Arrived at his ancestral village he found that his family had given up the spacious mansion he had formerly owned and were living, or rather dying, in a wretched straw-thatched hovel. It was necessary to raise some money, and so he started out for a distant town where his fourth cousin lived, in order to negotiate a small loan.
As he was on his way he was overtaken by a severe storm. He looked all about but could see no shelter anywhere. He struggled on, looking to right and left through the pouring rain, and at last sighted a little cottage among the trees. At the door he called out to the good-man of the house but there was no reply. The house was not deserted, for he saw a thin line of smoke issuing from the chimney. He shouted aloud and at last an old woman appeared at the door and questioned who it was that thus rudely demanded entrance, though uninvited. When the bedraggled Cho explained the situation the woman relented and let him in. There was but one stone-floored room but this she gave up to him with good grace and went about preparing him a nice supper, after which he lay down and fell asleep.
How long he had slept he could not tell, when he awoke with a start to the sound of a man’s voice who was asking of the woman gruffly:
“What time is it, anyway? I must get off to market early with that ox”; whereupon the couple entered Cho’s room, the man carrying four sticks and the wife a halter. The farmer dragged the bedclothes off the guest, bestrode his chest and began to belabor him with the sticks, while the woman fastened the halter around his neck. He was then dragged out of the room, but to his horror he found himself going on four legs and when he tried to speak he could only low like an ox. When one of his horns caught against the door-post he learned that he had indeed been transformed into a four-footed beast and was being taken to market. To say that he was experiencing a new sensation would be to put it very mildly indeed.
At the market town he was herded with a drove of cattle, among which he was the largest and fattest, and consequently there were many eager buyers; but the farmer asked such a high price that none of them could buy. At last a burly butcher came to terms with the farmer and poor Mr. Cho found that he was being led away to slaughter.
But as fate would have it, the butcher was of a bibulous temperament and when they came to a wine shop the ox was tied to a stake while the butcher indulged in the flowing bowl. And so copiously did the latter drink that he forgot all about the animal. Mr. Cho stood waiting for hours but his master did not appear. Just over the hedge to the right was a field of succulent turnips. To the bovine nostrils of Mr. Cho this proved as tempting as the wine had proved to the butcher.
Mr. Cho had a ring through his nose which was very awkward but at last he managed to get loose from the stake and, crowding through the hedge, he pulled a turnip and began to munch it. After the first bite a curious sensation overtook him and he began to have an over-mastering desire to stand on his hind legs only. A thrill went through him from tail to horns and in another instant he found himself an ox no longer but the same old two-legged Cho as of old. This was eminently satisfactory and the satisfaction was doubled when, coming through the hedge into the road, a befuddled butcher asked him if he had seen a loose ox anywhere. He assured the purveyor of beef that he had not, and walked away toward home pondering upon this rather unusual occurrence.
Suddenly he stood stock still in the road, uttered an exclamation of triumph, slapped his thigh and hurried forward with his mind evidently made up.
“Sticks and turnips! Sticks and turnips!” he repeated over and over again as if it were a magic formula. He kept straight on till night overtook him near the very house which had witnessed his metamorphosis. He called out again as before and was similarly received, but instead of sleeping, he arose in the night and sneaked about the premises until he found and secured the four sticks with which the work had been done. He followed this larceny with a silent and speedy departure, not toward his home but toward Seoul, still muttering in his beard,
“Sticks and turnips! Sticks and turnips!”