he Eternal Flower Beggar King Chapter 91 – A New Beginning

he Eternal Flower Beggar King Chapter 91 – A New Beginning

Days passed.

The icicles hanging from the branch tips outside the window grew a little shorter each day. The sound of water dripping from the eaves grew louder by the hour. The frost that had covered the ground every morning thinned and thinned until one day it vanished entirely. Winter was retreating.

Through all that time Jinhwa sat at his desk.

He looked out the window. He looked at the ceiling. He looked at the four things on the desk, one after another. Heungnoe. The Yeonhae Japyeong. The Hwasan plaque. The cultivation manual. He reached out to touch them and set them down again. He stood and paced the room and sat again. A day passed that way, then two, then three.

"What will I do."

He murmured, but no answer came.

Four more days passed. Then five. On the morning of the sixth day Jinhwa sat at his desk as usual. Through the window he could see, far off, the bare rock where snow had melted from the mountainside. On the nearest branches, buds were readying themselves to sprout. The sky was a little higher and brighter than it had been in winter.

Spring was coming.

Jinhwa picked up the cultivation manual from the desk.

The cover was worn. The corners were frayed. The pages were wrinkled from having been soaked and dried. He stroked the cover with his fingers. He opened it slowly. He looked at the first page. Basic breathing techniques were written there.

"I want to practice martial arts."

For the first time he said it aloud.

When he was cast out of the Hwasan Sect, when he worked at the inn, when he ran the clothing shop, when he led Pungnyu-gak — he had never once spoken those words. Now at last he said them. That he wanted to practice martial arts. That he wanted to grow strong. That even without water meridians he wanted to try somehow.

He attempted to feel the energy in his dantian, for the first time in a long while.

"I cannot."

Jinhwa set the manual down.

Without water meridians it was impossible. No matter how much he trained, internal energy would not accumulate. He had failed to master even the basics. Seven years at the Hwasan Sect and in the end he had come down the mountain a washout. That was reality.

"But…"

Jinhwa looked out the window.

The distant mountain range reminded him of the Hwasan Sect. A sword-bearing martial artist passing on the road caught his eye. From far away, the faint ring of clashing blades seemed to brush his ears on the wind. The murim was out there.

"I don't want to… turn away from it completely."

That he could not practice martial arts did not mean he wanted to sever himself from the murim entirely.

He wanted to stay near it.

For the sake of whatever chance might come — if he believed the words that said a flower would bloom at thirty-eight — he wanted to remain close to the murim until then. He wanted to watch, even from a distance. He wanted to hear the news. He wanted to touch the things they used and listen to the stories they told.

Jinhwa stood slowly.

He went out to the corridor and opened a window. He looked down at the yard. He surveyed the estate, clean and orderly. Nearly a month of cleaning had left it spotless, but there were no people. Only empty space remained.

"I should go into trade."

It was the only thing he knew how to do.

His lost reputation was too great to return to music. Martial arts were beyond him. What remained was trade. Jinhwa went down to the yard and stood in the center. A cold wind blew. It brushed his collar. It lifted his hair.

"A trade where murim people come…"

He murmured.

Yes. To stay near the murim he would need to work where murim people gathered. A place where he could exchange words with them, hear their stories, deal in the things they needed.

An inn?

Jinhwa shook his head.

Murim people came to inns in great numbers. But he would be nothing more than an errand boy. Carrying trays and cleaning rooms and washing dishes, following the owner's orders. He would not even be able to join their conversations — only watch from afar.

Music?

His chest tightened.

Pungnyu-gak rose in his mind. The members' faces flickered past. The voices of the four women circled in his ears. Along with the guilt — what right did he have to make music again. No. Not music.

A clothing shop?

Murim people did not visit clothing shops. The ones who sought silk were aristocrats and the wealthy. Martial artists wore tough training garb. A clothing shop was far removed from the murim.

"Then…"

Jinhwa's feet stopped.

