The Civil Servant Who Defies Superiors

I turned the salon into a sea of laughter. I didn’t even know I was capable of such natural flattery, but I felt a strange sense of pride. Making people laugh has that effect. They were laughing like they genuinely felt good.

“A flower garden, he says!”

“Ahahaha! Oh my, he really has a way with words.”

“So, what kind of flowers are we?”

“I believe I told you. A sunflower in a garden, a lotus bud by the water, and a colorless rose.”

I had assigned these “characters” to them permanently. For the lady who lacked the luck of expression and manifestation, I went with the “colorless rose” line. For the one born with a “Water-Heavy Wood-Floating” (Suda-mok-bu) chart—basically, born as Wood but surrounded by too much Water during the off-season for lotuses—I called her a “frail, unripened lotus by the water.”

I could probably come up with hundreds of variations for the Eul-mok (Yin Wood) element alone. Even a rotting herring is still a herring; I’m still a writer by trade. Assigning a persona to someone based on their Saju is child’s play for me.

“Which one is the prettiest?”

“The flower that pays the most consultation fee.”

The salon erupted in laughter again.

“But wait, why are we all flowers? Are you just recycling this line, young man?” One of the ladies mimicked a bird’s beak with her hand, snapping it open and shut like castanets.

“Flowers hang out with flowers; who else would they hang out with? All three of you were indeed born as flowers.”

“Aren’t you just saying that to butter us up?”

She hit the nail on the head. That’s how you stay in business. But since I couldn’t reveal my trade secrets, I talked my way around it.

“Statistically, about one in ten people is born as a flower. It’s nothing strange. You know how in a class of thirty girls, there are always three who stick together? More often than not, those three share the same elemental attributes.”

“Oh, so it’s one in ten?”

“Yes. It’s not common, but it’s not rare either. People flock together. Interests and thoughts tend to align.”

“So it wasn’t just a compliment about us being pretty?”

“It was that, too. If someone isn’t a ‘flower’ type, I just tell them they were born as a tree—a tree that’s been pruned until only bare branches remain. I don’t call just anyone a flower.”

That was a lie. For people with low self-esteem or the elderly, I always say they’re flowers.

“think about it, would a young man like you really think us ‘ahjummas’ are pretty?”

“Well, you’re all ‘noonas’ whose daughters I’d certainly look forward to meeting.”

Since I was getting a free haircut, there was no reason not to wag my tongue a bit. As time goes on, I find myself getting better at flattery than blunt truths. People will pay the fee even for a terrible reading as long as you make them feel good. They want a Saju reader to describe a path of flowers for them, even if it’s a fabrication.

“I don’t have a daughter. She’s already married off.”

“Then you should just have another one, Unni.”

“You think kids just appear out of thin air?”

Whoops, the conversation is turning ‘Red.’ I’m staying out of this.

These ladies really say anything. Just then, a notification pinged.

[Through your eloquence, you have met the expectations of your supporters and fended off an offensive. Points have been credited to Water Luck/Bigeob-un (Supporters) and Wood Luck/Siksang-un (Oratory).]

Seriously, everything earns points now.

By the way, Ms. Kim Soon-ok really gives… “unique” haircuts. I hope my Siksang-un and Jaeseong-un—which represent appearance and charm—don’t drop because of this. They won’t, right? I watched my hair being ruthlessly buzzed off, praying no such message would pop up, while the ladies continued their chaotic talk about daughters. I never asked for their daughters’ hands, so I don’t know why they were going on like that. Personally, I wouldn’t marry off my daughter to a guy like me—a freelancer/self-employed double-whammy of irregular income.

“Hyun-sook unni’s daughter is a civil servant. A real official.”

At that, the Saju of Ms. Kang Hyun-sook—the “colorless rose”—flashed through my mind. She had agonized so much over her eldest daughter’s chart.

“Ah, make sure you keep blocking her from quitting.”

“Ugh, it’s a disaster. She says she’s dying. She says it’s harder than when she was studying for the exam. Come to think of it… didn’t you say she doesn’t have the Saju for a civil servant? That her chart ‘defies superiors’?”

I had actually gotten her daughter’s Saju wrong once. I never guessed she’d become a civil servant. I rarely miss on civil servant or soldier charts; people in those professions usually share very specific, recognizable traits. But her daughter was an outlier. It’s rare to see a “defies superiors” chart working as a general administrative official rather than in teaching or social welfare.

“If she’s a civil servant, then she has the Saju for it; what else could it be? It might feel like driving a construction trailer while wearing a tuxedo, but tell her I’m rooting for her. As long as she drives the trailer well, it’s fine.”

