Emily Brontë.
Wuthering Heights.
When it comes to classics, don't people often have certain prejudices?
Like, it must be well-written to be considered a classic masterpiece, and who am I, a mere medical student, to say anything about it? But still, I always thought it'd be kind of boring…
So, for a long time, aside from reading for the Korean SAT, I didn't really invest much in classics.
'But… the works that shattered those prejudices for me were *The Moon and Sixpence* and *Wuthering Heights*.'
Later, I found out something interesting. Somerset Maugham, the author of *The Moon and Sixpence*, had praised *Wuthering Heights*, which hadn't been widely recognized at the time, as an immortal work, leading to its reevaluation.
Anyway.
Now wasn't the time to be thinking about this.
'Emily Brontë… she died young, right?'
Around thirty?
She probably died around that age.
By today's standards, that might seem like an early death.
But…
I couldn't help but wonder if rabies had something to do with it.
"Emily Brontë… is that your name?"
"Yes."
After untangling my thoughts, I asked the child again.
Now that I looked closely, her eyes were so bright they seemed to sparkle.
Yeah, someone like her would write something like that.
"Is there… something wrong with my sister's name?"
Even though I was wearing a doctor's coat, I was still an Asian, and since I wasn't doing much besides asking questions, her older sister stepped in.
She looked just as sharp, if not more so.
Of course, she would.
'Charlotte Brontë… *Jane Eyre*.'
Her sister was the one who wrote *Jane Eyre*.
I enjoyed that one too.
She wrote it well.
No wonder it became a classic and was adapted into movies multiple times.
In other words, they were a pair of genius sisters… but I had no idea one of them had been bitten by a dog as a child.
'Well, of course not.'
Even though I considered myself a well-read medical student, it wasn't like I had time to read much outside my major.
And during my intern and residency years, I lived like a slave, so the only literature I read were papers and textbooks.
So, calling me ignorant would be a bit harsh, don't you think?
"No, it's a good name. She'll grow up to be a great person."
"How can a woman become a great person?"
Oh-ho.
Of course.
That's why she wrote *Jane Eyre*.
In an era when female protagonists were expected to be pretty and submissive.
It felt strange to be face-to-face with the author of a book I liked so much.
Maybe that's why, even though she was being sharp with me, I still had a smile on my face.
"Why are you so quick to judge? She can become one. But to do that… we'll need to fix this first."
"I brought a frying pan. Can you… can you cauterize it with this?"
"No, that's not going to happen."
Cauterizing with a hot iron was horrifying enough, but a frying pan?
If I hadn't been here, I might have just let it happen.
It was the limitation of the times.
But I was here now.
And this was Emily Brontë.
One of the most iconic authors of 19th-century England!
Yet she died at thirty, leaving behind only *Wuthering Heights*!
'I'll make sure you live longer, so you can write at least one more book.'
Then the number of immortal works would double.
Ah…
Future generations would be so lucky.
They'd have so much more to read!
"What do you mean, no? You don't look much older than me."
Despite the grand plans in my head, reality was cold.
"Hey, who are you to come here and act like this? Yesterday, you even took away a dog. Huh? This yellow circle…"
Charlotte Brontë, along with the doctor who had been treating Emily, started criticizing me.
Well…
To them, I probably looked like a teenager.
I was young, and being Asian, I probably looked even younger than my peers.
But while Charlotte might not know better, the doctor should have.
"Who am I? I'm your brother. Dr. Pyeong. Don't you know me? I developed anesthetics and painkillers. Recently, I even created antibiotics."
"Uh…"
"Why are your eyes rolling? Don't tell me you were about to call me a monkey?"
"N-no, of course not."
Why?
Because Liston was here.
If you wanted to insult me in front of him, you'd need to bring at least a company of armed soldiers.
Even then, it wouldn't be easy.
This was the guy who cut off the police chief's mother's leg, after all.
"Listen, this friend of mine is very skilled. He happens to know a lot about dog bite wounds too."
"And who are you to vouch for his skills?"
Wow…
That didn't seem to help either.
Charlotte Brontë was staring wide-eyed at Liston.
Kid, you shouldn't do that.
This guy might look like a doctor, but he's a thug at heart.
"Hahaha!"
I was worried he might hit her, but Liston just laughed like a spoiled chaebol heir who'd been slapped for the first time.
"I'm Dr. Liston. Haven't you heard of me? I'm quite famous."
