Three days later, Hwa-yeong discovered that running a herbal cosmetics business from a boarding house room was like conducting a royal tea ceremony in a broom closet—technically possible, but requiring creative interpretations of dignity.
She knelt on her sleeping mat, surrounded by cloth bags of herbs, glass jars salvaged from Mrs. Kang's kitchen discards, and a notebook filled with formulas in her precise, archaic handwriting. Morning light filtered through her small window, illuminating what looked like a medieval alchemist's laboratory crossed with a very organized homeless camp.
"Honored ginseng root," she murmured, carefully measuring powder into a jar, "please forgive this humble servant's inadequate workspace and bless this mixture with your restorative powers."
A sharp knock interrupted her communion with the herbs. Before she could respond, the door slid open to reveal a teenage girl with defiant eyes, a school uniform three sizes too big, and the kind of aggressive slouch that screamed 'the world owes me better than this.'
"You're the weird fortune teller, right?" the girl said, plopping down cross-legged without invitation. "I'm Eun-mi. I left you the coffee."
Hwa-yeong blinked, thrown by such casual breach of protocol. In her past life, even servants requested permission before entering a room. "Young lady Eun-mi honors this humble dwelling with her presence, though perhaps proper etiquette suggests—"
"Yeah, skip the Joseon Dynasty speech lesson," Eun-mi interrupted, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. "I need to learn how to make that face stuff. The good stuff, not the watered-down version you gave my sister."
"This unworthy practitioner offers only the finest herbal preparations," Hwa-yeong protested, then paused as implications sank in. "Young miss, surely you do not intend to smoke those death sticks in my sacred workspace?"
"Death sticks?" Eun-mi blinked.
"Tobacco tubes of Western corruption," Hwa-yeong said, her voice heavy with centuries of disdain. "They poison the body's harmony and offend the herbal spirits."
"…Right." Eun-mi put away the cigarette reluctantly. Something about Hwa-yeong's absolute sincerity made mocking her feel like kicking a particularly earnest puppy. "Look, Joseon unni, I need to make money. Real money. Not pocket change from desperate housewives."
Hwa-yeong studied her carefully. Seventeen, maybe eighteen, with the hollow-eyed look of someone surviving on convenience store meals and stubborn pride. Her school uniform was clean but worn, her hands showed calluses from part-time work.
"What manner of employment currently occupies young miss's time?" she asked gently.
"Restaurant cleanup, weekend factory shifts, whatever pays cash daily." Eun-mi's voice was flat, like reciting a grocery list. "But it's not enough. I need something that'll get me out of here before…"
She trailed off, but Hwa-yeong could fill in the blanks. Before whatever she was running from caught up. Before winter made sleeping rough impossible. Before desperation forced dangerous choices.
"The herbal arts require patience, dedication, and respect for traditional wisdom," Hwa-yeong said carefully. "It is not a path for those seeking quick profit."
"Try me." Eun-mi's jaw set with stubbornness. "I'm smarter than I look, and I learn fast. Plus, I know how to talk to normal people, which might help since you sound like you escaped from a historical drama."
A flicker of amusement crossed Hwa-yeong's face. This girl had potential—intelligence burning beneath her defensive attitude, the kind of hunger that could fuel either great achievement or spectacular destruction.
"Very well," she said finally. "But we begin with fundamentals. Sit properly, hands folded, and observe."
---
For the next hour, she demonstrated preparation of basic skin treatments, explaining each ingredient with the thoroughness of a university professor and the reverence of a temple priestess. Eun-mi listened with focused attention, asking sharp questions that showed her quick grasp of underlying logic.
"The pine bark removes impurities," Hwa-yeong explained, grinding bark in a small mortar. "Ginseng stimulates circulation and vitality. Pearl powder—authentic pearl powder, not chalk substitutes sold in common markets—provides luminosity and cellular regeneration."
"How do you know all this?" Eun-mi asked. "Did you study somewhere?"
