The Eternal Flower Beggar King Chapter 101 – The Eternal Living Flame Emperor Art

 The Eternal Flower Beggar King Chapter 101 – The Eternal Living Flame Emperor Art

Several days later.

Ji‑ae‑su General Store ran as it always did. Customers came and were greeted. Goods were sold and tallied. When evening fell, the door was closed. Nothing had changed.

But Jinhwa was different.

Several times a day, his gaze drifted to the drawer. He stopped mid‑sweep without knowing why. Even while speaking with customers, his eyes turned toward the counter. It happened without his will.

"Why do I keep…"

It nagged at him.

The manual circled endlessly in his head. The fact that it lay inside the drawer kept surfacing. Each time, a corner of his chest itched.

"Shopkeeper — are you listening?"

"Ah — yes?"

Jinhwa raised his head in a hurry. The customer standing before him had one eyebrow raised.

"I've asked three times. How much are these sandals?"

"I… forgive me. Twenty jeon."

The customer tilted his head, paid, and left. Jinhwa sighed.

"Get a hold of yourself."

But it was not easy.

In the evening after business was done, sitting alone — while drinking tea and reviewing the day — lying in bed with his eyes closed — the manual kept surfacing.

He had judged it a third‑rate art with no techniques. Why it nagged at him so, he could not explain.

The third night.

Jinhwa sat at the counter drinking tea. Moonlight poured through the window. Its soft glow settled over the drawer. The wood grain shone silver.

Silence.

The shop was empty. On the quiet street, only the wind brushed past the window now and then, making sound.

He took a sip of tea. The warm liquid ran down his throat. But the tightness in his chest would not ease.

His gaze drifted to the drawer.

He was curious about the manual — but he tried to look away. He forced himself to think of something else.

"What is… a book?"

The thought came suddenly.

Is a book merely a sequence of characters? Or a vessel holding someone's life? Or perhaps a letter sent from the past toward the future?

What could truly be inside that old manual? He had judged it third‑rate — but was that really all? Had he missed something?

He shook his head.

"Pointless thoughts."

He murmured.

But his heart had already decided.

"Let me at least… confirm the title properly."

He crafted an excuse.

"If the owner ever comes looking, I should know what's written on it."

He stood and opened the drawer. He pulled the manual from among the odds and ends. He carried it close to the lantern. He sat at the counter again.

He set the manual on his lap.

A thin, old book. The leather cover was ragged. Dust lay thick upon it. The scent of age brushed his nostrils.

"Last time, I only skimmed it…"

He wiped the cover carefully with his hand. Dust fell away. The characters grew slightly clearer. Faint strokes began to emerge.

He pulled the lantern closer.

The first character appeared.

"永…"

Yeong.

He narrowed his eyes and focused. The second character emerged.

"生…"

Saeng.

The third.

"火…"

Hwa.

His heart struck once — hard. He held his breath.

The fourth.

"帝…"

Je.

The last.

"功."

Gong.

Jinhwa exhaled slowly. All five characters were fully revealed.

永生火帝功

"Yeong Saeng Hwa Je Gong…"

The words escaped on their own.

The murmur cut through the quiet night air and reached his ears. Strangely — his voice was trembling.

He repeated the title in his mind.

"Yeong Saeng — eternal living. Hwa Je — Flame Emperor. Gong — art."

He turned the meaning over.

"The Eternal Living Flame Emperor Art…"

The name was grand.

Far too grand for a third‑rate art with no techniques. Perhaps it was exaggeration. Perhaps it was nothing at all.

A wry laugh slipped out.

"A grand name, and nothing more—"

But the laugh did not finish.

His gaze had locked onto the third character.

"火…"

Fire.

He kept staring at it. Lantern light fell across the character. The stroke of hwa seemed alive — glowing — and his heart began to race again.

"Fire attribute…"

Hwa Je — Flame Emperor.

Emperor of fire.

This was an art that dealt with fire energy.

A memory — from a time Jinhwa could only faintly recall.

The Hwasan Sect entrance examination hall.

The young Jinhwa stood before a master. Other children surrounded him. All wore tense faces. All waited their turn.

"Now — hold out your hand."

The master spoke.

Young Jinhwa extended his small hand. The master placed it over the Yeong‑gak‑gu — the spirit‑testing orb.

A moment passed.

The orb blazed with fierce light. It flooded the surroundings — then cracked.

"Oh…"

The master's eyes widened.

"This child — his fire energy is strong!"

The senior brothers murmured.

"Fire aptitude!"

"A rare constitution!"

"He's gifted‑class material!"

Young Jinhwa did not understand the meaning. But he knew he was being praised. He could feel that people were pleased. He felt happy.

The master smiled and spoke.

"A child with the quality of extreme fire. A special energy."

