Toothpaste
I got home after finishing my half-day Saturday shift. I suddenly remembered that yesterday, King Munjong had complained about bad breath after eating sanzakgye (garlic fried chicken). With that much garlic, it was inevitable. It was funny but also a bit sorry to think of Joseon's king griping about halitosis from garlic chicken.
Then it hit me. Toothpaste. So far, almost everything I'd passed on to Munjong was related to tuberculosis. Of course, since the Annals of the Joseon Dynasty explicitly mentioned his illness as boils, I'd included some advice on that too. Ventilation, Bosinsijok exercises, dietary therapy, sunbathing, sleep environment, adjustments to Jeon Sun-ui's prescriptions... Things like the exercises counted as well. But at its core, I'd focused on TB from a clinical medicine perspective, advising him accordingly.
Of course, I knew supportive therapies alone couldn't cure tuberculosis outright. So my goal had been creating conditions where the TB bacteria couldn't thrive and would naturally die off.
Halitosis prevention ties into oral hygiene, which isn't exactly clinical treatment. But from the standpoint of preventing bad breath and various dental diseases, it qualifies as preventive medicine. Even in the modern world, the pandemic has spotlighted public health and the importance of prevention over cure. It struck me that the biggest way I could help Munjong's Joseon might actually be through preventive rather than clinical medicine.
On the clinical side, without modern medical knowledge, Joseon's own physicians like Jeon Sun-ui were bound to be better than me at what existed in their world.
Danjong, Yeonsangun, and Gwanghaegun died by sasa (forced suicide by poison). Munjong's cause of death isn't clearly recorded. Excluding those four, the Joseon kings' causes of death follow similar patterns. Seongjong, Hyeojong, Jeongjo, and Sunjo died of boils—mostly carbuncles on the back. Injong, Myeongjong, Gyeongjong, and Cheoljong succumbed to pulmonary tuberculosis. Taejong, Seonjo, Injo, and Hyeonjong to bacterial infections like pneumonia or malaria. Taejo, Sejong, Jungjong, and Sukjong to metabolic diseases—mostly diabetes. The rest were natural deaths, deaths from wounds, or rage-induced illnesses. Battle wounds are a gray area; historians wouldn't record a previous king's death by wounds in the annals compiled after his passing. His son, the new king, wouldn't document his father's battlefield demise. Pulling in unofficial histories, I suspect Yeongjong too died from wounds. I like passionate love like a bonfire, but sometimes I envy Yeongjong.
Considering Munjong's TB, I realized the clinical measures we'd already taken doubled as prevention. TB patients have weakened immunity. Bacteria in the mouth can be aspirated into the lungs. Poor oral hygiene correlates with higher pneumonia rates in studies. It's not unrelated to managing TB.
Could I broaden the scope a bit?
Expanding the scope wasn't hard—I was already doing it. Started with just pulmonary TB, then added exercises and recipes. With Munjong overcoming TB through adjunct therapies, the boundaries were always blurry anyway. No need to draw hard lines.
Above all, I didn't know how Gatong connected us, why, or when it might cut off. Neither did Munjong. What scared me was the butterfly effect. We'd already seen it: Bosinsijok, 15th-century palace fish cakes, Joseon-style garlic chicken. Let's minimize the ripples while helping Munjong—from both clinical and preventive angles. That was my final resolve.
'Making Natural Toothpaste'
I searched for natural toothpaste recipes and mentally swapped in Joseon-available ingredients. Fluoride would be ideal, but impossible in their era. I sent a Gatong message.
"Speak," came the reply.
Grind salt finely. Mix with unscented oil to make it smooth. Camellia oil should work well. Add powdered peppermint, cheoncho (Sichuan pepper), and baekji (angelica dahurica) powder, then mix. Store in a small jar, dip a yangji in it, and brush. I'll pass it to Jeon Sun-ui.
I almost explained how to make a toothbrush but held back—tampering that far might trigger butterflies. Wooden handle with hog bristles would be great for cleaning teeth. Ming envoys might've seen them. Whatever happens, I trust Jeon Sun-ui. Toothpaste could change a lot in Joseon: cavities, gum disease, even cardiovascular risks.
