The Eternal Flower Beggar King Chapter 17 — The Inn Worker

 The Eternal Flower Beggar King

Chapter 17 — The Inn Worker

Imja Year, winter.

Jinhwa began working at the Blue Cloud Inn.

One day passed, then two.

By the seventh day, the same routine had worn a groove into his life.

Wake before dawn, draw water from the well, sweep the courtyard, wash dishes, run errands for guests, work until late into the night.

This is hard…

But there was nothing else he could choose.

He needed to eat. He needed somewhere to sleep. There was no pay, but at least those two things were guaranteed.

Just hold on.

Jinhwa repeated the words to himself each day — less a vow than a habit of survival.

The Dawn Routine

The hour of the Tiger — between three and five in the morning, before the darkness had fully lifted.

Jinhwa rose from the storehouse floor. His body was still heavy with exhaustion, but he had to get up.

Seokho knocked on the door.

"Jinhwa — you awake?"

A deep voice. But gentle.

"…Yeah."

His own voice cracked. His throat was parched from sleeping in the cold shed.

"Get out here. Water's not going to draw itself."

"Yes…"

Jinhwa staggered to his feet.

Outside, the cold hit him.

Winter dawn air struck his face like a slap. His breath came out white. His fingertips stung.

He went to the well.

He lifted the water basin. Still heavy — but this time, he planted his feet in the horse stance he had drilled at Mount Hua and drew the water that way.

Ngh…

His arms shook, but he held.

A week of the same work. He was growing accustomed, just enough that the smallest margin of breathing room had opened up.

He carried the water to the kitchen.

Once. Twice. Three times.

By the fifth trip, his arms gave out.

Still… a long way to go. But the horse stance does help with drawing water.

Morning Preparations

The hour of the Rabbit. The sun crested the horizon, and the kitchen lurched into motion.

The smell of scallions frying in oil filled the air — layered with grease. The signature scent of the inn.

Chef Jang walked in. A man in his mid-fifties, broad and loud.

Jinhwa had not seen him on the first day, but from the second day onward he was impossible to miss. His temperament was something else entirely.

"Big crowd today. Move it!"

"Yes!"

Jinhwa answered.

Chef Jang frightened him. Fall behind even slightly, and the man bellowed. Make a mistake, and the curses flew.

Stay careful.

"Oh Jinhwa — chop the scallions!"

"Yes!"

He picked up the knife.

He began to cut.

His hands were clumsy. He had never learned to work a kitchen blade. At Mount Hua, the only edges he had gripped were weapons. A cooking knife was a first.

Instead of the fluid rhythm of a practiced hand, each cut landed with a dull, halting thud.

He was slow.

"Hey! Faster! Customers are waiting!"

"S-sorry!"

He hurried.

And sliced his finger.

"Ah…"

Blood welled up.

"What are you doing! Keep your blood out of my food — move!"

Chef Jang shoved him aside.

Jinhwa stumbled sideways, catching himself against the counter.

That hurts…

Blood ran down his finger.

Seokho handed him a strip of cloth.

"Wrap it."

A deep voice, but low and steady.

"…Thank you."

Jinhwa wound the cloth around his finger.

Seokho said quietly:

"Chef Jang's always like that. Don't take it to heart."

"Yes…"

"You'll get used to it. Well — getting used to it won't be easy, either."

Seokho said it plainly, then turned back to work.

Jinhwa looked down at his bloodied hand.

Am I hopeless here too?

Serving Guests

Once preparations were finished, the guests began to arrive.

The inn filled with noise. Merchants, travelers, men who carried themselves like martial artists — all manner of people gathered for the morning meal.

"Hey! Jinhwa! Water to table three!"

"Yes!"

Jinhwa grabbed the water pitcher and ran.

Three men sat at the table. Rough faces. Swords at their waists.

Martial artists…

He poured the water carefully.

"When's the food coming?"

One of them asked.

"It will be out shortly."

"Make it fast. We're starving."

"Yes, understood."

Jinhwa bowed his head and withdrew.

On the way back to the kitchen, another customer called out.

"Boy!"

"Yes?"

"Another bottle of wine!"

"Right away!"

He ran again.

He delivered the wine, turned back toward the kitchen —

Another voice.

"Boy — a towel!"

"Yes!"

The entire day passed like this.

Running, carrying, clearing.

Not a moment's rest.

I can barely… breathe.

The Midday Rush

Noon.

The busiest hour.

Customers flooded in. The main hall was packed shoulder to shoulder, and the kitchen dissolved into chaos.