He looked up at the sky. He watched the clouds drift slowly. A place that could deal in the information and goods they needed… what could that be.

"A general store."

The words came out.

Jinhwa closed his eyes.

A general store. A place that sold all manner of things. Where people came to buy weapons, to buy medicinal ingredients, to buy and sell every kind of everyday necessity. Orthodox martial artists came. Unorthodox martial artists came. He had even heard rumors that Demonic Sect members came in secret. Some came to sell rare manuals. Some came to buy strange goods. Some came to gather information.

A place where murim people gathered.

"That's it."

Jinhwa opened his eyes.

He returned to the study.

He sat at the desk and opened the Yeonhae Japyeong. He found the passage he had read days before and traced the characters with his finger as he read.

"The fate of Pyeonjae is one whose talent tilts to one side, unable to tend to the rest. Though wealth is gathered it cannot be kept…"

The clothing shop came back to him.

At eighteen he had opened a shop and earned a reputation for having a good eye. Money began to accumulate. When a large trading partner's proposal came in, his heart had raced. Dreaming of a windfall, he invested everything he had. He worked day and night. He dreamed of success.

It collapsed in an instant.

Because he had staked everything on a single bet. One product. One deal. One partner. He had lost his balance. He had tilted. And lost it all.

"This time, differently."

Jinhwa closed the book.

He stood and left the room. He passed an empty guest room and headed for the practice room. He opened the door and went inside. The instruments sat in their places, neatly arranged. Not a speck of dust. Light from the windows cast long shadows on the floor.

Jinhwa noticed the odds and ends piled in a corner.

A broken pipa. A geomungo with a snapped string. A few cracked flutes. Things Cheongpung had said he was "saving to repair later." Jinhwa picked them up one by one.

He examined the body of the pipa. He checked the bridge of the geomungo. He ran his finger along the cracks in the flutes. He thought he could fix them. He had repaired all manner of things while working at the inn. He had learned to stitch and mend at the clothing shop. At Pungnyu-gak he had learned to handle instruments.

Small skills.

None of them remarkable on their own, but together they had their uses.

Jinhwa set the instruments down and opened his palms.

These hands had tailored garments. Prepared food. Fixed broken things. Played the geomungo. They were not hands that excelled at one thing alone. They were hands that did a little of everything.

"A general store…"

He murmured once more.

A general store did not sell just one thing. It dealt in all manner of goods. A little of this, a little of that. Instead of one great profit, small profits gathered and grew. It did not tilt. It kept its balance. It built slowly.

A trade that could sidestep Pyeonjae.

And one where he could practice the things he himself still needed.

Jinhwa left the practice room and walked the corridor.

He passed the great hall and stepped into the yard. He stood in the center and looked up at the sky. He closed his eyes slowly. The wind blew. Branches swayed. Far off, a single bird sang.

Gakju Oh Jinhwa of Pungnyu-gak.

He remembered the days of receiving applause on splendid stages, attending banquets at aristocrats' invitations, seizing fame and fortune in a single sweep. And he remembered the moment it all collapsed. The women's quarrel. The members' departure. The estate where he was left alone.

"I've had enough… of splendor."

Jinhwa opened his eyes.

This time he would start somewhere quiet. Not on a grand stage but in a small shop on a street corner. Not as a Gakju receiving applause but as a shopkeeper handing over a single item with a greeting. He would wait for customers. Arrange his goods. Build trust, slowly.

That was water.

Fire had blazed and cooled. It had bloomed brilliantly and turned to ash. It had burned white-hot and gone cold. But water was different. Water pooled quietly. It flowed slowly. It seeped into the lowest places and in the end filled everything.

The seven years at the Hwasan Sect. The failure of the clothing shop. The fall of Pungnyu-gak. All of them had been fire. He had charged ahead burning. He had blazed brilliantly. And cooled just as fast.

This time he would become water.

"I'll open a general store."

The conviction settled.

A new phase.

He returned to the study and sat at the desk.

