Episode 113: Eastward

Tang Mujin wanted to examine the symptoms of those suffering from the plague, while Chusam was haunted by the thought of those who couldn’t even afford a proper funeral.

However, as long as the patients remained in Guangdong, the plague was likely to return even if the symptoms subsided temporarily. That was the most terrifying aspect of the epidemic.

To make matters worse, if they lingered in Guangdong to tend to the patients, both Chusam and Danselyeong could fall victim to the plague. Reluctantly, Tang Mujin decided it was best to leave Guangdong.

The four of them headed north.

As they reached the outskirts of a refugee camp on the edge of Guangdong, many eyes turned to Chusam with suspicion. They saw him as a grave robber or a thief.

Chusam, knowing he had done nothing wrong, tried to maintain a confident demeanor. Yet, the people seemed to resent even his composure.

“Look at him, strutting around so shamelessly.”

“He’s bound to be punished. And who are those people with him?”

“Probably his accomplices.”

Before long, Chusam whispered to Tang Mujin.

“It might be better if we walk a bit apart.”

Despite the age difference, Chusam treated Tang Mujin with respect, having decided to take him as his mentor.

“If it’s just because of what people think, don’t worry about it.”

“I feel like I’m being a burden, and it makes me uncomfortable.”

“As long as you’re innocent, that’s all that matters.”

Tang Mujin stood firm, exuding confidence.

After all, what could they do besides glare?

However, among those glaring at Chusam were some with shady connections.

Once they left Guangdong, there were few who recognized Chusam, allowing the group to move more leisurely.

Just as Gwai had taught Tang Mujin, Tang Mujin began teaching Chusam the art of medicine.

Tang Mujin quizzed him on a simple passage from the Treatise on Cold Damage.

“What does ‘Inhugangjoja bulgabalhan (咽喉乾燥者 不可發汗)’ mean?”

“It means that those with a dry throat cannot sweat,” Chusam replied confidently.

Though he hadn’t fully grasped the medical texts, Chusam had memorized them almost by heart. This passage was short and contained no difficult characters.

“That’s what the words say. But what’s the meaning behind them? Why can’t someone with a dry throat sweat?”

“That’s not written, is it?”

“Not directly. But that doesn’t mean there’s no meaning beyond the words.”

“Then, what does it mean?”

“A dry throat indicates that external pathogens have penetrated, causing heat, or that the body’s functions are clashing, generating heat. This heat depletes the body’s fluids. If you try to induce sweating, it would further deplete these fluids, so the body can’t sweat.”

Chusam was visibly taken aback by the explanation. The gap between his understanding and Tang Mujin’s explanation was vast.

Tang Mujin continued.

“Medical texts are interwoven like a web with other texts. You can’t understand them by reading the words alone.”

”…I have a lot to learn.”

“You’ll be dreaming about studying.”

Tang Mujin was determined to spread the knowledge of medicine, honoring Gwai’s legacy.

Simply copying and distributing medical texts might seem like the best way, but it’s not ideal.

Medical texts are filled with meanings between the lines. Without sufficient knowledge, interpreting them carelessly could worsen a patient’s condition. There’s a saying that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing.

Thus, Tang Mujin’s approach was to gradually increase the number of people trained in medicine.

Tang Mujin would teach Chusam, who would then take on a disciple and pass on the knowledge.

By the time Chusam’s disciple began teaching, the number of people suffering from illness in the central plains would have significantly decreased.

Chusam agreed with Tang Mujin’s vision, but he felt overwhelmed. Even receiving Tang Mujin’s teachings seemed like a daunting task.

Five days had passed since they entered Hunan.

Unlike their hurried journey to Guangdong, their return was more relaxed.

Chusam learned medicine as they walked, and Danselyeong picked up basic self-defense and movement techniques from Namgungmyeong. Though she lacked talent, once learned, these skills would be useful for a long time.

Their pace wasn’t fast, and with the sparse villages in southern Hunan, they often had to camp out. Tonight was one of those nights.

The four of them lay down on soft earth, surrounded by grass, and drifted into sleep.

Just before dawn, three figures watched Tang Mujin’s group from a nearby hill. Under the moonlight, a black butterfly tattoo was faintly visible. They were assassins from the Salmak.

It had been nearly a year since Salmak lost track of Gwai.

Salmak couldn’t remain dormant forever and needed to resume activities. They had been cautious, fearing Gwai might appear unexpectedly.

Then, reports came in that Gwai had been spotted. Not just one, but several reports, even mentioning the direction Gwai was headed. Three assassins were dispatched.

Their mission wasn’t to kill Gwai. Five top-tier assassins had been wiped out trying, so how could three first-rate ones succeed?

Their task was to verify the reports of Gwai’s appearance.

Whether Salmak would avoid Gwai or target him again wasn’t decided, nor was it their decision to make.

Since their mission was only to confirm the reports, only one assassin needed to approach Gwai. The other two would observe from a distance.

The lead assassin spoke.

“Stay as far back as possible. In case you’re discovered, make sure you can escape.”

“Understood.”

The three assassins exchanged glances. As elite assassins, they needed no further words.

The lead assassin observed the group from a distance. The night was dark, making it hard to distinguish faces. He crept closer.

From about twenty paces away, he examined the group’s faces under the faint moonlight. Three young men and women, and one older man with graying hair resembling Gwai.

‘Gwai Lee Chung? No, it’s someone else.’

The lead assassin quickly realized the man wasn’t Gwai. Gwai was a well-known figure, and the lead assassin had seen him before.

