The Physician of Traditional Medicine Returns from Murim
Venom
한의사, 무림에서 돌아왔습니다 Jun 03, 2026 22 views
Chapter 6
Murim.
The society of those who practiced martial arts.
It was a world filled with people who devoted everything to the pursuit of strength—individuals who had long since surpassed the limits of ordinary humans.
And for every martial artist who reached such heights, there were countless commoners dreaming of walking the same path.
People who would stupidly lift boulders even after more than half their supraspinatus tendon had torn.
The supraspinatus was the most vulnerable of the four rotator cuff muscles. Located above the scapular spine, it helped stabilize the shoulder by holding the shoulder blade and upper arm bone together.
If it tore completely, the arm practically hung uselessly at one's side.
Even a partial tear made it difficult to lift or support the arm.
A martial artist who had accumulated internal energy through proper qigong training could get away with pushing their body beyond its limits.
Those who had reached a certain realm learned to control their own qi, allowing them to recover with astonishing efficiency. Minor injuries healed rapidly.
But anyone who had not reached that level possessed a body no different from the people of this world.
Human beings were the same everywhere.
That was why I had been able to learn martial arts in that world.
And why I had been able to heal people with its medicine.
There were physicians in the martial world as well.
In every world, there would always be someone curious enough to dissect the human body and record what they found.
Scholars knew about bones, muscles, organs, ligaments, tendons, and blood vessels.
They lacked microscopes, so they knew nothing about tissues or cells.
But they understood anatomy.
Even young disciples from prestigious sects knew the basics.
They might not distinguish ligaments from tendons, but they understood that overusing the body caused injury, and continuing to push through an injury could tear something permanently.
The real problem was that the martial world had no compulsory education.
There were countless fools wandering the streets with cheap martial arts manuals, treating them as priceless secret techniques.
"You need to rest right now! I'm treating you! Is asking for one month of rest really that unreasonable?!"
The lunatics were so diligent that they would swing a sword ten thousand times a day regardless of whether their arms were falling off.
They ignored the physician standing right in front of them.
Yet they trusted anonymous martial arts manuals without question.
"Extend both arms. Make a fist. Point your thumb downward. I'll push down—try to resist."
"Aaaagh!"
"You can't even withstand my strength! Do you realize how serious this is?"
I often demonstrated the severity of supraspinatus inflammation or tears using the Empty Can Test.
Then I would draw diagrams of the human body and explain the injury.
"This bone here is the scapula. What you're feeling now is the scapular spine."
"Above it, this muscle connects to the humerus—the upper arm bone. Try lifting your arm."
"Ugh... aaagh..."
"See? You can barely raise it without supporting it with your other arm. That's because the muscle responsible for stabilization is torn."
Did they understand after hearing that?
Not at all.
"But Master Flying Dragon told me to swing my sword ten thousand times every single day without exception! There's no way he'd assign an impossible task!"
Of course there was.
When I wandered the world posing as a physician, I had to carefully persuade my patients.
But after I gained a position of authority in the Tang Clan's medical hall—and after learning martial arts myself—the solution became much simpler.
Communicating with patients as equals?
Explaining treatment plans in detail?
Those were textbook ideals.
Reality was different.
Tap. Tap. Scratch.
Recalling the countless shoulder injuries I had treated over the years, I completed my assignment.
I didn't forget to include the textbook-style diagnostic methods, treatments, and management plans I had originally attempted back when I still believed such idealistic approaches worked.
“Okay~ Done!”
Once the contents were organized in my head, writing them down took almost no time.
With a satisfied smile, I hit Save and immediately submitted the assignment.
Whether the professor graded it or made me present it again, I had nothing to worry about.
Maybe I'll head to the library now.
Class had ended some time ago.
I had remained in the lecture hall to finish the assignment while most of my classmates had already gone home.
The room was nearly empty.
“You've already finished? Impressive.”
The only other student still there was Hwang Sang-hoon.
He approached and started a conversation.
