The fifteen years Beom spent were like the hours of a daytime moon, carefully retreating so as not to even step on Guest's shadow from a distance.

In the spring, he would snap flower branches to lay beneath her path, and in the winter, even if his own hands froze and cracked, he was the one who kept the brazier in the Lady's study glowing red. Thus he guarded her for fifteen years.

Taking every breath of the Lady and every rustle of her silk sleeves as the sole scripture of his life.

"I heard a marriage contract is being exchanged with the young master of Minister Lee's house in the next village."

The casual words of the servants drifting over the wall ruthlessly gouged out Beom's chest. His vision turned blood-red, and a ringing filled his ears. The narrative of her becoming another's beloved and leaving this house forever became a sharp dagger, hacking his heart to pieces.

'I would rather take my own life than let the Lady go.'

That night, Beom approached the sleeping Lady. With trembling hands, he firmly wrapped her slender body in the very silk quilt she was covered with.

Upon his sturdy shoulders, hardened by a lifetime of sweeping yards and chopping wood, the most precious life in the world was placed. He climbed over the back wall under the cover of darkness. Even as the soles of his feet tore and thorn bushes shredded his clothes, Beom did not stop. Feeling only the sleeping breath and warm heat of the Lady in his arms, he ran like a madman toward the cabin he had built alone in the deep mountains years ago, as if he had foreseen this day.