A Tiger, Rice Cakes, and the Origin of Sun and Moon
A widowed mother, paid in rice cakes for a day's work, crosses the dark passes toward home. At each ridge a tiger blocks the path: 'Give me a rice cake and I won't eat you.' When the basket is empty the tiger eats her too, puts on her clothes and headscarf, and knocks at her door. Inside, her son and daughter grow suspicious: why is mother's voice so hoarse, and why is the hand through the door crack covered in fur? They slip out the back and climb the tall tree by the well. The tiger spots their reflection in the well water and asks how they got up. Sesame oil, says the brother, and the tiger slides down the greased trunk; the little sister laughs and blurts out the truth: cut footholds with an axe.
As the tiger chops its way up, the children pray: if heaven would save them, let down a new rope; if not, a rotten one. A new rope descends and carries them into the sky. The tiger prays the same prayer, receives a rotten rope, and falls midway onto a harvested sorghum field, where its blood dyes the stubble, the folk explanation for why sorghum stalks are red. The brother and sister became the moon and the sun; the sister feared the dark night, so her brother gave her the sun. In some versions she is shy besides, and pricks with needles of light the eyes of anyone who stares at her.
This is among the most widely told folktales of the peninsula; the Compendium of Korean Oral Literature records versions from every province, and schoolbook and picture-book retellings continue without pause. The tale stitches a tiger-at-the-door thriller onto origin lore for the sun, the moon, and red sorghum.