Unsurprisingly, the moment Yoo Ho set down the teapot, Jin Cheon-hee recognized its contents.

“Buckwheat tea.”

It was known to promote restful sleep and prevent arteriosclerosis. However, it also possessed a cold nature that could be detrimental to his master. To counteract this, twelve other medicinal herbs had been added. Finding it too perfect to be a coincidence, Jin Cheon-hee swirled the teapot.

A rich, nutty aroma filled the air, as deep and dark as the pavilion’s night sky.

***

“It will be a battle against time.”

“Even ten bodies would not be enough.”

The next day, Jin Cheon-hee was able to greet his master with a refreshed face. Thankfully, Zhuge Rin had accepted his disciple’s concern and had slept properly. The lingering shadow on his face was likely the regret of a man who wished he had gotten more work done.

“You can only be busy if you’re healthy enough to be busy, wouldn’t you agree?” Jin Cheon-hee said gently.

“You must be the only person in the world who worries so for me, a man called the Unrivaled of the Gangho, Hee-ya.”

To the eyes of the world, it must have looked like a newborn chick worrying over a white tiger. Such was the depth and power of the White Qilin Divine Physician’s martial arts. Although it was known he would not live long due to his Nine Yin Severed Meridians, that story was years old. Decades had passed since that rumor had first spread through the Gangho, yet here he was, not only alive but serving as one of its central pillars. In a way, he had unintentionally become the boy who cried wolf.

As a result, the only ones who truly worried for him were the members of his own pavilion and a few close friends. But even they could not take his pulse themselves. They only knew what they heard and what they saw. The only one who had personally taken his pulse, seen the state of his interior, and was actively formulating a treatment plan as a surgeon was Jin Cheon-hee.

He furrowed his brow. “Looking after a patient is a physician’s job. If you find it so disagreeable, you can simply cast me out.”

“Hahaha, it is just that I am not accustomed to being worried over. In any case, you show no compromise when it comes to my health.”

“It’s because you seem to have forgotten about your own body that I am so worried.”

Just then, a few dry coughs escaped Zhuge Rin’s lips. Fortunately, no blood appeared this time.

“Do not worry,” Zhuge Rin said. “I will not die until you are ready.”

“You are not allowed to die even after I am ready.”

“…Yes. I did promise I would not die easily.”

Listening to their exchange, Yoo Ho silently poured their tea. It was a truly strange master-disciple relationship, the likes of which he had never seen in his not-inconsiderable life. For Zhuge Rin, who had lived his entire existence in a world of his own, someone had finally appeared who could share it. It was not a simple sharing of knowledge. It was something deeper, more boundless.

In a world made of black and white, Jin Cheon-hee was the only being made of color. And for that reason, Zhuge Rin wished to give this boy everything he had.

As the boy walked through his world, his demand was simple. Do not die easily. No matter the circumstances.

For the boy, Zhuge Rin was the first warmth he had ever known by the name of ‘master.’ And for that reason, the boy tempered himself with a relentless ferocity. Yet, it was uncertain if even that desperate wish could be fulfilled in time.

Humans all die eventually. But it doesn’t have to be now.

The boy was desperately trying to protect the world the two of them had created. What the result would be, not even Yoo Ho could know.

“We will need to allocate time for sleep, training, and for writing the surgical arts textbook to establish the new department,” Jin Cheon-hee said, already planning.

“Not only that,” his master added. “You will need time to teach, and time for your own studies.”

“And at night, I’ll need to set aside time to share knowledge with you, Master.”

Jin Cheon-hee picked up a writing instrument. It was a piece of charcoal sharpened to a point and wrapped in a scrap of cloth. He called it a ‘pencil.’ While it was difficult to produce elegant handwriting with it, as it lacked pressure control, it was perfect for writing quickly and accurately. The first thing he wanted to introduce to the pavilion was this very pencil. It was easy to maintain since it required no ink grinding, and it was perfect for writing swiftly on bamboo slip books. For physicians, who constantly had to jot down abbreviated disease names and prescriptions, the pencil was a remarkably convenient tool.

“Splitting the days up will be inefficient, wouldn’t you agree, Master?”

“This schedule will not involve you alone, so it will be even more difficult to manage.”

Jin Cheon-hee frowned, lost in thought. He began to sketch lines on the rice paper.

“How about this?” Zhuge Rin suggested. “Within a ten-day cycle, you focus five consecutive days on martial training, and the remaining five on teaching and pavilion duties.”

“…”

Jin Cheon-hee considered it, then replied, “Rather than five consecutive days, it would be better to train every other day. It is more effective for muscle development.” He was, of course, thinking of the overcompensation graph. Fitness training was one of the most effective methods of physical conditioning from his old world; there was no reason not to use it.

“In that case,” Zhuge Rin said, “while you are training, I can assist with the writing of the textbook.”

“If you would, that would free up my hands considerably.”

Given the nature of his medical knowledge, most of it was in a foreign language. Translating it into the language of this world so it could be easily understood was a monumental task in itself. For terms that had no equivalent, he would have to use them as they were, but he had to try his best with what he could translate.

