The Eternal Flower Beggar King Chapter 87 – Dissolution

 The Eternal Flower Beggar King Chapter 87 – Dissolution

The plum blossoms had already fallen. Green leaves grew thick at the tips of the branches. The morning sun was hotter than spring and softer than summer, but Jinhwa saw none of it. Only now, at twenty-seven, did he feel the season.

Several days had passed since the physician left.

He could not say exactly how many. He was only faintly aware of the sun rising and setting. Unable to tell whether he was hungry or thirsty, he drifted between the study and the bed. Sometimes he walked the corridor. Sometimes he sat in the great hall. Sometimes he stared out the window. Nothing reached him.

The season was changing.

The last edge of spring had vanished and the breath of early summer crept in. The leaves grew darker and the sun grew hotter, but inside Jinhwa's chest it was still cold as winter and utterly empty.

Everyone had left.

The members. The women. The servants. All of them.

It was my fault.

Jinhwa repeated the words. His lips moved. He murmured without sound. No one heard.

It was afternoon, several days later.

The sun stood at its peak. Sunlight beat down hot on the great hall floor. Jinhwa sat by the study window, staring blankly outside.

Someone knocked on the gate.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The first human sound in days.

Jinhwa turned his head slowly. He looked toward the gate. He did not stand. The knocking came again, harder this time, and Jinhwa rose reluctantly.

He walked the corridor.

Slowly. Dragging his feet. Without strength.

He opened the gate.

Cheongpung stood there.

The two looked at each other in silence.

Cheongpung's face was gaunt. Shadows hung beneath his eyes. His expression was cold and resolute. Jinhwa tried to speak but no voice came. He only bowed his head and stepped aside. In one hand Cheongpung held a basket of dried meat and preserved food.

Cheongpung entered.

He walked to the great hall without a word. Jinhwa followed. The two sat facing each other on the hall floor. The sun was hot. Cicadas sang in the distance. Silence passed.

"Jinhwa."

Cheongpung spoke first.

His voice was cold and flat. Emotion held in check.

"First — I figured you wouldn't be eating, so I brought a few things to tide you over. Have them later."

Cheongpung handed over the basket and continued.

"I came to settle the last of the affairs."

Jinhwa raised his head.

He looked at Cheongpung. Met his cold gaze. His lips trembled.

"…Cheongpung…"

"Every performance commission has been canceled."

Cheongpung went on evenly.

"Not a single one remains. No banquets. No festivals. No private engagements."

Jinhwa bowed his head.

"I've torn up all the contracts. The remaining instruments were taken by the members."

"……"

"All that's left in the estate is yours."

Silence passed.

Jinhwa clenched his fists. He bit his lip. He forced out a voice.

"…I'm sorry."

"Sorry means nothing now."

Cheongpung's voice was cold and resolute.

Jinhwa covered his face.

"I called you Gakju and followed you."

Cheongpung said.

Jinhwa could not raise his head.

"I believed we could make Pungnyu-gak the greatest under heaven."

"…We did."

"We stayed up through the night rehearsing with the members. We were nervous and elated before every performance. Every time you played the geomungo, every time you raised the baton, my heart trembled."

Cheongpung's voice wavered for a moment and then turned cold again.

"But you… were never the Gakju."

"…I know."

"You were simply a man afraid of being alone."

Jinhwa flinched.

Cheongpung looked at the sworn brother he had spent so long beside, the Gakju he had once respected, and realized that now there was no one left — only an empty shell. His heart was crumbling, but he kept his expression cold and said what remained to be said.

"Jinhwa. One thing."

"…Go on."

"You're good at gathering people."

Cheongpung looked out the window.

"But you can't keep them. Do you know why?"

Jinhwa could not answer.

"Because you don't know what you truly want."

Cheongpung looked squarely at Jinhwa.

"Did you want Pungnyu-gak? Did you want Geumsoo Eulsaeng? Or did you just want… a life where you weren't lonely?"

Jinhwa opened his mouth and closed it.

He could not answer. He did not know. He could only choke.

"Next time…"

Cheongpung stood.

"Become someone who can stand on his own."

Jinhwa raised his head.

He saw Cheongpung's back. He saw him walking out of the great hall. His lips trembled.

"…Where will you go?"

Cheongpung stopped.

"Home. I'm thinking of opening a small tavern."

