Chapter 153
Chapter 153
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 153
Chapter Title: Two Villages
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The Sangsin Village they arrived at the next day was the complete opposite of Hasin Village in every way.
“I see why the merchants told us to come to Sangsin Village.”
“Yeah.”
Unlike Hasin Village, where Dang Mujin and his group were the only outsiders, Sangsin Village was full of merchants leading mules and donkeys, along with plenty of lone peddlers.
The village itself was at least five times larger than Hasin Village. It was big enough to call a town rather than a village.
People’s faces showed leisure, and even the street dogs had enough meat on their bones that their ribs weren’t showing.
Confident that no one would harm them, the dogs dozed off contentedly in sunny spots.
It was a bit early for mealtime, but the smell of food wafted from somewhere.
Hong Geolgae clutched his stomach, feeling hungry. The three of them hadn’t eaten anything since their meal in Hasin Village the day before.
“Let’s head straight to an inn.”
“No. Wait a little longer.”
Namgung Myeong walked slowly through Sangsin Village as if searching for something. Wide roads, narrow alleys.
But after about an hour, Namgung Myeong still hadn’t found anything.
Namgung Myeong grumbled.
“I figured there’d be at least a pickpocket or two, but nothing.”
“Must be because it’s a prosperous village. Good for us.”
“Good my foot. It’s boring.”
“You miss the weirdest things.”
When people’s livelihoods are comfortable, they have leisure in their hearts, and such people don’t commit petty crimes like theft.
Whether their comfortable livelihoods made their hearts leisurely, or their leisurely hearts led to comfortable livelihoods, who knew.
What was certain was that Sangsin Village seemed caught in a virtuous cycle, while Hasin Village was trapped in a vicious one.
The three entered the largest inn in Sangsin Village and ordered food.
One dumpling and three bowls of noodles, just like in Hasin Village. They looked similar on the surface, but the taste was worlds apart.
The noodles had bits of meat in them, and the dumplings were oily and soft, unlike the dried-up ones in Hasin Village. They must have used better and more ingredients. Yet the price was about the same as in Hasin Village.
“Mujin, order one more dumpling.”
“Sure.”
As requested by Hong Geolgae, Dang Mujin ordered another dumpling while thinking.
Ordering food yourself isn’t begging. But asking a patron to order food for you—is that begging?
Dang Mujin pondered for a long time, but it wasn’t a question with an easy answer.
While waiting for the dumpling, Dang Mujin looked around the inn’s interior.
That’s when he spotted a waiter limping along with a slightly furrowed brow.
Dang Mujin beckoned to the waiter, who approached slowly.
“What do you need?”
“I’m not ordering food. By any chance, is your leg bothering you?”
The waiter made a displeased face at Dang Mujin’s seemingly irrelevant question. When you’re in pain, everything irritates you.
“It just aches a little.”
“May I take a look at your leg?”
“Why would you do that?”
“I’m a physician, so I can’t just pass by a patient who catches my eye.”
At the mention of physician, the waiter’s expression brightened a bit. A glimmer of hope.
“But I’m not in a position to pay for medicine outright…”
“Don’t worry about the cost. I just want to check it out since it caught my eye.”
The waiter readily rolled up the hem of his pants.
The skin on both legs was a bit redder than normal and quite swollen.
“It’s edema. Fortunately, it’s not severe. Stretch your leg out this way.”
Dang Mujin started kneading from the waiter’s right thigh down the entire leg. The leg was taut, and the temperature was higher than normal.
After kneading for a while, Dang Mujin naturally inserted needles.
His speed was so fast and his movements so discreet that the waiter only realized what was happening after three needles were already in his leg.
Hong Geolgae whispered to Namgung Myeong from behind.
“Why’s he stabbing needles like that so frantically? He didn’t used to do it that way.”
“It’s a habit from killing people with needles. What a vicious guy.”
Dang Mujin grabbed the waiter’s toes and slowly rotated his ankle. The waiter let out a groan like he was melting on a hot floor in midwinter.
Curious about the sudden treatment in the inn, not only the guests but even the innkeeper came out to watch Dang Mujin and the waiter.
After a short while, Dang Mujin released the waiter’s foot and spoke.
