Clip-clop, clip-clop.
I was traveling the same road I had taken not long ago for a party, but this time it was for a house call.
Although Brother Liston's carriage was quite luxurious, it still couldn't compare to Sir Jamie's.
This classic elegance… was something that couldn't be easily imitated by those who had quickly amassed wealth by cutting off others' limbs.
Not that this carriage was entirely perfect, though.
Occasional green powder.
It seemed Sir Jamie… had also coated this carriage with arsenic.
"We would've almost died if we hadn't tested it back then, huh."
There was no way Liston hadn't noticed what I saw.
He picked up a green wood chip that had fallen on the floor.
"That's right."
"Tsk. To think we almost ended up so horribly."
I also felt chills at Liston's words.
I remembered those who had been executed with arsenic back then.
Unlike hanging, they died slowly…
Their appearance was horrifying, but what was even more terrifying was the reaction that followed.
- The victims' families were pleased. How about continuing executions with arsenic?
- Ah, they were so happy about it, haha.
It was understandable that the bereaved families felt that way.
Hanging is somewhat instantaneous, right?
In comparison, consider the suffering of the victims.
It was undoubtedly horrifying and must have been prolonged.
In that sense, the more horrifying an execution method was, the better.
Still…
'I just can't bring myself to trust the investigative techniques of this era.'
Could there really not be a single wrongfully convicted death row inmate?
The moment I thought that might not be the case, I felt uneasy.
No, it's not like such cases didn't exist even in South Korea.
It happened even in the late 20th century.
Cops would, uh, beat people up and create criminals out of them.
Why would it be any different here?
"Ugh."
What snapped me out of my thoughts was a smell.
No, calling it a smell is a bit too polite.
A stench.
Yes, a stench that rattled my skull.
"I heard they decided to go with hanging because arsenic was too expensive. I guess there's no budget to waste on death row inmates. They can't even manage to build a proper sewer system, those bastards."
"I heard Paris is doing it… Doesn't it feel like they're not just following but leading the way?"
"There's nothing we can do about that. The ignorant folks are saying things like, 'It happened because you put a curse on them,' and 'As expected from an honorary Englishman'…"
"Is that still helping?"
"Still helping? Even the nobles know about it now. You might even receive a medal because of that."
"Sigh…"
These crazy bastards…
I mean, isn't this the age of science?
The era of modernization?
How can talk of curses even make sense?
And even if I had cast a curse… talking about a medal because Parisians died?
"If you were white, you would've definitely received it. It's a shame."
"I… I don't need such a medal. More importantly, did the sewer construction get scrapped entirely?"
"Ah… That's what I heard. Well, this is a bit inappropriate to discuss here."
Liston cautiously looked around.
Since this was London, where there were always plenty of people, it was crowded here too.
However, no one dared to glance at the carriage.
Its appearance alone gave off the vibe, "A noble or someone of equivalent status is riding here!"
No, they'd probably react similarly even if we were just walking.
Who would look twice at Liston's face?
One might look in disbelief, wondering if it's a dream or reality, but that would probably last only a second.
"No, just tell me. Who's going to hear?"
"The coachman is there."
"The coachman? It's so noisy outside. I can barely hear you as it is."
"Really? Well, then."
If 19th-century people were physically healthier than 21st-century people in any aspect, it would probably be their hearing.
There were no earphones here.
Still, I'm still a teenager.
The coachman uncle looked at least 50.
Of course, I don't know his actual age, but with that face, he couldn't be a teenager.
Whether Liston had similar thoughts or not, he cautiously opened his mouth.
"There's talk that our British Empire is preparing for war."
"Huh? War?"
"Shh. Not so loud."
"Okay, okay. But with whom…?"
1830.
Was there a war in Europe around this time?
I've heard of the Hundred Years' Peace.
It meant that for 100 years until World War I broke out in 1914, it was incredibly peaceful! Or something like that…
Not that our proud imperialist Europeans didn't fight any wars at all.
The Crimean War, where Florence Nightingale famously served—almost like a world war to medical professionals—was around the 1850s, I think.
But what else was there?
"Qing. Your homeland side."
"Qing. Ah."
The Qing Dynasty…
Well, during this era, did Europeans even treat people from other continents as human?
Some did treat East Asians somewhat as civilized people, strangely enough…
But that was only in comparison to how they treated Black people, not that they were considered equal to whites.
Just look at me—I'm called an honorary white and all that crap.
'Opium…'
Since it was the default of the era, the Opium Wars immediately came to mind.
These bastards.
Using drugs as a weapon to destroy a country.
Aren't they just like demons?
'No, are they?'
What's confusing is…
Opium was often used as medicine too.
They consumed it like some kind of beverage, with things like opium tincture, right?
They used morphine freely too.
I'm not one to use the word "freely" lightly, so the fact that I'm using it means something.
