The Eternal Flower Beggar King — Chapter 96: Regulars

 The Eternal Flower Beggar King — Chapter 96: Regulars

Spring ended fully. The air turned to early summer. Days passed, then more days, and a full moon rose and set. Jinhwa's routine settled into steady repetition. He rose at the hour of the Tiger, washed his face, and opened the shop before the hour of the Rabbit. Daytime was quiet, but he did not mind. When the sun set he lit the lanterns so customers could find him through the night. He closed the door only after the hour of the Rat gave way to the hour of the Ox. He went to the back room and slept two or three hours. Then he rose and started the day again.

His body was tired, but his mind was calm.

At the clothing shop he had been anxious. At Pungnyu-gak he had been giddy. Every day had been uncertain. But now was different. Rising at the same hour each day, tidying the shop in the same order, sitting in the same seat to wait for customers — the repetition did not chafe. It was stable. Predictable. And that felt comfortable.

"I've gotten used to this."

One morning, Jinhwa murmured from behind the counter. Through the window the sun was rising. Warm light poured into the shop. It stretched long across the spotless floor. The wound-salve bottles on the display shelf glowed softly. Straw sandals and rope on the double-sided stand cast their shadows. The ledger on the counter caught the sunlight and gleamed.

Customers would come.

He did not know when, but they would come. Jinhwa knew this. He could wait without haste.

As the night deepened, the familiar sound of cart wheels.

Jinhwa raised his head and looked through the window. Three large carts were approaching slowly. They had spotted the lantern and were slowing down. They stopped in front of the shop. The caravan leader climbed down from his cart. Jinhwa rose, opened the door, and bowed.

"Welcome."

"Shopkeeper — I'm back."

The leader entered with a grin. His third visit. The first time he had been cautious. The second, glad. Now he looked at ease. Jinhwa studied him and thought.

That caravan leader is a man accustomed to night roads.

The carts told the story. Deep, even wheel tracks — the mark of heavy loads carried over long distances. The horses' hooves were worn at a uniform angle, suggesting a man who traveled the same route each week at the same pace and schedule. The dirt caked beneath the cart beds was a different color from the local soil — he came from far away. The leader's clothes, too, were practical. Not splendid, but made of tough cloth. Dusty, but not dirty. Frugal yet neat — the way of an experienced merchant.

"Lamp oil and rations, please."

"How much?"

"The usual. Five bottles of lamp oil. Five geun of jerky. Twenty hardtack."

Jinhwa nodded and began preparing the order. He took the lamp-oil bottles from the shelf one by one and set them on the counter. He weighed jerky on the scale and measured out five geun. He counted twenty hardtack. His hands knew the motions. Quick and precise. The leader nodded with satisfaction.

Always the same quantity.

Jinhwa thought as he wrapped the goods.

Five bottles of lamp oil. One lantern per cart — three carts — plus two spares. Five geun of jerky, twenty hardtack. His caravan must number about ten men. A man of exact calculation.

He handed over the goods and looked at the leader again. Mid-forties, perhaps. Wrinkles on his face, but sharp eyes. Soft-spoken, yet decisive. A man who had been in trade a long time. Rich in experience. A man who bought only what he needed, never more.

Men like him are the ones who last in business.

Jinhwa felt a quiet admiration.

No greed. Exact calculations. Buying only what is needed. I should do the same. Don't overstock. Bring in only what will sell. Sell only what customers need.

He took the silver and placed it in the drawer.

"Thank you. Please come again."

"I'll stop by next week. Having a shop like this on the night road — it's reassuring."

The caravan departed. Jinhwa stood in the doorway and watched the carts vanish into the darkness. The lantern light shrank to a speck. The rumble of wheels faded. The night grew quiet again.

"Having regulars."

He murmured softly.

"Having trust build up. At the clothing shop, I only cared about new customers — never the regulars. At Pungnyu-gak, I was drunk on fame. But the essence of trade might be exactly this. People who come at the same time each week for the same goods — they are the real customers."

Jinhwa went back inside and sat at the counter. He opened the ledger and recorded the day's transaction. The brush tip flowed slowly across the paper. He watched the ink soak in. A small smile.

At the hour of the Rabbit, before dawn, another set of footsteps.

