A Surgeon Who Uses Martial Arts [EN]: Chapter 246

“Kya-ha-ha!”

Jae-eun’s bright laughter echoed around them.

A rainbow arched across the sky, positioned so perfectly it looked like it was erupting from Jae-eun’s mouth.

They stood in front of the hospital entrance.

Jae-eun was perched on her husband’s shoulders.

He suddenly spun in a circle.

Jae-eun shrieked with laughter, delighted by the whirling world.

“How is it, Jae-eun? Dizzy? Should Daddy spin you again?”

“One more time!”

“Spin around~ Daddy’s carousel~”

“Kya-ha-ha.”

Seo-yeon smiled, watching the affectionate father and daughter.

Lately, life seemed filled with only happy moments.

First, her husband, who had been foolishly swayed by [pseudo-therapy: ineffective or fraudulent treatment], had regained his senses.

He was now earning an honest living.

Jae-eun’s surgery had been a success.

And, bless his heart, the attending physician, Jun-hoo, was generously providing nearly three million won [Korean currency, approximately $2,200 USD] each month to help with their living expenses.

The dark clouds that had hung over their family were finally dissipating.

Dr. Jun-hoo had even said the second surgery would likely be much easier than the first.

But one problem remained.

A familiar anxiety washed over Seo-yeon.

The long-term question of how they would support themselves.

To raise Jae-eun properly, she desperately wanted a stable job, something beyond the restaurant work she’d been doing.

“Honey, what are you thinking about?”

Her husband’s voice pulled her from her thoughts.

“Oh, nothing.”

“It’s written all over your face. You’re recovering well, so what’s bothering you?”

“Our future. How we’re going to make a living.”

“That’s why I keep saying, let’s take Seo Teacher’s advice.”

“Open a dumpling shop, you mean?”

“Yeah. It sounds good, doesn’t it?”

“No way. Do you think I’m going to ruin our family with my own two hands?”

Seo-yeon shook her head firmly.

The fear of failure loomed large.

She’d heard that four out of five new businesses fail within ten years.

Seo-yeon was determined not to be one of those four.

Their family couldn’t afford it.

If she opened a shop and failed, she wouldn’t be able to face her husband or Jae-eun.

“Well, we won’t know until we try. How about we grab a bite to eat over there? Get some inspiration?”

Her husband pointed to a dumpling shop near the hospital entrance.

Even though it wasn’t lunchtime, the shop was more than half full, a sign that it was a well-regarded establishment.

“I don’t really feel like it…”

“Just come on. No complaining.”

Seo-yeon reluctantly allowed her husband to lead her to the restaurant.

One order of meat dumplings.

One order of kimchi dumplings.

One order of shrimp dumplings.

The dumplings arrived quickly, having been prepared in advance and simply needing steaming.

“Jae-eun, Daddy will blow on it for you. You know you have to be careful with hot food, right?”

“Yes!”

“You eat too, honey.”

“Okay.”

Seo-yeon picked up a meat dumpling with her chopsticks and put it in her mouth.

The more she chewed, the more her face contorted.

The dumpling skin was too thick, with a strong, unpleasant floury taste.

The filling was too salty, and there was a faint porky odor, as if it hadn’t been seasoned properly.

‘This… this is a good place?’

Shocked, Seo-yeon glanced around. The other customers seemed to be enjoying their dumplings.

She couldn’t understand it.

To Seo-yeon, these dumplings were low-grade.

“See? Not as good as your dumplings, right?”

“I know. I thought it would be amazing with so many customers.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

“Wrong? How?”

“You’ve been eating your mother’s dumplings since you were a kid. Your standards are too high.”

“That’s true!”

Seo-yeon nodded, agreeing with her husband’s assessment.

At the same time, the idea of opening her own dumpling shop began to seem more appealing.

‘Would “Dumpling Queen” be a good name? No, too much. Something more normal…’

Seo-yeon began to indulge in sweet dreams.