“Feel better?”
“Yeah.”
The waiter lowered his right leg and compared it to the untreated left one.
Though the treatment was brief, the redness on the right leg had faded noticeably, and the swelling had subsided visibly.
The merchants, seeing such immediate results for the first time, looked amazed.
After treating the left leg the same way, the waiter stood up without wincing.
“…Amazing. I’ve been suffering for months. I didn’t expect it to feel normal in less than half a shichen.”
“It’s not a complete cure. If you keep going like this, the symptoms will worsen quickly, so massage your legs regularly and rest by sitting down even if you’re busy. Wear looser pants than usual, and instead of tight straw sandals, get some slightly larger, softer cloth shoes. That’ll help.”
“That’s all?”
“If the pain doesn’t fully go away after a month, go to a nearby physician and ask for Wuling Powder. Just the medicine should cost no more than twenty coins.”
Dang Mujin hadn’t brought any herbs since he was out treating patients, not hunting them.
But that was for the best. Leaving work for the local physician was a good thing.
The waiter stood and shook his leg around like he was kicking a ball.
One merchant who had been watching Dang Mujin suddenly clapped his hands as if remembering something.
“I knew it. You’re the Medical Dragon!”
“…Medical Dragon?”
“Don’t you remember my face? About two years ago, you treated my stomachache while I was going down the Yangtze.”
If it was down the Yangtze, it must have been shortly after meeting Yi Chung.
And remembering a patient’s face from two years ago, especially for a common stomachache, was no easy feat.
Dang Mujin looked skeptical. But now other merchants gathered, looking intrigued.
“I thought so when I saw a young physician examining people so deftly. It had to be the Medical Dragon.”
“…What’s this Medical Dragon?”
“Young hero, is your surname Dang, by chance? From Chengdu in Sichuan Province?”
“Yes.”
As Dang Mujin nodded, the merchants burst into laughter.
“Who in the world doesn’t know their own nickname?”
There are two ways nicknames get attached.
The first is shouting it yourself until it sticks. Local thugs or mediocre martial artists often do that. The downside is it feels a bit undignified.
The second is waiting for others to naturally give you one. The downside is you might end up with something you don’t want, like Dang Mujin now.
Namgung Myeong’s transmission voice pierced Dang Mujin’s ear.
- Could you be the famed Medical Dragon Dang Mujin, young hero? The world-renowned Medical Dragon!
Goosebumps erupted all over Dang Mujin’s body.
Medical Dragon was too grandiose a nickname.
Young celebrities often get “something Dragon” titles, but having it before your name felt profoundly strange. Especially with someone nearby itching to tease you.
The excited merchant, oblivious to Dang Mujin’s inner turmoil, kept talking.
“They say when the lineage of divine physicians ended, heaven sent a new one of the Three Great Physicians of the World. Following the Freak Physician and Demon Physician, the Medical Dragon is making his name.”
It seemed the news of the Freak Physician and Demon Physician’s deaths hadn’t spread widely yet.
Namgung Myeong’s transmission voice came again.
- Heaven-sent Medical Dragon! Pride of Chengdu! Sichuan’s prodigy! Medical Draaaagon!
Dang Mujin bowed his head and replied via transmission.
- Please shut up. I didn’t ask to be called that.
Oblivious to Dang Mujin’s feelings, the merchants crowded around.
“Even people from Anhui or Luoyang know the Medical Dragon from Sichuan. Turns out the man himself didn’t?”
“Could you take a look at my skin condition too?”
Before long, people swarmed around Dang Mujin.
Fascinated by encountering a celebrity, they rushed to show him their ailments. Dang Mujin let out a small sigh and began treating them.
Those without ailments stared intently at his treatments.
To Dang Mujin, it wasn’t particularly entertaining, but anything done by a famous person feels fun and impressive somehow.
The treated patients ordered food or drinks for Dang Mujin one by one.
In a village of generous people, even the passing merchants seemed to have caught the generosity.
Hong Geolgae shoveled food into his mouth indiscriminately from his seat nearby, while Namgung Myeong awkwardly used his prosthetic arm to eat. A few martial artists among them silently marveled at Namgung Myeong’s skill.
