Chapter 55: The Examination

"Can you smell it?" I asked.

Yeon-hee leaned in. Sniffed my wrist. My forearm. My shoulder.

She frowned.

"Pine," she said. "Something bitter. Something green I don’t know." She sniffed again, closer. Right at my neck. "And Gwak Ji-yeon’s plum blossom perfume. And sandalwood. And—" she stopped. Sniffed again. Her eyes narrowed. "Is that SQUID?"

"Mi-rae’s squid man sent a plate."

"Mu-jin."

"I was hungry."

She sat back on her stool and rubbed her eyes with both hands.

We were in her clinic. The little room at the bottom of the east wing that smelled like ginger and dried herbs and boiled bandages. Jars on every shelf. A low examination cot against the wall. A brazier in the corner with a kettle. The door shut. The window shut. Her medicine bag open on the table.

I was sitting on the cot. Shirt off.

She’d been sniffing me for a quarter hour.

"The magistrate’s rules," she said, holding up the paper with the red seal. "’Both combatants shall be examined by a qualified physician for concealed weapons, poisons, oils, unguents or other substances applied to the skin that might give unfair advantage.’" She lowered it. "Unguents, Mu-jin. That’s a salve. That’s literally the word for what’s all over you."

"Hwang says it’s legal. It’s not a weapon."

"Hwang isn’t the one who has to stand in front of the magistrate and my husband and say ’no unguents found.’" Her voice cracked. "While I can smell pine from across the room."

I didn’t say anything.

She stared at the paper for a long time.

Then she said, very quietly:

"Dong-min’s trying, you know."

"...I know."

"He came home with this paper last night and he was so proud. ’They chose me, Yeon-hee. The magistrate chose me. For the biggest duel in ten years.’" She folded the paper in half. Then in half again. "And then he said, ’And I told them about you. The best physician in the dock district. My wife.’ And he looked at me like—" She stopped. "Like he hasn’t looked at me in five years."

The kettle started to steam.

"And I have to stand next to him," she whispered, "and lie."

I got off the cot.

Walked over.

Knelt in front of her stool.

"Then don’t," I said.

She looked at me.

"Don’t lie. Tell him you can’t do it. Tell the magistrate you’re sick. Let them find another physician." I took her hands. They were cold. "I’ll figure something else out. I’m not making you choose between me and him in front of the whole city."

She stared at me.

Then she laughed. Wet. Shaky.

"And if I say no, who do they get?" she said. "The magistrate’s physician. Old Doctor Bang. Who plays go with Elder Gu every tenth day. Who would find Hwang’s salve in two breaths and declare you a cheater before you even drew your sword."

"...Oh."

"Oh," she agreed.

She pulled her hands out of mine. Wiped her eyes on her sleeve. Took a long breath.

And I watched the physician come back into her face. The calm one. The one who counts pulses and stitches wounds and sets bones without flinching.

"Fine," said Dam Yeon-hee. "Then we don’t lie."

"What?"

"We tell the truth." She stood up. Went to her shelf. Started pulling down jars. "You have two broken ribs. Badly healed. Documented in my own clinic records, with dates. You’ve been in my care for a month. Any decent physician would prescribe a warming rib balm for a fighter with your injuries." She set a jar on the table. Mint and ginger. The balm from the hot spring. The first night. "My rib balm. My own recipe. Mint. Ginger. Pine resin. Camphor."

She looked at me over her shoulder.

"Pine resin," she said again. Pointedly.

I stared at her.

"Hwang’s salve has pine resin," I said slowly.

"And so does mine." She opened her jar. The smell filled the clinic. Mint. Ginger. Sharp and clean. "If I put this on top of Hwang’s salve, every night, for twelve nights, then on the day of the duel, when I examine you, what will I smell?"

"...Your rib balm."

"My rib balm. Which I will declare. Out loud. In front of the magistrate. As a medicinal treatment prescribed by the examining physician for a documented injury." She smiled. Small. A little shaky. But real. "Which is completely, entirely true. Every single word."

I started laughing.

I couldn’t help it.

She threw a bandage at my head.

"Shirt off," she said.

"It’s already off."

"Then lie down. We’re practicing."

I lay down on the examination cot. She stood over me with her medicine bag, very professional, very serious.

"On the day," she said, "I’ll examine you in front of the magistrate’s platform. Dong-min will be at the recording desk writing down everything I say." She took a breath. "So I need to be able to do this without my hands shaking. Without my face turning red. Without looking at you like—"

She stopped.

"Like what?"

"Like I’m looking at you right now," she muttered.

She put two fingers on my wrist.

"Pulse: strong. Steady." Her voice was perfectly flat. Physician voice. "Heart rate elevated. Consistent with anticipation of combat."

Her hands moved to my shoulders. Pressed. Felt the muscle.

"Shoulders: no weapons concealed. No wounds. Skin clear."

Down my arms. Each one. Turning my wrists over. Checking my palms.

"Arms: clear. Hands: calloused. Consistent with sword training."

Her fingers moved to my chest.

She stopped.

There was a bite mark. On my left pectoral. Fading but very clearly a bite mark. From... honestly, I wasn’t sure. Ji-yeon, maybe. Or Hwang. Or Mi-rae.

Yeon-hee stared at it.

"...Chest," she said. A little less flat. "Bruising. Minor."

