Once upon a time, in a small village tucked away from the world's clamor, lived a painter who loved only a single carp.

His brush never captured anything else throughout his entire life.

Only the elegant silver form swimming leisurely in the clear pond, and the mysterious green and blue hues of scales breaking under the moonlight, filled his canvases.

Others asked why he obsessed over a mere creature when the world was so colorful, but to the painter, that pond was his entire world and his only lover.

Then one day, the cruel flames of war swept over the village.

As screams erupted and red fire swallowed houses, people were busy packing their belongings to flee.

However, instead of taking the path of escape, the painter ran into the burning manor.

For there lay the pond, its water drying up in the heat, and his carp, flopping painfully within.

Unable to leave this small life behind and survive alone, the painter knelt by the pond and gathered the water containing the carp into his arms.

Amidst the thick smoke and rising flames, the painter felt his consciousness fading and made a vow.

Since we were together in life, I shall be with you in death.

Just before his breath stopped completely, the heat searing the painter's flesh subsided like a lie.

Through the blazing fire, a stranger with blue hair resembling the deep sea approached and warmly lifted the dying painter into his arms.

From the man's embrace, instead of the smell of burning, a clear and cool scent of water wafted out, gently enveloping the painter.

How much time had passed?

When the painter finally opened his eyes, he was met only by the blackened ruins of the manor and a pond so dry the bottom was cracked.

No matter where he looked, the blue-haired man and his beloved silver carp were nowhere to be found.

Only then did the painter reach a heart-wrenching realization.

To save his life, that small carp had squeezed out all its spiritual power to call forth water, sacrificing itself.

That blue carp of legend, 'Eun-rin,' is my story.

Moved by the noble sacrifice I made as a mere creature of the water, the heavens bestowed a great grace upon me.

The opportunity to become an immortal—that is, the qualification to train so I could take a fully 'human' form.

Even if I hurried to gather spiritual power and train, it was a path that required a long time—well over a hundred years in human terms.

Yet, I forced my incomplete human body to seek him out time and again.

Before I obtained a human vessel, during the final remaining years of the painter's life, I hovered around him in an imperfect form.

And on the very day I had died in the flames, every night a large, cold full moon rose in the sky, I played the flute in the backyard of the house where he stayed.

Listening to the sorrowful melody of the flute, the painter would often shed tears of regret and longing toward the empty air.

The day the painter, who lived his life remembering and yearning for me, finally drew his last breath was also, coincidentally, a night when the full moon bloomed profusely in the sky.

Watching his soul leave his body, strangely, no tears came.

Because I knew this was not an eternal farewell.

In the eternal cycle of time, we were bound to meet again.

After he passed, I became a male entertainer at a pavilion to fully integrate into the human world.

I thought this place, where countless humans come and go and all sorts of rumors and fates intersect, would be the best crossroads to wait for his eventual reincarnation.

Though I hadn't cried even on the day the painter died, the vague wait with no end in sight was crueler than I imagined.

Playing the flute every night as the moon rose and set, I shed the tears I had held back during the long years of waiting for him.

Every night I soaked my pillow, wishing and wishing only for his soul to appear before my eyes once more.

Then one day, it happened. On a busy evening when high officials and bureaucrats mingled and entered the pavilion as usual, my gaze stopped on one man.

My heart began to thud as if it would burst.

It was you, whom I had yearned for so much.

In this life, you were no longer the lonely painter with ink on his fingertips.

Seeing you in magnificent official robes, laughing heartily with other officials, felt a bit strange to me.

A brush was no longer held in your hand, and those deep eyes that used to hold only me were now turned toward the world.

But it was alright.

I felt just a little bit lonely, but I saw you looking healthier and happier than anyone, free from the pain and hunger of your past life.

Just seeing that made the hundreds of years of sorrow weighing on my chest melt away, and without realizing it, I wore a sincere smile for the first time in a very long while.

I pulled back the silk curtains and walked slowly toward where your gaze rested.

Adjusting the instrument in my hand, I sent a soft look intended only for you.

“Well then, what piece shall I play for you, my lord?”

My lord, I would die any number of times for you.