Chapter 2: Insight

On the road back to the city, the weight of the herbal bundle swung heavily at his side with each step. Yet, Tang Mujin was lost in thought, undisturbed by the burden. His mind was consumed by the vision he had witnessed earlier that day.

“Was it really just a dream?”

The closest thing he could compare it to was a dream. But could such a common and inadequate word truly capture the essence of that experience? At the same time, there seemed to be no better term.

The dream was so long, it felt more like an entire lifetime than a mere dream.

Had it only been lengthy, he might have dismissed it as a strange dream induced by peculiar mushrooms. But there were too many oddities to ignore.

Dreams are usually flimsy and disjointed.

While dreaming, everything seems plausible.

But upon waking, the events often appear nonsensical, with few parts making any logical sense.

In dreams, you find yourself in places for no apparent reason, and situations unfold without any clear cause.

Yet, today’s dream was different.

From the beginning to the end, every moment had a purpose.

The ‘me’ in the dream had a clear goal and acted to achieve it.

Even the dwarves he encountered in the dream were like real people, not just figments of a dream.

“Dwarves, or whatever they were, can’t possibly exist in the real world.”

But aside from that, everything fit together perfectly.

If such a world existed, it could very well be real. And the lives within it seemed entirely plausible.

Tang Mujin recalled the emotions he felt in the dream, still vivid in his mind.

The joy of becoming an apprentice at Ironmaul Forge.

The frustration of ruining precious metal due to poor fire control.

The satisfaction of crafting his first proper sword. Could he really dismiss these experiences as mere dreams?

He looked at his hands. Not the thick, calloused hands of a dwarf, but the slender fingers of a human.

“Was it really just a simple hallucination? I can’t make sense of it.”

With a deep sigh, Tang Mujin looked ahead.

He had reached the outskirts of the city. People were bustling about, each heading to their own destination.

One person stood out—a monk draped in robes.

“They say there’s such a thing as reincarnation.”

In this life, one might be human, but in the next, an animal. And vice versa.

Could it be that in a past life, he was a dwarf?

If one cannot escape the cycle of reincarnation, perhaps such a life is possible.

Lost in thought, time flew by.

Before he knew it, the sun had set, and Tang Mujin arrived at the clinic.

As usual, he placed the bundle in the storage room and was about to organize the herbs when he sensed a commotion and paused.

The clinic door opened, and two people emerged. One was his father, Tang Jeseon, and the other appeared to be a patient.

The patient grumbled in a voice full of irritation.

“They say the best doctor in the city is here. What a load of nonsense.”

“I’m sorry.”

“If I had known, I wouldn’t have come.”

Tang Jeseon bowed apologetically, but the patient, still fuming, continued to complain before finally leaving.

Both Tang Jeseon and Tang Mujin were accustomed to such situations.

Patients being difficult with doctors was nothing new. Patients are in pain, and pain makes even the calmest person irritable.

An irritable person will lash out at the slightest displeasure. Naturally, the doctor caring for them bears the brunt of it.

Tang Mujin watched the patient walk away.

Judging by the attire, the patient was an official, though it was hard to tell how high-ranking. His demeanor and clothing suggested he wasn’t a low-level bureaucrat.

As Tang Mujin approached his father, Tang Jeseon wore an awkward expression.

Though familiar, it wasn’t a sight he wanted his son to see.

“You’re back. Good work.”

“Father, why was that patient so rude?”

“The Assistant Commander came for acupuncture because of shoulder pain, but it seems the needles hurt more than expected.”

“Hurt? He must be quite the complainer.”

Tang Mujin had learned acupuncture from Tang Jeseon. Having been on the receiving end of countless needles, he knew his father’s skill was superior to most.

The effects of his acupuncture were excellent, and the pain was minimal. It was rare for patients to complain about the pain.

Even young children endured the needles without tears, so there was no need for further explanation.

But unexpectedly, Tang Jeseon’s expression was peculiar.

“No, that’s not it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I lost my needle case recently and got new needles. They’re thicker than the last ones.”

