The manifestations of human life are countless in their variety. They may become loyalty, filial piety, chastity, or any of the infinite phenomena of human affairs. Among these, according to the nation, or the national conditions, or the era, necessity selects one or several special phenomena from the countless manifestations of human affairs and makes them the center of all human action. These are what are called the Way, virtue, law, and precept. To perfect social life, each member of that society should faithfully embrace the morality and law of that society. Yet this is by no means the entirety of life. Life is greater than any morality or law. Therefore, life is absolute; morality and law are relative. Life can produce countless forms of morality and law different from those of the present time. This was the view of life Hyeong-sik had learned. Thus, he believed that Yeongchae's intention to throw away her life because her chastity was broken was a mistake—mistaking one moral law, that of filial piety and chastity, for the entire life of a woman, a human being. Filial piety and chastity are virtues central to women in the present age. Even so, they are products of the life of a woman as a human being, only a part of it, he said. Yeongchae had indeed failed to be filial to her parents. She had failed to be chaste to her husband. Yet she had not done so of her own will. A heartless society had forced her, weak as she was, into that position. Even if Yeongchae had, by her own will, failed to fulfill life's duties regarding filial piety and chastity, even supposing that, Yeongchae still had no reason to end her life. Filial piety and chastity are two among the duties of Yeongchae's life. Even if they are important, a part is smaller than the whole. These two duties may have failed, but Yeongchae's life still held hundreds of thousands of duties. Her life still held loyalty, duties toward the world, duties toward animals, duties toward mountains and rivers, toward the stars, and duties toward the Buddha. To cast away such a precious life, which bears countless duties, for just two things—even if they are important, even if unavoidable—Yeongchae's act could never be called right. Yet for a pure and ardent person to regard their central duty as their life is also a pride of human existence, he said.
Though Hyeong-sik theoretically deemed Yeongchae's act wrong, emotionally he could not help but weep for her. However, Hyeong-sik called Yeongchae an 'old-fashioned woman,' adding an adjective to call her a pure and ardent old-style woman. But Useon declared Yeongchae's act this time absolutely good. One followed the English style, the other the Chinese style.
(Hyeong-sik boarded the train with the old woman at Namdaemun Station.) Hyeong-sik dozed off for a moment, then suddenly opened his eyes. The passengers were fast asleep, some leaning against the window, some with their arms as pillows, some with their heads lolling. A few seats away, a man who looked like a foreman of workers sat awake, his eyes blinking as he smoked a cigarette. Dawn light was already seeping through the train windows. Hyeong-sik looked at the old woman sleeping on the opposite seat, drool running from her mouth. He frowned and thought, 'Filthy woman.' Hyeong-sik reflected on the old woman's life. Born and raised in a low-class home, she had never even seen good deeds or heard good words. Sold off, she became a gisaeng. All her life, the people she met were either beastly lechers or beastly gisaengs. All the words she heard and spoke were nothing but lewd and filthy sounds. If she had been literate and could have read the wise sayings of the ancients, she might have had some notion of being 'human.' But looking at her face, she seemed naturally dull and thick, with abundant spite, greed, and capriciousness. And those long black eyebrows covering her eyes showed she was born lascivious. Even if such a woman had been taught and disciplined from childhood, she could easily have become evil. How much more so when she had spent her entire life in a filthy, sinful world? Her beastly heart had grown as much as it could, and her 'human heart' had never had a chance to open its eyes. She had never even heard the words 'goodness' or 'virtue.' She had never encountered a good person or a virtuous one. So in her mind, the whole world was like her own society, and all people were like herself. She never thought she was a worse person than others—or a better one, for that matter. She did not even think she was uglier than others. Occasionally, she would see someone else's actions and think, 'How can there be such an evil person?' Not just occasionally—she did so often, no different from the worldly people who prided themselves on being virtuous. So the old woman had never had a chance to see what a 'true person' was, nor had she ever wished to see one. Consequently, she had never thought of becoming a 'true person' herself. She assumed she already was one. So for seven years, though she saw Yeongchae, a 'true person,' every morning and evening, she only saw Wolhyang, a gisaeng made of flesh and bone. She never saw the 'true person' named Yeongchae within. So when Yeongchae tried to