water jug.”
At once, the stepmother began to beat Kongjwi. “You little liar! You
tell such tales! Go home right now! I don’t want to see your face
until morning!”
And so, poor Kongjwi had to leave the festival in shame, and she
wept all the way home.
When the stepmother and stepsister arrived home, they saw that
the work had indeed been done just as Kongjwi said, but instead of
feeling ashamed of themselves and apologizing, they just made
themselves a good dinner and then went to bed.
A few weeks later, there was another celebration in the village.
Again, Kongjwi asked permission to go, and again, her stepmother
gave her an impossible task.
“Yes, you can go,” the stepmother said, “as soon as you have woven
all that flaxen thread into linen and all that silken thread into silk.”
Kongjwi saw the huge piles of thread and despaired. There was no
way she would be able to finish all of that in time, but she had no
choice but to try.
After her stepmother and stepsister had left the house, Kongjwi
picked up a skein of flaxen thread and set up her loom. Soon, she
was weaving away, making good cloth quickly, for Kongjwi was a
practiced weaver. Once she had finished the first piece of cloth, she
looked again at the skeins of thread and began to weep.
“Oh, dear, oh, dear,” she cried. “I shall never finish weaving all of
that. I shall never go to the celebration, and surely my stepmother
will beat me when she returns, no matter how much fine cloth I
have woven.”
As Kongjwi sat there weeping, she heard a soft, lowing sound
coming from outside. She opened the door, and who should be there
but her friend, the black cow.
“Tell me what is wrong,” the cow said.
“I have to weave all that thread into cloth so that I can go to the
celebration, but I will never finish it, and my stepmother will beat me
when she comes home,” Kongjwi said.
“Never fear. I will help you.”
The cow dipped its head and lowed three times, and suddenly in the
place of all the skeins of thread were several bolts of the finest linen
and silken cloth.
Kongjwi was beside herself with joy.
“Oh, thank you, thank you, honorable cow,” she said and bowed low.
“What else do you need, child?”
“I don’t want to ask for more when you have already done so much.”
“It is of no matter. Please, tell me what other help you need.”
“May I have a new suit of clothes to wear to the celebration? Even
my best clothes are just rags.”
“Certainly.”
The cow bowed its head and lowed once more, and Kongjwi found
herself clad in a beautiful silk gown with matching silk slippers.
Kongjwi bowed to the cow and thanked it again, and then the cow
vanished.
Kongjwi began to walk to the celebration in high spirits, but her
spirits sank as soon as she caught sight of her stepmother and
stepsister. They were staring at Kongjwi with their mouths open, but
then the stepmother closed her mouth and set her face into an
angry frown. She began striding toward Kongjwi.
When Kongjwi saw this, she knew that she was in for yet another
beating, so she turned around and ran away. Not paying much
attention to where she was going, she ran right past a young
government official, and as Kongjwi passed him, one of her slippers
fell off. The official had seen the slipper fall. He asked one of his
servants to pick it up so that they might try to find its owner. They
went into the village and presented the slipper to everyone, but no
one seemed to know who it belonged to.
Finally, the official approached Patjwi and her mother.
“Is this your slipper?” the official asked.
Patjwi saw how handsome the young official was and thought that if
she could convince him that it was her slipper, he might look
favorably on her.
“It’s mine,” she said. “It’s the one I lost a little while ago.”
The official was skeptical, for this young woman didn’t look at all like
the one he had seen drop the shoe.
But then again, he thought, I might be mistaken, and it would be
wrong not to give the slipper back.
Then he said to Patjwi, “If the slipper is truly yours, it should fit you.
Please try it on.”
Patjwi attempted to put on the slipper, but try as she might, she
could not make it fit. Patjwi’s lie made the magistrate very angry,
and he ordered that Patjwi be punished. Then he asked whether the
slipper belonged to anyone else.
The stepmother said, “I think it is mine.”
So, the official had her try on the slipper herself, but again it did not
fit, and the official had the stepmother punished as well.
The official then told his servants to go throughout the district to
find the slipper’s true owner. They went from house to house until
the sun had nearly gone down, and still, they had not found the
owner.
Finally, they went to Kongjwi’s house. They knocked on the door and
presented the slipper. Kongjwi, who had changed back into her rags,
answered the door and asked what the men wanted.
“Is this your slipper?” they asked as they showed her the slipper.
“Yes, it is mine,” Kongjwi replied. “It fell off when I was running
today.”
“Will you try it on, please? We need to be sure it is yours.”
Kongjwi tried on the slipper, and it fit perfectly. The servants were
very happy, not least because they were very tired and wanted to go
home.
“Come and speak to our employer,” they said. “He was the one who
sent us to find you.”
Kongjwi went with the men to meet the official.
The men said, “Here is the young woman who lost the slipper.”
The official was smitten by Kongjwi’s beauty, but he was confused by
her coarse and well-patched gown.
“Are you sure?” the official asked the servants. “The woman I saw
was richly dressed, but this one is in rags.”
Kongjwi bowed to the official. “Honorable sir, truly it is I. I had to
hide my good clothes from my stepmother and stepsister because
they are cruel and likely would have torn them to shreds. But it was
I you saw running past you. I was running away from my
stepmother and was so frightened I didn’t notice I had lost my
slipper until I got home.”
“Very well,” the official said. “Please try on the slipper. I need to
know for sure that you are the rightful owner.”
Kongjwi tried on the slipper, and again, it fitted perfectly.
“If your honor pleases,” she said, “I can go home and change into
my good clothes, and then you will know for sure that it was I you
saw earlier today.”
The official agreed, so he and his servants accompanied Kongjwi to
her home. The official waited outside while Kongjwi went in to
change. The stepmother and stepsister were still recovering from the
punishment they had received, so they remained hidden in their
rooms when they heard the official arrive.
Soon, Kongjwi came out of the house dressed in the finery that the
cow had given her.
“Yes, it truly was you I saw,” the official said, “and I must confess, I
fell in love with you at that moment. Will you consent to be my
wife?”
“Oh, yes!” Kongjwi replied, for she had fallen in love with the
handsome official.
And so it was that Kongjwi married very well, and she lived happily
with her husband until the end of her days. And the stepmother and
stepsister? Well, Kongjwi saw to it that they were well provided for
because she had a good heart and couldn’t bear to see anyone
suffering.
The Faithful Daughter
The story of Sim Chung and her father, Sim Hyun, contains three
important elements of Korean culture and folklore: the dutiful child
who makes sacrifices to help an aging parent, helpful Buddhist
monks, and water dragons. Sim Chung’s sacrifice is an example of
filial piety, a concept and practice central to many Asian cultures.
Filial piety has long been an important part of Korean culture and
systems of morality. It also has many roots in the teachings of
Confucius, the Chinese scholar and sage who lived between 551 and
479 BCE.
Once there was an old man named Sim Hyun, who had a lovely
daughter named Sim Chung. Sim Hyun and Sim Chung lived
together in a little cottage, which was sparsely furnished because
they were very poor. Sim Hyun could no longer work because he was
blind, and Chung’s mother had died not long after Chung was born.
