The Plague

Four years had passed since I shattered the wall of my limit, and still, without fail, I rose before the sun to practice my breathing exercises.

The dantian is much like a man's windpipe. Just as one breathes in and out, qi enters and leaves the qi dantian in a constant cycle. And just as foul air damages the lungs, a dantian that has stored turbid energy cannot remain in good condition. It demands constant care.

The impurities mixed into my qi were slowly working their way out of my body. Perhaps because I did this every morning, the amount of filth that seeped out like sweat was quite small.

Finishing my circulation, I stood and stretched out my stiff, aching body. After drawing out the turbid energy like this, the stench was no laughing matter, so a wash had to come first.

Creeeak.

I opened the door and stepped out of the meditation hall to find snow falling in slow spirals. It must have accumulated overnight, because my feet sank deep with every step.

Only after moving far enough that the meditation hall looked like nothing more than a dot did I strip off my clothes. Exposed to the biting wind, I scooped up handfuls of snow and scrubbed myself down. There was a river nearby, but in weather like this it was more than likely frozen solid.

This area sat close to the sea, which made the wind merciless, and the river froze over early every winter. That was knowledge I'd picked up over my four years living here.

I was pulling my clothes back on and about to return to the hall when I spotted Seonhwa preparing breakfast. She had grown too — even crouched down, she no longer looked quite so small.

Please tell me it's not pine porridge again.

Hoping for something a little different this morning, I walked over to where she was working.

"What's for breakfast?"

"I boiled pine bark in water."

"Mm."

When I let out a low grunt of disappointment, Seonhwa shook her head as if to say there was nothing to be done about it.

"There are no wild greens to be found this time of year, like before. Please bear with it for now, Mujin-nim."

She had a point, but every winter it felt like breakfast was nothing but pine porridge. Of course, I never let those words leave my mouth. Whatever the meal, the menu was the cook's decision to make.

But even this was about to end. The period I'd set for my closed-door cultivation had long since run its course. All that remained was to return to the clan.

"You're heading home, right?"

At my question, Seonhwa hesitated, watching my face carefully before speaking in a cautious voice.

"Could I... not come with you?"

"That might be difficult."

Had I been a drifter or a soldier like in my past life, I would have taken her along without a second thought. But now I was the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠heir of the Wang Clan of Goryeo, a family of considerable standing. I couldn't just bring people in off the street.

I'd never told her outright that I belonged to the Wang Clan, but she'd surely gathered as much from the way Ansong addressed me and from our attire. Aristocrats, clearly. So this was something she'd agonized over before saying.

"I'm sorry."

"No, don't be. Teaching me martial arts was already a debt I can never repay."

With that, the air between us grew heavy. I was racking my brain for something, anything to say, when Ansong approached wearing an exhausted face.

"Good morning, Sogaju-nim....."

"You're supposed to be my bodyguard. How does a bodyguard sleep in later than the man he's guarding?"

"My apologies."

Haaam.

Ansong yawned hugely and flopped down where he stood, then began nodding off on the spot. He really was worn out.

"Were you sparring all night again?"

"There are techniques I wanted to test."

The inherited martial arts of the Wang Clan — I had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mastered most of them over the course of this closed-door cultivation. But mastery of technique was another matter, so for the past several days Ansong and I had been sparring constantly.

Nothing hones a technique like crossing blades with a real opponent. It was the reason Ansong looked like this now.

I jabbed my elbow into the dozing man's ribs to wake him and spooned the pine porridge into my mouth. Tasting yesterday's flavor all over again, I felt my brows draw together of their own accord.

Still, she'd gone to the trouble of making it, so I scraped the bowl clean. As soon as the meal ended, Ansong spoke up, his face no less weary than before.

"When do you intend to return, Sogaju-nim? Any later and we may lose the road to the snow."

He meant we had to depart before the snow piled any deeper. I'd originally planned to stay a few more days, but with the snow beginning to fall, that was no longer possible.

"We'll stock up on provisions and leave immediately. There's no reason to linger here anyway."

"Understood. I believe we can get supplies in Yushin Village."

Decision made, we packed our things at once. Unlike four years ago, Seonhwa had learned lightfoot technique as well, so the journey would take three days.

Emptying out the place I'd lived for four years, I found my feet reluctant to move. This was where I had taught Seonhwa, where I had trained, where I had worn Ansong down day after day.

"......"

Apparently I'd grown rather attached without realizing it. As I stood there indulging my sentimentality, taking in one ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠last look at the meditation hall, a pigeon came flying toward me.

What's this?

It didn't just fly toward me — it came in a dead straight line. Anyone could see it was a carrier pigeon, and when I extended my arm, it alighted with surprising grace.

"Isn't that one of the clan's messenger pigeons, Sogaju-nim?"

Ansong came running over with a startled look. At his words, I checked the bird's leg and found a slip of paper tied there.

Worried that something might have gone wrong, I hastily untied the paper and unrolled it — only to find something entirely unexpected written inside.

"What on earth is this."

"What does it say, Sogaju-nim?"

Dragging a hand down my face several times, I handed the paper over to Ansong. Words simply failed me.

