Chapter 5
“My
goodness doctor, but you are certainly tempting in that cravat.”
“If you
make mention of my cravat and the effects it has on your person once more I
shall strangle you with my stethoscope.” He replied, obviously flustered.
I liked it
when he did that, when his pale face flushed. Like the man himself, the flush
was orderly and procedural starting at his ears and spreading inward to cover his cheeks and end at the tip of his nose. His lips trembled as he tried to think
of something else to say. He busied himself with his medical bag.
I leaned
back against the bed and watched. I really did enjoy that cravat, more than I care to say. I love it more when I’m dragging it off his neck with my teeth
while he gasps softly, hands clutching my jacket sleeve.
I know he doesn’t wear it solely for
my enjoyment—although I am almost positive he knows the effect it has on me—but
to cover the obvious love bites left on his skin. He’s so prim and proper, my
doctor. It would be unprofessional for him to show that little bit of reddened
skin to the public. Especially if they found out I was the one who gave it to
him.
He’d finished checking his medical
bag and turned to me, wide eyes and heart shaped lips. “Stop staring at me like
that! It’s unnerving. I have enough to do today without you stripping me with
your eyes.”
“What a pity, and you’d just gotten
dressed too.” I replied airily, grabbing for the wine bottle on the bedside
table. “Care for a drink before you leave?”
“It’s six in the morning, at least
try and wait until afternoon before you begin drinking. I don’t want to come
back here with you smelling like Chardonnay and vomit.”
“You’ll be coming tonight then?” I
hoped I didn’t sound pleased. I hid my smile behind the rim of the wine bottle
as I pressed it to my lips and tipped the bottle back. Sometimes he doesn’t
return for weeks, too busy with his practice.
I saw him shoot a sideways glance at
the robe slipping off my shoulder before he swallowed and gave a curt not. “If
there isn’t a backwash of cases I should be back by seven.” He paused, “…is
that alright?”
“I’ll find time for you.” I purred,
leaning forward so that the robe pooled at my waist. “But you’d best hurry back
or I won’t be able to stay away from that Chardonnay you mentioned.”
He rolled his eyes and headed for
the door.
“Doctor.”
He gave an exasperated sigh. “Oh
what now? I need to leave now before I find some excuse to crawl back into
bed.”
I merely pointed, “You’ve forgotten
your trousers.”
--From the thrilling New York Times
best seller The Doctor and The Deviant,
with special film adapted cover art for the early May movie release.
Sungkyunkwan
University, Hanseong
Wednesday,
10:00am, March 30th, 1858
Sehun
didn’t talk much. At first people had mistaken his silence for haughtiness. The
truth was that he had a lisp and it was embarrassing. But over time his
silence—brought on by his fear of being teased—morphed into the cold elitism
that they’d always assumed. So now when he talked no one mentioned the lisp.
But
that didn’t help his fear of public speaking, especially when he was the
student chosen to give the welcoming speech for the 1st year
students.
The
ceremony had begun two hours ago and had consisted of an introduction of the
professors—some of the professors were absent and an explanation was given that
they had arrived the night before and were therefore recovering before classes
the next day—and a compilation of rules and regulations as well as a welcoming
speech from last year’s valedictorian.
And
now it was Sehun’s turn. He’d been chosen for several reasons, he knew. His
father was Lord Oh and that meant it was imperative his son was given special
treatment as befit his status. But it was also because Sehun had scored the
highest on the entrance exam.
He
remembered standing amidst scattered applause, walking up to the golden
filigree inlaid podium and pulling out the sheet of parchment he’d written his
speech on. The applause faded awkwardly into silence and he cleared his throat,
looking up over the crowd of faces.
“Sungkyunkwan
University was founded in 1304 during the Goryeo Dynasty as a symbol of
intellect and the strive for excellence. It was formed to compete against the
larger schools of Guozijian. These schools had formerly been renowned for their
educational systems, for the upbringing of the nobility to the higher levels of
enlightenment needed to properly govern a bright and prosperous nation.
