Cheongyeon smothered his embarrassment and thickened his skin.
“You know it yourself. I spent a lot of money.”
“All right, all right. I’ll double your pay for today’s shift.”
“Thank you.”
For the first time that night, Cheongyeon’s perpetually expressionless face lit up with a smile.
“Oh, dazzling. What’s a flower like you doing in a shabby place like this? If I’d been born with your face? I’d have wriggled my way into the seat right next to the boss of the Peira.”
Peira’s boss, Tae Cheon-oh, was nearly as famous as Mu-won. No one knew exactly what relationship bound the two men, but since they shared the surname Tae, most assumed they were brothers or kin of some sort.
“He’s a man.”
“What are you talking about? Tae Cheon-oh is notorious for preferring men. You remember the rumor that spread like wildfire? That Tae Cheon-oh was infatuated with Tae Mu-won, tailing him everywhere he went.”
True to her love for gossip, the tavern owner recited the rumor to Cheongyeon.
“Then all the more reason I’d be out of the question.”
If Tae Cheon-oh’s taste was Mu-won, then he clearly liked men with a powerful build. Cheongyeon hurried to pour beer at the loud call of another customer.
“But I heard Tae Cheon-oh’s been looking for an urban legend.”
“An urban legend?”
“That song the bard sang earlier.”
“……”
Cheongyeon slid the lever of the beer tap back into place. Foam overflowed, soaking his hands in cold froth. He spoke in a casual tone.
“He’s searching for the Flower Clan.”
*****
The Peira was a warship capable of carrying a thousand men. With its main gun turrets mounted at the bow, midship, and stern, it radiated an aura of pure menace even at rest.
When the Peira had first seized Cheonghwajin, other pirates who had not yet heard the news came barging in as usual. The Peira hadn’t even bothered to fire its cannons. Instead, it rammed the wooden pirate ships with its steel hull, splintering them into kindling.
Dubbed “a continent adrift on the sea,” the Peira had earned a fearsome reputation long before it ever reached Cheonghwajin. There was not a soul across the known continents who did not know its name.
It had already been five years since they settled in Cheonghwajin, after spending most of the year roaming the seas.
Mu-won’s boots thudded against the deck as he crossed it. It had been several days since he last set foot on the Peira. After a quick glance at the cannons, he walked toward the dome located at the stern.
The dome was a colossal greenhouse fashioned from countless welded iron pillars. Through the iron frames, lush greenery could be glimpsed within—an incongruous emerald heart inside a vessel of steel and wood.
Mu-won unlatched the iron door and stepped inside. As befitted its name, the greenhouse brimmed with flowers and trees. At its center sat a crooked rocking chair. Dropping into it, he found the chair utterly still, its legs rooted so firmly to the ground it would not sway.
Light poured through the glass dome above, bathing the crown of Mu-won’s head. He lowered his gaze. Hidden amidst dense leaves and stems lay a gravestone, over which a single blue blossom had bloomed.
Ordinarily, several flowers should have blossomed, yet only one had. The surrounding stems and leaves seemed to cradle that solitary bloom like courtiers raising up a king.
It was a six-petaled flower—the dried blossom once trafficked as contraband. Though known as a smuggling commodity in its dried state, its true name was the Flower of Vengeance.
What king? How ridiculous.
With a flick of his fingers, Mu-won snapped the frail stem. The delicate head broke clean off and tumbled away. Others might place great value on rarity, but even if this were the last Flower of Vengeance left in the world, Mu-won would have done the same.
“…The medicine shop.”
The thought of a certain someone surfaced unbidden. The trembling hands clutching a stalk came to mind, along with the rain trickling down his cheeks, pooling precariously at his chin before falling.
Once, long ago, Mu-won had taken a passing interest in the medicine shop because of To-seong. No matter what he saw, that usually impassive man could not take his eyes off him.
At first Mu-won thought To-seong must have eaten something rotten, for his face suddenly turned scarlet as he drove. Then, absurdly, he brought the carriage to a halt.
To-seong had bowed courteously to a man crossing the road—an armful of flowers in his grasp. In truth, the blossoms went unnoticed. It was the man’s strikingly beautiful face that seized attention. To-seong’s attempt to act the gentlemanly driver was laughable.