For a time, Chung’s father had provided for his little family by selling
the many precious things he owned, but one day he realized he had
sold everything and had no other prospects. Sim Hyun, therefore,
became a beggar, and every day Chung would go out with him to
guide him.
But all of this changed when Chung reached the age of womanhood,
for respectable women never went about in public but rather stayed
at home. Since the only way that Sim Hyun knew to provide for his
family was to beg, he continued going out every day to seek alms, a
task made even more difficult by the absence of his dear daughter.
One day, Sim Hyun went out to beg as usual, but as he was walking
home, he lost his way and fell into a deep ditch. Sim Hyun had
nearly despaired of ever getting out of the ditch when he felt strong
hands grasping his arms and pulling him back onto the road.
“Thank you, thank you!” Sim Hyun said. “Who is it that I have to
thank for this rescue?”
“I am a priest at the Buddhist temple,” the man replied. “I also have
a message for you: If you bring three hundred bags of rice to the
temple, your sight will be restored to you.”
The priest then went on his way, and Sim Hyun resumed his walk
home. At first, he was elated to think that he might see again, but
then he began to think of the task he had to complete, and he
despaired.
I am so poor, he thought. How will I ever get three hundred bags of
rice? I think that priest was mocking me, despite him pulling me out
of that ditch.
Sim Hyun got home safely. He told Chung about his misadventure in
the ditch and the Buddhist monk who had rescued him.
“But I have no idea how to get that much rice,” Sim Hyun wailed. “I
want to repay the monk for his kindness and get my sight back, but
how can I buy so much rice on the alms I manage to beg?”
“Don’t worry, Father,” Sim Chung said. “I’m sure I’ll think of
something. We’ll get the rice, and you’ll get your sight back. All
that’s needed is patience and a bit of cleverness.”
That night, Chung had a dream. Chung’s mother appeared and told
the young woman what she needed to do to get the rice.
In the morning, Chung said to her father, “I think I know how to get
the rice, but I will have to be gone for some time. Can you manage
without me until I come back?”
“I think so,” Sim Hyun replied. “I know that you are both strong and
clever, and I trust you to do the right thing.”
Chung then cooked a lot of food for her father to eat while she was
gone. Next, she put on a gray robe, a big hat, and a white veil
across her face so that people would think she was in mourning.
After bowing at her mother’s grave in thanks for the dream, Chung
set out to carry out her plan.
As she had been directed by her dream, Chung walked to the home
of a rich merchant. This merchant dealt in rice and was famous for
the trading he did in China. But recently, his fortunes had turned
because the River Dragon barred the way, preventing the ships from
sailing, and the only thing the Dragon would accept in payment to
open the waters again was the sacrifice of a beautiful young woman.
So desperate was the merchant that he had made it known that he
would pay three hundred bags of rice to anyone who could get the
Dragon to leave him alone.
When Sim Chung arrived at the house of the merchant, she told him
her whole story.
“I do not want you to die,” the merchant said. “You are such a
dutiful daughter. You should go back home.”
“I can’t go back home without the rice,” Chung said, “and this is the
only way I can get it. Let me sacrifice myself so that my father can
get his sight back.”
The merchant loaded one hundred and fifty horses with the three
hundred sacks of rice and sent them to the temple. When Chung
presented the rice to the priest who had helped her father, he
thanked her very kindly.
The priest then said, “You need to know that your father’s sight
might not come back right away. It might take some time, even
several years. But it will come back, never fear.”
Chung went back home to tell her father that the rice had been
delivered. Then she made arrangements for some kindly neighbors
to look after the old man. That done, Chung dressed in the lovely
bridal garments the merchant had given her, and then she went
down to the harbor to take the ship to her doom. The ship set sail
and no sooner had the sight of land disappeared behind them than
the waters began to roil and churn.
“This is the place where the River Dragon lives,” the merchant said.
“If you’re determined to go through with this, you must jump into
the water here.”
Sim Chung gathered all her courage and jumped into the swirling
water. Immediately the waters calmed, and the ships could continue
their journey as though nothing at all had happened. Meanwhile,
under the water, Sim Chung found herself sinking lower and lower.
She soon lost consciousness, thinking that she would never see the
light of day again, but eventually, she awoke and found herself in a
beautiful underwater palace. Servants came to bid her welcome and
then conducted her to meet the River Dragon himself. When Chung
came into the Dragon’s presence, she bowed very low.
“I am not worthy of being here in your palace,” Chung said. “Do with
me as you wish.”
“You are most worthy,” the Dragon said, “for you were willing to give
your life so that your father might have his sight back. I wish you to
be my guest for a time. Have no fear. All your needs will be met.”
The River Dragon was true to his word. Servants prepared delicious
meals for Chung and gave her the most beautiful clothes to wear.
Several days passed, and then the River Dragon said, “It is time for
you to go back to your own world.”
The Dragon placed Chung inside a lotus, which rose up, up, up from
the bottom of the sea to float on the gently rocking waves at the
surface. Not long afterward, who should sail by but the merchant
who had given Chung the rice. He saw the lotus and bade his sailors
to bring his ship close to the beautiful flower.
“This is the most beautiful lotus I have ever seen,” the merchant
said. “We should take it to the king.”
The sailors duly brought the flower on board and took it directly to
the palace. The king was enchanted by the lovely blossom and
rewarded the merchant and his crew very well. Then the king put
the lotus in a pond in his own garden, thinking himself the most
fortunate king of all to have such a flower in his palace.
Now, Chung did not spend all her time inside the flower. At night,
she would come out and wander about the king’s gardens. She
managed to do this entirely unseen by anyone in the palace until
one night, the king found himself restless and went for a walk in the
garden. There he saw the most beautiful maiden he had ever seen,
and he instantly fell in love with her.
When Chung realized she had been spotted, she tried to go back
into the lotus but found that it had sunk back down under the water.
“Don’t be afraid,” the king said to Chung. “I won’t hurt you. I have
never seen a maiden as lovely as you, and I would like you to be my
wife.”
Chung assented and the king conducted her to his royal apartments
where she was given a fine meal and many beautiful robes to wear.
The king, for his part, went to visit his wise men to ask whether the
marriage would be a fortunate one.
“Oh, yes, indeed, this is a most auspicious match,” the wise men
said. “You see, when the merchant brought you the lotus for your
garden, a new star appeared in the sky. Heaven itself approves of
this match, so you must marry the girl as soon as you are able.”
The king, therefore, commanded that preparations for the wedding
be made, and on the appointed day, he and Chung were married
with much pomp and rejoicing. The young couple was very happy
together, but sometimes, Chung felt sad because she missed her
father.
One day, the king noticed that Chung was not her usual cheerful
self. “What is wrong, my wife? What can I do to make you happy
again? It hurts my heart to see you in sorrow this way.”