'Clinical Record: Yi Hyang (1451.12.~1452.1.)'
Jeon Sun-ui could whip up toothpaste from limited info alone. Our languages differ, but our direction aligns. I had a hunch he'd add something. Two days later, morning Gatong from Munjong.
I was impressed. Bamboo salt toothpaste sells well even today. Honey hadn't crossed my mind—not for cost reasons, but this was my oversight. Munjong's the king... Cloves are perfect too: halitosis control plus antibacterial. Probably minimal amount to avoid scent. Jeon Sun-ui nailed it.
Munjong followed up.
Jeon Sun-ui recording it... Like my clinical notes?
The day before presenting the toothpaste, while modern Do-yoon lounged at home on his day off, Jeon Sun-ui sat at his desk in the Royal Medical Bureau, staring at the toothpaste recipe he'd noted with brush and ink.
'An unseen physician recommends this tooth-cleaning remedy to His Majesty?'
Jeon Sun-ui analyzed it. "Salt clears oral heat toxins and filth. Teeth are like bones—must be firm. Bamboo salt, infused with fire, suits the royal body better than plain salt."
Thus, he swapped salt for bamboo salt. Camellia oil, Sichuan pepper, angelica—no issues. All accessible; pepper and angelica dispel oral evils. Peppermint's coolness would surely soothe heat and refresh.
He pondered: 'All from garlic chicken's odor. Inner courtiers and ladies already use cloves—add that. But too strong for presentation; mix in honey. Or instruct thorough rinsing.'
'Bamboo salt ten, camellia oil nine, honey three, peppermint one, Sichuan pepper one, angelica one, cloves half a half.' He balanced ratios mentally by ingredient nature.
Then: 'No unknown ingredients. Why didn't I think of mixing them for teeth?'
Jeon Sun-ui authored Joseon's top medical text, Eubangyuchwi, and diagnosed countless patients over decades. He was confident no one knew more herbs. Wrong.
He set down his brush, reflecting on the unseen physician's gifts: ventilation, fish cakes, Bosinsijok, mugwort, oysters, grilled oysters, miso, sunbathing, fried chicken, now toothpaste. All beneficial to the king's health.
He'd long known diet's role in healing, but overseeing kitchen prep and results firsthand? First time. Thanks to His Majesty—or the unseen physician. He decided to record it, picked up his brush.
Afternoon at the hospital was chaotic—resident match day. Shortages in first-year spots mean the rest falls on us. Work-life balance vanishes. Internal medicine rarely undersubscribes, so I hustled rounds optimistically.
"Do-yoon, internals filled up nice this year? Congrats. Man, dentistry undersubscribed again."
On my way back from dinner, a surgery resident buddy clapped my shoulder.
"Dentistry?"
"Not the first time, but still pitiful. No patients, no applicants, right?"
I wanted to freeze but kept walking. Stopping would look weird. Act natural—might win a best actor award at this rate.
"Surgery?"
"Eh, less than hoped, but decent numbers. Good kids too."
"Cool. Tough evening ahead."
Parted at corridor's end.
No patients... No annals dive needed; wiki unlikely. Queried the AI I'd paid for annals backup.
From early Joseon, toothpaste spread alongside the 333 brushing method, evolving into hog-bristle toothbrushes by mid-Joseon, embedding advanced oral culture as rigid late-Joseon etiquette transmitted to modern times. Thus, Korean caries rates are markedly lower than global averages. Though ancestral rites families have dwindled, traditional yangban houses bar 333 non-observers from ceremonies. Hence, modern Korean hospitals run dentistry as oral-maxillofacial, orthodontics, prosthodontics—surgery-focused.
I sighed quietly at the AI's reply. Searched my usual bamboo salt toothpaste on the mall.
'Joseon Palace-Style Bamboo Salt Toothpaste'
'...'
A few dental school buddies... Nothing to say if I met them. Least buy drinks.
Your Highness, dentistry's collapsing thanks to you.