Chapter 515: Chaos (1)

The moment someone said the honored lady was injured, I rushed in tense—and found a rag wrapped in blood sewing up my own belly skin.

She looked over and dipped her head. “Hello, elder.”

I flinched and went to examine her, only to learn the tendons and meridians were fine; apply wound powder and bind well, that was all.

“Honored” folk don’t usually get hurt; they’re sensitive to the least pain, weep, and vent their anger—so the one who came in was a lady physician frozen stiff.

Except—what’s this?

A peerless beauty, eyes round and meek, looking up at me.

The scolding popped out before I could stop it.

“No—what sort of state is this for an honored lady, or any lady, never mind rank—how do you not know to cherish your own body?”

“Ah.”

“First we stitch and then you rest. What do you mean ‘just powder and a wrap’? Scars—you can erase with Jechang Powder; but heavens, what calamity is this. Who hacks a person like this?”

The old lady physician started, truly startled.

The back was slashed into a thousand strokes—enough to make the faint-hearted swoon on sight.

It was a wonder the torn flakes hadn’t come off in pieces; and it left her staring, unsure where to start a “detail” of repair.

“We have to stitch at once!”

“My hide is a bit tough. You might find it hard to get a bite.”

“How tough can human—”

“Gaaaah!”

“I’ve poured on plenty of numbing powder—why are you like this? Nnng, why—why won’t the needle go in—nnngh—huuup!”

“Gaaaaaah!”

In the end we used a harness needle for cowhide to piece together what hadn’t fallen off.

The anesthetic didn’t take. Qing found this worse and more painful than the life-and-death match.

Those big eyes welled like bowls; she sagged there and dithered with tears.

The old lady physician, spent as well, sagged too, rasping breath loud as a bellows.

...

Time raced for the Provincial Commander.

One day was five years.

Of course you age fast when Her Highness is presently shaving bits off her own sacred body in real time.

Do I intervene? But Her Highness ordered me not to. And yet—can I really stand by and watch this obscene breach of filial order (the Heavenly Venerate is as a parent)!

Wang Ssangryong’s dilemma wasn’t that he’d suddenly become a patriot-hero. It was: even as an order—was this all right?

It felt as if five oxen had taken hold of head and limbs and were about to bolt four ways.

Watching the duel aged Wang Ssangryong a decade in a day. He still paced in front of the building, back and forth, lost and fretting—a measure of the size of his worry.

Then—drk. jabak. drk.

The door opened and shut.

Out shuffled the old lady physician, utterly drained.

Wang Ssangryong charged like a lone rider to ask, “How is the young lady’s condition?”

“If she rests deeply, she’ll be fine.”

“Fine? In such a ghastly state—she shouldn’t just rest, at least a decoction—yes, precious ginseng—no, never mind the coin—”

The old physician shook her head.

“Truly—rest deeply. Martials shouldn’t take ginseng lightly; her blood-qi is already full. A tonic would just surge into fire-qi. The skin is what’s harmed; tendons and meridians are barely touched. Truly—just convalesce; rest cleanly so nothing festers.”

For her part, the old physician, fifty years in practice, had never seen such a thing.

Who leaves meridians and tendons alone and cuts only the skin with exquisite care? If you mean to kill, then kill—but no matter how deep the grudge, who imagines doing this to a human? The thought alone made her body shake.

Of course—later she learned it was a misunderstanding.

“Hehe, it’s Guardian Qi—an austere method that uses internal energy to shield bones and sinews. The hide gets a bit chewed, but I hardly scar at all. It’s truly ‘yield the flesh, take the bone,’ real meat-for-bone—ow!”

The young lady had an odd knack for earning a thwack. The physician’s hand, almost on its own, smacked the freshly stitched back.

Qing rolled on the floor shrieking, because anywhere she touched was a stitched wound; then she sprang up to stand there trembling, dumb as a post.

The physician shook her head ruefully.

****

On day two in Yubang, the duel placard rose again.

No one stepped up—only long faces watching—so Qing stood proud and returned proud.

Even avengers have face.

Yesterday’s slaughter had been seen by all.

Qing now had a big cloth pad wrapped over one cheek; to demand a life-and-death at such a moment—revenge or not—you’d be filth.

So—let someone else step first and keep the wound from healing.

The Heavenly Flower Sword’s itinerary was set anyway.

She was traveling to Hangzhou under arms.

No need to say “scouting”; the idle were already packing to trail her “apology march,” and the city’s merchants were all smiles.

People worried she’d plead injury and skip—but at high noon she raised the “untie the knot yourself” banner.

A pledge to accept grudges the whole way.

From the avengers’ view, no need to rush.

So Yubang County suddenly became a meeting ground.

Absolutes sought partners to join in revenge and drilled their combine—a rare scene.