“It is nothing,” Chung replied. “I just miss my father. That is all.”
“Well, then we must bring him here. Tell me where I may find him.”
“I don’t know how to get there from here. And my father is blind. I
don’t know how he would get here by himself.”
“I know what we’ll do. I’ll send out my servants to round up all the
blind people in the kingdom. We’ll give them a wonderful feast, and
you can show me which man your father is. And if he consents, he
can live here in the palace with us.”
Chung agreed that this was a good plan and thanked her husband
most gratefully.
On the day of the feast, Chung looked at each blind person who
came to the palace, but none of them was her father. She began to
wonder whether he had passed away when a last, straggling
latecomer appeared. Chung’s heart leaped, for who should this be
than her own beloved father!
Chung ran to embrace him, but Sim Hyun pulled away.
“Who is this that is embracing me?” he asked.
“It is I, Sim Chung,” Chung replied. “It is your own dear daughter. I
live here in the palace now. The king is my husband.”
“I don’t believe it. I think someone is playing a trick on me. My
daughter sacrificed herself to the River Dragon a long time ago. I
won’t believe that you’re really her unless I see your face.”
Just then, Sim Hyun’s sight returned, and when he beheld his
beautiful daughter dressed in the robes of a queen, his legs gave
way beneath him. Chung and the king helped the old man up, and
the king ordered his servants to prepare quarters for him and give
him fresh clothing. Sim Hyun lived happily in a house next to the
palace. The king made him a trusted official and married him to a
good woman who looked after him very well until the end of his
days.
Hungbu and Nolbu
The tale of the brothers Hungbu and Nolbu draws on the common
trope of the good brother and the bad brother. As with other tales
that rely on this trope, the good brother is rewarded by magical
beings for his kindness and generosity, while the bad brother
attempts to gain the reward by cheating, leading to his downfall.
Unlike many Western iterations of this trope, the Korean tale of
Hungbu and Nolbu ends with Nolbu, the bad brother, admitting to
his wrong behavior and turning his life around. The story thus ends
with a balanced relationship between the brothers, who then also
share a balanced social and economic status, unlike in similar
Western stories where the fortunate, good sibling might reward their
conniving, abusive brother or sister but without the bad sibling
repenting of their behavior, or where the bad sibling simply
disappears from the story altogether in a haze of shame and
misfortune.
A long time ago, there were two brothers named Hungbu and Nolbu.
Nolbu was the elder, and he was very rich. He lived in a fine house
and wore fine clothes. His wife and children lacked for nothing. But
despite having so much, Nolbu was a greedy man who always
wanted more.
Hungbu was completely unlike his brother. Where Nolbu was rich,
Hungbu was poor. Where Nolbu lived in a fine house with a tiled
roof, Hungbu lived in a hut with a thatched roof that was always
leaking in one spot or another. And where Nolbu’s wife and children
wanted for nothing, Hungbu’s wife and children were clad in rags
and rarely had enough to eat.
Now, one would think that Nolbu would have shared his good
fortune with his brother, at least, but he refused.
“My fortune is mine,” he said. “Let others look after their own.”
This was another way that Nolbu was different from his brother, for
Hungbu was always happy to help others whenever he could. No
kindness was too small for Hungbu to perform.
One of the things that gave Hungbu’s miserable life a bit of joy was
the swallows’ annual flight. Hungbu loved watching the birds as they
swooped through the sky. He built a nesting box in the little tree
next to his house and was very pleased indeed on the day when he
found that a swallow had built a nest and laid her eggs there. When
the eggs finally hatched, Hungbu would watch the swallow parents
bringing food to their gangly chicks. It was very pleasant to watch
the little bird family grow.
Finally, the swallow chicks were fledged and nearly ready to leave
the nest, but before they could go out into the world, a serpent
climbed the tree and swallowed them, one by one, and there was
nothing the chicks’ frantic parents could do about it. Hungbu arrived
just in time to see one of the chicks fall out of the nest just before
the serpent got to it. Hungbu ran to save the chick, which had
injured its leg in the fall. He took the chick into the house and
showed it to his wife.
“Oh, the poor thing,” Hungbu’s wife said. “Whatever happened?”
“A serpent got into the tree,” Hungbu replied. “It ate up all this little
fellow’s brothers and sisters, and he fell out of the nest. The fall
saved his life, but he’s hurt and needs help.”
Hungbu and his wife found some medicine to put on the little bird’s
leg, and they gently splinted it with a bit of twig and some thread.
The children took it in turns to feed the chick and see that he was
warm and comfortable. The chick grew and learned to fly, and when
autumn came, the chick joined his flock and flew away with them.
Hungbu and his family were sad to see their little friend go, but they
were happy that he was now free.
Winter came and went, and when spring returned, so did the
swallows. The chick that Hungbu had helped was now a full-grown
bird, and he remembered Hungbu’s kindness. He flew into the tree
next to Hungbu’s house and began to chirp and sing. Hungbu looked
outside and saw his little friend sitting in the tree.
He ran outside and said, “Greetings, little one. It is good to see you
again. I hope you had a fine winter.”
In answer, the swallow dropped a gourd seed at Hungbu’s feet and
then flew away.
That’s very odd, Hungbu thought, but one ought not to spurn a gift
from a friend, however small.
Hungbu showed the seed to his wife. She agreed that it was strange
and also that they should treat the gift respectfully.
“Why don’t you plant it in the garden?” she said. “I think that would
be the best thanks you could give.”
Hungbu agreed and planted the seed among the other vegetables
growing in his garden. He tended the seed with care, and soon it
began to sprout. It soon became apparent that this was no ordinary
gourd plant. It grew at ten times the rate of any other plant in the
garden. It grew so quickly that it was only a matter of days before it
blossomed, and then only a few more days passed before it bore five
large gourds.
Hungbu and his wife stood in the garden, staring at the gourds.
“Our little friend gave us a gift indeed,” Hungbu said, “but I wonder
what we should do with these gourds.”
“Let’s pick one and cut it open,” Hungbu’s wife replied. “Maybe that
will tell us what we should do next.”
This seemed to be the best plan, so Hungbu picked one of the
gourds and began to cut it in half. But no sooner had the knife
pierced the skin of the gourd than the rice began streaming out.
“Quick! Get something to catch the rice,” Hungbu shouted.
Hungbu’s wife and children brought vessel after vessel out of the
house. They soon had collected enough rice to fill ten large sacks,
but even then, there was more rice left over.
“Well, you were right about this being a good gift,” Hungbu’s wife
said. “Let’s see what comes out of the next one.”
Hungbu picked another gourd and thrust his knife into it. This time a
shower of gold coins came out of the gourd. Hungbu and his family
collected up all the gold, laughing and shouting with joy.
“We’re rich now, Papa!” the children said, to whom Hungbu had told
the story of the swallow bringing him the seed. “Your swallow friend
is a good friend.”
