736.The village dogs that always barked when he passed
made no sound today.
"What."
When Park Seongjin asked in a low voice, it lifted its head and cried.
"Kiryororong."
The sound was strange.
It seemed to come from the throat, yet its resonance rose from deep within the chest.
It was not a sound one could easily imitate with tongue and breath.
"Have you been guarding this place?"
"Kiryororong."
He could not tell whether it understood his words.
But the sound carried an unmistakable sense of affirmation.
It was a kind of understanding conveyed through sensation alone.
A strange man had appeared.
An immortal had brushed past.
And now he stood face to face with a spiritual creature.
Since reaching the Profound Realm, the greatest change had been this:
the very layer of beings he encountered had shifted.
Park Seongjin did not particularly seek closeness with animals.
Yet he naturally lowered his body.
At that moment, the creature's fur began to brighten.
What had been ash-gray slowly turned white as snow.
It approached cautiously and nestled into his arms.
It was small.
Small—a very small tiger.
Its form was unmistakably that of a tiger,
but its color was white, and its size was unusually petite.
The warmth against his chest was unexpectedly gentle.
A faint compassion rose first.
The sense that he should protect it followed immediately after.
Communication with a spiritual creature differed from that with humans.
Even without words, meaning flowed intact.
Among people, voices may rise and emotions flare,
yet intentions often miss their mark.
Here, there was no sense of thoughts colliding.
Only meanings overlapping and seeping quietly into one another.
Perhaps this was what it meant
when one said that as a person's level changed, so too did the beings one met.
The creature pressed close to his side,
wagging its tail and rubbing its body against him.
The gesture was almost too human.
That made it feel all the more unfamiliar.
It seemed like a declaration of companionship.
He shook his head.
That choice could not be accepted.
Humans and spiritual creatures do not dwell in the same way.
Different beings possess different places.
As that thought continued, another question arose.
Had he himself already stepped into the boundary of another kind of existence?
Might remaining among humans
be the misaligned choice instead?
Looking down at the small tiger in his arms,
he could not easily dismiss the question.
"I have to go."
"Kiryororong."
"What kind of sound is that."
"Kiryororong."
When he turned his body, it followed immediately.
He stopped and tried to gauge its intent,
but the same cry returned.
"Kiryororong."
He did not ask further.
Holding it in his arms, he leapt into the air.
He glided long along the slope of the mountainside.
Air pressed against his flanks,
and wind lashed sharply at his robes.
Gathering strength at his toes,
he cried, "Tah!"
and shot upward once more.
As he gained height, the wind struck more fiercely.
At that moment, the creature opened its mouth wide—
as if yawning,
or drawing in the wind.
Its eyes were half-lidded
as it looked below, then at the sky,
moving slowly with the flow of the mountain ridges.
The sight resembled a human.
The more numerous humans become,
the more each believes himself the center.
Though merely one among countless beings,
he believes all things turn upon him.
Thus he forgets the sense of respecting other existences
and living alongside them.
Holding it close,
its warmth and breath felt no different from a human's.
Its soul felt deeper and larger still.
He headed toward home.
Near the house he paused,
then silently turned toward the annex.
At that moment, one change caught his eye.
The village dogs that always barked when he passed
made no sound today.
Not even the faintest stir was sensed.
It seemed a response to the presence of a spiritual being.
The reason beings cannot mingle
is not hatred,
but the difference of their realms.
"Will you stay here for a while?"
"Kiryororong."
He did not set it on the ground but placed it upon the wooden veranda.
It curled its body,
then settled like a cat, propping its chin.
"Heh."
Park Seongjin sat upon the veranda and crossed his legs.
His thoughts were many,
yet his mind was strangely serene.
The spiritual creature he had brought from his master's ruins
soon let out a soft purring sound and fell asleep.
He briefly wondered what he should feed it,
then entered meditation.
The night deepened.
The annex grew still.
Within that stillness,
two different beings
shared the same breath
without a single word.