Episode 271: Ripples
Dang Mujin awoke in an unfamiliar building.
The space wasn’t particularly large or lavish. A quick glance around revealed only a few simple pieces of furniture.
He scratched the back of his head, trying to piece together his last memories.
“When did I lose consciousness?”
He couldn’t tell if he had fainted or simply fallen asleep. But since there didn’t seem to be any immediate danger, he settled into a meditative pose to assess his condition.
He wasn’t trying to cultivate energy in an unknown place; he just wanted to check his current state.
Martial artists can gather energy into their core even without using specific techniques. Before losing consciousness, he had depleted his internal energy completely. By checking how much had returned, he could estimate how much time had passed.
As expected, he felt a faint trace of energy in his once-empty core.
“Not much… maybe an hour or so? It hasn’t been long.”
His hunger was mild, and his body felt only slightly stiff. His guess turned into certainty.
Just then, the door swung open, and Namgung Myung appeared, looking at him with a serious expression.
“Finally awake, are you?”
“Finally?”
“You’ve been out for seven days and nights. We thought you might never wake up.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I know it’s only been about an hour.”
“Ah, you’re no fun.”
Namgung Myung’s face fell, clearly disappointed that his attempt to fool Dang Mujin had failed.
Beyond the door, Dang Mujin spotted Hyun Gong and Hong Geolgae, who seemed to realize their prank had failed and quietly retreated.
Dang Mujin noticed something in Namgung Myung’s right hand—the severed right arm of the Twin Pole Hermit.
“Why are you carrying that around?”
Namgung Myung hesitated before speaking.
“You said you could reattach it, right?”
Dang Mujin gave him a once-over, trying to gauge if he was serious or joking.
“Have you ever heard of a doctor reattaching limbs?”
“No, but I thought maybe…”
Dang Mujin chuckled, understanding his friend’s line of thought. If there were a doctor in the world who could do the impossible, it would be him.
But even the best medicine has its limits.
“You’re joking, right? That’s not possible.”
When Dang Mujin replied, Namgung Myung tossed the arm to him, clearly having hoped for a miracle.
Dang Mujin examined the arm. Though the cut had become uneven over time, he could imagine how clean it must have been when severed.
He could also sense how much Namgung Myung had hoped. Despite his usual cheerfulness, losing an arm had clearly been a significant blow.
“Of course, it’s not normal for a martial artist to lose an arm and not care.”
Dang Mujin sighed deeply.
“Namgung Myung, think logically. If you lost your left arm, you’d need a left arm to replace it. How would a right arm work?”
“What? So if I bring a left arm, you can reattach it?”
Namgung Myung’s eyes sparkled with hope. In the current chaos, there were plenty of unclaimed left arms around.
Dang Mujin smirked.
“Got you again.”
Men often mask their sorrow and regret with jokes and pranks.
Namgung Myung, filled with gratitude for Dang Mujin’s jest, demonstrated a surprising skill. The severed arm in Dang Mujin’s hand moved on its own, attempting to poke his eye.
“Using telekinesis for tricks now, are we?”
Of course, Dang Mujin had no intention of being outdone, so he tossed the arm back to Namgung Myung.
Namgung Myung sighed, opened the door, and threw the arm outside.
For a limb that had taken countless lives, it was treated with little respect.
Namgung Myung spoke, slightly annoyed.
“Get up already. There are patients everywhere, and the doctor can’t just lie around.”
“Alright, let’s go.”
Dang Mujin rose and followed Namgung Myung outside.
The sect was filled with injured people.
From minor cuts and bruises to severe internal injuries and those on the brink of death.
However, there were no survivors among the enemy martial artists. The righteous sects must have finished them off while Dang Mujin was unconscious.
Those who were uninjured or lightly wounded were busy tending to the more severely injured. The problem was that their methods weren’t exactly medical.
Dang Mujin noticed a Taoist from the Mount Hua Sect carrying a suspicious powder. He was heading towards a fellow disciple with a deep cut on his palm.
Dang Mujin called out to him.
“Wait a moment. What’s that powder?”
The Taoist from Mount Hua replied confidently.
“It’s a mix of ground soapstone, magnetite, and iron filings.”
”…And what do you plan to do with it?”
“I heard it’s good for wounds inflicted by metal.”
It was a dubious claim.
As far as Dang Mujin knew, effective treatments for external injuries were rare, limited to a few herbs or wound salves.
He was aware that many people died from infections after trusting in such dubious remedies. It was often better to leave a wound alone than to apply unverified treatments.
“Do you have any wound salve? You must have brought some, considering you came from the battlefield.”
Wound salve was effective for open wounds, though not for broken bones. It was expensive, but a Mount Hua Taoist could likely afford it.
Indeed, the Taoist had some wound salve.
“I brought it, but I was told this powder would enhance the healing, so I thought I’d use both.”
People often believed that using all available remedies would yield the best results.