“Yes, he is a good friend, and that’s because I was kind to him,”
Hungbu said. “We need to remember to be kind to everyone, even
little birds. Now, shall we open another gourd?”
Everyone cheered at this, and so Hungbu picked another gourd and
started to slice it. This time a beautiful fairy came out of the gourd.
She turned to the two gourds that were still on the vine and sang,
“Come out! Come out!”
One of the gourds fell off the vine and split in two when it hit the
ground. Inside was a blue bottle. Then the other gourd fell and split,
and inside that one was a red bottle.
Both of the bottles said, “Here I am!”
The fairy said to the bottles, “You have a job to do. Build a beautiful
mansion for this family.”
The blue bottle quivered, and then carpenters began streaming out
of it. The red bottle quivered, and then timber and bricks and tiles
began pouring out of it. The carpenters took the building materials,
and in no time, they had constructed a lovely house for Hungbu and
his family. When the work was done, the carpenters went back into
their bottle, and the fairy disappeared.
Hungbu and his family were overjoyed. They now had a fine house
that was warm and had a roof that didn’t leak. They wore fine
clothes and never went hungry.
It didn’t take long for Nolbu to notice the reversal of his brother’s
fortunes. But instead of rejoicing that his brother was doing well,
Nolbu was jealous.
How dare he get rich right under my nose! Nolbu thought. I’m going
to ask him how he managed it.
Nolbu went to Hungbu’s house and was welcomed as a guest should
be.
Once greetings had been exchanged, Nolbu said, “This is a very fine
house, and you seem to be doing very well. It’s also rather sudden.
How did you do it?”
Hungbu then told Nolbu how he had saved the injured chick and
how the chick had returned the following spring with the gift of the
gourd seed.
Ha! Nolbu thought. Anybody can patch up a hurt bird. I’m going to
do the same thing. Easy money. Then I’ll be the rich one again!
Nolbu built a nest box in the tree outside his house. He waited until
a swallow made a nest, laid her eggs, and watched for the day when
the chicks were fledged. When the day came, Nolbu snatched one
unlucky chick from the nest and dashed it to the ground. He bound
up the chick’s injured leg and replaced it in the nest. Autumn came,
and the chick flew south with the rest of his flock. Spring came, and
the chick returned, perching itself on the tree where Nolbu had built
the nest.
Nolbu saw that the chick had returned.
He rubbed his hands together and said, “Aha! It worked. Time to get
more gold!”
He went outside. The swallow saw him, dropped a seed at his feet,
and flew away. Nolbu planted the seed and tended it. The gourd
plant grew just as quickly as Hungbu’s had done, and when the
gourds were finally ripe, Nolbu went out with a sharp knife, grinning
with glee over what a large fortune he was about to have. He picked
a gourd and plunged the knife into it, but instead of gold, a stream
of little imps came out. Each imp had a stick in its hand.
The leader of the imps said, “We are here to punish you for your
greed.”
Then the imps set upon Nolbu and beat him black and blue. After
their work was done, the imps disappeared.
“Well, that was most unfortunate,” Nolbu said when he had his
breath back. “Maybe the next gourd has some gold in it.”
Nolbu cut into another gourd, but this one was full of debt collectors.
“You must hand over everything you have,” the debt collectors said.
They did not leave until Nolbu had not one small coin to his name,
and he and his family had been thrown out of their house with just
the clothes on their backs.
“Whatever happened to our house and our money and our
belongings?” Nolbu’s wife cried. “What have you done?”
“Well, I saw how Hungbu got rich so quickly,” Nolbu replied, “so I’m
trying the same thing he did, but it hasn’t been working right. I’ll try
one more gourd. There has to be gold in that one!”
Nolbu picked another gourd and cut it open. Out of this gourd
streamed the filthiest, most brackish water anyone has ever seen.
Nolbu threw the gourd to the ground and ran to Hungbu’s house, his
clothing covered in filth and his body covered in bruises from the
beating the imps had given him.
“Help me! Help me!” Nolbu cried. “I’ve lost everything! My family has
no home! Help me!”
Hungbu came running out of the house when he heard Nolbu’s cries.
“Whatever is the matter, brother?” Hungbu asked. “How can I help
you?”
Nolbu told Hungbu the story of the swallow and the gourd.
“I understand now what I did wrong,” Nolbu said. “I have lived a bad
life. I was never kind or generous. I should have helped you when
you were poor, but I didn’t. I beg your forgiveness and ask you to
help me and my family, even though I don’t deserve your kindness.”
“Never fear, brother,” Hungbu said. “I’ll make sure everything is set
right.”
Hungbu shared all his wealth with his brother and built a new home
for Nolbu and his family. Nolbu became kind and generous to
everyone he met, and he and his brother lived happily for the end of
their days.
Part IV: Dragons, Spirits, and Heavenly Beings
The Heavenly Lovers
In her rendering of this old Korean folktale, author Janie Jaehyun
Park notes that the two main characters, the farmer Kyonu and the
weaver Jingnyo, represent the stars Altair and Vega. These two stars
are in the constellations of Aquila and Lyra, respectively, and on
summer nights, they each shine brightly on opposite sides of the
Milky Way. This tale is a just-so story about the these two stars’
positions, the plumage of magpies, and the origins of summer rain
and summer drought.
The Kingdom of Heaven was a very fine place. Everyone was happy,
and everyone did their duties. There was plenty to eat and many
fine clothes to wear. Food was plentiful because Kyonu, the
plowman, was so good at farming and taking care of his oxen.
Clothing was beautiful because Jingnyo, the weaver, was so good at
weaving silk into beautiful cloth. Everyone praised Kyonu and
Jingnyo for their hard work and the good food and beautiful cloth
they provided.
One day, as Kyonu was driving his oxen to the field, he passed by
Jingnyo’s house. Kyonu happened to look through the window and
see Jingnyo at her loom. Jingnyo happened to look out the window
just as Kyonu paused to watch her at her work. The two young
people gazed upon one another, and instantly they fell deeply in
love. They asked the King of Heaven for his permission to marry.
The king gave them his blessing, and soon they were wed.
Kyonu and Jingnyo were very happy together. In fact, they were so
happy that they spent all their time together. Instead of plowing the
fields and farming, Kyonu went for walks in the park with Jingnyo.
Instead of weaving beautiful cloth, Jingnyo prepared picnics and
went out into the countryside to spend the day with Kyonu. They
took walks and had picnics, and on rainy days they spent their time
together inside the house. Soon the Kingdom of Heaven began to
run out of food and good clothes because Kyonu was not farming
and Jingnyo was not weaving.
The people of the kingdom went to the King of Heaven and said, “O
noble King of Heaven, we are starving and freezing because Kyonu
will not plow and Jingnyo will not weave. Please do something to get
them to go back to their duties, or we will all surely die.”
The King of Heaven went to Kyonu and commanded him to take his
oxen and go plow the fields. Then he went to Jingnyo and
commanded her to take up her shuttle and begin weaving. Kyonu
and Jingnyo both went back to their work, but they didn’t do it very
well; they both spent most of their time thinking about the other and
wishing they could be together.
