The Eternal Flower Beggar King — Chapter 93: The Eastern Village

 The Eternal Flower Beggar King — Chapter 93: The Eastern Village

Two days passed.

Jinhwa prepared to leave the estate. He sorted what he did not need. He counted the three hundred nyang once more and slipped the pouch into his clothes. He reviewed the plan he had written days before. But halfway through packing, he stopped.

"A shop name…"

He murmured.

"I need to decide on one."

He had said he would open a general store, yet he had never thought of a name for it. That struck him as funny. Jinhwa set down his bags and returned to the study.

He sat at the desk.

He spread a sheet of paper. He picked up the brush. He ground the ink and filled the inkstone. But the brush tip did not touch the paper.

"What should I call it?"

The words slipped out, half to himself.

A shop name.

It seemed simple, yet it was hard. A single name would reveal the shop's character. Customers would speak it. It would define him.

Jinhwa held the brush and sank into thought.

Two directions came to mind.

The first was an ordinary name.

Oh Jinhwa General Store.

Simple. He could use his own name as it was. Safe. Nothing could go wrong with it. No one would find it strange. He had done the same with the clothing shop. Most shops did the same. A safe choice.

But…

"Something feels lacking."

He murmured quietly.

It did not reach his heart. It was just… flat.

The other was a name carrying resolve.

Like Pungnyu-gak.

A name with meaning could hold weight. It could engrave a vow. It could serve as a reminder. But there was a problem.

"Wouldn't that be grandiose — like Pungnyu-gak all over again?"

Unease stirred.

Pungnyu-gak had been grandiose. It had lived up to the splendor of the name "Pungnyu." It earned fame. It enjoyed its peak. And in the end it collapsed. The grand name became a burden. Expectations became poison. Reputation became a shackle.

"What if I fail again?"

Jinhwa set the brush down.

He looked out the window.

The sky was clear. Wind blew. Branches swayed slowly. A quiet afternoon.

Jinhwa recalled the past.

The Hwasan Sect came to mind.

Elder Cheongheo had said:

"You are a genius. You must enter the gifted class."

So he entered the gifted class. He followed his master's words. He tried to meet expectations. He tried to live up to the name "genius." In the end, his water-meridian deficiency washed him out.

The clothing shop had been the same.

His trading partner had said:

"This deal will bring a fortune."

So he staked everything he had. He trusted the partner's words. He expected great profit. He dreamed of success. In the end he was swindled and went bankrupt.

Pungnyu-gak was worse still.

The members had said:

"Gakju-nim!" "Hyungnim!"

So he became the Gakju. He received their adoration. He had to lead. He struggled to live up to his reputation. In the end, beginning with the trap of Pyeonjae, he lost everything.

Jinhwa closed his eyes.

A passage he had written days ago returned to him.

I only listened to other people's words. I never once gave voice to what was inside me.

The feeling from the moment he wrote that sentence was vivid. It had cut to the bone. It was filled with regret. He had vowed never to do it again.

"Then…"

Jinhwa opened his eyes.

"This time?"

He asked himself.

"What should I do this time?"

The answer was clear.

This time had to be different. This time he had to listen — not to others' words, but to the voice within.

Jinhwa picked up the brush again.

"What feels right to me?"

He murmured quietly.

"What name reaches my heart?"

He closed his eyes and listened. Not to others' voices but to his own. Not to his master's expectations but to his own wish. Not to the members' adoration but to his own resolve.

"Not grandiose, yet meaningful. Not ordinary, yet unpolished. Not splendid, yet solid…"

What name could that be?

Jinhwa wet the brush.

He decided to try writing things down.

Oh Jinhwa General Store.

He wrote it. He read it aloud.

"…No."

It was plain. It did not sit well. It did not reach him. This was not his voice.

He erased it. Tried again.

Manmul… Jinhwa… Oh-ga…

He tested them one by one. None were right. They felt forced. They did not roll off the tongue. Something was off about each.

Then —

Three characters surfaced unbidden.

地. 愛. 水.

Ji-ae-su.

His hand moved on its own. The brush tip flowed across the paper. Ink spread and three characters appeared. They came naturally, as if they had been waiting.

Jinhwa looked at what he had written.

地愛水.

He read it aloud.

"Ji-ae-su…"

It settled perfectly on the tongue.

He did not know why it felt right. He had not analyzed its meaning. He had not calculated. It was just… good. It pleased him. It felt comfortable. It felt like his own voice.

"That's it."

He murmured softly.

But looking closer, there was meaning after all.

地 was earth. 愛 was love. 水 was water.

"Water that loved the earth…"

Ah.

Only then did he understand. Why this name felt right. Why it reached his heart.