But in Dang Mujin’s experience, mixing treatments often led to unexpected outcomes.
“Put the iron filings aside and just use the wound salve.”
“What? But…”
“If the iron filings cause an infection, you might have to amputate the entire arm. But if you only use the wound salve, the worst that could happen is a couple of stiff fingers. It’s safer not to use it.”
The Taoist hesitated, reluctant to discard the iron filings.
He seemed to want to use them when Dang Mujin wasn’t looking.
Finally, Dang Mujin said,
“You know who I am, don’t you?”
That one sentence was enough to silence any objections.
The head of the Tang family, the divine doctor of Sichuan, the Dragon of Medicine, the undisputed best physician in the world.
Challenging Dang Mujin with second-hand medical knowledge was akin to challenging a grandmaster with street-learned swordplay.
The Taoist acknowledged Dang Mujin’s authority but still seemed reluctant.
“Are you sure there’s no use for it? I paid quite a bit for the magnetite powder.”
“If you ever need to treat a mortal enemy’s wound, feel free to use it.”
”…”
With a heavy heart, the Taoist poured the iron filings onto the ground.
At least he realized his mistake before causing harm.
Suspecting similar situations elsewhere, Dang Mujin raised his voice, infused with internal energy.
“If there’s someone bleeding, stop the bleeding with acupressure and apply only wound salve. Avoid using dubious remedies or homemade concoctions. Those with internal injuries, please gather here.”
Just as Tang Jeseon would do at the Tang family estate, Dang Mujin sat on an open platform, waiting for the injured to come to him. In no time, a dozen or so people gathered.
They all looked unwell. More than half had blood at the corners of their mouths, and several were carried in unconscious.
Fear and anxiety were evident in the eyes of all the patients.
For martial artists, internal injuries were no small matter.
Losing a limb might allow for a comeback with specialized techniques, but internal injuries often marked the end of a martial career.
To have intact limbs but be unable to practice martial arts again—what could be more terrifying for a martial artist?
Dang Mujin spotted Young Heoja sitting cross-legged a short distance away and sent him a telepathic message.
Even if Young Heoja went first, no one would complain. The martial world respected strength, and the strong were naturally prioritized.
But Young Heoja shook his head slowly, indicating that others should be treated first.
Dang Mujin nodded and called over a Taoist from the Wudang Sect who was closest.
“Please, have a seat.”
He recognized the man from his visits to the Wudang Sect. The Taoist appeared to be in his mid-forties to early fifties.
In the prime of his life, both in wisdom and physical strength, he was at the peak of his martial prowess. Yet, there he sat, with dried blood crusted around his mouth and nose, a testament to the internal injuries he had suffered. His throat bobbed up and down as he fought the urge to retch, but his eyes held a glimmer of hope. The reputation of the “Greatest Physician Under Heaven” was not to be taken lightly.
Rumor had it that unlike other doctors, Eui-ryong could heal even the internal injuries of martial artists. Knowing that most physicians would start with a pulse diagnosis, he extended his right arm to Tang Mujin as soon as he sat down.
Tang Mujin gently pushed his arm away. “There’s no need to hold it in. Go ahead and vomit outside, then come back.”
“Is that really okay?”
It seemed he was struggling to keep it down. Tang Mujin nodded reassuringly. “Out of the dozen or so people behind you, at least five will need to do the same. Don’t worry.”
Relieved that he wasn’t the only one in such a predicament, the Taoist from the Wudang Sect managed a faint smile. He leaned forward, gripping the floor with both hands, and retched. Since it wasn’t food poisoning, only a sticky liquid came out.
Feeling noticeably better, the Taoist returned to Tang Mujin and offered his wrist again. “Thank you for waiting. It must not have been a pleasant sight.”
“It was part of the treatment.”
“Excuse me?”
“Please hold on a moment.”
Tang Mujin dipped a finger into the liquid the man had expelled, causing a collective gasp from the onlookers. What kind of physician, or martial artist for that matter, would disregard decorum so blatantly?
But Tang Mujin remained unfazed. “There’s no need for such expressions. If a physician lets pride get in the way of treatment, what could be more foolish?”
He examined the liquid on his finger. It was colorless and clear. He sniffed it, detecting a sharp, sour scent, but thankfully nothing else.
“It’s gastric acid. We’ll treat it as a case of ‘Reversed Qi.’”
Tang Mujin raised his voice slightly, ensuring everyone could hear. A physician should instill confidence in their patients whenever possible. He didn’t plan to explain every term unless asked; patients didn’t need to understand every detail, just that the treatment was grounded in expertise.
The Wudang Taoist hesitantly asked, “What is ‘Reversed Qi’?”
“It’s when heat trapped in the lungs rises instead of dissipating. You must have taken a blow to the chest during the chaos, right?”
Tang Mujin lifted the Taoist’s robe slightly, revealing a red mark on his left ribcage. It wasn’t from a fist or palm strike, but a kick. Predicting the cause and confirming it was the best way to reassure people.
