Guangdong Province
With an epidemic spreading, it wasn't wise to wander around Guangdong blindly. Tang Mujin's party decided to remain in Qingyuan, listening carefully to the stories people told.
Most of Qingyuan's citizens didn't know about the fake Goiyi, but now and then someone claimed to have met him.
"Goiyi? Sure, I met him once. A cut on my instep had festered, and the pain was spreading up my whole leg. That man treated me."
"What kind of treatment?"
"Let's see… he gave me some dried herbs, then pulled out some seaweed he'd washed in well water and pressed it against the inflamed skin. Oh, and he told me to eat plenty of dishes with ginger."
"He didn't give you any decoctions or ointments?"
"Decoctions? No, nothing like that."
"…And did it work?"
"Well, yeah, kind of. By the next evening it felt better, and the swelling went down within three days."
Tang Mujin's brow arched slightly.
At least there had been some effect, which was fortunate—but that was not the method of any real physician.
Simply handing over dried herbs, applying seaweed—those were strange, unorthodox remedies.
Of course, not everyone who met the fake Goiyi had been helped.
"Yeah, I met him too. Sour-looking fellow. I had high hopes since they said he was a renowned physician, but his treatment didn't do much."
"Hmm."
"But I wouldn't call it completely bad."
"Didn't you just say it was useless?"
"When I complained, he gave me a refund on the spot. For a quack, that's not too shabby."
They found several more who claimed to have met him. About half said his help was at least somewhat useful, the other half said it was worthless. Clearly, he wasn't particularly skilled.
Then, one middle-aged man erupted into fury the moment he heard the name "Goiyi."
"What? You know that bastard?"
"Not exactly. I'm only looking for him."
"Too bad. If I ever catch that son of a bitch, I'll split his skull open with a sickle!"
"What happened?"
The man raged as he explained.
"That bastard stole my daughter's lacquer-inlaid bronze mirror and sold it!"
It was an accusation wholly unrelated to medicine. Tang Mujin pressed for details.
"Could you explain more clearly?"
"When my eldest daughter married into the village across the hill, I bought her a bronze mirror as a wedding gift. Later, when I heard there was plague in her village, I was worried sick. Then just recently, I saw that very mirror. I asked the merchant where he got it, and he said he bought it from a man named Goiyi."
"Couldn't it just be a similar item?"
"Do you think lacquer-inlaid mirrors are common? Besides, I picked that piece out myself. There's no mistake."
"I see."
"Anyway, that thief… if I see him again—"
The man spat curses endlessly, then added almost as an afterthought:
"And don't think it's just me. Others have had the same experience. Go ask them."
Tang Mujin's group approached the people he indicated, and they told similar tales.
Gifts given to others, belongings of neighbors, or items abandoned during the chaos of the epidemic—all had turned up again, and always with Goiyi's name attached. People were furious.
"He struts about pretending to be a physician, but he's nothing more than a thief. Sneaks into empty houses, or robs the dead, then sells their belongings. With any luck, he'll catch the plague himself and die, but vermin like him always seem to live long."
Tang Mujin then asked those who had actually seen Goiyi where they encountered him. Most pointed to the area around Dongguan, a few days' journey south.
Namgung Myeong turned to Tang Mujin.
"So, you're heading to Dongguan?"
"Of course."
"And what about the epidemic?"
For martial artists, sickness was rarely a concern. Namgung Myeong's skills far surpassed the average, and Tang Mujin himself had not only strong martial prowess but also mastery of poison arts—neither feared infection.
The problem was Dan Seolyeong. She had only learned basic inner cultivation and light footwork. Stronger than an ordinary person, yes, but hardly beyond danger.
Perhaps sensing Tang Mujin's worry, Seolyeong cut in quickly.
"I'll be fine. I've been healthy since childhood."
"But there's no guarantee you'll stay that way."
"So what then—leave me behind? At least pretend to hesitate before deciding."
Seolyeong wasn't the sort who clung to pride or stubbornness. If given a reason she could accept, she would obey willingly. Precisely because of that, Tang Mujin considered the matter all the more carefully.
There were many ways a plague could spread: through contact, through contaminated water, through animals.
But according to locals, hermits like hunters or herb gatherers hadn't fallen ill. And the disease had spread even among villages with separate wells.
So it seemed clear this one passed directly from person to person.
If that's the case… it should be manageable.
Even if trouble arose, Tang Mujin could dispel minor evil qi. And truth be told, he wanted to keep Seolyeong close.
He gave her firm instructions.
"We'll move together for now. But if I say don't do something, you obey without question. And if you feel even slightly unwell, you tell me immediately. Understood?"
Seolyeong nodded readily.
***
The three headed south. A day later, they came upon a group of low-ranking officials blocking the narrow road.
"Who are you people?"
"We're looking for someone."
