The Old Taoist's Three Days in Confinement

It was the morning of the third day of the old Taoist's confinement. The medicine peddler rose before dawn and swept the yard. Last night's rain had left puddles scattered across the ground, yet the broom wielder's feet avoided every single one. He stepped aside by half a pace without even looking, as if by instinct. On the wet earth, footprints appeared only in the dry patches, forming a neat line.

Hyeonheo had never seen anyone outside Huashan's training grounds whose shoes stayed perfectly dry while their broom swept wet soil. The old Taoist made up his mind. He would test this man.

The first test came with the medicine chest. During the day, a medicinal herb merchant had stopped by and left two heavy crates in the yard. One hundred geun of astragalus root. Heavy enough that two grown men would need to carry it together. Hyeonheo pretended to pit dates while watching from the corner of his eye.

The medicine peddler stood before the crate, lifted one end to test the weight, then set it down again.

"Makdongi. Give me a hand."

"Ugh... Teacher, why is this so heavy?"

"Because it's a hundred geun."

The two of them lifted one crate together and staggered off with it. At the second crate, the medicine peddler rubbed his lower back. Hyeonheo nodded slowly, still holding a date.

Thorough indeed.

Many people hid their strength. But usually it showed. The shoulder bearing the weight, the breathing, the stance—something always gave it away. Yet this man's every gesture, even the way he rubbed his back, was completely natural. It was the movement of someone who had lived that way his entire life.

That evening, however, Yeon Un told Makdongi, "Starting tomorrow, tell the herb merchant to bring the crates all the way into the yard. Offer him two more pun."

"Is your back hurting?"

"It is."

The second test was words.

The next day, while pitting dates, Hyeonheo asked casually, "Tell me, in a physician's view... what is a sword?"

The sound of chopping herbs didn't falter for even a beat. The answer came immediately.

"A piece of metal that doesn't bring in any money."

"...Doesn't bring in money?"

"Swords don't spend money at pharmacies. The people injured by swords do."

A date slipped from Hyeonheo's fingers and rolled across the floor. Instead of answering about the sword itself, the man had spoken of what the sword produced. If the sword theories Hyeonheo had heard all his life at Huashan had rested upon the blade, this answer stood where the blade had passed.

This person has long since surpassed the level of discussing swords...

At that same moment, Yeon Un's mind was occupied with the credit ledger that had come in yesterday. Whenever the escort agency's blade-wielding guards got into fights, two skeins of thread disappeared from Baekchodang. And the price of thread had gone up again.

"Is something wrong, sir? You're wasting the dates."

"...Ah, no, it's nothing."

The third test was baduk.

After clearing the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dinner table, Hyeonheo pushed the baduk board forward. A warrior's depth revealed itself through momentum. On the board, one could measure a person's profundity without ever crossing blades.

"Teach me a move or two."

"I don't know how to play baduk."

"Excessive humility becomes discourtesy."

"Makdongi."

"Yes?"

"Place some stones for me."

Half a sikgyeong later, Hyeonheo stared at the board in silence. The medicine peddler truly didn't know how to play. And he played so poorly it was almost impressive. From the side, Makdongi slapped his own forehead. "Teacher, I told you that spot was dead!"

Any ordinary person would have let their suspicions go at this point. But Hyeonheo was no ordinary person. The eyes that had observed people for sixty years at Huashan read one more thing from the board.

He has completely let go of the very concept of victory and defeat.

Not a single grain of his heart was invested in winning or losing. He hadn't merely forgotten how to compete—he had discarded it entirely. That was why he could calmly place stones on spots that were already dead. Because he had decided long ago to use the power of life and death only on human bodies.

"Grandpa, I won again!"

"...Yes. You won."

In the old Taoist's eyes, the medicine peddler who had lost at baduk looked like a mountain that day.

The final test was one Hyeonheo truly did not want to use. It happened at midday in the yard two days later. The moment Yeon Un turned after laying out some herbs to dry, Hyeonheo drew on the remaining true energy in his dantian and released a single strand of momentum. It wasn't killing intent. But it was the kind of subtle wind that any martial artist would feel at the nape of their neck first.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

First-class experts would stiffen. Those at the peak would turn to look. And those beyond—

Yeon Un did not move at all. He finished setting down the winnowing basket, straightened his back, and glanced up at the sky.

"Looks like rain. Makdongi, bring in the herbs I laid out."

Hyeonheo withdrew his energy and wiped away cold sweat. Mount Tai did not bow to the wind. Even with his final card played, the answer was the same.

As for Yeon Un, he had simply felt a chill at the back of his neck and looked up at the sky. Even physicians couldn't avoid catching a cold during the changing seasons.

Makdongi made an excellent witness. And he was cheap. Two pieces of danggwaja would keep him chattering for an entire sikjin.

"Last spring, a whooping cough went around in Hyeonseong. Even the government doctors gave up, but Teacher went around putting something in every well and handing out medicine to every house... It stopped completely in just fifteen days."

"Fifteen... days."

"And then, the winter before last, bandits came down from the mountain stronghold on the back mountain."

"B-bandits came to rob the pharmacy?"

"No. They came to buy medicine. Their leader had a huge boil on his back. They lined up to get their prescriptions filled. Teacher said, 'Weapons stay outside,' so they piled up their axes and blades by the door."

Hyeonheo closed his eyes. Bandits forming a line. Laying their axes outside the door. Makdongi didn't understand what that image meant, but Hyeonheo did. There was only one reason a man holding an axe would set it down of his own free will.

"Child. Have you ever seen your teacher raise a hand against anyone?"

"Never. Oh, except for those knuckle flicks on my head. When I mess up the calculations."

