Guangdong
The next afternoon, the packhorses sent by the Northern Garrison arrived in front of the Tang Family Clinic. Mujin had expected only one—but there were three.
At this point, wouldn't it be easier to use an ox cart instead?
The men leading the horses unloaded heaps of goods into the courtyard. Tang Mujin and Tang Jaeseon joined in to help, and soon the place was stacked far beyond what one would call a "gift."
So this is what it means to be a high official with stipends worth thousands of bushels.
Together with Jesun, Mujin began sorting the goods and moving them into the clinic.
Surprisingly, there was no gold or silver. Only goods.
Sacks of high-quality rice, rare ingredients that only the elite could taste, and an overwhelming supply of medicinal herbs—enough to look as though they had stripped the shelves of an entire apothecary.
When Jesun checked the quantity, his face was less delighted than daunted.
"With this much medicine, one could open a new clinic and still have plenty left over."
"Do you think they're trying to set Mujin up independently?"
Dan seol-yeong spoke with a faint trace of hope, but Jesun quickly waved his hand.
"Don't be absurd. Then who would inherit the Tang Family Clinic? Having a separate house is fine, but opening a whole new practice is not."
While Dan seol-yeong indulged in imagining a side house where she and Mujin might live separately, Mujin's thoughts were elsewhere—on what the Northern Garrison Commander had told him the day before.
The Quack? When I went to him, he was in Guangdong. Checked my condition, gave me medicine with great confidence, but it didn't help a bit. Didn't get better, didn't get worse. I was half ready to give up anyway.
His face was terribly pocked, maybe from smallpox, his features rough, his complexion poor. He even walked with a limp… I could see why people called him a "quack."
A fake, obviously. The real Physician Ichung, even in old age, had a handsome face and no such scars.
Mujin sat on the porch steps, tapping his toes restlessly.
It hadn't been long since he'd returned from Nogunsan, and he'd intended to stay in Chengdu unless something serious arose.
But this was serious. To impersonate the Quack without fear of consequence—this wasn't mere foolishness, it was gambling with one's life.
He can't possibly be ignorant of the old man's infamous temper.
In any case, Mujin had no intention of letting this go on.
Though Ichung had never spoken of it, Mujin had always regarded him as a teacher. He had inherited the old man's medical skills and had even gathered his remains.
Yes. I'll deal with this myself. Cut him down cleanly, or give him a taste of real pain. Maybe both.
And Mujin's idea of "a taste of pain" was far from lenient. At the very least, the suffering would rival what Baek Choo-seo or Ban Yonggweol had endured.
The problem was distance and time. Even pushing his light-footwork arts to the limit, a round trip to Guangdong would take a month.
And there was no guarantee he would find the imposter quickly. Not knowing the route to Guangdong, the trip could easily stretch into two or three months.
So at the very least, I'm looking at a couple of months…
He glanced sideways at Dan seol-yeong. Her anger had only just begun to subside these past few days. If he suddenly vanished now, who knew how she would react?
But this time, I have no choice.
The old man's honor was at stake. Mujin firmed his resolve.
If only she'd let it slide just one more time… Oh well. Whatever happens, happens.
He scratched his head. No better solution came to mind.
***
Four days later, while helping at the clinic, Mujin quietly prepared for his departure to Guangdong.
Before even the earliest rooster had stirred, he slid open his door. The chill of dawn seeped into the room.
He stepped lightly, using his footwork technique to avoid creaking boards, and dropped softly into the yard.
But before he could take two steps, a voice came from behind.
"Where are you going?"
He turned. Deep in the shadows of the porch, leaning against the wall, sat Dan seol-yeong, her gaze fixed on him.
Her eyes—round, clear, and piercing—felt much the same as when they had first met in Henan.
"Uh… there's something I need to take care of. I'll be gone for a while."
"It'll take long, won't it?"
Her question was calm, as if she already knew the answer. Mujin gave a sheepish smile.
"Yeah. Sorry I didn't tell you sooner."
Without a word, Dan seol-yeong rose and walked to him, taking his hand. Mujin tried to laugh it off.
"How did you know I was trying to sneak out?"
"Of course I knew. I watch you all day long."
The words pierced him deep in the chest.
He might fool her eyes with stealth, but not her instincts.
"And how did you know I was leaving today?"
"I didn't. I just figured you'd leave soon, so I stayed awake."
No wonder she'd been dozing off lately, looking tired. She hadn't slept, waiting for him.
Mujin sighed and drew her into an embrace.
"…Sorry. It's important."
"I know. If it's important enough for you to leave without telling me, then of course it must be."
It might have sounded like sarcasm, but it wasn't. It was conviction—born from the certainty that she mattered to him, and that anything he kept secret must truly be serious.
"And I'm not saying don't go. I'm saying take me with you."
"…What?"
"You and old man Ichung taught me the footwork. I practiced hard. Look."
Lifting the hem of her skirt, she demonstrated.
It wasn't flawless, but it was clear she had trained diligently. Her internal strength was limited, yet her movement was far better than the clumsy attempts of most amateurs.
Mujin realized again—Dan seol-yeong wasn't someone who sat idly by, waiting for the world to bend to her will.
Even if the odds of failure were nine out of ten, she wouldn't hesitate. When she wanted something, she would run until her legs gave out and stretch out her hands until she seized it. And Mujin liked that about her.
He smiled faintly.