But
China has fallen. It has become a husk of its former glory as the Afflicted ravage
the land. Yet Sungkyunkwan has held firm! And whose fault is that? Some would
say it is celestial fate. The gods have
chosen Joseon and so Joseon shall prosper.
But
I tell you it is not divine will or intervention. It is superiority. We took
what the West gave us and we have made ourselves strong. Joseon shall survive
where China shall not. That is the fate of those who do not possess the innate
ability to change, endure, and succeed.
This
illustrious university has made its sole purpose the success of its students.
Several of our alumni have gone on to study in the West, to become ambassadors,
doctors, and teachers. It is true that our history does not span so far back as
the illustrious Guozijian and its Taixue predecessors.
But
we have changed. We have endured. And we
have succeeded.
With
the greatness that has been bestowed upon us I hope that we, as the newest
members of this university, shall seize upon that greatness and mold it to our
will. Thank you.”
He gave a
last nod and the majority of the student body got to their feet, clapping. He
spotted a few students glancing around nervously—Chinese students most likely.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a small group stand and exit the
auditorium.
He
had made enemies today.
But
he had also made his point, even if he had to sink as low as to praise the
British to do so.
He
made his way back to his seat with a blank face, nodding at those that shook
his hand and tried to greet him. He did not have time for them. He could tell
already, these people were not the ones he had spoken of. They were not seizing
greatness. They were trying to seize him
and his favor.
But
perhaps that was greatness in its own right.
Haeju
Weekly Press, Haeju
Tuesday,
11:22am, March 29th, 1858
“Aish.” Baekhyun stumbled backwards
and pain danced in front of his eyes, small bursts of white light as strong
arms held him up from behind.
“It’s alright,” Chanyeol grunted,
“Come on, Kyungsoo said that you have
to stand. The muscles in your legs are going to weaken even more if you don’t
start using them.”
Baekhyun didn’t care if he ever
walked again so long as it meant never having to experience this kind of pain.
Two days ago they had begun stretches to test out how well his new kneecap
responded to his body. He had just gotten used to the constant buzzing
sensation beneath his skin and the smell of that disgusting salve.
It hurt to bend his leg at all, and
the buzzing only intensified with the movement. Or maybe that was just the pain
amplifying everything, he wasn’t sure. His entire body ached from the
stretches.
But that had been nothing compared
to the feeling of placing his entire weight on his legs. At first he hadn’t
felt anything at all. Chanyeol had grabbed him under the arms and eased him to
his feet and he’d felt like he was floating on air.
And then his entire body weight
slammed down with the force of a smith’s hammer and all he’d seen was white. A
jolt of electricity shot up his spine, scalding, blossoming into waves of heat
that spread across his back and under his ribcage.
Once he’d regained his ability to
breathe he’d turned to the side and vomited.
It was embarrassing, because he’d
puked all over Chanyeol’s pants leg and he could still smell it even though he
refused to look and he was sure that Chanyeol wanted a bath. But the other man
had been more concerned with keeping Baekhyun upright because that was what Kyungsoo had said was best for him.
Kyungsoo could have told him
drinking sewage was good for him and he’d do it, Baekhyun was certain. Not that
Baekhyun gave a damn what Kyungsoo ordered Chanyeol to do and what he complied
with, as long as it didn’t involve him. This
did, however.
“Just a little longer. Ease your
weight onto your left leg.”
Baekhyun let out a grunt and did as
he was told. Sweet relief, the feeling of a stable, human leg. He closed his
eyes and tried to ignore the throbbing that still presented itself with each
rapid heartbeat.
“Now the right.”
No. No no no not the right, please
no. Baekhyun took a deep breath and slowly braced himself.
The pain came quickly enough. His
knee buckled—he almost heard the screech of metal—and for a moment he was
surprised at how well the metal knee acted like his natural one—but then he was
on the ground with Chanyeol sprawled atop him, elbow digging into his stomach.
