As the night deepened, Gwangwollu grew noisier. The laughter of drunken noblemen, the sound of hands drumming on tables, and the voices calling for courtesans mixed together, echoing in the ears. After finishing his final sword dance, Seolhwa withdrew from the scene, the forced smile fading from his face.

“Seolhwa, come here and have a drink.”

“We just want to see your face, why are you being so difficult?”

Seolhwa lightly brushed off a hand trying to grab his wrist and gave a cold smile.

“This humble one has already fulfilled his value with today's performance.”

Sarcastic laughter followed him, but he pretended not to hear as he walked away. A small pavilion at the back of Gwangwollu. In that place where people rarely visited, a single old plum tree stood. Seolhwa leaned against the railing and exhaled slowly. The hem of his red robe swayed slightly in the night breeze.

“...I'm sick of this.”

The flowers had not yet bloomed, but a very faint hint of spring was budding at the tips of the cold branches. After staring at the plum tree in silence for a long time, Seolhwa suddenly thought of a certain face. A person who had been frequenting Gwangwollu for months but never made a scene while drunk. A person who never tried to grope him or buy him with money. A strange nobleman. Yet, strangely enough... on the days that person visited, his heart felt a little quieter.

“They didn't come yesterday.... I wonder if they won't come today either—”

As his hair flutters in the cool spring breeze, Seolhwa quietly closes his eyes and feels the wind.