"Ah… I see what you mean. I did think it was strange."
Father—
Well, the father in this life burst into laughter only after hearing the full story.
Until just moments ago, his face had been utterly plastered with worry…
Though, I suppose I can understand why.
After not seeing his son for so long, he hears his nickname isn't just anything, but "Moron"…
"So it's something like a 'god who heals sickness'? Is that it?"
Anyway, Father was freed from his misunderstanding.
This time, it was Mother who was the problem.
"No, it's not like that, it's just 'god'…"
"Then isn't that rather blasphemous? This mother of yours once dreamed of becoming a nun, you know."
"W-well, that's true. But…"
"Then let's just say it's a 'moron' who heals sickness so well, he's like a god."
"Ah… alright. Let's go with 'moron'."
It didn't last long.
Because I calmly accepted that I was a moron.
No, let's call it a favor.
Since I made a big concession.
"Anyway… I heard you have more nicknames."
Besides, for practical reasons, it was better to quickly move past a mild nickname like "moron."
I have many nicknames surrounding me, and every single one of them is strange, right?
But…
Let me state clearly here and now: it's all misunderstandings and slander.
I was in the middle of explaining myself when I suddenly looked at my parents.
I don't know if it's because the 19th century has strong sunlight or something, but aging is really rapid.
My parents are only in their forties at most, right?
Yet both Father and Mother looked every bit like middle-aged elders.
'Weren't those guys from Doctor Friends or whatever also around forty?'
Even including the friend with a bit less hair, they all looked young.
They looked even younger in person than on camera.
Of course, those people were relatively youthful for their age.
Still…
They look like they're over twenty years apart? Is that for real?
'It's not really surprising…'
I don't know the exact statistics.
Even though it's the British Empire and the administrative power is insane, so they have some grasp of it, the slums are still an unknown territory.
Anyway, the average lifespan is roughly around 45 years.
Which means my parents only have about 5 years left…
I know this isn't a medical way of thinking.
But.
'They said human lifespan hasn't changed…'
Isn't that what all scholars say?
What do those guys fiddling at their desks instead of being in the field know?
They probably don't know everything, huh?
Just look at their faces.
I'd believe it if you said they were sixty.
"Instead of staying here like this, let's get a health checkup."
"Huh…?"
"What's that? I don't want to. I hate hospitals."
I'm getting anxious.
It's not that I was particularly a bad son.
Rather, you could say I was a filial son.
Especially from a Confucian perspective.
If a child's success and bringing honor to the family is considered filial piety, then achieving this much success as a Korean in a faraway land is pretty great, right?
Just look now.
The place we're staying is the house of a quite successful wealthy man in London.
Moreover, we're not just staying as guests, but as business partners and life saviors.
"It's not scary. Don't you trust your son?"
"I trust you, but…"
"I'm saying this based on what I've seen and heard so far."
However, from a child's perspective, is there anything more natural than breathing than wanting one's parents to live healthily for even one more day?
There must be many things I can do…
As a doctor, I declare that early screening is the greatest act of filial piety.
So when I try to do that, the resistance is no joke.
"Hey, it's fine. I even specially borrowed someone today."
"Borrowed? A person?"
"Yes, Duke Jamie's personal… secretary. Secretary."
"You can borrow the Duke's secretary? You really…"
"I told you your son is successful. Anyway, come on, take one of these cups each."
"Cups?"
Anyway, the two of them took the glass cups I handed them and looked at me.
I was also blankly staring at them before I finally came to my senses.
'Ah, right, right.'
In our center, handing someone a cup to collect urine has long become common sense, but that's not the case among ordinary people, right?
So I kindly explained.
Naturally, there was resistance from both of them.
"Why that…"
"In Joseon, it's manners not to relieve oneself in front of others."
"That's manners anywhere in the world."
"Isn't London an exception?"
"That's what I mean. This kid has been influenced."
"No, no. I'm not saying to do it here, but to go and collect it and bring it back, right?"
Truly Confucianism.
No, didn't both of them dream of becoming a priest and a nun?
Then why on earth is Confucianism so deeply embedded in their bones?
"Please collect it. It might sound strange, but… this is all part of excellent medical care."
"Ah… If the professor says so."
"I understand. Oh my, how embarrassing."
Is that why?
They listened well to Professor Liston.
Though, even if it wasn't specifically because of Confucianism, they'd have no choice but to listen to Liston.
Unless you have a pretty strong heart, where… huh? Would you even think of talking back?
"Here, here it is."
"Here. Sigh."
Anyway, I was soon able to collect my parents' urine.
'Good color… no solids. Good.'
There's a reason for using glass cups.
Realistically, examinations are bound to be inadequate, right?
In the 21st century, you just swipe a paper strip and get results for blood, protein, and sugar, but that's not possible here.
"You look pleased."
"Yes. But I still don't know the taste."
"What are you talking about…?"
"The taste? Were you really the one who made people drink urine?"
So I should at least examine it properly this way.
At least serious STDs can be detected.