地 was the low place.

It meant that a man who had grasped for the sky and fallen would now begin from the ground. It was the vow of one who had washed out from the Hwasan Sect's heights to stand in the lowest place. A character carrying humility and a lowered stance.

愛 was cherishing.

It meant he would treat goods and people as precious. It was the remorse of a man who had not even known the four women's names. It was the resolve to treasure every single customer.

水 was flow.

It meant he would not stagnate but flow, like the water absent from his birth chart. It was the will to moisten parched ground. The "water" he had vowed to become — it lived right here. His fate read Hwada-sumu — fire abundant, water absent — but he would carry water in the name at least, and engrave it for a lifetime.

Jinhwa held the paper up to the sunlight.

地愛水.

The three characters glowed softly.

They were unpolished. Not splendid like Pungnyu-gak. Not elegant like Geumsoo Eulsaeng. Simply plain. But they were solid. They were his. And above all, they were a name he felt was right.

"This time I listen to my own voice."

He murmured.

"I go with what feels right to me."

He nodded.

"Ji-ae-su. I'll go with this."

He folded the paper carefully and tucked it against his chest. A warmth spread there. His heart grew calm. At last, he felt ready to set out.

The next morning, before dawn, Jinhwa left the estate.

His luggage was light. The pouch of three hundred nyang. A few changes of clothes. Washing supplies. And one sheet of paper tucked against his chest.

He stepped through the gate and looked back. The great estate glowed softly in the morning sun. The side-hall roof was visible. The yard trees swayed in the wind. Once it had been the symbol of Pungnyu-gak's peak. Now it was nothing more than an empty house listed for sale.

Even so, his intention was to take his time — sign a lease, prepare at ease, then open when the moment was right.

"I should get things ready so I can start as soon as the estate is settled."

He murmured quietly and began to walk.

He walked east.

He walked for a day.

The sun climbed to its peak and tilted west. Clouds drifted. Wind brushed his collar. He followed the main road. He passed merchant caravans. Murim fighters went by. He rested now and then, drank water, ate dried rations to ease his hunger, and walked on.

As the sun began to set, a village came into view. Sarojin — the Four-Road Post.

Jinhwa had heard of it: roughly ten li east of Luoyang, named for the crossroads where four main roads met. A vital junction frequented by merchant caravans and murim travelers.

Jinhwa walked the streets slowly and surveyed his surroundings.

The first thing that caught his eye was a large general store.

The signboard read "Geumbodang." The building was large and ornate. Goods were piled high as mountains. Jinhwa decided to go inside.

He pushed the door open and stepped in. A clerk approached.

But the clerk scanned Jinhwa's clothes and his expression went cool. Travel clothes. Dusty. He did not look wealthy. The clerk gave a perfunctory greeting and moved to another customer.

Jinhwa did not mind. He looked around the shop.

There was plenty of merchandise.

Ceramics, silk, jade ornaments, fine teas, rare medicinal herbs — all displayed, all expensive, all splendid. But nothing a commoner would use. Lamp oil and dried rations were tucked in a corner, only a little. The clerks stood only before the costly items.

From one side he overheard a clerk and a customer.

A prosperous-looking merchant was choosing ceramics. The clerk attended him lavishly, explaining this and that, flattery plain in his voice. Meanwhile, an elderly man in worn clothes tried to buy dried rations. A different clerk waved vaguely in a direction and turned away.

Jinhwa left the shop.

He walked and thought.

They sell expensive things to profit greatly in a single stroke.

Geumbodang's strategy was clear. Dealing mainly in luxury goods. Serving only wealthy customers. Selling few items but keeping margins high. It was efficient. He could understand it. But there was a problem.

Low turnover. And it intimidates.

For a commoner or a murim fighter in a hurry, the place was hard to enter. The clerks' attitude was uncomfortable. Buying small items felt awkward. The atmosphere made you turn around and leave.

That is not my path.

Jinhwa shook his head.

A little farther on, an ordinary sundry shop appeared.

Its signboard read "Brothers' Trading." Not as large as Geumbodang, but it looked reasonably prosperous. Customers came and went.

Jinhwa stood before the shop and watched.

The sun was tilting west. Merchants were beginning to close up one by one. The owner of Brothers' Trading was no different. He settled his ledger. He put away goods. He prepared to shut the door.

Then —

A pyosa drenched in sweat came running.

A murim man. A courier-guild badge hung at his waist. He was out of breath from running. Urgency was written across his face.

The pyosa called out.

"Shopkeeper! Lamp oil and wound salve, please! It's urgent!"

But the owner waved him off.

"I've already closed the ledger. Come back tomorrow."

