Prosthetic hand
"We can't end the day like this!"
"Let's drink until we're crawling on all fours!"
The martial artists of the Jeomchang Sect rushed straight to an inn on the outskirts of Luoyang and rented out the whole place for the night—along with the innkeeper's labor.
They hadn't chosen a common inn over an expensive tavern because their numbers were large, but because frugality was ingrained in their bones.
Chief Seo had given them a mountain of gold, and no one would have blamed them if they spent it all in a single night. Yet their indulgence never strayed too far.
The cost of their night of eating, drinking, and revelry amounted to a mere fifty taels of silver.
It was a stark contrast to the wealthy who scattered gold pieces by the handful in a single evening, but that didn't mean the Jeomchang Sect's men enjoyed themselves any less.
Yu Jingwang laughed and caroused with them at first, but soon drifted to a corner seat. From there, he blankly watched his comrades laugh, weep, and roar at the top of their lungs.
A flood of thoughts filled his head. If I had made a different choice in front of the Golden Pavilion Master, what would tonight have looked like?
No one would have shown anger. They would've forced bright smiles instead.
Wi Hwan would have been the first to grin and approach.
"Trying to erase all that debt in one go—that's a pretty shameless idea, isn't it?"
The others at his side would've chimed in with exaggerated laughter.
"That's gambling for you. No game is all wins."
And then they would have returned to Jiangxi, letting time slip by in silence, with only a trace of regret lingering in their hearts.
Yu Jingwang thought to himself:
"I know my choice wasn't the right answer. But it wasn't the wrong one either."
Yet one question still gnawed at him.
Why had the Golden Pavilion Master acted that way?
He pondered it for a long while, but no answer came.
Finally, he resolved to seek the Golden Pavilion Master again soon—and ask him directly.
***
The next day, two Jeomchang Sect members, chosen by lot, departed for Jiangxi. The plan was to bring everyone there to Luoyang, and from there, head together to Yunnan.
They decided not to send messenger pigeons to headquarters. Instead, the chosen men would personally deliver the good news and savor the sight of their sectmates' astonished faces.
That meant the majority stayed behind in Luoyang. They would remain in Yunnan for at least ten days anyway, and many needed time to heal from their wounds.
Among them, not only the Jeomchang Sect but Tang Mujin's party also had an injured member—Namgung Myeong.
Though it was obvious his left arm's wound would take ages to heal, Namgung Myeong impatiently pressed Tang Mujin and Dan Seolyeong.
"So when are you going to make my prosthetic arm?"
"Shouldn't your arm heal first?"
"It's not something you can finish in a day. Better to prepare early."
Tang Mujin glanced at Namgung Myeong's left arm. The wound still looked ghastly and would take months to fully mend.
Fortunately, Namgung Myeong could press his own numbness points to dull the pain.
"Once the prosthetic touches that arm, even if you numb it, you'll still feel pain."
"It doesn't have to touch the stump directly, does it?"
He wasn't wrong. In fact, it might be better if the prosthetic didn't press against the wound at all—both medically and mechanically.
Besides, Tang Mujin wasn't in much of a position to turn him down.
"Fine… let's start early. Seolyeong, think we can use your old workshop for a day?"
"That should be fine. Come with me."
The three went to Dan Seolyeong's old workshop, luckily not far from the inn.
When they entered, a burly, bearded carpenter spotted her and blinked in surprise.
"Seolyeong? I thought you'd left for good."
"I came back on some business."
"I see. Been a while. And this lad with you—is he the husband you once mentioned?"
Seolyeong flushed, caught red-handed in her long-standing claim from a year ago that she had already chosen Tang Mujin as her future husband. She gave a sheepish smile.
Tang Mujin, secretly pleased, grinned confidently and clasped her hand. His chest tickled with warmth.
Naturally, Namgung Myeong, standing behind them, looked thoroughly disgusted.
The carpenter clapped his hands and approached Tang Mujin.
"Tall and fine-looking. From what Seolyeong told me, you've quite the gifted hands."
"Enough to get by, at least."
"If that were all, she wouldn't have praised you so. But what brings you here? Just to say hello?"
"That too. But we'd also like to borrow some space. Could we use the small workshop downstairs?"