* * *

10 PM that night.

The neurosurgery ward was quiet.

It was bedtime; the hallways were deserted.

The hospital rooms were dark.

A soft light, like moonlight, dimly illuminated the interiors.

The ward itself seemed to be asleep.

Meanwhile, Jun-hoo, on duty, was in the duty room.

He was practicing Howol Sibisu [martial art] alone.

The finger techniques, the palm techniques, the nail techniques, the hand techniques using hands and arms extensively…

Howol Sibisu was truly the ultimate martial art, a compilation of various hand-based combat styles.

If it were compared to cosmetics…

It would be an all-in-one product.

All-in-one products usually have lower functionality.

But Howol Sibisu was different.

Its power was undeniable, earning it fame as one of the top ten hand techniques in the Murim [martial arts world].

Swish.

Flutter~

Jun-hoo extended his right palm into the air.

A powerful yet swift palm technique, almost too fast to follow.

Even without using internal energy [qi or life force], the curtain on the window fluttered like a flag from the force.

Jun-hoo retracted his right palm.

He immediately transitioned to the next move with his left hand.

Sangwol (Rising Moon).

A move that strikes the opponent’s chin upwards like an uppercut, focusing strength on the underside of the palm.

Whoo-oong.

The sound of tearing wind echoed in the duty room.

As the moves flowed together, the movements transformed into a beautiful dance.

Jun-hoo, too, felt a rare sense of ecstasy.

He transcended birth, aging, sickness, death, joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure, becoming a butterfly (Howol) dancing in the moonlight.

How much time had passed?

Jun-hoo suddenly snapped back to reality and glanced at the wall clock.

It was already midnight.

It felt like he’d only been training for ten minutes.

Thud!

Exhausted, Jun-hoo collapsed into his chair.

Leaning back, he looked down at his sweat-soaked hands.

Howol Sibisu and surgery.

At first glance, the two seemed completely unrelated.

They seemed like strangers.

If you want to become a skilled surgeon, you should practice surgery.

Why practice martial arts that are like chasing clouds?

Some might ask.

But Jun-hoo knew.

Martial arts and surgery were inseparable.

They were blood relatives.

Martial arts were, in a way, the foundation for surgery.

By mastering the movements of Howol Sibisu and increasing his proficiency,

Jun-hoo became more meticulous in handling his hands, arms, fingers, and wrists.

Perhaps it was because he was using muscles and nerves he hadn’t used before.

The results were evident in today’s surgery.

Thanks to mastering Howol Sibisu up to the 4th level,

Jun-hoo had successfully completed the cerebral vascular anastomosis [surgical connection of blood vessels] that Min-seok had failed to finish.

(Although it was only three stitches, and there had been a crisis in the middle.)

If he mastered martial arts up to the 9th level,

Wouldn’t surgical failures due to lack of dexterity disappear completely?

‘Among the things I learned in Murim, is there anything else I can use for medicine?’

Jun-hoo stroked his chin thoughtfully.

Energy circulation for fatigue recovery.

Pressure point techniques for pain relief and hemostasis [stopping bleeding], or for activating the brain.

Scalpel and swordsmanship.

Chugung Gwahyeol massage [blood stasis breaking massage].

The Ambidextrous Amber technique that made him ambidextrous.

Howol Sibisu, which improves overall hand proficiency.

Jeongan (Righteous Eye), which helps manage the mentality of patients and colleagues.

The habit of turning other people’s movements into martial arts moves and memorizing them…

For a long time, Jun-hoo had been steadily incorporating the techniques he’d experienced in Murim into his daily life and medical practice.

In fact, even with his current abilities…

Becoming the world’s best surgeon didn’t seem that difficult.

But Jun-hoo’s ambition was boundless.

He wanted to become an even greater person.

To treat more people.

More perfectly.

Because he never wanted to experience the powerlessness and despair of losing a precious person again.

Like Dang So-yoon.

And like Brother Seong-ho.