Ansong took it, read it slowly from beginning to end, and handed it straight back. His manner said, plainly, some things are better left unread.

"Sogaju-nim... what, in heaven's name, did you do four years ago?"

"Nothing! I haven't done a single thing! Anyone overhearing this would get the wrong idea."

Case in point — look at Seonhwa right now, peering at me with narrowed eyes.

I reread the message on the paper. It said:

To think even Wang Inho, of all people, would admit he couldn't cope. I couldn't begin to imagine the chaos unfolding back home.

"Ahem! In any case, the situation being what it is, we should return as quickly as possible."

"What's going on?"

Seonhwa looked up at Ansong with undisguised curiosity.

"It says that the Sogaju-nim made a whole crowd of women cry, that's all."

"......"

Please stop looking at me like that.

Despite the small commotion, what needed doing hadn't changed. We left the meditation hall and set out for Yushin Village, and the snow began to fall harder with every step.

If we don't hurry, we'll be wandering in circles.

When the snow piles up, everything turns white in every direction, and finding your bearings becomes a struggle. The snowfall erased our footprints as quickly as we made them, so we couldn't even tell whether we were retracing our own path. Getting lost was all but guaranteed.

I was walking along, thinking I should at least grab some pine bark, when the village came into view in the distance. Any other season wouldn't have mattered, but hunting grew difficult every winter, so this was where we resupplied. It would be the last time, too — I ought to pay the villagers a brief farewell.

And yet, the closer we drew, the stranger things felt. Oddly quiet, somehow. None of the usual liveliness was anywhere to be seen. No one would have gone out on an outing together in this weather.

Before long I reached the edge of the village, and there I understood why it was so silent. Several people lay collapsed in the middle of the road.

"Good heavens! What has happened here?!"

Spotting the fallen villagers, Ansong rushed toward them — but I, having seen scenes like this more times than I could count, stopped him immediately.

"Stop! Don't go near them!"

"Pardon? What do you mean? There are people collapsed right there—"

Ignoring his protests, I drew out three strips of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cloth — the ones Seonhwa had given me long ago — and wound them around my mouth and nose.

I tossed one to Ansong, and for Seonhwa I wrapped it myself, making sure there wasn't a single gap. The reason for all this was simple.

The plague.

I couldn't be certain it was true pestilence rather than a fever that had swept the whole village, but diseases of this kind had a way of rewarding anyone who approached unprepared with disaster.

"Listen carefully. From this moment on, move carefully. Seonhwa — do not go anywhere near those people."

At my words, Seonhwa nodded with a grim expression. Thankfully, her particular brand of stubbornness seemed not to have kicked in.

"Ansong. You and I are going to gather the fallen into one house. Then we'll go door to door and move anyone showing symptoms there as well."

As I spoke and wound the remaining cloth around my hands, Ansong replied with a slightly stricken look on his face.

"You don't mean... the plague has spread? In that case, shouldn't we be fetching a physician first?"

"You idiot. Are you planning to kill the children? Put the little ones in a house full of the sick and see what happens to them."

His mouth snapped shut with a click, and he set off to find an empty house. He'd understood how the situation stood.

While Ansong searched, I went from house to house checking on the villagers — and in every single one, I found people lying moaning in their beds.

"This is bad."

The plague had already taken firm root in the village. At this stage, I judged they'd been suffering for close to a month. Our last visit had been a month or two ago, which meant the outbreak must have begun right after we left.

That didn't mean we'd carried it, though. Between that visit and now we'd come and gone for four full years — falling ill only now would be absurd — and besides, none of us showed a single symptom.

Far more plausible was that the sickness had come on the wind, or that some infected traveler had entered the village.

We'd only meant to buy a few pine barks — and now this. If we had lingered at the meditation hall a few days longer, an entire village might have vanished.

Just then Ansong came sprinting back, lightfoot technique and all. He'd found a building.

"Sogaju-nim! There are no empty houses, but there is a warehouse — shall we move them there?"

"Where is it? Move anyone with even the faintest symptom there. As you relocate them, some houses will empty out — move the rest into those too."

"Yes, sir!"

Ansong shot off again, lightfoot technique flaring, and began moving the sick. I helped as well, and in a little over an hour we had gathered every patient into one place.

"Uuugh... young master... cough... cough...!"

"Is there a physician anywhere nearby?"

Four years of closed-door cultivation had taught me nothing about the surrounding area beyond this village. I had no choice but to ask the patients themselves.

"A physician... there's one in this village... but he caught the sickness... cough!"

"Hey! Old man! Stay with me!"

"Hurk... heh... cough... he's the only one for miles... before they move us... cough... you must leave this village... quickly..."

Damn it all.

From the state of the man, this was no mere winter fever. Symptoms this severe pointed to a genuinely virulent plague. And the physician had caught it too.

I turned the problem over in my head, and before long, one answer surfaced.

The Kim Clan of Sacheon.

I remembered that this region lay within the Kim Clan's territory. Looking down at the old man's wracking coughs, I rose to my feet.

I had to bring a physician back from the Kim Clan.