The smell of boiling broth and burning oil tangled together. Smoke hung thick in the air.

"Faster!"

"Food's up!"

"Wine over here!!!"

"Water!!!"

Shouting without end.

Jinhwa moved in a frenzy.

Carrying plates, clearing bowls, pouring drinks.

He nearly dropped a plate.

"Careful!"

Seokho caught it.

"Thank you…"

"It's fine. Slow down."

But slowing down was impossible.

Faster… faster…

For someone doing this for the first time, the hardest part was not the speed itself — it was not knowing when to push and when to ease off. That inability to find a rhythm made everything twice as exhausting.

The lunch rush passed, and a brief window of calm opened.

Jinhwa sank to the floor in a corner of the kitchen.

His legs trembled beneath him.

The world doesn't go easy on you…

Seokho set a rice bowl in front of him.

"Eat."

"Thank you."

Rice, kimchi, and soybean paste soup.

That was everything.

But he was famished.

He raised the bowl and drank the soup in long, gulping draughts. It was scalding, but it tasted good.

At Mount Hua…

The memory surfaced before he could stop it. Rice, soup, three or four side dishes. A cup of warm tea to finish.

Back then… I even complained about it.

Looking back now, it had been luxury.

Dishwashing

After the midday meal came the dishes.

A mountain of them. Each one caked in a thick layer of grease.

Jinhwa rolled up his sleeves.

He plunged his hands into the water basin. Cold. Winter made it worse.

Freezing…

A flicker of resentment passed through him, but in the end, this was his work to do.

He scrubbed.

One. Two. Three.

Ten. Twenty.

Before long he lost count and simply kept going.

There's no end…

His hands turned red.

Too long in the cold water — his fingertips swelled. More blisters formed.

It hurts…

But he endured.

It was a little better than a week ago. At first he could not last an hour. Now he could manage two.

Like Seokho said… you do get used to it, little by little.

While he washed, voices drifted from deeper in the kitchen. Seokho and another server, talking.

"Business has been pretty good lately."

"Right? Way more customers."

"The boss seemed pleased."

"Think we'll get a raise on our monthly pay?"

"Who knows… hard to say."

"Maybe the new kid brought us good luck?"

Laughter.

Jinhwa kept scrubbing.

Monthly pay…

Something he did not have.

When will I… ever earn money?

Afternoon Chores

After the dishes came more work.

"Jinhwa — sweep the courtyard!"

"Yes!"

He took the broom and went outside.

Leaves had piled up. Even in winter, the wind carried them in from everywhere.

He swept and swept. It was easier to accept that sweeping leaves would never truly end.

He cleared one side; the wind scattered more across it.

There they go again…

But he kept sweeping.

"Jinhwa — clean the rooms!"

"Yes!"

He went to the guest rooms.

The rooms vacated by the morning's departures.

He folded bedding, wiped floors, beat the dust from surfaces.

Room after room.

His back ached.

Ngh…

"Jinhwa — split the firewood!"

"Yes!"

He went to the back yard.

A pile of logs waited.

He picked up the axe. It was heavy.

He stood a log upright and swung down.

Thwack!

It did not split.

He swung again.

Thwack!

A crack appeared.

On the third strike, it finally broke apart.

This is hard…

Swinging the axe reminds me of Falling Petals on Flowing Water.

But he kept going.

Ten logs. Twenty.

He was sweating. Even in winter, his body burned with the effort.

This too… is work.

Evening Preparations

The hour of the Rooster — between five and seven in the evening.

The pace picked up again.

The evening crowd began filing in. More than the daytime — drinking customers made up the bulk of them.

The smell of liquor spread through the main hall. The drunken clamor swelled.

"Three bottles of wine!"

"Food — now!"

"Water over here!"

Shouting from every direction.

Jinhwa ran again.

Carrying wine, carrying side dishes.

No time to breathe.

The Incident

It was evening.

Jinhwa carried a bottle of wine toward a table.

Three men sat there. Their faces were flushed. They had already been drinking heavily.

They looked well past tipsy. A thread of unease tightened in Jinhwa's chest.

"Your wine."

He approached carefully.

He was setting the bottle on the table when one of the men swung his arm.

"Hey! You're late!"

The moment stretched.

The man's arm seemed to drift toward him slowly… impossibly slowly.

Smack.

The arm struck the bottle.

The bottle slipped from Jinhwa's hands.

Splash.

Wine poured across the table and cascaded onto the floor.

It spattered the man's clothes.

The room went quiet.

Every customer turned to look.

This is bad…

Jinhwa's entire body locked up.

