The Poison Doctor
“....Hm?”
Yeo Il-ye took in the scene and frowned. On one side lay a bound man bleeding from the leg. On the other stood me, dressed in ordinary martial robes, sword in hand, staring right back at her.
“Eungong?”
She looked at me with a hesitant, uncertain expression. She seemed to recognize me, yet clearly wondered what on earth I was doing out here like this.
“It's been a while. Fancy running into each other in Yunnan.”
“Ah.... Aah. Yes, of course.”
Yeo Il-ye's face clouded with confusion for a moment before she collected herself and offered a formal martial salute.
“Did you perhaps come with some woman? Or did you subdue the bandits on your own?”
Ah, that explained it.
She must have spotted us clashing with the bandits from a distance and rushed down the mountain in a hurry. Why she had been on Hyeongwi Mountain in Yunnan in the first place remained a mystery, but it at least accounted for the way she had burned through her internal energy to get here so fast.
“Oppa!”
Heukmyo's shout rang out. Sensing Yeo Il-ye's presence, she dashed over in a single bound and planted herself at my side.
“That woman from back then, I see.”
Heukmyo positioned herself as if to shield me from Yeo Il-ye, and the sight made Yeo Il-ye's eyebrows twitch with clear displeasure.
A chilly standoff was about to settle in, so I clapped my hands sharply to break the tension.
“Alright! Alright! Little sister! Did you finish subduing all the bandits down below?”
“Yes. All four of them—I sealed their pressure points.”
“Then would you mind handling this one too?”
Heukmyo made a reluctant gesture but still sealed the pressure points of the man who had earlier tried to gut me.
“First, I ought to thank you. I'm grateful you came running to help us.”
“Not at all. I merely did what needed doing.”
The words were modest, yet Yeo Il-ye's expression looked thoroughly rotten. A deep sense of futility—or perhaps hollow disappointment—hung in her eyes, so I watched her carefully and asked with caution.
“What brings you all the way out here?”
“I had business at the Gaewang Sect and was staying for a short while.”
Staying, was she. Yeo Il-ye already knew both our true identities, so there was no point dancing around it. Better to ask outright.
“We came looking for the Poison Doctor. We have a letter from the Tang Family that needs delivering.”
“Is that so. Haa. In the end, chaos was inevitable... Primordial Heavenly Lord.”
Yeo Il-ye let out a sudden lament and glanced around.
“I know where the Poison Doctor resides. I'll guide you. What do you intend to do with the bandits?”
“For now, let's wake them all and take them along.”
Heukmyo and Yeo Il-ye clearly found each other's presence distasteful; they kept me in the center and divided the space around me as if splitting territory.
It left me thoroughly bewildered. Even if they had once crossed blades in front of the Golden Family estate, had there really been enough bad blood left between them for this?
The awakened bandits stirred in brief resistance, but one look at Yeo Il-ye's sword aura and they all turned meek as lambs.
With their major pressure points for internal energy sealed and the lot of them strung together like dried fish, we followed Yeo Il-ye toward the Poison Doctor's dwelling.
Calling it a dwelling was generous—it was a ramshackle hut. The sort of thing a hunter might have thrown up just to keep the wind off, then patched up for continued use.
As Yeo Il-ye approached the hut, Heukmyo took the cue and knocked the bandits out cold again.
“I told you not to interrupt me, yet this time you've dragged a whole crowd along.”
My first impression of the Poison Doctor was simply that of a prickly old man.
“I trust you've been well, Elder.”
“Yes. What brings you to me this time?”
“I have no business of my own today. I merely stopped by to show the way.”
Yeo Il-ye stepped back, and I moved to the front.
“Greetings, Poison Doctor Elder. I bring a letter from the Family Head.”
“Hmm... Hand it over.”
I passed the sealed missive to the Poison Doctor. Even though I had nothing to feel guilty about, standing before him made tension rise unbidden. Poison Doctor Tang Cheo-in was a master on par with Tang Gwang-ryeol, head of the Tang Family. Yet the pressure he radiated was on an entirely different level from Tang Gwang-ryeol's.
Tang Gwang-ryeol had treated me as both guest and teacher, so I had never truly felt any oppressive weight from him. Tang Cheo-in, however, seemed to regard me as an obstacle to his research and made not the slightest effort to rein in his aura.
It was the kind of pressure that made even breathing difficult.
In truth I had come to interrupt his research, so I kept my manner as respectful as possible and watched his every reaction. At the Family Head's request he would have to set aside his current work and examine my body. For the Poison Doctor, that was surely an unwelcome prospect.
Two sheets of paper emerged from the sealed envelope. After reading the first, Tang Cheo-in's face twisted.
“Ugh... Tch.”
He shot me a look of pure displeasure, then read the second letter and let out a long sigh.
The first letter had drawn a reaction close to outright hostility; after the second, his mood softened considerably.
“Let me make one thing clear.”
“Yes, please speak, Elder.”
“I am not doing this at the Family Head's request, but at the request of the Wind Shadow Pavilion Master. Remember that.”