"...Those are cheap at any price."

"And Grandpa, this is a secret."

Makdongi received one more sweet and lowered his voice to a whisper.

"Teacher sometimes talks in his sleep. It sounds like he's getting scolded. He says things like, 'Yes, Master.' But when I ask him in the morning, he says he didn't dream at all."

"Master... you say."

"I don't know who it is. He never tells me. But on those days, he only cuts herbs all day long. The medicinal ingredients pile up like a mountain."

Hyeonheo didn't regret the cost of the sweets. There had been a master. One he never mentioned aloud. One who only appeared to scold him in dreams. It meant the master was no longer of this world.

At the end of that realization, the old Taoist quietly chanted a Taoist prayer. There were empty spaces in the world that should not be dug into.

Trouble arrived on the evening of the fifth day. Three local thugs kicked open the door. They were the type who extorted protection money from the stalls in Hyeonseong market.

The one in the middle slammed his palm on the counter.

"Boss. Our big brother hurt his back, and the medicine is a bit... expensive. How about some credit?"

Hyeonheo set down his bowl of dates. With one flick of his wrist, he could lay all three out in the yard. Even in his weakened state, that much was possible. But before he could stand, the medicine peddler spoke first.

"That will be fine."

"...Huh? F-fine?"

"Please write up a credit note. As a loan. Two pun interest per month, with the guarantee from Huang the innkeeper in the market. Though I'm not sure if Mister Huang will actually vouch for you, since I heard you three broke his outdoor tables last month."

"......"

"If a guarantee won't work, we'll use an official government loan document. That takes three days to get the official seal, and the fees will exceed the cost of the medicine. Which would you prefer?"

The thugs counted out the money before the word "document" was spoken a third time. In cash. As they left, the medicine peddler added to their retreating backs, "Your brother's back will heal faster with acupuncture. Bring him by. The acupuncture fee is paid in advance."

Hyeonheo watched all of this from the threshold of his small room. He had seen men who knew how to wield a blade choose not to use it. But this man had used an abacus instead of a blade, and the thugs had fled faster than if they were being chased by swords.

"My friend," Hyeonheo couldn't hold back any longer. "Aren't you afraid? If people like that hold a grudge..."

"If they hold a grudge, they'll come again."

"And if they come again?"

"They'll pay for medicine. Everyone gets sick somewhere, after all."

Yeon Un added two lines to his ledger. Watching his profile, Hyeonheo realized how foolish his question had been. It was like asking a tiger if it feared wild dogs. No— to this man, there were probably neither tigers nor wild dogs. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠The moment anyone stood before his counter, they were simply patients.

What Yeon Un had actually written were these two lines: Additional order for two skeins of thread. Ask Mister Huang if he received payment for the broken tables.

That night, the old Taoist tossed and turned in bed for a long time. This person had no intention of protecting himself. It wasn't that strong people trusted their strength and neglected defense. This man lived with the very idea of needing protection erased from his mind entirely.

But the rivers and lakes were vast, and blind blades were everywhere. Today's thugs might be tomorrow's demonic practitioners. Huashan needed to know. That such a person existed here, living like this.

Writing the letter was not easy.

He tore it up. It wasn't a matter of pride. If he started like that, the entire mountain gate would be thrown into chaos.

He tore it up. It was a letter built on lies upon lies.

He stopped writing. Reading it over, it sounded exactly like the ravings of an old man whose mind had been broken by Qi Deviation. Hyeonheo trimmed the lamp wick and spent the entire night tearing up seven sheets of paper. Around the time he tore the fifth sheet, there was a rustling sound outside the door. Makdongi, on his way to the outhouse, had noticed the light in the small room and was peeking in.

"Grandpa, you're not sleeping?"

"...I'm writing a letter."

"What kind of letter takes all night? Is it a love letter?"

"If it were a love letter, it would have been finished long ago. This is far more difficult."

"What is it?"

"It's a letter that records the truth, yet the person reading it will not believe it."

Makdongi tilted his head and left. The old Taoist burned the torn paper in the lamp flame. Exaggeration could be trimmed away, but the problem with the truth was that there was nothing to trim.

It was only when the rooster crowed at dawn that he finished the eighth sheet. He wrote only the facts. He added not a single line of interpretation. He recorded everything he had witnessed over the past fifteen days exactly as it had happened, then added a final request at the end.

Early that morning, Hyeonheo stopped an escort guard who was about to depart on a delivery run. It was the same man whose blade wound had been stitched up at Baekchodang a few days earlier. He was heading toward a Huashan-bound escort agency.

Along with the letter, a string of coins was placed in the guard's hand.

"Deliver this directly to the Huashan mountain gate. Directly."

"...Elder, Huashan is a fifteen-day journey. Is it an urgent matter?"

"It is not urgent. It is simply heavy."

The guard looked as if he wanted to ask how a single sheet of paper could be heavy, but he understood the weight of the string of coins. He tucked it into his robes, bowed deeply, and left.

Hyeonheo watched the man's back recede down the main road for a long time. Once that paper reached the mountain gate, this quiet alley would no longer be quiet. He felt sorry about that, but it still had to be sent. If a treasure lay in the marketplace, thieves would eventually learn of it first. Before the thieves, those capable of protecting it must know.

Behind him came the sound of the pharmacy door opening. Makdongi yawned as he flipped the sign, and inside, the medicine peddler took the wrist of the first customer of the day. It was a morning like any other.

For now.

After the guard had left, the old Taoist turned to look toward the pharmacy. From the counter came the familiar sound of abacus beads clicking. The final line of the letter read as follows: