A Korean Odyssey—A folklore-fueled modern fantasy that turns Seoul into a haunted love story
Introduction
The first time I met Son Oh-gong on screen, he grinned like trouble and love at the same time, and I knew my evening was no longer mine. Seoul’s neon shimmered as ghosts brushed past commuters, and one woman—tired, brave, and heartbreakingly isolated—kept walking anyway because she could see what the rest of us couldn’t. Have you ever felt that kind of alone-in-a-crowd feeling, like the world is too loud and too quiet at once? A Korean Odyssey wraps that feeling in folklore, slings humor like a charm, and then dares its hero to choose love over immortality. If you’re browsing the best streaming services for a weekend escape, this is the rare series that greets you with a wink and leaves you with a lump in your throat. Watch it because it reminds you that love is a choice you make even when fate says you shouldn’t.
Overview
Title: A Korean Odyssey (화유기)
Year: 2017–2018.
Genre: Fantasy, Romance, Urban Mythology, Supernatural
Main Cast: Lee Seung-gi, Cha Seung-won, Oh Yeon-seo, Lee Se-young, Lee Hong-gi
Episodes: 20.
Runtime: Approximately 75–90 minutes per episode
Streaming Platform: Netflix; Viki.
Overall Story
Jin Seon-mi grows up with a gift that feels like a sentence: she can see spirits. As a child, she’s manipulated into a haunted errand and meets Son Oh-gong, a powerful being imprisoned by ancient magic who promises to protect her if she frees him. She believes him, helps him, and is abandoned—her memory snatched, her hope left behind like a toy in a locked house. Years pass and the city grows around her; Seon-mi becomes a real‑estate broker of haunted properties, flipping fear into rent and dignity. Have you ever learned to thrive with the thing that isolates you? That’s Seon-mi—kind, weary, and still moving.
When fate circles back, Seon-mi crosses paths with Oh-gong again, and the air between them snaps like a live wire. Nearby lurks Woo Ma-wang, a celebrity-CEO demon collecting merit points the way we chase likes, desperate to be promoted to deity. Their world is a sly mash-up of old myths and modern hustle: gods operate bars with velvet lighting, spirits complain about real-estate prices, and karmic ledgers balance like corporate budgets. Ma-wang needs Seon-mi to manage a crisis only she can see; Oh-gong wants the power her blood grants—but not her danger. Their push-pull sets the tone: nobody here is purely good or bad, just complicated and hungry.
Enter the Geumganggo, an enchanted bracelet that makes Oh-gong ache with love whenever he sees Seon-mi. Is it love if it’s compelled? The show plays the question tenderly and wickedly; the bracelet turns a swaggering trickster into a fiercely attentive protector, and Seon-mi into a woman who’s unsure whether to trust what she always wanted. The early cases-of-the-week channel grief in clever ways—a revenant bride, a vengeful idol—and each haunting forces the pair to renegotiate what protection, partnership, and consent really mean. Oh-gong’s bravado cracks; Seon-mi’s guard softens; we start to see that the bracelet is a doorway, not the destination. Have you ever been loved loudly and doubted it quietly?
Seon-mi is revealed as Sam-jang, a once-in-an-age vessel fated to confront darkness or be consumed by it. Her blood draws monsters like moths to a neon flame, and the city—its tunnels, rooftops, and river walks—becomes a battleground for things only some can see. The show nestles social commentary inside its supernatural bones: lonely elders abandoned in concrete high‑rises, exploited trainees in a cutthroat entertainment industry, and politicians who court catastrophe for clout. Each exorcism is also an empathy lesson, mapping how the living create the ghosts that haunt them. Seon-mi keeps working, keeps paying the bill for her gift.
Then the story gives us Jin Bu-ja, a murdered girl who wakes as a gentle zombie with someone else’s smile. Lee Se-young plays her with an innocence that makes your chest hurt; she munches on compliments like candy and clings to life with both hands. P.K (Lee Hong-gi)—a pig demon with idol eyeliner and unexpected sweetness—dotes on her, and their tender, offbeat romance becomes a second, smaller heartbeat of the series. But Bu-ja’s body becomes a doorway for Ah Sa-nyeo, an ancient priestess whose elegance is all venom. When a monster wears a beloved face, love becomes a risk and mercy a weapon.