preserve her chastity, the old woman instead thought her foolish, immature, and obstinate. To the old woman, a gisaeng should rightfully give her body to any man—that was good. So Yeongchae, who broke this 'goodness' and tried to keep her chastity, appeared evil to the old woman. Thinking this, Hyeong-sik looked at the old woman again. Now the hateful and filthy feelings toward her faded, and pity arose instead. Hyeong-sik thought: if he had been in the same circumstances as that old woman, he might have become like her; if that old woman had received fifteen or sixteen years of education like him, she might have become like him. Then he looked at the many people sleeping soundly in the train car. Among them were laborers, gentlemen, people who looked greedy, and people who looked vicious. There were also Joseon people, Japanese, and Chinese. If they were all awake and facing each other, some might despise others, some might envy others, some might think 'that bastard is evil,' 'that one is ignorant,' 'that one is rude.' But if they had been placed in the same circumstances from childhood, enjoying the same education, the same influences, and the same happiness, then, aside from differences in innate heredity, most of them would have become similarly good people. He looked at the sleeping old woman once more. Now she seemed endearing to him. 'She too is a person,' he thought. 'Like me, like Yeongchae.' Then he remembered the thought he had had the other day at Elder Kim's house, seeing the picture of Jesus on the cross and imagining. All people are the same, yet some become Chunhyang, some become Lee Do-ryeong, some become Chunhyang's mother, some become the Namwon magistrate, loving, hating, beating, being beaten, becoming yangban, becoming good men, becoming commoners, becoming evil men—but originally they are all the same 'people.' He looked at the old woman's face, and it seemed as lovable as if he were looking at his own mother or sister. When the old woman saw Yeongchae's determination to die, she discovered for the first time in her life a 'true person.' Her soul awakened, and for the first time in her life she shed genuine tears. To save Yeongchae, she had come all the way down to Pyongyang, and Hyeong-sik felt both joy and gratitude. Unable to contain his warm feelings toward the old woman, he covered her belly with the edge of his blanket.
Hyeong-sik wondered where they were and looked out the window. Soon he heard a whistle, then the sound of the train crossing a bridge.
The thought 'Daedong River' flashed through Hyeong-sik's mind like lightning. Ah—what had become of Yeongchae? Had she already sunk her body into the blue waves of the Daedong River? Or had she been caught by the police and was now in some police station cell, spending her days in tears? Hyeong-sik gently shook the old woman's shoulder. "Hey, hey! It's the Daedong River," he said. This was the first time Hyeong-sik had spoken to the old woman so kindly. Since yesterday, when he had thought 'That despicable woman!' at her house, they had sat facing each other for seven or eight hours without a word, held back by his hateful and filthy thoughts. The old woman opened her eyes wide and sat up.
"Eh? The Daedong River!"
She looked out the window. In the dim dawn light, the waters of the Daedong River flowed silently. The train gave a long whistle as it headed for Pyongyang Station. The thoughts of both Hyeong-sik and the old woman were on Yeongchae.
Hyeong-sik opened the window and gazed far toward Neungra Island. Nothing was clearly visible in the dawn twilight, but Hyeong-sik, who had seen Pyongyang's scenery many times, mentally traced the faint outlines: 'That's Neungra Island, that's Moranbong, that's Cheongnyu Cliff.' He thought of the letter he had seen from Yeongchae yesterday. 'I throw this body into the blue waters of the Daedong River—' Hyeong-sik sighed. Then, near that dark Neungra Island, an image of Yeongchae flashed before his eyes. 'Let the surging waves wash away this body's filth, and let the heartless fish tear at this sinful flesh.' It seemed to Hyeong-sik that Yeongchae's corpse was drifting right under the iron bridge, so he quickly stuck his head out the window and looked down at the water. He saw the water swirling in circles around the pillars of the iron bridge. Hyeong-sik felt something fall on his neck. He looked up at the sky. Dark clouds hung heavily, unmoving, and a fine misty rain was falling, with occasional larger drops. A cool wind passed, and Hyeong-sik's long, parted hair fluttered wildly. As if he had seen something terrible, Hyeong-sik flinched and pulled his head back inside the window. 'If you see the foul rain wetting your sleeves on the Daedong River, know that it is the tears of sinful Park Youngchae.' Those words from Yeongchae's letter flashed before his eyes. Hyeong-sik took out the bundle from the bag beside him—the letter written in hangul, wrapped with the knife and ring. He started to unwrap it, then put it back in the bag. The train passed over the iron bridge. On both sides were long lines of empty freight cars and small sentry boxes. The old woman, who had been staring blankly out the window, turned to Hyeong-sik.
