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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: Zhuul Village
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There was no proper road in the direction Hong Jusam had come from.
Trees that looked all the same stretched on endlessly, and similar slopes continued without end.
'No wonder he got lost.'
Hong Jusam guided Dang Mujin and Yi Chung by piecing together his memories. But anyone could see he wasn't confident. In the end, Yi Chung stepped forward, unable to stand it any longer.
"It'd be faster if I find the way."
"Do you know the path?"
"I told you earlier. Zhuul Village is about two hours' walk from here. Of course I've been there."
Yi Chung took the lead, striding along casually, while Hong Jusam and Dang Mujin followed behind.
After about two hours of climbing and descending hills in Yi Chung's wake, a small village surrounded by a modest fence came into view.
It was nestled in a tiny basin in the mountains, and the soil seemed decent enough that it wasn't a slash-and-burn settlement.
Yi Chung gazed down at the village and offered a brief impression.
"The village has grown a bit since last time."
Hong Jusam widened his eyes, finding the situation astonishing.
"A village where outsiders rarely visit, and you're saying you've been here? I've never even seen your face before, elder."
"It's been at least fifteen years since I last came to Zhuul Village, so it's no surprise you wouldn't know me."
Hong Jusam muttered something about fifteen years and nodded. Dang Mujin voiced a different question.
"What business brought you to a remote mountain village like this?"
"What business? I was wandering the world, and my feet just carried me here."
That raised another question: why was Yi Chung wandering the world in the first place?
Dang Mujin started to ask, then stopped. Yi Chung's mouth was already firmly shut.
They weren't traveling together for just a day or two, so there was no need to press him right away.
The three entered the village.
The buildings weren't large, but they were all well-maintained without a hint of decay, and the stray dogs and cats wandering around had some meat on their bones.
"Not bad for a village in the woods."
"Right. I remember seeing a beggar here last time I visited."
Truly poor villages don't have beggars. You need someplace to beg to be a beggar.
Hong Jusam scratched his head.
"That beggar was probably my master. He said it was at least twenty years ago that he brought me to Zhuul Village."
In fact, the very existence of a beggar in a village of fewer than a hundred households was unusual.
Beggars tend to flock to big cities, and small villages always need hands for work. Hong Jusam and his master surely could have quit begging life if they'd wanted.
But Beggars' Sect members often refused work even when it was available, using tradition as an excuse.
Some extremists even claimed that 'a true beggar must never seek food by any means other than begging.'
It seemed bizarre to outsiders, but if that's how they wanted to live, fine. Dang Mujin had no intention of meddling.
The three wandered the village. There were remarkably few people around.
Even in broad daylight, shops were shuttered, and the few people on the streets could be counted on one hand.
"Looks like folks are holed up at home because of some strange plague."
"That's right."
On the way to the village, Hong Jusam had explained why he'd gone looking for a physician.
An inexplicable illness had broken out—people weren't getting better even after treatment from the village doctor.
Just then, an old man with a thick gray beard appeared from afar and approached the three.
Fine wrinkles lined the corners of his eyes. They suited his gentle demeanor so well that he could easily be mistaken for a Daoist at first glance.
Only his shabby, dirt-caked clothes revealed that he, too, was a beggar like Hong Jusam.
The old man spoke to Hong Jusam.
"You said you were going to find a physician, and here you really are. Never thought you'd venture outside the village."
"I got lucky. Less me finding them, and more them finding me."
"Which of you is the physician?"
"Both of them."
The old beggar looked at Yi Chung and nodded.
"I think I've seen this one before. Your name was—"
"Yi Chung."
"Ah, yes, that's it. These days, at my age, I forget everything. I'm Ma Jeon-gae, Hong Gyeon of the hemp fields. The nickname stuck because I spend so much time in the hemp patches."
"Do they grow hemp in this village?"
The hemp Ma Jeon-gae mentioned wasn't ginseng or wild ginseng, but cannabis.
Even without smoking it, hemp plants had so many uses that larger villages often had hemp fields.
By contrast, a small village like Zhuul Village wouldn't.
Ma Jeon-gae shook his head.
"We don't grow it here. Just a few roots for those who need it."
"Hmm."
"Anyway, may I explain the situation on behalf of Jusam here?"
Yi Chung nodded.
"You'll understand better once you see the patients."
Ma Jeon-gae Hong Gyeon led the two physicians to a nearby house.
Three people were inside, two of them groaning in bed.
It looked like the husband was tending to his wife and child.
As soon as he entered, Ma Jeon-gae thoroughly wiped down the young boy's body with a cloth. The boy had sweated so much that the cloth was soaked in moments.
The homeowner naturally took the cloth from Ma Jeon-gae, wrung it out, and kept going. It seemed Ma Jeon-gae had been helping with the care for some time.
Ma Jeon-gae began his full explanation.
"About a month ago, a few villagers started feeling unwell. We thought it was just the usual spring coughs, but this year was different. People couldn't get up easily, and their conditions worsened."
"And then?"
"More fell ill. Now over half the village is sick, and nearly twenty have died."
"Not many healthy folks left, huh?"
"Those whose families weren't sick fled the plague and left the village. Everyone still here is either sick or caring for the sick."
"You and your disciple look healthy enough."
"Fortunately, the illness passed us by. We thought about leaving too, but you can't just abandon the village you've lived in your whole life. So we're helping out."
"Hmm."
While Ma Jeon-gae and Yi Chung talked, Dang Mujin examined the patient.
Grasping the boy's arm revealed sticky sweat. And this was shortly after Ma Jeon-gae had wiped it.