“Sorry—aish are you ok?” Chanyeol
was blubbering something but Baekhyun hardly heard it. It sounded like someone
had stuffed cotton in his ears. Or maybe he was underwater and drowning. He
flailed, trying to reach the surface. He broke free and—
“—oh god it’s bleeding it wasn’t
supposed to start bleeding did I rip something? Hey, hey are you ok?” Chanyeol
was shouting, the sound amplified by pain. His leg was wet. He gave a loud
groan and sat up. There was a small dot of blood on his pants leg, probably
just from the fall.
He found himself staring at the seat
of his pants and the stain slowly creeping its way down his thigh. His face
burned. He tried to stand but it hurt too much and he landed hard on his back.
“Hey, hey be careful—”
“Don’t touch me!” Baekhyun snapped,
throwing off the helping hand.
Chanyeol blinked. He was still
smiling that annoyingly garish grin of his but it looked strained, and his eyes
were lost, like a puppy that had just brought its master a torn up shoe and
didn’t understand what he’d done wrong.
He gave a little nod, “Ok. Maybe we
should stop here for today. I have to finish up some errands for Jongdae.” He
made to pick up Baekhyun to put him back on the bed but the other man threw him
off again.
“I’m fine. I can make it to the
bed!” Baekhyun ground out, “You’re not my nurse.”
Chanyeol gave another nod, looking
lost, before the door closed and Baekhyun was left alone.
This wasn’t
working. How was he going to learn to walk again if he couldn’t even stand? No
matter what Jongdae had said about getting a story out of him or the doctor
waving off the medical bills it was only a matter of time before they decided
to call upon him for what he owed them. He needed a job before they threw him
into debtor’s prison.
Haeju
Market Street
Tuesday,
1:34pm, March 29th, 1858
He needed
more shoe polish.
If Wu Fan
had been more adventurous he would have asked one of the other foremen if there
was any in the company reserves. The other foremen often took anything extra they
could find. No one missed a bottle of shaving cream or a matchbox. But Wu Fan
disliked asking for favors and he wasn’t welcome to them anyway.
Besides,
his favorite polish was sold by Mrs. Han, a Chinese immigrant who had come to
Haeju six years ago with nothing but a recipe for dumplings and four li. She ran a small dumpling restaurant
on market street, with a general store attached that was run by her son Geng.
He liked
the smell of the shop. The Chinese incense mixed with the dumplings and it was
a comforting reminder of the home he no longer had. Mrs. Han was in the side
room of the store, kneading dough when he entered. She glanced at him and gave
a bright smile and called to him in Ji Lu mandarin, “Wu Fan! Is it your day
off? What can I get you?”
“Where is your
son, auntie?” He glanced around the store and noticed that there was no one
there.
Mrs. Han
gave a long suffering sigh. “He’s off somewhere.” She leaned forward conspiratorially.
“He’s been frequenting a gisaeng house down the way. I think he’s fallen in
love with one of their haengsu.”
That was
surprising. Geng was a very level headed man and he wouldn’t waste the family’s
small income on entertainment even if their store was seeing good business. Not
only that, but a haengsu?
Mrs. Han
was shaking her head. “We don’t have time for it, or the coin. It doesn’t
matter if she’s willing to see him or not we can’t afford it. And she’s only a gisaeng.” He knew Mrs. Han
thought gisaeng below her, even if she was only a simple shopkeeper. She’d told
him once that before she and her son had come to Haeju that they’d been nobility. He
had a feeling that her family had probably been of a rich merchant class that
had bought that nobility, judging from her tact with finances but he wouldn’t
say so. She might raise the price of shoe polish just to spite him.
He’d
visited Haeju’s main gisaeng house on more than one occasion. He was a bit of a
novelty to them, a Chinaman working for the British. And he was tall and had a
handsome face, which made him sought after when he went. But he’d never been
invited by any of the haengsu. They
entertained yangban and only upon
their own invitation.
