The Flour Bomb and the Buy-One-Get-One Riot

"......What is all this?"

The next morning, the moment I opened the shop, the sight before me struck me dumb. White sacks were heaped like a fortress wall across the front yard and clear out to the smithy next door, ramparts raised for a siege.

"Aigo, proprietor! You're out!"

Chief Factor Kim, the man I had hauled out of the rain the day before, popped up from behind the mountain of sacks. He was dressed immaculately, and the smile on his face was pure goodwill.

"I can't thank you enough for yesterday. I owe you my life."

"No, it's quite all right, but... what is all of this?"

"A token of my sincerity! I run a grain company, as you know. This is the finest special-grade flour we handle—the very grade presented in tribute to the imperial court!"

Factor Kim slapped a sack with open pride.

"In thanks... I prepared a hundred sacks."

"A... a hundred sacks?"

My head spun. Each sack held twenty gwan, some hundred and sixty-five pounds; a hundred of them came to two thousand gwan. More than eight tons of flour. In a shop this cramped, the place would burst. No—the entrance was already choked shut, and customers couldn't even get through the door.

"The thought is appreciated, truly, but our storeroom is tiny..."

"Don't you worry! Whatever won't fit, just stack in the yard and use as you go. I'll even put up a canopy so the rain can't touch it!"

Factor Kim had no intention of hearing a refusal. He was already barking orders at his laborers.

"Come on, come on! Stack them up! Get that canopy raised before it rains!"

"Yes, Factor!"

The workers moved as one. I stared blankly up at the white rampart. When was I supposed to use all of this? Even if I folded a thousand dumplings a day, it would take a year, and the flour would be blooming with mold long before then.

"Proprietor... what do we do about this?"

Yujin, my shop hand, came up beside me. Even he looked overwhelmed.

"What else is there to do?"

I bit my lip. There was only one way: use every grain before it spoiled. Fold like a madman, and sell like a madman.

"Yujin."

"Yes."

"Starting today, it's war. Get ready."

I took up a brush and wrote across the paper in characters large enough to shout.

Rumor outran a thousand-li horse. Words like free and bonus, especially, spread like a flash of lightning.

"Hey, you hear? The dumpling shop up the way is giving out twice as many!"

"One extra? For real?"

"One of theirs fills you up, and they're handing out two?"

By the Hour of the Snake—midmorning, between nine and eleven—the front of the shop was already a sea of bodies. Murim Alliance trainees, neighborhood wives, market merchants, passing ronin, even beggars of the Beggars' Sect had come swarming in.

"Proprietor! Ten trays over here! No—twenty!"

"Me too! I want some to take home!"

"Get in line! A line!"

Yujin and I were trapped in the kitchen, folding dumplings—though stamping them out was closer to the truth. The work went ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠chwak-chwak-chwak, and my hands had already blurred out of sight.

Yujin was no less fierce. He turned swordsmanship to the dumpling skins, and the hand on the rolling pin moved like a swift-sword. Shwish, shwish, shwish.

"Yujin! Faster! The steamer's running empty!"

"Understood! Hah... hah..."

Sweat poured from his brow like rain, but ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he matched my pace without a word of complaint. A man who had lived by the sword—his wrists were wonderfully supple.

"Dumplings are up! They're hot, so mind yourselves!"

The moment a fresh batch left the steamer, it was gone. Customers went away with both ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠arms full of bags and bliss written all over their faces.

"Wow... now that is generous. Downright generous."

"Proprietor, are you even making anything on this?"

"I'm not! I'm just giving them away!"

I laughed through my tears. Profit wasn't the problem. Getting rid of that mountain of flour was the only thing that mattered.

Then a familiar bellow rolled in from outside the shop.

"Out of the way! All of you! Don't block the road!"

A mountain of a man shoved through the crowd: Jang Mugi, the Iron-Blood Instructor. Dozens of trainees trailed after him, shuffling and sheepish.

"Little brother! What is all this ruckus!"

"Ah, Elder Brother. You're here."

I offered the greeting coated head to toe in dough flour.

"Can't you tell by looking? The flour's about to rot, so we're running a sale."

"Hah! Well, I'll be. What a sight."

