Chapter 271
Chapter 271
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 271
Chapter Title: Waves
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Dang Mujin woke up in an unfamiliar building.
It wasn't a particularly spacious space or a flashy one. Looking around, all he could see were a few simple pieces of furniture.
Dang Mujin scratched the back of his head.
'When did I lose consciousness?'
He couldn't tell if he had fainted or simply fallen asleep.
However, it didn't seem like a dangerous situation, so Dang Mujin lightly crossed his legs into a meditative posture and examined his internals.
He wasn't trying to circulate his qi in some unknown place. It was just to check his current condition.
Martial artists could accumulate a little qi from the air into their dantian even without using the unique inhalation methods of their arts.
Since he had depleted his internal energy completely before losing consciousness, checking how much was left in his dantian now would let him estimate how much time had passed.
As expected, a faint trace of internal energy could be felt in his empty dantian.
'Not much. At most around one shichen? It hasn't been long.'
The hunger he felt was just a slight emptiness, and his body was only a bit stiff, not rigid. Dang Mujin's guess turned into certainty.
At that moment, the door burst open, and Namgung Myeong appeared. Namgung Myeong looked at Dang Mujin with an utterly serious expression.
"You're finally awake?"
"Finally?"
"You've been out for a full seven days and nights since you fainted. I thought you'd never wake up."
"Don't talk nonsense. I know it's only been about one shichen."
"Aw, you're no fun."
When Dang Mujin didn't fall for it, disappointment flickered across Namgung Myeong's face. It seemed he had intended to fool him seriously.
Dang Mujin spotted Hyeon-gong and Hong Geolgae beyond the door Namgung Myeong had entered. But realizing they had ruined the joke, the two turned and walked away as if nothing had happened.
Dang Mujin noticed something gripped in Namgung Myeong's right hand. It was the Twin Pole Blood Elder's right arm.
He probably couldn't wield dual spears anymore, so maybe he should be called the Single Pole Blood Elder now.
Dang Mujin asked.
"Why are you carrying that around?"
Namgung Myeong hesitated for a moment before broaching the subject.
"Earlier, you said you could reattach an arm?"
Dang Mujin gave Namgung Myeong a quick once-over. It was hard to tell if he was serious or joking.
Dang Mujin countered.
"Have you ever heard of another physician reattaching someone's severed limb?"
"No, I haven't. But just in case..."
Dang Mujin laughed in disbelief.
He roughly understood the thinking. If there was one physician in the world who could do something like that, it would naturally be you.
But of course, medicine had its limits.
"You're joking, right? As if that's possible."
At Dang Mujin's response, Namgung Myeong tossed the Twin Pole Blood Elder's right arm at him. It seemed he had genuinely hoped.
Dang Mujin looked at the Twin Pole Blood Elder's right arm. Time had caused the cut surface to warp a bit, but it wasn't hard to imagine how smooth it had been when freshly severed.
Moreover, he could vaguely guess how much Namgung Myeong had been hoping. He had thought the man didn't care much since he stayed cheerful even after losing his left arm, but apparently the regret ran deep.
'Well, it would be abnormal for a martial artist to lose an arm and not care.'
Dang Mujin let out a deep sigh and said.
"Namgung Myeong. Think about it logically. If he lost his left arm, you'd reattach the left arm. How do you reattach a right arm?"
"What? So if I bring the left arm, you can reattach it?"
Namgung Myeong's eyes sparkled. It might have been tough normally, but right now, the Kongtong Sect grounds were full of ownerless left arms.
Dang Mujin grinned.
"You're falling for it again."
Men typically brushed off their sad and regrettable feelings with teasing and pranks.
Grateful for Dang Mujin's joke, Namgung Myeong showed off an impressive skill. The Twin Pole Blood Elder's right arm in Dang Mujin's hand moved on its own, trying to jab at his eyes.
'He uses Void Grasping for all sorts of tricks.'
Of course, Dang Mujin had no intention of being toyed with, so he tossed the Twin Pole Blood Elder's right arm back to Namgung Myeong.
Namgung Myeong sighed deeply, then opened the door and flung the arm outside.
For an arm that had taken countless lives, it was getting rather poor treatment.