The King of Heaven saw that he was not being obeyed and became
very angry. He sent Kyonu to the farthest east and Jingnyo to the
farthest west.
“If you cannot do your duties when you are together, then you must
live separately,” the King of Heaven said.
Kyonu and Jingnyo cried and pleaded with the king to let them stay
together, but the king refused.
“I will grant you one respite,” he said. “Every year, on the seventh
day of the seventh month, you may see each other, but you must
each stay on your own side of the Great River of Heaven, which
some call the Milky Way.”
Kyonu and Jingnyo bade one another a tearful farewell. Kyonu went
to the east with his oxen, where he plowed as he used to do, and
Jingnyo went to the west with her loom and thread, where she wove
as she used to do. Soon the Kingdom of Heaven had enough food
and enough clothes, but Kyonu and Jingnyo were sad and missed
one other terribly. They performed their duties, but all they could
think of was how good it would be to see one another again.
Finally, the seventh day of the seventh month arrived. Kyonu and
Jingnyo were each on their own side of the Great River of Heaven.
“Come over to my side,” Kyonu cried.
“I can’t. The river is too wide,” Jingnyo said. “You need to come over
to my side.”
But Kyonu couldn’t cross the river either. The two lovers were so
saddened by this that they began to shed bitter tears, which fell to
the earth as rain. Kyonu and Jingnyo cried so much and for so long
that the earth began to flood. Houses and trees were being washed
away, and people and animals were drowning in the swirling,
deepening waters.
The animals and birds held a council to see what might be done.
They discussed many different plans, but none of them seemed
likely to work until the magpies said, “Leave it to us.”
The magpies flew up to heaven in a flurry of black feathers. They
arranged themselves wing to wing and head to tail until they had
made a living bridge that spanned the Great River. Kyonu and
Jingnyo raced to the middle of the bridge, where they embraced one
another with much joy. The two lovers wept as they embraced, but
this time, their tears fell as good, gentle rain, the kind that makes
the crops grow and refreshes the earth. Kyonu and Jingnyo stayed
together as long as possible, but soon the time came for them to
part.
And so, every year, on the seventh day of the seventh month, the
two lovers come to the same places on the Great River of Heaven,
and the magpies make a bridge for them so that they can meet. On
the earth below, it rains whenever Kyonu and Jingnyo have met and
are weeping lovers’ tears, and there is a drought when they meet
and do not weep. The heads of magpies are also bald because
Kyonu and Jingnyo step on them as they mount the bridge.
The Woodcutter and the Heavenly Maiden
This story draws on two common tropes: rewards for kindness to a
being in distress and the consequences of breaking a taboo. Here,
the woodcutter is rewarded for helping a mountain god in the form
of a deer elude a hunter. The deer helps the woodcutter get a
heavenly maiden for his bride, but then the woodcutter loses his
wife when he forgets to follow the rules the deer gave him at the
outset. In this particular iteration of these tropes, the woodcutter
breaks the taboo not through hubris but rather through compassion
for his wife’s sadness. A second taboo later in the story is broken by
sheer accident, leading to the woodcutter being permanently
separated from his family.
Translator James H. Grayson notes in comments on his version of
the tale that it is one of the most common stories told throughout
Korea and first written down in the early twentieth century—
although it is much older. There are multiple variants of the story;
the one that Grayson presents ends happily, with the woodcutter
living in heaven with his wife and children, but other versions,
including the one presented below, end in misfortune and sorrow.
There was once a woodcutter who went up the mountainside every
day to cut a load of wood. He would tie the wood into bundles and
then bring it down into the village to sell. One day, as the
woodcutter went about his work, he heard the sound of delicate
hoofbeats and panting breath. The woodcutter turned, and there he
saw a deer running in his direction.
“Quick! Hide me!” the deer said. “A hunter is after me, and he will
surely kill me if he catches me!”
The woodcutter quickly helped the deer conceal itself in some
nearby bushes. Not long afterward, the hunter came running up.
“Have you seen a deer run by here?” the hunter asked.
“Yes,” the woodcutter replied. “It bounded off that way.”
The hunter gave the woodcutter his thanks and then ran off in the
direction the woodcutter had indicated.
When the hunter was gone, the deer came out of the bushes.
“Thank you for saving my life,” it said. “I am the god of this
mountain, and I wish to repay your kindness. Ask me anything, and
it shall be yours.”
Now, for some time, the woodcutter had been feeling lonely and
wished he had a wife, so he said, “I would like a lovely wife, please,
honorable one.”
“It shall be as you ask, if you follow my instructions,” the deer said.
“Go to the pond that is in the pass just above us. That is where the
heavenly maidens come to bathe every morning. Their dresses hold
the wings they use to fly between heaven and earth. Steal the dress
of one of the maidens. When she asks for it back, tell her that you
will give it back if she consents to be your wife. But under no
circumstances must you let her see the dress until after you have
had four children together.”
In the morning, the woodcutter went to the pond the deer had told
him about. He concealed himself in some bushes near the pond and
waited. Soon he heard the sound of women’s voices and laughter.
Several heavenly maidens came flying down and landed on the soft
grass near the pond. They took off their winged dresses and went
into the cool water to bathe. The woodcutter took hold of the
nearest dress and stealthily pulled it into the bushes.
When the maidens were done bathing, they put on their dresses and
flew back up into heaven, all but one of them, who looked frantically
around the edges of the pond for her dress. It was nowhere to be
seen, and she began to cry.
That was when the woodcutter came out of the bushes and said,
“Don’t be sad, lovely maiden. I know where your dress is. I’ll give it
back if you consent to be my wife.”
The heavenly maiden liked the look of the woodcutter, who was
strong and tall and seemed kind.
“Yes, I will marry you,” she said.
The woodcutter then gave the maiden a different dress that he had
brought for her to wear and left the heavenly dress where he had
hidden it. He brought the maiden home to meet his mother, and
soon the two women were chatting like old friends. In the morning,
the woodcutter went to retrieve the dress, which he placed in an old
chest in his mother’s house. The maiden and the woodcutter were
soon married in a joyful ceremony, and they lived together quite
happily.
After several years, the woodcutter and his wife were the proud
parents of three beautiful children. One day, the woodcutter came
home from his work and found his wife sitting by the hearth, staring
sadly into the flames.
“What is wrong, my wife?” he asked. “You seem sad.”
“I am sad,” she replied. “I haven’t seen my sisters or the rest of my
family for a long time, and I miss them. Also, I miss my heavenly,
winged dress. It was so beautiful, and I loved wearing it so much. I
wish I could see it again, just once.”
The woodcutter felt sorry for his wife, so he brought out the dress
and gave it to her, forgetting that the deer had told him to wait until
they had had four children together. No sooner had the woodcutter’s
wife put on the dress than she picked up her three children and flew
away into heaven.
“Come back,” the woodcutter shouted. “Please don’t leave me!