Steady and slow. Jinhwa did not need to look. He knew. The same traveler, the same day each week, the same hour. The door opened. A middle-aged man stepped inside. Jinhwa rose and bowed.

"Welcome."

"I'm back."

The traveler answered briefly. A man of few words. He had been that way on his first visit, his second, and now again. He said only what was necessary. He paid the exact amount. He offered a word of thanks and left.

Jinhwa observed him.

That traveler walks great distances.

The sandals told the story. They were nearly worn through. The soles had thinned almost to the point of holes. To wear them down this far in a single week, the man had to walk dozens of li every day. The pack on his back looked light. The bundle was small. It carried little weight. He traveled alone.

"Straw sandals and rations, please."

"Of course."

Jinhwa walked to the double-sided stand and picked up a fresh pair of sandals. He brought them to the counter. He weighed one geun of jerky on the scale. He chose five hardtack, wrapped them in cloth, and handed them over. The traveler produced his silver. Jinhwa placed it in the drawer and gave back the change.

Always the same.

Jinhwa thought.

One pair of sandals. One geun of jerky. Five hardtack. Enough for one week. Enough for one person. He must have no family.

The traveler tucked the goods into his bundle. The movements were practiced. Natural. The ease of long repetition. Jinhwa looked at the man's face. Early forties, perhaps. Weathered. Deep lines carved into the skin. But his eyes were not clouded. They were clear. Peaceful. He did not look lonely.

He seems solitary, but…

Jinhwa thought.

There is peace in his face. He is alone, yet he does not seem lonely. How is that possible? I was always anxious when I was alone. Afraid when no one was around. I needed someone beside me to feel safe. But that traveler — he is at peace even by himself.

The traveler shouldered his bundle and stood.

"Another good week to you."

"Safe travels."

"Next week, then."

The traveler opened the door and left. His footsteps faded into the predawn darkness. Jinhwa stood in the doorway and watched the figure for a long time.

"A life like that might not be bad."

He murmured softly.

"At the Hwasan Sect, I needed to be in a group to feel safe. At Pungnyu-gak, I needed to be surrounded by people to be happy. But now… being alone is all right. Quiet is all right. If I could live like that traveler — walking on in silence, seeking only what is needed, at peace…"

Jinhwa returned to the counter and sat. He recorded the transaction in the ledger. He looked out the window. The sky was beginning to brighten. The sun would rise soon. A new day would begin. Customers would come again today.

More days passed.

Customers came steadily. Jinhwa began observing them — not merely selling goods and collecting silver, but wondering who they were, what they needed, what kind of lives they led. He did not ask. He watched with his eyes. He studied their habits. Little by little, he came to know them.

One evening, a young murim fighter stepped inside.

He wore a sword. The scabbard was old but clean. The grip wrapping was tight, not loose. Jinhwa looked at him and thought.

That young fighter treasures his sword.

While the fighter browsed the shop, Jinhwa observed. The man had checked his sword the moment he entered. He had glanced at the scabbard for dust. He had lightly gripped the hilt to confirm it could be drawn at any moment. Habit. An unconscious motion, performed with the naturalness of long repetition. The basic discipline of a swordsman.

"Do you have flint stones?"

"Yes."

Jinhwa took one from the display shelf and handed it over. The fighter turned it in his hand, checking quality. He nodded and produced his silver. Jinhwa placed it in the drawer.

Is he a master?

Jinhwa wondered.

I know nothing of martial arts, so I cannot tell. But the way he treats his sword — there is something to learn. The care for one's tools. The respect for one's instrument. I should do the same. This shop, these goods — I should cherish them the way that fighter cherishes his sword.

The fighter left. Jinhwa looked around the shop. Display shelves. Double-sided stand. Counter. Lanterns. Goods. All of it was precious. All of it was Jinhwa's. His weapons. What he had to protect.

The next morning, the sound of a heavy cart.

Jinhwa looked up. The wholesaler's cart. The same wholesaler he had contracted. Arriving on the promised date with a load of goods. Jinhwa rose, opened the door, and stepped outside.

"Welcome."

The wholesaler climbed down from the cart. A merchant in his late forties. Sweat beaded on his face. He wiped his brow with his sleeve and grinned.

"Shopkeeper — business must be good! I'm seeing you often!"

"Thank you for the hard work."