"What do you think happened?" she asked. Her eyes and face still showed genuine worry. Hyeong-sik thought that the old woman's newly opened soul was still awake. The old woman had had a terrible dream. In her dream, she was riding the train down to Pyongyang. When the train reached the iron bridge over the Daedong River, the bridge suddenly broke, and the car she was in plunged into the river. The old woman cried out, 'Someone save me!' and barely managed to float to the surface. But it was the rainy season, and huge muddy waves repeatedly covered her head. 'Oh, I'm going to die!' she wailed, bobbing up and down in the water. Then, before her eyes, Yeongchae appeared, wearing white clothes. She smiled brightly, just as she had when she came to the old woman's room yesterday morning, and said, 'When I think about it, it's funny.' The old woman stretched out her arm. 'I was wrong. Forgive me. Grab my arm and pull me up.' But Yeongchae did not take her arm. Her face suddenly turned deathly pale, and she bit her lip hard, splattering bright red blood onto the old woman's face. The old woman felt the hot drops, like boiling water, splash onto her forehead and cheek. 'Yeongchae, save me!' she cried, thrashing in the water, and then woke up. As soon as she woke, the old woman looked down at the Daedong River. But the weather had been dry for a long time, so the river was not like the one in her dream. Still, afraid that the iron bridge might collapse like in the dream, she trembled with fear until the train had completely crossed the bridge. Only when it reached solid ground did she finally relax and sigh. Then she asked Hyeong-sik, "What do you think happened?" inquiring about Yeongchae. Hyeong-sik smiled.
"I sent a telegram yesterday, so she's probably at the police station," he said, his tone and manner conveying 'Don't worry.' The old woman was somewhat reassured by his words. But since she had never used the power of telegrams or police stations before, she could not fully trust Hyeong-sik's words. She knew telegrams traveled faster than trains, but how would they know which of so many people was Yeongchae? Moreover, having spent her life in the gisaeng world, she only thought of the police as something that hated her and bothered her. Hearing Hyeong-sik say that Yeongchae was probably at the police station, she remembered how she herself had once spent two or three days trembling in a police station cell in Pyongyang over a prostitution case. 'But it's summer now,' she thought, so even if Yeongchae had spent last night at the police station, she probably hadn't trembled like the old woman had. She felt somewhat relieved.
The train arrived at Pyongyang Station. Even before the train came to a full stop, the station attendant's cry of 'Heijō!' and the clatter of geta clogs could be heard. People who had been packing their luggage and dressing since earlier either pushed ahead to get off first or, pretending to be very dignified, smiled faintly and deliberately waited for others to go first. Hyeong-sik and the stout old woman stepped onto the platform. Some military dignitary must have been arriving or departing; young officers stood beside the first-class car, repeatedly raising their hands to their caps and bowing. A couple of stout Westerners stood with hands in their pockets, pacing heavily back and forth without even glancing at the people around them. A Japanese lady, carrying a large shingen-bukuro bag and afraid of missing the train, came running in with a patter of feet.
Passengers going further north stood outside with unwashed faces and bare heads, staring blankly toward the entrance as if looking for someone they knew. The ticket inspector stood clicking his punch. Hyeong-sik and the old woman exited through the gate. The policeman on duty glanced at their backs. They climbed into rickshaws. The two rickshaws, jostling ahead and behind among many others, passed through the point of the octagonal pavilion and entered the streets of Pyongyang, where electric lights still twinkled. The drizzly rain continued to fall softly.
