Chasing the Deer in the Central Plains

A physician is someone who heals people. But what are their means? Though it varied depending on the symptoms, the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠methods ranged from minor treatments like acupuncture and moxibustion to major surgical procedures. And almost always accompanying these processes was the administration of medicine.

The House of Benevolent Brightness, where the Divine Doctor served as the hall leader, was particularly famous for its masterful use of medicine. Indeed, its elixirs were so exceptionally potent that rumors claimed the sect's origins lay with Daoist alchemists. The Divine Doctor's treatments were no exception. While she possessed an uncanny eye for diagnosis paired with her sect's unique cultivation method, and was highly skilled in acupuncture and moxibustion, her true, ultimate specialty lay in her pharmaceutical formulations.

Thus, when Yoo Jeong began tracking the Divine Doctor's whereabouts, his very first stop was the apothecaries of Hangzhou. Since tracing a missing person's previous movements was crucial, he planned to focus his inquiries on the medicine shops she would have visited most frequently in the city.

There was only one thing Yoo Jeong had failed to anticipate.

"Well, now. If the Divine Doctor had graced us with her presence, we would have been bragging about it to high heaven."

"A visit from the Divine Doctor means our herbs have been officially recognized. Why on earth would we keep that a secret?"

"I'd love to meet her just once myself. The Divine Doctor isn't just a physician; she's an idol to every apothecary in the land."

It was the sheer depth of the Divine Doctor's reputation and the people's loyalty to her. The merchants, who had smiled warmly enough to offer him their own livers when Yoo Jeong first walked in, instantly hardened their expressions and shut their mouths the moment he asked about her. A few times, he tried to explain his circumstances in broad strokes. But the people of Hangzhou were not about to open their hearts to a sword-bearing stranger. He had combed through every apothecary of decent size, yet he had gathered absolutely nothing regarding her whereabouts.

Still, it wasn't entirely fruitless.

"Filthy money-grubbing bastards. Now they're even deploying a kid to play their damn games."

As Yoo Jeong stepped out of the last apothecary, he caught the muttered words of a merchant who had spat on the ground, clearly assuming the boy was out of earshot. From those words, Yoo Jeong gleaned a small clue.

There was another person, or perhaps an entire faction, asking after the Divine Doctor's whereabouts just as he was. Furthermore, they were familiar faces to the locals of Hangzhou, and they dealt in usury.

While Yoo Jeong was unfamiliar with the local power dynamics of Hangzhou, Namgung Sua was a different story. Even if she didn't know, the local branch of the Beggars' Sect certainly would. With that thought, he began making his way back to the inn.

"Ha."

A dangerous smile playing on his lips, Yoo Jeong rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Jang Chil was a cutpurse. Unlike the legendary thieves or phantom bandits of the Murim, he was a common pickpocket, a rogue who barely scraped by from hand to mouth.

For someone like him, a festival season like this was nothing short of a golden opportunity. Scholars, merchants, and influential nobles—countless people flocked to Hangzhou to enjoy boating on West Lake. The city was practically bursting at the seams, and swept up in the festive atmosphere, people naturally grew careless with their coin purses.

It was a peak season where he could rake in a fortune just by strolling through the bustling streets, like casting a net into a crowded stream. Yet, he found himself circling the outer edges of the city.

Damn it all. Why did it have to be right now?

A sudden order had forced Jang Chil to turn his back on this literal goldmine.

Anyone receiving such a directive for the first time would have grumbled at its sheer absurdity. Which apothecary? Where was he? What did he look like? The instructions were incredibly unfriendly, lacking even a single concrete detail. But Jang Chil was well-accustomed to this style of command.

Swish. Swish, swish. As he walked the streets, whenever his eyes met another's, information was instantly transmitted through a secret sign language known only to them. Among them were tavern waiters, street vendors, and fellow cutpurses like Jang Chil. He was not the only one who had received the order. They always moved as one. Thus, it had not been difficult for Jang Chil to locate the boy.

Clad in black martial robes. He had tried to conceal the sword at his waist beneath his long cloak, but that only hid its shape; its sheer presence remained entirely palpable. At that sight, Jang Chil's movements grew even more cautious. Judging by the sword, the boy was clearly a martial artist, but his level of cultivation had not been specified in the report.

