Chapter 68
Chapter 68
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 68
Chapter Title: Luoyang
-----------------------------------------------------------------
A few days after starting work with Dang Mujin, Jong Sam realized that Dang Mujin's medical skills were already far beyond what he could teach.
But everyone has something to learn from others, and Jong Sam had things to teach Dang Mujin as well.
"Lantern grass gets used a lot, so pull it out and organize it separately. Bitter ginseng is sensitive to moisture, so it's better to store it on the shelves in the well-ventilated side warehouse."
"Yes."
"Before using any herbs, always smell them first. If there's even a hint of sourness, it means the processing was done wrong or it's too old—don't hesitate to throw it out."
Unlike the Dang family clinic, where they were always short-handed and handled minor tasks carelessly, Guisong Clinic was large enough to have a solid system in place. It was the kind of experience that would prove invaluable when he eventually inherited the family clinic one day.
Jong Sam meticulously taught Dang Mujin everything he could, and Dang Mujin listened attentively to his words. It brought back memories of his days working back home, which felt good. In retrospect, it hadn't been that long ago.
Dang Mujin also made progress in his medical practice.
"Mujin, prepare Angelica Tonifying the Center Decoction for this patient."
"Isn't this the one who took Younggye Calming Tremor Decoction last time?"
"Correct. The rushing pig syndrome has subsided, but the limb spasms persist morning and night, so treating the remaining symptoms with Angelica Tonifying the Center Decoction is the right call."
Guisong Clinic had three treatment rooms and three physicians tending to patients.
That meant they could handle three times as many patients as the Dang family clinic, issue three times as many prescriptions, and monitor three times as many outcomes.
While following the Strange Physician around, he'd examined plenty of patients, but their constant travels made it hard to follow up on prognoses over time.
The experience at Guisong Clinic was exactly what Dang Mujin needed.
'I made the right choice coming to Luoyang.'
Moreover, the prescriptions from Son Sung-gyeom and the other two physicians often followed the medical texts to the letter, but occasionally included unusual ones.
At first glance, they seemed questionable, but connecting the symptoms to the prescriptions and reviewing the principles of treatment revealed sound reasoning behind them. Most were even effective.
'Is this why the old man traveled the Central Plains collecting medical knowledge?'
One day, as Dang Mujin was settling into the routine at Guisong Clinic, one of the three physicians didn't show up. Dang Mujin went to Son Sung-gyeom to ask about it.
"Bok Physician didn't come in today. Is there a problem?"
"He's gone back home. He'll rest until winter ends. Gong Physician is wrapping up today and taking a break for a while too."
"Both of them resting at the same time? What a coincidence."
Son Sung-gyeom stared at Dang Mujin for a moment, then spoke as if realizing something.
"Ah, right. You're not from Luoyang, so you wouldn't know."
"Know what?"
"Haven't you noticed an unusual number of martial artists passing through the streets lately?"
As Son Physician said, Luoyang was teeming with martial artists these days.
They'd always been around now and then, but now there were two or three times as many. You could practically trip over them.
"There must be a reason."
"Martial artists without fixed homes flock to Luoyang or Chang'an come winter. The cold makes wandering tough, and earning a living gets harder, so they hole up in big cities."
"What does that have to do with the two physicians resting?"
"When martial artists flood in, practicing medicine gets difficult. Bok and Gong Physicians would rather give up the income than deal with the mess."
"The mess?"
"You'll find out soon enough."
*
The weather grew colder by the day, and the patients coming to Guisong Clinic gradually changed.
Before, abdominal pain cases were the most common, but now more and more arrived with lacerations or fractures.
The reason was obvious. Martial artists clustered together inevitably led to fights over the slightest provocations.
'This isn't good.'
Not all patients are the same.
A clinic's expertise lies in treating internal imbalances like stomachaches, headaches, or coughs. External injuries are a different beast.
Minor cuts or muscle pains could be managed to prevent infection, but broken bones were beyond most physicians' abilities.
For other illnesses, the physician's skill accounts for eighty percent and time twenty; for fractures, it's ninety percent time and barely ten percent skill.
Dang Mujin said to Jong Sam,
"You're right—it must kill the motivation when these kinds of patients swarm in."
"No. That's not what Son Physician meant."
"Then what?"
Just then, a commotion erupted in front of the clinic. Another fight between martial artists, no doubt.
Dang Mujin assumed one or two patients would stagger in as usual, and his guess proved correct soon enough. Except the patient didn't arrive the way he'd expected.
A man in pale blue robes vaulted over the low wall into the clinic—not with lightness skill, but hurled there after a beating.
The blue-robed man, suffering severe internal injuries, rolled messily across the ground and vomited a mouthful of blood.
"Cough!"
As Jong Sam rushed to the patient, a man with bloodshot whites in his eyes kicked open the clinic's front gate. From the atmosphere, he was clearly the one who'd thrashed the blue-robed man.
He glared, drew his sword, and charged at the fallen warrior, intent on finishing him off. No hesitation, even with onlookers and Jong Sam trying to treat the injured man.
Suddenly, a killing was about to happen inside the clinic walls.
The patients waiting in the treatment room entrance panicked, and fear flickered in Jong Sam's eyes.
Dang Mujin leaped toward the sword-wielding man, instinctively reaching for his waist out of habit. Of course, no sword hilt was there—he hadn't brought it to work at the clinic.
Dang Mujin unleashed the Shaolin Shadowless Phantom Step, executing the Secret Palm technique.
His lightly raised right hand briefly seized the opponent's attention, then his left palm enveloped the man's face.
Through the gaps in his left fingers, he saw the opponent's startled eyes.
But Dang Mujin didn't hesitate, slamming him to the ground.