What was that supposed to mean?
The unexpected remark briefly short-circuited my brain, but since he was agreeing to take my pulse, I reflexively offered a martial salute.
“Thank you, Elder. I understand.”
“Ugh... Tch. You two young ladies—there's a natural cave about twenty jang from here. Dump those bandits inside and come back!”
In the world of Murim Cheonha, a physician's absolute confidentiality regarding a patient's condition was the most basic of basics. Fail to keep it, and the martial artist you treated might show up in the dead of night to slit your throat.
I watched for a moment as Heukmyo and Yeo Il-ye each seized a handful of unconscious bandits by the scruff and vanished, trading sharp glances the whole way.
“Come inside.”
I swallowed dryly and stepped into the hut. The interior reeked of the thick, medicinal smell peculiar to physicians' quarters. Though the place was old, it was spotless—not a speck of dust. A quick glance showed that every crack in the floor and walls had been sealed with some sticky substance and then covered with animal hides.
The two of us sat in the center of that floor.
“So. How many years since you reached Second-rate?”
“About seven years.”
“Hmm. Yes, definitely not normal. Looking at your physical condition and martial realm, you should already have crossed into the early First-rate stage.”
The Poison Doctor prodded and pressed various parts of my body as he continued.
“Have you ever shown your body to a physician before?”
“I can't compare them to you, Elder, but I once received a thorough examination from someone ranked as a senior physician at a place called Myeonggyeong Hall. I spent about a week under diagnosis and treatment, yet all they could say was that they couldn't find the cause.”
Myeonggyeong Hall was a highly capable medical organization. They handled medical affairs for every branch and main mountain of the Martial Alliance. In this Murim Cheonha, they were probably the most renowned physician sect.
“Hmm. In that case, a detailed examination of the bones and sinews won't mean much. Still, we should cover the basics.”
He had me assume various postures while continuing the palpation.
“It's been quite some time since I left the main family, yet I never expected a new martial art would be created. Since you took part in its creation, I'm curious about your evaluation.”
“Mmm. I'm not sure I dare evaluate a Tang Clan martial art.”
“Whatever a physician and patient discuss vanishes the moment the consultation ends. Speak freely.”
“It's a martial art that forces an either-or choice between fist techniques and hidden weapons. You could say it hides throwing daggers inside the fist forms the way one hides blades in a sleeve. On top of that, it incorporates certain gambling techniques. Just as cards vanish and reappear right in front of someone's eyes, you can control the appearance and disappearance of the hidden weapons.”
The Poison Doctor gave a short snort of laughter.
“So in your eyes, how many years of refinement does that art still need?”
“Well, at the very least fifty years, wouldn't you say?”
At my answer he stopped moving and looked straight at me.
“Reason?”
“Martial arts, by nature, struggle even to be classified as superior techniques when they focus on only a single principle. Yet this one tries to catch three rabbits at once—hidden weapons, fist techniques, and the middle path between them. For it to become a true ultimate art, it will need long years of research and the blood and sweat of countless people, won't it?”
“...”
The Tang Family Fierce Tiger Hidden Dragon Combat Method truly still had a very, very long road ahead. It could already be used in real combat, but elevating it to the Tang Family's signature art would take a great deal of time.
Strictly speaking, that future signature art would be an entirely different martial art that merely inherited the spirit of the current Fierce Tiger Hidden Dragon method. After repeated optimization and refinement, how much of the present prototype would even remain?
“Fine. I don't particularly care for the way you speak so freely, but you have a point.”
Oh no—did I speak too honestly and offend the Poison Doctor?
“Your understanding of martial studies isn't completely empty... This is going to take a while.”
He sighed and told me to sit cross-legged.
“I will make contact with your meridians. Do not be startled.”
“Yes.”
I answered, yet the sensation of someone else's internal energy entering my body was a first for me, and I flinched despite myself. I wasn't sure I should even say this, but the energy moved in a way that looked thoroughly dangerous.
“I am originally a practitioner of poison arts. I have no intention of harming you, yet the nature of poison energy will inevitably provoke rejection. Endure it.”
An instinctive revulsion wrapped my entire body, but I clenched my teeth and bore it. It felt exactly as if snakes were crawling through my veins, and my body twitched of its own accord.
“Come to think of it, I never asked the most basic question. Do you have any chronic illness, or any special condition you ought to tell me about?”
“Nothing that would count as a chronic illness. The tendon in my left little finger was severed once. And... I have no memories from before the age of fifteen.”
“Hmm. I see.”
Watching the Poison Doctor sink into thought, anxiety surged up inside me.
Truthfully, even for a master of the Transformation Realm, true qi diagnosis is quite difficult. Not the act of performing it, but the act of sensing only the interior without affecting the subject at all.
Even the Poison Doctor shouldn't be able to just...
Talking during a true qi diagnosis was one thing, but zoning out mid-procedure was crossing a line, wasn't it?
“Um, Elder...?”
“Ah, forgive me. I drifted into my own thoughts for a moment.”
