Jueul Village
There was no real road from the direction Hong Jusán had come.
Endless trees of similar shape grew in succession, and the slope stretched on without much change.
No wonder one could get lost here.
Hong Jusán retraced his memory as he guided Tang Mujin and the strange man forward. But to anyone watching, it was clear he was uncertain. Eventually, the strange man stepped up.
"Better let me find the way."
"You know the road?"
"I told you earlier. There's a village called Jueul about two shichen from here. Of course I've been there."
The strange man strode ahead with long, unhurried steps, while Hong Jusán and Tang Mujin followed behind.
After climbing and descending hills for about two shichen, a small village surrounded by a fence appeared.
It was nestled in a small basin within the mountains, and judging from the decent soil, it wasn't a slash-and-burn settlement.
The strange man looked down at the village and muttered briefly,
"The village has grown a little since last time."
Hong Jusán widened his eyes in surprise.
"Hardly anyone from outside ever comes here. When exactly did you visit? I've never even seen your face before."
"It's been a good fifteen years since I last came to Jueul Village. No wonder you wouldn't know me."
Hong Jusán nodded, muttering something about fifteen years. Tang Mujin, however, asked in a different vein,
"What brought you to a mountain village like this back then?"
"No particular reason. I was wandering the land, and my steps led me here."
Then why was he wandering?
Tang Mujin almost pressed further, but stopped. The man's mouth was already firmly shut.
There was no need to rush — they weren't only traveling together for a day or two.
The three entered the village.
Though the houses were small, they were well kept without signs of decay. Even the stray dogs and cats wandering about had a decent amount of flesh on their bones.
"For a village in the deep forest, it seems rather well-off."
"Indeed. When I came here before, I even saw a beggar."
Truly impoverished villages have no beggars. One must have somewhere to beg from to make a living that way.
Hong Jusán scratched his head.
"That beggar was probably my master. He told me it's been over twenty years since he first brought me into Jueul Village."
In truth, a beggar in a village with fewer than a hundred households was unusual.
Beggars tend to gather in large cities. Small villages always lack hands, and if Hong Jusán and his master had wished, they could have abandoned begging.
But members of the Beggar Sect often clung to tradition, refusing to work even when jobs were available. Some zealots even claimed, "A beggar must never seek food except by begging."
It was eccentric in the eyes of outsiders, but since it was their choice, Tang Mujin had no intention to argue.
As they walked around, they noticed something odd: the village was nearly empty.
In broad daylight, shops were shuttered, and one could count the people on the street with a single hand.
"Seems folks are hiding indoors because of the pestilence?"
"Yes."
On the way, Hong Jusán had explained why he sought physicians:
A strange illness had spread through the village, and even treatment from the local doctor failed to cure it.
Just then, a gray-bearded old man appeared in the distance and approached the three.
Deep crow's-feet lined his eyes, which, paired with his gentle expression, could make one mistake him for a Daoist sage.
Only his shabby, dust-stained clothes marked him as a beggar like Hong Jusán.
He addressed Hong Jusán.
"So you really did go looking for physicians. And here I thought you'd never set foot outside the village."
"I was lucky. Truthfully, they found me, rather than I finding them."
"Which one is the physician?"
"They both are."
The old beggar turned toward the strange man and nodded.
"This one, I think I've seen before. Your name was—"
"Yi Chung."
"Ah, yes. That's right. Now I remember. Age has me forgetting everything these days. I am Hong Gyeon, called Majeonggai — Hemp Field Beggar. I spent so much time around hemp plots that the nickname stuck."
"This village grows hemp?"
The hemp he spoke of wasn't ginseng but cannabis, a plant with countless uses. Larger villages often had hemp fields.
But in a small place like Jueul Village, they were rare.
Hong Gyeon shook his head.
"No, not here. Only a few plants here and there, grown privately by those who need them."
"I see."
"Anyway, may I explain the situation on Jusán's behalf?"
The strange man nodded.
"Once you see the patients, you'll understand better."
Hong Gyeon led the physicians to a nearby house.
Inside were three people: a man, his wife, and their child. The wife and child both lay groaning in bed.
It seemed the husband was tending them.
The moment Hong Gyeon entered, he began carefully wiping the boy's body with a cloth. The child had sweated so profusely that the cloth was quickly soaked.
The husband took the cloth naturally from Hong Gyeon and wrung it dry. Clearly, Hong Gyeon had long been helping care for the sick.
Then he began explaining in earnest.
"About a month ago, some villagers fell ill. Spring coughs are common, so at first no one thought much of it. But this year was different. People weakened and could hardly rise from bed, their symptoms worsening steadily."
"And then?"
"More and more fell sick. Now, over half the village is afflicted, and nearly twenty have already died."
"So there aren't many healthy left."
"Those without sick family fled to escape the plague. Only the ill and their kin remain here now."
"You and your disciple seem healthy enough."
"By fortune, Jusán and I were spared. We considered leaving as well, but how could we abandon the village where we've lived all our lives? So we stayed to help."
"I see."
While Hong Gyeon and the strange man spoke, Tang Mujin examined the patient.
The boy's arm was slick with clammy sweat. Though Hong Gyeon had just wiped him, the moisture returned almost immediately.
