The Northern Commander
Tang Mujin and Namgung Myeong arrived in the Holy City in the early evening.
The work of a physician usually ended around supper, and by sunset patients rarely came to the clinic. If anyone came after the evening meal, it usually meant their condition was dire.
As the hour grew late, Tang Mujin's father, Tang Jeseon, left the clinic room and sat on the wooden porch to enjoy the cool evening air while keeping watch in case more patients arrived.
It was just such a moment now. Jeseon was checking on the condition of Old Lady Wang, a neighbor, while Dan Seolyeong sat on the porch, swinging her legs.
Suddenly, Seolyeong spotted Mujin and Namgung Myeong approaching.
"!"
She leapt up at once and ran straight into Mujin's arms. Without a word of greeting, she wrapped both arms around him, buried her face in his chest, and breathed in deeply.
Tang Jeseon, Old Lady Wang, and even Namgung Myeong all watched with interest, as though they had been handed an entertaining spectacle.
Mujin, though secretly pleased, also felt embarrassed.
"…I probably smell of sweat."
"It's fine."
After a short while, Seolyeong pushed him back a little and met his eyes. Unlike her hurried dash moments earlier, her gaze was now calm and rational.
Mujin felt a faint chill—he could guess what was coming.
"…Didn't you say it would take ten or fifteen days?"
Indeed, that's what he had said. But Mujin had been gone nearly four months.
"…Things just turned out that way."
"Get out."
Seolyeong pointed toward the door, mimicking the tone of an angry wife scolding her husband. Almost immediately, she regretted it.
Mujin could be quick-witted sometimes, yet other times so oblivious that he might actually take her words literally and leave.
She quickly corrected herself.
"No, not out—stay inside the room. You're grounded. Got it?"
"…Got it."
Mujin obediently headed into the house, relieved that her anger had ended at that.
But Seolyeong, still needing an outlet, turned on the next target.
"And you, Myeong—!"
Yet when she looked, Namgung Myeong had already vanished.
***
Time passed, and without even leaving the yard, Seolyeong's anger soon faded.
Though Mujin felt stifled by the small range of movement, he also found a strange comfort in her possessive attitude—an affection that warmed his heart.
Ten peaceful days later, a familiar official arrived at Tang's Clinic.
It was the Adjunct Commandant of the Garrison. In the past, he had complained about Jeseon's acupuncture, but those days were long past. Now, even when not ill, he often visited for moxibustion or medicine, proving to be a steady source of income.
Most importantly, his connections were wide. Whenever someone in official robes came to Tang's Clinic, nine times out of ten it was thanks to his introduction.
"Have you come with an ailment today, sir?" Jeseon greeted him.
"Must I be sick to visit? Not this time."
"Then…?"
"There is someone whose illness has not improved despite many physicians' efforts. I told them I would introduce an excellent doctor."
"Do we need to go to the office?"
"Yes."
Jeseon tensed. Until now, the officials this man introduced had always come to the clinic themselves. If he was being asked to enter the government compound, it meant one of two things: either the patient was too ill to move, or their rank was too high to come personally.
"Is it life-threatening?"
"No. I hear the symptoms have persisted for years."
That suggested a person of high station. Jeseon grew more solemn.
"May I ask who it is?"
"The Northern Commander."
At that, even Mujin, listening nearby, stiffened. The position of Northern Commander was extremely high—though technically a military post, its authority rivaled that of a prefect, nearly that of a governor.
The Adjunct waved his hand.
"No need to worry too much. If the illness improves, it will be wonderful, but if not, no harm will come of it. Many physicians have tried, but not one has cured him."
"I see."
Fortunately, it seemed the man was not petty. Jeseon and Mujin both let out a quiet breath of relief.
"Well then, Physician Tang, will you accompany me to the office?"
"Of course. Mujin, if a patient arrives, tend to them in my stead."
"Yes, Father."
Jeseon packed some medicines and needles and left with the Adjunct.