Amid the boisterous meal, one man caught Namgung Myeong’s senses.
Out of the crowd, Namgung Myeong focused on just one for a simple reason.
His gaze was fixed not on Dang Mujin but on Namgung Myeong’s left arm, and instead of leisurely watching like others, he slipped out of the inn like he was fleeing.
Namgung Myeong thought.
‘Why’d he bolt like that? Got a guilty conscience?’
There were plenty of unorthodox martial artists on bad terms with or afraid of the Namgung family.
Many knew Namgung Myeong’s face. Most were in Anhui, but a couple in Sangsin Village wouldn’t be odd.
But this man reacted to the left arm, not the face.
‘Someone who’d react to the left arm. And has something to feel guilty about.’
The candidates in Namgung Myeong’s mind narrowed.
‘Someone who saw me lose my arm? But not a Demonic Cult martial artist.’
Then there was only one answer: the Salmak assassins who were with the Demonic Cult martial artists that day he faced the Three-Eyed Demon and lost his arm.
Namgung Myeong shot up from his seat.
Crash—the chair toppled noisily, but Namgung Myeong didn’t care.
“Follow him! Now!”
At Namgung Myeong’s shout, Dang Mujin, who was examining patients, and Hong Geolgae, focused on eating, reacted instantly.
No lengthy explanation needed. His urgent tone said it all.
Dang Mujin pushed through the crowd and dashed out of the inn, thinking.
‘Reckless. Or just bad luck.’
He’d only treated one patient, yet drew this much attention.
Of course, approaching Salmak’s home base without running into their minions would be the real surprise.
The three sprinted like mad. Far ahead, a man running toward somewhere was visible. Nameless, but his lightness skill was familiar. Definitely a Black Veil assassin.
Dang Mujin unhesitatingly hurled a dagger. It sliced through the air and embedded in the man’s calf. Coated with poison, escape was impossible.
The man tumbled to the ground and pulled a finger-sized wooden flute from his bosom, blowing it hard.
Screeeeech!
An unbelievably loud and shrill sound burst from the tiny flute.
Dang Mujin’s group halted. They couldn’t immediately grasp the flute’s purpose.
Moments later, the door of a nearby building—seemingly a warehouse—burst open roughly.
The next instant, over ten people poured out. All martial artists, they leaped onto rooftops and glared at Dang Mujin’s group.
Hong Geolgae shouted boldly.
“Come on!”
But they didn’t charge. Upon confirming Dang Mujin’s group, they turned and fled.
Not even in one direction. The dozen scattered in a dozen ways.
A clear intent: even if some die, others must survive.
Dang Mujin yelled.
“Don’t dawdle! Kill them all!”
Swords drawn, the three leaped over roofs and walls pursuing the black-clad figures.
Namgung Myeong had the best lightness skill, but Dang Mujin felled the most.
Each time Dang Mujin threw a dagger from his bosom, a black-clad figure collapsed far away without fail.
After stabbing six with poisoned daggers in an instant, Dang Mujin leaped onto a small house’s roof seeking the next target.
The very next moment, a chilling intuition gripped him from below.
Nothing visible or audible. Pure instinct. But Dang Mujin trusted it and retreated.
Slash!
A black-clad man burst through the roof beneath his feet. Claw blades resembling beast talons gleamed on his hands.
Cold sweat ran down Dang Mujin’s spine. Standing still might have meant instant death.
The claw-bladed man said.
“Young punk found his grave early.”
He lowered into stance.
He hadn’t breached Peak Realm yet, but showed no fear before Dang Mujin. As if he had something to rely on.
His movements were extraordinarily stealthy, like a thief cat on a winter night.
Among those Dang Mujin had seen, perhaps second in stealthiness.
Then, from behind the claw-bladed man, the stealthiest man Dang Mujin knew rose silently.
Namgung Myeong swung his sword without a sound. Even as his head flew into the air, the claw-bladed man didn’t realize what hit him.
The sudden interloper died in an instant.
But crucially, Dang Mujin’s group had paused, if only briefly.
Dang Mujin and Namgung Myeong looked toward the assassins’ escape directions. The distance was now too great to catch up.