Dream
In Sichuan Province, there are two sects belonging to the Nine Great Schools.
The Emei Sect, which—alongside Shaolin—is the center of Buddhist martial arts. And the Qingcheng Sect, which inherited the great lineage of Daoist martial arts.
From the perspective of martial artists, the two sects stand at nearly the same level.
But for ordinary people who know nothing of martial arts, the story is different.
The Emei Sect resides at Golden Summit on Mount Emei, a place that takes at least seven days to reach on foot from Chengdu, the provincial capital of Sichuan. The nuns and monks of Emei care only for cultivation and martial arts, without concern for worldly matters. They don't even bother with something as common as branch halls.
Because of that, ordinary people in Sichuan have little interest in Emei. In fact, they might go their entire lives without ever speaking to an Emei disciple.
But the Qingcheng Sect is different.
Qingcheng is only two days away from Chengdu, and they've been aggressive in expanding their influence. They've even established three large branch halls within Sichuan.
Anyone living in Sichuan—unless they're in a remote area—can often see Qingcheng disciples passing by. And with just a few connections, it's easy to form ties with them. You could say Qingcheng truly dominates Sichuan.
Among all Qingcheng's branch halls, the largest by far is the Chengdu Branch.
The Chengdu Branch houses dozens of Daoist masters and hundreds of secular disciples.
Its scale rivals that of many mid-tier sects, so a great number of people relied on the Chengdu Branch for their livelihoods. The Tang family was one such household.
The Tang family had been physicians for generations.
Up until the time of Tang Mujin's great-grandfather, they were nothing more than mediocre local doctors. But things changed when Tang Mujin's grandfather opened dealings with the Qingcheng Sect.
Their income became relatively stable, and their reputation grew thanks to treating Qingcheng's prestigious martial artists.
What more could a doctor ask for? It was a fine life, if one lived without greed.
Tang Mujin had no complaints watching his father live as a respected physician. He too believed he would inherit the family trade and live as his father did.
Tang Jeseon, his father, thought the same. He taught Mujin medicine with the intention of passing down the family practice.
However, Mujin had not yet treated patients himself.
He had ample medical knowledge but lacked practical experience. Patients also preferred treatment from the seasoned Tang Jeseon rather than the young Mujin.
Besides, Tang Jeseon was still in his prime and full of vigor.
Thus, Mujin's role was mostly chores.
For instance, traveling deep into the mountains to procure herbs from a gatherer.
That was what Mujin was doing now.
The herb gatherer, Jong Gwak, handed Mujin a bundle and raised a finger.
"An ingot of silver."
Mujin peeked inside the bundle and grumbled.
"This is way less than usual, isn't it?"
"Check the bottom. Do you know how hard it is to find chinaberry seeds and mulberry silkworm eggs in this season?"
"I know. Just saying."
Mujin handed over a silver ingot. Pricey for one bundle of herbs.
But compared to the quality of Jong Gwak's herbs, it was cheap. Jong Gwak never bothered with common stuff like kudzu or duckweed.
In truth, a physician's skill was only half the trade—the other half was the variety and quality of herbs they possessed.
Tang Jeseon knew this well. That's why he sent his son to Jong Gwak twice a month.
The round trip from Chengdu to Jong Gwak's mountain hut took a full day.
Most people would have considered it a chore, but Mujin enjoyed it.
He got along well with Jong Gwak. And sometimes, visiting him meant unexpected bonuses.
Mujin hinted at this now.
"Got anything else this time?"
"There's something, yeah."
Two weeks ago, Mujin had gotten a handful of deer jerky from Jong Gwak. It was well-seasoned and perfectly dried—a delicacy.
A month before, they'd shared a pheasant Jong Gwak caught while foraging. As for rabbits, they'd shared so many he'd lost count.
"So what is it this time?"
"Mushrooms."
Jong Gwak pulled three or four dried mushrooms from his pocket.
Mujin frowned. Dried mushrooms weren't bad as snacks, but he had come hoping for meat.
"What kind of mushrooms? No leftover jerky or rabbit meat? I even bought some fine liquor on the way here."
Mujin complained, but Jong Gwak grinned confidently.
"You don't know quality when you see it. These mushrooms are rarer than jerky."
"Those?"
Mujin was a physician—there wasn't a medicinal mushroom he didn't know, and he was familiar with nearly every edible variety too. But these he'd never seen.
"Are they some sort of delicacy? I don't care much for mushroom dishes…"
"No. These aren't for taste. They're special."
"Special? Like an elixir? Something that boosts one's inner strength a whole level?"
Jong Gwak narrowed his eyes and looked at Mujin.
"If they were that, I wouldn't show them to you. I'd have hidden them away to sell to a martial master."
"Then what are they?"
"They offer a… special experience. Follow me."
He led Mujin into the hut. There, he sliced the dried mushrooms finely and handed Mujin half a handful.
"The only downside is the awful taste. Pop them in and swallow quick."
"If they taste bad and aren't medicinal, why eat them?"
"You'll see."
With that, Jong Gwak tossed half a handful into his mouth, swallowed, and grinned at Mujin. His eyes seemed to say, Scared?