"Oh… Dr. Liston! Of course, I know you."
"And this is Dr. Pyeong. As I said, he developed anesthetics, painkillers, and antibiotics."
It was a bit of an exaggeration to call them anesthetics, painkillers, and antibiotics at this stage, but it wasn't entirely a lie either.
I chuckled and shrugged.
"Ah… I see. Well, then…"
It didn't seem to help much, but Charlotte Brontë nodded at me anyway.
That was good.
Without trust, treatment wouldn't work.
Especially in this era, where treatments were often questionable at best.
"I guarantee it. No matter where you go in London, you won't find a more proper treatment than what I can provide."
The first thing that came to mind was a medicine made from dried dog brains and medulla.
It was absurd to be saying this, but it was still a far better treatment than cauterizing with fire.
After all, this was something documented in medical literature.
Our dear Dr. Louis Pasteur…
The man who changed human history. His work was something you could trust.
"Hmm… what do you think?"
Charlotte, clearly conflicted, rolled her eyes and looked at Emily.
Emily glanced between me, the frying pan, and the hot iron the doctor had brought out, and decided that anything was better than a hot iron or frying pan. She took my hand.
"I'll go with this doctor."
Good choice.
As expected of the person who wrote *Wuthering Heights*.
I smiled and said,
"You made the right decision. Let's take a look at the wound first."
"Okay."
"This might hurt a bit. Can you handle it?"
"I can bear it."
She tried to smile, but the wound didn't look good.
Even if it wasn't rabies, it looked like it could get infected.
'Maybe cauterizing is the answer here?'
In an era where even people didn't brush their teeth properly, let alone pets, who knows what kind of germs were in that stray dog's mouth?
I glanced to the side and saw a dog drooling.
It was looking around for something to bite, but when Liston picked up a knife, it started whining.
That didn't mean it wasn't rabid.
It had bitten someone just yesterday.
"Joseph, bring some water. Boil it and bring it here."
"Huh?"
"We're not washing it with boiled water. Boiling kills the bad stuff inside."
"Ah."
Anyway, I decided to examine the wound first.
Luckily, it wasn't raining, so the medicine (?) I'd left on the roof should be fine.
Besides, I couldn't just slaughter the dog right now.
Leaving the bite wound untreated wasn't a good idea, so I figured I'd do what I could.
"This might sting a bit."
Joseph, who had been assisting for a while now, quickly boiled the water.
It took some time to cool, but given London's chilly weather, it didn't take too long.
"Ugh."
As I poured the lukewarm water, I examined the wound more closely.
Looking at it, I realized that the principle was to assess the wound before doing anything.
Treating without knowing the extent of the injury…
That was just strange.
"You're doing well. Let's see… hmm."
As I cleaned the wound, the bloodstains and dirt from the dog's teeth washed away.
It wasn't just from pouring water—I had to scrub it with my gloved hands.
In other words, it must have been really painful, but Emily endured it well.
Clearly, someone destined to make history was extraordinary even as a child.
'Suturing this carelessly would be dangerous.'
Looking at the torn wound, my surgical instincts kicked in.
What instincts?
The urge to suture.
Even with the crude tools here, I could have stitched this bite wound perfectly.
Luckily, it wasn't a deep tear, just a bite.
But still…
'If anaerobic bacteria grow inside, she'll die.'
There's a term for it: a dirty wound.
And a dog bite was the epitome of that.
How could it be clean?
In any case, treating this kind of wound required a different approach than a cut or stab wound.
Rushing to treat it could lead to worse outcomes than cauterizing.
'Then *Wuthering Heights* would never exist…'
How could I live with that guilt?
That's why I carefully examined the wound and decided to suture only the torn muscle, leaving the outer wound open.
"Are you really going to leave it like this?"
Of course, to a surgeon, this was unacceptable.
Surgeons are the type who want to cut out anything wrong and stitch up anything torn.
And Liston, being the epitome of that, was even more adamant.
"Yes."
But I couldn't close what shouldn't be closed.
"Why?"
Of course, I couldn't just refuse without a reason.
I needed a justification.
Especially since I was dealing with Liston, not Joseph or Alfred.
"There's a saying in Joseon…"
I wasn't sure why I brought up Joseon.
But whenever I needed to spin a tale, it just came out naturally.
It was something like, "Even if you're in a hurry, don't rush the wound."