Jinhwa bowed politely. The wholesaler went to the back of the cart and began unloading. Jinhwa joined him. Two of the wholesaler's men carried the heavier items into the shop.

That wholesaler is a diligent man.

Jinhwa thought as he hauled goods.

He keeps the promised date exactly. The goods are cleanly packed. He drives the cart himself and checks everything in person. Dealing with a man like this puts my mind at ease.

When all the cargo was unloaded, the wholesaler drew a ledger from inside his coat. He opened it and showed it to Jinhwa. He pointed to each item and confirmed. Jinhwa nodded and checked the list.

"Twenty bottles of wound salve. Thirty bottles of lamp oil. Ten coils of rope. Twenty pairs of straw sandals. Rations — twenty geun of jerky, one hundred hardtack. Is that correct?"

"Yes, that's right."

The wholesaler nodded with satisfaction.

"Business going well? Your reorders come fast."

"Thanks to you, it's going fine."

"I hear you stay open at night too? Word's gotten around."

The wholesaler said with a grin.

"A fine idea. We've always needed a shop like that."

"Thank you."

Jinhwa answered humbly, then went to the back room and returned with silver. He spread it on the counter and began counting. The wholesaler counted alongside him. They confirmed the exact amount.

"The goods come to twenty nyang."

Jinhwa said.

"Adding five nyang for transport, I'll pay twenty-five."

The wholesaler's eyes narrowed.

"Transport fee as well?"

"Of course. A contract should be honored."

Jinhwa spoke firmly.

"You came a long way. Naturally I should pay. The cart takes wear, the horses tire…"

"Well now — thank you."

The wholesaler's gratitude was genuine.

"You seem like a man who means to stay in business a long time. I'll trust you. Will you keep with fixed prices instead of haggling?"

"Of course."

Jinhwa smiled and handed over the silver. Eighty-five nyang. The wholesaler counted it, nodded with satisfaction, and tucked it away.

"Once your credit builds, I can extend terms. A man like you is worth trusting."

"Thank you. But I'll decline credit."

Jinhwa refused politely.

"Cash transactions are simpler for both of us. Keeps the ledger clean."

"Ha — that's a fine way of thinking too."

The wholesaler returned to his cart with a laugh. He called his men, climbed onto the empty cart, took the reins, and waved to Jinhwa. Jinhwa stood in the doorway and saw him off.

"I'll be back! Send word when you're running low!"

"Thank you. Safe travels!"

The cart departed. Jinhwa went back inside. Newly arrived goods were stacked on the floor. There was plenty to organize. He rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

He was pleased when I paid the transport fee. Keeping promises matters.

At first I asked about credit just in case — but thankfully I won't need it.

Jinhwa thought as he moved wound-salve bottles to the display shelf.

At the clothing shop, I didn't understand. That I should give to my trading partners and the merchants around me. That I should express gratitude. I tried to squeeze every last discount. I took the goodwill of those around me for granted. I ignored their advice. And so I was swindled in the end. But now I know. Respecting the other party. Paying a fair price. Building trust. Those are the fundamentals of trade.

He stacked lamp-oil bottles beneath the double-sided stand. He hung rope. He displayed sandals. He placed rations in baskets beside the counter. Everything found its place. The shop was in order again. Jinhwa nodded with satisfaction.

Finding a good wholesaler is a blessing too.

He sat at the counter and opened the ledger.

Honest. Keeps his word. Good merchandise. If I deal with a man like this for the long term, my shop will stabilize.

He recorded today's received goods. He logged the expenditure. He calculated remaining inventory. The brush tip flowed across the paper. Ink soaked in. Jinhwa looked at the characters and smiled softly.

"Little by little… finding my footing."

The next afternoon, a woman entered holding a child's hand.

A young girl. About five or six years old. She clutched her mother's hand tightly and looked around the shop with wide, curious eyes. Jinhwa rose and bowed. The woman nodded in reply. The child saw Jinhwa and hid behind her mother.

"I'd like to look at water flasks."

"Of course. This way."

Jinhwa led them to the double-sided stand. Several sizes of flask hung there. The woman examined them one by one. The child trailed along, gripping her mother's skirt. The woman picked up two flasks and turned to the child.

"Do you like this one, or that one?"

