The Guest on a Rainy Night
The door rattled as if it might shatter at any moment. It was well past the Hour of the Pig at Baekchodang. The thirty-six drawers of the medicine cabinet were shut tight, the brazier covered with ash, and Makdongi lay sprawled across the wooden floor, just on the verge of snoring. Yeon Un sat at the counter, balancing the day's accounts. Seven coins earned, nine spent. The price of licorice root had risen again.
The rain had started falling from early evening. On nights like this, customers were rare. The people of Cheongha County firmly believed that getting drenched on the way to fetch medicine made the cost sting even more. Therefore, the hand knocking on the door at this hour, in this downpour, did not belong to a local resident.
Yeon Un didn't lift his eyes from the ledger. Whether the sound mixed with the rain was from the wind or a fist, there was no need to ponder it. A fist knocking on a pharmacy door at this time was rarely a healthy one.
"Makdongi. The door."
"But it's closed? It's past the Hour of the Pig. I even flipped the sign."
"Open it."
Makdongi pouted as he drew back the bolt. The door burst inward. Or more precisely, the person leaning against it tumbled inside. The hem of a worn-out robe swept across the muddy water as it spread across the floor. It was an elderly man with half-undone white hair.
The old man planted both hands on the threshold and vomited what he'd been holding back. It was dark red. Black granules were mixed within the blood clot.
"Aaaagh! Blood! Blood blood blood!"
"Makdongi."
"Y-yes!"
"Not a rag. The brazier first. Heat some water."
Yeon Un rolled up his sleeves. He slipped his hands under the old man's armpits to support him, and the body felt as light as kindling. Light, yet something was boiling within. The back that touched his palm was like the lid of a cauldron in the dead of winter.
He laid him on the bench. Even then, the old man waved his hands in protest.
"I-it's fine... Just a few doses of medicine... something to calm the boiling inside..."
"Sir."
"..."
"Let's start with taking your pulse. The medicine comes after."
The old man's eyes wavered. He seemed to be choosing words of refusal. But in that moment, Yeon Un had already taken his wrist. If there was one thing he'd learned in three years of business, it was that it was faster to ask a patient's permission after grabbing their wrist.
He placed three fingers on the pulse. The sound of rain passed for about one breath.
"You've practiced fire arts. And quite a pure form at that."
"...Hoo."
"You've reversed its flow. For fifteen days now."
The old man's shoulders stiffened.
"The qi has flowed backward along the conception vessel all the way to your chest. Your hands and feet must have gone cold starting three days ago. You've probably been experiencing tinnitus every dawn. And from yesterday, sparks must have been flying before your eyes."
"..."
"And."
Yeon Un removed his fingers.
"You've been suppressing it with pills. Revitalization Pills, to be exact. Two of them. That was the worst part."
The old man tried to bolt upright but collapsed back down. Yeon Un caught his shoulder and laid him flat. The motion was practiced—the way his feet shifted half a step back to dissipate the weight.
"H-how... even that..."
"The pulse has two layers. The medicine has created a false pulse layered over the real one. The better the pill, the more it does this. It only masks the pain while everything inside festers."
"..."
"Dragging it out for fifteen days and covering it with pills—you've gone as far as you can go. Whether you make it through tonight is the real question."
The old man stared at the ceiling for a long time. Rain pounded against the tiles.
"...Can you cure it?"
"I can cure it."
Yeon Un turned toward the medicine cabinet and added, "It'll be expensive."
"...Is that something to say right now?"
"If I don't say it now, I won't be able to later. Because later, you'll have the strength to haggle."
The old man tried to laugh in disbelief but crumbled into a cough. Yeon Un opened the medicine drawers one by one. His hands moved without hesitation. Atractylodes, licorice, agarwood. The sounds of drawers opening and closing punctuated the rain with crisp precision.
Makdongi fanned the brazier and glanced over.
"Master, is that old man going to die?"
"If I lose two taels, he will."
"...What does that mean?"
While the decoction boiled, Yeon Un brought out his acupuncture kit. Any hesitation vanished from his fingertips as he opened the lid. He parted the old man's robe and began pressing points on his chest and around the solar plexus with his fingers. Pressing, listening, moving to the next spot. The sound of tapping differed at each location.
"Don't hold your breath. If you do, the needles will go off target."
"...How many needles are you planning to use, and where?"
"Thirteen points."
The old man's eyes widened.
"Thirteen... You're saying you'll needle all the points between the CV17 and CV14? That's not in any medical text..."
"It's not that it's not in the medical texts. It's just not in the ones you've read."
The first needle went in. The old man's body arched like a bow. Yeon Un's left hand was already pressing down on his shoulder. Second. Third. With each needle, a groan escaped the old man's lips, and cold sweat soaked the bench.
At the sixth needle, the pulse went wild. Sweat beaded on Yeon Un's forehead too. The reversed qi was trying to pour out all at once through the acupuncture points. The dam had to be breached, but if broken all at once, the patient would be swept away. One point at a time. One channel at a time.
Seventh. The old man coughed up a mouthful of black blood. Makdongi swallowed a scream.
"Good. That had to come out."
Eighth. Ninth. The sound of rain receded and drew near again. At some point, Yeon Un stopped counting aloud. Only his fingertips moved. Inside the pharmacy, only the sound of the brazier breathing, the needles piercing flesh, and the old man's boiling breaths remained.
The thirteenth needle entered. Strength drained from the old man's body. His boiling breath lowered one level. Two. Three. Only then did Yeon Un straighten his back. His spine was drenched in sweat.
