Doctor’s Rebirth - Chapter 679

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 679
“Ilgwang, you bastard! You bastaaard!”
With those words, he flailed his arms about wildly.
Even without a blade, merely swinging his arms in fury, his opponent was a master.
One of the Medical Assistants was sent flying by the reckless swinging.
“This won’t do at all.”
I had just pressed an acupuncture needle into the patient’s philtrum and spoke.
“Let me borrow a blanket.”
Grasping the blanket, I hurled it toward the Medical Assistant.
Whoosh!
The blanket, infused with inner energy, wrapped around the Medical Assistant like a net and gently rolled him across the floor.
The moment I confirmed he had landed safely, my form flickered.
And then.
Boom!
With a deep resonance like striking a drum, Wol-seon-san-in foamed at the mouth and lost consciousness.
After that, my afterimage scattered and reappeared.
‘His movement couldn’t be seen at all?’
All the martial artists were left speechless in shock.
A speed so swift that none of the warriors present could perceive it!
The opponent was Wol-seon-san-in of the Jeolcho Faction, renowned for swift speed and swift swordplay.
Though injured, he had no problem moving, and wasn’t I exhausted from treating patients all this time?
Suppressing him with equal speed was shocking enough.
‘Could it be that Gwon Je left behind some enlightenment when he passed?’
The martial technique I displayed was so mysterious that it defied comprehension.
Meanwhile, I scratched my right heel with my left foot and spoke casually.
“Oh my, what a predicament. The elder has quite the fiery temperament.”
“Did you strike the Ah-hyeol point?”
“Yes. I struck the Ah-hyeol point. If he grows any angrier than this, Wol-seon-san-in will cross into the initial stages of demonic cultivation. I’m worried given his advanced age. Here we go—”
Saying so, I climbed onto Wol-seon-san-in’s bed and began inserting needles.
“That’s the problem with martial artists. Inner energy is in some ways similar to thunderbolt pellets—accumulate too much and it becomes equally dangerous.”
Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk—
Golden needles covered Wol-seon-san-in’s back.
Each needle carried the inner force of seasonal acupoints.
As I stimulated the patient’s meridians with nourishing energy like striking a penetrating palm strike, the sound of the needles was peculiarly like drumming.
I continued speaking.
“Just as thunderbolt pellets can shatter stone and break boulders with tremendous power, if you detonate one in a warehouse, people die.”
Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk-thunk—
I grumbled as I continued inserting needles.
Though he had caused a commotion without a blade and been subdued, no one was unaware of how formidable a master of the Jeolcho Faction truly was.
Yet the sight of casually rendering such a being unconscious and now grumbling while inserting needles sent chills down the spines of the other martial artists.
I paused mid-acupuncture and replied.
“Ah, I apologize for taking the blanket. I’ll bring you a new one. Treating an angry martial artist isn’t exactly easy work.”
The warrior with the needle still embedded in his philtrum answered.
“…That’s fine.”
“Oh, thank you for understanding. It ended peacefully.”
Peacefully(?)
The medical staff, the assistants, even the middle-aged men passing by—all exchanged glances.
And so peace arrived.
* * *
“Do you think Master was satisfied, Hyeong?”
“He must have been extremely satisfied. And he probably went out of his way to scratch at the righteous faction a bit, saying our kid struggled at first because he was lacking in something.”
“…Master certainly has quite the temperament.”
“He does.”
“Jang Mun-in said that as he aged, his temperament actually mellowed considerably…”
Even that mellowed temperament was formidable enough to be exasperating.
I chuckled softly.
“I think Gwon Je is probably watching quite happily from heaven.”
A gathering where both the silver and original factions came together to remember him.
Not a solemn occasion where people mourned the deceased in quiet contemplation.
Some cursed Mudang Gwon-je, while others lamented the parting and cursed along with them.
And within all this, Cheonwoo had to fight and fight again.
To fulfill his duty as a successor!
‘It’s a festival. A festival where lives are at stake.’
Even in one corner, the acupuncture hall was constructing a strange altar, as if coughing up blood.
It was a ritual to the heavens and earth, asking them not to send patients to the acupuncture hall next time.
“Honestly, the acupuncture hall is the original source of rituals!”
“That’s right!”
“Statistically, the next patient will be from the destruction hall!”
“We can’t take anymore–!”
Quite serious, indeed.
All of this scenery.
This entire landscape unfolding from the mixing of people seemed to resemble Gwon Je’s life itself.
Though it was clearly a funeral, they were running forward toward what lay ahead rather than reminiscing about the deceased.
A funeral where they ran forward, not backward.
Faced with this bizarre spectacle, I was left somewhat speechless.
‘You’re having the finest funeral, Gwon Je.’
And the core of this funeral was Cheonwoo.
The one who had to stake everything and fight to protect his Master’s memorial tablet.
That Cheonwoo spoke.
“I gained a small insight from this martial competition, Hyeong.”
“What enlightenment?”
