I Became the Owner of the Heavenly Flower Palace-Chapter 27: Don’t Create Things You’ll Have to Take Responsibility For

As Jincheon stood there, uncertain what to say, the Oracle continued speaking with that same serene smile.

“By the way, have you received the gift yet?”

“Gift?”

“Yes. Dongpung isn’t the type to let a favor go unreturned.”

Jincheon tilted his head.

“No, I haven’t received anything.”

“Then it should arrive in a few days. When it does, I’m sure you’ll forget all about someone like me.”

Jincheon was bewildered. He didn’t know what she meant by a gift, nor how it related to anything she’d just said.

“It’s alright. You’ll get used to it soon enough. The hard and painful days... the lazy, indulgent times too.”

It was a strange, ominous statement.

Jincheon was about to ask her to explain when she suddenly said:

“I’m sorry, but could you return now? I don’t think my body can handle much more conversation.”

Ah.

Now that he looked, her complexion did seem quite pale.

Jincheon was reminded again just how frail she really was.

“Understood. Then next time—”

“Oh my, you’ll come again?”

She beamed with delight.

“Just hearing you say that makes my heart flutter. It’s been such a long time since I’ve talked this much with anyone.”

Her smile was almost dizzying.

And now that he thought about it, it was the first time Jincheon had talked this long with anyone since arriving here.

No—since that man, he hadn’t had a real conversation like this at all.

“You’ll really come again?”

She asked once more, and Jincheon nodded.

“I will.”

It was a gesture of simple goodwill.

Though, since the other party was an alluring woman, he wasn’t entirely sure how pure that goodwill really was.

“Thank you. Then please, go on now.”

At her words, Jincheon turned around.

Step.

He took a few paces before glancing back. The Oracle waved her pale hand gently in farewell.

This content is taken from fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm.

Letting out a breathless chuckle, Jincheon looked up.

The slender threads of White Silk Falls rained down from above, scattering uselessly in midair.

Maybe... this place—Celestial Dragon Spring—was where the Oracle belonged most.

With that thought, Jincheon left.

Jincheon’s figure soon disappeared into the forest.

The Oracle continued to stare into the shade where he’d vanished.

But only for a moment—her gaze soon shifted to the spray of White Silk Falls drifting above her head.

Shhhhh.

The sound of water rippled softly through the air.

A quiet, gentle sound—only audible when everything else had gone still.

How long did she stay like that?

And then, as if murmuring to herself, the Oracle began to speak:

“If you truly loved me, you’d lift your skirt and cross the ford.

If you truly loved me, you’d go barefoot through the stream.”

Her voice spread softly, like mist.

It wasn’t a song. There was no melody, no emotion in her tone.

“But if you do not love me, as if you are the only man in the world.

If you do not love me, as if you’re the only one left.

Foolish man. Stupid man...”

Drip.

A single tear slid down her cheek—not her own, but a tear from someone else’s memory.

“Foolish man. Stupid man...”

Shhhhh.

The sound of mist and water swallowed her voice.

No one saw it happen.

****

Jincheon emerged from the forest.

“You’ve returned, my lord.”

The seven maids—Court’s Seven Attendants—knelt on one knee and bowed their heads.

Their appearance was always striking, no matter how often he saw them.

He’d never before encountered such a wide range of beauty and individuality gathered in one place.

What’s with the blue hair, though?

He could understand the deep gray, the reddish-brown, even the platinum or pale silver.

But that dark, ocean-blue hair? How was that even possible?

“Let’s return to the palace.”

“As you command.”

Sunday—Nanyak—answered his words.

She and the other six attendants fanned out like wings around him as he began to walk.

Step. Step.

As always, only his footsteps echoed.

Jincheon reflected as he walked.

He’d finished his long-awaited conversation with the Oracle.

But rather than gaining clarity, he only felt more confused.

What the hell was that? Why does it feel like... someone was trying to sell me something?

In the marketplace, there was always someone hawking a “miracle cure.”