Thud.
Dang Mujin's internal energy flowed through his palm into the opponent—a sign that it vastly outmatched the man's.
But it wasn't just Dang Mujin's energy pouring in.
Like water splashing when a stone hits a river, a trickle of the opponent's energy seeped back through Dang Mujin's palm.
Normally, such a negligible amount would go unnoticed, but this energy felt oddly peculiar.
Dang Mujin kicked the man's sword aside into a corner, then waited for him to rise.
The man shook his head violently and stood, breathing raggedly.
Panic had vanished from his eyes, replaced by pure rage and battle lust.
"I'll kill you!"
Clenching his fists, the man unleashed a fist technique. Dang Mujin, in a slanted stance, casually deflected the punches with one hand.
A blatant provocation, possible only because the man's fist technique lacked depth and Dang Mujin had mastered the White Lotus Divine Fist proficiently.
The flailing fists slowed, and the battle lust faded from the man's eyes. But this time, Dang Mujin changed tack, radiating killing intent as he charged.
Staring straight into the man's eyes, he thrust fingers at the throat, palm at the heart, and spear hand at the brow.
Each a lethal strike. The man thrashed desperately just to survive.
He didn't land a hit on Dang Mujin, but soon collapsed, exhausted to the point of dry heaving.
His limbs trembled. Any moment, Dang Mujin's fist might crush his skull. How had it come to this?
'Am I going to die like this?'
Yet Dang Mujin didn't end him, looking down with a calm expression.
"Feeling rational now?"
"...You're not going to kill me?"
"Why would a physician kill in his own clinic? Especially someone not in his right mind."
"Not in my right mind?"
"You have two clashing internal energies mixed inside. Did you perhaps cultivate two or more internal arts?"
The man's eyes widened. He'd never shared this with anyone.
"How did you know?"
"I'm a physician."
Dang Mujin brushed it off, and the onlookers narrowed their eyes skeptically.
It was a far cry from the physicians they knew.
Dang Mujin took the man's pulse and continued.
"I don't know what arts you practiced, but at least one is an evil art. The malign energy has seeped into your marrow, clouding your mind and fueling savagery. Left unchecked, you'll become a madman."
Impatient with his slow internal energy accumulation, he'd cultivated a dubious manual—and that was the problem.
At first, the rapid gains felt great, but soon he couldn't control his temper, leading to this. In hindsight, the fight hadn't even started over anything major.
Swallowing his shame, the man asked,
"What should I do now?"
"Exhaust yourself unleashing martial arts until your accumulated energy is spent, then circulate your original pure internal art to rebuild clean energy. Repeat a few times and avoid the evil art afterward—you won't go mad. It won't be exactly like before, though."
The man rose shakily, bowed to Dang Mujin, and said,
"Uh, thank you. How can I ever repay you?"
"Show your gratitude through the treatment fee. Over there."
Dang Mujin pointed to Son Sung-gyeom's room. Son Sung-gyeom was staring at him wide-eyed.
*
Winter came to Luoyang again this year.
Countless martial artists, seeking shelter, temporarily nested there.
Just then, rumors spread of a young physician blending martial arts and medicine to diagnose ailments, drawing Luoyang's martial artists to Guisong Clinic.
Of course, those from renowned sects with verified methods or those confident in their path had no reason to seek Dang Mujin out.
But wanderers across the Central Plains who'd haphazardly picked up arts and run into problems were legion, and they desperately needed his help.
With so many similar cases, Dang Mujin took over one of the clinic's empty rooms to treat martial artists.
While Dang Mujin examined them, they chattered about tales from across the Central Plains they'd seen or heard.
Most were gossip like some official's concubine bedding a martial artist, or which famous warrior won a duel. Useless, but entertaining.
One day, a man from Shaanxi Province, receiving acupuncture, said,
"Whew, it's much better than last time. In a few years, Physician Dang might join the Three Great Physicians of the Realm. You're too young now, though."
Dang Mujin grinned inwardly but kept a modest face.
"The Three Great Physicians? You're too kind."
"It's no exaggeration. People love filling vacancies, so your name might soon be on every enthusiast's lips."
Dang Mujin's eyes narrowed. This wasn't something to dismiss.
"...Vacancy?"
No, surely nothing happened to the old man—
But fortunately, the name from the man's mouth wasn't the Strange Physician.
"Yes. Physician Immortal of Fengxiang left a spot open. It's down to the Two Great now, but folks still say Three Great out of habit. When they look to fill it, your name might come up."
"So Physician Immortal passed away of old age."
The man shook his head at Dang Mujin's words.
"Old age? No. Not sure exactly when, but he was murdered just before winter. His home was half-burned, covered in dried bloodstains inside, they say. Guess the story hasn't reached Luoyang?"
"First I've heard. Any news on the other Great Physicians?"
"No idea."
Hearing "Physician Immortal" naturally linked to the Strange Physician, another of the Three Greats.
Shaanxi bordered Henan. Fengxiang was fairly distant, but reachable with determination. Nothing odd there.
But the timing felt off. The Strange Physician had parted from Dang Mujin at autumn's end, and soon after, Physician Immortal was killed.
The old man's parting words of advice echoed, along with the assassins in the fields.
'...The old man might have known something. Nothing happened to him, right?'
What if the black-clad killers kept pursuing him? What if he'd visited Physician Immortal and they ambushed, dragging the Immortal into death?
Dire thoughts spiraled endlessly. Some baseless, some thinly evidenced. But a few seemed plausible.
Dang Mujin knew it was excessive worry. Still, once anxiety took root, it wouldn't fade without confirmation.
That day, Dang Mujin finished work earlier than planned, returned to the inn, and packed his belongings.