The child pointed to the smaller flask. The woman smiled and took it. She brought it to the counter. Jinhwa received the silver and placed it in the drawer.

The mother gives her child the choice.

Jinhwa thought, watching them.

Even choosing a single item is a lesson. She lets the child decide. She respects that choice. They buy together. At Pungnyu-gak, I didn't understand things like this. I only noticed the glamorous patrons. I neglected the small things. The precious time with the troupe members. Their conversations. Their advice. The true meaning of trade… lives in ordinary moments like these.

The woman and child left. Jinhwa sat at the counter and opened the ledger. One water flask. A small transaction, but he recorded it. The brush flowed across the paper. He waited for the ink to dry.

At night, the urgent customers were many.

Those who came in wounded. Those who arrived as if being chased. Those who stumbled through the door bleeding. Jinhwa watched them and thought.

The jianghu is not a peaceful place.

He had not known this at the Hwasan Sect. Inside the mountain it was quiet. All he had to do was train. Fighting was someone else's concern. But after coming down the mountain, he had seen the jianghu's true face. Night after night, the wounded came. They sought wound salve. They were treated in haste and left.

Perhaps it's fortunate that I cannot fight.

A bitter smile rose inside him.

If living meant being wounded like that… having no water meridians might not be entirely bad. And yet…

A longing stirred deep in his chest.

Still — I love the murim. I love the jianghu. That I can be near it, even like this… I'm grateful.

Perhaps half a month had passed.

Around the fourth hour of the morning, familiar faces appeared before the shop. Jinhwa looked up from the counter, saw them through the window, and his eyes went wide. He rose and opened the door.

"Wel—"

The word caught in his throat.

Three murim fighters stood before the shop. The young one in the center was the man Jinhwa had treated — the one who had come bleeding from a shoulder wound in the night. The two flanking him were unfamiliar. All three were dressed neatly. The young fighter cupped his fist and bowed deeply.

"You saved my life."

Jinhwa was flustered.

"Saved your life — that's too generous."

"No."

The young fighter lowered his head.

"If I hadn't been treated that night, I would have lost the use of my shoulder. You pressed the pressure points to stop the bleeding. You applied the wound salve. You wrapped the bandages. Because of you, I healed."

He showed his shoulder. The wound had closed cleanly. Movement was natural. Only a scar remained.

"Truly… I'm glad."

Jinhwa spoke from the heart. The young fighter smiled and gestured toward the two beside him.

"My senior brothers. All I do is talk about the shopkeeper."

"He wanted to repay the kindness," the one on the left said with a grin.

"Indeed," the one on the right added.

The young fighter drew a bundle wrapped in cloth from inside his coat. He unfolded it — silver coins and several bunches of medicinal herbs. He held it out to Jinhwa and spoke with courtesy.

"A small token of gratitude. Please accept it."

"No — I can't."

Jinhwa waved his hands.

"I already received payment for the treatment. And for the wound salve. I cannot take more."

"This isn't payment."

The young fighter insisted.

"It is gratitude for the kindness. For treating a stranger — a murim fighter you'd never met — in the middle of the night, in an emergency. Gratitude for that heart."

Jinhwa hesitated. Should he accept? Should he refuse? In the old Pungnyu-gak days, he would have taken it gladly. He would have wanted more. He would have worked to expand the relationship. But now was different.

"Truly… I'm all right."

Jinhwa spoke calmly.

"I understand your kind feelings. But I simply did what was needed. A customer was hurt, so I treated him. That is enough."

The young fighter regarded Jinhwa for a moment. Jinhwa's eyes were clear. There was no pretense. He was declining in earnest. The young fighter nodded slowly and withdrew the bundle.

"I understand. I will respect the shopkeeper's wishes."

"Thank you."

"But our sect members will be visiting often from now on."

The senior brother on the left said.

"If you ever need murim news, we'll pass it along."

The one on the right added.

"If you need protection, say the word."

Jinhwa looked at them. They were sincere. The desire to help was sincere. The wish to repay a kindness was sincere. The wish to form a bond was sincere.

I'm glad.

Jinhwa thought.

My chest is warm. To receive gratitude. To have a kindness recognized. A feeling I had lost for so long after leaving the Hwasan Sect. To be acknowledged by murim people. I feel as though I've become part of the murim. Even without water meridians. Even without martial arts. I can be connected like this.

