Episode 59: The Doctor at the Inn

In a world where making ends meet is a daily struggle, even the thought of visiting a doctor seems like a luxury to the average person. To make matters worse, there wasn’t even a doctor in this village, so people couldn’t even find a threshold to cross.

Then, one morning, a rumor spread like wildfire: a young doctor had saved someone who was on the brink of death. The villagers rushed to the patient’s house to see for themselves.

The rumor was true. A man who had been so swollen he couldn’t even get out of bed was now shuffling around, the swelling noticeably reduced overnight.

Naturally, those suffering from various ailments flocked to the inn where the doctor was staying. The innkeeper generously offered space for the patients, and he didn’t lose out either. He started selling steamed dumplings to the people waiting in line, turning a tidy profit.

As the number of patients grew faster than the young doctor, Dang Mujin, could treat them, Gwi-ui, who had been merely observing, began to help with the patients.

Dan Seol-young whispered to Dang Mujin, her voice full of concern. “Is it okay for that old man to just start treating patients like that?”

“Why not?”

“He’s suddenly examining patients right next to you.”

”…Do you remember his name?”

“Of course, he said it was Lee Chung.”

That was all Dan Seol-young had to say. She seemed unaware of the nickname “Gwi-ui.”

“Why? Is he famous?”

“Gwi-ui Lee Chung. He’s considered one of the three great doctors in the world.”

A few sharp-eared people overheard this and quietly switched from Dang Mujin’s line to Gwi-ui’s. Gwi-ui, now saddled with a few more patients, shot a glance at Dang Mujin.

Dan Seol-young shook her head. “You really can’t judge a book by its cover.”

“What about me?”

Gwi-ui lightly protested to Dan Seol-young before returning to his work. He administered acupuncture and quickly prepared simple pills. However, he didn’t have the time or equipment to brew herbal decoctions. For those who needed them, he simplified the instructions and ingredients or advised them to seek another doctor.

Both Dang Mujin and Gwi-ui had a similar approach to fees: they placed an empty plate on the table and accepted whatever the patients could afford. Naturally, the money accumulated slowly. One coin seemed too little, two felt lacking, and three was about average.

“Is this even enough to cover the cost of the herbs?”

“Probably not. But it’s fine. I’m not exactly struggling.”

Throughout his travels, Dang Mujin realized he didn’t need to strive to earn money. It seemed to come to him naturally. The pouches given by the Namgung family steward and the Shaolin’s Chubo head were filled with money, and there was a windfall from a raid on a group selling fake medicine.

Now, Dang Mujin understood why Gwi-ui was so carefree with money. With skill, money would find its way to you. If he ever needed cash urgently, he could always forge a sword and sell it to a martial arts family.

While Dang Mujin’s plate slowly filled with coins, Gwi-ui’s often lay bare.

“I’m hungry but have no appetite. My limbs feel weak, and I’m tired all the time. It’s because you’re not eating properly,” Gwi-ui told a patient, handing a handful of coins to the innkeeper. “For the next five days, don’t work and eat dumplings with meat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I’ve already paid the innkeeper.”

“Can’t I just have noodles?”

“If you don’t want a beating, just eat the dumplings as instructed.”

As the day wore on, a large man with a dark complexion joined the line at the inn. His appearance suggested serious health issues, but that wasn’t the main concern. The other patients eyed him warily.

One patient whispered to Gwi-ui, “Can’t you skip treating that guy who just came in?”

“Why?”

“He’s the biggest troublemaker in town. Always drunk, stealing, picking fights for no reason. He even broke the leg of that limping man who was here earlier. Maybe it’s time for karma to catch up with him…”

Gwi-ui shrugged and treated the man like any other patient.

As evening fell and the crowd thinned, the innkeeper sent the remaining patients home. Without being asked, he prepared a meal and drinks for the three of them, a feast that must have taken considerable time to prepare.

After they ate their fill, Dan Seol-young, unable to fight off sleep, nodded off, her head hitting the table. Dang Mujin turned to Gwi-ui.

“I thought you’d just pretend to treat that guy earlier. But you actually helped him.”

“Yes, I did.”

There was no need for further explanation. There was only one person whose treatment was in question.

“Why not just leave him be?”

“Why?”

“He’s not just a troublemaker; he broke an innocent person’s leg.”

Sometimes, you meet someone who makes you feel that treating them will only lead to more patients elsewhere. That intuition is rarely wrong.

“Have you ever seen me refuse to treat someone?”

“No, but this case was different. Treating him might mean more people get hurt.”

Gwi-ui poured himself another drink. “When I was younger, not long after I started practicing medicine, I got into trouble with some martial artists.”

It was the first time Gwi-ui mentioned his teacher. Of course, as a martial artist turned doctor, he must have learned medicine from someone.

Dang Mujin was curious about Gwi-ui’s teacher, but he knew that wasn’t the point of the story.

“What happened?”

“They were angry because I treated a notorious criminal. They said he had killed eight innocent people.”

