Unraveling Questions (4)

Songshan.

The sacred ground of the martial world, made all the more august because of Shaolin.

People spoke as if Songshan were solely a Buddhist holy site because Shaolin stood there, but together with four other mountains it was also a Daoist holy mountain known as the Five Peaks.

On the north slope of Jungeuk Peak stood a large building—the Jungak Shrine, a Daoist sanctuary forgotten in Shaolin’s shadow.

Inside that building, a man was brazenly tending a fire and roasting a rabbit: it was Neung Je-gang.

“Time she woke up.”

Beside the spit where he turned the meat, someone lay flat, covered with a long black cloak—Go So-jeong.

After leaving Luoyang, Neung Je-gang had deliberately headed not toward Zhengzhou where the Martial Alliance was, but toward Songshan where Shaolin stood.

There might be those who looked down on the Martial Alliance, but none could ignore Shaolin. Even if pursuers existed, he judged they would not dare run wild inside Shaolin’s domain.

“Uuugh…”

Right on cue with his words, a groan escaped Go So-jeong’s lips.

“W-water…!”

Parched, she asked for water.

“I save your life and you make demands.”

Grumbling, Neung Je-gang left the building and walked to the ravine. There was a well inside the Jungak Shrine, but it had gone untended too long to drink from.

Lacking anything fit for a cup, he picked up a stone the size of a human head and split it with a dagger. Then, using a dagger edge hardened with protecting qi, he hollowed out one half. It wasn’t pretty, but it could scoop stream water.

“Hm. I should learn proper stone-carving someday.”

He filled the rough stone bowl with water and returned to the shrine.

“Huh?”

Go So-jeong, who had begged for water, had vanished without a trace. One roasted rabbit leg had also disappeared.

There was one more change—several lines scrawled in charcoal on the floor:

“Thanks for saving me. You can drink all the water you fetched yourself. But you undressed me under the pretext of treatment, didn’t you? For daring to do that without permission, I’ll make sure to kill you.”

“Heh… heh-heh…”

Neung Je-gang could only laugh hollowly at the absurdity. He saved her, and for that she would “kindly” kill him.

“I should’ve let you die. Now this is just trouble. No—who am I kidding? With that temper of yours, you’d still chase me swearing to kill me over the last incident. Nothing’s changed for me. Anyway, bath in sulfur water first—she may have dusted me with tracking powder again.”

Only after drinking the water himself and finishing the remaining rabbit did Neung Je-gang leave the Jungak Shrine.

A while after he left, Go So-jeong returned to the shrine.

“So he’s gone. Rotten jerk—he couldn’t leave some food?”

Her wounds weren’t fully healed; she couldn’t go far. That was why she came back after he left—there was nowhere else suitable to hide.

She gathered dry branches, built a fresh fire, and peeled off the ill-fitting stealth suit she’d thrown on. Some reopened cuts were bleeding from her movements.

“Did just smearing medicine ever heal a wound? Rotten jerk—if you’re going to treat me, do it properly so I’m not angry about being undressed.”

Muttering, she rummaged in the suit and took out needle and thread. Assassins and spies learned to tend their own wounds; the most basic—and surest—method was sewing them shut.

Truth be told, though she carried needle and thread, she had never imagined she would actually use them. If she was hurt, she could run to the nearest clinic—why sew her own flesh?

But now she didn’t even know where she was, let alone where a doctor might be. Wandering to find one could worsen the wounds. So she resolved, for the first time, to use the stitching she had learned.

Tremble, tremble.

Threading the needle posed no trouble, but when she brought the needle to the gash on her thigh, her hand shook—more so because she was stone-sober.

“A—a drink would help.”

At last she let her hand fall, murmuring in defeat. Doubt gnawed at her: wasn’t she a fool who couldn’t even use the spycraft she thought she’d mastered?

Whiiik—

Something flashed toward her. She flinched aside—then stared: a familiar-shaped bottle hung in the air before her.

“That’s liquor. If you’re going to stitch, don’t drink it—pour it on the wound first. If you don’t disinfect, you’ll be in real trouble.”

It was Neung Je-gang.

He had known from the start that she hadn’t gone far; he’d heard, from a distance, her gritted-teeth groans. His plan had been to ask, once she woke, and do the stitching himself.

Botched stitching left nasty scars; considering she was a woman, he meant to ask. So he had pretended to leave, gone down the mountain, and bought an especially strong liquor.

For disinfecting wounds, liquor was best.

“You—you…”

Go So-jeong ground her teeth.

“Treating that wound or not? Want me to do it?”

“Rotten bastard! Get lost!”

Mortified that she’d shown weakness, she snatched up the needle in a flare of defiance.

Ignoring the floating bottle, she drove the needle into the gaping cut.

“Kh…!”

She clenched her teeth, but the bite of the needle through flesh radiated to the bone.

Whoosh—

Just then, a gust slipped in from outside and tapped her numbing acupoint.

“W-what are you doing?”

Startled, she realized she felt no pain. They were alone on a mountain; she and Secret Shadow—just the two of them. Any woman should have felt fear.

But Neung Je-gang, who didn’t much care for women to begin with, felt nothing about her fear.

“Tsk, tsk. Who taught you to sew like a brute? And did you even sterilize that needle? Are you going to jab raw skin with anything and die of tetanus?”

He stepped back inside the shrine. His matter-of-fact tone and eyes free of any lechery made Go So-jeong both relieved and, yet again, wounded in her pride.

Nearly naked—and a man felt nothing? For a woman, that stung.

“Jerk!”

Neung Je-gang caught the bottle still hanging in the air, and took the needle from her hand. He popped the cork and, without hesitation, splashed liquor over the wound.

“Ugh!”

The fierce sting raced through her body.

He thrust the needle into the campfire to sterilize it and laid her flat.

“It’ll hurt. Want me to block the pain with acupoints?”

“No.”

“Tsk, stubborn… So—are you really going to kill the man who saved your life and is treating your wounds?”

“O-of course.”

Her voice trembled thinly; her conscience pricked, but she answered anyway.

“How about I jab this needle once, deep?”

“D-don’t you dare!”

“You’re out to kill me, but I can’t even poke you with a needle?”

“You! I-I’ll really kill you.”

“When did you ever not mean it? Heard you even took Blood Rain from your father.”

“H-how did you…?”

“Your father told me. To be careful…”

“…”

“Cat got your tongue—so now you feel a little sorry?”

“Don’t be ridiculous! You’re dying by my hand, for sure.”

“Is that so? Thanks. If I exclude you, I’m invincible.”

“Hmph!”

Smack.

“W-what the—?”

In the middle of their back-and-forth, Neung Je-gang suddenly slapped her belly—loudly.

“Front’s stitched. Turn over.”

“What? W-when did you—?”

“Oh right, you can’t move now, can you? I forgot.”

He had deliberately kept her talking while he stitched, then finished by applying salve.

He turned her onto her stomach.

“There’s nothing too bad on the back—salve will do.”

Scooping up a generous dollop of Golden Scar Medicine, he smeared it over the wounds and stood.

“W-where are you going?”

“Why—sad I’m leaving?”

“Release my points before you go.”

“That’s why I’m stepping out. Once I unblock you, you’ll be hopping mad again vowing to kill me—isn’t that right?”

He went outside, and moments later a line of gust-qi flew in and released her acupoints.

“Hrk…”

Even freed, Go So-jeong did not rise. For some reason, tears welled instead. She didn’t so much as stir to chase Neung Je-gang.