“I think I’m beginning to understand why Gwon Je and Sifu both insisted I practice Taiji Quan first.”
“Is that so?”
“Every morning, Gwon Je would practice Taiji Quan. And sometimes he would just stand there, frozen mid-movement.”
As Cheonwoo spoke, he assumed a basic foundational stance.
“Hmm? It’s just an ordinary posture.”
“You feel the same way, Sifu?”
“….”
It wasn’t a stance meant to connect with other techniques, nor was it designed to flow smoothly between offense and defense.
If anything, it resembled the exercises old men do in the hills behind the village while drinking spring water.
“It’s certainly a taxing posture to hold for long.”
“Yes, that’s right. But he would do it all day long. Then he would emerge completely drenched in sweat.”
‘Could it be?’
That remark gave me a clue.
“Cheonwoo, you practice that every day too.”
“Do you know something, Sifu?”
“I’ve learned the martial arts of the Mudang Faction, so I have some sense of it. I suspect the true essence of Taiji Quan might lie in perfect harmony….”
“Perfect harmony?”
“Yes, perfect harmony. Remember how Ha Seon Doin’s Taiji Wisdom Sword technique was called Taiji Perfect Harmony? While harmony can mean filling heaven and earth, I suspect it actually means….”
That was when it happened.
“Cheonwoo, disciple’s disciple. The Sect Leader is calling for you.”
The Aged Taoist from Jeong Ja-bae’s lineage approached from behind.
“And Jin Cheon-hee, the disciple’s disciple, should come as well.”
I was included too.
* * *
Even among lay disciples, there is a hierarchy of generations.
For example, those who train in the same lineage as Cheon Ja-bae belong to the same generation as Cheon Ja-bae.
Lay disciples simply cannot learn the Mudang Faction’s core secret techniques. But they are still disciples of the Mudang Faction nonetheless.
Therefore, my generational rank was one step above Cheonwoo’s.
Baekrin Uiseon Jegallim’s generational rank was actually equal to the Sect Leader’s.
My rank as his direct disciple had to be adjusted accordingly.
In other words, I became equal to the Ha generation.
That’s why the Aged Taoist called me a disciple’s disciple.
In terms of blood relations, it was something like being a nephew.
Since the disciple of a master’s disciple is called a disciple’s disciple, it was similar.
As Cheonwoo and I entered deeper into the Mudang Faction, the elders of Jeong Ja-bae’s lineage were waiting in the grand hall.
“Cheonwoo, disciple’s disciple. You did well.”
The Sect Leader’s first words upon our entrance.
“Our Mudang Faction has long strived as a righteous school of Gangho, working to spread justice and righteousness.”
The Sect Leader’s words echoed through the quiet grand hall.
“Sometimes injustice threatened us, and sometimes tangible dangers sought to shake our resolve.”
Jang Mun-in rose from his seat.
“Yet we are of the Mudang Faction, and thus we stand here. The highest good is like water—water benefits all things without contention, dwelling in places all others despise. This is precisely why it embodies the Way.”
The highest good is like water.
Water benefits all things without contention.
It dwells in places all despise.
Thus it approaches the Way.
I recognized Jang Mun-in’s words—they came from the Daodejing of Laozi.
The highest good is like water!
Yet how many truly live such a life?
“Sifus and disciples! Children of the Mudang! Who among us walks closest to the Way? Who was it that turned away from that child, who walked the Black Path without hesitation—a path all others shun and despise?”
Jang Mun-in’s words cast a solemn shadow over everyone’s faces.
The Black Path.
The duty of eliminating traitors to the sect. Yet it was neither glorious nor revered.
Rather, it was something to be avoided and scorned.
A dirty task that someone had to do.
“Can you claim with pride that you harbored no envy? Can you claim with pride that you felt no hatred?”
Cheonwoo had been chosen by Gwon Je to become the successor.
How many could say they felt no jealousy or resentment witnessing this?
Jang Mun-in finally seized this moment to bare his heart.
A lesson that could only be taught now, with Gwon Je having left behind a successor.
“Who are you?”
“We are disciples of the Mudang!”
“We are disciples of the Mudang!”
The Aged Taoists of Jeong Ja-bae’s lineage rose one by one from their seats. When all had stood.
“Indeed. We are the Mudang!”
Jang Mun-in cupped his fists and bowed his head.
“First Disciple of the Mudang, Cheonwoo. We thank you for what you have given to the Mudang.”
“We pay our respects to the First Disciple of the Mudang!”
“We pay our respects to the First Disciple of the Mudang!”
Everyone cupped their fists in unison and bowed their heads.
Tears welled in Cheonwoo’s single eye.
Without wiping away his tears, Cheonwoo cupped his fists in return and bowed his head.
“This humble one. Cheonwoo offers the excessive praise of Sa Baek-jo and Sa Suk-jo to Master.”
* * *
‘Wow, this is so moving! This really hits hard!’
I watched with a swelling heart as everyone acknowledged Cheonwoo.
