Beyond death, what lies there?
For countless ages, as a servant of the Goddess of Life, a thorn-like question has been embedded in my heart, tormenting me to no end.
Why is life born? For what does it live? And for what does it die?
The Mother of Life herself said that such questions must be answered by oneself, and so I continued to grapple with these doubts.
What is life? What is death?
For what should we live?
Over the long years, my hands have grown wrinkled like an old man’s, and my vision has begun to blur.
Every fiber of my body tells me that the time granted to me is running short.
The answers I’ve pondered over during this long period may differ from others’, so I won’t write them here.
Instead, I shall pen down what I’ve heard from the Mother of Life about the Underworld, hoping this writing will be of help to others.
May these words assist those who come after.
…
Where there is light, there is darkness; where there is birth, there is death.
All creatures are born, live, and then pass away.
And at the end of their journey, their souls leave behind the armor of their flesh.
But this is not freedom.
What awaits beyond is the stern judgment of life itself.
Reapers exist everywhere.
These shadowy figures, wielding massive scythes, wander the world unseen, harvesting the souls of the deceased. They are the most secret harvesters of this realm.
No soul can escape their touch. As death is inevitable, so too are they.
In the absence of light, they traverse any darkness.
There is nowhere they cannot reach.
Yet, they are not unkind. It’s said they allow a final word to loved ones before departing to the Underworld.
If family is near, they grant the strength to speak one last time. If not, they ensure a final message is delivered through dreams—perhaps making them gentler souls than imagined.
But one must not rely on their goodwill to prolong life.
They offer only a single word. To ask for more invites the cold scythe to begin its harvest.
Thus, the souls in the reaper’s grasp cross into a chilling world, arriving before the gates of the Underworld.
Behind the pitch-black rock gates lies another world entirely.
After passing through the caverns of black stone and enduring the piercing gaze of the Underworld’s guardians, one reaches an immeasurably vast river.
A river so wide that the opposite bank cannot be seen, brimming with dark waters. Its pebble-strewn shores gleam faintly.
This river, known by many names, divides the present world from the next.
Called either Samdocheon or Styx River, it serves as the boundary between the realms of the living and the dead.
To prevent the living from mistakenly crossing and the dead from returning, this expansive river stands as an impassable barrier.
As one walks along this river, the forms of children appear on its banks.
The children of the Underworld. The spirits of unfortunate children linger here.
Those who died before their parents, those who never reached adulthood, those who left deep wounds in their parents’ hearts—they remain here by the riverbank, gazing down at the dark waters.
It’s said they see the reflections of their living parents in the water.
The sight of their parents’ faces reflected in the silent Underworld brings sorrow to the children who cannot look away.
Though I haven’t witnessed it firsthand, their plight tugs at the heartstrings.
The children continue to watch their parents.
The parents who remain in the mortal world, suffering and grieving in the empty space left by their loss.
Seeing their pain, the children unknowingly reach out, but the reflection is merely an illusion. Their touch creates ripples, distorting the image of their parents.
While mourning, the children also cheer for the day their parents rise above their sorrow.
Through this, they realize how deeply they were loved.
Thus, the pure regrets of the children are washed away by the river.
Then, at some point, the children rise from their spots.
When the moment arrives, it’s because their parents have come to join them in the Underworld.
At that time, the children rush to their parents, taking their hands.
Together, they descend to the lower levels of the Underworld.
Cruel though it may seem, this environment is necessary for young souls who cannot yet grasp the concepts of life and death.
Children who never lived fully or grew into adults need to understand they were cherished.
But what if… the parents they’ve waited for so long turn out to be unworthy?
What if they’re callous beings who show no grief for their child’s passing?
Worse still, violent abusers or even those who caused their child’s death?
If such parents dare reject the fragile hand of their child upon arriving in the Underworld…
The child lets out a heart-wrenching cry.
When the riverbanks echo with the sound of their sorrow, a mysterious woman appears from somewhere.
Known as Ghost Mother (귀모), she was once a woman from the East who lost her husband and only child at a young age. Heartbroken, she raised orphans until witnessing abusive parents cast their children out, driving her into madness. She reportedly tore them apart with her bare hands and was executed for murder.
Her vengeful spirit refused to leave the mortal world until the Mother of Life took pity on her, appointing her as guardian of the Underworld’s children.
Clad in bamboo hat and dark cloth, concealing her face, Ghost Mother approaches, dragging a massive blade across the ground. She gently wipes the child’s tears.
She then grabs the offending parent by the neck, leading them away.
Until the parent sincerely regrets their actions, acknowledges their wrongdoings, and repents fully, Ghost Mother flays their incorporeal flesh into strips, creating makeshift cloth.
Even without a physical body, the parents writhe in agony as their skin is forcibly fed back into their mouths. Covered in wounds, they’re forced downward into the deeper layers of the Underworld.
But such cases are rare.
Even now, children arriving in the Underworld before their parents hope for their arrival while simultaneously wishing it to be delayed.
The first layer of the Underworld exists for these children and parents alike.
Below this first layer lies the river’s far shore, accessible only by boat. Thus, the reaper guides the departed souls to an ancient, dilapidated dock.
Tied there is the sole means of crossing—the decrepit ferry, seemingly on the verge of sinking. Its captain, a tongueless man, rows the vessel.
Once eloquent and cunning, he bargained his way past the reaper, gaining three extra years of life. When those years ended, he attempted to deceive the reaper again.
His punishment? His silver-tongued mouth was severed by the reaper’s black scythe, condemning him to eternal servitude as the Underworld’s ferryman.
Ironically, since this incident, the time the reaper grants the deceased to say goodbye has been reduced to a fleeting moment. Many in the Underworld likely curse this ferryman.
Despite appearing penniless, the dead somehow produce fare from a small pouch hidden within their embrace.
This fare consists of the aid they offered others in life and the gratitude received in return.
Help given in life becomes assistance in death.
Should one live selfishly, oppressing rather than helping others, they’ll lack fare for the ferryman. Such cases, however, are said to be rare.
Still, what happens to those few souls?
The Mother of Life revealed nothing on this matter, leaving me with nothing to write.
Let us all hope no one exists who never helped another soul.