'Heavy, sticky sweat.'
He lightly pressed the wrist with his fingers.
The pulse, which should have been pounding, was barely detectable. Dang Mujin checked the boy's hands and feet, then placed two fingers on his neck.
'Even accounting for his age, the pulse is fast. And weak.'
He pinched the earlobe lightly. It was red-hot.
Even unconscious, the boy kept fidgeting restlessly, as if uncomfortable.
'Hands aren't hot, but ears are. The internal heat has nowhere to go and is rushing to the head. Limbs twitching, unrest in the four limbs.'
He checked the breathing, pried open the mouth to inspect the tongue. The tongue coating was white and powdery.
Dang Mujin asked the boy's father.
"Has the child vomited?"
"When it first started, he said his head hurt and he was dizzy, then threw up."
Dang Mujin crossed his arms and pondered deeply. Yi Chung asked.
"Do you know what illness it is?"
"The symptoms are damp-heat, thready pulse. Stagnant steaming, restlessness, vomiting. Definitely some kind of warm epidemic."
A warm epidemic was a type of febrile disease caused by pestilent qi entering through the nose or mouth.
But epidemics came in many varieties. There were countless similar yet distinct syndromes, so no physician would simply diagnose "warm epidemic" and call it a day.
That would be like pointing at a cow, horse, or wolf and saying, "It's a wingless beast."
What mattered was the specific syndrome.
"Do you know the exact name?"
"At first I thought summer-heat fire toxin, but it's not."
"Why not?"
Not just Yi Chung, but the father and two beggars—all four stared at Dang Mujin's mouth. He answered without hesitation.
"No foul odor. When we first entered, it was just sweat smell, and even sniffing now, there's no sour stench unique to summer-heat fire toxin patients."
"Then the treatment?"
"Even if it resolves on its own, he'll end up an idiot or blind, so first we need to draw down the heat rushing to the head. Needling the Im-eup, Mok-chang, Jeong-yeong, Seung-ryeong, and Noe-gong points is best."
"Herbs?"
"Not needed right now. Watch the progress, then use ophiopogon, caltrop, platycodon, and peony root."
Yi Chung grinned.
"Good. You've read the inner classics properly. Got your needles?"
"Yes."
"Needle him."
Dang Mujin pulled out his needle case from his bosom.
Yi Chung had made it for him, and he'd been diligently crafting them until they set off together the next evening. The problem: Dang Mujin had only ever been needled, never needled anyone.
He recalled diagrams from medical texts and memories of his father needling him.
He gauged five fen from where the boy's forehead met his hairline, then brought the needle to the spot.
'The Im-eup point should be roughly here, but...'
He knew it in his head. But as with anything first-time, confidence was lacking.
As Dang Mujin's fingertips trembled faintly, Yi Chung strode over and placed his hand over Dang Mujin's right one.
"You think I taught you qi circulation and inhalation just to teach you martial arts?"
"Pardon?"
"Feel it. For a physician, your keen qi sense and precise qi control are an unparalleled blessing."
A thin stream of internal energy flowed from Yi Chung's fingertips into the back of Dang Mujin's hand.
The energy entered Dang Mujin's hand, moved to his fingertips, then shallowly into the boy's head.
The one moving the qi, and its owner, were both Yi Chung.
But Yi Chung's qi drew along a strand of Dang Mujin's qi with his own.
Thanks to that, Dang Mujin could feel the flow of Yi Chung's qi as vividly as if he'd inserted it himself.
Dang Mujin closed his eyes and focused on the qi flow.
Yi Chung's internal energy moved slowly and cautiously, careful not to disturb the boy's brain.
The qi channels flowed thinly, revealing the five acupoints crossing the boy's head, and the dozens of points within each.
With every point clearly revealed, Dang Mujin knew exactly where to needle. As he wiggled his fingers to insert, Yi Chung stopped him immediately.
"No. Not time to needle yet."
"Then?"
"Feel the evil qi circulating in the boy's body. Then test how that evil qi reacts when you insert the needle with your internal energy."
Dang Mujin focused his senses again. In the boy's head, dark evil qi like storm clouds.
The pale evil qi clogged the boy's acupoints and stagnated. That's why heat from the organs and limbs couldn't escape and pooled in the head.
"Feel the evil qi?"
"Yes."
"Insert the needle."
Dang Mujin carefully needled the Im-eup point. The stagnated evil qi drained out along the needle into the body exterior. The blocked heat began to stir slightly.
Dang Mujin's hand moved carefully yet confidently. Mok-chang, Seung-ryeong, Jeong-yeong, Noe-gong.
After needling the five points, it felt like all strength drained from his body.
Dang Mujin released his grip and stood.
All eyes turned to the boy's face. No change.
The father looked like he hadn't dared hope much, his expression still gloomy and listless. A deep sigh filled the room.
Yi Chung spoke to the father.
"Why so impatient? Wait a bit. There'll definitely be improvement."
How long did they wait? People noticed a small change in the boy's face. His red ears regained their normal color.
Moments later, the boy drew a deep breath. Sigh—
Then a long exhale. Hoo.
His breathing eased. The father touched the boy's forehead. Still not normal, but the fever had clearly dropped enough to feel.
The father said nothing, just bowed deeply to Dang Mujin.
Yi Chung patted Dang Mujin's shoulder and whispered.
"Now you're a real physician."
But Yi Chung's voice didn't reach Dang Mujin's ears.
Dang Mujin simply listened to the boy's now-comfortable breathing.