“Thicker needles?”

“Yes. Sometimes they even draw blood.”

“May I see the new needles?”

Tang Jeseon retrieved the needle case and handed it to Tang Mujin. It was filled with needles about the length of a finger.

Tang Mujin examined them. It had been a while since he looked at needles closely, having been engrossed in medical texts lately.

As his father said, these needles were at least twice as thick as the previous ones.

But that was because the old needles were exceptional, not because these were particularly thick.

Objectively, the needles Tang Jeseon showed were still finer than those used by most mediocre doctors.

Normally, Tang Mujin would have dismissed it, thinking, “How can a grown man complain about these needles? He must be a real whiner.”

But today was different. Seeing these needles inexplicably irritated him.

“How could they sell such crude things as needles?”

It felt like watching a quack doctor sell worthless herbs as a cure-all.

“Are these really needles?”

“Of course, what else would they be?”

Tang Mujin scrutinized the needles again. The biggest issue was their thickness. It was natural for them to hurt when piercing the skin.

But there were other problems too. Things he wouldn’t have noticed before now stood out.

The lengths of the needles were inconsistent. Even those meant for the same purpose varied in size.

The cross-sections weren’t round but square. That was understandable. Making fine needles perfectly round is a difficult task. The needles Tang Jeseon originally used were also flat.

“How long have you had these needles?”

“Since the day you went to fetch herbs, about two weeks ago.”

In less than a month, the needles were already slightly bent. They hadn’t been roughly handled, so it was certainly strange.

There were even faint marks on the sides, as if they had been hammered after tempering.

From a doctor’s perspective, these flaws might not matter, but to a blacksmith, they were significant. Regardless of skill, a blacksmith wants their creations to be perfect.

A blacksmith treats their creations like their own children. Poorly made items should be remade from scratch, not patched up and sold.

In other words, such items shouldn’t be in Tang Jeseon’s needle case.

“A lazy craftsman with no skill, cutting corners, would produce results like this.”

At that moment, Tang Jeseon reached out and took back the needle case.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s my lack of skill. I just need to improve.”

“But—”

“That’s enough.”

Tang Jeseon cleared his throat a couple of times and disappeared into the clinic.

Tang Mujin soon returned to his room. And then, he realized something strange. He wasn’t familiar with blacksmithing, nor had he ever held a hammer.

“How did I recognize the flaws in these needles?”

Until recently, needles were just thin pieces of metal to Tang Mujin.

Whether they were slightly bent, had flat cross-sections, were made of impure metal, or had been hammered into shape later—none of that mattered to him.

Or rather, he had no way of knowing. Tang Mujin was a doctor, not a blacksmith. He was completely ignorant of metallurgy and had no idea how needles were made. To him, a good needle was simply a thin one.

But today was different. Not only could he identify the flaws, but he also felt an overwhelming sense of frustration and irritation.

“It feels as if I really did live as a dwarf blacksmith.”

But that couldn’t be. The dream lasted only a couple of hours—far too short to learn anything substantial.

It might all be a misunderstanding. No, it must be. Thinking the needles were flawed made them appear so. Surely, that was it.

Yet, deep within Tang Mujin, doubt began to stir.

The flaws were too specific and clear to dismiss as mere illusion. He could even gauge the skill level of the blacksmith who made them.

Dang Mujin lay down, trying to coax himself to sleep. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake off thoughts of the dream, the forge, and the needle.

He forced himself to clear his mind.

“There’s no point in worrying about it now. I’ll find out everything when I visit the forge tomorrow.”

Watching the blacksmith at work would surely reveal the truth.

The blacksmith’s work would undoubtedly be different from the dream. The idea of a dwarf blacksmith was probably just a ridiculous figment of his imagination. A hallucination brought on by those strange mushrooms, no doubt.

Once it became clear that it was all a misunderstanding, these intrusive thoughts would stop plaguing him. After all, certainty is the best way to dispel confusion.

Closing his eyes, Dang Mujin muttered to himself once more. Yes, I’ll go to the forge tomorrow.