Since it had been a long time since he returned to his hometown, Tang Mujin expected warm words of welcome. Instead, his father, Tang Jaeseon, looked a bit displeased.
***
Father's Displeasure
"It's a relief you came back in good health, but what kind of behavior is that for a man?"
"Huh?"
"When I was your age, I practically carried your mother on my back wherever I went. I'm not saying you should go that far. But you let your bride come all this way alone? Shameful boy."
…Bride?
Tang Mujin was bewildered, but Tang Jaeseon, still dissatisfied, pressed on.
"What's with that look? Didn't you tell Seol-young to stay home? You seduced a grown maiden and now you're trying to wash your hands of her?"
Tang Mujin searched his memory.
I don't recall seducing her…
The first one to say she wanted to go to Sichuan was Dan Seol-young herself. She had said she was sick of Songshan and wanted to see the Dògang cliffs of Sichuan.
But after a while, all he remembered was the thought of taking Dan Seol-young to Sichuan. That was why, when they parted ways at Huizhou, he told her to head to the Tang family clinic.
He glanced at her now. Dan Seol-young widened her eyes, then quickly avoided his gaze.
Did she truly not know what was going on—or was she just playing innocent?
…She couldn't have planned this, right?
Impossible. He had sent her home first on his own accord.
In fact, even if she had such intentions, he wouldn't have disliked it. He hadn't wanted to part ways with her either.
When she said she wanted to leave Songshan and go to Sichuan, he had secretly been glad—though he never showed it.
***
A Change of Subject
Tang Jaeseon chose not to pursue the matter further and changed the topic.
"Anyway, who's that person outside? Doesn't seem like a guest."
"He's a man named Myeong from Anhui Province. We ended up traveling together by chance, and he plans to stay nearby for a while."
"No need for him to stay outside. There are empty rooms here, let him stay in one. Daughter-in-law, could you go and guide him?"
"Yes!"
Relieved to escape the awkward atmosphere, Dan Seol-young hurried out.
Now only father and son remained.
Relaxing his posture at last, Tang Jaeseon sighed. Apparently, he had wanted to maintain dignity in front of her.
"So. How was the journey? That eccentric Yi Chung has quite a reputation, so I worried belatedly."
"It wasn't always pleasant, but I met many people and saw many things. And—I brought back something to show you."
"What is it?"
Tang Mujin pulled three books from his bundle. Jesun frowned at the titles.
One glance was enough to know they were medical texts. But such books were never supposed to circulate freely outside. They were heirlooms, pride, and livelihood for every physician's family—no different from secret martial arts manuals leaking out of a sect.
"Where did you get these? You mustn't covet other families' medical knowledge."
"Elder Yi Chung gave them to me. And these are no ordinary texts."
"There's no such thing as an ordinary medical text. Each one contains methods that save lives."
"That's not what I meant. These are the three greatest medical texts under heaven: the Universal Book of Ten Thousand Cures of the Divine Doctor, the Nine Poisons Treatise of the Demon Doctor, and the nameless manuscript of Elder Yi Chung . The three rarest books in existence."
Jesun stared at his son. Was he joking? The claim was absurd—yet Mujin's expression was deadly serious.
"…You're telling the truth?"
"Yes."
Jesun quickly opened one and skimmed through. Though he flipped at a rapid pace, the sheer volume kept him occupied for quite a while.
A lifetime of studying medicine had trained him to recognize value at once.
"…These are treasures. But far beyond the reach of ordinary men."
Of the three, he could only understand and apply less than half—parts of the Universal Book of Ten Thousand Cures, and some portions of the eccentric's manuscript. Much of the latter required inner cultivation to perform, already beyond him. As for the Nine Poisons Treatise, it was more a book of toxicology than healing—a thing he had no reason to touch.
Mujin spoke gently.
"Fortunately, I studied them beforehand. I can help guide you through the contents."
Help him?
Jesun realized with a start that his son's skill had surpassed his own.
He looked at him for a long time, then slowly shook his head.
"…No. Not now. If the time comes when I need it, we'll speak again."
What his son had said meant that the boy he thought would live as an ordinary frontier physician had stepped beyond the realm of the ordinary.
As the saying goes: a treasured blade cannot be hidden in its sheath.
With such talent, sooner or later, Mujin's name would spread across the Central Plains.
Jesun felt proud—yet heavy-hearted. For the path of an extraordinary man never comes without extraordinary hardship.
***
Back in the Hometown
Some time passed after their return.
Although Mujin's skills had already surpassed his father's, Tang Jaeseon still represented the family clinic. Mujin merely assisted alongside Dan Seol-young. There were two main reasons.
First, physicians peak late. Unlike physical laborers, a doctor in his thirties or forties is often considered too young. Patients preferred the seasoned Jesun over the younger Mujin. And since Jesun's mastery of the Divine Doctor's techniques was more than enough for most ailments, Mujin had no reason to push forward. Besides, stepping out himself would mean pushing his father into the background—and Mujin did not want to see him grow idle and powerless at a young age.
Second, Mujin was simply too busy. Even sitting quietly in the clinic, all kinds of people came seeking him. Right now, even a blacksmith was clinging to him.