Mujin, young and full of pride, didn't want to be belittled by his peer.
So he too shoved the mushrooms into his mouth. A foul, indescribable taste filled him, nearly making him spit them out. But he forced himself to swallow.
And nothing happened.
"…Disgusting, but that's it? What's so special?"
"Wait. You'll see soon."
Jong Gwak lay back lazily. Mujin followed suit. They chatted idly about trivial things—about a pretty girl in the village, or a trap set for pheasants.
Then, after about half an hour, Mujin felt something strange.
"W-what?"
"Starting to feel it, right?"
His hands and feet tingled, his body went slack.
It was like drunkenness, but different.
His vision swam with kaleidoscopic colors. Flavors and aromas of delicious foods he hadn't eaten in years suddenly filled his mouth.
"What is this?"
"A hallucinogenic mushroom. Rare find."
"Incredible…"
A peculiar sensation coursed through him.
Relaxed yet ecstatic, filled with a strange confidence—as though he could do anything.
Suddenly, unease struck him.
"This won't harm us, right?"
Jong Gwak, still sprawled on the floor, smirked.
"Nothing to worry about. Just don't tell your father."
"Of course not…"
Time slipped by, and the mushroom's effects began to fade.
Judging by the sun, about half an hour had passed.
Mujin regretted that it was ending.
He picked up another mushroom.
Seeing this, Jong Gwak waved frantically.
"Don't. Nothing good comes from overdoing it."
"You don't want to waste them, is that it?"
"No. They spoil quickly anyway, and I can't sell them. Nothing to save."
Mujin grinned at him—the same grin Jong Gwak had given earlier, daring him to prove his courage.
"Then there's no problem."
He shoved the mushroom into his mouth—twice the amount as before.
Jong Gwak looked alarmed.
"You're on your own. Even I've never eaten that much."
"I'll be fine."
Mujin answered with confidence and closed his eyes.
And shortly after, Tang Mujin felt as though his entire body were sinking into the earth.
Just moments ago, he had been lying on the floor, chatting with Jong Gwak. But now, Mujin found himself in a bustling city.
Yet this was no ordinary city. Every building was carved from stone, and every person in sight was a dwarf.
Not ordinary dwarves either.
They were so short that they barely reached a man's chest, yet their arms, legs, and torsos were twice as thick. Their faces and jaws were covered with thick beards that shrouded half their upper bodies.
Mujin noticed the ground felt strangely close—almost as if he too had become a dwarf.
He raised his hands. Thick, stubby arms and fingers, just like the dwarves around him, came into view.
Ordinarily, he should have been terrified. Yet he felt oddly calm, as though he had always been a dwarf since birth.
Someone tapped him on the shoulder from behind.
"Grombel. What are you spacing out for?"
"Uh… uh?"
Grombel? Was he calling me?
Of course. My name is Grombel.
Grombel belatedly came to his senses. What was I doing again?
Some strange human name—Tang Mujin—drifted through his mind. But with a few sharp shakes of his head, the alien name vanished like mist.
"Snap out of it, Grombel. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance."
"I know."
This wasn't the time to daze off. Today was the day the Ironmaul Forge selected its new blacksmith apprentices.
What dwarf didn't dream of becoming a blacksmith at Ironmaul Forge?
Grombel clenched his fist. Today, he couldn't afford nerves—he had to show his skill.
Together with his friend, he entered the Ironmaul Forge.
He demonstrated his talent to the fullest, and days later, word came that he had been chosen as one of Ironmaul's blacksmiths.
And so, day after day, he swung his hammer to his heart's content.
His skill grew at a remarkable pace. After a hundred years or so, even the three- or four-hundred-year-old elders could no longer call him a novice.
By then, the name Tang Mujin had long since faded completely from his mind.
He thought he would live this way forever. But then, one day, he felt a hand shaking him.
"Hey, aren't you going to wake up?"
Grombel lifted his head. A strange human loomed over him.
No—what strange human? It was Jong Gwak. Just moments ago they had been eating mushrooms together and chatting.
The pieces didn't add up. Mujin gave a dazed reply.
"Uh… what?"
"How long are you gonna lie there like that?"
Mujin clutched his head.
The memories of Grombel the dwarven blacksmith and Tang Mujin the physician's son tangled together in confusion.
Was the dwarf Grombel dreaming he was a human, or was the human Mujin dreaming he had been a dwarf?
Was this what they called the butterfly's dream?
Jong Gwak looked down at him with an exasperated expression.
"Told you not to overdo it. You stuffed yourself, then went limp. Thought something happened to you."
Mujin glanced outside, feeling embarrassed.
The sun was already leaning west. He must have been out for a good two hours.
Yet it didn't feel long at all. No—if anything, far too short.
After all, in his dream he had lived for over a hundred years. How could two hours feel long in comparison?
As Mujin staggered to his feet, Jong Gwak asked,
"Heading off already?"
"Yeah."
"Alright. See you in half a month. I'll have a pheasant or rabbit ready, so don't be late."
"Got it."
Mujin gathered his bundle of herbs and hurried toward Chengdu. His head still swam in a hazy fog.