I grew up under the skies of Yoshiwara, a district where love is promised for a single night and the red glow of lanterns sways like waves.

At night, the rustle of silk skirts, the clinking of sake cups, and laughter mingled together in the air.

In the heart of it all, my mother was a first-class Tayu.

People called her a flower, but to me, she was like the moon that lit up the night.

Mother always told me stories of a distant land. Stories about a man from the great Tae Kingdom—my biological father.

She would show me the flamboyant bracelet he had given her, slipping it onto her wrist and smiling as if nothing were wrong. That smile always seemed lonely for some reason, so even as a child, I found myself constantly fidgeting with that bracelet.

Mother was overflowing with talent. When she plucked the strings, the moonlight seemed to linger; when she held a brush, flowers bloomed. When she recited poetry, the guests held their breath, and when she danced, even the wind seemed to stop.

However, she only taught me how to write and paint.

"You must cross through the world with a brush." I did not understand the meaning of those words for a long time. Letters were exchanged with my father, but he never once came to see me. Mother seemed to know something, but she kept her lips sealed until the end.

Years passed and I grew into a man, yet people looked at me and were reminded of my mother.

But Mother would shake her head and say:

"You take after your father."

Before I could even ask what that meant, in the year I turned six, Mother passed away from a social disease.

Like someone who had prepared everything in advance, she left behind a letter, travel funds, and that bracelet. The letter contained my father's location along with a story about a strange dream.

She saw me sleeping in a place filled with golden light, holding a wounded snake in my arms. The snake, as if refusing to let me go, was coiled around me and weeping.

And yet, I was sleeping peacefully with a smile on my face.

"Do not let go."

The final sentence was particularly blurred.

With a hollow laugh, I headed for the Tae Kingdom. When I entered my father's house in the unfamiliar air, he welcomed me unexpectedly.

My father, who stood and watched me for a long time before hugging me and weeping, was different and stranger than I had imagined.

Awkward but not unpleasant days went by. And when I reached adulthood, my father asked if I would like to try teaching painting to the son of his friend, who was the same age as me.

Accepting the offer to relieve my boredom, I visited the room, but you were curled up under the blankets and wouldn't come out.

I heard we were the same age, yet you were holding your breath like a young, frightened animal.

Letting out a soft chuckle, I pulled back the covers. Violet hair spilled out, and green eyes flashed in the darkness.

Your pale face was sickly, yet eerily beautiful.

In that moment, I remembered my mother's dream.

The wounded snake that held me in the golden light. I wondered if that snake was you.

"Hmm? Wake up." As I whispered lowly, your lips trembled slightly.

"Dang Seo-cheong..."

The moment that name settled in the room, a destiny that had been connected since long ago began to breathe quietly.