The Eternal Flower Beggar King Chapter 89 – Reflection

 The Eternal Flower Beggar King Chapter 89 – Reflection

Several more days passed.

Jinhwa still lay in the yard. He felt as though he might die of hunger. His body could barely move. But he had to live, and so he dug his fingernails into the dirt and began to crawl toward the great hall. He crawled for a long time and at last arrived, and panting, he looked around, and in the corner his eyes found a basket.

Cheongpung had left it.

He reached out and took a strip of dried meat. With trembling hands he put it in his mouth. It was bitter and hard and tough, but he chewed. Tears fell. He did not know why. They simply came. Jinhwa murmured.

"I'm sorry…"

He did not know to whom the words were meant. He simply murmured. He kept eating. He kept weeping. His stomach filled little by little. Some strength returned. At least he would not die.

Night came and he woke to the sound of rain. Through the window he could see the streaks of it. The drumming on the roof filled the estate. Jinhwa rose unsteadily, braced his hand against the wall, and made his way slowly to the yard. He passed the great hall and reached the yard and the rain began to fall on him.

His whole body was soaked. Rainwater ran down his face. He grew colder and felt the weight of his clothes. It was cool and clean. The filth seemed to wash away — the smell of wine and sweat and tears and dust — all of it carried off by the rain. Jinhwa looked up at the sky and closed his eyes. The rain ran down his face, down his neck, down his whole body.

He stood there for a long time.

He could not tell how much time passed. His feet went numb and his legs trembled but he did not move. He simply stood in the rain. As dawn approached the rain weakened. It grew thinner and thinner and at last it stopped. Clouds drifted. Light seeped through the gaps. The sky began to brighten.

Jinhwa stood there, soaked. Water dripping from him. Breathing.

He was alive.

Still.

He walked slowly to the study. Down the corridor. He opened the door. The mirror where he had seen his wretched face days ago still hung on the wall. He approached and looked. Still gaunt. Still spent. Still wretched. But a little cleaner, perhaps. The rain had washed away the grime. Some of the crust on his face had come off. Jinhwa looked at himself in the mirror and spoke.

"I can't… go on like this."

It was the first time he had thought it. The feeling rose that he could not end things this way. He turned his head and saw Heungnoe. Dust-covered, untouched for days, sitting in the corner of the study. Jinhwa approached slowly and knelt.

Blood was still on it.

The bloodstains from the performance of madness still remained. Jinhwa took a cloth and carefully rubbed away the dust and the blood. Little by little. Slowly. With care. He lifted the clean Heungnoe into his lap and touched each string one by one, checking the tuning. To correct the notes that had gone wrong, he began to turn the tuning pegs.

He turned the first string and brought it to pitch. He tuned the second and the third. The fourth, the fifth, the sixth — one by one he set them right. His hands trembled. His heart pounded. His breathing turned rough. But when the tuning was done, Jinhwa drew a deep breath and placed his hand on the strings and closed his eyes.

"This is all I have left…"

But he murmured, and added:

"At least… I still have this."

He carried Heungnoe out of the study. Down the corridor. Through the great hall. Into the yard. In the stillness of dawn he stood in the center of the yard. The sun was just about to rise. The sky hung between darkness and light. Stars still lingered.

Jinhwa looked around.

An empty garden. An empty estate. An empty sky. The fact that he was alone struck his chest once more. He knelt and placed Heungnoe on his lap. He drew a deep breath. Let it out. Drew another. He closed his eyes. He placed his trembling fingers on the strings. He murmured.

"I'm sorry…"

He did not know to whom the words were meant. But they were meant for everyone. His fingers trembled and struck a string.

Tong.

The first note rang out.

The first string made a sound that was clear and bleak and trembling. The note rode the air and spread, leaving an afterimage of sound, and slowly faded. Jinhwa, eyes still closed, played the second note. The third string made a sound that was a little lower, a little heavier, a little sadder. Then the sixth string rang. The fourth and the second followed in turn.