‘Come to think of it, martial arts novels always have scenes like this, don’t they? Man. Our Cheonwoo is truly a righteous hero of the Righteous Faction. A true hero.’
I marveled inwardly. Wasn’t this the very essence of martial arts fiction?
‘But the beauty of it is that such moments are only achieved when one actually demonstrates martial prowess. That’s the true charm of martial arts novels.’
If Cheonwoo couldn’t endure the process and bolted, how many would actually reflect on their actions?
In the end, all judgment begins with martial prowess and is connected through the heart.
‘In modern times, there are certainly people who would mock this as the behavior of rustic villagers.’
Readers of martial arts from the old days and readers of today are different.
The martial arts sentiment of that era and the martial arts sentiment of now are also different.
Yet the long-time reader found pride in this situation, and in Cheonwoo himself.
Perhaps it was because, having lived through both a past life and this life while working as a doctor, I had also let go of my expectations for people.
One saves lives, but one must not harbor expectations.
Because I held no expectations, there is no disappointment.
Conversely, when something good happens, it becomes an unexpected occurrence, bringing greater joy.
‘They all dismissed Cheonwoo while secretly fearing him.’
They would likely still fear him, but I suspect they would dismiss and avoid him somewhat less.
‘At this rate, perhaps I don’t need to teach Cheonwoo politics.’
For some reason, everyone fearing Cheonwoo was the basic premise; if I could just foster some familiarity, it seemed it would work out.
‘Despite his appearance, he’s actually docile and steadfast like a bear. Once they grow close, they’ll understand that too.’
The other martial artists also gradually calmed their minds and took their seats one by one.
Their faces still seemed full of shame regarding Cheonwoo.
That shame was a raw, unguarded expression that seemed devoid of falsehood.
‘Perhaps because they’re hermits, there’s something simple about them.’
The feeling is different from the sects.
Living their entire lives on the mountain without marriage, occasionally eating meat, but their staple is vegetarian.
Rather, if they were lay disciples who descended the mountain, they would have done so, but on Mudang Mountain there is almost nothing to indulge in.
At most, it’s just tea and light refreshments.
Because of this, they are quite different from the people of the Namgung Family, Gongseon Family, and Hwangbo Family.
So when Jeong Gwang caused the blood incident in the past, he desired neither wealth nor power.
The martial arts of Mudang itself.
Even hermits are human, so they can naturally fall into corruption.
However, the direction their desires pointed was also different in feeling from the sects.
Cheonwoo also takes a seat.
Unexpectedly, Cheonwoo’s expression carried complex emotions.
The more one travels outside, the better one understands the secular world. Moreover, there are things to learn from facing various enemies.
In a way, it occurred to me that perhaps Cheonwoo was actually the one most tainted among them.
Jin Cheon-hee subtly gauges the situation and sits beside Cheonwoo.
‘But why did he call me?’
A lay disciple is still a disciple, but did he really need to call me for something like this?
It works well as a place to celebrate together, though.
Jang Mun-in spoke.
“Is the body of Cheonwoo Swordsman well?”
Ah, so that’s why I was called.
Since he faced a formidable opponent from the first match, it was reasonable to be concerned about injuries.
Jin Cheon-hee answered immediately.
“Yes. I took his pulse right after the ceremony concluded, and he’s remarkably robust—there wasn’t a single injury to be found.”
“Such fortune smiles upon our sect.”
Jang Mun-in nodded contentedly for a long while, clearly satisfied.
‘The Master is doing everything he wanted today. Quite something~’
He’d had his say with those who’d disrespected Cheonwoo, and he’d even given Wol-seon-san-in of the Jeomchang Faction a proper thrashing.
‘When a person releases all their pent-up resentment at once, they must shed ten years off their life.’
Perhaps it was just an impression, but Jang Mun-in’s face gleamed with vitality.
That was when it happened.
“Jang Mun-in!”
The Cheon Ja-bae Dosa rushed in urgently and announced:
“The Jeomchang Faction is departing!”
“Hehehehe! These people, leaving without so much as a word… Kekekekeke!”
Was it really appropriate to be this delighted?
Everyone exchanged knowing glances, but there was nothing to say.
These were the very people who’d arrived with muddy feet at someone’s funeral.
Jang Mun-in made no effort to hide his joy as he spoke.
“Well now, I simply cannot let departing guests leave without a proper send-off. Come now!”
Was this what crocodile tears looked like?
Jang Mun-in rose to his feet and patted Cheonwoo’s shoulders—shoulders broader than two heads—with resounding slaps.
“Cheonwoo. Rest well today!”
“Yes, Jang Mun-in.”
“My, my… These people, leaving without a word like this. Hehehehe! They’ve come such a long way—I really should give them a parting gift before they go. What a predicament~”
Saying this, he clasped his hands behind his back and leisurely followed after the Jeomchang Faction.
Watching his departing figure, Jin Cheon-hee understood.
‘Ah, he’s going to deliver the final blow.’
Indeed, becoming Jang Mun-in was no simple feat.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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