"No problem. There's some fine oak and paulownia in there—use them if you like."
The wood, well-seasoned and valuable, would normally cost a fortune. But the carpenter seemed fond of Seolyeong and didn't mention payment.
"By the way, what exactly are you making?"
"A prosthetic arm."
The carpenter's eyes drifted to Namgung Myeong's left arm, wrapped tightly in black cloth.
"Hmm. I've heard of people using them, but never seen one up close. If you need help—no, I've no pressing work today. I'll come along."
He led them to the smaller workshop nearby.
When the door opened, the air was thick with the dry, fragrant scent of wood. In the corner were neatly stacked piles of oak and paulownia.
Dan Seolyeong quickly took charge, sketching in the sand-filled wooden tray as she explained:
"We'll make it so it straps over the shoulder and ties around the upper arm. That way it won't press against the wound. Below that, we'll shape it like a normal arm. Since it can't move anyway, it just needs to be sturdy and look natural enough."
The only other concern was weight. Balancing it with the right arm would prevent his body from leaning.
Namgung Myeong likely wanted that more than aesthetics.
"It won't take long. We'll make one, test it for a few days, then refine it."
Just as Tang Mujin and Dan Seolyeong were about to begin, Namgung Myeong interrupted.
"That's fine, but add joints. Make them flexible."
"Joints? What for? It's not like it'll move."
"Of course it should. Make it bend more than a real arm—even twist at the wrist and elbow if possible."
It was a bizarre request, but not impossible.
Tang Mujin asked, "More than normal? How much more?"
"Enough for unnatural motions—like spinning all the way around. That would be perfect."
"…Why on earth—never mind. Let's just try."
Tang Mujin shrugged it off, but Dan Seolyeong frowned. Unlike him, she had to redesign everything whenever new conditions were added.
Still, she pushed on, sketching anew on the sand tray.
"Alright. Let's begin. First, carve this part—three inches, smooth curve inside. Peg it with a dowel here. And we'll need three wooden spheres, two and a half inches across—one for the shoulder, one for the elbow, one for the wrist. No cracks or flaws."
"Got it."
Tang Mujin and Dan Seolyeong worked in perfect harmony. They hadn't crafted together since Mok Inhang, and the memory warmed them.
The individual pieces didn't reveal their purpose, and only Seolyeong held the full blueprint in her head.
The carpenter stood beside Namgung Myeong, watching intently. He had seen her cobble together many strange things before—always earnest, always impressive. Sometimes he even lent her a hand.
He was proud of his craft, believing few carpenters could match him.
But when he saw Tang Mujin carve, he unconsciously grew humble.
With only a chisel, Tang Mujin followed the oak's grain with astonishing grace, shaving it down swiftly yet precisely.
His speed surpassed most carpenters, his results were immaculate, and not a scrap of wood was wasted.
"Young, yet already so skilled. I could learn a thing or two from him."
Deciding to take the day off, the carpenter stepped out to lock the front door and tidy up. He was gone barely long enough for a cup of tea.
But when he returned, an unfamiliar object awaited him—a flawless wooden sphere.
He picked it up instinctively, and immediately noticed something odd.
It felt like wood, yet the surface wasn't something carving could produce.
Woodworking was all about shaping planes and edges, surfaces meeting one another. A round object carved by blade would inevitably hold faint facets.
But this sphere had none. If there were facets, they were so minute his trained fingertips couldn't detect them.
He silently clicked his tongue in awe.
"Was this pre-made? It must've taken great care… no, perhaps like a swordsmith polishing steel, he's ground down the surface until perfection."
When the carpenter set the wooden sphere down, he noticed another identical one lying beside it—exact same size, same flawless smoothness.
Curious, he picked it up. The feel was exactly the same.
"…Huh?"
A suspicion crossed his mind, and he turned to watch Tang Mujin's hands.
At that moment, Mujin was shaping a third sphere.
He shaved the edges off a square block of wood with quick, clean strokes, then began to push the grain as if he were molding clay rather than carving oak. Like peeling fruit skin, thin shavings fell away, and a perfect sphere slowly revealed itself.