“Auntie let
me get that for you,” He noticed her struggling with the large bowl filled with
freshly made buckwheat noodles. She protested but he ignored her. She was his
only friend in this god forsaken country, he would help her whether she wanted
him to or not. Besides, he knew she secretly liked being pampered by handsome men. “Do you know
the haengsu’s name?”
She frowned again. “No, no, I saw
her once, walking down the street. Well, not walking. She was in a litter. The haengsu don’t walk on their own. But you
should have seen Geng’s face.” She sighed again, sounding weary. “I know that
look.” She grabbed a tin of shoe polish from the shelves behind her and placed
it on the counter. “She was pretty, in a cold way. Strong features, haughty
eyes. She won’t spare my boy a glance so I don’t have to worry I suppose. He’ll
come back feeling heartbroken soon enough.”
Wu Fan gave a small smile before
placing the coins on the table. “Here’s for the polish, auntie.”
She waved him off. “No, no, you
helped me with the noodles. And I know you’re working too hard. I heard about
the attack on the railroad.”
Wu Fan stiffened.
She reached over the counter and
patted his cheek with a flour covered hand. “You are doing your best to live in
this world. That is all any of us can do.”
No. No he hadn’t done his best. He’d
done as little as was needed. He remained silent. “Keep the coins, auntie.” He
walked out of the store with is polish before she could protest.
As he
stepped out onto the street he found it more crowded then when he’d stepped
inside. He politely pushed his way into the crowd and began the trek back to
the railroad company. Perhaps he’d grab some ddeokbokki before he headed back.
He was
headed to the nearest ddeokbokki stall when he spotted them. It was easy,
because two of them were as tall as he was. The first he saw he didn’t recognize,
but he felt like he’d seen him somewhere before. He was motioning to the other
two, pointing and making hand gestures to explain himself.
The other
two he knew immediately. Zhang Yixing and his younger brother Zitao.
They were
not meant to be here. They were not supposed to be alive. How on earth had they
gotten out of the Deadlands? He ducked into the nearest alleyway and waited as
they passed by, speaking in a mix of butchered Korean and Mandarin. The
language barrier between the two brothers and their companion was obvious, but
they looked content enough, carrying packages as he pointed out sights.
How…this
wasn’t possible.
House of
Lords, Hanseong
Tuesday,
3:02pm, March 29th, 1858
“Lord Great Chamberlain, you’ve
come as well?”
Joonmyun turned at the voice and
gave a small smile and a bow. “Yes, good day Lord Kim.” His smile faltered
slightly as he noticed the Cabinet Secretary’s attire. He was dressed in the
traditional red dalryeongpo,
befitting his rank in court. His hyungbae
showed both the civil officer’s symbol of the crane and the hopyo that signified military officers.
Around his waist was a mother-of-pearl inlaid gadkae.
Was he mad? Everyone knew that to meet the British ambassador in Korean
clothing was a slap in the face. He looked down at his own greatcoat and
carefully polished boots and kid leather gloves.
Lord Kim caught his eye and gave a
baleful smile. “I am not ashamed of my country, Lord Great Chamberlain.”
Joonmyun’s throat tightened. The
Cabinet Secretary had made his opinions on the growing British influence in
court obvious. Everyone knew he sided with Joseon’s king in all things. He was
often called the King’s dog by those who disliked him. Whether he took pride in
the name Joonmyun could not guess.
But this was a bold move even for a
man in such a position as the Cabinet Secretary. Joseon’s king would be hard
pressed to resolve the issue if Lord Kim offended Lord Bruce upon his arrival.
Joonmyun forced a smile upon his
own face. He’d carefully crafted this smile, the one he had to use when he felt
like screaming or crying or laughing. It was icy in its politeness. “Neither am
I, Lord Kim. Did you ever doubt my loyalties to the crown?”
“Oh no,” Lord Kim replied smoothly,
his smile still friendly as he inspected his sleeves. “…the British one, at least.
