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We left in the early morning, at the same time as the woodcutters. A man of the forest
-purple and rather flat, as Father du Halde would say- showed us our path. Was he the
last avatar of T’yoen ha tai chang kun, the Great Commander beneath the Heavens,
charged with guarding all pathways?

In the forest awaited the figures of the gods, countersigned by the visitors (Korean
writing, where graffit becomes ornament!), and farther above were the severe waterfalls,
their cheeks tattooed with poems -Chinese characters, each fifteen meter high- gurgling
with the sound of some huge animal drinking.

Kumgman-san, the Diamond Mountain… The tigers that inhabit it have now disappeared.
The last were disguised as women picking potatoes, and girls bearing earthenware jars. All
have been destroyed, even the grandfather, the White Tiger.

We met a young woman. As she was not picking potatoes and bore no earthenware jar,
but a cyclopean baby, she was not a tiger. But if accounts are made, there must remain in
the mountains one bear-doctor, nine dragons, and fifty-three golden Buddhas disembarked
from a stone ship. There are also the Sinseuns, immortals beings. So you never quite know
whom you meet.