One by one. Slowly. Carefully. A melody began.

It was slow and simple but filled with sincerity. It was cautious, like a child learning the geomungo for the first time, but each note carried Jinhwa's heart. His fingers flowed from string to string. Notes were born one by one and spread into the air. The melody slowly began to take shape.

The melody flowed. At first it trembled, but gradually it steadied. At first it was clumsy, but gradually it became natural. At first it was simple, but gradually it grew rich. With a slow tempo and long resonance and deep breath, a song was born. Jinhwa kept his eyes closed and played on, his fingers gliding across the strings.

He did not know what he was playing.

It was not a set piece. He simply played as it came, as he felt, as his heart led. Regret became notes. Remorse became melody. Shame was added and flowed out. The first string sang high and clear. The second followed, soft and warm. The third joined in, harmonious and steady. The fourth added depth. The fifth lent weight. The sixth completed the resonance. Six strings became one. Six notes formed a single melody. Everything came together and flowed.

Tears fell.

Jinhwa wept with his eyes closed. His fingers did not stop. The playing continued. Tears ran down his cheeks, dropped from his chin, fell onto Heungnoe, fell onto the strings with a tiny sound — tok — but Jinhwa did not hear. He was lost in the playing. Lost in the weeping. Lost deep inside his own heart.

The melody wavered.

And Jinhwa said quietly.

"I'm sorry. I am sorry…"

Tears made his hands tremble. His trembling hands made the notes waver. The wavering notes distorted the melody. It was not perfect, but it was sincere. It was not splendid, but it was wrenching. It had no artifice, but it had resonance — and for that it was beautiful.

"I'm sorry…"

He murmured and moved his fingers faster. He played the notes more fiercely. He let the melody flow more sorrowfully. From the first string to the sixth. From the sixth back to the first. His fingers moved from string to string as if dancing. The notes ran as if fleeing. The melody flowed like water.

"Truly… I am sorry…"

The tears did not stop. They kept falling. They kept wetting the strings. Jinhwa played and wept. Eyes closed. Head bowed. With all his heart he played. His fingers did not rest. The strings could not help but ring. The notes could not help but spread.

The melody changed.

The fierceness faded. Gentleness came. Calm flowed. The first string rang slowly. The second followed. The third found harmony. Sorrow passed from his fingers to the strings, from the strings to notes, from notes into the air. The sorrow that words could not carry — how sorry he was, how deeply he regretted, how deeply he was ashamed — all of it rode the notes.

The fourth string rang low. The fifth flowed above it. The sixth added depth. The melody built in layers. One note was laid upon another. One melody flowed over another. Everything came together as one. Jinhwa played and wept. Eyes closed. Head bowed. With all his heart he played. His fingers did not rest. The strings could not help but ring. The notes could not help but spread.

Wind began to blow.

At first it was faint — a single leaf barely trembling — but it grew stronger. The wind came. Leaves shook. Branches bent. Jinhwa was lost in the playing. His eyes were closed. He heard only his own sound. He did not notice. The wind grew stronger still. Whole trees swayed. Leaves rustled. The sound mingled with the playing.

Jinhwa still did not know.

He kept playing. Kept weeping. Kept pouring out his sorrow. The trees of the garden began to sway in unison. The pine to the east. The ginkgo to the west. The willow to the south. The bamboo to the north. All swayed in the wind. All made sound. All answered Jinhwa's playing.

Rustle. Whisper. Rustle. Whisper.

The sound of trembling leaves filled the yard. It mingled with the geomungo. It became one music and spread.

The sky began to change.

Clouds moved — slowly but unmistakably — east to west, gathering and scattering. The light of the dawn sky changed. Darkness retreated. Light advanced. A red glow began to stain the heavens. But Jinhwa's eyes were still closed. He was still lost in the playing. He was still inside his own world.

His fingers grew faster.

They flowed from string to string. From note to note. From melody to melody. The first, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth — all rang. Every note burst forth. Every melody soared toward the sky.

