The Passing of Lady Sukyong
Lady Sukyong. February had already arrived. The Annals of the Joseon Dynasty, Veritable Records of King Munjong, volume 11—content I couldn't check from the modern era. Two frustrating months had flown by. The specialist exam was split into two parts, and today was the first. With the fourth-year residents completely gone, the ward was running even more busily. Ah, the ward itself was the same. It was us residents and interns keeping things spinning. No, getting spun around. And on top of that, I was on night duty today.
Whenever I answered calls from inside the ward, I knew Gatong notifications were piling up, but I couldn't check them. Right now, the patient in front of me came first.
The next day, after night duty ended and I got home, I finally checked Gatong. The message from yesterday.
Suddenly...?
The second message was from this morning.
I nearly dropped my phone. I went blank. I had a feeling who that close person was. I hurriedly opened my laptop and logged into the Annals of the Joseon Dynasty site.
2nd Year of King Munjong (1452), 2nd Month, 4th Day (Mujin)
Lady Sukyong Hong passed away, and the king granted 20 seok of rice and beans, along with 100 rolls of paper, as funeral gifts.
Lady Sukyong Hong—a title bestowed on a king's consort, inner court lady of the third junior rank. She had been by Yi Hyang's side since his days as crown prince. Amid the chaos of two crown princesses being successively deposed, she stayed with him to the end. She had acted as surrogate lady of the palace in the absence of a queen. She had been with him for over twenty years. Less a favored lover, more his longest-standing companion.
On average, they lived longer than commoners, but Joseon's kings had short lifespans. An average of 46 years. Most kings barely exercised, overwhelmed by excessive duties and stress. They relieved it through overeating and overindulgence. In a word, being king was one of Joseon's extreme jobs.
Prolonged stress suppresses the immune system. Medically speaking, cortisol secretion suppresses immunity long-term. Latent tuberculosis bacteria seize the opportunity. The dormant bacteria activate without missing a gap, and that moment is when immunity collapses. That's why shocking events often trigger relapses of old illnesses. It's common in clinical practice, straight out of the textbooks.
The chances of Lady Sukyong Hong dying suddenly yesterday were slim. While volume 11 of the Veritable Records of King Munjong was missing, preventing me from tracking Yi Hyang's daily life; while I focused more on hospital work amid the gap left by the fourth-year residents; while I was telling Yi Hyang to have Anpyeong's son, Duke Yang Jeong, drink black garlic tonic for prevention—Lady Sukyong Hong's health had been crumbling.
And Yi Hyang's body was crumbling again, just like hers.
Thinking back, Yi Hyang's Gatong messages had noticeably decreased at the end of January. He must have been tending to state affairs, but perhaps also staying by her side whenever he could.
His cough's return wasn't because Jeon Sun-ui or I had made some recent mistake. It wasn't his body breaking down. Before his body crumbled, his heart had crumbled.
Being king had eaten away at Yi Hyang's life like that.
I didn't ask who. It wasn't that I knew and chose not to. Now wasn't the time to discuss facts with Yi Hyang. It was time for comfort. Facts are for medical matters only.
Read receipt. But no reply.
I held off messaging until Yi Hyang could compose himself. I wanted to, but I restrained myself. Exhausted from night duty, I couldn't sleep. I'd wait for his reply and nap early evening. I showered, ate something, half-zonked out pretending to tidy my room before collapsing on the sofa. Staring blankly at the ceiling, a Gatong from Yi Hyang arrived.
It was the reply I'd expected. Expected, so it weighed even heavier.
Read receipt.
"Bear the weight of the crown." A line from Shakespeare's Henry IV came to mind.
Yi Hyang had spent 29 years as crown prince—the longest of any Joseon king. When King Sejong's health declined, he'd even handled regency duties. He was a prepared king. Except for his health.
In preparing to be king, he'd been endlessly taught restraint. And that was now wrecking his body again.
Read receipt.
Yi Hyang was silent for a long while. Was I telling him to grieve now?
A long silence followed. Was Yi Hyang sobbing his heart out? Or would he cut off Gatong for telling him to grieve in a way unbecoming a king?
Hours later, as dusk fell, another Gatong from Yi Hyang.
This was the longest Gatong Yi Hyang had ever sent at once. His grief hit me so hard I couldn't speak. A long pause followed naturally.
Yi Hyang didn't say "remarriage." But I understood.
I sent the same message I'd always given him.
This "Understood" felt different from before. It carried a hint of resolve, of acceptance.
Shortly after, another Gatong from Yi Hyang.
Cold sweat broke out. Prince Anpyeong—known as one of early Joseon's Three Excellences for his artistry, with a reputation for free-spiritedness, but still royal blood. He wouldn't easily back down from wanting to reward that physician.
As expected. Beneath his artistic free spirit lay royal stubbornness.
For now, Yi Hyang had bought time. I couldn't exactly say I was from 600 years in the future. Even if I did, would he believe it? I was helping him, which would indirectly change history, but I couldn't rashly speak of his future from his current vantage. Telling Prince Anpyeong would be even more complicated.
Still, my gut and Yi Hyang's words suggested that next time Prince Anpyeong visited, he'd press harder for me. Each visit would double the pressure.
I couldn't lie. Yi Hyang already suspected something. He just hadn't asked.
I'll think it over carefully during Lunar New Year's break.
Despite the fourth-year residents' absence, luck was on my side—I avoided duty on New Year's Day itself. I'd had it in my first and second years. Sure, I'd visited family around then, but it wasn't the same. After learning late January that Mom had suddenly become CEO of a company boasting 500 billion in sales, I had some expectations. The car I drove was her gift for my residency acceptance. Thanks to Yi Hyang's butterfly effect, Mom's assets had ballooned without me knowing. Heading to the parking lot after work, my heart fluttered hoping the mid-size sedan she'd bought two years ago had become a foreign sports car.
But the butterfly effect hadn't touched my beloved ride, at least. Anyway, this New Year's, I should look into Cheonan Foods, the company Mom ran.
With the laptop open, I read the early February records of the Iminsimnyeon.
2nd Year of King Munjong (1452), 2nd Month, 6th Day (Gyeong-o)
Kim Jong-seo, citing his advanced age as reason, requested to resign from supervising the Veritable Records of King Sejong. The king said, "All matters have a beginning and must have an end. As a veteran minister of Sejong, you already represent the beginning. Sejong's affairs are now complete, so you must properly compile the records to bring them to a fitting close."
Kim Jong-seo, born 1383, now 69. Sejong-era veteran and current Left State Councillor. And the first victim of the Gyeoyu Coup. A few days from now, Yi Hyang might mention him.
It was Friday night. Changing in the locker room to head home, a text from Seo-yeon: "Oppa, we gotta see each other before New Year's, right? When you free next week?"
Two days earlier, after listening to Yi Hyang's grief, a thought struck: Who comforts me...? Seo-yeon.
"Just getting off now—how about tonight?"
"Ah, perfect. That chicken place from last time?"
"Yeah. On my way."
I left the hospital. February's wind still bit cold.
Yi Hyang had Lady Sukyong by his side for twenty years. But now she was gone. By my side was Seo-yeon, my companion of six years. Our modest campfire wouldn't burn out in one blaze. That was enough.