A Gentleman Keeps His Word
Finally, May had arrived. After finishing morning rounds, I caught my breath for a moment and logged into the Annals of the Joseon Dynasty. I wanted to check the entry related to the Three Provinces Naval Commander that I'd discussed with King Munjong the day before yesterday.
"The naval forces are scattered across the provinces, each receiving orders from their respective regional commanders, making it difficult to properly manage grain transport or repel the Japanese pirates. Combine the navies of Hwanghae, Gangwon, and Hamgil Provinces under a single Upper Three Provinces Naval Commander for unified control. Similarly, unite the navies of Chungcheong, Jeolla, and Gyeongsang Provinces under a Lower Three Provinces Naval Commander. Pyeongan Province has traditionally guarded against the Jurchens, so let its Military Commander oversee the navy as well. Gyeonggi Province, as the capital's foundation, shall have its Military Commander likewise manage the navy. Appoint Pan Jungchuwonsa Yi Jing-ok as Upper Three Provinces Naval Commander and Gungseong Samyeon Jeoljesa Choi Suk-sun as Lower Three Provinces Naval Commander to lead the fleets. Furthermore, appoint Eo Yu-so, son of Eo Deuk-hae, as a military officer under Upper Three Provinces Naval Commander Yi Jing-ok."
Munjong had been well-versed in military matters since his days as crown prince. This reorganization felt like it stemmed from his profound grasp of such affairs.
Eo Yu-so's name was unfamiliar, so I quickly looked him up. He was the son of Eo Deuk-hae, former Pyeongan naval commander. In 1456, he passed the military exam and became a renowned general under King Sejo, subduing the Jurchens and crushing Yi Si-ae's rebellion. Right now, he was just a young guard in the Inner Royal Guard, not even twenty.
Is Munjong grooming someone to entrust the seas to in the next generation?
The daughter of Patient Park in Room 2, the elderly man's guardian, requested a meeting that afternoon. He'd been admitted two days ago with community-acquired pneumonia—a 74-year-old man. We'd started antibiotics, and his fever had come down the first day, showing improvement. During morning rounds, his temperature was 37.8°C, blood pressure normal, oxygen saturation 95%. It was ambiguous whether the antibiotics weren't fully effective or just needed more time. His vitals weren't terrible, so we'd decided to monitor, but the fever nagged at me.
"Doctor, Dad's been acting strange since morning."
"How so?"
"He's been spacing out and can't speak properly. He was fine until yesterday..."
A change in mental status. I headed straight to the room.
The elder was propped up in bed. His eyes were open, but unfocused.
"Sir?"
His response was slow. He turned his head, but I couldn't be sure he was really seeing me—his gaze was so hazy. I checked his blood pressure: 88/55.
Oh no...
His pulse was rapid and weak. Temperature back up to 39.1°C. Oxygen sat 89%. I called a code blue and summoned the nurse.
"Ramp up the fluids. Send two sets of blood cultures, CBC, CRP, procalcitonin, lactate. Switch to oxygen mask."
Septic shock. The pneumonia had spread to his bloodstream.
Should I have caught it yesterday? Or this morning? The thought flashed and faded. Not the time.
The ICU doctor arrived. We started norepinephrine, pushed fluids. BP climbed to 92/60. A brief sigh of relief.
Then it dropped again. It wouldn't stabilize. Two hours passed.
I told the family, "His condition is very critical now. The infection has spread to his blood, affecting his organs. We're doing everything we can."
She bit her lip and nodded.
"Is Dad in a lot of pain?"
"His consciousness is so clouded, he probably can't clearly feel his surroundings right now—at least not sharply."
I didn't know if that comforted her.
Mr. Park passed at 7:40 p.m. Standing outside, staring blankly at the fluorescent ceiling, a sigh escaped me. His daughter entered the room. A sound came from within—not quite a murmur or a sob, but something in between.
I recorded the time of death: 19:40.
At 7:40 p.m., Mr. Park was gone. Even from outside, that sound from the room reached me.
I stepped out of the building, walked the path, then stopped. Evening was settling over the sky.
From morning rounds to just now, I second-guessed every choice I'd made, over and over.
Septic shock moves fast. Should've caught it sooner. When? Yesterday? Morning?
If I hadn't checked the annals after rounds, would the outcome have changed? Probably not.
But such thoughts were inevitable.
If I'd checked the patient instead of the annals after rounds, maybe it would've been different. Or maybe not.
After that grueling day, as I changed out of my gown in the locker room, a Gatong message arrived.
Your Highness, I apologize. I momentarily forgot it spoils quickly.
I am sorry.
Munjong's final words—whether a king's sense of responsibility or comfort from his Gatong friend—didn't sink in.
The next morning, a Gatong from Munjong awaited.
Responsibility for the patient, responsibility for helping Munjong— I'd failed at both that day. Above all, the pollock roe mayo could just be tossed. But in the modern world, what I couldn't protect...
The elevator arrived.
Can I really handle both hospital duties and aiding Munjong...?
First, I needed to prep for the conference presentation.
I wasn't the only one struggling to compose myself.
That night in Gyeongbokgung Palace's royal bedchamber, Munjong lay awake on his bed for a long time. Sleep wouldn't come. Whenever he closed his eyes, it appeared. For a week now, closing his eyes brought it forth. The woman who had appeared in the mirror on the day the mirror changed—the one he hadn't wanted to see but couldn't avoid.
She kept resurfacing. Her face, and below it...
Munjong rose from the bed and sat at his desk. When his heart wavered, he always turned to the classics.
"The Master said, 'There are three things the gentleman should beware of.' When young, his blood and qi are unstable, so beware of lust. In his prime, when blood and qi are vigorous, beware of combat. In old age, when blood and qi have declined, beware of greed."
He recited from the Analects, the Three Precepts of the Gentleman.
In Do-yoon's world, they called it "magic eye," like text leaping from a book. But for Munjong, instead of Confucius or Mencius, that woman emerged from the pages.
Queen Hyeondeok Kwon has been gone over ten years. Lady Sukyong too.
No woman had been by Munjong's side for ages. He steeled his heart once more and gazed at the Analects.
I am Joseon's king. I must master my heart. Beware the blood and qi.
Yet the more he tried to suppress it, the clearer her image became.
"No. This is not private desire or unchecked passion."
Munjong shook his head.
"It is the promise with Do-yoon. The crown prince needs a mother."
He had agreed with Do-yoon that the crown prince needed a mother by his side. It was also the path for the nation.
"A gentleman keeps his word."
He flipped a few pages in the Analects.
"Master You said, 'When trust approaches righteousness (xin jin yu yi), one's words can be fulfilled (yan ke fu ye).'"
As a gentleman's trust, the time has come to keep my promise to Do-yoon.
Thinking of the promise brought her image back—her face, her gaze he couldn't tear from, the curves below, and...
"A gentleman keeps his word. Xin jin yu yi, yan ke fu ye."
Munjong squeezed his eyes shut and recited the sages' words aloud.
The next morning, he summoned Yejo Panseo Yi Seung-son.
"In the next chariot procession, I wish for you to report on selecting my queen."
Even Yi Seung-son, veteran of the court for decades, blinked in surprise.
"Handle it yourself."
Munjong repeated.
"Your benevolence overwhelms us. This minister shall do his utmost."
Munjong nodded. As Yi Seung-son turned to leave the bedchamber, one final, context-defying remark from Munjong reached his ears.
"A gentleman keeps his word."