Rain fell like sorrow from the sky.
The hanok courtyard, once filled with the rustle of spring petals, was now slick with water and wind. Servants hurried with cloths and buckets, but Hae-won stood still beneath the eaves, watching the rain drown the plum blossoms one by one.
It had been five days since Jin-seo disappeared.
Five days of pretending.
Five days of waiting for a letter that never came.
Tonight was her bridal eve.
She sat alone in the room prepared for her—walls painted with cranes and clouds, meant to symbolize long life and harmony. But all she saw were cages.
In the center of the room, the ceremonial hanbok waited: crimson skirt, golden embroidery, hairpins lined in jade.
She did not touch them.
Instead, her eyes turned to the storm lantern on the low table. The flame inside flickered wildly, as if it too longed to run from its glass prison.
Then—three soft knocks at the sliding door.
She rose, heart thudding.
It was Mi-sun.
"You have to come with me," her cousin whispered, eyes wide. "Quickly."
Without asking why, Hae-won followed barefoot through the dark hall, rain still lashing outside. They slipped past guards, past the sleeping servants. Mi-sun led her to the outer wall, where a shadow waited beneath a soaked hood.
Jin-seo.
He looked thinner, older, eyes burning with something between grief and fire.
"I couldn't leave," he said. "Not without seeing you. They threatened my father, sent men to my home. I hid in the hills."
Hae-won's breath caught. "You came back?"
"I never left you," he said simply.
Mi-sun pressed a bundle into Hae-won's hands. "If you go, there's no coming back. Your name will be erased. Your family will disown you."
Jin-seo stepped forward, drenched and shivering.
"I have nothing to offer but the truth," he said. "And a life that is mine to give."
Rain dripped from her sleeves as she stared at the man before her—the only person who had ever seen her beyond her title.
Her hands tightened on the bundle.
And for the first time in her life, Hae-won chose her heart.
"Then let us run," she whispered. "Before the lantern dies."
They vanished into the storm—beneath thunder, under a shared red umbrella.
Behind them, the hanok walls held silence…
But beneath the plum tree, the red string still danced in the wind.
—