Which means they haven't been able to gauge his strength yet.

The boy looked young, but the Jianghu was a place teeming with eccentric masters and hidden geniuses. Jang Chil had learned how to survive as a weakling without martial arts in this world through bone-carving pain. That was precisely why this mission had been handed down to a seemingly insignificant cutpurse like him.

They said he's tracking the Divine Doctor.

The boy was poking around everywhere, looking as though he intended to search every single apothecary in Hangzhou. His movements were incredibly swift. Even Jang Chil, who knew the geography of Hangzhou like the back of his hand, nearly lost him several times.

How much time had passed? The boy, who had been roaming the streets of Hangzhou as if it were his own living room without a care for anyone else's gaze, suddenly scanned his surroundings and slipped into an alleyway. Jang Chil's instincts told him this was the turning point.

What should I do?

The boy didn't seem to have noticed him yet. However, the moment he entered that alley, the difficulty—and the danger—would skyrocket. He would no longer be able to use crowds or buildings as cover, and his own movements would be severely restricted.

Despite the risks, Jang Chil stepped into the alley. His confidence stemmed from a few factors: first, the target's youthful appearance; second, the boy's temples were flat and calm, showing no outward signs of high-level martial cultivation; third, he had remained undetected for a long time; and finally, that particular alley was a familiar path he frequented.

However.

"Why were you following me?"

It took a mere three steps. That was all the time needed to realize everything had been a grave miscalculation.

Detecting the tail had been a stroke of luck. The pursuer wasn't even a martial artist, yet his methods were so incredibly subtle that if not for an unexpected variable midway through, Yoo Jeong might not have noticed him until the very end.

But in the end, Yoo Jeong had caught on and lured his shadow in. Of course, he couldn't draw Cheonru against a commoner. Instead, what Yoo Jeong held in his hand was a wooden skewer about a span long.

It was merely a piece of trash someone had carelessly discarded after eating street food. Picked up naturally as he slipped into the alley, it was now the only weapon in Yoo Jeong's hand.

Though it looked like a child's toy, the man trailing him, Jang Chil, did not dare to make a move. Jang ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Chil possessed no martial arts, but he knew all too well that there were masters capable of killing a man with a single blade of grass.

In fact, the skewer Yoo Jeong held was currently enveloped in a pale white light. It was weapon qi—the hallmark of a Peak Expert. Beholding this, Jang Chil was utterly horrified.

The boy had shown none of the distinct, overbearing aura of a martial artist, yet he was a master capable of projecting qi through a mere wooden skewer, let alone a sword.

For a master of that caliber, killing Jang Chil would be as simple as swatting a buzzing fly. The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠local authorities wouldn't bat an eye over a dead pickpocket in a deserted alleyway; they would simply write it off as another turf war.

Yet, even with death looming so closely, Jang Chil refused to open his mouth. It was a reaction entirely different from what Yoo Jeong had expected.

In the heroic tales, they always talk the moment they're threatened.

The thought of resorting to torture crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. Torture was a craft that required seasoned skill. An amateur attempt at drawing blood might throw the subject into shock and kill him prematurely. Concealing the scent of blood and the screams was another issue; even if he sealed the man's mute acupoint, it wouldn't stop the guttural, choking sounds from escaping his throat.

Ultimately, Yoo Jeong decided to change his line of questioning instead.

"Is this because of the Divine Doctor?"

Jang Chil remained stubbornly silent, but Yoo Jeong kept his eyes locked onto the man's. Seeing the slight tremor in those pupils, a passage from a heroic tale he had read in the past, The Way of a Single Sword, came to mind.

Those were the words spoken by the assassin protagonist while interrogating a target. Unlike his superb tracking skills, Jang Chil seemed poorly versed in controlling his emotions. Just as the tale described, a clear tremor of agitation was visible in his eyes.

"So you followed me because of the Divine Doctor... Are you the usurers who have been going around asking about her?"

"No! Those bastards are from the Blood Cha—*mmph*!"

"Blood Chamber? In any case, it seems they are indeed a faction."

Yoo Jeong's mind raced. There were likely at least two factions tracking the Divine Doctor. The mysterious armed force that had attacked the Wulin Alliance and the Beggars' Sect, and the usurers who were sniffing around just like Yoo Jeong. The man tailing him seemed to have some connection to the Divine Doctor, but it was still unclear whether he was hunting her down or trying to protect her like the apothecaries were.

