Jueul Village
The child's breathing grew steady, and the wife who had been unconscious regained her senses. For now, that alone was enough.
"My name is Wīrip. You have given us tremendous help."
The family's head, Wīrip, introduced himself while gently caressing his child's cheek.
The stern look he'd worn before had vanished — this must have been closer to his true nature.
"The symptoms have only eased, not been cured."
"I know. But in front of the one who saved my family, it would be shameless to quibble over such things."
"Saved? That's too heavy a word."
"Call it what you will, but Physician Tang, you are my benefactor. I had no money left — without you, I could only have watched my child slip away."
One part of his words struck Tang Mujin as strange.
"What has money to do with it? Sickness doesn't spare anyone just because they have coin."
"That's true. But with money, you can hold off death for a little while."
Money to hold off illness? To most, that would sound puzzling. But Tang Mujin understood instantly.
"Does the physician here demand high fees?"
Wīrip shook his head.
"No. He's not greedy. Ever since the plague struck, consultations have been free. For acupuncture or moxibustion, he takes only a token sum."
"Then why say your money has run out?"
Wīrip's face darkened.
"The medicine. The herbs aren't local. They must be bought from merchants, and the price is steep. The physician even sold all he owned to purchase them."
"What kind of herbs could require that…?"
"I don't know. But in Jueul alone, nearly two hundred people need them. Even if they aren't rare or precious, the cost is crushing."
"I see…"
"At first, he gave out prescriptions cheaply. But now, he has to charge. He must save money to buy herbs when the merchants return."
Wīrip sighed heavily.
"Lately he treats only those who can afford the medicine. With so many patients and only one physician, families thrust coin into his hands to win his care."
"I understand."
"I don't blame him. But with no money left, watching my wife and son waste away — my heart was burning to ashes."
The plague had made everyone in the village miserable.
Not only had many died, but the wealth of the people and the physician had all flowed into the merchants' purses.
At least the physician here seems to understand the nature of the illness, enough to prescribe treatment.
Tang Mujin resolved to seek him out and at least learn the name of the disease.
"Do you know where the physician stays?"
"He once lived on the village outskirts, but lately, I hear he spends most of his time in the mountains. He seldom comes down except to treat the sick."
"The mountains?"
"Yes. He searches endlessly for herbs he can use. A generous man."
"And no one knows exactly where he is now?"
"No one."
"…I see. Thank you."
The two physicians and the two beggars left Wīrip's home.
Tang Mujin scratched his head. Since they could not meet the physician right away, the only choice was to tend to the sick for now.
The strange man agreed.
"Mujin. Let's split into pairs and treat as many as we can. You Beggar Sect fellows, guide us."
"Of course. Jusán, stay with Physician Tang."
"Yes, sir."
So it was: Tang Mujin with Hong Jusán the Beggar, and the strange man with Hong Gyeon the Hemp-field Beggar. The four split up to tend to the afflicted.
Indeed, all the villagers shared the same illness.
Without knowing the exact disease, all they could do was use inner strength to assist acupuncture.
Of course, needling alone could not banish the sickness. Without removing the root cause, they could only ease pain and delay death.
Yet even that much filled the villagers with gratitude.
How could they not, when the faces of their dying loved ones softened and their breathing grew calmer?
"Thank you, Physician. You've lightened a great burden. I thought I would lose my family today."
"They are not cured. I'll return tomorrow."
Tang Mujin and the strange man gave their utmost. But for those whose condition was dire, there was little they could do. A single needle could not turn aside death at the doorstep.
By the time they had tended to all the sick, night had already fallen.
The two Beggar Sect men led them to a fairly large, empty house.
"You can rest here. Of the vacant houses, this is the largest, with some furnishings left."
"Thank you."
"No, we are the ones grateful. You are our village's benefactors."
Hardly had the two entered when the villagers crowded in, bearing gifts.
One man brought armloads of firewood and charcoal. A woman brought food.
But Tang Mujin and the strange man accepted only a little, returning the rest. No one knew better than they how poor the villagers had become.
