34. Heartbeat (1)
“Forming a merchant group? Not the one I know, right?”
Myeong-gyeong cornered me the moment we left the government office. The reputation of merchants had truly hit rock bottom. Well, the history of prioritizing agriculture as the noble pursuit while scorning commerce stretched back to ancient times in this heavy-farming, commerce-suppressing world.
“That’s right. A merchant group that sells goods.”
“A Wudang disciple starting something so corrupt?”
“Why is a merchant group corrupt? It’s one of the legitimate professions. And there’s no high or low in professions.”
“Merchants only care about money—they know nothing of righteousness or chivalry. You think I don’t know?”
“It’s the people, not the profession.”
“Is that why you told me not to tell Master?”
“Yes.”
“This is fraud!”
“Are you, a martial artist, going back on your word? A Wudang martial artist, no less?”
Myeong-gyeong’s face flushed red, and suddenly he threw himself flat on the ground. Naturally, it was a sandy spot.
“I’m not going!”
“What’s with the sudden tantrum, senior brother?”
“I won’t get up until you say you won’t form the merchant group.”
“You stay here then, senior brother. I’ll go ahead.”
As I turned my back, Myeong-gyeong shrieked and flailed his arms and legs wildly. Dust flew up, drawing everyone’s eyes. But this was the turning point of our battle. Approaching him now would mean admitting defeat. I bit my lip hard and kept walking forward.
“Quaaack!”
But Myeong-gyeong wasn’t one to go down easy. He even started screaming at full volume.
“Oh my, oh dear. What’s got that sweet-looking kid so upset?”
“Too young to be his dad. Brother, maybe?”
“Heartless brother, that one.”
People always side with the underdog. From my perspective, it was unfair—Myeong-gyeong wasn’t some weakling. I’d been treating him like a proper senior brother, serving him food and pouring water at restaurants. The whispers from onlookers who didn’t know better just made my temples throb.
I didn’t hesitate and quickened my steps, soon ducking into an alley where Myeong-gyeong vanished from sight. Of course, I didn’t go too deep. I planned to wait and see if he’d follow.
“Waaah...”
At first, the fake crying turned into real sobs as it carried over. He must’ve thought I’d really ditched him. Or, thinking about it, since he was the senior brother, maybe he figured the junior had abandoned him. Still, Myeong-gyeong wasn’t old enough to think rationally.
“Sigh.”
I hesitated for a moment. In my previous life, I never would’ve turned back. Registering the merchant group was the key task on this outing.
Yet Myeong-gyeong’s cries stabbed at my heart like an awl. Come to think of it, I’d never had a chance to bond with a kid that young before. It was always bearded merchants or officials.
I pulled out my Wudang wooden plaque and stared at it. As a Lay Disciple, it lacked a Taoist name, but my name—Muk Hwi-yeong—was clearly engraved. Below it, in bold strokes, read “Great Wudang Sect.”
I didn’t feel much belonging. I was just repaying a debt. At least Myeong-gyeong had protected me as his junior brother. When Jeon Yeon’s escort threatened me, he’d drawn his sword without hesitation.
How could he act that way in a meaningless bond like senior-junior brothers, with no paperwork or obligations? The lack of any expectation of reward felt utterly foreign.
I turned back. Exiting the alley, I walked toward the sound of Myeong-gyeong’s cries, which grew closer.
Emerging, I saw him sitting alone in the dirt, bawling. A few people had already gathered around, offering him candy and skewers to soothe him.
“Senior brother.”
I pushed through the crowd to reach him.
As I approached, the onlookers shot me dirty looks.
“Tsk tsk, making a little kid cry like that.”
“The ways of the jianghu have truly fallen.”
I ignored their words as best I could. Myeong-gyeong sniffled at my appearance, his tears starting to slow.
I pulled him up, brushing sand from his back and butt. He must’ve rolled around while I wasn’t looking—his front was covered too.
“Hic, snif, hiiic.”
“Sorry, senior brother.”
Myeong-gyeong buried his face in my shoulder, still not done crying, and let out the last of his tears. I held him tight, patting his back.
Then a man who looked past his forties spoke up.
“Young man, let me say one thing: don’t do things that hurt a child’s feelings. You’ll regret it later. Kids remember everything.”
His words carried a tone of regret. His haggard face only amplified it.
I narrowed my eyes. It wasn’t just meddling. The face looked familiar.
“Lord Hyeong, is that you?”
“When do you return to office?”
“You’ve suffered greatly.”
Others had recognized him first. It was none other than Hyeong Taeseong, the official currently on leave. The locals from Wuhan spotted him immediately. I’d only seen his older self, so it took me a moment.
“I spoke out of turn. I’ll be off.”
As people began to notice, Hyeong Taeseong seemed uncomfortable and tried to leave. But I’d planned to track down his house anyway—I wasn’t letting this chance slip.
“No, my lord. Your words are golden rules.”
I bowed deeply with a formal fist salute.
“Though I’m not from Wuhan, I’ve heard of your fame from afar. Meeting you like this is truly an honor.”
“Ahem, I see. Then treat him well.”
