Nogunsan
The two walked briskly.
The cool weather felt pleasant, and their hearts were light. Overcoming the inner demon to some extent had clearly helped.
Namgung Myeong sometimes, for no particular reason, would flip on his mask or dress in black clothes. When Tang Mujin saw this, it was still unpleasant—but unlike before, he no longer fainted or flew into a frenzy.
Whether that was because he knew the masked man was Namgung, or because his rejection of masked men in black had faded, he couldn't be certain.
It was something he wouldn't know for sure until he faced another black-clad stranger.
At last, the two arrived at Nogunsan.
Its scenery was bizarre. Unlike other mountains, which began with gentle slopes that rose into sharp peaks, Nogunsan was covered with cliffs and precipices from its very border.
It looked like an immortal had thrust great stone pillars into the earth.
"No wonder herbs from Nogunsan are so expensive. Just look at this place—how are you supposed to get inside?"
"There—looks like there's a path."
Tang Mujin pointed to a narrow canyon between two cliffs.
It slanted steeply upward like a staircase to the sky. Difficult, but not impossible to climb.
Namgung Myeong checked the crude map that Haryeong had given them.
The canyon was marked on it, labeled "Entrance."
The fact that Nogunsan had a designated entry point showed just how restricted passage in and out was.
"Let's go."
The two climbed the steep gorge. At its end, a small village appeared before them.
But its location differed from what Haryeong's map had indicated—the village on the map was marked much deeper inside.
Tang Mujin frowned.
"Why's the village here?"
"No idea."
"If the village was this close, we wouldn't have needed to haul so many supplies from the last one. Carried all this for nothing."
Namgung's frustration was greater than Mujin's. Mujin's pack held the herbs, but the heaviest loads were strapped to Namgung's back.
Namgung clenched and unclenched his fists with a look of mischief.
"Kind of makes me resentful. Maybe tonight, I'll… vent my resentment on this village?"
"Calm down. A place this small—if anything goes missing, the first suspects will be outsiders."
"True."
As a self-proclaimed gentleman-thief, Namgung had clear standards.
For him, success meant not just stealing, but stealing without being caught.
And in a tiny village with maybe fewer than a hundred people, there was no way to avoid suspicion. In that sense, this was the safest village of all—from him.
"Still… don't you think this place is strange?"
"What do you mean?"
"It's too prosperous for such a small village."
Mujin looked around. No one was gaunt.
The children were plump, the adults had enough flesh that none looked sunken or hollow-cheeked.
No one's clothes were tattered. Everyone wore well-made garments of good cloth, some even in fine silks.
Not a single person went barefoot. Not even wearing rough straw sandals, as would be expected in the countryside.
Even the children wore mituri—shoes woven from fine materials, far costlier and more time-consuming to make than straw sandals. Normally, they'd be a luxury even for adults, let alone kids who'd outgrow them quickly.
And some wore leather shoes, rarer still.
"Richer than the people of Luoyang."
Mujin recalled something Goiyi had once said:
In any place where everyone is wealthy, people will flock there, and the village will inevitably expand to support them.
Poor large villages were common, but small rich ones were rare.
As the two entered the village, a man of about fifty stepped out and blocked their path.
"Never seen you before. Who are you?"
"Just travelers passing through. We hoped to find a place to stay for the night."
"Stay? Are you merchants?"
The man's eyes lingered on Mujin's large pack. His expression soured.
Does he hate merchants?
Mujin thought quickly. There may be people who dislike merchants—but no one hates a physician.
"Not merchants. I'm a physician."
"A physician? You're too young."
"I can prove it."
Mujin opened his pack, showing its contents.
Steamed, roasted, dried—an assortment of herbs prepared by different methods filled it.
Only then did the man's suspicion ease.
"My mistake. Sometimes merchants try to slip into Nogunsan."
"And that's not allowed?"
"No. Merchants aren't permitted inside. All herbs must be traded through our village. The Magistrate decreed it."
The "Magistrate" was the official overseeing the district—similar to a county headman for smaller regions.