'Did they really think it was something good and just sold it…?'
I don't know.
How could I possibly know the inner workings of the British Empire?
No, even if I knew, it wouldn't be of much use.
What could a mere doctor like me do about world affairs…
"I heard this through the grapevine. Your name came up."
"Me?"
Why was I mentioned?
"Isn't it pretty well-known that you like opium?"
"No, that's a misunderstanding!"
"Why are you embarrassed? You can still function perfectly in society even if you like opium. Anyway, it seems you're not the only one."
"Huh?"
"It seems Asians are particularly fond of opium. There are even opium dens. Of course… we also have people who like opium, but most of them are from the lower classes, aren't they?"
There are many theories about drug addiction.
No other drug has as much impact on individuals and society as a whole as narcotics.
Moreover, since narcotics are rightly named, most of their effects are negative, leading to extensive research on them.
Among these, research on addiction is overwhelmingly prominent, and there's a theory:
If a person derives sufficient happiness from other aspects—such as family, friends, lovers, social status, or consumption—even if exposed to the same drug, they are less likely to become addicted. It makes sense, doesn't it?
The lower classes here aren't just suffering in the usual sense.
No, originally, some factories even gave drugs to workers who got injured while doing harsh labor…?
"That's right."
"But then you appeared."
"No, why me?"
"You're clearly an intellectual in anyone's eyes. This isn't my words but others', so don't feel too bad. In their view, you're not just smart for an Asian but simply smart. With Sir Jamie and Sir Damien not being enough, even the princess favors you, so that says it all."
"What does me being an intellectual have to do with…?"
"There's an opinion that even educated and wealthy Asians might be crazy about opium. So, they looked into it and heard that indeed, they are obsessed."
"Sigh."
Crazy.
Is that how it works?
"There might be a war with Qing soon. According to you, Joseon and Qing aren't particularly on good terms, right? If they were close or something, I could put in a word. Not sure how much it would help, though."
"Well…"
I looked at Liston for a moment.
He looked terrifying.
I should've gotten used to it by now, but he still looked incredibly scary.
But our London doctors and nobles, true to their tea-sipping nature, had nerves of steel even in the face of such a visage.
Besides, the Opium Wars… they'd been preparing for this since the 18th century, right?
Would they really not go through with it just because I said not to?
'Qing and Joseon probably don't have much to do with each other anyway…?'
And Joseon.
My country, my homeland.
Thinking about it, it's also the country that stole three years of my already short, cancer-ridden life for military service, but remembering that also makes my heart ache.
I'm a Korean who nostalgically misses a bowl of national pride, whether I like it or not…
But that doesn't mean I'm as devoted as those who fought for independence.
It's not like my mind spins in that direction…
Moreover, by now, the decline must have firmly set in.
Sunjo… the Andong Kim clan.
"No, not really?"
"Good, that's a relief. Honestly, would they listen if I said anything? They won't even build a sewer system. But if they win there and get their hands on some money, who knows?"
"That's a relief."
"Yes. Ah, I think we've arrived?"
If there's nothing you can do, sometimes it's best to just wait and see.
There was a monster like Kim Yoo-jin, the
Not that I could do something like that later…
Anyway, it's somewhat rationalized.
Good, I feel better now!
"You've arrived. Please come in."
I followed Liston inside.
Passing through the lavish garden and entering the building, I saw walls with traces of green wallpaper still stuck here and there.
They must've panicked and torn it off.
Would they have left it up after seeing those vicious-looking prisoners drop dead one after another right before their eyes?
'It's a good thing. Thinking about giving birth here…'
Wouldn't the baby die, the mother die, the midwife die—everyone die?
"Blundell is here too."
Thinking it was fortunate in many ways, I followed the butler inside and saw Blundell, who had arrived earlier—the very person who had called me here.
I didn't want to resent him.
Rather than causing an accident by trying to perform a cesarean section alone, calling me beforehand was praiseworthy.
"Ah, you're here! Phew."
"Why? Is it not good?"
"Ugh… ugh…"
I glanced at the moaning patient and first asked Blundell.
After all, he's a doctor.
Since he was here, he must have some grasp of the situation.
"Uh, I'm not sure."
And Blundell confidently replied that he didn't know.
But since he was perceptive, he quickly added more upon seeing my discomfort.
"Hmm."
"She's in pain. But all mothers in labor are in pain. Isn't that normal?"
"Yes, and?"
"But she's been in pain for a long time. That's not good. Some give birth quickly."
"And…?"
"I'm not sure if the head is positioned right or not. Even when I feel it, it's…"
"Ugh."
In the end, it was just a long-winded way of saying he didn't know.
'Fuck, Lord.'
Swearing and seeking divine help, I approached the patient.
It was only because memories from performing cesarean sections came back to me—if this had been yesterday…
I didn't even want to imagine it.