He refused as though it were a bother.

The pyosa pressed.

"My comrade is wounded! We must travel the night road and the oil has run out! Please —"

But the owner shook his head.

"Come early tomorrow morning. I can't help you now."

And he shut the door.

The pyosa stood there, stricken. At last he turned away. His shoulders sagged. Worry covered his face. He hurried off to find another shop.

Jinhwa watched the scene and thought.

The established merchants do business on their own schedule.

It was clear.

They opened around eight in the morning. They closed around six in the evening. Anyone who could not come during those hours simply had to leave. The customer's urgency was not a consideration. Convenience was not a thought. Customers outside the set hours did not exist.

Then…

I stay open when they close.

Jinhwa's conviction hardened.

I sell the small things they find bothersome. Lamp oil, bandages, dried rations, straw sandals, wound salve… the things urgent people seek, but that are not expensive.

This was exactly the gap he would fill.

Geumbodang sold only luxury goods. Brothers' Trading kept only set hours. Both missed customers. The murim fighter desperate at night. The caravan leaving at dawn. The traveler arriving late in the evening. They would be his customers.

Jinhwa nodded and walked on.

Now he needed to find a location.

Jinhwa wandered the village here and there. He found brokers and asked questions. He inspected empty shops. He asked about rent. But there was a problem.

The busy areas were expensive.

Monthly rent ranged from twenty to thirty nyang. Even the smallest shops cost at least fifteen. Nothing fit his budget of ten nyang or less.

"Is there anything more remote?"

He asked the broker.

The broker shook his head.

"Remote… you'd have to go outside the village. But business won't work out there, will it?"

"That's fine. As long as it's beside the main road."

"Beside the main road…"

The broker thought for a moment, then gestured.

"Before you enter the village, on the roadside, there's a house that's been empty a long time…"

"May I go see it?"

"Follow me."

He followed the broker outside the village.

They walked a short way along the main road. In a spot set apart from the village, a weathered building came into view. Its position was right at the roadside where travelers entered the village. The intersection was open in all directions. No other buildings stood nearby. It stood alone.

The broker said:

"This is it. It's been empty a long time. Run-down, but it is right on the main road."

Jinhwa approached slowly.

It was old.

Long vacant — dust everywhere. The door creaked. One side of the roof sagged slightly. The yard was thick with weeds. But Jinhwa's eyes began to see it differently.

First, the location pleased him.

It was set apart from the village.

This was not inside the village. It was outside the boundary. Beyond the commercial district. No need to compete with other shops. Yet it sat right on the road entering the village, meaning everyone heading into town had to pass it.

Jinhwa studied the road.

Main roads stretched in four directions. North toward Hanyang. South toward Kaifeng. East and west, main roads connected as well. A major artery for merchant caravans. A route for murim travelers. Orthodox, unorthodox, Demonic Sect — all had no choice but to pass this way.

This is it.

He murmured inwardly.

Not inside the village, but at the junction. Where orthodox, unorthodox, and Demonic Sect all pass.

If he had set up shop inside the village, mostly orthodox murim people would have come. Unorthodox fighters and Demonic Sect members avoided entering villages. They disliked being seen. They stayed away from crowded places. But this spot was different. A junction outside the village. Easy to stop by in passing. No one needed to worry about watching eyes.

Orthodox murim will come. Unorthodox murim will come. Demonic Sect members will come. Caravans will come. Travelers will come. Everyone in a hurry will come.

Jinhwa looked around the yard.

There was a yard.

Not wide, but large enough to park a cargo cart briefly. Suitable for a caravan to rest. Room to tie up a horse. Being roadside meant dust blew in, but that also meant it would catch the eye of passersby. It would be visible from a distance. Easy to find.

He opened the door and stepped inside.

Creeeak —

The door groaned loudly.

Dust hit him in a wave. The interior was dim. Cobwebs and dust coated everything.

But the layout was sound. The front could serve as the shop floor. A small room was attached at the back. Shop and room connected directly — he could be sleeping and still reach a customer in moments.

A back room.

Jinhwa was satisfied.

Connected to the shop, so even napping at night, I can step out the moment a customer arrives. Just as I planned — I can keep the door open nearly all day.

A structure optimized for night business.

Jinhwa stepped outside and looked at the building again.

Old. Shabby. Remote. And those were precisely its strengths.

Other shops are in the busy district. Plenty of lights. Plenty of people. Plenty of splendor. But this place…

Jinhwa looked around.

It was dark.

Roadside, but no other buildings nearby. No street lamps. At night it would be pitch black. But that was exactly the opportunity.

If I light a lamp, it will be the most visible thing on this road.