Jang Mugi took in the sacks stacked before the shop and clicked his tongue.

"To get through all of this, the entire Murim Alliance would have to eat day and night for three days."

"So lend a hand. Your boys can eat."

"Figured as much, so I brought them. I drilled them half to death today, and they're wailing that they're starving."

He turned and roared at the pack behind him.

"Hey! You lot just drew a winning lot! The boss is throwing in extras! Eat until your bellies burst!"

"Waaaaah!!!"

"Long live the Instructor! Long live the proprietor!"

The trainees whooped and charged the shop like a swarm of starving locusts. In a blink the tables were packed, and straw mats went down outside as well.

"A hundred meat dumplings over here!"

"Add fifty kimchi dumplings!"

"Do the pan-fried ones count too?"

Orders crashed in like a flood. Yujin and I never stopped moving. The fire in the stove refused to die, and steam from the baskets turned the shop into a sweat lodge.

Around the Hour of the Goat—early afternoon, between one and three—Yujin spoke, nearly in tears.

"Proprietor... my arms won't move..."

The muscles in his arms were cramping. Martial training or not, rolling dumpling skins for hours without rest was little better than torture.

"Hold on a little longer! Don't you see the flour going down?"

Three-tenths of the sacks in the yard had vanished. There was hope.

"Let's finish it all today! I'll pay you extra!"

"E... extra?"

"Yes! Not dumplings. Silver!"

"I'll do it! Sir, yes, sir!"

Light flooded back into Yujin's eyes. The almighty power of money was a magnificent thing, and we put on speed again.

The Hour of the Rooster, between five and seven. At last half the sacks of flour were gone. The customers had thinned, and Jang Mugi's party had departed patting their bellies.

"Haa... haa..."

Yujin and I lay spread-eagled on the kitchen floor. Neither of us had the strength to twitch a finger.

"Proprietor... did we do it?"

"No... half is still left."

I gave a hollow laugh at the flour still waiting beyond the window. We would have to do this all over again tomorrow.

"Still... business was good."

The money chest was so full the lid wouldn't shut. I felt, in my bones, the power of a razor-thin margin moved in bulk.

"Let's clean up and go. We have to be back at dawn."

"Yes..."

Yujin hauled himself up, every joint protesting. And then—

Shuuuk.

The air inside the shop shifted. This was no ordinary wind. Something cold, sharp, and above all alien seeped in through the cracks. Yujin went still. By instinct, his hand closed on his sword.

"Proprietor."

"I know."

I had felt it too.

My heart began to hammer.

Don't tell me...

Out beyond the shop, far off in the dark, someone was walking toward us. A shadow came on against a crimson sunset, red martial robes snapping in the wind, a conical hat pulled low. With every step she took, the air around her sank heavy. The beggars still lingering out front felt an instinctive terror and edged backward.

"Th-that woman... what is she?"

"Look at those eyes... Those are a killer's eyes."

The beggars fled. Only the woman in red remained before the shop. Slowly she lifted her head to the signboard.

Then she lowered her gaze and looked inside. Beneath the brim of the hat, her eyes met mine exactly. A jolt ran through me, as if a current had leapt the space between us. Longing, rage, love and hate, and killing intent were tangled together in that look.

Yeon Sowol.

My disciple, and the Saintess of the Demonic Cult. The incarnation of obsession who had hunted me more relentlessly than anyone alive. She had found her way here at last.

Yujin whispered, voice tight.

"Proprietor, that woman... she's an expert. A very dangerous one."

"Stay still."

I kept my voice low. This was no moment for Yujin to step forward. That woman was my problem.

She pushed the shop door. Kreeeak—the hinge sounded unnaturally loud. She stepped inside, and a strange fragrance filled the room, not rain but blood braided with flowers. She stared at me without a word. In her hand was a dagger of cold blue steel, carrying a presence that seemed ready to fly for my throat at any instant.

"......"

I swallowed hard. Caked in flour as I was, would she even know me? No. If she had tracked me by qi, disguise was useless. Her lips parted slowly. The voice trembled, but it was cold as hoarfrost.

That single phrase drove straight into my heart.

Her hand moved. The dagger split the air and came flying. The peace of the dumpling shop, perhaps, was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠over.