Dang Mujin recalled the story of the enigmatic physician.
“My wife and daughter didn’t die because there was no doctor to cure them. It wasn’t due to a lack of medicine or money. They died simply because the doctor in my hometown didn’t know what others did.”
“And so, I became a physician. To gather all the world’s medical knowledge in one place.”
The physician’s goal was to collect all medical knowledge, and his dream was a world free from suffering due to illness. At first glance, it seemed a noble dream, yet it was also strangely peculiar.
Dreams are usually centered around oneself. “I want to be the best in the world.” “I want to be the richest in the region.” But when the subject of the dream is someone else, it feels a bit off. “My dream is for you to be the best in the world.” “I want you to be the richest here.”
The physician’s dream went a step further. It had no subject. He didn’t care who became the most renowned doctor or who made a fortune from medicine. He wasn’t even concerned with who practiced medicine.
In hindsight, the physician’s dream was less like an individual’s and more akin to a collective goal—one that couldn’t be achieved alone.
Knowing how daunting this dream was, the physician needed someone to carry it forward. And he chose Dang Mujin.
“You owe me a debt.”
“Just remember that you owe me.”
The physician emphasized this debt to Dang Mujin, hoping he would continue the dream, whether he wanted to or not. Dang Mujin sighed.
“Old man, you could’ve just been honest with me.”
Now, it was clear whom the physician had sought out.
He had dedicated his life to gathering medical knowledge from across the land, becoming one of the three great physicians. He organized his knowledge into a medical text.
Then, he killed the second great physician and handed over the medical text to Dang Mujin. Two of the three great physicians’ knowledge was now in Dang Mujin’s hands.
The last target had to be the third great physician, the Dark Doctor.
But like everyone else, Dang Mujin knew little about the Dark Doctor.
He was said to be skilled at saving lives but even better at taking them. More familiar with poisons than medicine. Rarely seen outside his stronghold in Xinjiang.
“Did the old man go to Xinjiang? Did he venture into the Dark Doctor’s territory to steal his medical text?”
Dang Mujin shook his head. That couldn’t be. The physician wasn’t a fool.
His plan didn’t end with stealing the text. He intended to return to the walnut tree in Huizhou with it, so he must have found a more feasible way than entering Xinjiang himself.
What could that method be?
As Dang Mujin pondered, he looked up to see Dan Seol-young’s wide eyes.
Though he hadn’t said anything, she seemed to sense something from his demeanor. Was it intuition?
“What are you thinking about?”
Dang Mujin considered explaining but decided against it.
He planned to find the physician. If it were somewhere less dangerous than Fengxiang or Huizhou, he could take Dan Seol-young with him without worry. But this time, he might have to go near the Dark Doctor’s territory in Xinjiang.
Instead of answering her question, Dang Mujin asked one of his own.
“Seol-young.”
“Yes?”
“If you had to go to either Luoyang or Chengdu from here, where would you want to go?”
“Chengdu.”
Her answer was immediate.
Dan Seol-young hadn’t forgotten her resolve when leaving Songshan. Life in Luoyang was enjoyable, but it was merely a stop on the way to Chengdu with Dang Mujin.
Dang Mujin untied the money pouch from his waist and placed it in her hand. The coins clinked heavily.
“Use this for travel expenses and head to Chengdu first. Ask the locals where the Tang family clinic is, and they’ll guide you. Explain everything to my father, and he’ll give you a clean room.”
Instead of responding, Dan Seol-young studied Dang Mujin’s face.
He looked the same as always. To anyone else, there would be no noticeable difference, but she could sense the subtle change. He was more tense than usual.
She took his hand, instinctively realizing he had made a dangerous decision.
Pushing the money pouch back, she spoke.
“I don’t know what’s going on, but let’s go together. I won’t blame you if something happens.”
“No.”
“Why not? I’ve been practicing the movement technique you taught me.”
She clumsily mimicked the technique.
But she was still a novice, having only learned it a few days ago. Her skill was less than ordinary walking.
Moreover, the technique wouldn’t solve everything. Only a master of the highest level could rely on it.
“No.”
“Why not? At least tell me what you’re going to do!”
“I’m sorry. But nothing will happen. Just wait for me in Chengdu, and I’ll be there soon.”
“If nothing’s going to happen, why can’t I go with you?”
”…”
He had no answer. Instead of replying, he turned his head away.
Dan Seol-young remained silent for a long time.
The silence was finally broken by her deep sigh. She wasn’t foolish enough to insist endlessly.
“Fine. But give me three days before you go. Or at least two.”
“Why?”
“I have something to give you.”
”…Alright.”
They descended the hill and entered the inn in Huizhou.
Dan Seol-young locked herself in her room and didn’t come out for two days.
When she emerged, she held a wooden cylinder.
Without explanation, she handed it to Dang Mujin.
“Take it.”
He examined the cylinder. It was just shy of a hand’s length. It resembled a fire starter but was too thick to be one, with a diameter as wide as two fingers.
“What is it?”
“I thought it might come in handy someday, so I designed and made it in my spare time. I didn’t expect to finish it so quickly.”
She pointed to the side of the cylinder, where a long leather string dangled like a tail.
“If something urgent happens, pull this string hard. Just enough so it doesn’t tear.”
Then she ran her thumb over a slightly protruding part at the bottom.
“Press here. The tensioned string will snap, shooting the needles inside forward.”
She mimicked a spinning motion with her hands. Whether the needles spun as they flew or there was a rotating mechanism inside, he couldn’t tell.
Dang Mujin decided not to overthink it. Just as Dan Seol-young couldn’t fully grasp his medical or metallurgical skills, he couldn’t completely understand the mechanics of her creations.
