Chapter 4
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 3
Chapter Title: Prologue - 3
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Nothing came to mind. It was like a blank sheet of white paper.
"It's okay. Yeah, it'll be okay. You can make it. We're almost there."
She didn't know if the mutterings spilling from her lips were hopeful words for her patient, self-delusion whispered to herself, or a desperate cry. The damp, darkness-soaked air brushed against her body. The late autumn wind was frigid. Her breathing grew labored. The flow of qi had stagnated.
Gangil's body was heavy. Burning hot. Drenched in blood, fever raging within. The faint groans leaking into her ears were the only proof that Gangil was still alive. His warmth pressed down on the girl's shoulder. Her breath came in gasps, her head spun. But still.
'I have to stay strong. In front of the patient.'
Her arms trembled from overexertion as she carefully lowered Gangil to the ground. She fought back tears at his pained groan. A gruesome wound gaped wide across his back. A red gash about half an inch deep sliced horizontally, revealing a hideous sight. Black scabs clung to the fabric soaked in blood. The girl prayed.
Mountain Immortal, please. I'll do anything.
Please, save him.
Her delicate fingers grasped the needles.
A laceration from a blade—gold sore wound. The most urgent task was to stop the bleeding.
As she pinpointed the acupoint strike locations one by one, the girl's face paled. Her right hand lacked strength. It was from carrying Gangil on her back and pushing too hard. It was too unsteady for needling. Even the slightest misalignment could lead to irreversible consequences. She couldn't jab the needles into Gangil with her convulsing hand. She mustn't.
Another way to halt the oozing red blood.
'They say martial artists can channel qi into their fingers and turn people into logs.'
Woodcutter Jang had said something like that. The vague memory was of acupoint strikes, commonly called that.
The study of human acupoints and qi flow, unique to each sect. Even in the secluded mountain sects, it was a forbidden secret not to be shared outside—utterly inaccessible to a girl from a remote village. Yet the girl's eyes gauged the qi flowing from Gangil like a stream. Where it flowed, where it pooled. What color it took.
Was it worry, or fear? Crushed by emotion, she was already in a trance. Not reason, but instinct guided her fingers. Her slender, quivering fingertip struck the first acupoint precisely.
A dazed groan. A sharp prick, and qi surged from her body like a needle. Again, and again... Each time her pale fingers reddened, the blood seeping into his clothes lessened bit by bit. Finally, drenched in sweat, the girl wiped her face, and the wet splashing of blood ceased. A deep sigh followed.
Would he pull through? She had no certainty.
The girl was a humble village physician. Even then, her clinical experience leaned more toward illnesses and poisons than blade wounds. Old Man Park down by the dam ate something bad... My kid's burning up with fever and has something on his face... That sort of thing.
"Ugh."
Gangil writhed in agony. The girl clasped his hand. His callused grip clung to hers like a lifeline. With her other hand, she brushed back his hair.
"I'm sorry. Just hold on a little longer. I'll do whatever I can."
They held each other's hands through the deep night. Until Gangil's breathing steadied somewhat and his weakened grip slackened. That night, the white cloth was soaked in blood countless times, turning red. The blood congealed stickily, unpleasantly adhering to her skin. Guarding her patient, the girl repeated endlessly.
It's okay. It'll be okay. Everything will turn out fine.
Tears fell.
The Village Chief could do nothing. The culprit hadn't been caught. He'd vanished over a wall taller than a man. No one intended to pursue him. The righteous heroes to the east were busy with internal sect affairs. The Dragon Star Clan to the west hadn't even bothered to reply.
They'd chased the old man away at dawn, telling him to come back later.
It was a clear day. The sky was endlessly blue. The girl sat dazed, gazing at the rising morning sun. In the courtyard jar, the salve she'd hastily made overnight would be clumping up. The sticky masses clinging together to harden felt just like Gangil's wound. Perhaps all the world's wounds could only heal among their own kind.
Everything felt like a dream.
The intact inn lay in ruins. In a single night, people became orphans. Gangil's father had already gone cold the day before. Exsanguination. He'd bled out too much from his severed arm. A horrific nightmare, yet the sky held not a single cloud, the sunlight blazed bright. The air was chilly, but the colors oversaturated.
What to do?
The Village Chief examined Gangil with a somber expression.
Gangil wasn't worsening. Nor improving. He still hadn't regained consciousness. His breaths were unsteady, fever unrelenting. His qi wouldn't stabilize, the girl muttered. Book-learned acupuncture had its limits. He'd said they should fetch medicine and a physician from Jiangming.
"If we hurry today, we can bring him back by the evening after tomorrow."