Namgung Myeong said a bit grumpily.
"Get up already. We've got patients piling up—where does a physician get off lounging around like this?"
"Right. Let's go."
Dang Mujin rose from his spot and headed out with Namgung Myeong.
*
The Kongtong Sect was overflowing with patients.
From minor scrapes and cuts to severe cases of twisted qi and blood causing internal injuries, or people on the brink of death.
However, there were no survivors among the unorthodox martial artists. No doubt the righteous faction warriors had finished them off while Dang Mujin was unconscious.
Those unscathed or with light wounds bustled about treating the injured. The problem was that their treatment methods weren't those of physicians.
Dang Mujin saw a Huashan Sect Taoist carrying some suspicious powder. Where the Huashan Taoist headed, a senior brother sat with his palm deeply slashed.
Dang Mujin called out to him.
"Hold on. What kind of powder is that?"
At Dang Mujin's question, the Huashan Sect Taoist answered confidently.
"It's a mix of ground whetstone, lodestone powder, and iron filings."
"...And what exactly are you planning to use that for?"
"I've heard it's good to sprinkle on wounds from metal weapons."
It was an utterly unconvincing claim.
As far as Dang Mujin knew, there were very few medicines helpful for treating external wounds. At best, a few herbs or golden sore salve.
Dang Mujin knew that far too many people died from infections after believing in such folk remedies passed around by word of mouth. It was better to leave a wound alone than trust unverified treatments.
"By any chance, do you have golden sore salve? You must have some since you're coming from the battlefield."
Golden sore salve couldn't fix broken bones, but it was the most reliably effective medicine for bleeding, exposed flesh wounds.
It was fairly expensive, but a Huashan Sect Taoist could probably afford it.
Sure enough, the Huashan Sect Taoist had golden sore salve.
"I do have it. But I've heard treating wounds like this is best, so sprinkling this powder first and then applying the salve should be even better."
People in the world held the naive belief that using every 'good' medicine would yield the best results.
However, in Dang Mujin's experience, that was a poor approach. Mixing medicines often led to strange outcomes.
"Set aside those iron filings for now and just apply the golden sore salve."
"Yes? But..."
"If that iron filing powder causes an infection, you might have to amputate the entire arm. But with just golden sore salve, even if something goes wrong, it'll end with one or two fingers moving unnaturally—so it's safer not to use it."
Yet the Huashan Sect Taoist hesitated, reluctant to discard the powder outright.
He averted his eyes from Dang Mujin, clearly wanting to sneak it in.
In the end, Dang Mujin said one thing.
"You know who I am, right?"
That one sentence could quash all objections in advance.
Head of the Dang family, Divine Physician of Sichuan, Dragon Physician, the undisputed world's greatest physician.
Charging at Dang Mujin with half-baked medical knowledge learned by rumor was no different from some street punk with crude three-disaster swordsmanship challenging a supreme master.
The Huashan Sect Taoist acknowledged Dang Mujin's authority but still seemed reluctant.
"It's really no use at all? The whetstone and iron filings aside, the lodestone powder cost a pretty penny."
"If you ever need to treat an enemy bent on vengeance, pretend you don't know and use it then."
"..."
The Huashan Sect Taoist dumped the iron filings on the ground with a deeply regretful expression.
He had gained enlightenment before causing trouble, averting the worst outcome.
Suspecting similar scenes everywhere, Dang Mujin infused his voice with internal energy and shouted loudly.
"If anyone's bleeding, seal the acupoints to stop it first, then apply only golden sore salve. Avoid dirty things or homemade secret remedies. And those with internal injuries, gather over here."
Just as Dang Jesun always did at the Dang family estate, Dang Mujin sat on a wide-open veranda and waited for people. In an instant, over a dozen gathered.
Without exception, their complexions were poor. More than half had blood trickling from their mouths, and several were carried in unconscious.
Every patient's eyes held deep anxiety and fear.
For a martial artist, internal injuries were no simple matter.
Losing an arm could be overcome by learning one-armed swordsmanship to make a comeback, but internal injuries often meant the end of life as a martial artist.
Limbs intact, yet never able to cultivate or use martial arts again—what could be more terrifying for a martial artist?