"Makdongi. The decoction."
"Yes!"
Yeon Un took the medicine bowl, supported the old man's head, and fed it to him sip by sip. When about half the bowl was gone, color began returning to the old man's limbs. They had passed one critical point.
Yeon Un sat down beside the bench and closed the acupuncture kit. As he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, an old voice suddenly mixed with the sound of rain.
Yeon Un shook his head once. There were nights when the voices of the dead came alive. Rainy nights were usually like that.
"...Master?"
"Go to sleep. We'll need to brew it once more at dawn."
Makdongi curled up by the brazier and quickly fell asleep. Yeon Un didn't sleep. He moved the oil lamp beside the bench and checked the old man's wrist every half-hour.
Around the end of the Hour of the Ox, the pulse twisted again. Yeon Un's hand paused. The heat that had subsided was rearing its head once more below the solar plexus. The dam had been breached, but one stream was leaking in the wrong direction.
"Sir. Don't get up, just listen."
The old man's eyelids opened halfway.
"There's still one layer of the pill's energy left. It's currently blocking this new path. I need to clear it with more needles, but it will hurt. More than before."
"...Do it."
"You can scream if you want. Once the kid falls asleep, he wouldn't wake even if lightning struck."
Three more needles went in. Between the brows, and two points below the solar plexus. The old man didn't scream. Instead, he gripped the edge of the bench, and the wood creaked in protest. The moment the third needle settled, steam rose from the old man's entire body. The robe wet from rain was drying from the heat of his own body.
Yeon Un watched until the steam subsided before removing the needles.
"It's done now."
"...Earlier, did that have to come out too?"
"No. That shouldn't have come out. It did because you took two of those pills."
"..."
"Get some sleep. There won't be another critical point."
The old man tried to say something but was pulled into sleep. Yeon Un trimmed the lamp wick and took a sip of cold tea. The rain outside was growing finer.
Before the dawn rooster crowed, the old man's fever broke. After taking the second decoction, the old man slept like the dead. Yeon Un dozed beside him, and when the sun rose, Makdongi arbitrarily cooked some porridge.
"Master, we're almost out of rice."
"Mix in some millet."
"You're serving millet porridge to a guest?"
"He's not a guest, he's a patient. Millet is better for a patient's stomach."
Makdongi pouted but prepared the porridge tray quite nicely. He even added a small dish of salt.
The old man opened his eyes around the Hour of the Dragon. As soon as he did, he looked at his own palms. Clenched them, opened them. Clenched again.
"...It's back."
The old man slowly emptied a bowl of porridge. As the millet porridge went down, he casually asked the boy squatting beside him.
"Young one. Where did your master learn his medical skills?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"We've lived together for three years and he's never told me once. But Grandpa."
Makdongi lowered his voice. It was the voice of a merchant selling secrets.
"Our master, if he just takes your wrist, he knows everything. What you've eaten, where you've been hurt, even if you're lying. Last month, the butcher from the village across the way came saying his back hurt, and when Master took his wrist, he said, 'You can't sleep because of gambling debts, can you?' The man cried."
"...He read the debt from the pulse?"
"And when he's cutting herbs, he does it with his eyes closed. The thickness is always exactly the same. I counted—out of a hundred cuts, all hundred are..."
"Makdongi."
The sound of the abacus beads from the counter stopped.
"Stop putting nonsense in the patient's ears and go wash the medicine pot."
"It's not nonsense..."
Makdongi pouted and retreated. The old man set down the empty porridge bowl. His eyes as he looked at it were deeper than before.
"It's not all back yet."
Yeon Un was clicking the abacus beads beyond the counter.
"I've stopped the reversed qi, but the damage from fifteen days of burning remains. Twenty doses of decoction over fifteen days. During that time, do not circulate your qi at all. And refrain from fire arts for three months."
"Three months? This old body's condition is something this old body knows. In five days..."
"If you circulate your qi in five days."
Yeon Un looked up from the abacus.
"Next time, there will be no points left to needle."
The old man closed his mouth. A mouth that had spent a lifetime teaching others closed in just one breath.
Yeon Un placed a sheet of paper by the head of the bench. At the end of the densely written characters was the total.
"Medicine and treatment come to five taels and two coins. It's cheaper than the pills."
"...Hoo. Well then, what if my circumstances don't allow it? What an itinerant like me carries..."
"No credit."
The old man stared at Yeon Un. It was a strange look. Not the look of one examining a ledger, nor of one looking at a medicine peddler. It was a look that retraced, one by one, the moments when thirteen needles had pierced his body last night.
The old man's gaze fell on the tips of Yeon Un's fingers. The callused fingertips resting on the abacus beads.
"...This old one would like to ask about what happened last night."
"If it's about the treatment, please do so in fifteen days. Speech is also energy."
"The thirteen points between the CV17 and CV14."
The old man slowly rose from the bench. His hands adjusting his robe were trembling. But it wasn't from lack of energy.
"Those points are not for needling. Even among those who use acupressure, only the top five masters would dare trace that path. As far as this old one knows, in all the world, there were only two people who could trace those thirteen points in a single breath. Both are dead now."
"Sir."
Yeon Un finished clicking the abacus.
"The acupuncture points are all in the medical texts. The fee is five taels and two coins."
"...You."
The old man stepped down from the bench. With trembling legs, yet standing straight. Then he brought his hands together. The most courteous bow an itinerant could offer to a superior.
"Whose disciple are you?"