I know how strong those loyalties are.” He added as an afterthought, so softly
that only Joonmyun heard, not the lower ranked officers that had come with them
to greet the ambassador.
Joonmyun flinched, but kept his
smile in place. “I do what is best for my country.”
“I suppose we shall discover the
truth behind those words soon enough.” Lord Kim continued amiably.
The lower officers had caught sight
of Lord Kim’s attire and edged away from him, afraid to be associated with the
man so deliberately calling attention to himself. Joonmyun thought them
ridiculous. They all looked the perfect example of British nobility in their
waistcoats and top hats. There was no way anyone would associate the two. He
didn’t move from his place beside Lord Kim, although his hand tightened around
his walking cane.
The sound of a bleating horn caught
their attention and stopped the dangerous conversation before it began in
earnest. The automobile carrying Lord Bruce was one of five in Hanseong and one
of nine in all of Joseon. If Joonmyun remembered, this was the personal vehicle
of the Lord High Chancellor. Joonmyun’s own sat in the garage attached to his
manor house. He’d had no need to flaunt it around town. Besides, the fumes were
noxious.
He was not surprised that the Lord
High Chancellor had offered to use his own to pick up Lord Bruce from the
hotel. It did irk him slightly, however. He had been in charge of Lord Bruce’s
comfort during his stay in Hanseong. He had done everything in his power to
keep the entire ordeal orderly and clean.
He hoped, at the very least, that
Lord Bruce had stayed at the hotel suite he had reserved for him.
The vehicle pulled to a stop in
front of the steps, a few yards from where the men stood. A driver opened his
door and hurried around to the back. He was European, with blonde hair. His
eyes were hidden behind a pair of goggles to keep the dust from his eyes.
Two men appeared out of the back
seat. Lord Oh was easily recognizable. The second was Lord Bruce. He was a tall
man, with a bushy beard the color of rust and a matching handlebar mustache both peppered with gray. The lines around his mouth and eyes showed he laughed
often. He had been fit once, board-shouldered and muscled, but in his later
years he’d acquired a bit of a stomach and a second chin mostly hidden behind
his beard.
Joonmyun and Lord Kim bowed as he
stepped forward, and the lesser officers behind them hurried to do the same.
Joonmyun straightened and caught Lord Oh’s gaze. The other man was smiling
readily, a smug smile that Joonmyun disliked. He wanted to ask him why he’d
decided to interfere with Joonmyun’s duties but he would not do so in front of
Lord Bruce and others of the House of Lords. That would have been disrespectful
to someone older than himself and so he held his tongue on the matter.
Lord Oh noticed Lord Kim and
laughed brightly, “My, my, but you certainly do stand out.”
Lord Kim gave another nod toward
Lord Bruce, ignoring Lord Oh who had voiced the comment. “I know how interested
Lord Bruce was in the traditions of Joseon’s court on his first visit to our
capital.”
Lord Bruce’s eyes lit up. “Yes, yes
I remember now. Is this the outfit you mentioned?”
“Yes sir.” Lord Kim continued smoothly,
and Joonmyun didn’t fail to notice the tightness of Lord Oh’s jaw as he began
to grind his teeth.
Lord Bruce laughed, “The color is
quite noticeable, isn’t it? You’re Lord Kim aren’t you?”
The Cabinet Secretary gave a nod. “Yes,
Lord Bruce. I am his majesty of Joseon’s Cabinet Secretary. I am pleased you
remember.” He motioned toward Joonmyun. “This is Lord Kim, the Lord Great
Chamberlain.”
Lord Bruce grabbed Joonmyun’s hand
in his larger one and gave it a brisk shake. “Another Kim?”
“There is no relation sir.” Lord
Kim nodded again. “He inherited the position this year after his father’s
death.”
“I see, I see.” Lord Bruce nodded. “You
were in charge of my lodgings, were you not?”
