Only after wielding Dr. Liston as a weapon did the unruly bunch—who had been swinging their blades recklessly—finally fall into line.
Honestly, Professor Blundell helped too.
This man…
A demon of obstetrics, with a near 50% mortality rate—so incompetent that "quack" would be a compliment—was somehow a renowned obstetrician in London.
No matter how much I thought about it, it was downright bizarre.
But well, what could I do? That's just how it was.
"Dr. Pyeung, you're truly brilliant. This will definitely help. Do you often have patients struggling to breathe? Our hospital has saved quite a few cases using this procedure."
"R-really?"
"Of course! Have you ever heard me spout nonsense?"
"N-no, Professor."
His reputation was such that even his wild claims were taken seriously.
Frankly, from a 21st-century medical standpoint, almost everything Blundell said was nonsense…
But for now, he was being helpful.
"Alright… Yes, good. Everyone's made a U-shaped incision. Some went too deep—those of you, stay put until I give further instructions."
"Understood."
Somehow, they'd managed the U-shaped incision.
It wasn't anything extraordinary—just a cut starting from the right ear, descending to just above the clavicle, then curving back up to the opposite earlobe.
Hearing it described might make it sound trivial, but once you actually made the cut, you'd understand.
It wasn't the kind of incision you'd make in a typical surgery.
Of course, in atypical surgeries, you would—like a total laryngectomy for laryngeal cancer.
Will I ever perform such a surgery again in this lifetime?
I didn't know.
"Those who made the incision to the depth I specified, take out a broad instrument. No, not a broad knife! I'll use my gloved fingers. Yes, the handle… the handle of the scalpel. Not—not that kind of handle! What, are you here to kill someone? Why is the blade so— Oh, Dr. Liston. Professor, you're wearing gloves. Use your fingers… Wow, look at those big hands. Anyway, use that."
Whether such a surgery would happen or not was uncertain.
It'd only be possible if other technologies advanced accordingly.
So for now, my priority was delivering a high-quality lecture.
And I was confident in this.
I'd taught this more than once or twice.
In fact… the lack of formaldehyde made this easier, didn't it?
"Now, lift the incised edge slightly—see? Those tissues stretching with a squeak? Slide it in there. They'll snap apart with a pop."
"Huh…"
"Oh…"
"This is…"
Especially with dissection like this—formaldehyde fixation would've made it nearly impossible.
This was something you could only teach in an operating room.
To first-timers, it must've looked like pure sorcery.
Human flesh, yet layers peeling apart effortlessly.
Not even cutting with a blade, just pushing them apart with your fingers—of course, to people of this era, regardless of status, it had to seem miraculous.
"Wow…"
"Even I find this fascinating."
"Hmm… It's like magic."
No kidding.
Even our esteemed guests—those seated in the two distinctively different sections—were now murmuring in awe.
Heh.
If even those bound by decorum and propriety were reacting like this, imagine the common folk.
They'd been too afraid to speak, but now that even the upper class was gaping, the atmosphere loosened.
"This is insane."
"Unbelievable…"
"How is this even possible?"
Amid the rising excitement, I performed the dissection effortlessly with just a finger.
It wasn't something I did every day, but…
Well, learning it properly back then paid off.
"Thank you… ENT department."
Bastards.
Maybe it was because I'd trained under a master, but even things I'd only learned once stuck with me.
Of course, my own skill played a part too.
Thanks to that, I flawlessly demonstrated the fundamental technique for the platysma muscle flap—the basis of neck surgeries.
"Why is this… so…"
"Ah… It's harder than it looks."
"Oh. I punctured the skin."
Watching me might make it seem easy, but…
Was it?
If it were, anyone could perform neck surgery.
Dr. Liston and Blundell had received personal instruction from me—and Liston, in particular, was so talented he might've even surpassed me—so they made no mistakes.
But the others?
A different story entirely.
"I said use something blunt!"
"That's why it's not working!"
"Wait— Look here. You lifted it above the muscle. Impressive. How'd you manage that with tissue this thin?"
"Ah… Am I doing it wrong?"
"Watch closely. Mine has a pinkish muscle layer, see? Well, since we're here… I'll just lift along this."
"No, that didn't— Huh… What the…?"
Some were even talented.
One had lifted along the subcutaneous fat layer above the muscle.