From yesterday’s look, if their mesh was tight enough, she seemed doable.

Her wounds?

Someone else would challenge and block the healing.

Except—“someone else” all thought the same.

So no one moved.

Qing, standing idle, got bored and had a chair brought.

Who could just watch a woman sit alone under the blazing autumn sun?

Wang Ssangryong raised a big awning beside her.

While he was at it, he presented sweets and iced tea.

Even Qing wasn’t going to stage some freakshow gorge in front of the whole crowd.

She pecked like a bird, “Beauty’s Bearing” by Seo Mun Surin—eat properly, neatly, slowly.

The onlookers, waiting for a fight that never came, sprawled out and chewed snacks.

With the tension gone, day two ended.

So did day three.

After three days in Yubang, time to move on.

****

The old lady physician received extravagant treatment.

Nothing is free in this world.

Payment matches the reception.

The Heavenly Demon Divine Sect used to have a Medical Hall.

Strictly—used to.

For generations, the head physician of the sect was called the Demon Physician.

And the Demon Physician’s... state?

If a man is “proper,” he doesn’t puff his chest at a title that sticks “Demon” in where you could write Divine, Life-and-Death, Great Physician, Noble Physician.

So—what sort of man was he?

A half-mad butcher who took human experimentation as a hobby and screams as joy—the previous Demon Physician.

He had no taste for a new doctrine about “living decently,” so of course he joined the rebels to build a “proper sect.”

Those rebels are no longer in this world.

So?

The sect needs a physician.

The new sect has no time to train one.

They want a Medical Hall by immediate hire.

At this point they “happened” to meet a precious physician sent by the Heavenly Demon—surely a Maitreya in the flesh who sees through the flows of all things.

So the believers from Seol Family Trading treated the old lady physician with the courtesies due a Demon Physician already chosen—like a parent in their own home.

The physician found that... convincing enough.

No wonder the Heavenly Flower Sword served the elder like a real daughter.

With such a fine environment, how could her character not be so gentle?

(Countless dead might shed blood-tears at that thought. But the dead don’t speak; tears or blood-tears—what can a corpse do? Only stew in grievance.)

The physician eyed the man in front of her...?

A man, strangely lovely as a woman.

No—lovelier than a woman.

There are willowy pretty-boys in the world, yes; but this—this is simply a woman’s visage.

Whether man or woman, it was a bizarre sight however long you looked. Of course—he was a man.

Merchants don’t take privies along when they trail a caravan for fun.

Once they happened to piss side by side; by that observation, he had something like a serpent—no, like a hundred-year serpent.

Face like a lady; man among men below; a giant in the human world.

The serpent’s owner—the Seol-family fellow—cast a line.

“Our company is prospering. We think it’s time to set up a clinic. Would the elder physician be willing to take charge?”

“Ahem. After the treatment I’ve received, how could I refuse?”

The Seol man smiled mildly.

A long time posing as a woman has side effects.

Play the lady and countless interests fly to you when you merely smile.

The old physician, having seen the serpent, just felt a touch of gooseflesh.

“Elder, I mean more than a clinic for our firm. I mean hanging a proper plaque on a great estate and founding a true medical school—your medicine, and your toxicology.”

“Ahem. So it’s the poisons you fancy more, is it?”

She answered curtly—but her ears pricked and her lips snuck up; whatever her tone, she was already hooked.

Who wouldn’t be, when offered a medical school outright?

She’d planned to while away what was left training a disciple or two; why not make it many?

“The plaque, of course, will read Sasa Medical Academy.”

Her mouth tipped higher.

They’d even put her name on it.

Sasa Medical Academy! Dean Sasa—magnificent!

Dean Sasa of Sasa Medical Academy—

she ran the title through in her head and liked it very much.

But—

“My origins are... awkward. Hanging my name out front sits ill. You think the Evil Path riffraff will just let it stand?”

“It’s fine. Our trading house’s range is north of the Yangtze. How would those riffraff dare trespass? And—embarrassing as it is—we do have enough martial on staff to swat the dregs.”

“Mm. Just look at Chief Choi.”

Chief Choi—just the “Choi fellow” to her, ten years her junior and a Flower Realm master.

“So—will you take it?”

“Ahem, an old woman has shame. I can’t pretend to refuse.”

“Thank you.”

The Seol man bowed.

Then—old instincts honed by long life rang an alarm.

Terribly ominous—like being tricked.

What is it?

Does sense break after seventy?

She pushed the creeping dread aside.

And the Seol man went on:

“From now on, we’ll regard you as the elder of our house.”

“Weren’t you already? You’ve been extravagant enough; there’s no more ‘more extravagant’ left.”

The Seol man’s smile turned oddly vicious. Very wicked.

“Our house holds a precious medical classic, passed down for generations. Would you like to have a look?”