Heavy, sticky sweat.
Tang Mujin pressed gently on the boy's wrist with his fingers.
The pulse that should have been pounding was barely perceptible.
Tang Mujin touched the child's hands and feet one by one, then placed two fingers against the neck.
Even for a child, the pulse is too fast. And weak.
He gently touched the boy's ear. The flushed ear was burning hot.
Though unconscious, the child twisted and fidgeted endlessly, as though uncomfortable.
The hands aren't hot, but the ears are. The internal heat cannot find an outlet and has surged upward into the head. His limbs thrash restlessly, unable to find ease.
Checking his breathing, Tang Mujin pried the child's mouth open to look at the tongue. A white, powdery coat covered it.
He asked the boy's father,
"Has he vomited?"
"When it first began, he complained of headaches and dizziness and vomited."
Tang Mujin folded his arms, pondering. The strange man asked,
"Do you know what sickness this is?"
"The symptoms are damp-heat, rapid pulse, internal steaming, restlessness, vomiting. Clearly it belongs to the category of epidemic febrile illnesses."
Epidemic fever (온역, 瘟疫) referred to heat diseases caused by malignant qi entering through the nose or mouth.
But epidemic fevers varied endlessly, each resembling yet differing in detail. No physician would stop at simply saying, 'It's an epidemic fever.'
That would be like pointing at cows, horses, and wolves alike and saying, 'They're animals without wings.'
The crucial matter was: which kind of epidemic fever.
"Do you know the precise name of the disease?"
"At first I thought it was summer-heat fire toxin , but it isn't."
"Why not?"
All four present — the strange man, the father, and the two beggars — fixed their eyes on Tang Mujin. He answered smoothly,
"There's no foul odor. When we first entered, there was only the smell of sweat. Even now, there's none of the sharp, biting stench characteristic of summer-heat fire toxin patients."
"Then what's the treatment?"
"If it continues like this, even if he recovers, he'll be left a simpleton or go blind. First, we must draw down the heat surging into the head. It would be best to needle Im-eup (ST41), Mok-chang (GB9), Jeong-yeong (ST42), Seung-ryeong (GB18), and Noe-gong (PC8)."
"And medicine?"
"No need right away. We'll watch for changes, then use Ophiopogon (맥문동), Trichosanthes seed (과루인), Platycodon (길경), and Fritillaria (패모)."
The strange man grinned.
"Good. You've read the Inner Canon well. Do you have needles?"
"Yes."
"Then try needling."
Tang Mujin took out his needle case — ones he had crafted diligently until the night before their departure. But there was a problem: he had only ever received acupuncture, never administered it.
He recalled the illustrations in medical texts and the times his father had needled him.
Estimating five pun from the hairline on the child's forehead, he positioned the needle.
This should be about Im-eup…
He knew in theory, but as with all first attempts, his confidence faltered.
His fingertips trembled faintly — until the strange man strode forward and clasped his right hand.
"Did you think I taught you breathing exercises only to train martial arts?"
"Sir?"
"Feel it. For one as sensitive to qi as you, precise control is a blessing to a physician."
A fine stream of inner strength seeped from the man's fingertips, into Tang Mujin's hand, then down to his own fingertip, and finally into the child's scalp.
The qi remained the stranger's — but he drew a strand of Tang Mujin's qi along with it.
Thus Tang Mujin experienced the flow directly, as if he himself had guided the qi.
He closed his eyes, focusing wholly.
The man's inner strength moved slowly, carefully, avoiding the child's brain.
The meridians flowed faintly, revealing five lines traversing the head, each studded with dozens of acupoints.
Every point appeared vividly. Tang Mujin now knew exactly where to place the needles. But when he began to move, the strange man restrained him.
"No. Not yet."
"Then what?"
"Feel the malignant qi coursing through the child. And when you needle with your own inner strength, observe how that qi reacts."
Tang Mujin concentrated once more. Inside the child's head, he sensed a dark, misty qi — like a bank of storm clouds.
The turbid qi clogged the meridians, damming up the heat gathered from the organs and limbs, trapping it in the head.
"Do you feel it?"
"Yes."
"Then needle."
Carefully, Tang Mujin inserted the needle at Im-eup. The malignant qi there streamed out along the needle, and the obstructed heat began to stir.
His hands moved cautiously yet with growing confidence — to Mok-chang, Seung-ryeong, Jeong-yeong, and Noe-gong.
With the five points needled, he felt utterly drained.
Tang Mujin released his grip and stood.
Every gaze fixed on the boy's face. At first, nothing changed.
The father, having expected little, remained sunken in despair. A deep sigh filled the room.
The strange man said gently,
"Why so impatient? Wait a little. You'll see."
How long did they wait? At last, a small change appeared. The boy's flushed ears returned to normal color.
A moment later, he inhaled deeply — sssuuup — and exhaled long — whooo.
His breathing steadied. The father touched his forehead. Still not normal, but undeniably cooler.
Without a word, he bowed deeply to Tang Mujin.
The strange man tapped Tang Mujin's shoulder and whispered,
"Now you are truly a physician."
But Tang Mujin hardly heard.
He was listening only to the boy's calmer breaths.