Special.

He liked that word.

Young Jinhwa nodded and smiled. The senior brothers patted his shoulders. That day was truly happy.

But it did not last.

"Water meridian deficiency."

The diagnosis came down.

His fire aptitude was outstanding — but without water meridians, he could not practice martial arts. Without water, internal energy could not circulate through the body.

A bolt from the blue.

The fire was strong — but there was no water. The talent existed — but could not be used. The word "special" became meaningless.

Jinhwa opened his eyes.

The memory ended.

The character hwa still hung before him. Under the lantern light, it seemed to burn. It would not release his gaze. It made his heart pound.

"Fire aptitude…"

His hands trembled.

The one thing he had ever been praised for at the Hwasan Sect. That his fire energy was strong. That he was special.

But without water meridians, it was useless. He could not practice the Hwasan Sect's arts. In the end, he was cast out.

"But… this art…"

He gripped the manual with both hands.

"It is an art that deals with fire energy…"

His chest burned.

"The Hwasan Sect was a Daoist sect. They used the sword. They dealt in the energy of metal."

But this art was different.

Hwa Je Gong — the Flame Emperor Art.

An art of fire.

"Maybe… it could suit me."

His heart pounded.

After all those years of fruitless simbeop practice, Jinhwa felt for the first time that he might have found something that fit. The one talent he had possessed might finally be usable. The fire aptitude he had deemed meaningless might have found its meaning.

"It could… suit me…"

His voice shook.

His eyes stung.

He tried not to cry. He was an adult. He was twenty‑eight. He told himself he no longer shed tears.

But he could not hold back.

Tears streamed down. They ran along his cheeks to his chin. One drop fell onto the cover of the manual.

"Maybe… just maybe… a path could open…"

Cast out of the Hwasan Sect. Gripping a broom at an inn. The clothing shop collapsing. Pungnyu‑gak crumbling. At every moment, he had believed himself useless.

The praise about his fire aptitude — the word "special" — he had thought it all meaningless. Without water meridians, it was over. Martial arts had nothing to do with him. He had believed that.

But now — this manual was speaking of fire.

That alone was a comfort.

The possibility that his one talent might be usable.

"Ah…"

He pressed the manual to his chest. The old cover felt cool against his skin. But the character hwa inside was hot. Its warmth seemed to seep into his chest — a comfort that would not let the tears stop.

How long had passed.

He wiped his tears slowly. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. He sniffled. He drew a deep breath.

"Calm down."

He murmured.

"Just because it's fire attribute… doesn't mean it will work."

He tried to think practically.

Water meridians were still absent. Techniques were still missing. Whether this was even a proper martial art remained unknown. He might be disappointed again. He might build hope only to see it collapse. He might once again realize he was useless.

But…

"Even so…"

He looked down at the manual.

"The energy — at least — matches."

A small hope.

Not large. Not certain. Perhaps even a delusion.

But the mere possibility that it could open a path in martial arts — the chance that the fire aptitude once called "special" might not be meaningless — was meaning enough.

"All right… let me look."

He made his decision.

His hands trembled — but he turned the first page.

The foreword appeared.

Dense classical Chinese. Characters scrawled in cursive script wavered beneath the candlelight. Ink faded by dust and years was blurred at the edges. Not easy to read.

He narrowed his eyes and traced the characters.

"Cheon ji ji gan…"

Between heaven and earth…

It began with something grand. He read on. Some characters he understood. Others he did not. Classical Chinese everywhere — his head ached.

Then one passage caught his eye.

"火者不循環."

Fire does not circulate.

He stopped.

"Does not circulate?"

This was strange.

Martial arts always spoke of circulation. Gather energy, rotate it, return it to the dantian. That was what he had learned at the Hwasan Sect. Other sects surely did the same. Circulation was the foundation of martial arts.

Yet fire does not circulate?

"What does that mean?"

He tilted his head. He did not understand. But it felt important.

He turned the page.

Chapter One.

"蓄火."

Chukhwa. Gathering fire.

The text grew smaller. Packed dense. Impossible to read it all. He began skimming.

"Dantian… no… the entire body…"

Words caught his eye. The sentences made no sense — but a few characters stood out.

"Not the dantian — the entire body?"

He imagined it.

Ordinary martial arts gathered energy in the dantian below the navel. That was the center — where energy was stored, circulated, cultivated. The Hwasan Sect did this. Every art did.

But what if it meant the entire body?

Gathering energy across the whole body?

"Is that… possible?"

He looked down at himself. Hands. Arms. Chest. Legs. What would it feel like to spread energy through every part? Not one point in the dantian — but heat rising everywhere.

He could not quite picture it.

He shook his head.

"I'll have to read again tomorrow."

He kept turning pages.

Chapter Two.

"放出."