"…Take care."

"You too…"

Cheongpung looked back once.

"Live well."

And left.

Jinhwa could not see him off. He simply sank down in the great hall. Cheongpung's last words echoed in his ears.

He was afraid of being alone.

That was right.

What did I truly want?

He did not know.

Days passed. More days passed. Before he knew it a fortnight had gone, but Jinhwa did not step beyond the gate.

He sat in the great hall. Sometimes he went to the study. Sometimes he wandered the yard. But he did not leave the estate. He skipped meals more often than not. Sleep came shallow. When he woke from dreams, another long day began.

Sounds came from beyond the gate.

At first he paid no attention, but they grew more frequent, and he began to listen, and at last he could make out the words.

Passersby.

Merchants and porters and pedestrians passing the estate, whispering, and the sound carried over the wall into Jinhwa's ears.

"That's supposed to be the Pungnyu-gak place…"

"They said it was the greatest under heaven, but I hear it collapsed."

Jinhwa covered his ears.

But the sounds kept coming. Days passed and they did not stop. They grew more brazen.

"I heard the Gakju kept four women at once."

"There's a rumor he went mad."

Jinhwa lay down in the corner of the great hall.

Shame surged but dulled quickly. Anger flared but died at once. In the end no feeling remained.

"Nobody's calling for them anymore."

"Fell apart overnight."

So everyone knew.

That he had gone mad.

Jinhwa laughed.

Silently. Bleakly. Wretchedly.

The softness of early summer vanished and the heat of midsummer began to scorch the earth. Cicadas filled the estate with sound, but inside Jinhwa's chest it was still cold as winter.

Another fortnight passed. It was evening.

The sun was tilting west. The sky was stained red. Long shadows stretched across the great hall floor and trembled. Jinhwa sat by the study window, staring blankly outside. Only the cicadas rang sharp in his ears.

A knock on the gate.

Someone had come again.

Jinhwa did not stand.

But the knocking continued. It did not stop. At last Jinhwa rose slowly and walked to the gate.

He opened it.

Hyangnan stood there.

The two looked at each other in silence.

Hyangnan's face was gaunt. Sorrow pooled in her eyes. Her lips were pressed tight. Jinhwa looked at her. He tried to speak but no voice came. He simply stepped aside.

Hyangnan entered.

She walked to the garden without a word. Jinhwa followed. The two strolled the garden slowly. Green was everywhere. The setting sun filtered between the trees. Cicadas wrapped around them.

After a long silence Hyangnan spoke.

"…I thought about it for a long time."

Her voice trembled. Cautious. Sad.

"About what…"

"Whether to come or not."

Jinhwa looked at Hyangnan.

"But I thought if I didn't… I'd regret it for the rest of my life."

The two walked to the great hall, sat side by side on the floor, and watched the setting sun.

"…What did you come to say?"

Jinhwa asked.

Hyangnan did not answer for a long while.

She clenched and unclenched her fists. She drew a deep breath. At last she spoke.

"Gakju-nim. The truth is…"

Jinhwa looked at Hyangnan.

"I… liked you too, Gakju-nim."

Jinhwa's eyes went wide.

"For a long time. I just could never say it."

"…Hyangnan."

"Not as the Gakju… just as a person."

Hyangnan smiled.

Sadly. Bleakly. Calmly.

"The way you played the geomungo. The way you smiled quietly. The way you looked after the members… I loved all of it."

So that was how it had been.

He had not known.

Jinhwa could say nothing.

"But…"

Hyangnan's voice dropped.

"Watching those four… my feelings cooled."

Jinhwa bowed his head.

"That you never looked my way… I could live with that."

Hyangnan placed her hands on her knees.

"But you didn't really see them either."

"……"

"I heard you didn't even know their names."

Jinhwa covered his face.

"The reason I liked you, Gakju-nim… is gone."

Hyangnan faced the one-sided love she had carried so long. She remembered the moment that love turned to disillusion. And yet she had come, because she knew she would regret it for life if she did not confess this one last time. Now she felt she could truly let go. That alone was enough. But there was one more thing left to say.

"Gakju-nim, may I ask one thing?"

"…Please."

"Gakju-nim… do you know what love is?"

Jinhwa could not answer.

She asked if he knew what love was. He should have said he did not, but his lips would not part. She already knew. That was why she had asked.