I always feel good when I see outliers who surpass their Saju. Aren’t they the ones who essentially told fate to screw off and won? There are just as many people who overcome a “good” Saju to fail as there are those who overcome a “bad” one to succeed. People who defy their Saju definitely exist in significant numbers.

“She called you a scammer at first, but lately, that ‘defying superiors’ thing seems to be weighing on her mind.”

“She’s probably just getting scolded by her boss lately. Once people grow up, everyone ‘defies superiors’ in their own way. The only difference is whether they show it or not.”

“You said she would show it, didn’t you?”

“That was my guess. A mother knows her daughter best. A mother is a superior, too. Can’t you see it? How that girl will survive after marriage, or how she’ll probably talk back at work.”

“Oh my, you’re right…”

Some moms don’t know, but you’re clearly an attentive one.

Changing one’s own fate is impressive. But I still had doubts. Looking at Saju Fortification, you can strengthen the luck you have, but a complete overhaul—a total transformation of your essence—isn’t possible. Seeing how two people born at the exact same time can end up as a village head and a president proves that Saju can be nonsense, but their “levels” are just different. The innate destiny to be a leader remains the same.

I believe twisting one’s fate is possible…

Thus, someone with the capacity of a village head could potentially become a president, or a president could act with the narrow mind of a village head. A shaman’s fate becoming an oracular researcher. A hostess’s fate becoming a celebrity. Someone destined to be alone becoming a priest or a monk. Career and status depend on whether a person’s luck is fortified, but “temperament” doesn’t seem to change. The “defying superiors” temperament is the same. When it works out well, they become journalists or revolutionaries. Usually, they just become grumblers and malcontents.

“My son is like that too,” Ms. Kim Soon-ok chimed in.

“But there are those arrogant types who are relaxed at home but act like ‘Yes-men’ in society.”

Sons often say they’ve “matured” after the military, but they really haven’t—I certainly didn’t. It’s more like the image of an “obedient human” was drummed into them. So they do have an easier time adjusting to vertical organizations. However, Ms. Kim’s son is a typical “bedroom tiger”—brave at home, quiet outside.

“Ugh, my daughter is making a fuss about quitting.”

For a “defying superiors” chart to work as a member of a vertical civil service group under national law… it’s like trying to swim in full-plate armor. In most cases, they’ll quit. It’s either take off the armor or stop swimming. It’s incredibly hard for a person to shed that armor. They’d rather just stop swimming. But… in this day and age, what do you do after quitting a fresh Grade 9 post?

“If it were me, I’d stick with it. It’s a shame. If she throws away something she worked so hard to get, can she really find something better?”

“Exactly.”

“Taoist, isn’t there a way? A charm or something?”

“There is one very good way, but she won’t listen. You’ve probably already suggested it to her.”

Honestly, if things go according to Saju, she’ll eventually quit. I could have predicted that and said, “See? I was right,” but I didn’t want to.

“What way?”

“Tell her to get married.”

“Would she stay at her job quietly then?”

Not necessarily. If her husband says he’ll provide for her, she might quit, but strictly speaking from her Saju, her personality wouldn’t allow it. I don’t know about her looks since I’ve never seen her, but she’s skilled at grooming and charm.

“No, to be precise, I should say: get married and have a baby.”

“She hates that idea. Says she isn’t confident she can raise a kid like I did.”

“She’s a smooth talker, isn’t she?”

“She is. But if she has a kid, would she really not quit?”

“Not exactly. It’s just…”

“Just?”

“She can take childcare leave. It’s the best way to get some time off without actually quitting. In the end, time will solve everything.”

Have three kids, take breaks in between, and then return to work? That’s the answer. For about 20 years, the heavens “rent” her a Level 2 or 3 Gwan-seong-un (Authority Luck). This luck represents obedience, leadership, and social adaptability; when it rises, one conforms to superiors and systems. While her “defying” essence remains, she’ll either reach a position where there’s no one above her or her character will mature enough to defy only with a righteous cause. Since she’ll hold the moral high ground, her reputation at work won’t suffer. From her mid-30s to her 50s—20 years out of a 100-year life—she won’t defy superiors or won’t need to. I believe she can make it a lifelong career that way.

“Having a kid solves it?”

“Yes. If she has three children in a row, her Saju shows she’ll have immense strength to endure at work. I’m not sure how many years of leave they’d give for three kids back-to-back, but probably 4 or 5 years?”

“Hyun-sook is going to end up with three grandkids.”

“She has to get married first, though.”

“She probably has a talent for meeting men. Although… marriage might be difficult.”

“Why difficult? My daughter?”

According to her Saju, she dates a lot.

“She’s twenty-nine, right?”

“Yes.”

“It’s hard because she likes younger men.”

“Huh? What’s wrong with younger men?”