Then, with his left hand, he ran his fingertips across its surface. Dissatisfied with the tiniest imperfection, he trimmed here and there—so delicately that even calling the scraps "sawdust" felt too coarse, too heavy a word.
The carpenter's jaw went slack without him realizing. This wasn't a matter of skill being high or low—it was something straddling the boundary between theoretical possibility and impossibility.
In that instant, he decided simply to accept what he was seeing.
Not "How could he do that?" but rather, "Ah, so this young man can do such things."
The rest of the work continued at a pace beyond comprehension. Whenever Dan Seolyeong sketched something on the sand tray and explained, Mujin would immediately turn it into reality.
And only then did the carpenter finally understand why Seolyeong had always looked grateful, yet never fully satisfied, whenever he lent her a hand.
"Well now… she's caught herself an extraordinary husband."
He let out a soundless chuckle. All he could do was laugh.
They had begun in the early morning, and by the time evening shadows stretched long, the work was complete.
The prosthetic was strapped to Namgung Myeong's shoulder. Its shape was convincing enough, though for now, it did little more than dangle loosely.
The carpenter seized the moment to ask:
"You mentioned making another one later. So this is just a prototype?"
"That's right. No one gets it perfect on the first try."
"Then you'll be needing the workshop again."
"Yes. Could we borrow it for another day when the time comes?"
The carpenter thought hard. He had lived honestly his whole life, but this was a time to be a little shameless.
"Of course you can. But I have one condition."
"What is it?"
"When you discard this prototype, don't throw it away. Give it to me instead."
"Naturally. That's no problem at all."
The carpenter quietly clenched his fist, joy swelling in his chest.
***
Late that night, the group returned to the inn.
The Jeomchang Sect men and Chu Sam were already locked in their rooms, fast asleep. Only Hong Geolgae remained awake, his face lit with curiosity as he examined Namgung Myeong's new arm.
"Wow, that's impressive. Looks just like a real arm. But… isn't it a bit pointless to go to all that trouble for something that can't even move?"
"That part I'll handle. I just need to practice."
"Practice?"
Namgung Myeong took a deep breath. Slowly—ever so slowly—the prosthetic arm began to move.
It was a sight no one expected.
"What the—how did you do that?"
Dan Seolyeong's eyes widened, unable to comprehend, but Tang Mujin and Hong Geolgae understood. He was using the subtle art of Hovering Control to lift and move the arm.
"So that's why you wanted it? To train moving the arm that way?"
"Doesn't look easy."
Their doubtful voices didn't bother Namgung Myeong. He simply nodded.
"Of course it won't be easy. But it'll help me train. That alone is worth it."
He tried again, this time aiming to lift a small bundle resting on the table.
He managed to lay the wooden hand upon it. But gripping the knot? That was beyond him. The fingers only twitched clumsily, far from a true grasp.
For an ordinary man, lifting something was as natural as breathing. For Namgung Myeong, using his left arm meant threading together countless feats: controlling shoulder, elbow, wrist, and all five fingers simultaneously with Hovering Control, adjusting the force with finesse, and maintaining balance all the while.
Whether he could ever manage it—not in days, not in weeks, but in some distant future—remained uncertain.
"I still don't see the point. Wouldn't it be far more effective to just focus on strengthening your right arm?"
"Maybe. But if I keep training like this, one day I might grasp something far greater. Even the legendary Sword Beyond the Sword is said to be an extension of Hovering Control."
"Ha! Your dreams are as big as ever. Well… good luck with that."
Tang Mujin stretched, ready to turn in, when Namgung Myeong spoke again.
"Of course, there's another purpose too."
"Oh? And what's that?"
Namgung Myeong raised his left arm. The wrist began to spin like a top—slowly, but steadily, rotating in one continuous direction without pause. Far simpler than flexing fingers, but oddly uncanny.
The three of them—Tang Mujin, Dan Seolyeong, and Hong Geolgae—stared blankly at the bizarre display before snapping back to their senses.
"And… what exactly is the point of that?"
"Ah, this?" He smirked darkly. "This is a little trick—to make others lose focus."
"Lose focus?"
"Exactly. Doesn't it leave you feeling a bit… unsettled?"
As he spoke, he raised his right hand—clutching Tang Mujin's sword.
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