“Pull the string and press the back, and the needles shoot out?”
“Exactly.”
“Is it like a disposable slingshot or bow?”
“Precisely. But don’t underestimate it because of its size. It’s much more powerful than an ordinary bow or slingshot.”
During their time in Luoyang, Dan Seol-young often asked him to make various things.
She had requested broken or unused needles and asked him to carve small parts. It seemed it was all for this cylinder.
She continued her explanation.
“Once you pull the string, use it as soon as possible, within a minute or two. Don’t store it for too long without using it. If the leather deteriorates, it becomes useless.”
“Got it. What’s this cylinder called?”
“I hadn’t thought of a name. How about ‘Heavenly Needle Cylinder’?”
“That’s quite a grand name.”
“If I named it something weak like ‘Little Bee Needle Cylinder,’ you wouldn’t reach for it in a crisis.”
So, she wanted him to trust it in dangerous moments.
Dang Mujin chuckled and hugged her. She was a bit unkempt from not washing, but she didn’t smell bad. In fact, there was a faintly sweet scent.
Surprised by his sudden gesture, she stiffened momentarily but soon wrapped her arms around his waist. They stayed like that for a while.
To outsiders, it might have seemed like child’s play.
But for these two awkward souls, it was enough. Sometimes, being clumsy allows for things that wouldn’t be possible otherwise.
Releasing her, Dang Mujin stood and looked into her eyes.
“I’ll be there soon, so wait for me in Chengdu. Okay?”
“Okay.”
She gazed back at him.
With a confident smile, he left the inn.
Now, he had to follow the physician’s trail.
The Dark Doctor rarely left Xinjiang.
To be precise, he had no reason to leave. He could find almost everything he needed for his experiments there—materials, assistants, and subjects.
But thinking about it the other way, it meant he would leave if there was a special reason.
And the news of the appearance of the Zhen bird was such a reason.
The Zhen bird, with its emerald-green feathers, was a large bird. Its size and crest were notable, but its fame came from its poison, not its appearance.
Ordinary birds are harmless. But the jimsae is different; it carries poison. From a young age, it feeds on venomous creatures like vipers, poisonous snakes, blister beetles, and centipedes, accumulating toxins in its body.
The jimsae’s poison is so potent that if a person touches it, their hand will rot. If it touches the eyes, blindness ensues.
There are even tales of large jimsae flying over fields, leaving the crops below withered and dead.
The poison becomes even more lethal when ingested. No one has ever survived tasting even a small piece of jimsae meat, and liquor infused with its feathers is so tasteless and odorless that it’s often used for assassinations.
For a physician like Ma-ui, who is more interested in poisons than cures, the jimsae’s venom is invaluable.
The problem is, jimsae are extremely rare. They were always scarce, but recently, their numbers have dwindled even further.
Even Ma-ui, who could usually procure anything he desired, found it nearly impossible to obtain even a single jimsae feather, let alone a living bird.
To make matters worse, the jimsae is not a bird that an ordinary person can catch. What hunter would dare capture a bird that rots your hand with a mere touch?
If anyone were to catch a jimsae, it would have to be Ma-ui himself.
After years of waiting for news of a jimsae sighting, Ma-ui finally heard of one in Qinghai Province. Without hesitation, he set off in a carriage for the vast, sparsely populated region.
Qinghai is one of the largest areas in the central plains, but with so few inhabitants, encountering another person is rare. It takes at least three days to reach even a small village.
To make matters worse, a fierce snowstorm raged on.
The carriage moved at a snail’s pace, but Ma-ui was unfazed.
Suddenly, the slow-moving carriage came to a halt. At first, Ma-ui thought they might be avoiding a ditch, but as time passed, the carriage remained still.
Just as he was considering asking what was happening, one of the carriage doors swung open. A man dressed in black appeared.
Ma-ui’s attendants were also dressed in black, so the attire itself wasn’t unusual.
The problem was that instead of reporting the situation, the man casually sat next to Ma-ui.
“Ugh, it’s freezing. My hands and feet are numb,” the man said, brushing snow off his clothes and closing the door.
“Who are you?” Ma-ui asked.
The man in black responded with a hint of disbelief, “What kind of manners are those? Not even a ‘Who might you be?’ but a ‘Who are you?’”
“Answer me.”
“If you made an elder wait for months in this freezing backwater of Qinghai, you should start with an apology,” the man grumbled, removing his mask to reveal a middle-aged face with graying hair. It was a face Ma-ui recognized—Goeui Lee Choong.
Goeui demanded with the confidence of someone reclaiming a long-held deposit, “Ma-ui, you have a medical book, don’t you? Hand it over.”
“Medical book? Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t write those,” Ma-ui retorted.
But Goeui spoke as if he knew better. “That’s impossible. Physicians are a breed obsessed with leaving records. There are countless martial artists who die without leaving a manual, but I’ve never seen a physician who didn’t leave a medical book before dying. Even those who want to end their medical lineage can’t bring themselves to destroy their books.”
Ma-ui chuckled, knowing Goeui wasn’t wrong.
Young physicians typically document their patients’ symptoms and treatments. Over time, these records grow and, when meticulously organized, become a medical book. Ma-ui had followed the same path.
However, he had no intention of handing over his book, especially not to someone who had just killed all his attendants and boarded his carriage uninvited.
Dark mist enveloped Ma-ui’s hands as he spoke in a chilling voice, “It’s a shame. You won’t live long enough to leave a book.”
“Me?” Goeui smirked, pulling up the corners of his mouth. “Of course, I left mine behind, you fool.”