He opened a drawer and took out the pouch of silver he had saved from the Pungnyu-gak days. A solid weight met his fingertips. He loosened the cord and counted the coins one by one.

Roughly three hundred nyang. The money Cheongpung had set aside as Jinhwa's share after distributing the rest among the members when Pungnyu-gak dissolved.

"To open a general store with this…"

Jinhwa stroked his chin and ran the numbers. If he rented a shop and stocked only the essentials, three hundred nyang was enough to start. Tight, but not impossible.

But there was no margin. Trade always brought surprises. What if the early days stretched long without customers and he had to hold out? What if a sudden opportunity came to stock goods in bulk? Three hundred nyang was enough to start but precarious when it came to sustaining.

Jinhwa set the pouch down and looked around. Through the window he could see the wide yard and the roof of the side hall.

The estate.

He could sell it. During Pungnyu-gak's peak he had paid two thousand eight hundred nyang for this property. The location was decent and it had been well maintained. At worst he could get twenty-five hundred nyang or more.

"If I hold that money as a reserve and start from there, I won't be shaken."

Once the decision was made Jinhwa rose from his chair. He fastened his clothes and put on his shoes. He opened the gate and stepped outside. The sun hung at its peak. The streets hummed with energy. The cries of hawkers from the market district struck his ears.

He needed to find a property broker.

On one side of the market district stood a small shop with a sign.

"Land and Property Brokerage," it read. The door was open. Inside, an elderly broker sat studying his ledger. Jinhwa pushed the door and entered.

"Welcome."

The broker looked up.

Jinhwa took a seat, described the estate's location and size, stated his intention to sell. The broker nodded and made a note in his ledger.

"A large property. It will take some time to find a buyer."

"How long?"

"A month at the earliest. Three months if it's slow. Buyers for a property that size aren't common."

Jinhwa thought for a moment.

Three months. Staying at an inn in the meantime would cost money. Wandering while he waited would be inconvenient. Better to remain at the estate as it was.

"May I continue living there until it sells?"

"Of course."

The broker smiled.

"That's actually preferable. An occupied house is better maintained and makes a better impression on buyers."

"Then let's do that."

Jinhwa stood.

He drew up a simple contract with the broker, agreed on the commission, and arranged for the broker to contact him when a buyer appeared. Jinhwa left the shop and returned to the estate.

The moment he stepped inside, stillness.

He walked the corridor. Went to the study. Sat at the desk again. Outside the window the sun was sinking. Shadows lengthened. The day was ending.

Jinhwa looked at the four things on the desk.

Heungnoe. My talent.

The Yeonhae Japyeong. My caution.

The Hwasan plaque. My roots.

The cultivation manual. My possibility.

"Keeping these four…"

He murmured.

"I will build slowly."

Night came.

Jinhwa lay on his bed and looked at the ceiling.

The estate would sell. Whether it took one month or three, it would sell eventually. With that money he would open a general store. In a small shop he would buy and sell goods and build trust, slowly.

Murim people would come.

He would talk with them. Hand them the things they needed. Hear their news. Stay near the murim. And wait.

Splendor was not necessary.

Quietly. Slowly. Steadily.

This time, like water.

Jinhwa closed his eyes.

Wind blew in from outside. He heard the sound of branches swaying. Far off, the faint bark of a dog drifted in. A quiet night.

Tomorrow he would begin to prepare.

Until the estate sold, he would learn more about general stores, think about what goods to carry, survey locations, make a plan.

"This time…"

His lips moved.

"Slowly."

Dawn came.

Jinhwa rose from his bed and opened the window.

Cold air entered. The sky was clear. In the east the sun was rising. A new day.

A general store.

A place where murim people came.

A place that dealt in many things.

A place where trust was built slowly.

A place where he could stay near martial arts without turning away — and start again.

Jinhwa watched the sun and slowly let out a breath.

This time would be different.

No — it had to be different.

[End of Chapter 91]