The red thread of fate ✄ 𓍯 Part 1

The Red String Theory is an East Asian folklore about an invisible red string that connects people who are destined to be together. The theory is based on the idea that the string can stretch and tangle, but it will never break. Not everyone you encounter has a red string with you, but only those with whom you have a significant connection do, regardless of the nature of that connection—be it romantic, familial, or even just a meaningful encounter.

On the night of the Snow Moon, I muffle myself in my wool balaclava, grab my satchel, and head outside toward the Lunar Year Festival. 

It is the Year of the Snake, the year for shedding old skin, transformation, and renewal. According to my astrological forecast, this is supposed to be my unluckiest year yet. But that begs the question: Were the previous years supposed to be lucky? Because it certainly did not feel lucky. 

It is the dead of winter, yet many folks from the village have come outside to celebrate, donning their oriental robes and traditional hanboks (한복) adorned with jade amulets. The road to the main temple is illuminated by a rainbow of lotus lanterns held by an invisible string; the pathway is clustered with various food carts serving finespun silk candies and steaming hot rice cakes. Giggling children dash ahead of me in a game of tag as adults warmly laugh at their innocent display. Frosted in crystal snow, the village is in high spirits, excited for the Lunar New Year.

However, I did not come for the festivities. Tonight, I will be meeting with the local shaman to perform a cord-cutting ritual for someone I once regarded as my soulmate. I met him near Summer’s end as the red spider lilies were in full bloom, but he left before the flowers could shed their whiskery petals. He was only here for a season and a reason.

Even after the Winter’s Solstice, he continues to torment my thoughts. Although I do not believe in the supernatural, I am at my wit’s end. I cannot seem to escape him no matter what I do; he plagues my life and my mind. Whether it is through the passing whiff of his ambrette scent or the melody of his favorite song, he ruins my perfectly good day. With the Vernal Equinox quickly approaching, I am here to end things once and for all. I don’t believe in hexes and hocus-pocus, however desperate times call for desperate measures.

I must cut the red thread of fate that ties me down to him. It pulls on my heartstrings and wrings my neck. I need to slash the rope of our connection in order to save myself, even if it ends with him hanging to death.

Concealed by blankets of steam erupting from the rows of food carts, the shaman’s hut sat in complete silence adjacent to the temple gates. The loudness from the hanging lantern’s prism light rays and bustling crowds of people made it easy to overlook this little tent. That is, unless you were intentionally searching for it. 

Before I could ring the antique dragon bell at the entrance, the velvet partition slithered open. 

“I’ve been waiting for you.” 

A lady (?) wearing a traditional mask used for cultural dance performances was staring at me through tiny holes. However, the mask could not hide the glimmer of anticipation in her eyes. A velvet robe as dark as midnight was draped over her shoulders as though she were a shadow spirit from hell. 

Before I could take in my surroundings, she ushered me in and pushed me to the stool in front of her round cloth table. I take a seat, and in a whirlwind of motions, she vanishes and materializes in the golden armchair across from me. With a wave of her robed sleeves, she begins to shuffle a deck of cards with nimble fingers. Her bejeweled hands spread the cards onto the silk reading table. 

“Pick a card,” she demands. 

Flustered, I wave my hands in protest. “Oh, I really don’t think that’s necessary! I’m only here to request a cord-cutting ritual.”

Ignoring me, she repeats, “Pick a card.”

With an acquiescent sigh, I flippantly pull the closest card to me. 

With her red painted fingernails, she flips the card over:

The Death Card

I can’t help but snicker. How fitting.

The jade bangles on her wrists jingle and jangle as she taps her chin in what appeared to be intrigue. Being unable to see her real expression underneath her mask gave me an unsettling feeling. 

I meekly speak out, “Umm… Shouldn’t you already know what my situation is? Considering you’re also a fortune teller.”

“Seeing is believing, at least for a skeptic like you”, she drawls. 

I raise an eyebrow. How did she know?

“Now pick two more cards.”

More alert than before, I nod slowly and choose two cards: both cards, the last card on opposite ends of the deck. 

The Lovers and The Wheel of Fortune

 

With a light chime, she laughs, “The spirits tell me that you want to permanently cut ties with a fated lover.” She then quickly adds, “Now a former lover.”

“You two met during the Autumn Equinox, when the red spider lilies were in full bloom and the petals waved goodbye to Summer's end.”

She chuckles, “What a coincidence. Similar to the Legend of the Red Spider Lilies, you have been doomed to unrequited love.” 

Confused, I ask, “The Legend of the Red Spider Lilies?”

I catch a glint from her eyes from underneath her mask. She crows, “Oh? You've never heard of it? Well, let me spin you a tale as old as time.”

The shaman crosses her legs underneath the silk table, the Winter’s wind howling as though it was the month of the Wolf Moon. The candle lanterns flicker and flare, puppeteering a marionette show of dancing shadows on the tent’s velvet curtains. The wind roars against the flimsy hut, creating a puncture in the fabric of time. 

“Long, long ago, there was a girl who was born on a lovely Summer's day. Beloved by all but adored especially by her father, she had blossomed into a beautiful young woman. However, one day the light of her life had been snuffed out: her father was taken by the God of Death. In mourning, she fasted and prayed for 100 days at a shrine in which a monk had fallen in love with her. To his despair, he was unable to act on his love as he was devoted to his faith in the Gods and Goddesses. On her last day of prayer, he watched in agony as she walked away, never to be seen again. It is said that the monk later passed away from lovesickness, and at his gravesite, red spider lilies began to grow. Since then, red spider lilies have symbolized unrequited love, farewells, separation, and death. According to the legend, if you part with someone whom you will never meet again, these flowers will bloom as you walk away.”