The Tang family doctors never faced such issues. Working under the protection of the Qingcheng sect, they primarily treated its members and rarely encountered criminals. But stories of other doctors facing such dilemmas were not uncommon, especially during the Great War between the righteous and the unorthodox.

Dang Mujin remembered the chaos of that time, though Chengdu remained safe. In the northeastern part of Sichuan, however, things were different. He recalled his father, Tang Jeseon, telling him about a doctor in Dazhou who was killed for treating a righteous martial artist during the war.

Back then, he thought the unorthodox martial artists were terrifying. But now, he realized the roles could easily have been reversed. Anger blinds people, making them see the world in black and white.

“So, what did you do?”

“I played dumb and got through it. It was my first time in such a situation, and there were too many of them. After that, I only treated people who seemed unlikely to cause trouble.”

That didn’t sound like the Gwi-ui he knew. It seemed the younger Gwi-ui wasn’t as strong or as reckless as he was now.

But the story didn’t end there.

“A couple of years later, it happened again. This time, they threw a child I had treated at me, beaten to a pulp.”

“So, did you apologize again?”

Gwi-ui grinned. “No way. I drew my sword and fought back. I didn’t feel like apologizing or deciding not to treat kids like that anymore. As I fled, I wondered why I acted differently. What was my standard?”

Dan Seol-young, who seemed to have been asleep, suddenly spoke up, her words slurred. “A doctor with a sword? Isn’t it just for show?”

“I’m not the best doctor, but I’m the best swordsman among doctors.”

“Like being the best arm wrestler among innkeepers?”

“Something like that… Never mind, just go back to sleep.”

Dan Seol-young, still half-asleep, leaned back in her chair, eyes half-open.

Dang Mujin urged Gwi-ui to continue. “Anyway, what happened next?”

“Where was I?”

“You were wondering why you acted differently. What your standard was.”

“Ah, right.”

Gwi-ui downed his drink. “The reason I acted differently was simple. I didn’t like that they nearly killed a child and turned someone I had treated back into a patient. But the standard was another matter. I couldn’t figure it out.”

“Maybe it’s about treating children, even if they’re the offspring of criminals?”

“And what’s your definition of a child?”

“I don’t know. Maybe around ten years old?”

“At what age should we stop giving people a pass? Should we save an eleven-year-old but let a twelve-year-old fend for themselves?”

It was an unusual question. Dang Mujin scratched his chin before responding.

“That’s a strange way to put it.”

“Imagine you’ve decided not to treat the children of a notorious criminal. If this criminal, who has killed many, brings their child to you for treatment, would you help?”

“I wouldn’t treat them.”

“What if the criminal claims the child isn’t theirs?”

“Then I would treat them.”

“But what if the child looks just like the criminal?”

“Uh…”

Before Dang Mujin could answer, the old man bombarded him with more questions.

“What if the eyes are similar, but the nose is different, making it unclear if they’re the criminal’s child? What if the child is an adopted one the criminal took in recently? What if the criminal is known to be a liar? What if they’ve turned over a new leaf?”

The old man expanded the topic with each question.

“How many people does one have to kill to be considered evil? Is someone evil if they commit murder? What if they had no choice? Who’s worse: someone who killed one person or someone who crippled ten?”

Dang Mujin was deep in thought. The old man rattled off various scenarios, but Dang Mujin couldn’t provide a clear answer to any of them. These weren’t questions with straightforward answers.

After pondering for a while, Dang Mujin asked the old man in return.

“So, what did you decide to do?”

“Since I couldn’t establish the ultimate standard, I set the clearest one: treat every patient without exception. Age, morality, reputation, the opinions of others—none of it matters. Since that day, my world has become clear again.”

Dang Mujin poured more liquor into the old man’s glass and commented.

“Simple, but I bet it caused a lot of problems.”

“It did. I went from being a respected martial artist to a rogue, and my once-impressive nickname was replaced with something as ridiculous as ‘the Eccentric.’”

“What if your standard clashes with another one?” asked Dan Seol-young, who had been listening quietly. It was a sharp question, typical of her, but the old man answered decisively.

“That won’t happen. I only have one standard.”

Silence fell over them.

The old man fiddled with his glass, lost in thought, before changing the subject.

“Dang Mujin, between what I’ve done for you and what you’ve done for me, which do you think is greater?”

The answer required no lengthy contemplation.

All Dang Mujin had given the old man was a vial of medicine and a sword.

In contrast, the old man had given Dang Mujin so much: travel expenses, rare herbs, martial arts training, medical knowledge, countless pieces of advice, and more.

To be honest, everything Dang Mujin had achieved since leaving Sichuan was thanks to the old man’s help.

“I’d like to say otherwise, but I’ve received far more.”

The old man smiled, satisfied.

“That’s right. You owe me.”

“Should I make you a new sword? Something shiny and impressive? I still have that meteorite steel Hong Geol-gae found.”

“No, that’s not necessary.”

“Then what do you want?”

“Nothing. Just remember that you owe me.”

Dan Seol-young turned to Dang Mujin.

“I think I’ve ended up traveling with a strange old man.”

“Good thing you realized it quickly.”

The old man chuckled.