Hurry, the Village Chief had said. The road to Jiangming was treacherous. It took a full day along the narrow mountain paths. Two days' leeway was wise. The girl's heart raced. She calculated in her head. The sun had just risen.
Now. Right now, if she ran nonstop to Jiangming, she could return by tomorrow.
One day's difference.
If that one day meant Gangil's life, she'd do it without fail. The next moment, she was already packing her bundle.
"I'll be back."
"Hey, where are you going?!"
"I'll be much faster."
Before the chief could stop her, the girl bolted out. She soothed her overtaxed meridians and quickened her steps.
But still.
Even so.
Yet.
The sun set. Twilight draped Jiangming.
At day's end, the bustling market streets grew noisy. Stalls folded up. People dispersed. At the far end of the wide market stood a grand manor—the Tian Clan's estate. The firmly shut gates, crafted from sturdy oak, proclaimed the master's prestige to all.
And then, thud.
Someone pounded on the Tian Clan's front gate. With tiny fists, thud. Pounding fiercely. Her disheveled state made her look like a wailing ghost rather than a person. A madwoman? People whispered, keeping their distance from the girl. Onlookers murmured as they passed.
How long's she been at it?
Since about one shichen ago. Sweating buckets, hammering away. Says she's from Cherry Valley.
Doesn't that take a full day on foot? The Tian lords are heartless, not even peeking out once.
Kid, don't look at crazy folks like that. Tsk.
The girl pounded the gate madly. Her swollen fists relentlessly shook the door. Thud, thud, thud... Perhaps unaccustomed to venting anger at others. Her pleading tone didn't suit her hoarse voice.
"Please come out. I beg you. A man's dying."
But the gate stood firm. And shut.
Inanimate objects held no interest in the girl's pleas. They merely fulfilled their duty in silence. No opening today—it simply endured. Just as the physicians she'd begged all afternoon hadn't come with her.
And the reason—the absurd threat martial artists had left in Jiangming.
Her hometown. That small, insignificant village. The Dragon Star Clan's brief note warning that anyone entering for a week would have their three generations exterminated weighed more than her powerless pleas. No one would walk into the jaws of death for a stranger boy.
"Hero, please come out. Save one life..."
Creeeak—
Had her desperate prayer worked? The gate opened. Standing there was a middle-aged man in white robes. The stern-faced man curtly handed the girl a small box.
"Good salve for lacerations. Take it."
"Hero!"
That was all. As the gate began to close, the girl desperately jammed it open and pleaded. Just one physician, please. Find one, she'd wailed till sunset. The white-robed man had heard it all long ago. He knew the whole story, what it meant.
"Listen. That laceration salve I just gave you—technically, outsiders aren't supposed to have it. Go home."
"Save him. Please."
"Sigh."
Her prostrate form on the ground, like full prostration, stirred pity. Perhaps compassion.
Callused hands lifted the girl to her feet.
"Hear me well. The innkeeper's fate is tragic, but life has inevitabilities. If a mantis doesn't recognize the cart, it gets crushed—that's the way of the martial world."
"Pardon?"
"Once you're in the martial world, you follow its laws. I'll put in a good word with the Dragon Star Clan, but it'll take months—don't hold high hopes. Instead, use this silver for a nice bowl of meat stew. The living must live, no?"
The gate creaked shut again before her dazed eyes staring into space. Jingle—with a few taels.
The white-robed man's final words echoed like tinnitus. Once in the martial world, you follow its laws.
I never entered the martial world.
She'd never wanted to enter it, never dreamed of martial artists. Neither she nor Gangil. Come autumn, golden fields brought happiness enough. Just the two of them viewing the maples sufficed. She'd never once yearned to belong to that martial world.
Yet its laws seemed inexorable. More than the kingdom's code, the people's livelihood, perhaps even human life. Before the shut gate, the girl stood through the night without a word. Motionless, utterly still.
The gate never opened again.
Only incomprehensible voices echoed sporadically from behind the Tian Clan's gate.
"Who was that?"
"A villager from Cherry Valley. Seems harmed by the Dragon Star Clan."
"Tch, tsk. Can't even those demonic rabble control their villagers properly? That's why I advised the clan head against dealing with them. Because of that neutrality nonsense, we're the ones suffering."
"What can we do? It's not a matter of taking sides... Who could've guessed that Palm Treasure Blade would target Jiangming, even if the Crouching Dragon were reborn."
"True. You're right. Choking down prey too big brings trouble. On reflection, the clan head's judgment was sound—I was just grumbling. That crazy wench interrupted my afternoon nap, that's all."
Thankfully, those words didn't reach the girl.