‘I’m nervous. You’re never supposed to operate on your own family…’

Was it always this lonely, having no one to take your place? Jin Cheon-hee wondered. His fingertips were trembling. This was his Master’s surgery. He pressed the fingers of one hand against the back of the other, trying to still them.

‘It’s okay. All the preparations are complete. This is why I came this far.’

He was strong under pressure, wasn’t he? He had no intention of falling apart now. He clenched and unclenched his frigid hands, finding it bizarre that they were slick with sweat, his palms tingling from a mixture of fear and tension.

‘It can’t be helped. It’s fine. I can get this under control before the surgery starts.’

This was the moment he had to be the strongest he had ever been in his life.

Jin Cheon-hee took a deep breath, feeling it expand into the darkest corners of his mind. He then exhaled, long and slow. His breathing gradually fell into a steady, regular rhythm. The frantic pounding of his heart slowed, gradually returning to its familiar beat.

Once he was certain he had found his inner calm, Jin Cheon-hee began to circulate his internal energy. It signaled the start of the day.

***

When word came that preparations were complete, Jin Cheon-hee, already in his surgical gown, stood and began to walk. He passed the pavilion members who were preparing the sterilization array and went inside.

This was the operating room for the Pavilion Master. And the surgeon was his own disciple.

Every pavilion member’s eyes were fixed on him. They must have had a thousand questions. How did someone so young possess such vast knowledge? How had he absorbed the pavilion’s teachings so quickly? He couldn’t answer the first, and as for the second… he had simply worked his ass off.

The purifying array washed over his body.

Inside the surgical room, countless pavilion members, Yoo Ho, and his anesthetized Master were waiting.

It was easy to be mistaken by his handsome face, but his Master was a man of powerful martial build. The sight of his huge frame—nearly six-foot-three—lying on the table was incredibly intimidating.

Instead of a greeting, Jin Cheon-hee asked the pavilion members, “Vitals?”

“There are no major fluctuations in his pulse.”

“Have you continued the acupuncture?”

“Yes. He has not missed a single day.”

In the time leading up to the surgery, they had used acupuncture and moxibustion to slow his Master’s systemic circulation. It was necessary to stabilize his blood pressure and pulse as much as possible, reducing the pressure on the aortic wall. The problem was that this also caused his Master’s body temperature to drop rapidly.

This was the fucked-up part of the Nine Yin Severed Meridians. The harmony of yin and yang was so shattered that the body artificially generated its own cold qi. Trying to treat a Murim meridian disease with modern medicine created this kind of insane situation.

***

The counter to that was the ondol. The heating system. Jin Cheon-hee had prioritized its construction.

‘We bought time with internal medicine.’

The next challenge had been pain management. The pain from an aortic dissection is often described as the feeling of an axe splitting your chest. It wasn’t just pain; it was agony. His Master had lived with the constant pain from his severed meridians since childhood, and with the aortic dissection progressing on top of that, the torment was unrelenting.

‘It seems to have had a major impact on his personality, which is why people around him are always misunderstanding him…’

In any case, managing that pain right up to the day of surgery was a critical task. They had used as much acupuncture as they could, but also relied on keeping him perfectly still. Jin Cheon-hee had personally helped, using the Five-Elemental Cultivation Art to balance his qi.

‘We bought precious, precious time.’

His Master had endured it well. Now, it was Jin Cheon-hee’s turn. All that effort existed for this very day.

“The procedure itself is simple. If we don’t make any mistakes, the side effects will be minimal. And unlike before, I won’t be using a knife to cut through bone and flesh.”

Jin Cheon-hee forced a faint smile. He was the leader in this room. If the lead surgeon was nervous, the staff would only become more so. Tension breeds mistakes.

“Let’s finish this quick and get some food. I’m craving meat today.”

He forced his facial muscles to cooperate, his voice shamelessly casual. Jin Cheon-hee then located his Master’s femoral artery.

The surgery began.

***

It started by inserting a catheter into the femoral artery in his thigh. Following his Master’s slow pulse, Jin Cheon-hee fed in the slender Gold Thread that would act as a guidewire.

‘I never imagined I’d be performing this kind of surgery in a Murim world. Not me.’

And he certainly never imagined he’d have to procure the surgical materials himself. The thin tube, about six millimeters in diameter, advanced steadily along the aorta, like a salmon swimming against the river’s current.

“Hoo…”

Even with internal energy, he desperately missed having medical imaging. The pavilion members watched his every move, their eyes glued to his hands.

‘A surgery that doesn’t use a knife… is this even possible?’

What Jin Cheon-hee had brought to them was, in every sense, a revolutionary method. Normally, a problem with the aorta was considered a fatal or internal wound. The patient would complain of extreme chest pain, and then their heart would stop. Even if a renowned physician managed to diagnose the cause by reading the pulse, the treatment would end at acupuncture or prescribing herbal medicine. They would call it a ‘heart disease’, and advise the patient to avoid anger, refrain from strenuous exercise, and avoid fatty foods. That was it.

If those methods failed, the patient died in agony. And more often than not, they failed.

The Nine Yin Severed Meridians was even more insidious. The same measures would simply cause the patient to die from the cold qi buildup. The agony was so severe that the pain itself made the patient’s pulse race, spinning the vicious cycle faster and faster. In the end, there was a high probability the patient would die before reaching adulthood.

