Put Down the Sword First

The fifteen days passed quickly. Before anyone realized it, Hyeonheo had become part of Baekchodang's daily life. At the Hour of the Dragon he drank his medicinal decoction, at the Hour of the Snake he ate jujubes, and in the afternoons he kept the neighborhood patients company. The old woman from the well had grown close enough to compete with the old Taoist over knee pain, and the child who once suffered from stomachaches now tugged at the old Taoist's beard every time he visited. The Go matches against Makdongi had reached one hundred and thirty-two games. Since Makdongi was the one who went around bragging about the record, there was no need to write it down.

And on the morning of the fifteenth day, Hyeonheo's pulse finally stopped lying.

"The pulse has returned," Yeon Un said, lifting his fingers. The pulse that had been surging in two erratic layers fifteen days ago now flowed evenly in a single steady stream. "You're fully recovered."

"Ooh……."

"As for your body."

"……My body?"

"You haven't fixed your habits. No alcohol for three months. If you break the rule just because you're feeling better after fifteen days, the next treatment won't end in fifteen days."

Hyeonheo stroked his beard and cleared his throat. It was his way of admitting the point had struck home. For the past three days, the old Taoist had been unable to sleep properly because of an itchy sensation near his dantian every dawn. It was the internal energy he had cultivated for sixty years. Telling him to hold it in for three months was practically the same as telling him to hold his breath for three months.

"I understand, I understand. But listen here. Not full circulation… just something to loosen the body a little. Only the forms. Without loading any energy into them."

"No."

"Just moving my hands and feet. It's practically like dancing……."

"Elder."

Yeon Un continued organizing the medicine cabinet without even turning around. "Do you know how many patients I treat in a year who end up bedridden from dancing?"

Yet the old Taoist couldn't even last one hour.

Yeon Un was returning from hanging medicinal herbs to dry in the backyard when he heard the sound of wind slicing through the air in the front yard. Hyeonheo stood in the middle of the courtyard. In his hand was a broom. He had taken it up in place of a sword, but the lines drawn by the tip of the broom were not those of a broom. Like plum blossoms swaying in the breeze, circles overlapped within circles, slowly coiling the air of the courtyard around them. He had not loaded any energy. Just as promised, it was only the forms.

But when sixty years of mastery resided in one's fingertips, even forms alone could make the sparrows in the courtyard forget how to fly.

Makdongi stood frozen in the kitchen doorway with his mouth hanging open.

"Whoa…… whoa, sir, look at that. The broom, the broom looks like it's blooming flowers."

The boy's eyes were not mistaken. Sixty years of Huashan Plum Blossom Sword Art were being poured into a single broom, blooming and fading across the entire courtyard. It was the very sword style that young talents of the martial world would kneel before the gates of Huashan just to catch a glimpse of a single form.

Yeon Un set down his winnowing basket. And he watched.

Between one movement and the next, the old man's left shoulder lagged behind by half a finger's width. It was the exact spot where he had inserted the needle fifteen days ago. It was also a place where the flesh had not yet fully healed. If he continued rotating like that for even half a ke, the tender flesh would tear open again.

"Elder."

The broom stopped.

"If you want to get better, put down the sword first."

The courtyard fell silent. Hyeonheo looked down at the broom in his hands. He had called a broom a sword. He had thought that since he hadn't loaded it with energy, no one would notice. But he had been caught.

No—the reason the old Taoist's spine had gone cold wasn't because he had been caught. It was the words put down the sword first. Why had his Purple Mist Divine Art circulated in reverse? Why had he gone into seclusion? It was because, at an age when his fellow elders were one by one putting away their swords, he had greedily tried to take one more step forward.

The physicians who had taken his pulse throughout the fifteen days had never found the root of the illness. It wasn't in his dantian. It was in the sword he had gripped for sixty years. And that root had just been sliced away by a single scolding from a medicine peddler.

Hyeonheo lifted the broom with both hands and leaned it carefully against the wall. It was the same gesture one used to return a sword to its rack.

"I have put it down."

"Good. Then please finish hanging the rest of the herbs."

"……Huh?"

