The Annals Are Changing
I barely got three hours of sleep before my eyes snapped open. My body felt heavy, weighed down by the night shift. I stared blankly at the ceiling for a moment, then turned my head. My phone lay on the bedside table. With half-lidded eyes, I picked it up. The mobile messenger app still showed the same name: Yi Hyang.
Last night's conversation wasn't some hallucination from a patient's death or shift fatigue. It was real. Those two words—Yi Hyang—were proof enough. The exchange replayed in my mind: fever every night, relentless cough, blood-tinged phlegm. No new messages while I slept suggested our dates aligned, but the time zones might differ.
Still, curiosity nearly made me type a reply, but I stopped. I checked the time: 8 a.m. "Damn..." I bolted upright. Time to head to work. I set the phone down, threw on my clothes in a rush. Right now, Munjong wasn't the issue.
Hospitals are always chaos. Morning rounds flew by in a blur—checking patients, updating charts, explaining to families. I yanked off my gloves with a mutter: "What's with today..."
An emergency patient had come in, so tonight's shift might be rougher than yesterday's. As long as no one died like before, the exhaustion would be bearable. But today, none of that mattered. The messenger app nagged at me. I couldn't check it with patients around.
Even if you hung it upside down, only two clocks keep ticking perfectly: the Ministry of National Defense's and a general hospital's. Thanks to the latter, I dragged home late that night.
I opened the front door. Kicked off my shoes. Dropped my bag. Leaned against the wall. Closed my eyes. Let out a sigh of relief—the day was done. The routine played out unconsciously. I collapsed into a chair and grabbed my phone.
The chat window still showed: Yi Hyang. I stared at the screen. A new message waited.
I narrowed my eyes. The Inner Hospital—once called the Inner Pharmacy, renamed during King Sejong's reign. Like a royal dedicated hospital today, VVIP private healthcare. It housed one or two of Joseon's top physicians, no doubt.
Jeon Sun-ui. I'd seen the name in history books. He compiled the medical encyclopedia Medical Gatherings from Overseas under Sejong. One of Joseon's all-time greats.
I didn't think he was part of the Inner Hospital, but who cares about departments now? "At least a master physician is on the case."
But another thought hit: tuberculosis is beyond them. I pulled up the Annals of the Joseon Dynasty site—that history buff's haunt.
Searching Jeon Sun-ui, results scrolled: Annals of Danjong, Volume 1, 5th Month, 18th Day (Gyeongsa)
Volume 1 • Danjong's Ascension Year • 5th Month, 18th Day (Gyeongsa)
"Jeon Sun-ui is the principal accomplice; behead him gravely, but delay execution until an auspicious day. Byeon Han-san and Choi Eop are accomplices; reduce one grade from the first to 100 strokes of the rod and exile 3,000 li. Cao Jing-chi, Jeon In-gwi, Kim Gil-ho, Jo Heung-ju, Jeong Cha-ryang, and Song Cheom shall receive 90 strokes."
After deliberation by the government, they revoked their posts collectively. Jeon Sun-ui was appointed as a clerk in the Bureau of Royal Physicians; Byeon Han-san and Choi Eop as clerks; Cao Jing-chi, Jo Heung-ju, Jeon In-gwi, Kim Gil-ho, Jeong Cha-ryang, and Song Cheom were demoted to apprentices in the Inner Hospital.
"Ah..." He got punished for failing to cure Munjong's illness. Clerk in the Bureau of Royal Physicians—like our hospital's internal medicine chief on probation. More crucially, "principal accomplice" meant chief culprit in failing Munjong. "Grave beheading" implied execution was fitting, but they suspended it and demoted him. Too valuable to kill?
Best case: security guard. Worst: death. Separate from Munjong's condition, I pitied Jeon Sun-ui's fate. No—tied directly. If Munjong dies, so does he.
A quick search: no birth/death dates for Jeon Sun-ui. Rumors of reinstatement under King Sejo, but given Sejo's nature, maybe quietly executed, hence no death record. Chilling.
Back to Munjong's message. Weak pulse—accurate. Prolonged cough and fever weaken the body; Joseon era would call it that.
I chuckled. Fair enough. Joseon viewed drafts as worsening illness, winds disrupting qi. But for lung disease, ventilation matters.
I paused. No way to explain: bacteria, infection, pulmonary tuberculosis. Joseon folk wouldn't grasp it. Germs discovered in the 17th century—Europe, not Joseon. TB identified in the 19th—again, not Joseon.
I chuckled. Spot on. A Joseon king consulting via app? Bizarre. If 15th-century Munjong whipped out a smartphone today? I'd look normal by comparison. He's the odd one.
I exhaled slowly. Not huge, but not worsening. Switched browser from Danjong Annals to Annals of Munjong. Hoping Jeon avoids janitor duty...
Annals of Munjong, Volume 10, Munjong 1st Year, 11th Month, 22nd Day (Byeongjin) — The Office of Royal Decrees petitioned to suspend tomorrow's court business due to His Majesty's indisposition. Approved.
No entry for the 23rd. I pondered the screen. Today: pulse check, windows opened, maids ventilating every two hours. Annals: nothing yet. "Tomorrow?" I muttered.
One day of ventilation won't cure him overnight. No smog in Joseon, though—better effect than modern air. Already rooting for Munjong a bit.
As I moved to click 11/24—wait. Another mouse twitch. A new line appeared below. Wasn't there before.
Volume 10 • Munjong 1st Year • 11th Month, 23rd Day (Jeongsa)
The Inner Hospital reported that His Majesty's symptoms were slightly more stable than the previous day.
I stared at the screen. Definitely new. No shift today, no booze. Refreshed the page—still there. Glanced at the messenger. Yi Hyang topped the chat.
I muttered low: "The annals... are changing."