‘There must have been some confusion in the reports. But given the number of similar reports, this guy seems to be actively impersonating Gwai.’

With the target identified as a fake, the assassin had two choices.

Quietly withdraw or eliminate the impostor.

Most would choose the former, but this situation was different.

Gwai’s whereabouts were of utmost interest to Salmak, and this man was impersonating him.

If left alone, false reports could continue to flood in, causing confusion.

‘Dying for running his mouth isn’t unfair.’

The assassin moved silently toward Chusam, making no sound as he stepped on the grass.

Just as he crouched to plunge a dagger into Chusam’s neck, a young man’s voice came from behind him.

“The smell was unusually strong. A night visitor, huh?”

Startled, the assassin turned to find the young man, who had been asleep moments ago, standing behind him.

Despite living among stealthy assassins, he had never missed someone’s presence before. Yet, this time, he hadn’t sensed a thing. A chill ran down his spine.

Unconsciously, the assassin asked.

“How did you notice?”

“I told you, it was the smell.”

“What smell?”

“The distinct scent of a first-rate assassin.”

Namgungmyeong slowly extended his arm, holding a dagger that seemed oddly familiar.

The assassin quickly checked his pockets, his upper arms, his waist, and thighs—places where he had hidden daggers. But his hands found nothing.

‘Where did all my daggers go?’

A dagger suddenly embedded itself in the assassin’s forehead. As he fell, he saw five daggers in Namgungmyeong’s left hand.

’…When did he?’

The assassin died with a new question in mind.

With a soft thud, the body hit the ground, waking Tang Mujin.

“What on earth…?”

Tang Mujin saw the black-clad figure fall with a dagger in his forehead.

Namgungmyeong didn’t know it, but the scene resembled Gwai’s final moments. Tang Mujin’s heart sank, followed by a surge of burning anger.

Barely holding onto his composure, Tang Mujin turned his head.

He knew the first thing to do when encountering Salmak’s assassins: locate the scouts.

Tang Mujin sprang up and scanned the surroundings. In the distance, he spotted two faint figures. Two scouts.

The distance between the scouts was considerable, as was the distance between them and the group.

Tang Mujin dashed forward, shouting to Namgungmyeong.

“Take the one on the left!”

Danselyeong and Chusam awoke to the sound.

What they saw was the back of Dang Mujin charging forward like an enraged bull, and Namgung Myung disappearing into the shadows.

By the time the first light of dawn crept in, Dang Mujin returned to the group, dragging his feet in defeat.

There were now two bodies lying before them. Namgung Myung had caught and killed the fleeing scout, but Dang Mujin’s hands were empty. Not even a trace of blood. He had let the scout slip away.

Namgung Myung nodded calmly.

“It happens. You’re still one of the best.”

Dang Mujin felt a surge of frustration but reminded himself that Namgung Myung had earned the right to be smug, having captured the assassin.

Taking a deep breath to quell his anger, Dang Mujin spoke. “My speed was faster than the assassin’s. If he hadn’t escaped into the forest, I could’ve caught him.”

“I understand. You did well for a top-tier fighter.”

Dang Mujin shot a sharp glance at Namgung Myung, but Namgung Myung deflected it with a gentle wave of his hand, diffusing the tension.

Despite the lingering frustration, Namgung Myung’s nonchalant words oddly lightened his mood. He realized that wearing a serious expression wouldn’t solve anything.

Dang Mujin spat on the ground, organizing his thoughts. With assassins from the Salmak involved, they needed to quickly decide on a course of action.

Only Dang Mujin and Namgung Myung knew that Gwai had been killed by the Salmak assassins. The decision rested on their shoulders.

Namgung Myung suggested, “Since the assassins are involved, we should head back to Sichuan as soon as possible.”

But Dang Mujin shook his head. Though the frustration hadn’t fully subsided, it allowed him to assess the situation more objectively.

“No, heading to Sichuan now isn’t the best choice.”

“Why not?”

“Those guys have never confronted us in Sichuan before. I thought it was because they didn’t know my face or whereabouts.”

“Then, was there another reason?”

“Yes. I wasn’t their target from the start.”

Who were they after, then? Namgung Myung pondered for a moment before understanding.

The person who recently joined their group, the one who drew attention, the one the assassins tried to kill—Chusam.

‘Did Chusam commit a crime serious enough to earn the wrath of the assassins?’

It was possible. Many disliked Chusam.

But would that warrant three top-tier assassins?

No.

As the thought crystallized, Namgung Myung grasped Dang Mujin’s insight. There was something more pressing than the rumors about Chusam—Chusam had impersonated Gwai.

Namgung Myung muttered, “The bad blood between the Salmak assassins and Gwai still hasn’t ended.”

“Seems so. I misjudged the situation until now.”

Chusam didn’t know the full story, but he understood that the assassins were after him.

His hands trembled. He was the most vulnerable, and the easiest way for Dang Mujin’s group to escape this predicament was to abandon him.

Until now, Chusam had been resigned to dying after doing what he could. But a few days ago, he found a dream—to become a respectable doctor and care for people, to make a name for himself in the world.

He even found a lifeline to pursue that dream. He didn’t want to die.

Dang Mujin glanced at Chusam and spoke casually, “We’re not going to abandon you, so don’t worry.”

Namgung Myung asked Dang Mujin, “What do we do now?”

“Sichuan is far, and others might get caught up in this. Let’s head towards where we can find help.”

“Where are we going?”

Dang Mujin stood up and said, “We’re heading east.”

Namgung Myung frowned. His family, the Namgung clan, was also in the east.

He had a bad feeling about this.