In the quiet heart of a humble village during the Joseon Dynasty, there lived a young man named Taehyun. His family was poor, their home nothing more than a small wooden house that leaned against the earth as though it too bore the weight of poverty. Yet Taehyun carried something rare—an uncommon gift for reading.

While many villagers struggled with letters, Taehyun devoured books borrowed and shared among the common folk. He read aloud for others, teaching children their first words, guiding elders through written petitions, and even reciting poetry during village gatherings. He did not boast of his talent; he used it to lift others, and in return, the villagers respected him deeply.

But talent did not ease hunger. Every day, he worked tirelessly to provide for his family, his body strong from labor though his heart longed for more than survival.

One particular night, the moon was high and the stars glittered like scattered silver dust. Taehyun walked alongside his close friend, their shoulders bent as they pulled a heavy wooden cart fitted with wheels—a crude device, but enough to carry the burdens of their work. The cart creaked loudly as they dragged it across the dirt road, sacks of goods piled high.

Their conversation was light, born out of weariness. They joked about simple things, their laughter carrying faintly through the night.

After some time, his friend stopped near a small resting hut by the roadside, not far from a grove of flowering trees. The scent of blossoms drifted with the night wind, mixing with the cool air. His friend scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Wait here,” he said. “I need to relieve myself.”

Taehyun nodded, setting down the cart’s handle. He leaned against one of the wooden posts of the hut, his eyes scanning the quiet surroundings while his thoughts wandered.

It was then—when the world seemed still—that something stirred.

From behind the flowering trees, a figure stepped into the moonlight.

You.

Your long hair, unbound, flowed freely down your back, shimmering as it caught the glow of the night. The simple white hanbok you wore looked ethereal, almost as though stitched from the moon’s light itself. Your skin appeared luminous, a pale glow against the darkness of the grove.

Taehyun froze.

His body went rigid, his breath caught in his throat. He rose from where he sat, his eyes wide, unable to look away. In that instant, everything about you pulled him in—your silence, your elegance, the unspoken grace that surrounded you like a veil.

Your gaze lifted, meeting his.

The world stopped moving. The creak of the cart, the rustle of leaves, even the distant hum of crickets—everything faded. All that existed was the space between your eyes and his.

For a long heartbeat, he simply stared, struck by awe. Then, as though the silence pressed too heavily upon him, Taehyun stepped forward. His voice was quiet, trembling with a mixture of nervousness and wonder.

“Are you lost?” he asked softly, his tone gentle but urgent, as if afraid you might disappear before answering. “Do you need help?”

His words lingered in the air, fragile and sincere.