"You must use your shoulder gently if you want it to loosen properly. Lifting a winnowing basket is about the right amount of work."

For a long while, the old Taoist stared at the medicine peddler's back. The mouth that had just cut away the root of his illness was now calmly talking about winnowing baskets without even changing its tone. Yeon Un's thoughts were simple. If a patient danced with a sword in the courtyard, he would end up back in bed. If he ended up back in bed, another round of acupuncture would be necessary. And while he would receive payment for that acupuncture, this old man still owed him two taels.

***

The final accounting was done around noon. Yeon Un opened his ledger, and Hyeonheo sat down before him as if kneeling.

"Medicine and prescription fees come to five taels and two maces. Subtracting three taels and five don for the fifteen days of herb preparation labor……."

"Hmm. Then what remains……."

"One tael and seven maces. That brings us up to the calculation from fifteen days ago."

"……Up to there?"

"Fifteen days of lodging, one tael. One hundred and twenty patient meals at five maces. And three don for the traditional sweets."

"The, the sweets weren't eaten by this old man, but by that child……."

"Who fed them to him?"

"……."

"From a total of two taels and two maces, subtracting the two don you paid on the first day. It comes to exactly two taels."

Makdongi, who had been wiping a medicinal pot nearby, chimed in.

"Sir, Grandpa worked really hard for fifteen days. He even swept the courtyard."

"The courtyard sweeping was already included in the labor credit."

"He also taught me Go."

"You won one hundred and thirty-two games. Who exactly was teaching whom?"

"……I guess that's true."

Makdongi cleanly backed off. Hyeonheo shot the boy a look full of betrayal, but the loyalty bought with traditional sweets only went so far.

Hyeonheo rummaged inside his robe. What came out was the same as fifteen days ago. Two talismans and some pine needles. The string of coins had long since been emptied to pay for the sweets.

"……My senior brother will send it."

"Pardon?"

"I wrote it in the letter. I didn't know about the two extra maces at the time, so five taels and two maces. Even if the sect is slow with calculations, they won't let it drag past the month."

Yeon Un looked at the old Taoist for a moment. It was a fifteen-day journey to Huashan. A round trip would take a month. It was credit, to be sure, but if the guarantor was the sect leader of Huashan—he wondered which column in the ledger he should use. In the end, he created a new one. With careful strokes of the brush.

"I won't charge interest. Since you are a man of the Tao."

"Th-thank you……."

"But if it goes past the month, I will."

***

He left after the sun had set. Hyeonheo cleaned the small back room with his own hands. He folded the bedding, gathered the jujube seeds that had been scattered for fifteen days into a sack and took it to the kitchen, then stroked Makdongi's head once.

"Your Go has improved, but your calculations are the same as ever. Learn to calculate. There is no better teacher in the world than your master."

"Tsk. Grandpa, just focus on taking your medicine properly."

Hyeonheo took out a yellow talisman from his robe and placed it in Makdongi's hand. It was the very talisman that had rolled out of his robe fifteen days ago in place of coins.

"It is a Protective Talisman of Huashan. Humble though it may look, it was drawn personally by my senior brother, the sect leader."

"……Weren't you going to use this to pay for the medicine?"

"……I am giving it to you. Take it."

Then the old Taoist turned toward the counter and pulled out one last shred of lingering attachment.

"Listen, my good man. When I return in fifteen days… a bottle of grain tea, perhaps……."

"No alcohol for three months."

"It's grain tea. Tea, I say, tea."

"Does your sect call that tea, Elder?"

"……At Huashan, we do."

"In Cheongha County, we call it alcohol. Three months."

Hyeonheo let out a sigh. He felt foolish for having hoped even after experiencing those fifteen days. At the threshold, the old Taoist turned and brought his palms together. It was a deep bow. Deeper than the trembling one he had offered on that dawn fifteen days ago.

"My good man."

"Guest."

"This old man did not merely receive medicine for fifteen days. I will engrave your teachings in my heart for the rest of my life."

"I don't know about teachings."

Yeon Un looked up from the counter. "Just make sure you engrave ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the medical bill. It's two taels. And that interest will accrue if Huashan's reply goes past the month."