I felt a pang in my heart. A shiver went down my spine as though the wind itself was invited inside the hut. The shaman had unraveled the story surrounding my lost love like a ball of yarn. I have become undone. 

With a voice as thick as pine tree sap, the shaman drawls, “You two met during the mid-autumn harvest festival (추석) but parted ways before the ginkgo trees could paint their leaves yellow. Fated to meet but not fated to stay, like two ships crossing in the night, you will be destined to meet in every lifetime but doomed to never stay with one another.”

My heart sinks like a boat in a shipwreck. It’s too much of a coincidence, this cannot be. 

Folding her hands on the table, the shaman firmly states, “I hope you know what you’re getting into by performing a cord-cutting ritual.”

I gulp.

She continues, “You will never see this soul ever again. Not in this lifetime, nor for the rest of your reincarnation cycles. Will you be able to live with that?”

I clench my fists in my lap. I stutter, “Y-yes.” The pain was too unbearable for me to continue on. He haunts me like a ghost, as if he were dead to me not just emotionally but also physically. This was something I needed to do, not what I wanted to do. 

She comfortably leans against the back of her chair, her relaxation a stark contrast to my frozen stiffness. Studying me, she says, “You appear to be hesitant. But do not worry, because I can help you with your indecision.”

Crossing her arms, she inquires, “Remember the last time you chose your heart?”

My eyes widened in shock. Yes. Yes, I do. The last time I chose my heart, I lost everything. In fact, love had lost all my battles. This wasn’t just a cord-cutting ritual. It was a cold war with the head and the heart. Both losing no matter what choice I made. 

Gulping back tears, I swallow my words, “Just do it. Please.”

“You don’t seem to understand. You were fated to meet him.”, she enunciates.

“Sure, but I wasn’t fated to be with him. Plus, I don’t even believe in the occult!”, I protest but it sounds more like an anguished cry.

“But you’re here aren’t you? As someone who doesn’t believe.”

I scoff bitterly, “Yes, well, that’s why the desperate often turn to the supernatural, don’t you think? To find hope and meaning where all hope has been demolished and all meaning destroyed.”

“A last resort,” I spat. 

The shaman hisses back, “You insolent little child. There are many things you do not understand, so let me spell it out for you: you might not be meant to unite in this lifetime, but you may reunite forever in the next. Do you really want to give that up?”

My thoughts race faster than my heart. I don’t want hope. I don’t want to endure such gut-wrenching agony based merely on a what-if. Why would I do that to myself? What was the purpose in meeting him for only a season but for no reason? Why would I reopen old wounds and delay my own healing? I do not believe in soulmates. I do not believe in the occult. 

This story is already finished—I’m just waiting for an epilogue that isn’t coming.

Now resolute in my decision, my thoughts have raced past the finish line in overwhelming victory. 

“I understand. Proceed with the cord-cutting ritual please.”

The shaman is still, with silence. The wind that was once roaring, now a low whistle. The glow from the oriental lanterns dim the room as the candle wick drowns in oil and breathes its last dying breath. 

“...I hope you won’t regret this,” the shaman murmurs. 

Turning around, she opens a wooden drawer from an oak dresser behind her and pulls out a red ribbon alongside a pair of silver shears that were tarnished with age.

Placing them in front of me, the shaman gently picks up the bell sitting at the edge of the reading table.

She then instructs, “I will call on the spirits of the Gods and Goddesses to aid in this separation. After the third bell chime, I will hold the red thread of fate and you must use the scissors to snip your connection to him for all eternity. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” I barely whisper. 

“Then we shall commence.”

She closes her eyes, breathes in deeply, and begins to hum. 

The shaman then swiftly rings the golden bell that had a talisman in red ink tied to its handle.

Ding! 

A sharp pain resonates throughout my chest, as though the red thread of fate wanted to cling onto me for dear life. I fight back tears.

Ding! 

Like a noose on my heart, the red rope of fate squeezes tighter and tighter onto my heart. I choke through my tears.

Ding!

The last bell chime reverberates throughout my entire body, definitively crushing the heart that once loved.

A part of my soul is now dead.

Using the last ounce of energy that my soul could muster, I barely manage to hold the silver shears in my hands. The cold metal, as freezing as a frozen lake’s lotus pad. 

I snip the ribbon.

As though I cut my own finger, I cry out in agonizing pain.

The Red Spider Lily (꽃무릇)

After the ritual, I exit the tent only to find myself facing a blazing blizzard. The Lunar Year Festival is long over, and I am all alone to face nature’s wrath in complete darkness. I trudge through the snow, afraid of looking back to discover red spider lilies sprouting from my footprints. They say that time heals all wounds, but the scars still remain. As I get older, I grow colder by the day. Now an Ice Queen, my heart is a glacier in deadlock. I meet new people only to search for him in everyone I encounter. The space he once held in my heart feels more desolate and empty than before the ritual. By cutting the red thread of fate, I have unknowingly cursed myself to search for him in every lifetime. The Vernal Equinox has arrived but I am still living in an eternal winter. 

Author’s Note:

I wasn’t able to post this all into one singular blog LMAO. The True Ending is in Part 2 in my other blog entries LMAO! This Bad Ending isn’t the real ending. All your questions will be answered in Part 2