The earth began to tremble.

Subtle but unmistakable. A vibration — small but deep, quiet but strong. The dirt and stones and grass of the yard all shook. They trembled as if answering Jinhwa's playing, Jinhwa's notes, Jinhwa's heart. The air trembled. Notes rode the air and spread. The air embraced the notes and flowed. Everything became a single wave.

The birds fell silent.

The birds that had been announcing the dawn. The birds that had been sitting on branches. The birds that had been flying across the sky. All went quiet. They heard Jinhwa's sound. They listened. They folded their wings and sat still and listened. Beyond the estate the sound carried too — over the wall, into the streets, into the alleys, far and farther still. People who heard the geomungo stopped walking. They listened. They looked toward the sound.

"What is that?"

"Is that a geomungo?"

"Where is it coming from?"

They all turned their heads. They looked toward the sound. They listened in silence.

Everything became one.

Sky and earth. Wind and trees. Clouds and light. Birds and people. And Jinhwa's playing — all joined together until the distinctions vanished. What was Jinhwa's sound and what was the sound of nature could no longer be told apart. All became one note. One melody. One resonance.

Heaven and earth answered.

They answered Jinhwa's sorrow. His regret. His tears. The sky wept. Clouds flowed. Light spread. Colors changed. The earth wept. Soil trembled. Stones shook. Grass swayed. The trees wept. Branches bent. Leaves trembled. Trunks rang. The wind wept. It blew. It surged. It sang. The people wept. They stopped. They listened. Their hearts were moved.

Everything wept together.

Together with Jinhwa — not only people but all the things of the world wept together. Jinhwa did not know it. But heaven and earth knew. And answered.

Jinhwa's eyes were still closed. He was still lost in the playing. He was simply weeping. His fingers did not stop. The strings could not help but ring. Notes flowed without end.

The first string rang. The second rang. The third rang.

The fourth, the fifth, the sixth rang in turn. And at last he struck all the strings together.

WOOOONG.

Six notes rang at once. The air shuddered. The earth trembled. A sound deep and strong and overwhelming shook the estate, rang through the sky, and filled the world. The sound that held everything Jinhwa was spread outward. Heaven and earth answered — more strongly, more clearly, more deeply.

The melody began to slow.

Slower. And slower. And slower still. The end approached. Jinhwa moved his hand gently, drawing out one note at a time, letting the resonance linger long. The sixth string rang. The fifth rang. The fourth rang. The third rang. The second rang. The last note approached.

The first string.

Tong…

Long. Deep. Far — the resonance spread.

Beyond the estate. Beyond the wall. Beyond the street. Into the sky it spread. Slowly fading. Growing smaller. Growing faint. Vanishing.

Silence.

Complete silence.

Jinhwa lifted his hand from the strings and rested it on his lap and opened his eyes. The world was visible. Sky and earth and trees and wind — all was still. The wind had ceased. The trees had stopped. The clouds hung motionless.

Jinhwa looked around.

Something seemed to have changed, but he could not tell what. He only felt a deep stillness. He set Heungnoe carefully on the ground. His hands trembled. His body trembled. His breath was rough. He sank to the ground and looked up at the sky. The sun had risen — red and bright and warm.

A new morning.

"So this is…"

He murmured, and something came to him.

He remembered the words the wandering musician had spoken. That voice echoed in his ears. Jinhwa smiled.

"A perfect score… is when heaven and earth answer. The sky weeps. The earth weeps. The trees weep. The wind weeps. Not only people — all the things of the world weeping together. That is a perfect score."

Jinhwa smiled — bleakly, but a little lighter than before — and murmured.

"So this… was a perfect score…"

Heaven and earth had answered. They had answered Jinhwa's playing. His sorrow. His tears. Jinhwa cradled Heungnoe and stroked it and murmured.

"Thank you… for staying…"

The playing was over. Heaven and earth were still. The sun had risen.

Now it was time to begin.

Again.

[End of Chapter 89]