The techniques Jin Cheon-hee had shown them were unlike any medicine they had ever seen. And this one… this was the most unbelievable of all. In theory, it was possible. But could it actually be done?

‘He is the Divine Physician’s favored disciple. If the Master was willing to offer his own body, it must mean he believes it’s possible.’

‘But if he succeeds with this surgery, on top of the White Qilin Divine Elixir… what kind of storm will this unleash on the Murim?’

He was treating the untreatable: a severed meridian disease. Jin Cheon-hee had said it wasn’t a complete cure. He’d said it was merely to relieve the burden and extend his life.

But that alone was an unbelievable feat.

Jin Cheon-hee’s closed eyes snapped half-open. His elegant eyes were sharp with intelligence. He spoke in a voice overflowing with a brilliance that could spark jealousy.

“We’ve arrived.”

The Gold Thread had reached the damaged thoracic aorta. Now, it was time to install the stent graft he had prepared. He had decided to call it an ‘artificial blood vessel’ in the Murim’s terms, but in his mind, the word ‘stent’ was stuck from old habit.

***

The stent reached the diseased area. The internal metal mesh expanded like a balloon, and the folded stent began to open. Both the mesh and the stent were made from the Gold Thread spun from the Ten Thousands Years Fire Carp core.

As the stent deployed, Jin Cheon-hee’s focus became absolute.

‘If I fail to anchor it correctly and blood leaks back into the aortic wall, we’ll have to do it again. But there won’t be a second chance.’

He couldn’t possibly go and catch another Ten Thousands Years Fire Carp. Even if he did, he had no idea what condition his Master’s body would be in by then. Even when Jin Cheon-hee had broken his secluded training to leave, his Master, in his normal state, would have sensed it immediately. His condition was so poor that he hadn’t even been able to detect that.

‘Hoo…’

From here on, everything depended on the sensation in his fingertips.

***

Zhuge Rin opened his eyes. It was a strange feeling.

It didn’t hurt. The familiar, crushing pain that pressed on his heart was gone, replaced by a simple, narcotic languor.

He slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. As he did, he saw Jin Cheon-hee, fast asleep, his head resting on Zhuge Rin’s knees. Had he been personally monitoring his post-operative progress?

An extreme, bone-deep fatigue was etched onto his disciple’s face. After making his promise to Zhuge Rin, he hadn’t slept properly for a single day. In those days of what seemed like self-abuse, Jin Cheon-hee had done everything he possibly could.

Zhuge Rin gently stroked his disciple’s back.

“You bet everything you had for me… Now, it is my turn to bet everything for you.”

Zhuge Rin tied his silver hair back neatly. He carefully lifted Jin Cheon-hee, laid him down on the bed, and walked outside. It was the middle of the night.

Outside, Yoo Ho was in the middle of moving something. He froze, startled.

“Master.”

“Odd. My chest doesn’t hurt. The anesthetic should have almost completely worn off.” He closed his eyes, then opened them again. “No… even with the medicine, it has never not hurt like this.”

“The surgery… was a success.”

“Yes. My own heart is telling me as much.” Zhuge Rin looked up at the night sky. “I never knew the stars were this bright. I never knew the air was so fragrant.”

He murmured like a man new to the world. Finally, he spoke, “To think that life could be this delicious, just from the absence of pain. So, this is what it was like.”

Creating an artificial blood vessel from a Ten Thousands Years Fire Carp core was an act of madness. But the result was that the core’s Fire Qi was now constantly circulating within him. It didn’t increase his internal energy, of course—trying to absorb the artificial vessel would be suicide. But there was no more pain. No more imminent threat of death.

Jin Cheon-hee had insisted it wasn’t a true cure, that the meridian disease itself remained. But that alone was enough to bring the light of brilliance back to Zhuge Rin’s eyes.

“You must rest today, master. Do not overexert yourself.”

“Yes. But… there is one thing I’d like to try.”

A small smile played on Zhuge Rin’s lips.

***

A delicious smell wafted through the air.

Jin Cheon-hee slowly opened his eyes.

‘Crap, I fell asleep!’

He found himself lying neatly on his Master’s bed. He looked around, panicked.

‘Where’s Master?!’

He shot up from the bed, only to hear a low, laughing voice.

“Hee-ya.”

“Ma… Master.”

“I’ve prepared breakfast. Will you eat?”

His hair a mess, Jin Cheon-hee sat down at the table. It was laden with what looked like delicacies of the mountain and sea, with a particularly large soup tureen placed in the center.

“Master, how is your body?”

“With all these fine dishes before you, that is the first thing you ask?”

“…”

“How will you survive in the Murim when you are so soft-hearted?”

His Master clicked his tongue, then lifted the lid from the tureen. The rich aroma of a steaming carp soup billowed out.

“I am fine. Fine enough to prepare a medicinal meal with the Ten Thousands Years Fire Carp flesh, at any rate.”

“Wow, then…”

“Your treatment was a success.”

Zhuge Rin watched quietly as his disciple’s eyes welled up, the moisture pooling before it spilled over.

“Eat.”

“Master…”

“The soup will get cold.”

Jin Cheon-hee wiped his eyes on his sleeve and picked up a piece of the Ten Thousands Years Fire Carp flesh.