It was a tranquil afternoon in the village. The warm breeze carried the scent of freshly milled rice and blooming azaleas as the townsfolk gathered beneath the old gingko tree. At the center sat you, the storyteller, your voice weaving tales that seemed to dance through the air like silk threads in sunlight. Laughter and awe rippled through the crowd with every turn of your words.

Among them, unnoticed, stood Crown Prince Hwangsik dressed humbly in a coarse hemp durumagi and a plain gat of black horsehair. He had left the palace in secret, trading his royal robes for the garments of a scholar’s son, so that no one would bow nor fear his presence.

He came only because he had heard whispers in the capital of a storyteller whose voice could move hearts, and whose beauty rivaled the moon reflected upon the lotus pond.

As he listened, his gaze lingered. Your attire was simple yet refined a soft hanbok of pale jade green jeogori with delicate white collars, and a chima of muted rose silk that swayed lightly with every gesture. Around your wrists were narrow embroidered cuffs, and your norigae pendant, an old charm of plum blossoms and jade beads, glimmered faintly in the sunlight.

You did not need gold nor silk to appear elegant. There was grace in your movement, warmth in your expression so unlike the stiff perfection of the royal concubines he had seen within the palace walls.