“Yeah. Are you working on the assignment too?”
Hwang Sang-hoon.
Jo Ha-neul's close friend.
The student who had ranked second in the class last semester.
“Mm.”
“Seo-young left early for her grandfather's birthday. Why are you still here?”
He was the grandson of the director of Hwangje Oriental Hospital, one of Korea's largest traditional medicine hospital networks.
He was also Hwang Seo-young's cousin.
A two-year senior because he'd spent extra years preparing for university entrance exams.
Unlike Jo Ha-neul, he never picked fights.
Still, we weren't particularly close.
“Too much pressure.”
“I see.”
I attempted some small talk, but the conversation died before we exchanged even three sentences.
“There's a lot to organize.”
Hwang Sang-hoon scratched his head awkwardly.
Unlike me, who had simply dumped everything from memory onto paper, he had textbooks and handouts spread across multiple desks.
He's not going to ask me for help, is he?
No.
That couldn't be it.
We weren't close enough for that.
“Well then, I'll be—”
“You were amazing.”
I stopped.
“...What?”
The sudden comment caught me completely off guard.
Had he finally abandoned his silent persona and decided to imitate Jo Ha-neul?
“The presentation. The airplane incident. ...I wish I'd gone with you.”
“...Huh?”
That made even less sense.
Why would Hwang Sang-hoon have gone to China?
I was the one who had personally contacted the university professor and arranged the clinical training opportunity.
The professor had agreed to accept two students, so I'd taken Hwang Seo-young.
Later, even the class president had asked to come along, and I'd refused.
So what was he talking about?
“Wait.”
My face twisted into a bizarre expression.
Unfortunately, Hwang Sang-hoon had already lowered his head and didn't see it.
Instead, he pulled an L-folder from his bag and handed it to me.
“What's this?”
Inside were several sheets of paper.
“The professor changed, so it might not be useful anymore. But the exam questions might still be similar.”
He skipped straight past the point, but a quick glance told me exactly what it was.
Surprisingly, it was a collection of past exams passed down through generations in the orchestra club.
Hmm.
Occasionally, lazy professors recycled old exam questions.
Sometimes new professors referenced previous exams.
But Professor Lee Min-seok?
The man had redesigned the entire course and created all-new materials.
He didn't seem like the type.
“You stayed behind just to give this to me?”
Based on the circumstances, he'd remained in the lecture hall despite wanting to go home.
And he'd waited until I finished my assignment before approaching me.
“Why?”
I asked directly.
“Because I want to intern with you. ...Don't tell Ha-neul.”
Ah.
Maybe they're not actually that close.
Thinking about it, spending time together didn't automatically make someone a true friend.
Unlike Hwang Sang-hoon, who attended lectures diligently, Jo Ha-neul skipped class whenever possible.
Perhaps resentment had built up after years of sharing notes and club materials.
Drinking together was one thing.
Working together was another.
That was probably all there was to it.
Still...
The fact that he'd gone this far...
This feels strangely familiar.
A wave of déjà vu hit me.
"Divine Physician, could I study the Great Compendium of Acupuncture with you?"
The Thirteenth Young Master of the Tang Clan.
The kid who trained like a maniac despite being born into a prestigious family.
In truth, such reckless training was usually reserved for wandering martial artists.
Orthodox sects maintained proper systems.
Unorthodox martial artists spilled blood before they ever reached that stage.
But that boy, being an illegitimate child, had never received proper instruction.
He'd drifted around the clan, neglected and isolated.
After I treated him, he'd begun idolizing me.
Claiming he'd never become the clan heir anyway, he'd asked to study medicine instead.
"No."
My master never allowed it.
Instead, he found the boy a suitable martial arts teacher, believing his talent lay elsewhere.
The look of admiration I'd just seen in Hwang Sang-hoon's eyes...
Nah.
Surely I was imagining things.
Why are they acting like this over exam notes they've been passing around for years?
The exam format would undoubtedly change.