***
It was an unusually quiet day. With no patients, Mujin and Seolyeong idled in the clinic, holding hands and teasing one another. Mujin thought, When I inherit this place, this is how we'll live. It seemed a satisfying future.
By early evening, Jeseon returned, the Adjunct with him.
Mujin stepped outside. "Was it an illness you recognized?"
Jeseon shook his head, his expression heavy. It had been a long time since he'd felt such defeat. Since learning from the Treatise on All Maladies, he had diagnosed and cured most patients with ease.
"I could tell something was wrong, but it wasn't an illness I could clearly read or treat."
The Adjunct comforted him.
"Don't be discouraged. Even Hua Tuo couldn't cure every sickness. Forget it and rest."
He turned to leave, but Jeseon wasn't ready to give up.
"Mujin."
"Yes, Father."
"Go with the Adjunct. Examine the Northern Commander's illness yourself."
The Adjunct frowned.
"There's no need. If you could not treat it, how could young Mujin succeed?"
"You are mistaken."
"Mistaken?"
"Mujin's medical skill surpasses mine."
It was true. Jeseon had studied only the Treatise on All Maladies, one of the Three Great Medical Texts, but Mujin had mastered not only that but also the works of the Mad Physician and the Demon Physician.
Of course, the Adjunct knew none of this. He assumed Mujin had trained under some decent doctor, nothing more.
"Pardon me, Physician Tang, but how could your son surpass you, when he learned from you?"
"This is not merely a father's pride. The illnesses I can treat, Mujin can treat as well. But the illnesses Mujin can treat, I cannot always cure."
"But you are the one who represents Tang's Clinic."
"That is only because I can manage most ailments, and because he is still young to remain hidden in the back room."
"…Hmm."
Convinced by Jeseon's firm tone, the Adjunct finally nodded.
***
Mujin followed him into the government compound.
The buildings were far larger and grander than those of any sect, and even at this late hour, many officials in robes moved about.
The Adjunct led him toward a building thick with guards. It was where the Northern Commander resided.
They entered a spacious chamber through a fine wooden door.
At a desk sat a middle-aged man, his features sharp and his eyes fierce—but his complexion was poor. The expression he wore was that of a man plagued by chronic pain.
The Northern Commander spoke in a sharp, irritated voice.
"It's late—what is it now?"
The Adjunct Commandant lowered his posture respectfully.
"My lord, may we examine your condition once more?"
"That young fellow means to look at my illness?"
It was a look Tang Mujin knew well—one full of distrust.
Most people believed a physician was only worthy once his hair had gone gray.
"Yes, my lord. Physician Tang said his son is far more skilled than himself."
"His son, is it? And the boy will succeed where the father failed? What nonsense… Hmph, well, no matter. He's already here—arguing further won't help. Let him try."
Even in his pain and annoyance, the commander's willingness to grant Mujin a chance suggested he was not ill-natured.
Mujin studied him. He had practiced martial arts, but not to any great level—likely second-rate at best.
"Pardon me."
Mujin sat across from him and took his wrist. Pulse and breath were unremarkable.
Hmm.
Yet his complexion was dark, and his body too lean for his frame. It wasn't the sudden emaciation of a recent illness.
Stomach ailment?
Mujin sent a thread of inner energy into the commander's body. So fine and subtle was it that, despite being a martial man himself, the commander didn't perceive it.
Soon Mujin nodded, having grasped the problem.
Indeed—it was not a simple illness, but one entangled with martial cultivation, which was why other physicians had failed.
"Though you have not overeaten, severe stomach pains sometimes seize you, and at times you vomit what you have eaten."
"That's right."
The commander's reaction was calm, as if other doctors had said as much before.
But then Mujin continued—
"In your youth, did you not suffer a deep wound to the abdomen?"
The commander blinked in surprise.
"Did your father tell you that? No, he couldn't have known…"
Indeed, in his youth, the Northern Commander had taken a spear through the belly in battle, the tip piercing out his back. A wound fatal to most—but by heaven's grace, he had survived.
Many physicians knew he bore a scar. But never once had one identified it from a mere pulse reading, before he even disrobed.