Well, "lifted" was an exaggeration—it was barely 2 cm in.
The fact they'd done it with what looked like Liston's preferred scalpel was astounding. Meanwhile, I smoothly glided my scalpel through.
It was near-miraculous precision.
In the past, there wouldn't have been a single soul who could appreciate it…
"Incredible…"
"Would you look at that."
"Astounding."
Most of them had just failed at the same task moments ago.
Yet now, they were gasping as I performed something even more advanced.
The only problem?
Some of these men were gentlemen in the literal sense.
One guy had already punctured the skin.
"How… How do you even—"
"I just kept pushing and—"
"Why is your handle so pointy?"
"Sometimes you gotta stab deep with this."
"Stab what—"
Were they planning to stab a person?
Why…
Why was this bastard's scalpel handle a damn awl?
"Bullets come out real easy if you poke 'em with this."
"Ah."
The bullet might come out, sure.
But the person? Unlikely.
More like a corpse post-bullet removal.
Maybe I should dabble in trauma surgery someday.
"No… No. I only have one body. Take it step by step…"
This was pure chaos.
"Wow…"
"It seems extremely difficult. Even that scolded doctor is someone I know."
"Exactly… It feels like there's a very systematic approach here…"
The only saving grace was that many were witnessing this disaster.
Even the high-ranking ones were mesmerized.
"Good… This might actually help me later."
If they recognized my skill, wouldn't they call for me someday?
Of course, if they were shackled by racial prejudice, maybe not.
That was entirely possible.
But…
But for doctors, it was different.
If you were dying, would you care about discrimination?
Save me first!
If they trusted my skill, it was entirely possible. And I was confident I could instill that trust now.
"Now… We've opened it up… Next, this thing— I have a trident-shaped tool, but if you don't, just use whatever you have to lift it."
"Huh?"
"Oh…"
"Ooh."
"Lift it upward, and it'll fold back like an apron."
Yeah, that's why this incision was also called the apron approach.
Most of them had botched it, but after my corrections, everyone had a decent view of the neck's interior.
This was probably the first time any of them had seen the inside of a neck this clearly.
Hanged corpses would've been too mangled here.
And grave-robbed ones?
Grave robbers often deliberately damaged the body to avoid suspicion, so those wouldn't have been intact either.
"Now… The muscle running from the bone below the ear to the center of the neck. Try flexing your neck while someone resists. Or try extending it backward then forward—you'll feel this one. Huge, right?"
"Massive…"
"Is this the largest muscle in the neck?"
"Must be. The others are all tiny in comparison."
Since this was their first time seeing it, their focus sharpened noticeably.
Some doctors, following my words, even—
Pressed their own necks or others' with the same hands they'd just been handling the cadaver with.
Ah, the beautiful lack of hygiene or protective awareness in this era.
Back in my past life, some romanticized this as "manly" or "old-school charm."
But experiencing it firsthand? That nonsense would vanish real fast.
"We'll examine that later. For now, focus on the center. You'll see a white line between the muscles. If you're unsure, come closer—but don't mess up. We've already had enough accidents, right?"
"Understood."
"Dr. Liston, this bastard's holding his blade—"
"You wanna die?"
"M-my apologies."
"Answer properly, and why are you holding that?"
"S-sorry."
Amidst this, another fool who'd lost all respect was promptly disciplined by Dr. Liston.
Bringing him along was the best decision.
"See it?"
"Yes."
As the now-polite attendee responded, I pointed to the white vertical line running down the neck's center—the membrane between the vertically aligned muscles.
Now, everyone had confirmed its location.
"Technically, it's the connective tissue between the sternohyoid muscles…"
But spelling that out would be suspicious, no?
The ignorant might not care, but among the elites, some might've known where Joseon was.
Or worse—what kind of country it was.
There's a limit to bullshitting.
"Now, cut along it—not yet. Watch me first. Like this."
I traced the white line with my scalpel.
This area had no major vessels, and I'd made multiple shallow cuts to avoid damaging deeper structures, so there was no bleeding.
Just a snap as the two muscles separated cleanly.
"Inside, you'll see this pinkish tissue. It's soft, and if you mishandle it, it'll bleed heavily—so be careful."
I gestured to the now-exposed thyroid gland and continued.
Naturally, Princess Victoria—known for her fascination with anatomy—couldn't tear her eyes away from it (or me).