GJJ 35

Chapter 35. Slave of Capitalism

Miyu and Bokshil smiled as they looked at the white flag standing in front of the herbal shop.

A new store just didn’t feel complete without a sign. It wasn’t a fancy wooden board, but they had bought some fabric from the cotton shop and asked Iwoon to write the store name on it — a makeshift banner sign. The bold, dignified calligraphy stood out beautifully.

“Seems our painter isn’t just good with brushes,” Miyu said.

Bokshil nodded enthusiastically. “You can say that again.”

Miyu was glad she’d accepted his investment. He’d refused to work as a clerk, but the moment he invested money, he’d changed completely — even writing the store name with elegant strokes.

Hmph. I thought he didn’t care about money since he wouldn’t sell his paintings, but here he is hauling goods himself and writing signs without complaint. A true slave to capitalism, she thought, smirking inwardly while smiling brightly on the outside.

“But unni,” Bokshil said, “this is Songpa Market, right? Isn’t ‘Seoul Herbal Shop’ kind of odd for a name?”

“There’s already a ‘Songpa Herbal Shop,’” Miyu replied. “And what’s wrong with ‘Seoul Herbal Shop’? It’s familiar, meaningful — it sounds nice.”

“Meaningful how?”

“It means the capital of herbs — the center.”

In Joseon, “Seoul” was used to mean “the capital.” The current name of Korea’s capital, Seoul, came from the common use of that word for Hanyang.

“Oh! I didn’t know that. You really think deeply, unni.”

Just then, a tall, gaunt middle-aged man stopped in front of the shop, staring intently at the wooden signboard.

On the board were written: Cold, stomachache, headache, menstruation pain, fever relief.

They had prepared ten small herbal bundles focusing on common ailments like colds and stomachaches, each with five types of herbs, neatly displayed on the counter.

Each person’s needs were different, so they had arranged it so customers could mix and match as they wished.

“Are you feeling unwell, sir?”

Quick-witted as always, Miyu approached the man gently.

“My stomach’s been hurting since yesterday. Thought it’d go away after a night’s sleep, but it hasn’t,” the man said, rubbing his abdomen with a rough, bony hand.

“For stomachaches, osuyu works best. Boil it and you’ll feel better right away.”

“Of course I know that. But it costs one nyang for a bundle — who can afford that for one dose?”

He suddenly grimaced and clutched his stomach as the pain hit him again.

With a knowing smile, Miyu picked up one of her small herbal bundles.

“That’s exactly why we sell them this way. Why buy a whole bundle when you don’t need it every day? You’ll just waste money and space.”

She pointed to the board.

“Our shop sells herbs in small portions — five types in one set. Normally that’d cost five nyang total, but our small bundles are only one nyang and two jeon. You save money and can treat several ailments, not just stomachaches.”

The man’s face brightened.

“So you mean I can get both stomachache and cold medicine together?”

“Of course! See? It says so right there.”

“I can’t read,” he admitted awkwardly, scratching his head.

Miyu froze for a second. She’d grown used to an era without illiteracy and hadn’t considered that. She felt bad for embarrassing him.

After all that studying of psychology, how could she miss something so basic in practice?

The success of the Vegetable Shop made me overconfident, she scolded herself. Confidence is good, arrogance isn’t.

“This bundle here is good for colds, stomachaches, headaches, menstrual pain, and diarrhea. This one replaces menstrual pain and diarrhea herbs with wolfberries and cnidium to restore vitality and blood. And the third one…”

She carefully explained each herbal combination.

The man, satisfied, handed over one nyang and two jeon from his pouch.

“That’s all I need to hear. My boy’s had a cold since New Year’s, and I felt awful not being able to buy him proper medicine. And my wife… her monthly pains are terrible.”

Miyu’s heart ached. He couldn’t bring himself to buy medicine for his own pain but didn’t hesitate when it came to his wife and son.

A father’s love — that never changed, no matter the era.

The man left cradling his paper-wrapped herbs, smiling as if his pain had already vanished.

Watching his back, Miyu’s own face softened.

