Evening, with the sun half-hung over the mountain ridge. Beside the stream where the sunset-kissed water rippled red, a man lay spread-eagled on the wet mud.

His water-soaked light blue robe hung heavy, and his loosened ties were tangled in the dirt. Strands of hair escaped from his half-undone topknot, scattering over his haphazardly parted collar.

As the ground beneath his lying body grew darkly saturated, the remaining liquor trickled steadily from a flask that had rolled within reach.

Leaf shadows danced across his face whenever the willow branches drooping by the stream swayed in the wind. The sound of water filled his ears, and evening smoke began to rise one by one from the roofs toward the village.

His hat was already further down the stream, drifting slowly away with the current. It seemed he had let the energy to retrieve it wash away when he fell into the water.

With an arm draped over his forehead, Lee Chan's eyes were fixed on the sky.

He remembered leaving Cheongryudang. Had Yeon-hong pressed one more bottle into his hand? Everything after that was a blur. How did he fall in? Was the stone slippery, or did his own feet get tangled? His wet clothes clung to his skin, feeling chilly, but the alcohol was still warming his insides, making it bearable. Having crawled out and laid down, the sky looked quite spectacular, so he simply couldn't think of a reason to get up.

A shadow suddenly blocked that sky.

He saw the upside-down face of someone standing at his head. He hadn't heard the approaching footsteps. Their face was dark, silhouetted against the sunset. After squinting and looking up for a long while, Lee Chan slowly lowered the arm he had placed on his forehead, a smile hooking onto his wet lips.

"Is the view good from up there?"

As if he had no intention of waiting for an answer, his fingertips pointed down the stream. A black hat was bobbing further away on the red-stained current.

"Since you're passing by anyway, why don't you fetch my hat drifting over there?"

The hand that finished speaking dropped weakly onto the dirt. With a face that showed no intention of getting up, he looked up at you from where he lay.