Even if it didn't, I'd already memorized every major acupuncture point in the body.
The material meant nothing to me.
For all I knew, this could be one of Jo Ha-neul's schemes.
“It's the thought that counts.”
I politely declined and handed the folder back.
The Next Day
“Everyone, I've finished reviewing your assignments. Every single student submitted one.”
Despite the fact that this was an early morning class, Professor Lee Min-seok claimed he had already reviewed over a hundred assignments.
As expected.
A man like him would have no problem creating an entirely new exam from scratch.
“Hwang Sang-hoon. Sung Ji-eun. Come to the front.”
The moment class began, he called two students forward.
Hwang Sang-hoon rose calmly.
The class president nearly tore her hair out before reluctantly heading to the podium.
“Other than the two students who presented yesterday, these two submitted the best assignments.”
The class president's expression brightened.
“Let's see you perform them.”
Then froze solid.
“What? Practical testing? Right now? This isn't even lab class.”
“So?”
“Ugh. Of course you'd be fine with it, Yeo-won.”
Hwang Seo-young grumbled while frantically searching for the assignment she'd submitted.
Normally practical training took place in the acupuncture lab.
Still, there was no reason it couldn't happen here.
The professor was present.
There were needles.
There was alcohol.
What was the problem?
“Miss Sung Ji-eun, you first.”
“Yes.”
The assignment was simple.
Treat each other's shoulders.
Hwang Sang-hoon unbuttoned part of his shirt and exposed his left shoulder.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
The class president opened her needle pack and began inserting needles.
Fengchi.
Jianjing.
Quyuan.
Jianyu.
Naoshu.
One after another.
“Good. Move Jianyu slightly lower. Confirm the acromion properly.”
“Yes, Professor.”
Professor Lee inspected all ten needles placed around the shoulder and rotator cuff.
Her point selection was accurate.
She even received praise.
Yet she still looked nervous.
“And? Aren't you using any distal points?”
“Uh... could I check my assignment for a moment?”
Selecting acupuncture points was known as point prescription.
Generally it fell into two categories.
Local points near the affected area.
And distal points located elsewhere on the body.
Local points targeted the injured muscle directly.
Distal points stimulated areas such as the hands or feet to promote healing through various theoretical frameworks.
“You don't remember what you wrote?”
Silence.
Apparently she'd copied a theory from a textbook.
Or perhaps borrowed someone else's answer.
“I'm sorry.”
“Assignments aren't meant to be submitted and forgotten. If you intended to use only local points, that's what you should have written. You need to be capable of actually treating patients.”
“...I'm sorry.”
“You don't need to apologize. I expected this. Most of you are probably reviewing your assignments right now, aren't you?”
Hwang Seo-young, who had already opened her file and started muttering to herself, flinched visibly.
“Review them now. Then practice immediately. At least Miss Sung Ji-eun won't forget after being corrected like this.”
“Yes! Thank you!”
Whew.
The man really was running a Spartan classroom.
Students quickly paired off and began practicing.
“Some students copied directly from the textbook. Others copied from blogs. I don't care. There is no single correct acupuncture prescription.”
He paced through the room as he lectured.
“You can treat based on anatomy. You can use Sa-am acupuncture. Dong's acupuncture. Whatever you want. But you should at least create your own treatment plans for common conditions.”
Everyone had expected a young professor to be approachable and easygoing.
Instead, his stern expression and endless criticism terrified the entire class.
“Is this where you think the teres minor is?”
“Yes... Wait, is that the supraspinatus?”
“Are you going to ask your patient that six months from now? Focus!”
Sometimes he criticized students.
Sometimes he chatted.
“Ha-neul. Professor Jo contacted me. He could've just passed along his greetings himself.”
As for me, I remembered every word I'd written in my assignment.
Needling Hwang Seo-young was effortless.
“Hmm.”
The man who had been grilling students nonstop suddenly stopped beside me and crossed his arms.
What? Why isn't he saying anything?
I wasn't the type to make mistakes under pressure.
