Chapter 34. I Really Love Money
“The followers humbly beg to see the Master. Would you consider visiting the sacred hall sometime soon?”
The middle-aged man with ferret-like features bowed even lower.
“Is there anything unusual?”
“The followers are all praising you in unison, Master, for your prophecies—first about Kim Duryum, and now about the death of Park Hyuk-kwon.”
In Cheonsanggyo, the sect referred to believers as “workers of the world.”
Their leader, Choi Jaeseo, had given them two prophecies.
The first prophecy was this:
—At Usuo (Rain Water, around February 18th), the head of words shall perish in the arms of the flower that speaks.
At first, everyone was puzzled, but when the day came, the prophecy revealed its meaning.
Kim Duryum, the Minister of Personnel—who oversaw appointments and could be called “the head of words”—was found dead in the arms of a courtesan known as Hae-eohwa (a flower that understands words).
The followers of Cheonsanggyo went into a frenzy over the prophecy.
And about a month later, a new prophecy came forth:
—On the fifteenth day of the last lunar month (March 15th), the greenest of scales will tip.
Until that day arrived, no one could interpret its meaning.
But on that exact day, the Chief Inspector, Park Hyuk-kwon, died in his study.
Officials of the Inspectorate were often called cheongyojik (pure, noble positions), with the character cheong (blue/green) signifying purity. Among them, the “greenest” seat was none other than that of the Chief Inspector.
And the “scale”?
Park’s name, Kwon (權), literally meant “scale” or “balance.”
So, the “greenest scale tipping” foretold the death of Chief Inspector Park Hyuk-kwon.
“Both men were blinded by greed. They rejected Heaven’s will, coveted their positions, and refused to donate their wealth.”
Kim Duryum had not become Minister of Personnel through his own ability, nor had Park Hyuk-kwon reached the post of Chief Inspector through his own strength.
It was Choi Jaeseo—the sect leader—who had pulled the strings for them.
But men, like beasts, are never the same when hungry as when full.
Once they held power, riches piled up daily, brought by those bowing at their feet and begging favors.
And in the end, both sought to free themselves from Choi Jaeseo’s grasp.
With wealth and authority in their hands, they believed the sect could no longer control them. Their judgment, however, was shallow—they failed to see that such arrogance only paved their way to the afterlife.
“Like Kim Duryum, Park Hyuk-kwon’s hidden assets have all been seized and sent to the shrine.”
“Foolish men, unable to discern Heaven’s will.”
“Because of this, countless others are now rushing to dedicate all their possessions to the shrine and entrust their lives to us.”
“Those who are not attached to their current wealth are the ones who will become eternally rich. It is harder for a rich man to enter Heaven than for a tiger to pass through the eye of a needle.”
“You speak the truth, Master. Then… when shall you attend a sacred ritual at the shrine? If you appear at such a time, the spirits of the followers will soar to the heavens themselves!”
“I will attend the upcoming assembly.”
From behind the beaded curtain, Choi Jaeseo spoke quietly.
“The shrine will be filled with workers of the world.”
The Next Morning
“I can’t make heads or tails of this.”
“Same here, granny.”
The vegetable-stall grandmother of Gongju and Park Mandol stood in front of Miyu’s shop, shaking their heads at the piles of medicinal herbs.
The grandmother had rushed over, even putting off her vegetable stall, worried about Miyu. But no matter how she looked at it, she couldn’t figure out why Miyu wanted to run an herbal medicine store.
“How on earth does she plan to sell all this?”
“That’s what I’m wondering.”
Just then, Boksil came from the side of the street carrying a basket brimming with broad leaves.
“You’re here.”
“Been a while.”
“Boksil, what are those?”
“Miyu unni told me to gather as many leaves as wide as a palm.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know. I just do what I’m told.”
The three of them looked into the shop, where Miyu was speaking seriously with an old physician.
“Isn’t selling herbs simple? People just come and buy them. Why even call the physician over?”
“How should I know?”
“I don’t either.”
In truth, anyone selling herbs would naturally learn their effects over time. There was no need to rush.
Customers who bought in bulk already knew their uses, and those who bought in smaller amounts generally knew what they needed.
“She’s a peculiar one, that’s for sure.”
“Wish I could peek inside her head.”
“Maybe Miyu unni really is some kind of sage.”
“Wait—your clothes have changed.”
Park Mandol looked Boksil up and down.
“Hehe, yeah. Miyu unni said shabby clothes would scare off customers, so she bought me clean second-hand clothes. She promised to have me a new set made once we earn enough.”
“Well, well, looks like you’re living the good life now.”
“Yes! I’ll work hard so our shop prospers!”