Ah Sa-nyeo doesn’t just haunt—she strategizes. She partners with Kang Dae-sung, an ambitious politician betting on demons and disaster to climb higher, and their alliance turns mythic chaos into a civic emergency. Woo Ma-wang’s centuries-long longing is twisted into leverage; his suave mask slips to reveal an aching father and a man drowning in what‑ifs. The show deepens here, layering suspense with grief: the cost of power, the inheritance of sin, and the nauseating ease with which a city can be gamed. Have you ever watched someone you love bargain with the worst part of themselves?
Meanwhile, the so‑called “fake” love between Oh-gong and Seon-mi keeps refusing to disappear. He starts choosing her when she isn’t looking; he turns away from shortcuts to immortality because protecting her feels like the only thing that makes eternity worth it. She, in turn, learns to accept help without surrendering herself, honoring the difference between being saved and being seen. Their banter still crackles, but the subtext shifts from “I can’t help this” to “I choose this, even if it ruins me.” That layered evolution—from enchantment to agency—is the romance’s secret engine.
Prophecy tightens its grip: the Black Dragon stirs, a calamity tied to Sam-jang’s fate. Heaven’s rules are cold math—one sacrifice to spare the many—and humans become the collateral in a story older than cities. Oh-gong rages against the script; Seon-mi looks at the terrified world and at the man who finally loves her freely, and she knows where her steps must lead. The side characters rally: Ma-wang hunting proof that love survives lifetimes, Secretary Ma (Lee El) blending menace with loyalty, P.K searching for the courage to say goodbye. The show’s humor never vanishes, but it walks beside sorrow now.
The endgame is heartbreak and clarity. Ah Sa-nyeo is confronted; Dae-sung’s hubris curdles into downfall; Bu-ja gets the release she deserves—even if it scorches P.K on the way out. The dragon rises; Seon-mi fulfills a duty no one should bear; Oh-gong, shattered, learns that the bracelet he once hated also shielded the only part of him that couldn’t break. When Seon-mi returns for one day—one luminous, ordinary day—their love tests the boundary between memory and miracle. Have you ever wished time would slow down just long enough to say the truest thing?
On that day, something simple and beautiful happens: they stop arguing with destiny and talk to each other. He admits that the pain he carries isn’t a trick; she admits that loving him wasn’t just the bracelet’s echo. He shows her that he can remove the Geumganggo because his feelings now outrun fate; she receives a gift—his eye, a promise that he can find her anywhere. It’s not a neat bow; it’s a vow carved into myth. The city exhales.
The epilogue refuses to lie: grief lingers, and love isn’t a loophole, it’s a compass. Ma-wang glimpses hope in the reincarnated world he’s wandered for centuries, the kind of sign that makes an old monster cry in private. Oh-gong drives toward the underworld like a man late for a date, unafraid of eternity because he finally has something worth chasing. The story leaves us in motion, not in limbo—faith as momentum, devotion as fuel. And if you’re watching on a late-night train with an unlimited data plan and tired eyes, don’t be surprised when you smile at your reflection and whisper, “Find her.” Because this isn’t just a love story; it’s a search party.
Highlight Moments
Episode 1 The childhood contract is forged in a haunted house where candles keep a god imprisoned, and a brave little girl bargains for protection she’ll be denied. The scene does triple duty: it world-builds mythology, frames Seon-mi’s lifelong loneliness, and establishes Oh-gong’s tricky moral compass. When he breaks his promise, the betrayal isn’t just plot—it’s the splinter that makes every future rescue feel earned. Watching her grow into a woman who saves herself anyway, you’ll feel both protective and proud. It’s the perfect first cut that the series spends twenty episodes trying to heal.
Episode 2 The Geumganggo snaps onto Oh-gong’s wrist, weaponizing affection into compulsion and turning a swaggering immortal into the world’s most chaotic bodyguard. Comedy blooms from pain—his sudden adoration is swoony and ridiculous—but the ethical knot is serious: can love begin as a curse and end as a choice? You’ll laugh at his over-the-top devotion even as you clock Seon-mi’s fear of being someone’s obligation. The bracelet becomes a thesis statement the show keeps revising. Have you ever wanted someone’s attention and doubted it at the same time?
