Episode 19: The Red Hook and the Red Mountain

Before the sun had even risen, Dang Moo-jin was already in the backyard, brewing herbal medicine.

There wasn’t much to do while the medicine simmered—just a bit of fire control and checking the state of the brew now and then. But being tied to the spot meant that physicians often found themselves lost in thought during this process. Dang Moo-jin was no exception.

He let his mind wander back to the previous day.

“If only every day could be like yesterday.”

It had been a day so fulfilling that he felt leaving his hometown had been the right decision. He treated patients, uncovered a secret he’d only heard about in stories, and ended the day amidst the gratitude and cheers of the people. It couldn’t have been more perfect.

“Not to mention the black peony was quite something.”

Keeping a close eye on the brew, he also focused inward, sensing the subtle flow of the black peony’s energy seeping into his veins. Overnight, he could feel his inner strength growing.

In terms of absolute power, it wasn’t a huge leap. But given that his strength had always been modest, even a small increase felt monumental. Like placing a date next to a watermelon makes it seem small, but next to a plum, it looks quite impressive.

And with this newfound strength came ambition.

“I should ask the old man to teach me some sword techniques.”

He recalled the prowess of the mysterious figure he had seen yesterday. The martial arts of a master were beyond imagination. One moment, the figure’s shoulder seemed to blur, and the next, the fearsome enemy was down with a single strike. Even the fleeing physician was caught in the blink of an eye.

When he first set out with the mysterious figure, Dang Moo-jin’s goal was to become a second-rate martial artist. A second-rate martial artist could hold their own in a mid-tier sect, teaching swordsmanship to the young ones. Of course, in a major sect, they’d be a dime a dozen.

If he were a born martial artist, he wouldn’t have set his sights so low. But Dang Moo-jin was, first and foremost, a physician. There weren’t many occasions where a physician needed to fight. Maybe to catch a patient trying to skip out on their bill or to handle a drunk causing a scene.

For such situations, second-rate skills were more than enough.

“Though, I did entertain the thought of becoming a first-rate master.”

But becoming a first-rate master required not just effort but talent. That’s why first-rate masters were respected everywhere. Jin Song, the head instructor of the Cheongseong sect’s branch, was a first-rate master. Before he was assigned to the branch, he held a significant position in the main sect, which allowed him to walk with pride.

However, Dang Moo-jin’s imagination stopped at first-rate mastery. Even with the mysterious figure’s confident assurance of his potential, he couldn’t see beyond that. There was a vast chasm between first-rate and peak masters.

Peak masters were the stuff of dreams for those who dedicated their lives to martial arts. Even if hundreds devoted their lives, only one might reach that level.

Yet, after yesterday, Dang Moo-jin found himself filled with a strange confidence. With the right effort, he might just become a first-rate master. And if luck was on his side, perhaps even aim for the peak once.

After all, the elixir he consumed wasn’t some mediocre hundred-year-old ginseng or a snake’s gallbladder, but the legendary black peony, known as the flower of heroes.

As he indulged in these thoughts, the mysterious figure appeared. Despite the heavy scent of alcohol clinging to his clothes, his face showed no signs of a hangover. It seemed the tales of martial masters controlling their intoxication were true.

The mysterious figure abruptly brought up an unexpected topic.

“Have you packed your things?”

“What?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’? We should be leaving by noon, shouldn’t we?”

“But there are still patients here.”

“Aside from brewing the medicine, there’s nothing left to do. The ingredients aren’t rare, and the method isn’t complicated. Just teach them how to make it and leave.”

Though it made sense, Dang Moo-jin wasn’t eager to leave just yet. He wanted to stay for a few more days, maybe even ten, brewing medicine and enjoying the village’s atmosphere.

Back in his hometown, people didn’t call him a physician. He was just Moo-jin or the son of the Dang family. But here in Jueul Village, they addressed him as Physician Dang, treating him with respect.

Yesterday, someone even called him a divine healer. Though it was said by someone who’d been drinking since early evening, it was still something.

And it wasn’t just the title. The attention from the village maidens was even more significant. Their glances were anything but ordinary. Some tried to strike up conversations, while others were more direct in their approach.

One offered to share some aged liquor from her home, while another, confident in her cooking skills, invited him for dinner, claiming she was the best cook in the village.

These were all firsts for Dang Moo-jin, and he was tempted to accept their invitations immediately.

But he hadn’t followed any of the maidens, solely because of the previous evening’s atmosphere. The villagers’ eyes were on both him and the mysterious figure, so he couldn’t refuse the village chief’s invitation in favor of a maiden’s.

If he had slipped away with an unknown maiden, rumors would have spread throughout Jueul Village by morning.

But attention is fleeting. Today, the villagers’ focus would likely wane.

Dang Moo-jin was already looking forward to the evening. If he received another invitation from a village maiden, he thought he might just accept and enjoy some of that liquor.

He pleaded earnestly, “Can’t we stay for just five more days? We need to monitor the patients, see if the medicine works, and check for any side effects.”

But the mysterious figure was firm.

“The root of the illness is gone. With clean water and regular meals, they’ll recover in a week. With the medicine, they’ll be up in three days.”

“Then let’s leave in three days!”

“Get a grip. We never planned to come to Jueul Village. We only stopped because Hong Geol-gae asked us to.”

Only then did Dang Moo-jin remember Hong Geol-gae.