You’d listen, and not a single thing they said would be wrong—it’d all sound so convincing you’d end up handing over your money thinking, I have to buy this.

But the results were always disappointing.

Sure, it could help... but it might not. And nine times out of ten, there were side effects.

Maybe nothing they said was technically wrong, but they also never told you what you really needed to hear.

That’s how the Oracle felt to him.

No, come on. To get something, you’ve gotta give something. If there’s a gain, there’s also risk. Nothing’s ever free in this world.

There’s no such thing as a free gift. Every transaction carries potential gains—and potential dangers.

And yet, had the Oracle said even one word about any risk to Jincheon?

Nope.

And that was the problem.

That’s why it felt like she was selling him something.

It felt like she was hiding something critical—something so dangerous anyone would abandon the deal if they knew.

...So she’s not the answer either?

She’d said a lot, but in the end, she wasn’t much different from the others.

She’d offered no new proof, no logic or solid reasoning to support the idea that Jincheon was the Red Dragon.

All he had was that one red orb—the Wrath.

Sigh.

Jincheon let out a quiet sigh and shook his head to clear his thoughts.

And before he knew it, Heavenly Flame Palace had appeared in the distance.

****

Heavenly Flame Palace looked different in the middle of the day.

Unlike the dazzling and imposing atmosphere of night, it now felt grand and timeless—steeped in old, majestic elegance.

Ohhh.

Jincheon let out a quiet breath of admiration.

The foreign and ancient architecture gave off a unique charm.

More importantly, the people who once filled the front of Heavenly Flame Palace were gone.

Step, step.

As Jincheon approached, the official guarding the gate placed one hand over her chest and bowed her head ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) in formal salute.

It was the same middle-aged woman warrior he’d seen the night before.

...Was her name Ji Yeowol?

Her name was easy to remember.

Jincheon nodded in return and asked,

“No one left against orders?”

He had told them not to die—and that only those unwilling to obey should remain.

“No, sir,”

she said softly.

“Everyone submitted to the will of the Red Dragon.”

Her eyes were faintly red, as if on the verge of tears, but Jincheon didn’t notice—he was glancing off toward the now-empty street.

The wide road was, quite literally, completely deserted.

You’d expect a few people going in and out of shops or inns, but there wasn’t even a shadow of a person in sight.

Good.

Let’s say, for example, that the man everyone believed to be dead—the former Palace Master—suddenly returned alive.

Or maybe there’d just been some misunderstanding, and Jincheon had never really become the new Palace Master at all.

But if that happened after people had already died... who would take responsibility?

Me.

Technically, it’d be the other guy’s fault. But that’s not how the world works.

In the end, all the blame would fall squarely on Jincheon—the powerless outsider.

No matter what, I can’t let myself create a situation I’ll have to take responsibility for.

That was the best solution.

Sure, he’d once grandly declared he would shoulder the sins and burdens of his predecessor—but anyone can talk a big game.

And if he wasn’t the Palace Master in the first place, then that declaration had no real authority anyway.

Swish.

Jincheon turned to the officer.

“Are you still trying to die?”

Thud.

She immediately dropped to one knee.

With a trembling voice, she said,

“As the Red Dragon commands... I will live.”

“Good. See to it.”

She bowed even lower, as if overwhelmed with gratitude. Jincheon turned to the maids.

“Let’s go.”

With that, he stepped into the palace.

Step, step.

The stares from Ji Yeowol and the other warriors burned into the back of his neck. Understandable, but every reaction to him in this place felt way too intense.

Seriously, this whole place is...

It was a strange place, no doubt.

Things were fine for now, but the real issue was that all this goodwill could turn hostile in an instant.

So there’s only one way, huh?

As he walked down the grand corridor toward the main hall, Jincheon let out a sigh in his thoughts.

The idea had first occurred to him this morning—no, truthfully, it had started last night.

At first, it was just an unconscious impulse. But after his talk with the Oracle ended with no results, it now felt like the only option left.

It can’t be helped. Even if it’s reckless... I have to—

Grrrrgle.