Episode 8 Bu-ja wanders into the story with soft eyes and a missing past, and P.K—idol demon, reluctant hero—teaches her joy like a new language. Their park-bench confessions, their small acts of kindness, and the goofy sweetness between them are the series’ gentlest spells. It’s love as reprieve, not destiny, and it makes the later tragedy land like a punch you saw coming and still couldn’t duck. This subplot also reframes monstrosity as circumstance, not character. You’ll cherish every candy-colored minute.
Episode 12 Ah Sa-nyeo takes Bu-ja’s body and the show turns the mirror: beauty becomes a mask, and desire becomes a blade. Her alliance with politician Kang Dae-sung is both mythic and alarmingly modern—ambition feeding on fear, ratings, and ritual. For Seon-mi and Oh-gong, every rescue becomes a chess move in a larger game, with human lives as pawns. The tonal balance—glamorous villainy, aching tenderness, sharp humor—never slips. You’ll start muttering at your screen, which is the highest compliment.
Episode 18 Oh-gong offers himself up to rewrite a prophecy, choosing sacrifice over survival because love has turned him from hurricane into harbor. Heaven’s rules falter when faced with human stubbornness; the bracelet that once controlled him becomes something he controls. The scene hums with righteous defiance—the kind that makes you sit up straighter. It’s where the romance stops being a spell and becomes a decision. And it’s the moment you realize the series is willing to be brave.
Episode 20 Their one‑day reunion is ordinary on purpose: street food, shared memories, a sky that rains star candy, and a question every lover asks—“Am I still pretty to you?” When he removes the bracelet himself and answers, it’s not just closure; it’s confirmation that the heart survived the magic. He gives her his eye, a mythic tracking beacon, and promises a future the camera can’t follow yet. The tenderness burns; the hope lingers. It’s the kind of finale that makes you believe in long roads and faithful drivers.
Memorable Lines
“If you call my name when you’re in trouble, in danger, or scared, I’ll appear and protect you.” – Son Oh-gong, Episode 1 It starts as a trickster’s promise inside a haunted house and becomes the series’ recurring heartbeat. Context matters: he breaks this vow once, and the bruise of that betrayal colors everything that follows. When he keeps it later, it’s not duty, it’s devotion—proof that people can grow even if they’re not technically people. The line turns a fairy-tale incantation into a love language.
“If you call my name and I don’t appear, it will be because my feelings have disappeared.” – Son Oh-gong, Episode 17 Here, he stops hiding behind the bracelet and tells her the one condition she dreads: love as presence, not performance. It pushes Seon-mi to confront the fear that she’s only lovable as a burden someone has to carry. It also reframes the tension—now she isn’t testing the bracelet, she’s trusting the man. The stakes shift from magic to choice, and the drama breathes easier.
“Are you sure that my pain is because of feelings created by this thing?” – Son Oh-gong, Episode 20 By the finale, he challenges the idea that love born under enchantment can’t be real. The moment is raw: grief, memory, and stubborn hope collide, and the bracelet refuses to come off at her touch. It’s the show arguing that love can outgrow its origin. In a story about fate, this is the most human line.
“I’ll fulfill that sacrifice.” – Son Oh-gong, Episode 18 Desperation turns into resolve when he offers himself in Seon-mi’s place, and heaven’s calculus starts to look small. The transformation from selfish survivor to willing protector is the drama’s moral spine. Have you ever watched someone you love change in the exact way you hoped and feared? That’s this sentence.
“Yes, you’re pretty. Because I love you.” – Son Oh-gong, Episode 20 It’s short, simple, and devastating—the bracelet off, the truth on, and the reason for everything finally spoken. After twenty episodes of push and pull, he answers the question beneath every fight: Do you see me? He does, and he chooses her. It’s the line that turns a farewell into a promise.
Why It's Special
The first thing that hits you about A Korean Odyssey is how it turns a centuries-old myth into a modern, big-city love story that still feels immediate. A mischievous immortal, a woman who can see the unseen, and a world where skyscrapers share space with spirits—have you ever felt the thrill of stepping into a story that seems to know your secret fears and wildest hopes at the same time? If you’re starting today, you can dive in right now: A Korean Odyssey is currently streaming on Netflix in the United States and many other regions, with offline downloads available for on-the-go viewing.