"I do. I only just learned."

Hyangnan looked at the setting sun.

"Love… is wanting to know the other person."

"……"

"Their name. Their past. Their dreams. Their pain."

Hyangnan looked at Jinhwa.

"If you aren't curious about that… it isn't love."

Jinhwa trembled.

"Gakju-nim, when you meet someone next…"

Hyangnan said with a smile.

"Ask their name first."

"……"

"And listen to their story."

"That… is where love begins."

Silence passed.

Hyangnan's words rang through the great hall, entered Jinhwa's ears, and pierced his heart.

Ask their name first.

That is where it begins.

Jinhwa laughed.

Bleakly. Wretchedly. To the bone.

"I should be going now."

Hyangnan stood.

"…Where will you go?"

"West. I'm thinking of learning the clothing trade."

Jinhwa raised his head.

Something came to mind.

Words a wanderer had spoken long ago.

"A craft endures."

"…A craft endures…"

"Yes. That's why."

Hyangnan smiled.

"I hope you find happiness, Gakju-nim."

"…You too, Hyangnan…"

"Goodbye."

Hyangnan walked out of the great hall, crossed the garden, headed for the gate. Jinhwa followed. He stood before the gate. He raised a hand in farewell.

Hyangnan looked back once.

She smiled. She bowed her head. She turned.

And left.

Jinhwa watched until she disappeared. He looked at the empty road. He closed the gate slowly.

More days passed. Midsummer arrived. The sun beat down. The empty signboard above the gate remained as it was.

Jinhwa sat in the study, looking toward the gate.

The signboard.

The thing he had agonized over ever since he bought the great estate.

Should he write Pungnyu-gak. Or Geumsoo Eulsaeng. Or Oh Jinhwa.

He had deliberated and deliberated and in the end left it blank.

Why had he been unable to hang a sign. Writing Pungnyu-gak would feel like being bound to the troupe. Writing Geumsoo Eulsaeng would feel like being trapped by a stage name. Writing Oh Jinhwa would feel like returning to a man who was nothing. But now he knew. He had already been nothing.

Jinhwa stood.

He took out the brush and ink from the corner of the study. He spread a sheet of paper. He ground the ink slowly. His hands trembled. He was afraid to hold the brush. He hesitated for a long while.

He picked up the brush.

He touched it to the paper.

He wrote three characters.

Oh Jinhwa.

Slowly. With care. With a trembling hand.

The ink bled. The strokes wavered. The characters were crooked. But still he wrote.

Jinhwa set the brush down. He looked at the paper. He smiled.

How many people would know this name.

They might know the Gakju of Pungnyu-gak. They might know Geumsoo Eulsaeng. But no one would know Oh Jinhwa.

He waited for the paper to dry.

The sun stood at its peak.

Jinhwa took the paper and walked to the gate. He pulled the ladder from the side of the yard and set it before the gate.

He climbed.

Slowly. One rung at a time. On trembling legs.

He reached the empty space where a signboard should have hung. He unrolled the paper. He took out a nail.

Jinhwa climbed the ladder and fixed the paper to the blank signboard frame. With trembling hands he drove the nail. He saw the three characters gleaming white in the sunlight, but he felt no emotion, only a hollow emptiness that remained.

He came down the ladder.

He stepped back. He looked up at the sign. He squinted against the sun.

Oh Jinhwa.

Not Pungnyu-gak. Not Geumsoo Eulsaeng.

Just a name.

Oh Jinhwa. Was there anyone who remembered this name. His parents had given it to him, but they would not know where he was. His fellow disciples would remember him as a washout. His colleagues would remember him as the Gakju who went mad. No one would know Oh Jinhwa.

Jinhwa sank down in the yard.

He looked at the sign. He watched the evening sun light up the characters. Only the cicadas clamored.

The third failure.

At the Hwasan Sect. At the clothing shop. And now at Pungnyu-gak.

But the name… remained.

Oh Jinhwa.

That alone had not been taken.

Jinhwa pressed his hands to the ground. He touched the grass. He gripped the dirt. It was hot. It was dry. Bare earth where nothing grew.

Still, the name remained.

It was the third failure.

At the Hwasan Sect. At the clothing shop. And now at Pungnyu-gak.

But the name remained. Oh Jinhwa. That alone had not been taken.

[End of Chapter 87]