"I don't care what your business is—you mean to pass through here?"
"That's right."
"You can go in, but once you enter, you don't leave. Don't bother whining if you don't catch the plague—you won't be allowed out. Clear?"
"Clear."
Tang Mujin's party, of course, paid it no mind at all.
The vast land of Guangdong could hardly be sealed off completely by officials, and for martial artists like Tang Mujin or Namgung Myeong, concealing their presence and slipping past them was no challenge.
Perhaps even the officials knew as much, for their tone had carried only a hollow formality.
The party moved southward. There were fewer people, but the overall atmosphere had not changed much.
In particular, farmers seemed to remain in their hometowns almost without exception.
Had it been spring or summer it might be different, but now it was autumn, when the rice stalks drooped heavy and golden.
No farmer could abandon his land at such a time. Farmers are the sort who can die content only after harvesting their crop.
Their faces, too, were no different from the usual—only showing some curiosity at why strangers roamed in such a season. No sick folk could be seen.
But after three more days' travel south, the air began to change.
The rice stalks were golden and ripe, yet no farmers walked the paddies. Strangely, not a sign of life could be felt.
Namgung Myeong entered the nearest village, then soon returned, his expression twisted.
"I can't go in."
"Why not?"
"There isn't a living soul. Bodies lie inside the houses, and the stench of rot fills the air. The miasma is thick."
Yet outside the village walls, no trace of foul qi could be sensed. Clearly, this was an illness that spread only from person to person.
They passed through several more villages, and the picture was the same. Only the dying and the dead remained.
By late afternoon, before the sun had set, Tang Mujin's group camped a short distance from another village.
"Sleeping in the open, when there's a village right in front of us… feels wrong."
"Better than sleeping beside corpses."
Now and then, people passed near their camp. One glance told enough: bandits. With chaos rampant, they no longer even bothered to hide.
Yet when they spotted Tang Mujin's group, they passed by with indifference.
"They don't look eager for a fight."
"Why not? Bandits usually sniff around any campfire they see."
"Empty houses and abandoned villages are everywhere. Easy pickings, without the risk of crossing armed men. Look—many aren't even carrying weapons."
"You're right."
And so several bands of thieves passed them by.
Namgung Myeong and Dan Seol-yeong soon paid them no mind, but Tang Mujin kept his gaze sharp, studying each group closely.
The fake Goiyi was said to loot dead villages and sell what he stole. It wouldn't be strange for him to move with bandits.
And as the sun dipped low, one small band caught his eye.
Barely six or seven men—but one carried a large pack on his back.
A strange sight for a thief, but what truly seized Tang Mujin's attention was not the pack, but the man's gait. A limp, plain as day.
The words of the Northern Commander came back to him:
"His face pocked with smallpox scars, his features harsh and sallow, and his leg with a slight limp… then you'd know why they called him Goiyi."
The distance was too great to see his face clearly, but a limping thief was no common sight.
Bandits never accepted cripples, and any who were injured would usually hide their identity and settle quietly in a village instead.
Tang Mujin suddenly rose to his feet. Dan Seol-yeong asked quickly:
"Where are you going?"
"One of those thieves is limping. Might be the fake Goiyi."
Namgung Myeong did not rise, but his tense voice carried a warning.
"Tang Mujin. Be careful."
"Why?"
"Why? You're a first-class master now. This is the time to be most cautious."
"…Don't spout nonsense. I thought something serious was wrong."
"If your being a first-class master isn't serious, then what is?"
"Damn you."
Tang Mujin shook his fist at Namgung Myeong, then strode straight toward the bandits.
With the setting sun behind him, his shadow stretched long. The thieves spotted him from a distance.
As he drew nearer, they grew tense, pulling out their weapons. One of them shouted:
"Who are you?"
"I've a question to ask."
Tang Mujin advanced slowly, eyes fixed on the limping man. The scars the Northern Commander described were clear enough.
The man's clothes were unusually fine for a thief's, light armor with some flair. At his waist hung a well-crafted sword—one shaped much like the weapon Goiyi had once wielded. Even the graying streaks at his temples matched the description.
He had clearly copied Goiyi's outward traits.
But apart from those, everything was off—the cruel, surly face, the smaller build, the slightly hunched posture.
"Don't come closer. Speak from there."
"Very well. You, with the pack—are you a physician? You resemble a famous doctor I've heard of…"
At his words, the bandits eased, some even smirking.
"Ha! This here is none other than the great master and healer known across the land, Goiyi Lee Chung!"
Tang Mujin grinned fiercely—then his body shot forward like an arrow.
His footwork was swift, steady, unshakable.
He plunged into their ranks, their panicked strikes missing him by a mile.
And with one hand, Tang Mujin seized the impostor's head from behind and smashed his face into the dirt.
His eyes blazed with fury.
"Say it again. Who the hell are you?"
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