“I'm sorry. Could you speak a little louder?”
Instead of raising my voice, I bent down, picked up the hearing aid that was still lying in the road, and handed it back to the middle-aged man.
Even after dusting it off and putting it back in his ear, he spent a long moment rubbing his chest and catching his breath.
“Thank you, young man. Whew... What was it you said just now? My hearing isn't usually this bad, but after that scare, my head's still spinning.”
Come to think of it, the patient from today's assignment had mild hearing loss too.
Fortunately, it seemed that with a hearing aid, everyday conversation wasn't much of a problem.
Modern technology really was impressive.
Just then, I noticed a café not far away.
Pointing toward it, I said,
“It's nothing. That car must have given you quite a fright. Why don't we sit down somewhere and rest for a bit?”
“My hospital room is right nearby, though...”
“Your legs are still shaking.”
I glanced downward.
“Please, sit down for a moment. I'll buy you a cup of tea.”
The man lowered his head and checked his legs.
Only then did he realize how badly they were trembling.
He looked startled.
Apparently, he hadn't noticed it himself.
Together, we entered the café.
“Two chamomile teas, please.”
I ordered something calming and led him to a seat in the back.
There were no other customers, but it would be easier to talk there.
“Goodness... my heart's still pounding.”
The man let out a long sigh.
“If you hadn't grabbed me back there, I would've been in serious trouble.”
“There are too many lunatics on the roads these days. Pedestrians don't have much choice except to be careful.”
“You're absolutely right.”
He gave a weak laugh.
“This old man survived by pure luck today.”
His eyes blinked repeatedly.
Several times he shook his head, as if he still couldn't quite believe what had happened.
“Feeling a little calmer now?”
“Yes. Much better.”
He sighed again.
“Still... imagine almost getting hit by a car of all things. I nearly ended up the same way as my wife.”
“Oh... your wife passed away in an accident?”
“Haha!”
He interrupted me with a forced laugh.
“Don't look at me so pitifully. It happened eleven years ago. I've managed just fine on my own ever since.”
But despite his cheerful tone, I noticed that his eyelids and lips were still trembling.
Wait.
Eleven years ago?
I had been about to offer him a reassuring pat on the hand when I suddenly froze.
Widowed eleven years ago.
Hearing loss.
The patient from my assignment immediately came to mind.
“Sir... do you happen to suffer from tinnitus?”
The timing wasn't suspicious.
He had just been fiddling with his left ear, giving me a natural opening to ask.
“Ah, that's right.”
His eyes widened.
“You're observant.”
“I spotted you from quite a distance because of it.”
“Haha, is that so?”
“Has it been bothering you for more than ten years too?”
“It started around then, yes.”
He nodded.
“But it only became this severe about a year ago.”
Even now, he squeezed his eyes shut briefly, as though the ringing was bothering him.
“Is it worse during daily life or when you're trying to sleep?”
“Sleep, definitely.”
He answered immediately.
“When I'm working, I forget about it most of the time. If I notice it, it'll ring here and there. But the moment I lie down to sleep—”
He grimaced.
“BEEEEEEEEEEP.”
He mimicked the sound.
“It torments me so much I can't sleep without alcohol.”
“Ah...”
“At first, it really sounded like birds chirping.”
His expression softened.
“I even wondered if my late wife was trying to talk to me. That's why I never bothered seeking treatment.”
Then he sighed deeply.
“Stupid, wasn't it? If I'd gotten treatment right away, maybe it would've gotten better.”
He shook his head.
“It wasn't until years later, when I mentioned it to my neighborhood leader, that he scolded me and told me to get to a hospital immediately.”
“So it worsened because it was left untreated.”
“It's my own fault.”
His voice dropped.
“I drank like a fish. The doctors are still nagging me to quit. But at this point... I don't think I can.”
He drained the chamomile tea in a single gulp, as though it were a shot of soju.
Mentioning his wife had clearly stirred something inside him.
A faint sheen of tears gathered around his eyes.
Instead of offering empty comfort, I quietly handed him a napkin.
So he really is the patient.
I'd thought the assignment's medical history was oddly detailed for a fictional case.
Judging by everything I'd heard so far, he was almost certainly an actual patient currently admitted to the university hospital.
When I'd only seen his chart, I'd imagined a rough, hard-drinking construction worker.
Meeting him in person felt strangely different.
“May I ask your name?”
“Hm?”
He blinked.
“Jung Gwang-cheol.”
Then he laughed.
“Goodness, I haven't even asked the name of the person who saved me. What's yours? Do you attend Korea University? Which department?”
“My name is Han Yeowon.”