"You little —!"

The man shot to his feet.

Jinhwa froze.

The man's face burned crimson. Drink-glazed eyes bored into him.

I'm… scared…

"I — I'm sorry!"

Jinhwa dropped into a deep bow.

"Sorry? Do you have any idea what this robe cost?!"

The man seized Jinhwa by the collar.

Wrench.

The fabric dug into his throat.

"This is —"

He could not breathe.

"Pay for it! Right now!"

The man roared.

The other customers stared.

Jinhwa's face burned.

What do I do…

Then a deep voice cut through.

"Sir — our sincerest apologies!"

Seokho came running.

He stepped in front of the man, placing himself between the drunk and the boy. His voice was low and calm.

"The boy made a mistake. Please allow me to apologize on his behalf."

The man's fury cooled, degree by degree.

Seokho is… used to this.

"You think an apology's enough?"

"We won't charge you for the wine. And —"

Seokho reached into his coat and drew out silver coins.

Two nyang.

That's —

Jinhwa's heart plummeted.

That's Seokho's money…

"Please accept this for the cost of your garment."

The man hesitated a moment, then snatched the coins.

"Hmph! Watch yourselves next time!"

He sat back down.

Seokho pulled Jinhwa away.

Aftermath

Behind the kitchen.

Seokho let out a long breath.

"You alright?"

"…I'm sorry."

Jinhwa hung his head.

"Everyone makes mistakes. But you have to be more careful."

"Yes…"

"When those types get drink in them, they turn violent. You need to handle them with care."

Seokho tapped Jinhwa on the shoulder.

"Do better next time. That's all."

"…Thank you."

Jinhwa looked at Seokho.

His face appeared impassive, but a quiet warmth showed through.

He's a good person…

The owner was different.

He came into the kitchen.

"Oh Jinhwa."

"Yes…"

"No dinner for you tonight."

"…What?"

"Consider it the price of your mistake. The wine, and the money Seokho paid — it's coming out of your meals."

The owner turned and left.

Jinhwa could not find words.

No food…? Seokho paid out of his own pocket — what right does he have to take it out on me?

Hunger

The evening shift ended.

The other workers ate their meals.

Jinhwa did not.

He returned to the storehouse.

He was hungry.

Grrrrrl.

His stomach spoke for him.

I'm so hungry…

But there was nothing to be done.

He opened his bundle.

Fifteen nyang of silver.

I could… buy something with this.

But he hesitated.

I need to save it. I don't know when I'll have to leave the inn.

He decided to endure.

He lay on the straw.

The hunger did not fade.

Bear it…

He closed his eyes.

It struck him as almost funny — at Mount Hua, what had tormented him were the stares, the way people looked at him differently. Here, the only thought in his head was food.

Being hungry really is the hardest thing to bear.

But sleep would not come. The hunger chased it away.

Tomorrow… tomorrow I'll eat.

He clung to that thought, and held on.

Realization

In the darkness, Jinhwa thought.

So this is how everyone lives…

A life he could never have imagined at Mount Hua.

Going hungry. Being shoved around. Being treated as less than nothing.

This is… what the world is.

At Mount Hua, he had been a disciple.

An ordinary one, yes — but a disciple all the same. The moment he stepped beyond that shelter, everything became real.

Food had appeared without asking. A bed had been waiting. Even when people dismissed him, no one had struck him or starved him.

Here, it was different.

I'm… nothing.

Just a worker. An errand boy. Someone who could be discarded at any time.

But… I don't want to run away again.

Jinhwa clenched his fists.

I have to survive.

I need to eat, and I need to sleep.

And for that… I have to work.

No mistakes. Stay careful. Give everything I have.

The gentle face of Elder Cheongheo surfaced in his mind, and with it, the warmth of his words.

Until that day comes… I have to stay alive.

Jinhwa closed his eyes.

His stomach was still empty.

But he could endure it.

Tomorrow… I'll do better.

Another Day

Dawn arrived.

Seokho knocked on the door.

"Jinhwa — get up."

A deep voice.

"…Yeah."

Jinhwa rose.

His stomach was still hollow, but he had to move.

He stepped out of the storehouse, walked to the well, and began the same day over again.

He lifted the water basin.

Here we go… another one.

Seokho looked at him.

"Hungry?"

Jinhwa nodded.

"…Yeah."

"Eat breakfast first, then work. I'll talk to the boss."

"…Thank you."

Seokho smiled.

"This is… how we live."

Jinhwa looked at him.

So this is how it is…

[End of Chapter 17]