“I was, Lord Bruce.” Joonmyun felt
a tingling at the back of his neck. Had something gone amiss?
“What a marvelous place. What is
the hotel called?”
“The Palace of Pearls, Lord Bruce.”
“The food served was fantastic.”
Lord Bruce praised. “You chose well.”
Joonmyun hadn’t realized he’d been
holding his breath until he released it and felt winded. He gave a gracious
smile and another nod of thanks. “I am glad you are enjoying your stay. If you
have an request do not hesitate to tell me.”
“Shall we take a tour of the House
of Lords now, Lord Bruce…” Lord Oh tried to steer the other man toward the
steps, glaring icy daggers at Lord Kim.
Lord Bruce’s smile fell and he
turned toward Lord Oh with a harsh look of his own. “The last time I was in
Hanseong I mentioned an interest to you as well, Lord Oh, but when I arrived at
the train station I found myself bereft of my curiosity. Perhaps you would do
well to remember that.” He walked briskly up the stairs, the lower rank
officers scrambling out of his way.
Lord Oh stiffened, before he
stalked after the other man.
Joonmyun glanced at Lord Kim. The
other man was still smiling. “It seems as if Lord Oh is losing favor. How
unfortunate.”
As Lord Kim walked ahead of him up
the steps, Joonmyun was left to wonder if Lord Kim had anything to do with the
incident. Perhaps he should have taken Lord Kim’s nickname more seriously.
Dogs were frightening creatures
when backed into a corner.
Sungkyunkwan
University, Hanseong
Wednesday,
9:00am, March 30th, 1858
Kyungsoo
cleared his throat and shifted the large box in his arms. He looked down at his
watch and tried to drown out the thrum of conversation on the other side of the
door. Someone bumped into him, telling him to move out of the way as they
walked inside.
Kyungsoo
blinked and took a few steps back. He was the same age as half of these
students—and younger than some—and the only reason he was the one standing in
front of them lecturing was because he’d spent his entire educational life in
British boarding schools and universities. If any of these students had been
given the same opportunity they’d be doing the same thing—and probably doing it
better.
He suddenly
felt ten times more insignificant and a million times more nervous than he had
two minutes ago. He also realized that he needed to prove himself. He took one
last, deep breath and braced his shoulder on the door, pushing it open as he
went.
The lecture
hall was designed like a proscenium, with a large space at the front of the
room and chairs that surrounded it in lines that rose upwards in the back. It
was monstrously large and filled to the brim with students. He glanced briefly
at the top tier, which he noticed was occupied by the older students, judging
by the badges on their jackets. Then he looked to the podium and small table in
the central space at the bottom, a few yards from the door where he stood.
This was
not designed to be a medical lecture hall but it was the only one large enough
for the majority of the student body. He began wondering how he would go about
this lecture without the proper space and tools. Perhaps he could have a second
table brought in?
No one paid
him any attention as he walked up to the podium. The box in his arms was heavy
and that, coupled with the complete disregard they were showing him, irritated
him. He glanced around one last time before he let the box fall onto the small
table with a loud bang.
The
classroom went silent as all heads turned to the podium and therefore Kyungsoo.
Kyungsoo had given presentations in front of entire lecture halls full of
British scholars that thought he was an inferior human being. That made this a
bit easier to handle. But what if they thought his knowledge was lacking? If he
messed up they’d say he was a failure and that he should have given this chance
of a British education to someone else.
He cleared
his throat and tried to look less terrified than he felt. He knew his big eyes
didn’t help. “Good morning. I am Dr. Do Kyungsoo, your professor for this
lecture.”
No one
looked like they believed him. He didn’t blame them. He busied himself with
emptying the box to keep from looking at them. “I had the honor of riding the
train here from Haeju. I recognize several of you from the ride.” He paused and
glanced up, watching several people shift in their chairs. “I also overheard
several of you complaining about having to take this mandatory lecture course.”