To murim fighters walking the night road. To caravans moving at dawn. If a lone lantern shone in the darkness, they would stop. If they needed something urgent, they would come. If they wanted to rest, they would visit. And the remoteness would make it more comfortable, not less.

Jinhwa was certain.

"This is the place."

He murmured softly.

The broker approached.

"What do you think? Does it suit you?"

"Can I meet the landlord?"

"Yes, he's in the village. I'll fetch him now."

The broker hurried into the village.

Jinhwa remained alone. He walked slowly around the building. He looked over the yard. He touched the door. He looked up at the roof. He gazed at the main road. A merchant cart passed. Two murim fighters rode by on horseback. A peddler walked past, load on his back.

Everyone passes this road.

He thought.

Orthodox. Unorthodox. Demonic Sect. Those heading to Hanyang. Those heading to Kaifeng. All of them.

And they would pass at night, too. Those traveling after dark on urgent business. Those departing at dawn. Those arriving late in the evening. All of them would pass this road. And if this shop alone kept its lamp burning, they would stop.

Before long the broker returned with an old man.

The landlord. Aged. Slightly stooped. Deep wrinkles lined his face. But his eyes were sharp.

"You want to rent this place?"

The old man asked.

Jinhwa bowed politely.

"Yes, I do."

The old man shook his head.

"You think you can do business here? You'll get nothing but ghosts."

Worry edged his voice.

Jinhwa smiled.

"I'll make it a place where people come."

The old man studied Jinhwa for a long moment. Perhaps he read conviction in the young man's eyes. He clicked his tongue and spoke.

"I like a young man's spirit… How much can you pay a month?"

"Up to ten nyang…"

"Ten nyang…"

The old man thought for a moment, then nodded.

"I'll let you have it for eight. It's been sitting empty anyway. Nobody else wanted to rent it."

Jinhwa was surprised — cheaper than expected.

"Thank you. Then I'll pay six months in advance."

"Six months would be…"

The old man counted on his fingers.

"Forty-eight nyang."

"Yes."

Jinhwa reached into his pouch. He counted out forty-eight nyang and handed them over. The old man received the coins, counted them, nodded, and drew a key from inside his coat.

"Here's the key. You'll need to do some cleaning inside."

"That's no trouble."

Jinhwa took the key.

It was heavy.

Made of old iron. Rusted. It looked ancient. But in his hand it felt strangely reassuring.

The old man said:

"Good luck to you."

"Thank you."

The old man and the broker left.

Jinhwa stood alone.

He held the key and faced the shop door. He inserted the key into the lock. He turned it slowly. A click — and it opened.

He pushed the door.

Creeeak —

The groan echoed loudly.

Dust rushed at him. The dark interior came into view. Cobwebs and dust everywhere.

In the past, this smell would have felt wretched. Like the day he left the empty shop after the clothing-store bankruptcy. Like the day he stared at the hollow estate after Pungnyu-gak dissolved.

But now it was different.

It smelled like opportunity.

Jinhwa stepped inside.

Dust-covered floor. Cobweb-draped ceiling. Creaking door. Worn walls. A yard choked with weeds.

None of it mattered.

He could clean. He could repair. He could light a lamp.

Jinhwa stood in the center of the shop and looked in every direction.

Then he murmured quietly.

"This is the place."

He drew the paper from his chest — the one he had written that morning.

地愛水.

The three characters caught the sunlight and glowed softly.

Jinhwa held the paper open and read the name aloud once more.

"Ji-ae-su…"

The name left his lips and echoed through the empty shop.

Wind blew in. It slipped through the doorframe, raised the dust, rustled the paper, brushed his collar.

Jinhwa pressed the paper to his chest and spoke.

"This is where Ji-ae-su will stand."

From far away came the rumble of a merchant cart. Hoofbeats drew near and faded. A peddler's distant cry drifted in. Along the main road, the presence of people coming and going could be felt.

Jinhwa stepped outside the door and looked toward the main road.

The sun was tilting west. Sunset stained the sky red. Clouds drifted slowly. Evening was approaching.

When evening came, other shops would close their doors.

But I will stay open.

When night falls, I will stay open.

When dawn comes, I will stay open.

When someone in need arrives — orthodox, unorthodox, Demonic Sect — I will welcome them all.

Jinhwa leaned against the worn doorframe and looked up at the sky.

Through a gap in the clouds, a single star was beginning to show.

A new beginning.

Twenty-eight years old, on a day near the end of spring, at the junction of the eastern village.

Ji-ae-su General Store was preparing to open its doors.

But first — enough with the sentiment. Time to walk back to the estate.

He could not very well sleep here tonight.

[End of Chapter 93]