Inside the Shop
Miyu sat across from the neighborhood physician, old Mr. Jeon.
“Licorice root is excellent for colds.”
He stroked his pale beard as he spoke.
“Yes, licorice for colds.”
“Cornus fruit is a tonic. Chrysanthemum and perilla leaf, along with houttuynia, are good for fevers and detoxification. Costus root helps stomach aches. Bracken root for diarrhea. Chrysanthemum for irregular menstruation or uterine chills…”
The old physician beamed with pride as he shared his knowledge one by one.
Miyu listened attentively and wrote everything down. She had stocked mainly the most commonly used herbs, but it would be absurd for a shop owner to sell medicines without knowing their effects.
Bundling them didn’t change that fact—she needed to understand their efficacy to assemble the bundles properly.
“Thistle is for high blood pressure. Rush pith helps with urination and postpartum swelling. Clematis root for enteritis, rhinitis, and hepatitis. Pulsatilla for sterilization and inflammation. Butterbur for sore throats. Portulaca for diarrhea and dysentery…”
It took nearly two hours before the old physician’s lecture ended.
He even smoked a few pipes in between, clearly enjoying himself.
“Thank you very much.”
“I was impressed by your eagerness to learn. May this knowledge aid your business.”
“Yes. One must understand before selling properly.”
“A good attitude. Young people these days just want to make easy money. But to succeed, you must learn eagerly and put that knowledge into practice, as you are.”
As he spoke, Mr. Jeon glanced down at the paper Miyu had been writing on.
Honestly, a child’s scribble might have been neater.
“Your handwriting is atrocious.”
“Haha, I’m not good with the brush.”
After the old physician left, Miyu quietly gazed at the mountains of herbs stacked inside and outside the shop.
The grandmother and Mandol had already gone home; only Boksil remained, playing with the kitten.
“Unni, what exactly are you thinking?”
Boksil asked.
“Boksil, from now on we’ll pack these herbs into small bundles, one geun each.”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“By mixing five different kinds of herbs to make one nyang’s worth.”
“But… why?”
“In the herbal trade, they don’t sell less than one nyang. Selling in smaller amounts doesn’t profit them and makes calculations messy. Meanwhile, pharmacies only follow prescriptions from physicians, which burdens patients, and when they sell directly, they overcharge heavily to make profit.”
“So?”
“So, in our shop we’ll pack small bundles tailored to common symptoms and sell them as one-nyang packs. In other words—fractional sales.”
“But why?”
Boksil still didn’t understand.
“Because with fractional sales, people can prepare remedies for several illnesses at once, even with less money.”
Still, Boksil frowned. Selling in fractions wasn’t hard, but there seemed little reason. Wasn’t business about profit?
“Unni, but we won’t really earn more that way.”
Boksil voiced her doubt honestly.
“A merchant thinks of the customer’s needs before her own profit. Profit will naturally follow. And besides—we can price it a little higher.”
“Eh?”
“Do I look like some charity worker to you? Not at all. I really love money.”
“M-me too.”
“I’ll earn lots of it! Buy art! And rub it in Yi-un’s flat nose!”
Suddenly fired up, Miyu clenched her tiny fist.
“But if it’s too expensive, will people still buy?”
“Of course…”
Miyu glared at her.
“They will! Because buying each herb separately by the nyang costs far more.”
She grinned with confidence.
Boksil tilted her head, then thought for a while—
“Ah!”
She finally understood.
Boksil had been around the marketplace for three years already. She knew well that poor folk couldn’t afford to buy a whole nyang of herbs for each illness.
Miyu’s plan was to bundle smaller amounts of herbs effective against common ailments and sell them together—at a slightly higher price, yes, but still far cheaper than buying them all individually.
Buying five different herbs separately would cost five nyang—almost two-thirds of a servant’s monthly wage of seven nyang. Impossible for struggling commoners.
And herbs spoiled quickly if stored poorly; they could mold, lose potency, or even turn poisonous. So even if people scraped together money, they couldn’t stockpile much.
But with Miyu’s bundles, for just one nyang and two jeon, they could secure remedies for colds, stomachaches, headaches, fevers, or menstrual pains.
Even poor families could, by tightening their belts just a bit, prepare like wealthy households and have medicine on hand.
“All right, let’s start packing them up!”
“Yes, shopkeeper ma’am!”
Miyu and Boksil sat at the shopfront, portioning herbs and wrapping them in leaves.
“Miyu unni, the three young masters who invested in you are worried sick. Let’s flatten their noses tomorrow with our sales.”
“Of course.”
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Miyu’s heart pounded in excitement at the thought of tomorrow’s business.