Do you have any idea how sensitive and dangerous internal energy is? People don't fall into qi deviation for no reason. How often do martial artists circulate their energy? Essentially their entire lives. So how thoroughly trained must that control be?
And yet the moment anger flares or the mind is disturbed, the flow of energy tangles and internal injuries follow. What is coughing blood, after all? Wounds open in the internal organs and blood rises through the windpipe.
Even a slight disturbance in the flow of qi is enough to twist and shatter every organ inside. The power that can smash rock and timber resides within the body—so of course that same power can wring out one's own organs.
And he said he just zoned out for a second? What if my five viscera and six bowels had turned to mush?
If it had been anyone but the Poison Doctor I would have leapt up and raised hell right there, but I barely managed to suppress the urge.
He withdrew his energy from my body, pondered a moment longer, then spoke.
“Do you know anything of your mother or father's origins?”
“I don't even know what kind of people they were.”
“Is that so... Still... no, this makes no sense at all.”
Had he sensed something? Watching him mutter to himself and sink back into thought, I swallowed hard.
Eight years since I had fallen into this damned Murim Cheonha.
The thought I had entertained most often in those eight years was: Why the hell is my limit only Second-rate? Qi reinforcement—the most basic stage of processing energy. That reinforcement was the alpha and omega, the gamma and beta of martial arts.
Fuck it, to put it bluntly: if Second-rate is your ceiling, it doesn't matter whether you drop into a wuxia world, a fantasy world, an SF world, or modern-day hunter work—it's all the same shit. Just pulling qi to strengthen the body—is that martial arts? Is that Murim? I'm not asking for Heavenly Demon Dominion Steps or the Twelve Shadow Clones to pop out, but at least let me form sword qi, seal a few pressure points, send a sound transmission, and walk on grass blades. That's the bare minimum for wuxia.
I can't gather qi, so I can't block an opponent's blood flow—no pressure-point sealing.
I can't form sound waves with qi—no sound transmission.
I can't process qi to lighten my body—I can't even stand on grass.
Only at First-rate can you start living like a real Murim person. Of course, even at First-rate, sound transmission is out of reach and practical use of pressure-point sealing or light-body techniques is still a stretch—but being able to do something and being completely unable are entirely different matters.
Hoo. Calm down. Calm down, Cheon-an. Ho Cheon-an. Great expectations bring great disappointment. The Poison Doctor is truly an extraordinary physician, but the opponent is Mixed Blood. Even enlightenment only raises the limit by one stage, yet this Mixed Blood bastard is a monster that chews the limit down in huge chunks.
Even for the Poison Doctor, Mixed Blood was clearly a formidable foe.
Should I just come clean about the Mixed Blood trait?
The thought crossed my mind, but I immediately shook my head.
No matter how strictly the Poison Doctor adhered to a physician's principles, that choice was far too dangerous. The moment traits entered the conversation, I would have to reveal everything for any explanation to make sense.
That this world had originally been a game, that I had been hit by a reincarnation truck in the modern world and dropped into Murim Cheonha—every single one of those facts was fatally dangerous on its own.
While I finished sorting my thoughts, the Poison Doctor seemed to have reached a decision of his own.
“Well... I suppose there's nothing for it but to try.”
He looked at me and spoke.
“This time I will examine you using a method that carries side effects. You may feel intense rejection, or genuine pain, and residual effects might linger for several days. Yet right now this is the only approach that comes to mind. If you consent, I will begin the examination.”
“...Please do.”
I clenched my molars, tensed every muscle, and held out my arm. A little pain was nothing.
“I begin.”
I felt a certain energy burrow into my body. Far weaker than the energy the Poison Doctor had poured in earlier, yet denser and more solid, it climbed up my arm.
“...Young man. Are you truly all right?”
“Pardon? I can feel the energy entering.”
“No—pain, rejection... nothing of the sort?”
“I'm not sure I understand.”
“Hmm... I'll advance a little further.”
His energy passed the arm and reached the Jueque point at the center of my body. Where the earlier energy had felt dangerous yet light enough to float away, this one was heavy as mercury filling the meridians.
“Haa.”
For reasons I couldn't grasp, the Poison Doctor sighed and withdrew the energy.
“I'll draw blood. About a bowlful—endure the pain.”
Before I could even agree, my palm split open and a bowl was instantly pressed beneath it. It hurt, of course, but I had spent eight years eating the rice of blades in the Murim. Naturally a wound of this size was extremely painful.
No matter how much experience one has, pain is still pain.
Only after filling a bowl the size of a rice bowl with my blood did the Poison Doctor seal the pressure point to stop the bleeding. Then he stared at my blood for a long moment.
Plop.
He dipped his fingers straight into it and brought them to his mouth.
“Hmm.”
“Uh, Elder?”
Smacking his lips thoughtfully, the Poison Doctor simply lifted the bowl and downed my blood. At the sudden act of blood-drinking I flinched and recoiled without thinking. He kept smacking his lips, then abruptly looked up at me and asked:
“Just what in the world is mixed into your blood in such quantities?”