“Where is Hong Geol-gae? I didn’t see him at the village chief’s house yesterday.”

“He’s probably starving after burying Ma Jeon-gae.”

“Starving? Why?”

Yesterday, Jueul Village was in a festive mood, sharing food generously to celebrate overcoming adversity. In such an atmosphere, Hong Geol-gae should have had no trouble finding food, especially since he played a key role in the fight against the enemy.

The mysterious figure frowned slightly.

“People know Hong Geol-gae killed someone.”

“So what? He took down a villain. And he did it with just a stick against a weapon-wielding foe!”

“The problem is that Hong Geol-gae is a beggar.”

Dang Moo-jin was baffled. Seeing his confusion, the mysterious figure clicked his tongue.

“Hong Geol-gae has always survived by begging. Ma Jeon-gae probably did the same. The issue is whether someone who has killed can still beg.”

“Why not? It should be even easier. Just stand tall and say, ‘Give me a meal.’”

“Getting food might be easy. But would that be begging? Imagine you’re a villager. If someone who killed a person with a stick asks you for food, could you refuse?”

“Oh.”

Finally, Dang Moo-jin understood the mysterious figure’s point.

Begging is an act reserved for the lowly and humble. But killing is a grave taboo, and a killer inherently intimidates others.

If a killer extends a bowl in the name of begging, it’s not begging but extortion, not charity but tribute.

“Life’s complicated. Is it the same for all beggars?”

“Not all. Even among beggars, there are different kinds. Hong Geol-gae and Ma Jeon-gae are more like the ‘Dirty Clothes Faction’ within the beggars’ guild.”

“The Dirty Clothes Faction?”

“Think of them as the true beggars, those who wear filthy clothes. You don’t need to know more unless you plan to become a beggar yourself.”

“So, what happens to Hong Geol-gae now?”

“That’s for Hong Geol-gae to figure out.”

Dang Moo-jin scratched his head in frustration.

In a small village like Jueul, someone who has killed is hard to accept, even if the act was for the villagers’ sake. The aversion to a killer is more about emotion and instinct than reason.

It’s a ridiculous situation, but not entirely incomprehensible. The world is a strange place, and sacrifices and dedication don’t always receive their due reward.

Dang Moo-jin let out a deep sigh.

By noon, the villagers of Jueul gathered to see Dang Moo-jin and the mysterious figure off.

In less than a day, the patients’ conditions had visibly improved. Among the crowd, Wi-rip stood out, accompanied by his wife and daughter.

“We owe you a great debt, sirs.”

“We only did what was necessary. Those still bedridden will be up within a week, so don’t worry too much.”

While Gwoeui was deep in conversation with the village chief of Jueulchon, Dang Mujin surveyed the surroundings with a somber expression.

The faces of the village maidens caught his eye.

“I should’ve at least tried to talk to them instead of acting like a fool.”

After a brief farewell speech, Dang Mujin and Gwoeui began to walk away.

From behind, the villagers’ cries of “Thank youuuuu!” echoed for quite some time, filling Dang Mujin with a profound sense of satisfaction.

However, before the two healers ventured too far, they made their way to the cemetery just outside the village.

At the cemetery’s edge, there was a small grave. Unlike the other mounds covered in green grass, this one was bare, exposing the red earth beneath.

It was small, unimpressive, and poorly situated, as if unsure whether it belonged there at all. It lay in the most secluded corner of the cemetery, under the shade of a willow tree.

In front of the grave lay a familiar object: an oak club, split in two while fending off the attack of the twin-bladed demon.

Gwoeui and Dang Mujin paid their respects in front of the grave.

It was a gesture beyond rank or status, a tribute to a warrior who had given his life for justice.

Then Dang Mujin called out loudly.

“Hong Geolge! Where are you?”

The willow branches rustled, and a figure leapt down from the tree.

It was Hong Geolge. His hands were covered in cuts, and red dirt was caked under his nails, evidence of a night spent digging the grave with his bare hands. His appearance was more disheveled, his expression weary.

Hong Geolge bowed his head in gratitude to the two who remembered his master.

“I owe you a great debt. May your journey be safe.”

Just as Hong Geolge turned to leave, Dang Mujin asked him.

“Where are you headed?”

“Where else? I’ve lived in Jueulchon all my life, so I’ll stay here.”

Unlike the previous day when he had been formal with Dang Mujin, Hong Geolge now spoke more casually.

Dang Mujin found this more comfortable. After all, they were about the same age.

“What are you going to do for a living?”

“Who knows? I’ll figure something out.”

“You can’t just say ‘who knows’ when it comes to making a living. Are you thinking of farming?”

“Probably not. I don’t know the first thing about farming.”

“Then, business?”

“Business with empty hands?”

Hong Geolge’s voice lacked conviction. It wasn’t that he disliked farming or business; it seemed he was resigned to a life of poverty. Why he clung to such a fate was beyond Dang Mujin.

After a moment of thought, Dang Mujin grabbed Hong Geolge’s wrist.

“Come on.”

Hong Geolge asked in surprise.

“Where to?”

“I’ll take you to a place where you can be a beggar without any worries. Just follow me.”

Hong Geolge hesitated for a long moment.

Then he broke into a grin.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

The three of them headed east, towards the rising sun.

It was only days later that the people of Jueulchon realized Hong Geolge had vanished.