But Jinhwa did not let the joy show on his face. He swallowed the words that nearly spilled out. He pressed down the excitement in his chest. He answered calmly.

"Thank you, but — please just come as customers."

Jinhwa said.

"Coming to buy what you need. That is all I ask. Nothing more is necessary."

"…Even so."

The young fighter tried to speak, but Jinhwa shook his head.

"I am a shopkeeper."

Jinhwa's voice was calm. Steady. Unshaken.

"Customers coming in at ease to buy their goods — that is everything I want. I need nothing else."

The three fighters exchanged glances. A moment of silence. The young fighter nodded slowly and cupped his fist in a deep bow.

"I understand. I will respect the shopkeeper's wishes."

"Thank you."

"But I'll be coming to buy things often."

The young fighter said with a smile.

"Ji-ae-su General Store. A truly fine name."

The three fighters bowed and left. Jinhwa stood in the doorway and watched them go. He watched until they disappeared down the main road. Then he closed the door and came inside.

Stillness.

Jinhwa sat at the counter and looked down at the silver he had received. No — the silver he had not received. The bundle the young fighter had tried to give him. But Jinhwa felt no regret.

"I'm glad. Truly glad."

He murmured softly.

"The feeling of being connected to the murim. The sense I lost after leaving the Hwasan Sect. But… this is not everything."

Jinhwa closed his eyes.

"At the clothing shop, the first praise made me giddy. I grew greedy. That greed invited the swindle. I lost everything. At Pungnyu-gak, I was drunk on applause and fame. My judgment clouded. The greed of Pyeonjae blinded me. I lost every person I had. Each time, haste was the disaster. Each time, greed was the poison."

He opened his eyes.

"This time is different."

He spoke with conviction.

"I feel the joy, but I will not be swept away by it. Being acknowledged is good, but it is not the goal. The wish to belong to the murim remains, but I will not lose myself for it."

Jinhwa opened the drawer and placed the silver inside. Today's earnings. Honestly earned. Neither too much nor too little — the exact and fair amount. He opened the ledger and recorded the day's transactions. He picked up the brush and wrote each entry carefully. When the last line was done, he set the brush down.

"What is success… it is truly hard to grasp."

He gazed out the window and thought.

"At the Hwasan Sect, I believed success meant becoming a genius. At the clothing shop, I believed it meant making a fortune. At Pungnyu-gak, I believed it meant winning fame. But looking back, those were all someone else's standards. My master's standards. A swindler's standards. The patrons' standards."

He looked down at his own hands.

"What are my standards? Going slowly. Building little by little. Not rushing. Those are my standards. This time… I go my own way. And if I keep going like that, perhaps someday I'll catch hold of at least a thread of what success really means."

Jinhwa rose from his seat. He walked to the display shelf and checked the wound-salve bottles one by one. He wiped away dust. He took inventory. He went to the double-sided stand and straightened the rope and sandals. He checked the caps on the lamp-oil bottles. He made sure everything was in its place. He returned to the counter, balanced the ledger, wrote tomorrow's to-do list, washed the brush, and set it in its holder.

The sun began to tilt.

Jinhwa walked to the entrance and took down the lantern. He struck the flint and lit the wick. He hung the lantern back in place. He stepped outside and checked. Clearly visible from the main road. The only light burning in the darkness. It would catch the eye of anyone passing. Those who needed something urgently would come.

"Customers will come today too."

He murmured softly.

"Tomorrow. The day after. And on. Slowly. Little by little. No haste."

Jinhwa went back inside. He sat behind the counter. He looked out the window. He waited for darkness to fall. People on the main road were beginning to thin. Inn lights flickered on, one by one. Jinhwa sat in silence.

Little by little, finding his footing.

Not splendid, but steady. Slow, but solid. This time — no haste. Small things accumulated into something greater. Believing that, Jinhwa lit the lantern once more.

Night business began.

[End of Chapter 96]

The Ice Palace, in the far north.

A woman stood gazing at a lake frozen smooth as a mirror.

The Water Consort — Subi.

She had dreamed.

Flames engulfing the sky. And within those flames, a man standing.

"I must… find him."

The Subi looked south.

Wind blew. Not the cold north wind — but a warm southern breeze.

"Soon… I must go."