His eyes clung to the man’s retreating back long after he’d passed. The honesty of that gaze made Mu-won smirk.
“Love at first sight?”
“Not just once. No matter how many times I see him, he’s beautiful.”
It seemed To-seong already knew the man. Mild curiosity prompted Mu-won to ask:
“What does he do?”
“He runs a medicine shop in the inner alley. His remedies are remarkably effective.”
The way he puffed up with pride was irritating. Then, suddenly, To-seong’s expression turned gloomy.
“I wish I were handsome, too.”
As if then he might dare confess.
“Want me to kidnap him for you?”
To-seong made no attempt to hide his look of utter disgust, as if Mu-won were trash.
Bang!
Mu-won grabbed his neck and slammed his face against the steering wheel. The blaring horn startled the herbalist, who turned back. His round eyes, wide as a rabbit’s, fixed on the carriage.
“To-seong, thanks to me, you got another look at that pretty face. Damn it, you should be grateful.”
That was the first time Mu-won had seen the herbalist.
The second had been at the garbage dump.
First flowers, then refuse. Their encounters could not have been more opposite, yet both burned themselves into memory.
And now the herbalist was working part-time in a tavern out of need, even taking cleaning jobs.
It wasn’t entirely impossible. Still, Mu-won harbored suspicions. He didn’t rule out the faint chance the medicine shop was a smuggler of ‘Flowers of Vengeance’.
So, he had burned one before his eyes, watching for a reaction. Yet all he saw was a man shrinking like a frightened animal. His pale ash-brown hair, wet with rain, lent him a tragic air beyond words.
And judging by the fact he’d sorted trash for recycling, his story wasn’t a lie. Research revealed that outside garbage dumps often hired day laborers for such work. Since no one was employed to clean inside the buildings, they did not bother verifying identities.
But really—what kind of resident of Cheonghwajin would ever sort through garbage? Trash was usually loaded onto collection trucks and carted off to the landfill. Workers were paid to clear away the stench of rotting waste, not to sift it.
Of course, if one chose to doubt, suspicions could spiral endlessly.
‘Maybe it was just my own paranoia.’
Mu-won leaned back into the chair. Yet the image of pale hands clutching the Flower of Vengeance haunted him.
Then it struck him.
“…The stem.”
The passing thought made him sit up straight. The empty rocking chair creaked as it finally stirred.
******
Cheongyeon had gone to the property office with little hope, but luck seemed to favor him. They introduced him to a resident of District C who wanted to move into District E.
According to the agent, the size and location of the new place were roughly on par with his current medicine shop.
Cheonghwajin was shaped like a flat rice cake, its districts divided by a central canal. It was not even called a continent, as its form resembled more a floating city. The most expensive land lay in Districts A and E.
The reason was simple: between them stretched a lagoon of fresh water.
In short, the presence of fresh water made the land most valuable. Of course, even in District E there were cheaper plots—those situated on lower ground.
“You understand, don’t you, Cheongyeon? It’s only because it’s me that I could find you a trade this quickly. If I didn’t have such wide connections, this would’ve been impossible. Who else could line up a house swap in a single day?”
Mr. Oh, the elderly property agent, looked down his nose at Cheongyeon as he lounged on a torn leather sofa, his bulging stomach spilling forward.
“Yes, Uncle, I know it’s thanks to you.”
Cheongyeon replied meekly enough. Oh slurped his juice. No glass of water had been set before Cheongyeon.
“To be honest, trades like yours don’t earn me a coin.”
House swaps were the business of those with little to their name. Middle-tier properties like those handled in this office were usually bought with money. Everyone lived with the same fear—that one day, Cheonghwajin, too, might sink beneath the waters. The higher the land, the higher the price.
“That said, even for you, Cheongyeon, you’ll need to pay at least 1,000 Hwan as a broker’s fee.”
Cheongyeon’s eyes widened at the exorbitant sum.
“Uncle, I don’t have that kind of money.”
Three hundred grams of ogapi branches sold for barely a single Hwan. He would need to sell off a staggering three hundred kilograms just to scrape together the fee.