Judging by his sharp reaction, they are at least hostile to those usurers.

Shocked by his own slip of the tongue, Jang Chil clamped his mouth shut and squeezed his eyes closed. He was truly prepared to die. It seemed impossible to wring any more information out of a man with such resolve.

Thus, Yoo Jeong decided to change his approach. *Whir.* He spun the skewer once in his hand, then launched it like a bolt of lightning.

"Ugh!"

The wooden skewer thrown by Yoo Jeong embedded itself deep into the stone wall, its exposed end vibrating violently from the residual force. Right beside it, a mere inch from his carotid artery, the man stood frozen, cold sweat pouring down his forehead.

Having already picked up another skewer, Yoo Jeong looked at the man with cold, sunken eyes and asked.

"You, however, seem to have some martial training. Which side are you on?"

There would be no next time. Sensing the absolute gravity of the warning in the boy's eyes, the martial artist spoke immediately.

"We are from Haomen. The Branch Leader of Zhejiang Province requests an audience with you, young hero."

Haomen. It was one of the few sects whose name even Yoo Jeong, who knew little of the Murim, recognized. True to its name, which meant the 'Sect of the Lowly and Filthy,' it was an organization formed by the dregs of society, those living at the very bottom of the world.

Because it was a self-deprecating name rather than a proud one, members of Haomen rarely declared their affiliation openly. Yet, their internal solidarity was incredibly fierce. Perhaps it was a sense of kinship born from being constantly trampled upon, or perhaps they knew they could not survive otherwise. Though Haomen operated as a highly decentralized network of cells, their sense of belonging and unity was second to none, rivaling even the Tang Clan of Sichuan.

And yet, despite being a member of Haomen, Jang Chil was currently cursing his own sect without pause.

"Motherfucker. Goddamn it. Here I was, ready to fucking die! If they were just gonna do this, why the fuck..."

"My apologies. Still, the Branch Leader will surely remember your loyalty."

Jang Chil spat his curses without the slightest hesitation, even with a martial artist of his own sect standing right beside him. The martial artist, who had been listening quietly, actually offered an apology. It was understandable. Jang Chil had braced himself for death to protect their secrets, only to find that another member was backing him up all along—and had given up the very information Jang Chil had risked his life to keep with absolute ease.

Jang Chil had been a decoy. A mere bait used to lure and observe the target. Perhaps he, too, had realized his position, for he continued to spew profanities of a caliber Yoo Jeong had never even imagined until the very moment they parted ways.

Only after watching him leave did the martial artist offer a bitter smile, speaking to Yoo Jeong as if in excuse.

"He's a good lad. By tomorrow, he'll shake it off completely and be right back to working for the sect."

"Ah, yes."

The Haomen martial artist was surprisingly polite. Following behind him, Yoo Jeong couldn't shake the nagging doubt in his mind.

I only followed because he promised information regarding the Divine Doctor, but...

Even if it were a trap, escaping by himself wouldn't be difficult. His only concern was that he kept getting entangled with these Murim organizations. He feared that by stepping even a single foot into the raging torrent of the Jianghu's destiny, he might eventually be swept away entirely.

But those worries were instantly wiped from his mind. A sight so utterly shocking unfolded before him that even Yoo Jeong, uncharacteristically, found his voice trembling slightly.

"Is... Is this the right place?"

"Yes. She is waiting for you inside."

The place the martial artist had led him to...

"Oh my. Look how adorable he is!"

"How old are you, sweetie?"

"Look at his skin. My, isn't it even smoother than yours?"

"Oh, please, sister. Do you still think that thick makeup of yours is your actual skin?"

"What? You little bitch!"

"They say people get nastier as they age. The old sayings never lie."

The overwhelming scent of cosmetic powder and cheap alcohol vibrated in the air, enough to cause a headache. The plucking of zithers was drowned out by even louder, boisterous laughter. And before him was a feast of nearly naked female bodies. A completely different world, one Yoo Jeong had never laid eyes on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠before, unfolded in front of him.

The Zhejiang Branch of Haomen. Its true identity was...

"A brothel?"