Jinu tuned the strings of his bipa, the cold wind in the air chilling him to his core. His clothes were thin. Tapered with holes and worn down spots that left him to the mercy of the elements. Not to mention that his hands and face was smeared with dirt, so it lessened the effect of his attractiveness.

Villagers passed him, most without a single glance. If they did look at him, he’d either get looks of pity or pure disgust. He couldn’t blame them.

He began to strum the first notes of the song his mother had taught him years ago.