From its opening minutes, the series balances romance, fantasy, and sly humor, inviting you to laugh at bickering deities one moment and tear up the next. That blend isn’t accidental. It comes from the Hong Sisters—Hong Jung‑eun and Hong Mi‑ran—who helped define contemporary K‑drama fantasy with shows like My Girlfriend Is a Gumiho and The Greatest Love, then sharpened those instincts here into something darker and more tender.
At the center is Son Oh‑gong and Jin Seon‑mi’s tug‑of‑war between destiny and desire. The writing uses a magical bracelet to force love into a question we’ve all asked: if someone loves me because they must, is it still love? Have you ever felt that careful, aching hope when your heart wants an answer logic can’t supply? The show gives that ache a face—and then sets it loose among ghosts and gods.
Director Park Hong‑kyun stages this as a high‑gloss, lived‑in universe: a pop agency run by a bull demon, a CEO who happens to be a river spirit, a zombie with the kindest eyes in the city. Even when the camera winks, the emotions stay grounded, which is why a rooftop confession can feel as earthshaking as the apocalypse prophecies rumbling underneath.
The tone is a daring weave: horror beats that prickle your skin, screwball banter timed to perfection, and a romance that deepens into sacrifice. The result is an addictive “genre carousel” that still finds room for quiet, human moments—like sharing noodles after banishing a vengeful spirit—moments that ask, softly, Have you ever been brave enough to love when the ending might break you?
A Korean Odyssey also plays like a love letter to Journey to the West, refracting its archetypes through a neon Seoul. Sun Wukong becomes a swaggering antihero, the Bull Demon King a velvet‑tongued showman, and Sha Wujing a soft‑spoken tycoon—familiar and startlingly new. That mythic resonance keeps the story feeling bigger than any single couple, even as you’re glued to their fate.
Finally, the show’s sound and texture carry you. From NU’EST W’s pulsing “Let Me Out” to the show’s recurring lullabies of longing, the soundtrack feels like a heartbeat under the narrative—propelling chase scenes, warming reunions, and amplifying grief. It’s not just mood; it’s memory, the way a song can drag you back to the exact moment you first realized you were falling.
Popularity & Reception
When A Korean Odyssey premiered on tvN in December 2017, it landed strong cable ratings out of the gate and closed its run with nationwide highs around the mid‑6% mark—impressive numbers for the era and time slot. Those figures only tell part of the story; the fervor came from viewers who found in its fantasy a mirror for modern loneliness and loyalty.
The broadcast famously stumbled in week two with unfinished VFX on air and an abrupt cut, followed by a one‑week delay to reassess production. Instead of derailing the series, the incident sparked conversation about the pressure behind glossy K‑dramas and, paradoxically, grew curiosity overseas once Netflix licensed it—where audiences came for the spectacle and stayed for the characters.
Across the global fandom, the chemistry between the leads and the zany warmth of its found‑family ensemble earned enduring affection. Years later, you still see fan edits, OST playlists, and first‑watch threads from viewers discovering it for the first time on streaming, praising its “roller‑coaster” blend of horror, humor, and heart. That word‑of‑mouth momentum has kept it on many “gateway K‑drama” recommendation lists.
Critically, reactions have been varied but passionate—some reviews nitpick tonal whiplash and late‑game plotting, while others celebrate the audacity of its mash‑up and the singular charm of its ensemble. That split is part of its identity: a drama whose imperfections make it feel handmade, like a talisman passed from friend to friend.
On audience‑rating platforms, it continues to sit at a strong, rewatch‑friendly score with a sizable global vote base, reflecting steady, long‑tail popularity beyond its original run. In other words, A Korean Odyssey didn’t just air—it lingered, the way certain stories do when their questions live inside you long after the credits.
Cast & Fun Facts
Lee Seung‑gi returned to scripted television here as Son Oh‑gong, the Great Sage equal to heaven with a mortal’s inconvenient heart. Fresh from military discharge in late October 2017, he brought a sharpened physicality to the role—cocky swagger, coiled stillness, and a flicker of vulnerability that turns bravado into romance. Watching him play “I don’t care” when his eyes betray everything is half the fun.