Dang Mujin spotted Elder Yeongheo sitting cross-legged a short distance away and sent a transmission.
- Would you like treatment first?
No one would complain if Elder Yeongheo went first. The martial world was a realm where the strong reigned. The mighty receiving priority was only natural.
However, Elder Yeongheo slowly shook his head. It meant to treat others first.
Dang Mujin nodded and called over the nearest Wudang Sect Taoist.
"Sit here."
He was someone Dang Mujin had run into a few times while visiting the Wudang Sect. Around forty-five to fifty years old.
An age of profound insight yet still brimming with physical vitality—the prime of a martial artist's life.
Blood crusted slightly around his mouth and nostrils, likely from vomiting blood.
He was desperately suppressing dry heaves, his Adam's apple bobbing repeatedly.
Yet his eyes clearly held expectation. The title of world's greatest physician carried weight.
Unlike other physicians, the Dragon Physician was a martial artist who could treat internal injuries, or so the rumors went.
Knowing physicians usually started with pulse diagnosis, he extended his right wrist as soon as he sat on the veranda.
Dang Mujin pushed his arm away and said.
"There's no need to hold back the nausea. Vomit thoroughly down there and come back to sit."
"...Is that really okay?"
It must have been extremely hard to endure. Dang Mujin nodded.
"At least five of the dozen or so behind you will need to vomit. Don't worry."
Knowing he wouldn't be the only one embarrassed seemed to comfort him, as the Wudang Sect Taoist's expression brightened a bit.
He bent at the waist, gripping the veranda with both hands, and retched violently. But since it wasn't from overeating, only a bit of sticky fluid came up.
Even so, he seemed much relieved, and the Wudang Sect Taoist sat before Dang Mujin again, offering his wrist once more.
"Thank you for waiting. It wasn't a pretty sight."
"It was part of the treatment."
"Yes?"
"Please wait a moment."
Dang Mujin dipped a fingertip into the fluid he had vomited.
The man who had just vomited, along with those behind him, gasped in shock.
What physician in the world—what martial artist—would forget decorum and touch such filth?
But Dang Mujin calmly addressed them.
"No need for those expressions. If a physician worries about face in front of a patient and treatment falls short, what could be more pathetic?"
Dang Mujin raised his finger to inspect the fluid. Colorless and transparent.
He then sniffed it. A clear sour smell. Fortunately, no other odors mixed in.
"It's gastric acid. This calls for treatment akin to great rebellious qi rising."
Dang Mujin deliberately raised his voice a bit, explaining step by step so all could hear. A physician should instill confidence in patients whenever possible.
Of course, without specific questions, he had no intention of tediously defining every term.
Patients didn't need to understand every detail to feel reassured. They just wanted confirmation that the physician's treatment had basis and skill worth explaining.
The Wudang Sect Taoist hesitantly asked.
"What is great rebellious qi?"
"It's lung heat that fails to dissipate and surges upward. Must've taken a hit to the chest amid the chaos, right?"
As he spoke, Dang Mujin lifted the Taoist's outer robe slightly.
Sure enough, a red bruise marked around the left ribs. Not from a fist or palm, but a kick.
Predicting the cause and hitting it spot-on was the surest way to reassure people.
The onlookers' faces showed clear admiration. Someone murmured.
"As expected..."
Dang Mujin continued.
"Now, relax your body and don't resist the true qi I'm sending through."
The patient extended his wrist to Dang Mujin.
But Dang Mujin pushed the wrist aside and placed his hand on the collarbone. The Wudang Sect Taoist flinched in confusion. Wasn't pulse diagnosis always done at the wrist?
Dang Mujin explained.
"I'm checking the Foot Yangming Stomach Meridian, Foot Taiyin Spleen Meridian, and Foot Shaoyin Kidney Meridian among the regular meridians, so the wrist isn't needed. Actually, the feet would be better for diagnosis than the hands... but that would be awkward."
As he spoke, Dang Mujin sent a thread of internal energy through the acupoints near the collarbone.
Only after sweeping through the three meridians did he pinpoint the issue. A minor problem in the Milk Root acupoint on the chest section of the Foot Yangming Stomach Meridian.