"Come on, surely you can spare a little time. You can finish decocting the medicine later."
"If you stop a decoction halfway, it's like heating and cooling iron before it's forged—it ruins the medicine."
"Bah, how much could those herbs be worth? I'll pay the cost. Just come with me for a moment!"
Tang Mujin shot the blacksmith a displeased glare, and the man quickly realized he had misspoken and bowed in apology.
"Ah, I spoke out of turn. Sorry about that. I was just in such a hurry. Anyway, it won't take long. Can't you spare just a little time?"
Mujin sat firmly, prodding the fire beneath the medicine pot with a kindling stick.
This wasn't the first time blacksmiths had tried to coax him like this.
At first, they only asked for one kè (about fifteen minutes). But once he stepped into the forge, things always changed. The smiths would surround him as naturally as if weaving a human barricade.
One kè would stretch into half an hour, then an hour, then two.
And since Mujin himself had the same restless streak—he couldn't stand leaving red-hot iron unfinished—once inside a forge, he rarely left before sunset.
That was why he now refused to even get up, let alone step foot into the smithy. He had to cut it off cold.
"I was at the forge the other day. I told you all I'd take two days of rest and come back tomorrow."
"I swear it'll only take a moment. Yesterday, Smith Song brought something rare from his hometown—a powder called Wusha (Black Sand) or something—and he mixed it into refined iron. But the results are… very strange."
Mujin snorted.
"Strange, my foot. If Wusha was mixed in, I can already guess you couldn't melt it properly."
The smith rolled his eyes nervously at Mujin's confident tone.
"Y-you know about Wusha?"
"It's that black powder, twice as heavy as iron, isn't it? Scraped from wolframite in Yunnan. You can't melt it with ordinary heat."
"So… not with ordinary heat? Does that mean you know how?"
"To melt Wusha, you'd have to go to the Shazhou region in Hubei and buy their coal."
"Their coal is different?"
"Unlike normal coal or wood, Shazhou coal burns with yellow flames instead of red. And instead of dying down, the fire clumps together and fuses into solid lumps."
As Mujin explained, the blacksmith leaned in, nodding slowly, fascinated.
"I had no idea such a thing existed."
"Yes. If you build a good furnace, stoke that coal without restraint, and pump the bellows until you drop, you can manage to melt Wusha. Once you've refined your iron in a side furnace, add just a couple pun of melted Wusha, hammer it well, and you'll get superb steel—harder and tougher than ordinary steel, almost unbreakable."
"Only a couple pun? That little?"
"Too much is as bad as too little. Overdoing it won't help."
Most outsiders thought blacksmithing was all the same, but among smiths, specialties varied. Not simply the difference between swordsmiths and toolmakers.
In big cities like Luoyang, there were even craftsmen who did nothing but one stage of the process: gathering black sand from the Yangtze with sieves, or hammering refined metal all day to condition it.
Generations of masters had devoted their lives to refining these steps: how best to purify ore, how to create the finest iron.
Martial artists only remembered the swordsmiths, but those very swordsmiths often bowed their heads to other craftsmen, desperate for the best iron they could get. Without superior steel, even the greatest skill could not shine.
What set Tang Mujin apart wasn't only his hand skill. It was that he understood every step—from mining to the forging of a finished blade.
The blacksmith before him knew just how extraordinary that was, and spoke in open admiration.
"…I thought you were only good with your hands. Where did you learn methods like this?"
Mujin deflected smoothly.
"Just as I met countless physicians traveling across the Central Plains, I also met plenty of blacksmiths. Picked up bits and pieces. Anyway, I'll visit the forge tomorrow. For today, go back. If you've got too much energy, spend it melting that Wusha."
"Ah… all right, then."
And blacksmiths weren't the only ones constantly seeking him out. Physicians who wanted new acupuncture needles, and martial artists who wanted new swords, came in droves.
For the physicians, Mujin had already prepared bundles of needles in advance, happily handing out ten or more at a time. Every time he saw their faces, he thought of the old man's words.
If even one life could be saved with these needles, then it was worth staying up nights to make more.
But swords for martial artists were another matter.
Without tailoring the blade to its user, the result could never be the best. And once he began forging, the process consumed much time.
So Mujin refused nearly every request. The only exceptions were occasional commissions from the Qingcheng Sect, which he found hard to decline.
He had already made a sword for Hwang Ryeong-ja, the branch master of the Chengdu branch. Now it was the turn of Jin Song, the branch's chief instructor and second-in-command. But here, Mujin began stalling.
The timing wasn't right. The iron was poor. The weather too damp—conditions unsuited for forging.
Yet he had also promised Jin Song firmly: No matter what, you'll have your sword within the year. So Jin Song waited patiently.
And since everyone knew that even someone like Jin Song was still waiting in line, few dared to pester Mujin for their own swords.
In effect, Jin Song served as Mujin's shield, buying him time.
Even with just the clinic and smithing, his schedule left him gasping for air. Yet on top of that, Mujin also practiced martial arts in secret, stealing time from prying eyes.
Even if a day were twice as long, it still wouldn't have been enough.
Thus, Mujin's daily life never imposed on others. And yet, there were still a few who looked upon him with resentment.
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