His stomach interrupted him.

Jincheon paused mid-step. His body, unfiltered, responded naturally to the digestion process.

Grrrrgle.

Another sound from his empty stomach.

He felt embarrassed—but even more than that, it hit him: he hadn’t eaten anything since last night.

The moment he became aware of it, hunger struck like a wave.

I’m starving.

Of course he was. Jincheon stopped and glanced at the black-haired maid beside him—Sunday, Nanyak.

He wanted to say he wished to eat in a refined, elegant way, but his hunger clouded his thoughts.

“...Can I get something to eat?”

It was the kind of line you’d hear in a cheap inn, but Nanyak simply bowed her head with calm composure.

“Yes, my lord.”

“What’s ready quickly?”

In an inn, they’d usually serve noodles or dumplings.

“Anything at all.”

“Anything?”

He raised an eyebrow, and she continued in a low voice.

“Yes. Vegetable or meat dishes of any kind. Grilled, boiled, or fried. If we go by taste: sweet, salty, sour, spicy, bitter, astringent...”

“Alright, alright. That’s enough.”

Jincheon cut her off.

At this rate, she’d list every category without ever naming a dish.

“...Do you have grilled silk carp?”

“Yes.”

Of course they did.

But he didn’t really feel like eating that.

“How about xiaolongbao?”

Small soup dumplings. A little expensive for the portion size, so he rarely had them.

“They’re available.”

“Then serve that with tea. Just a few. Leave out the silk carp.”

It was already late for breakfast and a little early for lunch.

A light meal would do.

“Understood. Where shall we prepare it?”

“Where can we eat?”

“Anywhere.”

Jincheon realized he’d asked the wrong question.

“...Is there a place with a nice view?”

“There is.”

Jincheon nodded and resumed walking.

He didn’t know where they were heading, but after a short walk, he climbed a wooden staircase—and his eyes widened.

Oh.

He’d lost count of how many times he’d been surprised by now, but again, Jincheon couldn’t help but admire the scene.

Beyond a traditional wooden railing stretched a vast, open view.

There was a single table, a single chair, and a red-and-blue lantern likely meant for nighttime use. The ambiance was surprisingly pleasant.

I bet this place looks amazing at night.

Even if the tea was cheap, he wouldn’t complain drinking it here.

Rustle.

The silver-haired maid, Friday—Yeonhwa—silently pulled out the chair and waited for him.

Jincheon, unaccustomed to such treatment, felt a bit self-conscious. But he masked it and sat down.

To his quiet relief, Yeonhwa moved the chair at precisely the right moment to support him.

Ahem.

He cleared his throat to cover his nerves.

The golden-haired maid Tuesday—Chobin—set down a teacup, and the silver-haired maid Monday—Hyowol—poured the tea.

Trickle.

The rough-looking cup filled slowly, releasing a gentle, aromatic scent.

Hooh.

He didn’t know what kind it was, but the aroma was clean and refreshing.

Then the gray-haired maid Saturday—Sohong—came trotting over with a square tray, carrying a plate of dumplings.

Rustle.

Golden-haired Chobin pulled out a pair of chopsticks from somewhere and set them before Jincheon. Sohong placed the plate in front of him.

“Thanks.”

At Jincheon’s words, Sohong gave a bright “hehe” and beamed.

Her expression was so innocent that Jincheon couldn’t help but smile too.

“Shall I taste it first?”

The silver-haired Hyowol asked.

Gimi—it originally referred to testing the flavor or aroma. In this context, it meant checking the food for poison.

“No need. You gave it to me, after all.”

A flicker of surprise passed through Hyowol’s violet eyes.

It was the unexpected trust in his answer that caught her off guard.

Clack.

Jincheon picked up the teacup.

Thinking back, so much had happened that morning.

And now, finally—finally—he was getting his first moment of peace.

...I’m exhausted.

Jincheon murmured the thought to himself.

The warm aroma of the tea seemed to wrap around him gently, like a silent comfort.