The empty house had a kang — a raised heated platform. Charcoal was burned beneath it to warm the floor.
Though it was late spring and not truly needed, they lit the charcoal and lay down to rest their weary bodies. The warmth melted their fatigue away.
In a drowsy voice, Tang Mujin asked,
"Elder… you don't know what this plague is either, do you?"
The strange man nodded.
"I know a few illnesses with similar signs. But each one has something that doesn't fit. Perhaps it's a disease I've never encountered."
Then, from somewhere outside, came the faint sound of mourning. Likely another villager had succumbed to the sickness. Or perhaps it was for one who had died yesterday, or the day before.
Hearing the mourning cries weighed heavily on the heart. Tang Mujin felt it, and surely the strange man did too.
So Tang Mujin pretended not to hear and asked playfully,
"Is there really something you don't know, Elder? You've always had an answer for everything I asked. I thought you knew all there was in the world."
The strange man shrugged.
"Things I don't know? Countless. Each time you learn one thing, five more unknowns appear — that's the way of the world."
"But still, your epithet is Strange Physician. I thought you knew every illness under the sun."
At that, the man chuckled quietly.
Not with mirth, but with the weary sound of someone half in regret.
"Nonsense. If I knew every disease, I wouldn't have wandered the world all these years."
"Is there some illness you wish to cure? What kind of illness is it?"
"No, not a particular one. There was once, but now I know the cure. Only — it's too late."
"…Too late?"
The strange man poured a bowl of turbid rice wine that the villagers had gifted, and downed it in one gulp.
It was the first time Tang Mujin had seen him drink.
Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, the man poured another bowl and slid it over.
Wine was no stranger to Tang Mujin — he had shared drinks more than once with the herb-gatherer Jong Gwak. He accepted without hesitation and drank.
The long-missed burn of alcohol rippled warmly through his belly.
After a long pause, the strange man finally answered,
"My wife and daughter died of illness."
"…Ah."
A weighty confession, wholly unexpected.
Tang Mujin was struck silent, but the man continued as though no response was needed.
"One day, both my wife and child burned with fever, red spots covering their bodies. I took them to a physician, but he knew no cure. I sent to the next village, fetched a physician reputed to be skilled — but he too was helpless. While searching for another, my wife and child died. Four days. That's all it took."
At once, Tang Mujin remembered the rumor — that this man had killed dozens of physicians.
He had dismissed it as false. But now… perhaps not.
Perhaps it was even tied to this story.
Hurriedly, Tang Mujin tried to change the subject.
"…I shouldn't have asked. My condolences. Shall we rest early?"
The strange man waved him off with a dry laugh.
"No, no. It's not as grim as you think. The ending is almost amusing."
He filled another bowl, drained it at once, and went on.
"After a long spell of grief, I left my hometown in a daze. Ten days later I arrived at a little village across the mountains. In truth, it was no more than a day's walk from my home, if I'd gone straight."
"…"
"There was a physician there too. I remember him clearly even now — unimpressive face, mouse-like whiskers. Hardly seemed competent. Still, on a whim, I described the symptoms my wife and daughter had shown. Do you know what he said?"
Tang Mujin slowly shook his head.
"…No."
"He told me not to worry — as long as they took the right medicine, nothing would happen. Then he handed me two packets of herbs, five copper coins. I had dozens of silver taels in my purse."
The man broke into wild, bitter laughter.
"My wife and daughter didn't die because we lacked money. Nor because no cure existed. Nor because the herbs weren't available. They died because our village physician did not know what that village physician knew. Tell me — is that not the cruelest joke in the world?"
"…"
"And so, I became a physician. To gather in one place all the medical knowledge scattered across the land."
Tang Mujin stayed silent, unable to answer.
The man smiled faintly, patting him on the back.
"No need to look so grim. It was nearly thirty years ago. So long, I can't even recall their faces anymore."
But Tang Mujin knew that wasn't true.
If he had truly forgotten, he would not wear a face like one weeping.