Please don’t take away my children!”
But his wife was already too far away to hear his cries.
The next day, the grieving woodcutter went to work as usual
because he didn’t know what else to do. As he was cutting up a tree
he had just felled, he heard soft hoofbeats behind him. He turned
and saw the deer he had helped years earlier.
“You gave her the dress, didn’t you?” the deer asked.
“Yes, I did,” the woodcutter replied. “She seemed so sad, and I just
wanted to make her happy again. I didn’t know that she’d fly away
and take our children with her. I wish I could go up to heaven to see
her again.”
“If you go to the pond where you first found her, you can go up to
heaven. The heavenly maidens don’t come down to bathe anymore,
not since you stole the dress. Instead, they lower a bucket down and
draw the water up to heaven so that they can bathe there. Go back
to the pond, and when the bucket comes down, get into it. They will
pull you up into heaven, and you can see your wife and children
again.”
The woodcutter did as the deer instructed him, and when the bucket
came down to scoop up the water, the woodcutter jumped inside. It
was a very long ride up to heaven. The woodcutter was terrified the
entire way that he would fall out of the bucket and be killed, but he
arrived in heaven without mishap and immediately began calling for
his wife.
Hearing her husband’s voice, the woodcutter’s wife came running
over to where he was standing, followed by their three children. It
was a joyous reunion, for the wife and the children had also missed
the woodcutter. The woodcutter’s wife introduced her husband to
her family, and they all approved of him and welcomed him.
The woodcutter lived happily in heaven with his wife and children for
a time, but soon, he began to miss his mother. When his wife asked
why he seemed so glum, the woodcutter explained that he wanted
to visit his mother. The woodcutter’s wife asked her father to lend
the woodcutter a dragon horse so that he could make a visit to
earth.
“Certainly,” the wife’s father said, “but you must not dismount, or
else the dragon horse will come straight back here, and you will
never be allowed to visit heaven ever again.”
The woodcutter said goodbye to his wife and children, promising to
come back soon. He mounted the dragon horse, which flew swiftly
down to the woodcutter’s mother’s house. The mother was
overjoyed to see her son, whom she had thought dead.
“I’ve made some squash soup,” she said, “just the way you like it.
Let me get you a bowl.”
The old woman went into the house, and soon, she came back out
with a bowl full of steaming, fragrant soup. She handed the bowl to
her son, but when he took it, some of the hot soup splashed on his
hand, making him drop the bowl. As the bowl fell, some of the hot
soup splashed onto the back of the dragon horse. The dragon horse
reared and bucked, throwing the woodcutter off its back. Then the
dragon horse flew away into heaven.
The woodcutter lived the rest of his life with his mother, and when
he died, his spirit turned into a rooster. And when the rooster lifts its
beak to the sky and crows, it is the spirit of the woodcutter calling to
his wife and children, who he still misses to this very day.
Lady Suro and the Sea Dragon
As with other dragons in this volume, the one that kidnaps Lady
Suro is a creature of the waters. Author Kichung Kim suggests that
Lord Sunjong and his wife begin their journey in the city of Kyongju,
the capital of the kingdom of Silla on the southwestern coast of the
Korean Peninsula. Kangnung likewise is on the coast, so their entire
journey would have been made along the seashore.
This legend is set during the reign of King Songdok (702–737 CE)
and commemorated by a statue in the modern city of Samcheok,
which lies on the coast about two-thirds of the way between
Kyongju and Kangung. The statue is located in a park on the
headland. It sits atop a cliff overlooking the sea and represents a
richly dressed Lady Suro sitting on the back of the sea dragon, both
of them looking out to sea.
When Songdok reigned as king in Korea, Lord Sunjong went on a
journey to Kangnung. Sunjong had just been promoted to the office
of magistrate, and he was going to Kangnung to perform his duties.
As is proper for any nobleman, Sunjong traveled with an entourage
of servants. His lovely wife, Suro, also accompanied him.
The journey to Kangnung was a long one, so at noon, the party
stopped on a beach to eat the midday meal. Lady Suro got out of
her carriage and walked along the beach, smelling the fresh sea air
and admiring the cliffs that towered over the beach. Suddenly, she
saw something that took her breath away: a bright red flower
growing out of a cleft in the cliff face. Suro had never seen anything
so lovely.
She went to the servants and said, “Do you see that flower up
there? I simply must have it! Which of you will climb up and get it
for me?”
The servants looked at the cliff face. They walked back and forth
along it, trying to find a way to climb up.
After some minutes, they went back to Lady Suro and said,
“Apologies, honorable one, but we cannot climb that cliff face. No
one has the skill for that.”
Just then, an old man happened by, driving some cattle along the
beach. The old man had heard what the servants said and scoffed,
thinking them cowardly. The old man went over to the Lady Suro
and bowed low. Then he sang this song:
Beautiful lady,
I am here to serve you.
Allow me to leave my cattle here.
I will climb up that cliff
And pluck the flower for you,
If you will accept my service.
Lady Suro gladly agreed, so the man climbed up the cliff face,
plucked the flower, and gave it to the lady with another bow. Lady
Suro thanked the man, who gathered up his cattle and went on his
way. Lord Sunjong was pleased to see his wife so happy, but he
knew that they needed to travel onwards if they were going to arrive
in Kangnung in a timely way. He commanded the servants to pack
up the lunch things, and when everyone had mounted their horses
or gotten back into their carriages, the party continued on.
When they reached Imhae Pavilion, which also stood on the
seashore, they stopped for another meal. Lady Suro got out of the
carriage and wandered a little way down the beach, holding her
flower and smelling its fragrance. She hadn’t gone far when
suddenly the sea began to roil and swirl. A great column of water
shot up into the air, and out of it appeared a great sea dragon. The
dragon snatched up Lady Suro and then disappeared beneath the
waves.
Lord Sunjong cried out in anger and fear. He ran toward the surf but
soon realized that there was no way for him to get to his wife.
“Oh, no, oh, no,” Sunjong cried. “How am I to get my wife back?
How will I ever make the dragon give her back?”
An old man happened to be on the beach at the same time as Lord
Sunjong and his party. The old man saw what had happened to Suro
and how distraught Sunjong was. The old man went to Sunjong and
bowed.
“Honorable sir,” the old man said, “is it not true that if many voices
sing together, nothing can withstand them? If we sing a song and
beat the ground with staves, surely the dragon will be convinced to
bring back your lovely wife. Gather up all the people from this
district. Give them staves to beat the ground. Have them sing. Then
the dragon will be afraid.”
Lord Sunjong agreed that this was the best course. Soon all the
people from the district were lined up on the beach, and each one
had a stout staff made of bamboo in their hands. At the old man’s
direction, the people began to strike the sand with their staffs, and
they sang this song:
Turtle! Turtle! Send back Lady Suro!
She does not belong to you!
Her husband wants her back!
Send back Lady Suro at once,
Or we will come with our fishing nets and catch you,
And then we will slice you up and eat you for supper!
