The Eternal Flower Beggar King Chapter 37 — Cracks

The Eternal Flower Beggar King Chapter 37 — Cracks

The third morning dawned.

Jinhwa opened his eyes before the rooster crowed. The dawn air was cold. He pushed off the blanket, rose, and opened the window. The market alley, still cloaked in darkness, was silent.

Today was the day.

The day Ha Seongjun was to arrive with the cotton.

Jinhwa washed his face and changed his clothes. He took out his cleanest garment. A day like this — receiving a great deal — called for a tidy appearance.

He looked in the mirror. His face was flushed. Whether from excitement or a sleepless night, he could not tell.

He opened the shop door. The street, still draped in lingering darkness, was empty. He picked up the broom and swept the front of the shop. Swish, swish. Only the sound of bristles broke the silence.

He checked the space for the cotton one more time. The area he had cleared the day before gaped wide and bare. Soon it would be filled with white bolts of cotton.

A hundred and twenty bolts.

From all that cotton, he would make two hundred garments. Within three months.

Jinhwa clenched and unclenched his fists. His palms were damp with sweat.

He could do this.

The sun rose. Red light spread across the rooftops, heralding a new day.

As the sun climbed, the market woke.

Merchants began opening their doors one by one. The owner of Manbok Cloth stretched in front of his shop. The rice-cake grandmother passed by, balancing a steamer on her head.

An ordinary morning.

But not for Jinhwa. Today was special.

Ha Seongjun had said he would come early in the morning. He was bringing the cotton from the north, so there might be some delay.

Jinhwa sat inside the shop and watched the door. Every time the sound of a cart reached his ears, he looked up. But they were only the carts of other merchants passing by.

Time passed.

The sun climbed higher. The market grew busy. Voices of customers, the noise of haggling, children running about — all of it blended together.

But Ha Seongjun did not come.

Thud.

Something fell in the distance. Jinhwa sprang to his feet and threw open the door. He scanned the street. A merchant had simply dropped a load. That was all.

Jinhwa went back inside.

He began pacing the shop. Five steps to the wall, five steps to the door. Back and forth across the narrow space, his eyes kept drifting toward the market entrance.

'Maybe the goods took longer than expected to load.'

'A little more waiting. He'll come.'

The rice-cake grandmother stopped as she passed the shop.

"Jinhwa, wasn't the cotton supposed to arrive today?"

"…Yes, that's right."

"Still hasn't come?"

Jinhwa nodded. The grandmother glanced toward the market entrance, then nodded.

"Well. Delays happen in business. Have you eaten lunch?"

"…Not yet."

"Here, at least eat this."

The grandmother held out a rice cake. Jinhwa took it. It was warm.

"Thank you."

After the grandmother left, Jinhwa bit into the cake. Whether from worry or something else, his mouth felt dry and stale. He could barely swallow.

The sun reached its peak.

Shadows shortened, and the market heat pressed down. Sweat ran along his back.

Ha Seongjun still had not come.

Jinhwa paced the shop again. Back and forth. Back and forth. Only his footsteps echoed in the narrow space.

Tap. Tap.

Hoofbeats sounded in the distance.

Jinhwa threw open the door and stepped outside. He stared down the far end of the street. A cart was passing. But it was not Ha Seongjun's.

Jinhwa sighed and went back inside.

'Could there have been an accident? A broken cart, trouble on the road.'

Ha Seongjun was a man who had traded in the north for years. He knew the roads well and had made countless deals.

'A little more waiting. He'll come.'

And yet, Jinhwa could not stop the heaviness settling in one corner of his chest.

The owner of Manbok Cloth stood outside his shop, smoking a pipe. Their eyes met. The old man tilted his head.

The look said: Still hasn't come?

Jinhwa turned his head away quickly.

The old man's words circled in his ears.

"Be careful. A deal that big can be dangerous."

