Gatong

I stared blankly at my laptop screen. It felt like I'd been looking at it for several minutes, but nothing changed. I definitely wasn't on duty today, and I hadn't touched a drop of alcohol. Yet in the Annals of the Joseon Dynasty, November 23rd had been added—and it stayed there.

I moved the mouse to refresh the page. No change. Again. Still the same. Once more. Identical. I slowly leaned back in my chair and let out a deep breath. Muttering under my breath,

"Is history really changing...?"

Yesterday, I'd told Munjong to open the windows for ventilation. He'd ordered two court ladies to do it every two si-jin. And now the annals recorded that his symptoms were slightly better than the day before. It was too precise to dismiss as mere coincidence.

I opened the mobile messenger app again. Hesitating for a moment, I tapped into the chat window.

A read receipt popped up.

I felt a slight pang of panic. I'd expected this question eventually, but not so soon.

"Who exactly are you?"

The short sentence carried an oddly heavy weight. Up until now, our exchanges had felt like a consultation between doctor and patient. This crossed that line, laced with subtle wariness. I sighed without realizing it. I had no good way to explain myself. I couldn't very well tell the king of Joseon that I was a modern doctor. Even claiming to be from the future wouldn't convince him—and if he did believe it, that might be even scarier.

My phone buzzed with a notification. No need to check the screen, but I did anyway. Yi Hyang's message was brief.

He was the king, but ultimately just a sick man. He'd mentioned fevers at night, so he probably wasn't sleeping well. Adding mental strain on top of his illness didn't seem wise.

I typed carefully—vaguely, on purpose, taking my time.

Munjong's replies were usually lightning-fast. Even if smartphones existed in Joseon, I doubted anyone could type that quickly. This time, though, it took a while. A good long pause.

Same as yesterday's chat.

Jeon Sun-ui. One of Joseon's top physicians. I had no intention of calling him wrong. It was just a difference in eras. He was probably doing his absolute best with the medicine of his time.

The reply came right away.

Not wrong. That's how it would be phrased in Joseon medicine. But they didn't know what I knew.

I paused, wondering how much to reveal. It was the Joseon era—no antibiotics, no knowledge of tuberculosis bacilli. But there were still things we could do.

I chuckled. It didn't mean leaving the windows open all day.

Read receipt. Then a long silence.

I tidied up, showered, cracked open a beer can, and sat at the table. As I chugged it, a ding notification came.

I couldn't hold back a laugh. I could picture it: the king's bedside, court ladies opening and closing windows, and Joseon's greatest physician staring in confusion.

Another message followed.

Munjong couldn't explain it to Jeon Sun-ui either. A Joseon king consulting a modern doctor via mobile app—or a modern doctor getting medical advice requests from Joseon's king the same way. Equally bizarre from both sides. Whatever Munjong's app looked like, he couldn't exactly admit to getting medical advice through it.

I sent another message.

A reply soon after.

I hesitated. Should I admit to knowing him?

"Who exactly are you?" I'd dodged that earlier, calling myself hard to explain. If I said I knew Jeon Sun-ui, Munjong might scour the eight provinces of Joseon to find me.

The first day I'd gotten a message from him, exhausted after a shift, I'd still resolved to save him. Seeing Danjong's annals today made me want to prevent Jeon Sun-ui from becoming a criminal too.

I pushed aside the complicated thoughts. What mattered more between doctor and patient than trust? I'd build it now, deal with fallout later.

A pause.

The king had finally passed judgment on my advice. Subtle. Not full belief yet—but not dismissal either.

I chuckled briefly. I might even know more medicine than Jeon ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Sun-ui. But I was modern—and he was Munjong. As a resident, not a specialist, calling myself a full doctor felt a bit embarrassing.

So I typed slowly.

I thought for a second, then replied.

A lie. My path to medicine was more about making a living than a calling. I might've chosen something else if I'd known how hard it is to get used to people dying. But for Munjong, at least, I'd try to be that great doctor. I told myself as much.

Second time asking. Was he suspicious? Probably not—otherwise, the conversation wouldn't have gone like this. But dodging forever might erode trust. History would roll on: Munjong to the royal tomb, Jeon Sun-ui to the Bureau of Royal Physicians as warden.

I muttered softly,

"I want to know that myself."

I didn't reply. His question hung there, marked read, in my app.

Who exactly are you?

After agonizing, I sent a message.

A long silence. I bit my lip unconsciously. Too direct, maybe. But his reply was calmer than expected.

True enough. In modern times, no big deal—but in Joseon, different etiquette.

The reply came.

Yi Hyang. Joseon's fifth king. Munjong. I'd been nearly certain. Sinmi year, frail health, Annals of the Joseon Dynasty, Inner Medical Bureau, Jeon Sun-ui. All the pieces fit. Hearing it from him—not just a nickname—made it absolute.

"It's really Munjong."

I decided to reveal a bit.

A strange emotion washed over me as I read it. The king of Joseon said he'd remember my name. Indescribable. As ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I started typing again,

I chuckled. Spot-on description. "Exchanging letters" was the closest analogy for his era. Probably my messages appeared on his mirror. How did he input his? I'd ask later. Explaining "mobile messenger app" wouldn't work—too modern. Best to break it into hanja with meaning.

A four-character idiom tempted me, but my hanja skills weren't up to naming an internet app that way. Two characters, then.

After a moment's thought, I messaged Munjong.

A brief pause. Then his reply.

I'd intended that, but his interpretation was perfect.

Gatong