In meta‑fashion, the Hong Sisters had once written him as the wide‑eyed hero of My Girlfriend Is a Gumiho; here, they invert that dynamic, letting him weaponize charm before slowly letting the mask slip. You can feel the writer‑actor reunion in the way his banter with Ma‑wang keeps landing like a duet they’ve rehearsed for years.
Cha Seung‑won is wickedly irresistible as Woo Ma‑wang, a demon executive whose suits are as sharp as his timing. He threads a needle between menace and mentorship, turning a would‑be villain into the show’s unexpected heart—where a single sigh can carry a punchline or a prayer.
It’s also a delightful reunion: Cha headlined The Greatest Love with the Hong Sisters and Park Hong‑kyun, and you can feel that shorthand here. The writers know exactly how to play to his strengths—grand comedic set pieces punctured by sudden sincerity—which is why his scenes with Oh‑gong feel like classic screwball, only with gods and ghosts.
Oh Yeon‑seo grounds the supernatural swirl as Jin Seon‑mi, a real‑estate CEO who flips haunted properties and keeps a lifetime of courage folded under a yellow umbrella. She plays Seon‑mi’s solitude without bitterness, which makes every moment of hard‑won trust land with a jolt—you feel how dangerous it is for her to love, and how luminous it becomes when she does.
The character is a clever gender‑flip of Tang Sanzang from Journey to the West, and Oh leans into that gravitas—protector and protected at once. Her best scenes often happen in silence: the way she looks at a doorway before stepping through, or the tiny breath she takes before calling Oh‑gong’s name.
Lee Se‑young is unforgettable in a dual turn as Bu‑ja, the sweetest zombie you’ll ever meet, and Asanyeo, an ancient priestess with a will of iron. The transformation—same face, different soul—becomes a quiet showcase of range; even her posture changes, so that a tilt of the head can break your heart or chill your blood.
Her storyline with PK gives the show its most tender subplot: kindness offered to a body that’s borrowed time. It’s a love letter to the idea that dignity isn’t a luxury—it’s a lifeline—and Lee plays it with such open‑hearted clarity that you may find yourself rooting for a miracle.
Lee Hong‑gi steals scenes as P.K./Jeo Pal‑gye, a pig demon rebranded as a K‑pop star—an in‑joke that lands even harder given his real‑life status as FTISLAND’s frontman. He brings fizzy comic beats and a surprising moral compass, the friend who shows up with snacks and a plan, even when the plan is a little ridiculous.
He’s also the beating heart of some of the series’ most resonant side arcs, including his fierce protectiveness toward Bu‑ja. When he drops the jokester veneer, you see a character who understands loneliness and chooses joy anyway—a small rebellion that feels huge.
Jang Gwang as Sa Oh‑jeong/Yoon Dae‑sik is a delight of contradictions: a river spirit who happens to be a mobile‑tech CEO, the gentlest host who could level a room if he wished. His presence gives the ensemble ballast; whenever he cooks for this unruly family of immortals, the show reminds you that care is a kind of magic, too.
In the original legend, Sha Wujing is the quiet, steadfast monk; here, Jang updates that archetype with corporate swagger and domestic warmth. The effect is oddly moving—power that chooses service over spectacle.
Behind the camera, director Park Hong‑kyun and the Hong Sisters orchestrate a reunion of long‑time collaborators, even down to playful casting what‑ifs—Park Bo‑gum was reportedly offered the lead early on before the final lineup locked. The team’s history (from Warm and Cozy to The Greatest Love) explains how confidently the show shifts tones without losing its center: a story about love that insists on being brave.
Conclusion / Warm Reminders
If you’re craving a drama that makes you laugh at monsters and cry for mortals, A Korean Odyssey is worth your weekend. Watch it on Netflix with a comfortable setup—good headphones or a soundbar will let those otherworldly whispers dance, and if you’re traveling, a reliable solution like a best VPN for streaming can help you keep episodes close. When the final credits roll, don’t be surprised if you find yourself pricing a new 4K TV and comparing streaming services, just to feel this world a little nearer the next time you return.
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