And because he didn’t want others to experience the same pain.

To grow further as a surgeon,

Jun-hoo continued to contemplate the integration of martial arts and modern medicine.

The first martial art that came to mind was Drunken Fist.

Drunken Fist was, as the name suggests, a martial art performed in a state of intoxication.

The strength of Drunken Fist was…

Its unconventional and free-spirited movements.

Jun-hoo had sparred with a Beggars’ Sect elder who had mastered Drunken Fist, and he’d had a hard time.

The attacks and defenses were unpredictable and beyond imagination.

‘But if I operate while drunk, I’ll be called a madman, right?’

Jun-hoo chuckled.

No matter how he looked at it, Drunken Fist didn’t seem practical.

What would patients, guardians, and staff think of a drunken doctor?

Moreover, Drunken Fist was difficult to master.

To perform it, one had to practice a mental cultivation technique called ‘Geolgae Chwigong’…

And its difficulty was hellish.

Because you had to maintain a state of being both drunk and not drunk at the same time.

You had to personally embody the drunkard’s common refrain: “I’m not drunk!”

But Jun-hoo…

Didn’t completely dismiss Drunken Fist.

He thought it might offer a solution when he was in a desperate situation.

For example…

Let’s say an unknown bleeding occurred during brain surgery.

Let’s say there was nothing he could do.

At that moment, if he drank alcohol and used Drunken Fist, he might find unexpected inspiration.

As the wall of reason crumbled,

A creative solution might emerge.

Artists like Gogh and Picasso also enjoyed alcohol.

Picasso’s improvised works after drinking were highly acclaimed.

There were similar cases in Murim.

During a drinking session, the Beggars’ Sect leader Chwihwaseon had completed the moves of the Beggars’ Sect’s ultimate skill, Hang룡십팔장 [Dragon Subduing Eighteen Palms], which had been partially lost.

Drunken Fist was too valuable to discard.

‘I’ll put a bottle of 40-degree or higher Gaoliang liquor [strong Chinese liquor] in a sterilized flask.

If I go to the operating room supply room and take a sip, I can somehow create the conditions…’

Jun-hoo couldn’t shake his fascination with Drunken Fist.

First, he stood up and went to the refrigerator.

He took out a bottle of soju [Korean distilled beverage] hidden in the vegetable compartment.

The soju bottle was ice-cold.

Two days ago,

It was soju that a guardian had secretly brought into the hospital room and had been confiscated.

Gulp.

Gulp.

Jun-hoo tilted the bottle and drank straight from it.

The bitter soju flowed down his throat, esophagus, and stomach.

He could feel its path through his digestive system.

“Kuh-heu-heu.”

A groan escaped Jun-hoo’s lips.

His face flushed red, and the world began to spin.

Jun-hoo wasn’t a drinker.

That was true in Murim, and it was the same in modern times.

The reason he seemed to hold his liquor well was because he used his internal energy to volatilize the alcohol.

‘Wow. Can I operate in this state?’

‘Is my vision blurry?’

‘I also feel nauseous.’

‘I have no sensation in my arms and legs.’

‘I went into surgery to save the patient, but I’m just going to kill an innocent person.’

‘Ah, one more thing!’

‘All the bastards who drive drunk should die!’

‘Are you grabbing the steering wheel in this messed up state?’

‘Are you in your right mind!’

As the alcohol took effect, Jun-hoo’s usual sharpness vanished.

He started cursing drunk drivers, and so on.

His consciousness spiraled.

‘Wait a minute…’

‘I can’t keep doing this.’

‘That’s not why I drank alcohol.’

‘What was the mnemonic for “Geolgae Chwigong”? I need to remember the mnemonic to maintain my mental state.’

‘Was it to shrug my shoulders until my shoulder blades dislocated?’

‘That’s right!’

‘I have to do that much to sober up!’

A drunken Jun-hoo shrugged his shoulders left and right.

His condition was rapidly deteriorating.