Bangchul. Emission.

More classical Chinese. He skimmed quickly.

"Does not use the meridians…"

"Doesn't use the meridians?"

This, too, was strange.

Martial arts operated energy along the meridians. The Ren meridian, the Du meridian, the twelve primary meridians. Energy flowed along those paths. Martial arts controlled that flow.

Yet it does not use the meridians?

"Then how does it use energy?"

He tilted his head. He looked more closely at the text — but could not understand. The classical Chinese was difficult. The explanations were complex. His head throbbed.

He moved to the next page.

Then one sentence seized his gaze.

"막힌 자는 축복이다."

The blocked one is blessed.

His hand froze.

"The blocked one… is blessed?"

His heart began to pound.

He turned back to the earlier pages. He looked at the foreword again. Among the faint characters, he found a similar sentence.

"막힌 자는 불을 닮는다…"

The blocked one resembles fire…

"Being blocked… resembles fire?"

He stared at the candle.

The flame was burning. The wick smoldered. The wax melted. Light and heat radiated outward.

"Fire…"

He thought.

Fire does not flow. Not the way water flows. Fire burns in one place, spreads outward, and vanishes. It does not circulate.

"Then… being blocked means…"

He thought of his own body.

No water meridians. The meridians do not flow properly. Energy cannot be circulated.

The Hwasan Sect had called it a curse. They said he could not practice martial arts. They said he was useless.

But what if the art was one of fire?

An art that did not require circulation?

An art that demanded blockage?

"Does it… suit me?"

His chest pounded.

He turned back to the manual. He flipped quickly. Chapter Three. Chapter Four. Chapter Five. Characters blurred past. Incomprehensible content poured out. Classical Chinese made his head throb.

But certain words kept catching his eye.

"Hwagi — fire energy." "Jeonsin — the entire body." "Bangchul — emission." "Makchim — blockage."

And somewhere on the final page, one sentence appeared.

"경험이 형태를 만들고, 습관이 위력을 정한다."

Experience creates the form. Habit determines the power.

He closed the manual.

His hands trembled.

"Experience… creates the form?"

What could it mean?

That what I have experienced becomes the shape of the art? That habit determines its power means — what I have always done becomes the art's strength?

"Then… what have I done?"

He thought.

Medicine. Sweeping. Hauling water jars. Sewing. Playing the geomungo. Keeping ledgers. Negotiating.

Could that… become a martial art?

No — more than that…

"Fire does not circulate. The blocked one is blessed. The entire body is the dantian. Experience creates the form."

He did not know what any of it truly meant. He had only skimmed — he had understood nothing properly. The classical Chinese had been too difficult. He had skipped much. His head was a tangle.

But one thing was certain.

"This art… is something different."

Different from ordinary arts. Different from what the Hwasan Sect taught. No circulation. No meridians. Blockage is a blessing.

Strange.

But at the same time…

"It might suit me."

It spoke of fire energy. It was meant for the blocked. It said experience creates the form.

He looked down at the manual. Old and thin. But something lived inside it. He was not certain — but the possibility was there.

"Tomorrow…"

He decided.

"Starting tomorrow, I read it properly. From the foreword. Slowly. Character by character."

He placed the manual in the drawer. But this time he did not push it deep. He set it on top. Ready to be drawn out at any moment.

He went to bed.

Moonlight poured through the window. Wind shook the branches. The world was quiet.

But sleep would not come.

"Yeong Saeng Hwa Je Gong…"

The title circled in his head.

"Flame Emperor… fire attribute… something that suits me…"

And the passages he had read today.

"Fire does not circulate." "The blocked one is blessed." "Experience creates the form."

He did not know precisely what they meant. But they felt important. If he read again tomorrow, could he understand? No — he wanted to understand. He wanted to know properly.

Lying on his back, he stared at the ceiling and thought.

The belief that it would never work — and the hope that it just might — existed side by side. Fear and hope were tangled together. His heart was restless.

"Tomorrow… I read the foreword properly."

He told himself.

"Slowly. Properly. Each character — carved into memory."

He closed his eyes.

Sleep took a long time to come. The manual kept surfacing. The character hwa flickered before his eyes. Today's passages circled in his ears.

"Does not circulate…" "The blocked one is blessed…" "Experience creates the form…"

He was still thinking about the manual when sleep finally took him.

Yeong Saeng Hwa Je Gong.

Hwa — fire.

The passages he had glimpsed filled his mind. He could not understand them — yet they felt vital. Tomorrow, perhaps, he would know a little more.

A single character — hwa — had become hope.

For a man who had lived twenty‑one years since leaving the mountain,

the simple fact that the attribute matched became a small light,

and the passages inside the manual whispered of new possibility.

Tomorrow — he would understand a little more.

[End of Chapter 101]