“Mother, put your hand on your heart and think. You want a decent son-in-law, right?”

“Of course, naturally.”

“Right, right,” the other ladies agreed.

“You aren’t the only one who feels that way, are you? Your daughter is sharp; she probably thinks the same thing.”

“She’s mature in that regard. The quitting part is the only problem.”

“Then she’ll want a stable, wealthy younger man. Where in Korea is there a man in his 20s like that, and would such a man even want to get married?”

Ms. Kang Hyun-sook finally let out a long sigh.

“I don’t know how that girl has such a… talent for that.”

“What’s wrong with younger men? They’re great,” Ms. Kim Soon-ok teased.

It seemed the civil servant lady really was only dating younger guys.

“Does it show in her Saju why she only meets younger men?”

“Yes, it does. Because of her ‘defying superiors’ chart, she doesn’t vibe well with older ‘oppas.’ She probably knows it herself.”

“But if they’re younger than my daughter, they’re around the age of Soon-ok unni’s son.”

“Ugh, boys that age have just finished their military service and haven’t settled down yet.”

“It would be difficult.”

If she found a husband who graduated from a vocational high school and started working and earning money right away instead of going to college, he might have assets or job stability. But a mother’s greed probably wouldn’t be satisfied with such a man… It’s not common for a younger man to be a good match for a bride who is an in-Seoul university graduate and a Grade 9 official. Especially if she wants an office worker who is at least her equal—that’s rare in the countryside. By the time she’s around 33, some men might come into view. But if she quits that hard-earned civil service post in the meantime… everything goes back to square one.

“Taoist, can’t you do something? Can’t you write a charm?”

“There’s no such thing as a ‘don’t quit being a civil servant’ charm…”

They seemed to neither understand nor care about the difference between a shaman and a Saju researcher. I don’t even know how to write charms. To see a real effect, I’d have to mimic some ascetic prayer for a few days at a famous mountain. Then I could scribble something fake and sell it, but that would be a scam. I fell silent because, ultimately, there was no easy answer. If she were right in front of me, I’d rather tell her to quit and go back to teachers’ college, since she has the luck and skill to pass exams. But I couldn’t say that in front of a mother who desperately wants her child to stay in the civil service.

“Like he said, make her have a kid soon. If she keeps using childcare leave, she’ll be reassigned elsewhere and won’t have to see the boss she hates.”

“She has to get married first, Unni. Ugh. She really only meets younger guys—babies, college students. Would they even think about marriage seriously?”

“Meeting younger guys is a talent in itself.”

“Young man, don’t you have any friends?”

“She probably has someone she’s seeing right now. Tell her to come with her boyfriend and have their Saju read together.”

“Really? She’s seeing someone?”

How much must you have nagged her about marriage for her to date in secret at that age?

And she’s likely the type of parent who, if the daughter said she’d get married, would suddenly flip and tell her to think carefully.

<Matchmaking>

Saju researchers have traditionally served as couple managers!

As expected, it popped up. Matchmaking through Saju was a quest. It had appeared once before when I was consulting an ahjumma about remarriage with her live-in partner. If a match is successful, it provides enough points for an immediate low-level Saju fortification (Levels 1–4). And it says points accumulate slightly the longer the married couple stays together. It was a very difficult task, but worth the challenge.

*****************************

“Ah, yes, your daughter is coming today? A reservation… well, our hall isn’t busy enough to require reservations yet, so she could just walk in. But sure, I’ll book it for her. Is she coming with someone? Ah, alone. Okay, I understand.”

It wasn’t like there were lines out the door yet, but Ms. Kang Hyun-sook’s daughter had called to visit.

“I thought she’d come with someone, but maybe this is better. It would have felt like a double-nagging session otherwise.”

The reason I invited her was to use Saju to give her some “high-class” nagging. If the mother came along, she’d be nagging from the side, and I’d just be like a second meddling sister-in-law. If I read someone’s Saju like that, they’d only have negative thoughts and never listen to a word I say.

“Hmm, hmm. Ahem.”

People with “defying superiors” charts never believe anything they don’t like. To make them believe, you need to overpower them from the start. So, I practiced my facial expressions in the mirror and even tried rolling my eyes back like the Undertaker.

The door to the philosophy hall opened exactly at the reserved time.

“Um, I have a reservation… oh?”

Everyone who enters a philosophy hall has the same look on their face. Part expectation, part tension, wondering what will surprise them or what I’ll get right instantly. It’s like people who walk into a theme park haunted house of their own free will.

The woman who walked in with that face suddenly let her eyes soften, and the corners of her mouth curled up.

I should have asked for a photo to read her physiognomy beforehand.

Since it’s a neighborhood business, I knew this could happen eventually, but…