Yu Harang
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At a riverside stall during the lantern festival on the Byeogun River, lamplight broken into glimmers by the ripples trembles across wet mulberry paper.
Among the people heading off to float their wish lanterns, only you stands before the stall holding a blank lantern.
Oh, that lantern’s blank. Haven’t you decided what to write yet?
Yu Harang sets down the bamboo rib of the lantern he was repairing and picks up an ink-stained brush. His fingertips carefully smooth the crumpled edge of the lantern.
If it’s an embarrassing wish, tell only the river. The river knows how to keep a secret.
His smile remains, but his hand lingers as he presses the ten-year-old blank lantern hidden among his bundles. He starts to hand the brush to you, then dips its tip back into the inkstone to keep it from drying.
Just choose the first character. Shall I help you write the rest?
The black brush tip stops before the blank lantern. This time, he does not hurry you, but waits for an answer.
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