I smiled.
“I'm a student at Korea University's College of Korean Medicine.”
Jung Gwang-cheol.
Now that I knew his name, the tinnitus patient from my assignment ceased being just a medical case.
He became a real person.
“One of those Korean medicine doctors?”
His eyes widened.
“I thought you were an athlete!”
Apparently my movement when I'd pulled him back had looked a bit dramatic.
“Haha. I did play sports when I was younger.”
I scratched my head and gave a vague answer.
“What a coincidence.”
He looked genuinely delighted.
“I'm actually admitted to Korea University's Oriental Medicine Hospital right now. Strange that I've never seen you.”
“I'm still a student.”
“But students are always following professors around.”
“Those are the lower years. Clinical rotations start in the third year.”
“I see, I see.”
He slapped his knee.
“No wonder you recognized my tinnitus right away!”
“Are you seeing any improvement from treatment?”
That was what I truly wanted to know.
According to the assignment Professor Lee Min-seok had given us, there hadn't seemed to be much progress.
“Not really...”
As expected, he shook his head.
“They say it takes time because I've had it for so long.”
Exactly.
In my assignment, I'd suggested several acupuncture points commonly used for tinnitus, combined with treatment aimed at relieving neck and shoulder tension and reducing nerve compression.
But even while writing it, I'd felt unconvinced.
If something that basic could solve the problem, would he really have gone through ENT clinics, neurosurgery consultations, two Korean medicine clinics, and finally hospitalization?
Maybe if treatment had begun the moment the tinnitus appeared.
But after eleven years?
Countless complications had accumulated.
Basic treatment alone was unlikely to be enough.
“Are you admitted under Ophthalmology, ENT, Dermatology... or Acupuncture Medicine?”
“Opthal-what?”
He blinked.
“Who's your attending professor?”
“Who was it again?”
He scratched his head.
“Our neighborhood leader recommended Professor Kim Seong-cheol. Said he was famous. But my doctor changed recently.”
“To Professor Lee Min-seok?”
“Ah, yes! That was the name.”
His expression became slightly dissatisfied.
“Far too young, if you ask me.”
I nodded.
As expected, he was one of Professor Lee Min-seok's patients.
Professor Lee spoke in class as though there were no illness he couldn't cure.
Yet apparently he hadn't fully earned this patient's trust.
Not that it was unusual.
Before earning my own reputation, I'd faced endless skepticism because I looked young—and because I was a woman.
Even today, many people still preferred older physicians simply because they appeared more experienced.
“If he became a professor at such a young age, he must be extraordinary.”
I smiled.
“He's the professor I respect most.”
“Oh?”
Jung Gwang-cheol looked surprised.
“So you're one of his students?”
“That's right.”
Trust in one's physician was important for recovery.
So I shamelessly polished Professor Lee's image for him.
“Hmph. He doesn't even check my pulse before sticking in needles...”
The old complaint finally emerged.
There it is.
I had been wondering why someone might dislike a charismatic physician like Lee Min-seok.
Turns out it was that.
Koreans really do love having their pulse checked.
Patients hospitalized for lower back pain caused by herniated discs or spinal stenosis rarely cared whether a doctor examined their pulse.
But someone like Jung Gwang-cheol, suffering from a mysterious condition with no obvious cause?
Having someone check his pulse and explain what they found probably would've meant a great deal.
“If you don't mind, would you like me to take a look?”
“I'd appreciate that very much!”
His face immediately brightened as he thrust out his wrist.
Apparently he'd been hoping for exactly that.
I placed my index, middle, and ring fingers gently on his pulse and closed my eyes.
“......”
It took less than ten seconds to understand the pulse.
Still, I deliberately remained silent for over a minute.
The rapid heartbeat caused by the near accident gradually settled.
Beneath it emerged a taut, wiry pulse—like the string of a gayageum being plucked.
“The pulse feels weak, but also tense and rigid.”
His eyes lit up.
“Does that mean my energy is deficient?”
“Yes.”
I nodded.
“Your vitality is lacking. And what little energy remains isn't flowing properly.”
I continued.
“In Korean medicine, we'd call it Liver Qi Stagnation (肝氣鬱結). In simpler terms, it's long-term accumulated stress.”
He listened intently.
“When things stop flowing, all kinds of illnesses begin to appear. You probably experience depression, anxiety, and various aches and pains.”
He nodded continuously.
“Exactly right.”
“May I check your shoulder muscles?”
“Of course.”
I lightly squeezed his trapezius.
“Ugh.”
Even after several days of treatment from Professor Lee, the muscle remained hard.
I examined his sternocleidomastoid and scalene muscles next.