Mujin continued.
"The wound healed without trouble at first. But after you had trained in martial arts for some years—not immediately, but after reaching some attainment—symptoms appeared, did they not?"
"…Remarkable. The wound healed, and more than ten years later, the pain began. What ailment is this?"
"It has no formal name. But I can explain its cause."
"Do so."
The commander leaned forward, intrigued. Even the Adjunct looked astonished at how clearly Mujin read the condition.
"When your wound healed, the meridians of Hualiuk Gate (滑肉門) and Tianchu (天樞) tangled and hardened together. The two points became fused. In an ordinary man this might never have mattered, but as your inner energy grew along those channels, it created conflict."
The commander gave a small nod, convinced by the logic.
"The swollen meridians pressed against the bowels. The flow of energy blocked, piling up inside. Thus you suffered recurrent seizures, as though the intestines twisted or clogged. It is a problem martial practitioners sometimes face."
"You have trained in martial arts as well as medicine at such a young age? Extraordinary."
Mujin demurred.
"My understanding is shallow—I only know a few tricks."
"How is it to be treated?"
"This cannot be cured with herbs. It must be relieved with energy-guided therapy. Will you entrust your body to me?"
"You can do that as well? That's no mere trick."
"It is nothing great. I've only practiced much, as a physician must."
"…Very well. Do it."
Allowing another's inner energy into one's body was risky, but the commander did not hesitate. No other doctor had even understood his affliction—refusing now might mean living with it forever.
He lay prone. Mujin set a hand on his back and sent energy flowing.
The difficult part had been diagnosing the cause; the treatment itself was simple. The meridians had not fused entirely—by gently prying them apart and restoring a gap, the blockage could be relieved.
As Mujin worked, the commander sometimes groaned, the pain spiking. Yet he never spoke—one must not open the mouth carelessly when inner energy was being guided, unless one had a special cultivation method.
After an hour, the commander suddenly felt the obstruction in his belly loosen and melt away.
The discomfort and pain he had borne for more than ten years vanished at once.
Unconsciously, he gasped.
"Hhhah…"
"It is done. But for the next three days, do not use your inner energy."
"Astonishing. I thought I'd carry this affliction to the grave—and yet you cured it so simply."
His face shone with relief.
"Tell me, what reward do you wish? Whatever is in my power, I will give it."
"There is no need. It took little time and no costly medicine."
Mujin knew it was best to refuse at first. Greedy men might renege, but this commander seemed forthright—he would surely give generously.
And indeed, the commander would not be dissuaded.
"No! I must reward you, or my heart will be uneasy. Tomorrow I'll send a horse laden with goods. Take both the horse and its load as payment."
"That is far too much."
"Ha! Don't decline."
"…Only, our clinic has no stable."
At that, the commander burst out laughing.
"True enough—I hadn't thought of that! Then I'll load more goods on the horse, and you can send it back. That will do, eh?"
Mujin bowed and smiled. A fine haul indeed.
The commander, now elated, spoke freely.
"I thought I'd never be rid of that cursed pain. Even to eat a bowl of gruel I trembled. In my youth I could devour a whole ox! And now, thanks to you…"
"Still, do not overeat for three days. Sudden indulgence may upset your stomach again."
"Yes, yes, I understand. By heaven, I can't recall the last time I felt such joy. I sought out every famed physician in the land, yet none could cure me. Even the great Gui Physician could not."
"…The Gui Physician?"
The familiar name made Mujin's eyes narrow.
"Yes! Gui Physician Lee Chung. That famous man couldn't cure me either."
Impossible. The very method Mujin had just used was one Lee Chung had taught him.
Then he realized—perhaps the commander had met him long ago, before his skills matured.
"You must have met him many years ago then."
"What? No. It was this spring, before I took post in Sichuan."
That could not be. Mujin himself had buried Lee Chung's body beneath the walnut tree the previous winter.
Mujin's expression turned grave.
"…Could you tell me that story in more detail?"
READ MORE CHAPTERS HERE : https://payhip.com/pokemon1920