Hyeong-sik, riding in the rickshaw, recalled his first visit to Pyongyang. He had not yet shaved his head—he was still in mourning for his parents, so he wore a white ribbon and had his legs wrapped. On a spring morning, he had entered through Chilseongmun Gate. Inside the gate, he looked down at the city and thought, 'It's big.' He was eleven years old then. He had only heard the name Pyongyang and that it was a nice place. He had no idea what kind of city it was, whether it had Moranbong or Cheongnyu Cliff. At the time, he had been studying the Four Books, the Outlines of History, and the Elementary Learning. But there were no schools then, so he had never read Joseon geography or history. Hyeong-sik thought, 'Children in civilized countries would know Pyongyang's history, famous sites, population, and products.' Back then, he had seen Japanese shops for the first time on Daedong Gate Street. He had found the big glass windows and the strange clothes of the people amusing. When he saw the Japanese soldiers entering in the Gapjin year, he had assumed all Japanese people wore black clothes and hats with red stripes and carried swords. So he had walked up and down Daedong Gate Street, peeking into Japanese shops. In some shops, there were boxes of matches and oil. He had never seen so many matches. So he nodded to himself and thought, 'Ah, so matches are all made here.' He also saw Japanese people sitting facing each other, talking and laughing, and wondered, 'How do they understand each other?' It all sounded like the same noise to him. What amused him most were the Japanese women's hairstyles and the sash bows tied on their backs. He wondered what they carried in them. That question remained unanswered for a long time.
He also went outside Daedong Gate and saw the Daedong River. He wondered if it was bigger than the Cheongcheon River. Then he saw a steamship. With a black chimney emitting black smoke and making a strange honking sound, the steamship moved without sails—it was truly strange. Seeing people walking around on that steamship, he thought, 'I wish I could ride that someday.'
He thought, 'There are so many water-carriers.' In the village where he grew up, only the tavern that made rice wine in summer and pressed noodles in winter had a water yoke. So he had assumed water yokes were only found in taverns. Therefore, seeing countless water yokes entering and exiting Daedong Gate, he thought, 'Pyongyang must have a lot of taverns.' He also wondered about the 'Pyongyang governor'—where was the Pyongyang governor's house? He looked for it for a while, then gave up. Remembering this, Hyeong-sik looked out through the hole in the rickshaw curtain and smiled to himself. A tramcar, packed with people, passed by his rickshaw with a clamorous noise.
Hyeong-sik continued his train of thought. That day, he had spent the whole day sightseeing in Pyongyang and then stayed at an inn near the government office. When the innkeeper, wearing a tanggeon hat, asked, 'Do you have money?' Hyeong-sik replied, 'I have twenty nyang,' thinking of his pouch. 'You think I have no money!' he said, and without hesitation, he had gone to sit at the warmest spot, thinking he was a guest. The next day was the Pyongyang market, and ten or so peddlers with wrapped legs came to his inn. Hyeong-sik was a bit scared but pretended to be very calm, reading the writing on the paper pasted on the wall. But when it was time to sleep, two or three of them argued over who would sleep next to him. Frightened, Hyeong-sik silently sat in a corner of the room, watching them. But in his hand, he held a wooden pillow. The three argued for a while, then the man who looked the darkest and fiercest laughed and embraced Hyeong-sik. "Sleep with me, kid. I'll give you money," he said, wrapping his arm around Hyeong-sik's neck and trying to kiss him. Hyeong-sik cried and looked around the room at the ten or so men sitting in a circle. But they just grinned. One of them said, "Sleep with me, kid," and pulled a handful of coins from his pocket. Hyeong-sik resisted. But the dark man's foul-smelling mouth touched Hyeong-sik's. Hyeong-sik headbutted him as hard as he could, and while the man jerked his head back, Hyeong-sik struck him in the chest with the wooden pillow. The man dodged, stood up, grabbed Hyeong-sik by the hair, shook him, and slammed his head against the wall. Hyeong-sik gritted his teeth and cried. Then the tall man who had been silently sitting in the far corner suddenly jumped up, ran over, grabbed the topknot of the man holding Hyeong-sik, punched him in the chest several times, knocked him to the floor, and kicked him, shouting, "You bastard! You beast!" The others were startled and got up. But no one dared intervene.