Guide of the Sichuan Tang Clan C9

Chapter 9

And just like that, the day came to an end.

Cheongwoo did not pursue the matter any further. He merely granted Eunmyeong permission to enter and leave Mujin’s residence freely, promised to clear people away whenever Guiding was taking place — and then sent him home.

His so-called father must have been warned in advance, for he asked nothing. He simply said, “From tomorrow onward, wake early and help with the work.”

From that day, Eunmyeong began learning medicine beneath him. The original Eunmyeong must not have cared much for medical arts either, because even when Eunmyeong’s acupuncture skills were disastrously clumsy, the man suspected nothing.

“And yet he still hasn’t shown his face.”

A week passed.

In all that time, Eunmyeong did not even glimpse the hem of Cheongwoo’s robe.

So annoying. Why do I keep thinking about him for no reason?

No matter what spell lingered in him, he could not stop remembering being held and kissed by that man. He had kissed countless times during Guiding, yet that moment felt like something else entirely.

Without realizing it, Eunmyeong brushed his lips — the spot where Cheongwoo’s had touched.

The memory of the way that man had moved…

Startled, he jerked his hand away.

“Am I actually losing my mind…?”

A week in this wuxia world, and he was already going mad faster than expected.

“Tang Eunmyeong! If you have nothing to do, dry these herbs!”

His father emerged with a large basket and barked at him for loafing around.

“Nothing to do?!”

Eunmyeong shot up, indignant.

“I’m busy, okay?!”

And he truly was.

Morning meant tending herb fields, midday meant patching up wounded idiots, and night meant Guiding at Mujin’s side.

But he couldn’t exactly explain that, so all he could do was stew in his irritation.

“Can’t stand to let someone rest, can you?!”

“You? Busy? Even a beggar from Beggar’s Sect would laugh at that.”

With practiced disdain, the older man tossed the basket. Herbs scattered everywhere.

“Dry them.”

“I said I’m busy! Patients will show up any moment—!”

“Then finish before they do.”

He vanished before Eunmyeong could argue further.

Only Eunmyeong and a battlefield of herbs remained.

“That damn clan head. He didn’t tell him to turn me into a farm serf!”

Grumbling, he still began laying the herbs neatly across the wooden porch.

“Seriously suspicious. He keeps forcing chores on me…”

He lined the herbs in perfect rows, tucked stray stems into place, then sat with his back shielding them from sunlight — the very image of a devoted peasant.

“Feels like I came for a countryside immersion trip…”

Bizarrely enough, everything came naturally.

As if bewitched, he adapted to each new task. He still couldn’t tie robe knots properly, but he could at least tie up his long hair now.

“Guess that’s the effect of being inside a novel.”

He looked up.

The sunlight had shifted to warm gold — past noon. A cool breeze brushed his hair.

He stood, thinking to soak up the sun a moment longer—

“Tang Eunmyeong! Help! We have a patient!”

Chaos arrived.

“Oh for— damn it.”

He sprinted forward. Today’s unfortunate arrival: Jeongho, slung like a sack.

“Lay him here! Hurry!”

He grabbed the medicine box and acupuncture kit.

Jeongho groaned like the undead, cheeks swollen like he had chestnuts stuffed inside, arms smeared with blood.

“Uuugh… Great Hero…”

“Hero my ass — where’s the idiot who dragged you here?!”

“H-he went… to bring another patient…”

“…Another? Seriously?”

Another one?

There was no time to explode — blood streamed from Jeongho’s arm like a leaky faucet. Eunmyeong clawed his hair.

I really am a farm serf.

Wiping the blood revealed deep abrasions, the kind made by repeated scraping against something sharp.

“At least nothing is torn.”

He checked the stitches he’d put in two days ago, slapped herbs on, and wrapped it tight.

“Ah! Too tight again!”

“You’ll take what I give you and stay quiet.”

The bandage soaked quickly.

Irritation sparked.

“Didn’t I tell you not to get hurt?! Do you treat my words like dog—!”

“D-dogs don’t even have hor— AAAH!”

“It has to be this tight to stop the bleeding. Understand?”

Pinned under Eunmyeong’s hold, Jeongho screamed as the bandage tightened again.

“A-ah— Is this really how you do it?! The Elder wraps me way gentler—”

“What was that?”

“Ahh! Nothing! I mean— my blood— circulation—!!”

He writhed like a fish thrown ashore, but Eunmyeong simply tied off the bandage and moved to the smaller cuts.

At last, Eunmyeong pressed a cold cloth to his head. Jeongho winced dramatically.

“I-It’s cold, Hero!”

“Water is cold. Shocking, I know.”

After a week of treating martial artists by day and Guiding by night, Eunmyeong had ascended to a state of holy disdain.

“Lose once, fine. But why go back for round two? Stop crawling in here half-dead every day!”

I need to save Mujin first — why is everyone else breaking around me?!

Maybe Mujin wasn’t waking because he was overworked.

Guiding was dependent on the Guide’s condition, and he had been arriving every night half-dead already.

“Alright. Speak. I’m asking properly today.”

“A-asking what?”

“This baby-fat face — who hit you?”

“Baby-fat?! And nobody hit me!”

“Nobody? Really?”

Eunmyeong pinched his cheeks ruthlessly. Jeongho shrieked.

“Aaaaah!”

“Still not hit? Still?”

“You’re doing it right now!!”

Still has energy to yell, huh.

Eunmyeong rubbed harder until Jeongho flopped helplessly.

“I GOT HIT! I GOT HIT! HAPPY?!”

“Good. You came here looking like a busted cream bun and thought I’d believe otherwise?”

“What kind of metaphor is that?!”

Panting, Jeongho shot him a resentful look.

For someone with such ability, Eunmyeong had a vicious temper.

Even those who knew the truth rarely got pampered — and his treatment methods were infamous.

Another disciple arrived, took one look at Jeongho, and immediately backed away.

“Oh hell no. He’s fully processed.”

He fled toward Eunmyeong’s father’s hall.

“That bastard… abandoned me here to die.”

Jeongho muttered bitterly.

“If you don’t want to come back, then speak.”

“Speak… what?”

“Tell me who’s beating you up. I’ll tell them not to dump you here.”

Temptation flickered in Jeongho’s eyes.

“Then… could you hold my hand too…?”

His voice trembled pitifully. His palm was red and split.

“If not the whole hand… then at least a fingertip?”

He touched Eunmyeong’s hand carefully, uncertain.

And truly — how could he refuse?

Letting out a long sigh, Eunmyeong clasped his hand.