"……Heh heh. Heh heh heh."

Hyeonheo laughed. For the first time in fifteen days, he laughed without any regard for dignity. Then, just as he was stepping over the threshold, he added one more thing.

"I will come back in fifteen days to have my pulse checked. That ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠will be a proper consultation, so I will pay separately for it."

"I'll note it down as an appointment. Have a safe journey."

A crowd had gathered in the alley to see him off. The old woman from the well stuffed three boiled eggs into the old Taoist's sleeve, and the child who had suffered from stomachaches reached out from his mother's arms toward the beard. Hyeonheo accepted the eggs, let the child tug his beard once, then looked back at the pharmacy from the end of the alley.

It was a two-room pharmacy. The signboard was old, the eaves were low, and inside, a single lantern had just been lit. It was lower than Huashan's training grounds and narrower than Huashan's Taoist halls. Yet in fifteen days, the old Taoist had learned one thing. There were houses in this world that could not be measured by height.

The sound of the old Taoist's footsteps faded away at the end of the alley. Makdongi stood at the doorway and stared after him for a long time.

"……He's gone."

"He's gone."

"The back room is going to feel empty."

"It won't be empty if you clean it. Rag."

Makdongi pouted and went to fetch the rag. Then he dawdled for a long time at the threshold of the back room. When Yeon Un looked inside, the boy was standing there clutching a handful of jujube seeds that hadn't quite made it into the sack.

"Should I…… throw these away?"

"Plant them. In the backyard."

"Jujube seeds? Why?"

"When they grow, we'll sell them."

"……You really are something, sir."

Even as Makdongi grumbled, he placed the jujube seeds on the shelf in his own room. His face said it was a relief he hadn't been told to throw them away.

That evening, two bowls of millet rice were set on the table. Makdongi picked up his spoon, paused to glance at the empty spot, and Yeon Un pretended not to notice as he picked up some vegetables. There would be no more need to make chicken porridge, so the cost of side dishes would decrease. It had decreased, yet somehow it didn't feel like a profitable business.

Yeon Un was about to close the ledger when he paused to look at the characters written in the Huashan column. It had been noisy for fifteen days. Noisy, yet the empty spot where the chicken porridge bowl used to sit felt strangely bothersome. Yeon Un pushed the thought out of the ledger and took out the cutting board.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The same sound as any other evening filled the pharmacy.

***

There was a beggar under the eaves. No one knew exactly when he had arrived. Beggars were supposed to be under eaves, so the people of Cheongha County simply treated the old beggar under Baekchodang's eaves as part of the scenery. During the day he dozed, in the evenings he disappeared somewhere, and on rainy days he would return. Today, too, the old man was dozing. Or at least, he appeared to be.

Beneath his closed eyelids, his eyes had been busy for the entire fifteen days. He had seen Huashan's Plum Blossom Sword bloom and fade at the tip of a broom. He had seen that same sword set against the wall at a single scolding. He had seen a Huashan elder pay his bill on his knees and receive a farewell with joined palms. And amid all that commotion, he had heard the medicine peddler's knife work remain perfectly steady every single day.

The old beggar spat out the straw he had been picking his teeth with and stood up. People of the world thought beggars lived by begging. Half of that was true. The other half—they lived by listening. All the news of the world passed along the roads, and there was always a beggar sitting on those roads. That was why the largest and most well-informed sect in the martial world was neither Shaolin nor Wudang, but the beggars' Gaebang.

If the head of Gaebang's Cheongha branch had spent fifteen days motionless beneath a single set of eaves, it was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠not out of laziness. At first he had sat there to sniff out the scent of the Huashan elder. Just learning why an old plum blossom had rolled into a rural pharmacy was worth three cups of wine. But after watching for fifteen days, the item he had to sell had changed. The elder's story was now a side branch. The main trunk was the medicine peddler.

Gaebang beggars did not watch shows for free. They either paid the viewing fee—or sold what they had seen.

The old man pushed open the door of Baekchodang.

"Shopkeeper. Does even a beggar get his pulse read?"