"Ha Seongjun — he's a bit hasty. Hasty people make mistakes easily."

Jinhwa shook his head. He tried to push the thoughts away.

He would come. He would surely come.

Afternoon arrived.

The sun began its westward tilt. Shadows lengthened.

Jinhwa stood outside the door, staring endlessly toward the market entrance. Each time a cart appeared, his chest dropped — then rose again. But Ha Seongjun's cart never came.

Crash.

Something toppled in the shop next door. Jinhwa flinched and snapped his head around. A merchant had only dropped a jar.

Jinhwa let out a long breath and went back inside.

He took the contract from inside his shirt and unfolded it. The characters on the creased paper were clear.

'Delivery of cotton on the third day.'

It was written plainly. Ha Seongjun's signature. Jinhwa's signature.

Jinhwa folded the contract and tucked it back inside his shirt. The paper was damp with sweat.

He walked through the market. Perhaps Ha Seongjun had stopped by another merchant's shop.

But no one had seen him.

"Haven't seen him today."

"Ha Seongjun? Don't know the man."

Jinhwa returned to the shop.

The light inside was dimming. The sun had tilted, and the shadows deepened.

Jinhwa sank into his chair. The strength drained from his legs.

It was anxiety.

Small at first, but growing. Something inside his chest was tightening.

The sun set.

One by one, the market merchants began closing their doors. The day's business done, they headed home.

Jinhwa was still sitting in front of his shop.

Darkness fell. Lanterns flickered to life, one after another. An orange glow lit the street in faint, trembling patches.

Ha Seongjun never appeared.

Jinhwa's hands shook as he lit his own lantern. The light fell across the interior of the shop, exposing the empty display shelf. The space he had cleared for the cotton stood gaping and bare.

'Maybe tomorrow.'

'Maybe I got the date wrong. Not today — maybe tomorrow.'

Jinhwa took the contract out again.

The date was clear.

Today was correct.

Jinhwa gripped the contract. The paper crumpled in his hand.

The rice-cake grandmother approached the shop. Her face was drawn with worry.

"Jinhwa, he still hasn't come?"

Jinhwa nodded. His voice would not come.

The grandmother sighed.

"Go to the magistrate's office first thing tomorrow morning. Find out if something happened."

"…Yes."

The grandmother left, and Jinhwa was alone.

Night deepened.

The street grew quieter and quieter. Wind blew, and the shop sign creaked.

Jinhwa closed the shop door. He slid the latch and locked it. His hands trembled so badly the key would not fit.

Jinhwa went into the back room of the shop.

In the narrow room, there was only a blanket and a single small box. Jinhwa lit a candle and let its dim glow fall across the walls.

He sat before the box.

It was empty.

Three days ago, it had been full of silver. Three hundred and eighty nyang.

Now it was bare.

Jinhwa reached inside. His fingertips touched cold wood.

'All of it — spent.'

On buying the cotton. On thread. On needles.

Every coin, spent.

Nothing was left.

Jinhwa had trusted Ha Seongjun. Or rather, he had trusted the contract and the advance payment. But trust was not something that held simply because one person believed. It only had meaning when the other person honored it too. Trust held alone was nothing more than expectation.

And expectation crumbled easily.

Jinhwa drew a deep breath. His chest was tight.

'Don't think about it. They say bad thoughts invite bad things.'

'He'll come tomorrow. Tomorrow morning.'

But certainty would not take hold.

Jinhwa pulled the blanket over himself and lay down.

He stared at the ceiling. In the darkness, the grain of the wood looked like a creature.

'Surely not.'

The words circled through his mind.

'Surely it's not a scam.'

'Surely he didn't run.'

'Surely he didn't deceive me.'

Jinhwa shook his head.

Ha Seongjun had written a contract. He had paid two hundred nyang in advance. And he had taken Jinhwa's three hundred and eighty nyang.

Would a swindler go that far?

But the grandmother's words surfaced.

"Nothing in this world comes free."

The Manbok Cloth owner's words, too.

"A deal that big can be dangerous."

Jinhwa had dismissed them then.

'It'll be fine,' he had thought. 'I have the contract. I got the advance.'

But looking back now — what good was a contract if the other party never appeared? What good was an advance if it had cost him his entire fortune in return?

Jinhwa pulled the blanket tighter.

His body trembled. Not from cold.

He was afraid.

He was terrified.

Jinhwa drifted in and out of sleep.

He dreamed.

Ha Seongjun, smiling, carrying the silver box as he walked away.

"Thanks! You fool!"

Jinhwa chasing after him, but his feet glued to the ground, unable to move.

Trying to scream, but no voice coming out.

Jinhwa bolted upright, drenched in cold sweat.

It was dawn.

Darkness still lingered.

Jinhwa gasped for air. His heart pounded as though it might burst.

'A dream. Just a dream.'

But Jinhwa knew.

It might not be a dream.

He got up and opened the window.

Cold dawn air struck his face. The street was silent.

'Will he come today?'

'Three days have passed, so today — will he come?'

'Or…'

Jinhwa pressed his palms together.

He prayed to the sky.

'Please. Please let him come.'

But the sky gave no answer.

Only dark clouds hung low overhead.

Day broke.

Jinhwa had not slept a single hour through the night.

His eyes were swollen. His head throbbed.

But he had to get up.

He had to open the shop.

Because perhaps — perhaps today he would come.

Jinhwa staggered to his feet. He pulled on his clothes and went out to the shop.

He opened the door.

The street, still wrapped in lingering darkness, was empty.

Jinhwa stood outside the door.

He waited.

The sun rose.

The market woke.

But Ha Seongjun did not come.

The owner of Manbok Cloth stepped outside his shop. He saw Jinhwa and slowly shook his head.

Jinhwa understood what that shake of the head meant.

He could wait no longer.

Jinhwa closed the shop door.

He had to go to the warehouse.

The place Ha Seongjun had said they would buy the cotton.

The gray building at the eastern edge of the market.

He had to go there and see for himself.

Jinhwa set out.

His legs were heavy. They felt as though they weighed a thousand geun.

He walked across the market.

People were coming and going. Laughing, chatting, doing business.

But Jinhwa heard none of it.

Only a ringing filled his ears.

The eastern edge drew closer.

People thinned out, and the road grew quiet.

Jinhwa slowed his pace.

Something inside his chest was speaking.

'Don't go. Don't check. It's better not to know.'

But his feet kept moving forward.

He had to know.

He had to face the truth.

Even if that truth was more than he could bear.

In the distance, the gray building came into view.

The warehouse.

The place where, three days ago, Jinhwa had handed over his box of silver.

Jinhwa stopped.

His heart pounded.

'Do I have to go?'

He could still turn back. He could go back to the shop, wait one more day.

Perhaps tomorrow Ha Seongjun would come.

But Jinhwa knew.

That was not going to happen.

Three days had passed. The promise was broken. There had been no word.

There was only one truth.

All that remained was to accept it.

Jinhwa clenched his fists.

His nails dug into his palms. It hurt.

But the pain woke him.

He had to confirm it.

He must not run.

Jinhwa stepped forward again.

One step.

Two steps.

The warehouse drew closer.

The door came into view.

It was shut tight.

Jinhwa stood before the warehouse.

His heart felt as though it would burst.

He raised his hand to knock — and stopped.

What if no one was there.

What if it was empty.

What if —

Jinhwa closed his eyes.

He drew a deep breath.

And knocked.

Bang. Bang.

The sound echoed.

No answer.

Only silence.

Jinhwa knocked again.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Still no answer.

Jinhwa's lips trembled.

He had waited three days, and no one came.

The trust inside his chest had cracked.

'Surely not' — that thought was becoming real.

EndofChapter37