“Ah—!”
He flinched.
Then blinked.
“Wait. That doesn't hurt. When the professor pressed there, it hurt like crazy.”
“Looks like he's already loosened your neck muscles quite a bit.”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“I've been getting acupuncture around my ears, neck, and limbs.”
Considering his age, his muscles were still remarkably stiff.
Yet subjectively, he seemed to feel better.
A body shaped by decades of physical labor wouldn't change dramatically after only a few weeks of treatment.
I carefully checked his jaw joint and neck-shoulder muscles.
The tenderness wasn't particularly severe.
“Let me check your chest as well.”
Finally, I pressed lightly on Tanzhong (CV17), the acupuncture point located between the nipples at the center of the chest.
“AAAAAH!”
Jung Gwang-cheol nearly shouted.
Had there been other customers in the café, every eye would have turned toward us.
Startled by his own reaction, he quickly covered his mouth.
Tanzhong was one of the most important diagnostic and treatment points for what Korean medicine called hwa-byung—an illness associated with suppressed emotional stress.
It was where stagnant emotional energy tended to gather.
“Your stress must be extremely severe.”
He stared at me.
“Stress can make that spot hurt?”
“Yes.”
I nodded.
“Your chest probably feels tight from time to time, doesn't it?”
“Yeah.”
He pressed a hand against his sternum.
“Even when I haven't eaten anything, it sometimes feels as though food is stuck here.”
He laughed bitterly.
“I've felt like this for so long that I never realized anything was wrong.”
Thump.
Thump.
He struck his chest lightly.
“When I got admitted, they asked everything. How many meals I eat. How much water I drink. What my bowel movements are like.”
His expression grew distant.
“And only then did I realize I used to be completely normal when I was younger.”
“You've been too busy to take care of yourself.”
“Yes.”
His smile faded.
“After my wife died... I didn't feel much motivation to look after myself.”
A long silence followed.
“Now I've even checked myself into a hospital trying to get better.”
His gaze lowered.
“And yet... I feel like someone on the verge of death.”
Then he looked up.
“Am I too late?”
“Not at all.”
I shook my head immediately.
Years of stagnation had left traces everywhere.
His digestion.
Fluid metabolism.
Various bodily functions.
All had suffered.
But it wasn't beyond repair.
Not yet.
His body still retained the strength to heal itself.
“If you continue treatment properly and make changes in your daily life, there's every chance you'll improve.”
I smiled gently.
“Your wife would want that too.”
His eyes reddened once more.
Every time he mentioned his wife, tears threatened to surface.
“...I didn't want to say this to the person who saved me.”
His voice trembled.
“But before you pulled me back... part of me wondered whether getting hit by that car would've been easier.”
Silence settled between us.
“Maybe my wife saw what I was thinking.”
His eyes glistened.
“And maybe she sent you to me. No... not a student. A doctor.”
Without a word, I took his hand.
“I overheard some things unintentionally.”
I squeezed gently.
“You've been carrying a heavy burden.”
The café owner, who had apparently been listening from the counter, quietly brought over another cup of tea.
“Take your time.”
She smiled kindly.
“There aren't any other customers. Rest as long as you'd like.”
“Thank you.”
Jung Gwang-cheol bowed his head.
“Truly. I've received a great kindness today.”
Using the pile of napkins I'd given him, he blew his nose noisily and thanked the owner as well.
He seemed embarrassed about making such a scene, but not offended.
One hand remained pressed against his chest as he steadied his breathing.
Honestly, breaking down and crying properly might help release some of the emotions he'd bottled up for years.
But for a middle-aged man, that wasn't always easy.
“If you continue following Professor Lee Min-seok's treatment plan, I'm sure you'll improve.”
I pointed lightly at the center of his chest.
“Massage this area whenever it feels tight. Breathe deeply and comfortably.”
“Yes.”
“And since I don't have acupuncture needles with me, I'll loosen it a little with acupressure instead.”
He obediently entrusted himself to me.
I pressed on Tanzhong.
As I focused, I could clearly sense the tangled stagnation gathered there.
If the emotional blockage starts to loosen, the treatment will gradually begin to show results.
I wasn't capable of curing Jung Gwang-cheol's illness with a single needle.
And drawing unnecessary attention was the last thing I wanted.
I'd gotten lucky on the airplane.
But Jo Haneul's warning hadn't been entirely wrong.
So I stayed within the bounds of what a student could reasonably do.
Offering advice.
Gently rubbing the center of his chest.
And allowing just the faintest trace of qi to flow—
Slowly.
Carefully.
Enough to help the knot begin to unravel.