"Since I'm not a merchant, I can enter, right?"
"Only with my permission."
"Yours?"
"Yes. I'm the village headman. This is Nakseong Village."
He certainly looked the part—like a man who enjoyed taking charge.
"Can I go too? I came all the way to Nogunsan, I'd like to gather some herbs."
The headman eyed Mujin with a trace of arrogance.
"You said you're a physician? Show your skill, and I might let you in."
"Show my skill? Ah."
Clearly, he wanted treatment. Mujin studied the headman. His posture was slightly tilted—he was definitely unwell.
"Doesn't this village get physicians often?"
"Almost never. If someone falls ill, it's three days' walk to the nearest doctor. And that old fellow hardly ever makes house calls."
"Any serious patients here?"
"Not really. Some elders weakened with age, but that can't be helped."
Mujin scratched his chin. Why had Haryeong told him to tend to patients in Nogunsan?
Nakseong was prosperous, with no grave illness, and an outside doctor was at least reachable.
Could there be another village deeper inside?
He nearly asked, then stopped himself.
Since the headman and magistrate controlled passage into Nogunsan, such questions might not be welcome.
Best to get past this village and reach the spot marked on the map.
He decided instead to focus on the headman's complaint.
"What's troubling you?"
"My leg. Been bad lately."
"How long?"
"More than half a month."
Mujin took his wrist to feel his pulse. The headman eyed him with suspicion.
"My leg hurts—why take my pulse?"
It would be nice if patients always trusted physicians, but reality was otherwise. With health at stake, suspicion was common.
And since Mujin was unusually young for a doctor, he was doubted all the more.
"The body is all connected. A bad leg doesn't always mean the problem lies in the leg itself."
"Hm."
The man still looked doubtful. Mujin ignored it and continued.
"Your pulse is wiry. That's not good."
"What does that mean?"
"It's fast and taut, forceful."
"If a dead man has no pulse, and a sick man's is weak, then a strong pulse must be good, no?"
The headman countered with his own logic—something Mujin had heard many times. He shook his head.
"Moderation is always best. Too much is as bad as too little. May I press on your abdomen?"
Though his leg ached, it was the way the physician kept prodding his wrist and belly that made the village chief uneasy. His face turned sullen.
The chief's lower abdomen wasn't hard or distended, yet its shape protruded outward.
And even though Mujin had only pressed slightly above the navel, he could already feel a rapid, forceful throbbing beneath.
"There is severe palpitation below the heart, and your kidneys appear to be in poor condition. I suspect you've had frequent diarrhea lately."
"…I don't understand what you mean."
Mujin knew the chief wouldn't grasp it.
When a physician's skill was doubted, it often helped to speak exactly as the medical texts described. Sometimes difficult words alone carried authority.
"It means there's a great pulse below the heart, and your stools are loose. Each morning your palpitations grow worse, and your bowels alternate between watery and hardened, with no middle ground."
The chief's eyes widened. He had only complained of leg trouble, yet Mujin was pointing out symptoms he had never mentioned.
"The problem with your legs isn't from a break or sprain. Rather, your legs go numb, keeping you from sleeping, and every step makes you stagger as if about to fall. That's why you cannot walk properly, isn't it?"
"…Yes."
Mujin let his qi flow through the chief's meridians, probing the state of his vessels and organs.
Then, in a voice flat and steady, like a monk reciting scripture, he continued:
"There are still hidden symptoms. You suffer intense thirst, and salty food no longer suits you, so you eat only bland fare. You've gained weight, yet your appetite is gone."
"Uh…"
"You feel the urge to urinate twice every two hours, yet it never relieves you. Each time, pain pierces deep inside your organ. Sometimes your lower back aches as if someone were pressing on it from within, doesn't it?"
Namgung Myeong, having once watched Mujin and a famed physician diagnose a patient aboard a ship, wasn't surprised.
But the chief could not hide his astonishment.
"How did you know all that? I only told you my legs were weak."
"Didn't I say I was a physician?"
"No. When I went to see another doctor, I had to describe every symptom myself."
