Jin Cheon-hee scanned the document with meticulous care, his eyes tracing the columns of data before he finally looked up.

“A total of fifty-two thousand cases… I see.”

“Yes. It is a significant number,” Mu Wol replied, standing at attention. “Side effects have been reported in less than ten percent of cases, though that is largely because our physicians have been strictly regulating its use.”

“Inpatient treatment is the priority, after all.”

Jin Cheon-hee harbored a deep, professional distrust for patients. With any antibiotic, strict adherence to the dosing schedule was paramount; simply handing medicine to a patient and sending them home was a recipe for disaster. Forgetfulness led to missed doses, which inevitably led to the emergence of antibiotic-resistant bacteria. The Gangho was no exception to this rule—in fact, given the independent nature of martial artists, it was likely even more problematic here.

Consequently, he had established a rigid protocol: antibiotic treatment necessitated hospitalization, with every dose administered directly by a physician. Of course, the powerful clans still managed to smuggle some out the back door, and most wealthy individuals kept a stash of two or three pills for emergencies. In a way, it was fortunate that the White Qilin Divine Elixir didn’t provide a substantial internal energy boost like other elixirs; otherwise, the hoarding would have been uncontrollable.

“Curiously,” Jin Cheon-hee murmured, tapping the paper, “there were no reported penicillin allergies.”

As he conducted more clinical trials, the results became increasingly fascinating. Perhaps the physiology of the people in this world was fundamentally different from modern Earthlings. Regardless of the biological reason, it was a fortuitous development for a doctor.

“On the back page, you will find data on clinic visits and infectious disease mortality rates in regions where soap has been distributed,” Mu Wol said, pointing to the next sheet. “The reports confirm a definitive decrease.”

“Hmm… I see.”

“You don’t seem surprised.” Mu Wol regarded him with an expression that conveyed a hint of exasperation. He had clearly anticipated the Young Pavilion Master to be overjoyed, yet Jin Cheon-hee was responding as if he were merely confirming yesterday’s weather.

Jin Cheon-hee scratched his cheek awkwardly. “Uh… Of course, I’m happy. I genuinely am. However, I’m more pleased that the distribution went smoothly than I am surprised by the results themselves.”

In regions where soap was introduced, the disease rate had plummeted by over fifty percent compared to areas without it. The most significant impact, however, was observed in neonatal and maternal mortality rates.

In this era, childbirth was a life-threatening gamble. While it remained dangerous in modern times, the mortality rate here was considerably higher due to bacteria transferred by the unwashed hands of midwives. Infection could be fatal not only during delivery but throughout the pregnancy.

According to statistics from a British non-profit he had studied in his past life, over ten million children in developing countries succumbed to death before the age of five annually. Alarmingly, twenty percent of those deaths occurred within the first day of life, and fifty percent within the first month. The primary cause was infection. Despite the age of that data, the principle remained absolute: simple hygiene drastically reduced mortality.

Neonatal mortality dropped by a staggering seventy percent? Maternal mortality halved?

Of course, these numbers couldn’t be taken as absolute truth. In this era, many households didn’t report births to government offices immediately. However, there was no doubt that hygiene had saved countless mothers and children.

“In those regions,” Mu Wol continued, his tone softening, “a culture of gifting soap to expectant mothers is beginning to take root.”

“That is wonderful news.”

Jin Cheon-hee fell into thought. If I send these records to the Imperial Court, could we make soap distribution a national policy?

Historically, maternal and neonatal mortality was a critical concern for any administration. Beyond humanitarian reasons, it was directly linked to population growth—the very foundation of national power.

It’s the Nightingale approach.

The biggest difference between modern and traditional medicine was statistics. Most people on Earth knew Florence Nightingale merely for reducing soldier mortality through hygiene. But what Jin Cheon-hee admired most was her 1859 publication, Notes on Hospitals, which introduced the world to the necessity of precise statistics and hospital management.