“Bokshil, can you mind the shop for a bit?”

“Why? Where are you going?”

“I won’t be long.”

“Okay.”

Miyu lifted her skirts and dashed toward the tavern street.

Yung should be around there by now.

Miyu soon reached the row of taverns.

“Spare a coin!”
“If you’ve got no coin, a bite of food will do!”

At one tavern entrance, Yung and his gang of kids were shouting at the top of their lungs, begging loudly.

“Pretty Miss Miyu!” Yung cried, spotting her.

“Hello, ma’am!” shouted Chunsam, Gaettong, and Baekmi in unison.

“There you are! I was looking for you.”

“What for? Don’t tell me you came to hand us coins?” Yung said skeptically.

Miyu took out four coins and handed one to each child.

“I’ve helped you out a few times, right? This time, you can help me.”

She hadn’t given them alms out of pity alone — she believed people should give and take. This was one of those times.

“Your wish is our command!” the kids shouted, standing at attention.

“Spread some word for me — about our shop.”

“The key points?” Yung asked, eyes gleaming.

“Smart boy.” She grinned.

“Tell everyone that at Seoul Herbal Shop in Songpa Market, you can buy five types of herbs for just one nyang and two jeon. Say it cures everything — kids’ stomachaches, colds, parents’ coughs, phlegm, headaches — all in one go.”

Posting signs wasn’t enough; new business methods needed loud, direct advertising to take off — before others copied her idea.

In Joseon, there were no trademarks or patents to protect originality. Whoever spread the word first won.

“Yes, ma’am! Songpa Market, Seoul Herbal Shop — five herbs for one nyang two jeon, cures all ailments: stomachache, cold, cough, phlegm, headache!”

Yung repeated it crisply, then turned to the kids.

“Repeat it till you’ve got it memorized!”

“Yes, Captain Yung!” they chorused.

“Make sure you tell them families can cure several illnesses at once,” Miyu added.

“Don’t worry! We’ll say it everywhere, like ‘Spare a coin!’”

“Thanks.”

“No need — we’re just helping each other out.”

Three days after opening Seoul Herbal Shop, the store felt eerily calm — the stillness before a storm.

Or rather, Miyu was the eye of that storm: quiet on the surface, but burning with intensity inside.

Bokshil and the three SoMaekdang men tread carefully around her.

“Miyu looks scary today,” Hwang Hee whispered.

“She must be upset the customers aren’t coming,” Byun Hayun murmured.

“Patience. Good things take time,” Iwoon said, calmly dividing yellow herbs into leaf packets.

“You sound confident,” Hwang Hee said.

“Because I am. There’s no way this won’t work,” Iwoon replied.

That morning, the three men had stood under the ginkgo tree near the shop until Miyu dragged them in to help pack herbs for about an hour before letting them go.

Now, Miyu sat under her parasol, expressionless, waiting for customers.

A few people came by, praised the idea, and bought herbs — but it still wasn’t enough for her.

“Are you okay, unni?” Bokshil asked timidly.

“Bokshil, what do I look like right now?”

“Huh?”

“Do I look dazed? Worried? Sad?”

“I’m not sure… you’re just quiet. It’s weird.”

“When I’m nervous, I get like this — quiet.”

“Nervous? Why?”

“I’m waiting.”

“For who?”

“For the time.”

“The time?”

“Yeah — the timing.”

Bokshil stared blankly.
Who’s this ‘Timing’ person, and why is she waiting for them?

Miyu waited — and right after noon, it happened.

A crowd suddenly gathered around the Seoul Herbal Shop.

The faces were familiar.

“Oh, that lady owns the pottery shop! And that man runs the iris store! That old man’s from the hat shop!” Bokshil exclaimed.

They were all Songpa Market merchants and peddlers.

“The time has come,” Miyu murmured.

Yung’s rumor campaign and the early customers’ word of mouth were finally paying off.

“Welcome!” Miyu greeted them brightly, then whispered to Bokshil,

“From today on, things will get busy. Stay sharp.”

Her once blank face lit up — every cell in her body seemed to awaken, glowing with life.