"In my previous existence—" Hwa-yeong began, then caught herself. "That is, I have studied traditional texts extensively."
Eun-mi gave her a sceptical look but didn't press. "What about preservatives? How long do these mixtures last?"
"Ah…" Hwa-yeong paused, realizing her first major obstacle in transferring centuries-old knowledge to modern commerce. "In former times, preparations were made fresh daily. But for broader distribution—"
"We need something that won't go bad in a week," Eun-mi finished. "Which means researching modern preservation methods."
The casual "we" sent a small thrill through Hwa-yeong's chest. She hadn't realized how lonely her existence had become until someone offered to share it.
---
Their lesson was interrupted by Mrs. Kang's shout from below: "Hwa-yeong! Get down here! Some fancy lady wants to talk to you!"
They hurried downstairs to find Mrs. Kang beside a woman who looked like she stepped out of an expensive coffee commercial—mid-forties, perfectly styled hair, makeup like porcelain, clothes costing more than most people's monthly rent.
"Miss Yoon?" she said, extending a manicured hand. "I'm Producer Seo from KBS. I understand you provide… unique consultation services?"
"This humble practitioner offers guidance in traditional wisdom and herbal wellness. How might I serve honored Producer Seo?"
Producer Seo's eyes lit up with the predatory gleam of someone spotting ratings gold. "I produce Seoul Sunrise, a morning variety show. We're looking for interesting segments, and I've heard fascinating things about your distinctive approach."
Behind her, Mrs. Kang made frantic throat-cutting gestures while Eun-mi watched with barely contained excitement.
"Television broadcasts reach countless souls," Hwa-yeong said slowly. "Such responsibility requires careful consideration."
"Of course," Producer Seo said smoothly. "Perhaps a small segment? Something light and entertaining. Our viewers love authentic traditional culture."
Eun-mi stepped forward before Hwa-yeong could respond. "What kind of compensation are we talking about?"
Producer Seo blinked, not expecting to negotiate with a teenager. "Well… exposure on television is quite valuable—"
"But not valuable enough to pay rent," Eun-mi said sweetly, her smile that of someone preparing verbal homicide. "Joseon unni here provides premium herbal consultations alongside her fortune telling. Any TV appearance needs to reflect her full expertise."
Hwa-yeong watched in fascination as her self-appointed apprentice transformed into a negotiation shark while maintaining an appearance of helpful innocence.
"Perhaps we could discuss this over tea," Producer Seo said, regrouping. "I'm sure we can reach an arrangement."
---
Mrs. Kang snorted from behind her chicken counter. "That girl could sell ice cubes to penguins. Both of you are dangerous in completely different ways."
As Producer Seo and Eun-mi discussed logistics, Hwa-yeong looked at the bustling street beyond the alley. Three centuries ago, she had failed to protect her patron from court intrigue and disaster. This time, the stage was television, not palace halls, but the fundamental challenge remained: how to build something lasting without losing herself.
Minister Jung materialized beside her legs, purring with what sounded suspiciously like approval.
"In my experience," she murmured, "fame is a tool, not a destination."
---
Later, Eun-mi lit a cigarette behind the chicken stall, taking a long drag before stubbing it out with visible reluctance. "Joseon unni?"
"Yes, young miss?"
"When you say 'in my experience,' you're talking about your past life, aren't you?"
Hwa-yeong considered lying, but something in Eun-mi's gaze told her honesty might be the foundation of real partnership.
"Yes," she said simply. "Though I understand how improbable it must sound."
Eun-mi nodded slowly, as if this confirmed what she already suspected. "Cool. Just wanted to make sure I wasn't working with a complete fraud. Dead people probably have better business sense than most living ones anyway."
And with that practical acceptance of the impossible, Hwa-yeong realized she had found something rarer than television opportunities or herbal formulas: someone willing to believe in her exactly as she was, past lives and all.
--