Some of the students exchanged glances, now
worried. What else had he heard on that train? They hadn’t suspected him
because he hardly looked like a professor. He could see them mentally retracing
their steps and trying to recall their conversations on board. He continued
talking, walking to the front of the table.
“I cannot
promise you that this will be interesting. Very few of you will find medical
biomechanics half as fascinating as I do.” He heard a low exhalation of breath
as most of the students tried to suppress groans. He ignored it, “But I can
promise that it will be informative. And that is why you came to Sungkyunkwan,
isn’t it? To become informed, intelligent individuals.”
He caught
the eyes of a few students. The ones in the front few rows—first
years—straightened in their seats. This was a good sign, at least. “I can see
that some of you are older students. I hope that you will understand that I
will be teaching this course under the assumption that you have no prior medical
knowledge. I’ll apologize to the medical students now.”
There was a
ripple of laughter that went through the lecture hall and he picked out the
medical students and filed away the information for later. He clapped his hands
together, glanced down at his pocket watch and noted the time, before he began
the lecture in earnest.
“Long ago,
there was a belief that base metals could be combined with heat and magic to
create the most valuable thing in existence. Eternal life. This was the field
of alchemy and alchemists lived and died striving to discover these secrets.
45 years
ago, a doctor discovered that metal and heat could be combined to create just
that. There was no elixir of life, but doctors discovered something else. The
ability to give life back to those that had lost a part of it. An arm, a leg,
even a lung. A mechanized lung.
We did not
combine metal and heat and magic. We combined metal and circuitry and science. This, coupled with medical
knowledge, has created the revolutionary process that has saved our dwindling
populations in the throes of a deadly virus.
We can
bring back what was lost. In a way, current doctors have become the alchemists
of old. We cannot make people immortal, but we can do the next best thing. We
can prolong the life you have.”
He paused
for a moment and glanced around the lecture hall. They were all hanging on his
words, waiting for what was to come next. He’d worked on this little opening
speech for two weeks, and it was certainly fulfilling its purpose.
“So perhaps
medical biomechanics does not interest you. But I am sure that if you were to
lose a limb right now, you would thank your God that there are those that are interested. Because the skill to
attach circuitry and gears to nerves and bone is not easily developed.
My lectures
will focus on the process of
biomechanics in attaching artificial limbs. Anything beyond that will be far
too advanced for the non-medical students here. I will touch on the very basic
concepts of nerve circuitry. Assignments will be given every two weeks and will
consist of written responses to questions I will give during lecture. I suggest
taking extensive notes.”
Some of the
students weren’t pleased with this. They exchanged glances, looks that told him
they thought this lecture was a waste of their time. They weren’t all medical
students after all.
But even
the most basic of knowledge could save a life, and that was Kyungsoo’s purpose.
To save lives, even if he wasn’t physically operating on them.
“Surgeons
were once called glorified butchers. They killed more than they saved.
Alchemists fed their clients quicksilver and unknown concoctions and drove them
mad. Somehow we have learned to combine aspects of the past with the
innovations of the present to create a field of study that can truly be called
medicine.
But before
we can understand how this new technology works, you must understand the body
in its basic form.” He grabbed a roll of paper from his box and unraveled it to
reveal a detailed sketch of the human body.
“We will
begin with the skeletal system.”
[A/N: I realized that I use a bit of vocabulary that you might not
be familiar with, so I decided that if there is anything I think might need
explanation I will add it into a footnote section at the bottom of each
chapter. If there is anything I forgot to place here that you need explained
feel free to ask me.]
Footnotes:
Dalryeongpo: the traditional court attire for court officials. The
color denotes rank. Red is for 1st senior to 3rd senior
rank. Blue for 3rd junior to 6th junior rank. Green for 7th
junior to 9th junior rank.
Hyungbae: a rank badge made up of embroidered cloud patterns and
animals. Hyungbae with two animals are reserved for 1st to 3rd
rank.
Gakdae: a belt typically worn by royalty. Can also refer to a
simple sash.