My sudden change flustered Hyeong Taeseong, who cleared his throat awkwardly. He quickened his pace to escape, but I followed with Myeong-gyeong on my back.
“My lord, worry lines crease your brow. Do you know the Way?”
“Wudang?”
“I’m with the Wudang Sect.”
“That’s where I recognized the robes. A martial artist, eh.”
Hyeong Taeseong didn’t even glance back at me trailing him.
“Sorry, stop following. I’ve been busy lately.”
“Because of your daughter?”
“Does anyone not know my daughter’s ill?”
Fair enough. Around this time, a warm epidemic—on-yeok, a contagious fever—had swept Hubei. Living in the clean, isolated Wudang Mountains, I hadn’t seen any cases.
“But no one who knew how to cure it.”
Hyeong Taeseong halted abruptly and finally turned to me.
“...Are you one of those types too?”
“What type?”
“The damn quacks who claim they can heal my daughter and just take my money.”
Hostility filled his eyes. No doubt he’d dealt with plenty.
“I’m from Wudang Sect. Not a quack.”
“Hmph. Even the doctors recommended by martial artists were the same. Same empty words.”
“I can cure your daughter.”
“They all said that. Otherwise, the plague wouldn’t have spread like this.”
“True. But didn’t they all call it a yin syndrome?”
Hyeong Taeseong flinched.
Diseases divide into yang syndrome and yin syndrome by yin-yang principles. Yang is hyperactivity at its extreme; yin is decline at its peak.
The Hubei warm epidemic around now had many deaths because doctors misdiagnosed the symptoms.
“Her whole body cold as ice, mouth and tongue dry, constant sighing, swollen throat, chest and abdomen bloated. Pain when pressing the swellings, thirst unrelieved by water, red urine.”
“...Exactly. But if her body’s ice-cold, how’s it not yin syndrome?”
“It’s not.”
I wasn’t a doctor, so I couldn’t be precise. But this medical failure was infamous enough to stick in my memory.
“Then you can cure her?”
“Yes.”
I hesitated briefly but spoke with firm conviction. In moments like this, you assert even if unsure. That’s how you seize opportunity.
“...If not, you’ll answer for it.”
Hyeong Taeseong spat the words and led us to his house.
Red peppers and white paper talismans hung from the gate, bound by a gold thread. They’d even called in shamans since medicine failed.
“Come in.”
We entered carefully, avoiding the thread.
In the room, a young girl shivered under thick quilts, drenched in sweat. Wiping it with my finger, it felt like ice water. Matched what I knew perfectly.
“Many doctors prescribed, but no improvement.”
“As expected. They gave fuzi decoction to boost yang qi.”
“You’re really not a doctor? How do you know so well?”
“No. I just know this illness.”
I bluffed as much as possible. Honestly, it looked like yin syndrome to me too. What else with a body this cold?
But I trusted my memory. This was no yin syndrome—it was che-gyeol, yang syndrome with yin pulses manifesting.
Deaths piled up because they treated it as yin, using fuzi or moxibustion on the lower abdomen, harming yang qi further.
I recalled slowly how che-gyeol was treated.
“First, purge the toxins with gongha, then prescribe cold-natured herbs.”
“Doctors said no gongha...”
For yin syndrome, yes. Purging weakens vital energy in a frail state, hastening death.
But this was yang. Excess energy needed purging.
“Trust me once.”
Our eyes met. Hyeong Taeseong scrutinized my gaze, then nodded slowly.
“Fine. What do you need?”
“Start with ikwi decoction to induce diarrhea. Sweating and vomiting would help too.”
“Got it.”
What I knew was standard gongha. I had some medical knowledge—as a merchant, I’d traveled widely, dealt with local diseases, even brewed decoctions.
“While doing gongha, prepare siryeong decoction. Get from the apothecary: licorice three pin, pinellia seven pin, atractylodes seven-and-a-half pin, bupleurum one jeon six pu, ginseng six pin, poria and cassia seven-and-a-half pin, alisma one jeon three pu, scutellaria six pin. Boil them.”
“Understood.”
“And for treatment, fewer people the better—have the child relay messages.”
Myeong-gyeong pouted at “child” but stayed quiet, knowing it wasn’t time for sulking.
Soon, well-boiled siryeong decoction arrived. The girl was semi-conscious but swallowed without spilling much.
As time passed, improvement showed. After some nursing, warmth returned to her body.
Now just call Hyeong Taeseong. Finally, I checked her pulse. During gongha, dehydration or exhaustion could kill—pulse was key.
But the moment I touched her wrist, a strange energy flowed into me. Not pulse—qi.
An uncanny sensation. The girl’s inner qi resonated with mine in my dantian.
After regression, I’d never cultivated any heart method. This wasn’t cultivated qi—it was true primordial qi, the source of life. And it felt familiar.
“Junior brother?”
Myeong-gyeong spoke, sensing the odd qi too.
Qi stirred in both our bodies. I tried releasing her wrist, but it stuck like glue.
I couldn’t even open my mouth—doing so might leak the true primordial qi.
Suddenly, I remembered where I’d felt this qi.
It was right before death in my past life, when I’d consumed the Divine Demon Pill—the qi that briefly swirled inside me then.