The onlookers were visibly impressed, and someone murmured, “As expected…”
Tang Mujin continued, “Now, relax your body and don’t resist the energy flow.”
The patient extended his wrist again, but Tang Mujin placed his hand on the man’s collarbone instead. The Taoist flinched, surprised. Wasn’t pulse diagnosis usually done at the wrist?
Tang Mujin explained, “I’m checking the Stomach, Spleen, and Kidney meridians, so I don’t need your wrist. In fact, it’s better to diagnose through the feet, but that might be uncomfortable for you.”
He channeled a thread of internal energy through the acupoints near the collarbone. Only after tracing the three meridians did he identify the issue: a minor blockage at the Rugen point on the Stomach meridian.
When Tang Mujin applied pressure to the Rugen point, the Taoist winced and twisted in pain. “The spot you felt pain is the Rugen point. It’s a critical pathway for your internal energy. If the injury had been deeper, you might have had to give up martial arts.”
The Taoist’s face brightened at Tang Mujin’s words. It meant that, despite the danger, he was safe for now.
Tang Mujin continued, “Fortunately, the impact was shallow. Avoid using your internal energy for the next week.”
“Not even light breathing exercises? I won’t attempt the Grand Circulation, just the Small Circulation.”
“Absolutely not. Thinking it’s okay to do light exercises could lead to permanent damage. The injury wasn’t severe, but if it had been, even I couldn’t have helped.”
The Taoist finally let go of his stubbornness at Tang Mujin’s stern warning.
“Is there anything else I should be aware of?”
“You might experience some facial flushing and dizziness over the next few days, but it should subside within four days at most. Although it’s not the same meridian, be mindful not to let energy flow between the Fubai and Shidu points.”
Since the patient was familiar with internal energy and acupoints, explaining the internal injury was straightforward. The other patients seemed to find Tang Mujin’s explanations systematic, nodding in agreement.
Tang Mujin gestured to Hyun Gong. “Hyun Gong, prepare some Mai Men Dong Decoction for him.”
He retrieved herbs from his pack: Mai Men Dong, Ban Xia, Licorice, Jujube, glutinous rice, and a bit of ginseng. The ginseng made the medicine quite expensive, but Tang Mujin was financially secure, so it wasn’t an issue.
Hyun Gong, caught off guard by his name being called, asked, “Me?”
“Yes, you know how to prepare decoctions, don’t you?”
Even a dog learns a few tricks after three years in a school, and someone as quick-witted as Hyun Gong should be able to brew a decoction.
Hyun Gong hesitated. “But we don’t have a decoction pot.”
“Then improvise. Use a pot and keep the heat low.”
”…Alright.”
Tang Mujin handled the diagnosis and treatment with seamless expertise, leaving the martial artists watching visibly reassured. They didn’t need to understand the intricacies of medicine; true skill was evident even to the untrained eye.
After examining the other patients, Tang Mujin finally checked on Young Heoja.
”…”
Tang Mujin’s expression darkened as he assessed Young Heoja’s condition. Though he followed up with some basic treatment, the conclusion was inevitable.
“You’ll need a long period of rest.”
This was the point where patients usually asked how to manage their condition or how long the recovery would take. But Young Heoja didn’t ask.
“I see. It’s not something that will heal in a few months, is it? I suspected it might take years, if not a lifetime, to recover my martial abilities.”
”…That’s correct.”
Young Heoja had delayed his own treatment, knowing his condition was likely beyond hope. It was a difficult decision, even when one knew the odds were slim.
Who wouldn’t be concerned about their own health? Most people would cling to any shred of hope, fighting tooth and nail among the crowd. Yet, Young Heoja showed no signs of regret or anger.
“I thought this might happen. In a way, I’m lucky.”
“Excuse me?”
“They say the waves of the Yangtze River push the old waves forward. It’s my time to be pushed aside. But at least I was pushed to the riverbank alive. Isn’t that fortunate?”
Tang Mujin couldn’t find the words and simply bowed his head. He felt a heavy heart, though he had done nothing wrong.
Young Heoja, sensing Tang Mujin’s discomfort, offered a reassuring smile. “I’m the one who should apologize. I set out to make a significant contribution in the Great War, but ended up like this.”
“That’s not true. Your efforts were remarkable, truly.”
Even if Young Heoja hadn’t been there, someone else would have had to face the enemy’s deadly attacks. Without Young Heoja and Ilseonja, it would have been Tang Mujin’s group and Seonwuja who suffered.
Young Heoja smiled warmly. “Thank you for saying so. May I ask one last favor?”
“What is it?”
“If you could, please help Jin Hae.”
Beside Young Heoja stood Jin Hae, a young Taoist from the Cheongseong Sect, looking even more dejected.
“Of course.”
Naturally, Tang Mujin couldn’t refuse Young Heoja’s request.