I’m not doing anything new. I’m just walking the path someone else paved.

He wasn’t a genius creating something from nothing; he was merely following the footsteps of giants, walking their path without arrogance.

“Looking at the stats, the population increase has already begun,” Jin Cheon-hee noted.

“Yes. Neonatal mortality is down, and thanks to the spin-off industries launched by the White Qilin Medical Pavilion, jobs are increasing. However, friction with surrounding clans is rising. The sudden inspections by government officials are a clear indicator.”

It was an obvious move—the clans were pulling strings behind the scenes to mobilize corrupt officials against them.

“Master won’t sit idly by.”

“Indeed. We have our own influence. However, he says that pulling too hard from both sides will only tear the fabric, so he is adjusting the tension appropriately.”

Jin Cheon-hee nodded, satisfied with the assessment.

“You could afford to look a bit happier, you know,” Mu Wol teased lightly. “The Young Pavilion Master remains as stoic as ever.”

“Hahaha, I am happy. And it is rewarding.”

“These days, there is a saying in the Gangho that one White Qilin Medical Pavilion branch is worth more than ten magistrates. You have no idea how high the noses of our physicians have risen.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Martial artists can no longer treat a physician of the White Qilin Medical Pavilion lightly.”

At first, trivial things changed. Then, more important things. And finally, the truly significant pillars of society began to shift.

I said I was changing the will of the heavens.

It was self-evident that one White Qilin Medical Pavilion was changing more than ten Demonic Practitioners ever could. The changes brought by saving lives were far greater, far more enduring, than those brought by death. Thinking of it that way, he felt like he had landed a solid punch against the sky. His mood lifted slightly.

Even so… I need to cherish my body more now.

The incident with the Five Poisons Sect had been a wake-up call. In the past, he would have rushed forward like the wind, eager to see how far he could go in this short life. But his master’s words had pierced his heart, heavier than any lecture.

And then there was the prophecy.

—How many more winters do you wish to see?

It was funny. Only after receiving a prophecy of death did the reality of wanting to live truly hit him.

—The human heart is such a contrarian thing.

Without hesitation, without delusion, he would move forward. But he would never abandon himself again. Jin Cheon-hee habitually rubbed his left arm. The lingering ache was a signal that he was alive.

He wanted to live a little longer.

***

They say time flows like water.

Back at the Pavilion, Jin Cheon-hee spent his days in a blur of activity: martial arts training, researching poisonous plants and herbs of the Gangho unknown to him, and performing surgeries on critically injured patients who specifically needed his skills. Before he knew it, winter passed, and spring arrived.

It was a winter so peaceful that he wondered if the Six-Horned Spirit Venomous Serpent’s prophecy had been mere worry. And spring arrived, just like any other.

But there was one difference. Jin Cheon-hee had a new hobby.

At the strong insistence of his master, Zhuge Rin, he had decided to pursue a leisure activity with depth. And that hobby was…

“That is it, Young Pavilion Master! Become one with the fire! Can you feel the rice grains dancing, becoming crisp and distinct? That is the essence of the Ultimate Fried Rice!”

“I see, Head Chef! This is truly…”

Sizzle!

The iron wok danced over the roaring flames.

Jin Cheon-hee’s sleek muscles, toughened by countless trials and training, shook the heavy iron wok effortlessly. Not a single grain spilled. It was art in motion.

“Yes! Young Pavilion Master. Your cooking has always been delicious, but truth be told, it lacked completeness. That was due to a lack of technique. Now that you have mastered the techniques, you have truly achieved the Grand Completion of the Culinary Dao!”

Clang. Shhhhk!

He poured the contents onto a plate. There it lay—Golden Fried Rice, shining with an ethereal luster. Salt, pepper, egg, and rice. The Ultimate Fried Rice created from just these four ingredients.

Jin Cheon-hee smiled with satisfaction.

Yes. His hobby was cooking. Learning new dishes, mastering the basics, and seeking new culinary horizons.