The two of them continued to fill the rice paper. The master’s large, elegant script and the disciple’s small, angular letters covered the white surface in black. They wrote, erased, and revised, again and again. Beside them, Yoo Ho continued to pour their tea, taking special care not to disturb their concentration.

***

It was his first public training session as a department head. Both his master and the Head of the Martial Affairs Department, Dokgo Jung-hu, were in attendance. His master’s presence was expected, but Dokgo Jung-hu’s was a surprise, and it made him nervous.

“You will have to do well, Young Master.”

Before he began, Yoo Ho adjusted the collar of his martial arts uniform.

“Who doesn’t know that?” Jin Cheon-hee retorted. “If I make a mistake, he’ll probably try to teach me himself. That seems to be his goal, doesn’t it?”

“You see one thing and understand two. It seems there was a point to your eavesdropping last night.” Yoo Ho’s tone was as sharp as a blade, as usual, but Jin Cheon-hee was no longer oblivious to his meaning.

“No need to worry, Chief Steward Yoo.”

“You do not understand how much the four department heads covet you, Young Master. They are like ants who have seen candy.”

“I’m grateful for their high evaluation. And I’m also grateful they aren’t showing any envy or jealousy.”

“Does that put food on the table?” Yoo Ho shot back, incredulous. Surprisingly, in some places, it did. It was what happened when politicking became too severe. But Jin Cheon-hee just smiled and held his tongue.

“These are people who have been responsible for patients’ lives for a long time,” Yoo Ho said. “They are not in a position to be picky about their methods. If it means they can save even one more patient in their department, they will do whatever it takes.”

“In that sense, the Head of Martial Affairs doesn’t have to worry, does he? His department is responsible for the pavilion’s security, not caring for patients.”

Yoo Ho shook his head. “If he had the power to end a fight without killing the combatants, he would not have such worries. His methods may be different, but his concern for talent is the same as the other departments.”

This is interesting.

Was it because this was the world of the Gangho? Even the physicians possessed a sense of chivalry. They were different from warriors, and yet, what was important remained the same.

“Chief Steward Yoo.”

“Yes?”

“I really like it here.” When his true feelings emerged, his speech tended to become informal. Yoo Ho showed no reaction to the sudden shift. He may look cute on the outside, but his heart is black. It was no longer a surprise.

“Like master, like disciple, I suppose. To think you would like this demon’s den. It is a relief, I must admit.” Yoo Ho’s expression as he said this was complicated.

“The master said the same thing, did he?”

“Yes. He said this is the only place in the Gangho he finds to his liking.”

Hmm, though the reasons I like it are the complete opposite of my master’s. It was always like that. Zhuge Rin and Jin Cheon-hee were motivated by opposite things, yet they always arrived at the same conclusion. Still, he didn’t dislike being told he was similar, so he said nothing more.

Yoo Ho’s hands, which had been adjusting his collar, dropped to his sides.

“Don’t worry so much about a training uniform that’s just going to get wrinkled.”

“That is true. However, a certain someone up there is paying a great deal of attention to it.”

Aigoo, Master. There was no greater doting fool in the world.

And with that, Jin Cheon-hee stepped onto the training grounds.

***

Yoo Ho began to throw stones at him. They were ordinary pebbles, but thrown by the hand of a master, each one was a deadly projectile. Jin Cheon-hee used his Three Talents Footwork to evade each strike. At first, the stones flew in a regular pattern, but soon they began to trace irregular arcs. And then, dozens of them filled the sky.

It was not on the level of the Tang Clan of Sichuan’s Rain of Thousand Flowers, but it was a close second.

He never threw them like this before! Is that bastard messing with me?

Knowing Yoo Ho’s personality, it was more than possible. Jin Cheon-hee recalled the profound principles of the Three Talents Footwork. It was a footwork that used only three directions: left, right, and forward. It was the most basic of all footwork, meant for beginners. This shower of dozens of stones was a trial meant for someone learning a much more advanced technique.

‘Agh, that sly, slit-eyed bastard!’

Unleashing an old curse he’d learned as an intern, Jin Cheon-hee moved his body. His shoulders remained almost perfectly still as he flowed like water, brushing past each stone, one by one.

At the sight, the Head of Martial Affairs, Dokgo Jung-hu, exclaimed in admiration. “To think he has reached a state where he can manifest the profound principle of Flow with only the Three Talents Footwork!”

His master clenched his fist. “Hahaha, why are you so surprised by such a small thing, Head of Martial Affairs?”

His words were humble, as if it were nothing, but the tension in his fist did not relent. It was a silent pressure, demanding that he acknowledge his disciple’s genius, more fiercely, more intensely.

In that time, Jin Cheon-hee had moved on to the next stage: evading the attacks while balancing on a thin wooden pole.

“But if he gets on the pole, won’t that block two of the three directions of the footwork?” Dokgo Jung-hu asked again, unable to comprehend. Left, right, and forward. If he couldn’t use left and right, what was left? He himself could evade any attack while on the pole, but that was different. If one was restricted to only the Three Talents Footwork, was there any direction left to move but forward?