The sound of the singing and the thudding of the staves on the
beach reached down, down, down to the bottom of the sea, where
the dragon had his palace. The dragon heard the people threatening
to eat him, and he was very afraid. He took the Lady Suro and went
back to the beach, where he deposited her gently on the sand in
front of her husband. Then the dragon went back down to his palace
and was never seen again.
“Oh, my dearest wife,” Sunjong said. “I am so happy that the dragon
brought you back unharmed. Tell us, what was it like under the
ocean?”
“It was the most beautiful place I have ever been,” Suro replied.
“Everything was carved out of precious stones. The food and drink
were tastier than the most delicious thing you have ever eaten, and
it was unlike any other kind of food I’ve ever seen.”
Everyone listened with rapt attention to Suro’s tale. They also
noticed a delicate, haunting perfume on her clothing, a scent unlike
any other, richer and sweeter than the rarest perfumes on earth.
Now, one might think that such an encounter would be so rare as to
not be repeated, but Lady Suro was so beautiful that any time she
traveled past a body of water, the resident spirits would snatch her
and take her down to their palaces. Each time this happened, Lord
Sunjong knew what to do: he assembled all the people of the district
and gave them stout bamboo staves and had them sing the song
that brought Lady Suro back from the palace of the sea dragon.
Wongwang the Monk
Korean monarchs and military leaders were not the only historical
figures to become characters in myths and legends: Buddhist monks
also received this honor. One such monk was a man named
Wongwang, who lived in the sixth and seventh centuries. Wongwang
is credited with having made important religious reforms in the
kingdom of Silla, especially with the creation of the Hwarang Troop,
an elite military brigade that combined martial training with
education in Buddhist philosophy and Confucian precepts. The tale
retold below explains how Wongwang came about his knowledge
and used it for the greater good.
Once there was a monk named Wongwang. He entered the
monastery when he was but a boy, and he was very learned and
holy. He liked nothing better than to read Buddhist holy books and
works of Confucianism. When he was thirty years old, he decided
he’d had enough of living among other human beings. What he
wanted was a quiet place all to himself, where he could read and
pray and think in peace and solitude. Accordingly, Wongwang made
his way up Samgi Mountain, where he found a small cave that was
dry and cozy.
“Ah!” Wongwang said. “This is the best place for a hermitage. I shall
be very happy here.”
Wongwang hadn’t lived very long in his hermitage when another
monk built himself a small dwelling not far away. Since the other
monk kept to himself, Wongwang didn’t think much about him. This
all changed one night when Wongwang was sitting in his cave
reciting scriptures. As he was chanting out the holy words,
Wongwang suddenly heard a voice.
“Oh, excellent! You are a very learned and holy monk, just the
person I have been looking for!”
Wongwang stopped his chant and looked up. There in his cave stood
a spirit.
“Greetings, spirit,” Wongwang said. “What is it you want of me?”
“Do you know that monk that moved in a little way up the mountain
from here?”
“I know he is there, but I have never spoken to him.”
“Better that you haven’t because he is a very bad person. He
practices black magic, and his hermitage blocks the paths I usually
like to take around the mountain. He really needs to leave, or I
might make something bad happen to him. Can you go and ask him
to move somewhere else?”
The next morning, Wongwang went to pay a call on his neighbor. It
was the first time Wongwang had left his cave since he moved in,
and it felt good to be out in the fresh air and sunshine. It didn’t take
long for Wongwang to arrive at the other monk’s hermitage. He
knocked on the door, and the other monk answered.
“What do you want?” the other monk asked.
Wongwang thought him quite rude but said nothing about it.
Instead, he said, “A spirit came to me last night. It said that you
have picked a bad place to build your hermitage and that you should
leave before a disaster befalls you.”
The other monk scoffed. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re probably
just annoyed to have a neighbor and are making up a story about a
spirit to get me to leave. Anyway, my magic is very powerful.
Nothing is going to harm me here. Now go away. I have things to
do.”
Then the other monk slammed his door in Wongwang’s face.
Wongwang said nothing but turned around and went back to his
own hermitage.
That night, the spirit came back to Wongwang’s cave.
“Well?” the spirit asked. “Did you talk to that wretched monk who
lives over there?”
Wongwang was afraid of the spirit, so said that he had not visited
the other monk.
The spirit shook its head. “Foolish monk, I followed you yesterday,
and I heard everything that was said. That bad monk will regret not
listening to you.”
As soon as the spirit was done speaking, it vanished.
In the middle of the night, Wongwang was awakened by a terrible
noise. It sounded like the world was ending. Wongwang ran outside
of the cave, where he saw that a monstrous landslide had come
down the mountain and obliterated both the other monk and his
hermitage.
The next day, Wongwang did all his usual things, and in the evening,
the spirit came back.
“What do you think of that?” the spirit asked. “Did I scare you?”
“Yes, it was quite startling,” Wongwang replied.
“Well, I am three thousand years old, after all. And I’m very good at
magic. I also know a lot of important things about the future. For
instance, I know that if you continue skulking here in your little cave,
you won’t do very much good for anyone else, and what’s the point
of being a holy monk if you never help others? I think you should go
to China. You can study the Dharma there and bring that wisdom
back to your own people here.”
“Oh, indeed, I would love to go to China. I’ve always wanted to
study there. I’m sure I could learn so very much. But I have no idea
how to get there.”
“Just pay attention, then, and I’ll teach you the way.”
The monk listened to everything the spirit told him, and in the
morning, he packed up his belongings and set out for China. The
monk followed the spirit’s instructions exactly. He spent eleven years
studying Confucianism and the Dharma and much other wisdom
besides. At the end of those eleven years, Wongwang returned to
Korea as part of a Chinese envoy’s entourage. While they were at
sea, a dragon came up out of the waves and spoke to Wongwang.
“You are a holy monk,” the dragon said.
“Yes, I try to be holy,” Wongwang said. “How can I serve you,
honorable dragon?”
“When you get home, build a monastery in my honor. And in the
monastery, you must teach all the good things you learned while you
were in China.”
“It shall be done as you ask,” Wongwang said, and then the dragon
dove back down to the bottom of the sea.
The first thing Wongwang did when he arrived home was to climb
Samgi Mountain and go to his old cave because he wanted to thank
the spirit who had given him so much good help.
Wongwang had his evening meal and then prepared for sleep, but
no sooner had he laid down than the spirit came back.
“So, you’re back from China, then,” the spirit said. “Did you have a
good journey?”
“Oh, yes,” Wongwang replied. “It was splendid. I had safe passage
both ways, and I learned everything I wanted to know and more. I
cannot thank you enough for your help.”
“Good. I’m glad it was successful. But you can’t stay here too long. I
know about your promise to the dragon. You have to get started on
that monastery right away.”
“Yes, I know I do, but I don’t know where to build it.”