Fortunately, there was nothing wrong, so I was about to grin when I noticed my parents, especially Mother, shaking their heads with noticeably dark expressions.
Anyway, the nickname is the problem.
I need to wipe out those drunkard bastards one of these days.
"There's such a thing," I said vaguely, then handed the two urine cups to Sir Jamie's personal secretary.
"Please take care of this."
"Yes, of course."
It was that prisoner from before.
He had been freed thanks to Sir Jamie's petition.
In exchange, he ended up in a situation where he had to taste urine every day…
But compared to his original fate of dying miserably in prison, it was fortunate.
Well, this gentleman probably thinks similarly.
"I'm sorry."
"Oh, it's my duty. The urine of Pyeong-yi Shin's parents is an honor."
Can't you tell from him saying things like that?
Of course, the reason this gentleman is so compliant isn't just because he was released from prison.
"If it weren't for Pyeong-yi Shin… I might have ended up eating feces…"
"That… I stopped it, so don't worry. But just in case, if that happens, tell me. Sir Jamie listens to me, after all."
"Yes, yes. Thank you."
He almost switched careers from sommelier to 'fecesmelier,' but I stopped it.
"Hmm… bitter."
"Is it just bitter?"
Anyway, while waiting a bit, the sommelier first sampled my father's.
Since it was in a glass cup and it's a culture where beer or white wine is commonly drunk, it looked quite plausible.
Above all, the sommelier's attitude was truly reverent.
"No. Should I say it's acrid…? A healthy taste. Seems fine."
Moreover, what he said was quite plausible.
It's not that; during this period, whether in Britain or elsewhere, the concept of public education was lacking, so you could tell if someone was an intellectual just by hearing them talk…
He certainly had a slick tongue; perhaps he wasn't falsely arrested for fraud after all.
"The mother's is similar."
"Good. That's a relief."
"I'm glad to be of help. Once a month should suffice?"
"For checkup purposes… Yes, that would be good."
"Yes, of course. Then, I'll take my leave."
Thanks to that, he enjoyed such great favor from Sir Jamie that he even had a personal coachman.
There's an old saying, 'Licking the king's hemorrhoids and receiving five carriages'… it was exactly that situation.
If you could enjoy such luxury in exchange for tasting urine a few times a day, it would be considered a quite successful life in 19th century London, at least.
"This is good."
"Have I now witnessed such a blasphemous act?"
"I heard it was a rumor… Did that person really drink my urine?"
If that gentleman said so, it was believable.
There are a few other sommeliers in London you could put out there, but he's still the best.
The fact that he rose to that position despite being an ex-convict says it all.
"Now, this time…"
"Are you even listening to me?"
"Honey, I heard London is like Babylon…"
I chuckled listening to my parents, who were still healthy—at least without diabetes—talk.
For some reason, they were even more startled by my laughter, but I decided to ignore it.
I had a lot to do.
"Ah, so this is that blood pressure gauge."
"There were many failures. But not anymore."
"Just by looking at it… I can't even tell what this thing does. Anyway, it's not the method of sticking a tube into a blood vessel, right?"
"Of course. If it were, how could I do it to my parents? No, that's something you shouldn't do to people."
"Well, that's true too."
As I said that, and Liston nodded, I looked at Blundell.
If Liston is a loud madman, isn't Blundell a quiet lunatic?
Was it a mistake to entrust the very sensitive business of blood transfusion to such a guy?
There had been a few accidents.
Well… his intentions were good.
Normally, don't you need several measures for blood donation?
Among those, the only realistically possible one was weight, so I told him to weigh them, but it seemed there were quite a few cases of dizziness or fainting after donation.
"Here, Father. Hold out your arm."
"It's… it's okay, right?"
"I told you I won't do anything strange."
"You just made someone drink urine."
"That's his job. It's a new profession I created."
"Aren't you afraid of God?"
Back then, I casually mentioned, 'If your blood pressure is naturally low, that can happen,' and it seems he went and measured blood pressure after hearing that.
The traditional method…
That is, by measuring the height of the blood fountain.
"Does this really work?"
"I told you it does."
After several such failures, Blundell, more than anyone else present, watched with gleaming eyes as I measured my father's blood pressure.
The other guys weren't slacking off either.
19th-century medicine might be backward, but their passion is top-notch.
'They don't even know what use measuring blood pressure is… in a way, this is also my luck.'
Is there anything more enjoyable than teaching guys who are eager to learn?
I was thinking such thoughts while measuring…
"150… over 100."
Oh no, the blood pressure is high.
Well, Father…
Unusually for someone from this era in Britain, he has a good complexion.
Even if not wealthy, he lives a comfortable life.
Above all, he's well-nourished from eating delicious Korean food, not the tasteless English stuff.
"Wow. High."
"He's healthy."
"I'm jealous. No wonder he's Noble Kimga."
Whether they knew of my concern or not, the doctors around were congratulating my father.
"Oh, haha. Well, yes."
Father was feeling embarrassed.
The road ahead…
Is really fucking long.