She moved on. My ribs. Right side. Left side. Her fingertips pressing along each bone, very gently, finding the badly healed places.

"Ribs: two fractures on the left side, poorly healed, consistent with documented injuries from a fall on the—" Her fingers found another bite mark. On my side. Right above my hip. "—from a fall on a—roof—"

Her voice cracked.

Her face was turning red.

"You’re failing," I said.

"I am NOT failing."

"Your face is red."

"It’s HOT in here. The brazier is on."

"Your hands are shaking."

"They’re—" She looked down at her hands on my ribs. They were shaking. "...They’re shaking."

She closed her eyes.

"How am I supposed to do this in front of the whole city," she whispered, "when I can’t even do it in my own clinic?"

I sat up.

Took her shaking hands.

"Practice," I said.

"That’s what we’re doing."

"No. Real practice." I pulled her down onto the cot. She landed on top of me with a squeak. "You need to get used to touching me without falling apart. So. Touch me until you get used to it."

She stared down at me. Hair falling around her face. Hands flat on my chest.

"That’s the worst medical reasoning I’ve ever heard," she said.

"Is it working?"

She didn’t answer.

She kissed me instead.

She took control first.

That surprised me. Yeon-hee was always the careful one. The one who asked if it hurt. The one who needed me to pin her wrists because she couldn’t let go on her own.

Not today.

Today she pushed me flat on her examination cot and climbed on top of me and told me to hold still, in her physician’s voice. And then she examined me. Properly. Every inch. With her hands. Then with her mouth. Saying the clinical words out loud, very slowly, getting more and more breathless.

"Shoulders... clear."

Kiss.

"Chest... clear."

Kiss.

"Stomach... clear..."

Lower.

"...Unguents... none found..."

I laughed. She bit me.

She stayed in control for a long time. Longer than I thought she would. Riding the edge of it, flushed and gasping, her hands flat on my chest, her eyes closed, counting my pulse under her palm out loud like a prayer.

Then I took it back.

I rolled her over on that narrow cot. She gasped. Her hands flew up and I caught her wrists and pinned them above her head. Just the way she liked. Just the way she’d asked for at the hot spring.

"Pulse," I said in her ear. "Elevated."

She laughed. It turned into a moan halfway through.

"Heart rate," I said. "Consistent with—"

"Shut UP," she gasped, and wrapped her legs around me.

The cot was not built for this. It creaked. It groaned. One of the legs started wobbling. A jar of dried chrysanthemum fell off the shelf above us and burst open and rained yellow petals all over both of us.

We didn’t stop.

[Harmony: Dam Yeon-hee — active.]

The warm water in my belly, swirling with the others. Five strands. Braiding slow and smooth.

She felt it too, I think. Something. Her eyes went wide at the end and she pressed her palm flat on my stomach like she was checking for it.

"What is that?" she breathed. "Inside you. It’s... it’s warm. It feels like... me."

I didn’t answer.

She didn’t ask again.

Physicians know when not to ask.

We fell asleep on the cot afterward. I didn’t mean to. The brazier was warm and the petals smelled sweet and she was curled up against my side with her head on my chest and her hand still resting on my ribs, right on the bad ones, like she was holding them together.

It was the most peaceful I’d been in weeks.

I woke up because somebody was knocking on the clinic door.

Three knocks. Polite. Gentle.

"Yeon-hee?" A man’s voice. Thin. Cheerful. "Are you in there? I brought lunch. Rice and pickled radish. Your favorite."

Yeon-hee’s eyes snapped open.

We stared at each other.

Dong-min.

Her husband. At the door. With lunch.

The man who’d been trying so hard. Who looked at her last night like he hadn’t in five years.

"Yeon-hee? I took a break from the office. I thought—" The door handle rattled. "I thought we could eat together. Like we used to."

No wardrobe. No window. No hole in the ceiling. One narrow examination cot covered in chrysanthemum petals, and two people very, very obviously not dressed.

Yeon-hee looked at me.

I looked at her.

And then — I swear I watched it happen — the physician came back into her face. Calm. Professional. In about three breaths.

She sat up. Grabbed her robe. Tossed me mine.

"One moment, dear!" she called, perfectly sweet. "I have a patient!"

She got her robe on. Tied it. Right side over left. Correctly. Smoothed her hair. Brushed the petals off.

I got my trousers on. My robe. Inside out. Of course.

She looked at me. At my inside-out robe.

She yanked it off me.

"Shirt off is better," she hissed. "You’re a patient. Lie down."

I lay down on the cot.

She picked up her jar of rib balm.

Took a breath.

And slid the door open.

Clerk Seo Dong-min was standing there. Thin. Stooped. Ink stains on his fingers. Holding a cloth-wrapped lunch box in both hands. Smiling.

He looked past his wife.

At me. Shirtless. On her examination cot. Covered in fading bite marks and a few stray chrysanthemum petals.

His eyebrows went up.

"Oh!" he said. "The Baek boy!"

He beamed.

"Is this the pre-duel examination? Already?" He stepped inside. Set the lunch box down on her table. Pulled out a little notebook and a brush from his sleeve. "Wonderful. I need to learn the procedure. For the official record."

He sat down on her stool. Licked the tip of his brush. Looked up at his wife with total, shining admiration.

"Go ahead, dear," said Clerk Seo. "Pretend I’m not here. Start from the top."