The Price of Qinglian Water
I was first startled to learn that he had mastered the Falling Star Twelve Swords up to the 5-star level.
Well, it's the basic sword art taught to even the escorts of the Yuseong Escort Agency run by our clan...
Still, for someone handling warehouse duties to reach the 5-star level, it must have taken extraordinary effort.
Gyeon Eonjo greeted Danmok Ryeon with fervent enthusiasm.
"Oh... How is it that this child, awake for scarcely any time, speaks with such maturity and sparkling eyes?"
Ryeon mumbled inwardly, I'm already eight, and almost nine soon, then let it go. To elders, she probably still looked like a baby.
Gyeon Eonjo repeatedly congratulated her on her awakening and went on at length about how remarkably bright she seemed.
Throughout, Danmok Cheon-gi merely grunted "hmph" and "hng," listening without a word. He showed no particular joy or pleasure, but he didn't stop the man either.
Only after the tea had gone completely cold did Gyeon Eonjo pull a small porcelain bottle from his bosom and address Ryeon.
"So, about this Qinglian Water the child sent."
The stardust floating above Ryeon's pupils twinkled in response.
"I heard it was made at the Danmok clan's pharmacy and suggested to the Supreme Patriarch that we might sell it. He said I should discuss it with the pharmacy master instead. So I grabbed the pharmacy master, but he insisted on getting your permission first."
At this urgent turn, Ryeon glanced at Danmok Cheon-gi.
Danmok Cheon-gi finally broke his silence, which had consisted only of fake coughs.
"In truth, it was made directly by you, Ryeon. So anything done with it requires your permission."
Ryeon was surprised that Danmok Cheon-gi would say so much, and even more surprised when Gyeon Eonjo accepted it without question.
"Good heavens! The child truly has talent, Supreme Patriarch. The rumor that an immortal took her away and returned her must be true."
"Enough flattery. So, what exactly do you plan to do with it?"
"Why else would I rush here all the way from Ye? Do you think I came just to butter you up and improve your mood?"
Danmok Cheon-gi let out a small fake cough. It was as if he suspected that was exactly the intent.
Gyeon Eonjo shook his head and personally pulled out a chair for Ryeon.
"Rub it on your fingertips, and your mind clears. On your temples, headaches vanish, drowsiness fades, and stiff muscles melt away. My servant had a runny nose, so I applied some under it, and the cold was gone by the next day!"
He had also rubbed it on his aching finger joints from poring over ledgers, and the pain disappeared. Gyeon Eonjo ranted that this was it—this was the real deal, it had to go to market.
"Then, how much should we sell it for?"
Ryeon, who had been quietly listening to his praise, finally asked.
Gyeon Eonjo shut his mouth. The room's only chatterbox fell silent, and it felt like the whole world held its breath. Only the distant sound of a bird flying by broke the quiet before fading away.
Finally, Gyeon Eonjo spoke.
"The apothecary at Hoseon Medical Pavilion said that to make even a tiny profit on one spoon's worth of essential oil, you'd need at least ten nyang in coins."
One nyang coin bought a decent meal for two. Ten nyang would cover five days at a middling inn.
"But that doesn't include the formulation fee. Each oil's price varies wildly, so we'd calculate differently per ingredient. And without knowing production volume, we'd have to figure that too..."
Ryeon listened silently and finished the math.
"The gifted Qinglian Water was made by a special method, so we can't produce it carelessly like you said. How about one spoon for 100 nyang coins—one nyang in silver—and pretty porcelain bottles?"
Gyeon Eonjo's eyes gleamed at the tenfold jump.
"Your standing servant there doesn't earn a nyang of silver a month. Who'd buy it at that price?"
"Those who want it will."
"Not wrong. West Lake Dragon Well tea sells for a nyang per jar and still can't meet demand. But does this little bottle of Qinglian Water hold such value?"
Ryeon smiled faintly and asked something else.
"If we contract with Mansong Merchant Group, who handles this?"
"One of my children will take direct charge."
"Which of the elder's children?"
Gyeon Eonjo tilted his head, intrigued by the conversation.
"My eldest, Wi-jeong, has long assisted the family business and has a keen eye for commerce. The second, Wiun, inspects everything strictly and tests bridges before crossing. Choose, child. Who would you like to handle it?"
Ryeon clenched her fist inwardly. She already knew about Mansong Merchant Group.
The praise for Wi-jeong's "keen eye" meant his successes were just lucky guesses. Wiun, who checked rigorously, was the reliable one.
In her memories, Wiun hadn't inherited Mansong and started her own group, which dominated Jiangnan while Mansong crumbled under Wi-jeong.
But Ryeon wasn't waiting for those two.
"Does the elder have no third child?"
"Hahaha! Not all merchant children handle trade. The third, Wihak, pursues scholarship. Preparing for the provincial exams soon."
Gyeon Eonjo spoke plainly, but his eyes held quiet hope for his son's success.
Born a merchant from Hwiju in Namjikrye just above Zhejiang, where families obsessed over passing the imperial exams, Gyeon Eonjo retained that drive.
And the elder's dream will come true.
Ryeon smiled brightly.
"Then I'd like Young Master Wihak to handle it."
"Young Master? Uncle will do. That fine with you, Supreme Patriarch?"
"As my sworn brother, the kinship is a bit distant, but..."
"Why fuss over it? Uncle's uncle is uncle enough."
Gyeon Eonjo chuckled stubbornly.
Ryeon's eyes widened. Calling the merchant lord's son "uncle" signaled intent to extend ties across generations with Danmok Cheon-gi.
"Then Uncle Wihak..."
"The boy doesn't handle merchant affairs."
"But elder."
Ryeon shook her head.
"If word spreads that 'using Qinglian Water led to topping the exams,' people will bring a nyang of gold for one bottle. I don't want Uncle Wihak selling it—just using it."
* * *
Finishing her talk with Gyeon Eonjo and stepping out of Wolyeongjae, Ryeon spotted someone pacing near the reception hall and tilted her head.
She looks familiar?
The face matched the old merchant lord's exactly—though more refined and beautiful. But the attire was odd: dressed as a man, in shabby clothes like a servant or coachman compared to Gyeon Eonjo's. Her sharp, piercing eyes—eerily like his—added to the dissonance.
Ryeon summoned her Divine Eye with a flick of her sleeve.
Gyeon Wiun? No... why is she dressed as a servant and following?
Somewhat baffled, Ryeon couldn't help addressing her.
"What are you... doing here?"
"Ah! Miss Ryeon!"
The servant with Gyeon Wiun paled and hurriedly shoved Wiun behind her, bowing deeply to Ryeon.
"W-we're, uh, waiting for our master... the Merchant Lord. Y-yes, to escort him back."
"I see that. But that young miss over there..."
The servant practically leaped at Ryeon's words—as if jumping Ryeon's height.
"N-no, no, what are you saying, no it's not, Miss, that's..."
As the servant flailed half in tears, Gyeon Wiun pulled her back from behind.
"Enough. No point denying it now that we're caught."
"But Miss..."
Gyeon Wiun shook her head and clasped her hands toward Ryeon, bowing.
"Miss Ryeon. I'm Gyeon Wiun. Forgive the embarrassing sight."
Wiun's voice was cool and emotionless, yet polite and refined. Even from a declining clan like Danmok, treated like royalty in their region, the heir carried herself so.
A glint passed through Ryeon's eyes.
"Why?"
"Pardon?"
"Why come like this? You arrived with Grandfather Gyeon."