“Should I take this to Master?”

“The Pavilion Master will surely be satisfied.”

“I hope so. Master has a picky palate.”

Jin Cheon-hee, accompanied by his Golden Fried Rice and a bowl of egg soup, made his way to Zhuge Rin’s quarters. His master, engrossed in reviewing documents, effortlessly opened the door using telekinesis before Jin Cheon-hee could even knock.

“Is it that time already? What culinary masterpiece have you crafted today?”

“Today, Master, I present to you Golden Fried Rice. The Head Chef has declared that if I master this dish, he has nothing left to impart to me.”

“Hmm… I am delighted by the new pleasures you’ve introduced into my life, but I can’t help but wonder if this is truly a hobby or a burgeoning obsession. To be acknowledged by the Head Chef…”

The Head Chef’s culinary prowess rivaled that of renowned inn chefs in Nanjing. His assertion that he had nothing left to teach indicated that Jin Cheon-hee had already achieved the status of a first-rate chef. It was perplexing whether he was transforming into a ‘martial artist who cooks well’ or a ‘chef who knows how to fight.’

“I am already in the Transformation Realm, Master. With my possession of Heart, Technique, and Body, it is only natural that I learn cooking swiftly. Besides, I’ve always been quite adept at it, haven’t I?”

“Well… it appears to have transcended the boundaries of a mere hobby.”

“They say individuals like me are ‘hobby geniuses’.”

“Where on earth did you come across such a term?”

“In the marketplace.”

“The marketplace I know and the one you know seem vastly different. Regardless… let us savor this culinary creation.”

Zhuge Rin picked up his spoon, scooping up the glistening, golden rice and placing it in his mouth.

Chew, chew.

Jin Cheon-hee watched nervously. The silence made him anxious.

Gasp!

Zhuge Rin’s eyes widened like saucers.

In that instant, Jin Cheon-hee saw it—an illusion of a dragon dancing behind his master’s back!

Was this the height of reaction only possible for those reaching the pinnacle of the Transformation Realm, inching toward the Profound Realm? For his internal energy to manifest as a dancing dragon meant the flavor was truly divine. Witnessing a scene straight out of a cooking manga’s special effects, Jin Cheon-hee clenched his fist in triumph.

Yes! I’ve never seen Master this delighted! I must have nailed it!

Zhuge Rin took a second spoonful without a word. Then a third. This was proof of genuine deliciousness.

Master has a sensitive palate. The seasoning must be light, preserving the natural taste of the rice and egg, with just a hint of pepper for aroma. It’s actually harder because it relies solely on basic techniques…

In the blink of an eye, Zhuge Rin cleared the plate.

“Phew…” He finished with a satisfied gulp of the egg soup. “This… was truly satisfying, Hee-ya. To think you created such flavor with only eggs and rice.”

“Hehe. Right?”

Personally, Jin Cheon-hee preferred adding butter and ketchup.

Butter could be produced in-house using cow’s milk, but ketchup was surprisingly difficult to make. This Murim world had corn, tomatoes, potatoes, and even sugarcane, but lacked the mass harvesting and transportation technology to support them properly. Ingredients often arrived spoiled, which was heartbreaking.

I’m going to build a tomato farm one of these days.

To a city dweller, ketchup was soul food, just as essential as gochujang or soybean paste. And rather than making it in small batches, he wanted to boil it in massive cauldrons. However, his master, a staunch pepper-faction purist, was already satisfied.

“I apologize to the Head Chef, but when it comes to Golden Fried Rice, you seem to be a cut above.”

“Well, I used martial arts. Coating each grain of rice with egg and frying it with internal energy-controlled heat is much easier than doing it by hand.”

“Indeed, a unique advantage. You seem to have reached a new realm.”

“From now on, I’ll take care of every meal. Just trust me.”

“You two are such a spectac—no, never mind.”

At that moment, Yoo Ho walked through the open door, cutting off his own comment with a sigh.