"Well, some doctors work that way, others like me work differently."
Perhaps because Mujin did not boast but dismissed it as nothing, the chief's trust in him grew.
Mujin opened his pack, took out a small bowl, and began grinding herbs: talc, licorice root, gypsum, scutellaria root, stalkgrass, ligusticum, angelica, mint, and ginger.
"Chief. You said Nakseong Village trades in herbs from Nogun Mountain, yes? If you have fangfeng, red peony root, and forsythia fruit, please bring me a little. Even a small amount will do."
"…Alright."
As though entranced, the chief went and returned with small bundles of herbs.
They were merely dried, not properly prepared. Still, these particular herbs didn't require elaborate processing; more could simply be used.
"The issues with urination and appetite will take long, patient care. But for the palpitations and difficulty walking, this Fangfeng Tongsheng Powder will help quickly. Take it morning and evening in warm water."
Mujin wrapped the finely ground powder in coarse paper and handed it over. His movements in grinding, measuring, and packing the medicine were swift and assured.
"Th… thank you."
Sometimes, precise diagnosis and unhesitant explanation alone were enough to earn trust.
Though the chief hadn't yet swallowed the remedy, it was clear he already believed.
"How should I pay you?"
"I don't need money. I only wish to stay in Nakseong Village for a day, observing patients. If you can spare a room and perhaps share herbs I don't have, that will suffice."
"…Of course. The lower room happens to be vacant—spacious enough for the two of you."
***
Two days later, the chief came to see Mujin again.
His posture was straight, his limp gone. Clearly the medicine had worked.
"You may enter Nogun Mountain. I thought you too young, perhaps a fraud, but… forgive my suspicion."
He led Mujin and Namgung Myeong to the rear of the village.
The path into Nogun Mountain was unusual: not a trail, but a plank road clinging to sheer cliffs. Just looking at the narrow walkway was enough to make one shudder.
The mountain was so steep that this was the only way through. One could only imagine how many lives had been lost in building it.
The chief said awkwardly,
"Part of why we don't let just anyone in is because that plank road is so dangerous."
"…I can see why."
"Still, here and there you'll find flat ground. Don't be too tense—Nogun Mountain isn't all cliffs."
"Understood."
"And if you're gathering herbs, and sense anyone nearby, flee immediately. Inside Nogun Mountain, there isn't a soul worth meeting. Understand?"
Feigning ignorance, Namgung asked,
"So there are people living inside Nogun Mountain?"
The chief hesitated.
"A few, perhaps. But none worth associating with. Remember my words."
"Yes."
They bowed, and the chief, after one last look, departed.
Mujin and Namgung carefully walked the plank road.
So this was the Heavenly Cliff? The precipices were so sheer and high that clouds hung midway down, and when they cleared, all that could be seen far below was a sea of forest—hundreds of zhang down.
The trees below seemed ancient, yet from such height each was no larger than a fingertip.
The sheer drop made their hands and feet tingle. For once, neither cracked a joke; both walked in tense silence.
At last, they reached a level ridge.
Namgung exhaled heavily.
"Phew…"
Mujin wiped his damp palms on his trousers. More nerve-wracking than facing a sword-wielding foe was walking that road.
They followed the ridge path, trying to match the crude map Har Yeong had given them. But it was too rough to know their exact location.
After some distance, both halted at once. From ahead came the clash of steel.
"…Did you hear that?"
"I did."
The ring of steel seldom meant anything good.
And they remembered the chief's warning: avoid others at all cost.
"Still, we have to check, don't we?"
"Of course."
They crept toward the sound, hiding in the brush.
Ahead, about a dozen bandits fought fiercely.
But curiously, they weren't attacking travelers. Two groups of bandits were fighting each other.
The numbers were seven against three. Yet strangely, the three were pressing the seven back.
Mujin watched with interest, but Namgung's face was grim. Mujin whispered,
"What's wrong?"
"Those three… something's off."
"They do fight unusually well for bandits."
"No. I recognize that sword art."
"What sword art?"
"The Five Elements Sword. It's the style of Wudang."
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