“I had a chat with the dragon the other day. He thinks that
somewhere north of Unmun would be best. Look for the spot where
a flock of magpies is gathered. That’s the sign that you should build
there. I’ll come along and help you get started.”
In the morning, the monk and the spirit journeyed to the north of
Unmun. There they saw a flock of magpies pecking at the ground.
“Here’s the spot for the monastery,” the spirit said. “Shall we get to
work?”
The spirit and the monk worked together to clear the land. Under all
the scrub brush, they found a ruined pagoda. They put it back
together and set it upright. When the people of the district found out
that a wise monk wanted to build a monastery in that place, they
came to help build it. Soon a fine monastery dedicated to the sea
dragon rose up in the field where the pagoda had been. Wongwang
became the abbot, and men and boys came from miles around to
join him as his monks and learn what Wongwang had to teach.
Some years after the monastery was established, the spirit appeared
to Wongwang one last time.
“I am here to say goodbye,” the spirit said. “Although I am a spirit, I
am mortal. I am to die soon.”
“I am very sad to hear that,” Wongwang said. “You have been a
good friend to me.”
“Is there anything you would ask of me before I go?”
“Yes. May I see what you actually look like?”
“Look to the east at dawn. You will see my arm. That is all I will be
able to show you.”
Wongwang did as the spirit bid him. In the east, he saw a giant arm
rise out of the earth.
Then he heard the spirit’s voice say, “I have shown you my arm.
Now I will tell you where I must go to die.”
The spirit gave Wongwang directions to the place, and the next day,
Wongwang went there as the spirit bid him. In that place, a black
fox lay on the grass, struggling to breathe. The fox took one last
breath and died. Then Wongwang knew that his spirit friend had
passed away.
Wongwang went back to his monastery and resumed his teaching.
After a time, a dragon began to attend Wongwang’s lectures. She
found his wisdom worth listening to, and Wongwang liked hearing
what she had to say. Now, not long after the dragon began coming
to the monastery to hear Wongwang, the country fell into a drought.
It hadn’t rained for the longest time, and all the crops and herds
were suffering. Famine was sure to follow soon if no rain came.
The next time the dragon came to the monastery, Wongwang said,
“Honorable Lady Dragon, might I ask a favor of you?”
“Certainly,” the dragon replied. “I have enjoyed your teachings very
much and will gladly help you in return for all the wisdom I have
gained.”
“We are having a bad drought, honorable one. Famine is sure to
come if we get no rain soon. Can you make it rain for us, please?”
“Oh, no. Rain is in the power of the King of Heaven. If I make it rain
for you, the King of Heaven will be angry and will punish me
severely.”
“Have no fear. If you make it rain and save us from famine, I will
protect you.”
“Very well,” the dragon said, and no sooner had she spoken than a
great rainstorm started on the mountainside and worked its way
across the country. Suddenly, there was a great clap of thunder.
“Oh, no,” the dragon cried. “That was the King of Heaven. He is very
angry and will kill me!”
“Hide here,” Wongwang said, pointing to a space under the bench
where he sat to give his lectures.
The dragon squeezed herself into the space, and when she was
settled, Wongwang said, “Now keep still. I’ll take care of everything.”
The dragon had barely gotten herself as comfortable as she could in
that small space when a man strode into the lecture hall.
“I am here on behalf of the King of Heaven,” he said. “Where is that
disobedient dragon? It is my duty to execute her.”
“I’m afraid she heard you coming and turned herself into that pear
tree just outside, there,” Wongwang replied. “Any punishment you
have to mete out needs to be given to the tree.”
“Very well,” the man said, and then a bolt of lightning struck the tree
and clove it in two.
When the man was gone, the dragon crept out of her hiding place
and asked what had happened. Wongwang explained about the tree,
and in gratitude for taking her punishment for her, the dragon
healed the tree and made it whole again.
Wongwang remained at his temple for the rest of his life, giving his
wisdom away to any who would listen. He thus fulfilled the spirit’s
wish: that he uses his wisdom to make the world a better place.
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Bibliography
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2nd ed. Seoul: Hakwon-sa Ltd., 1963.
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Stories Translated from the Korean Folk Lore. New
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Carpenter, Frances. Tales of a Korean
Grandmother. Rutland: Charles E. Tuttle &
Company, 1973.
Chung Myung-sub, ed. Encyclopedia of Korean
Folk Beliefs. Seoul: National Folk Museum of
Korea, 2013.
Cotterell, Arthur, ed. World Mythology. Bath:
Parragon Publishing, 1999.
Grayson, James Huntley. Myths and Legends from
Korea: An Annotated Compendium of Ancient and
Modern Materials. Richmond, Surrey: Curzon
Press, 2001.
Griffis, William Elliot. Korean Fairy Tales. New York:
Thomas Y. Crowell Company, 1911.
———. The Unmannerly Tiger and Other Korean
Tales. New York: Thomas Y. Crowell Company,
1911.
Holstein, John. The Magpie Bridge. Seoul: Si-sa-
yong-o-sa Inc., 1985.
Hwang, Pae-gang. Korean Myths and Folk
Legends. Trans. Young-Hie Han, Se-Joong Kim,
and Seung-Pyong Hwae. Fremont: Jain Publishing
Company, 2006.
Kim, Kichung. An Introduction to Classical Korean
Literature: From Hyangga to P’ansori. n.c.:
Routledge, n.d. Accessed on Google Books 22
March 2021. <[Link]
Kwon, Holly H. The Moles and the Mireuk: A
Korean Folktale. Boston: Houghton Mifflin
Company, 1993.
Lee, Clare, Isaac Durst, and Keirin Lee. Gyonu and
Jingnyo. [publication information is in Korean and
therefore inaccessible to this author]
Lee, Peter H., ed. Sourcebook of Korean
Civilization. Vol. 1: From Early Times to the
Sixteenth Century. New York: Columbia University
Press, 1993.
———. Anthology of Korean Literature: From Early
Times to the Nineteenth Century. Honolulu: The
University Press of Hawaii, 1981.
———. Anthology of Korean Poetry from the
Earliest Era to the Present. New York: The John
Day Company, 1964.
McCann, David R. Early Korean Literature:
Selections and Introductions. New York: Columbia
University Press, 2000.
Park, Janie Jaehyun. The Love of Two Stars: A
Korean Legend. Toronto: House of Anansi Press,
2005.
Verniero, Joan C. One-Hundred-and-One-Asian
Read-Aloud Myths and Legends. New York: Black
Dog & Leventhal Publishers, 2001.
Voorhees, Duance, and Mark Mueller. The
Woodcutter and the Heavenly Maidens, The
Firedogs. Rev. ed. Elizabeth, Hollym Corporation,
2008.
———. The Faithful Daughter, Shim Ch’ong.
Elizabeth: Hollym Corporation, 1990.
 Table of Contents
Introduction
Part I: Myths of Kings and Heroes
Part II: Animal Tales
Part III: Family Tales
Part IV: Dragons, Spirits, and Heavenly Beings
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Bibliography