Dang Mujin probed the Milk Root acupoint with internal energy, and the Wudang Sect Taoist twitched, twisting his body.
"The spot where you just felt pain is the Milk Root acupoint. It's a passage true qi invariably travels when circulating internal energy, so if the injury had been even slightly deeper, you'd have had to abandon martial arts."
Hearing this, the Taoist's expression brightened. Dangerous or not, it didn't apply to him now.
Dang Mujin finished explaining.
"Fortunately, the impact was shallow. Refrain from moving your internal energy for the next seven days."
"Even light qi circulation and breathing? Not even a small heavenly circuit?"
"Absolutely not. Thinking 'this much should be fine' and circulating could leave you unable to use martial arts ever again. You got lucky the injury wasn't severe—if it had been deeper, even I couldn't have helped."
At Dang Mujin's stern words, the Wudang Sect Taoist finally let go of his lingering hopes.
"Anything else to watch for?"
"Your face might flush and your head spin a bit in the coming days, but it should subside within four days at most, so no great worry. Though not the same meridian, also mind that true qi doesn't flow between the Central Venter and Food Gate acupoints."
Since the patient was familiar with internal energy and acupoints, explaining internal injuries wasn't difficult. The other patients nodded slightly, sensing the systematic approach.
Dang Mujin beckoned Hyeon-gong over.
"Hyeon-gong. Prepare some Ophiopogon Decoction for him."
Dang Mujin pulled herbs from his traveling pack: ophiopogon, pinellia, licorice root, jujube, glutinous rice, and a bit of ginseng.
The ginseng made it pricey, but Dang Mujin was well-off, so no issue.
Hyeon-gong, suddenly called by name, asked back.
"Me?"
"Yes. You know how to brew decoctions, right?"
Three years at a schoolhouse teaches poetry, three years as a physician's hanger-on teaches brewing medicine.
A quick-witted guy like Hyeon-gong could surely handle it.
Hyeon-gong hesitated.
"But we don't have a decoction pot."
"Make do without one. Simmer it gently in a cauldron over low fire."
"...Got it."
From examination to prescription, Dang Mujin handled it smoothly without a hitch.
The watching martial artists visibly relaxed. No need for medical expertise—true masters were recognizable even to laymen.
After checking everyone else's injuries, Dang Mujin examined Elder Yeongheo's condition.
"..."
Dang Mujin's face darkened upon confirming Elder Yeongheo's state.
Simple measures followed, but the final words were decided from the start.
"You'll need extended convalescence."
Patients typically asked how to care for themselves or how long the recovery would take.
But Elder Yeongheo didn't press Dang Mujin with questions.
"I figured. It's not something that'll heal in months. At best a few years, at worst, unable to use martial arts for life."
"...Yes."
Elder Yeongheo had gauged his own state well, which was why he had put himself last for treatment.
It was hard to act on even knowing there was no hope.
Who in the world wouldn't worry about their own body? Clinging to faint hopes amid the crowd was ordinary life.
Yet Elder Yeongheo's face held no regret or anger.
"I thought it might come to this. In a way, I got lucky."
"Pardon?"
"Don't they say the waves behind push the waves ahead on the Yangtze? It's my time to be pushed aside. Surviving to wash up on the Yangtze's bank is lucky, isn't it?"
Dang Mujin bowed his head, at a loss for words. He felt heavy-hearted, though he had done no wrong.
Instead, Elder Yeongheo spoke apologetically.
"I'm the sorry one. I stepped up to lend a big hand in the righteous-unorthodox war, but ended up no help at all."
"No, your exploits were tremendous. Truly."
Without Elder Yeongheo, someone else would have had to take the Ghost King's secret tantric handseal. Without him and Ilsun-ja, the sacrifices would surely have been Dang Mujin's group and Sunwoo-ja.
Elder Yeongheo smiled magnanimously.
"Thanks for thinking so. One last request?"
"What is it?"
"If you can, help that kid Jin-hae."
Beside Elder Yeongheo was a young Qingcheng Sect Taoist, Jin-hae, wearing an even greater look of dejection.
"Understood."
Of course, Dang Mujin did not refuse Elder Yeongheo's request.