"Alright. Let's go together."
The answer was so quick and firm that it startled her.
"Really?"
"Of course. And today, no need for footwork."
"Why? Isn't it urgent?"
"Not that urgent. Besides, I plan to carry you. Get some sleep—you look tired."
He turned his back, and without hesitation she climbed on.
Her warm breath tickled his neck, then slowly evened into the steady rhythm of sleep.
Carefully supporting her, Mujin moved toward the city gates. The empty streets of dawn felt strangely unfamiliar.
Before long, a dark figure leapt from a nearby rooftop, falling into stride beside him. Namgung Myeong, clad in night clothes, pulled off his mask with a weary look.
"So the plan is to lull her to sleep and then ditch her? That's cold."
"Do that, and I'd face a future I couldn't handle."
Mujin chuckled and handed him a bundle. While Mujin carried both Dan seol-yeong and their supplies, Namgung Myeong had only a change of clothes and a small pouch.
Before sunrise, the three of them slipped out of Chengdu.
***
Their journey took them through Guizhou and Hunan, and at last toward Guangdong.
No incidents of note occurred, but the shifting weather and scenery made sure the days were never dull.
At first, endless cool grasslands stretched before them. But within a few days, the air grew dry—and the moment they entered Guangdong, hot, humid air clung to their bodies like wet cloth.
They had traveled barely ten days, yet it felt as though they had passed through all four seasons in miniature.
Dan seol-yeong fanned her sweat-damp collar with a flick of her sleeve.
"Is Guangdong's air always like this? It sticks to you."
"Guangdong Province sits by the sea," Namgung Myeong replied. "The wind carries salt, that's why. The further south we go, the hotter and stickier it'll get."
"What? Myeong, have you been to Guangdong before?"
"No. Just what I've heard from merchants. They say in the deep south—Shenzhen, Dongguan—the dampness makes this feel mild in comparison."
"Ugh."
Tang Mujin cut in, breaking off their chatter.
"That should be Qingyuan ahead. Let's stop there and rest."
The three entered the city of Qingyuan (清遠).
It wasn't especially large, but it sat at a crucial crossroads linking Hunan and Guangdong. And as with most cities in such positions, it had everything one might need, no matter its size.
Still, the atmosphere was strange.
Crowds packed the streets to bursting. Beneath roof eaves, in every scrap of shade, even under trees—people huddled shoulder to shoulder.
It wasn't only their number. Faces everywhere wore anxious expressions, eyes darting, voices murmuring in restless waves.
Yet the cause of their unease was not clear.
What on earth is going on? Mujin thought.
It wasn't fear of outsiders—Qingyuan's people paid the travelers no more mind than passing birds.
Even Tang Mujin and Namgung Myeong, long used to wandering the Central Plains, found the sight abnormal. And Dan seol-yeong, despite her relative inexperience, sensed it instantly.
"Why does this place feel so tense?"
"No idea. Let's eat first and ask around."
They headed toward the nearest inn—but one glance inside stopped them. The place was so packed it was impossible to even set foot inside, the stifling heat only making it worse.
So instead they turned down a side street and found a food stall. Cramped, with nowhere comfortable to sit, but cheaper by far than an inn.
Mujin drew out his coin pouch.
"Three bowls of noodles and a dumpling plate, please."
"That'll be sixty-five coins."
Mujin's brow twitched. An outrageous price.
At a regular inn, dumplings cost four coins, noodles anywhere from three to five. A stall like this should have been cheaper still—ten coins at most, maybe fifteen if greedy.
Not that money was the issue. Mujin had more than enough. But being gouged so openly was hard to stomach.
He stepped back, voice turning cool.
"Hey, Myeong. I'm a little short on money—why don't you pay?"
"Heh… understood."
Namgung Myeong's grin twisted sharp. He slipped a small pouch into his palm, ready to mete out punishment for the attempted swindle.
But before his hand could move, the stallkeeper offered a sheepish smile.
"You must be outsiders. Pricey, eh? Sorry, can't help it. Things around here have gone bad lately."
"Bad?"
"Yeah. Too many people crowding in, food's running short. Normally this plate's twelve coins, but now ingredients cost so much the price went up. Still cheaper than the inns, though. Try ordering that much there—you'd pay a whole silver piece."
That explained it. No wonder such a modest town was so crammed.
Namgung Myeong glanced at Mujin, who gave the faintest nod. With a sigh, Myeong pulled out the coins and handed them over.
The stallkeeper would never realize how narrowly he had escaped disaster.
Mujin asked, "Do you know why all these people gathered here?"
"Plague," the man answered flatly.
"Plague?"
"Yeah. Heard some wandering Daoist once say the air here in Guangdong and Guangxi gets too heavy, the balance breaks, and sooner or later pestilence spreads. Guess this is one of those times."
"…I see."
The stallkeeper poured broth into three bowls of noodles and passed them over. Mujin accepted his and pressed once more.
"By chance, have you heard of a man called Goiyi?"
"Hmm… can't say I have. Should I know him?"
"No, nothing like that. Just thought I'd ask. Thank you."
They found a spot to sit, chopsticks soon busy.
Namgung Myeong and Dan seol-yeong savored the mild flavor of noodles and dumplings, but Mujin's thoughts lingered elsewhere.
Physicians. Pestilence. The memory of Jueul Village
No… it couldn't be that.
His chopsticks tightened in his grip.
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