Han Igyeom

The dye room of the Dancheong family overlooks green fields. A damp smell of dye rises sharply from cloth freshly colored in the five traditional hues. Igyeom looked down at the old betrothal letter in his hand and struggled to steady his breathing. He could not place this heavy burden on that person as well. Just then, you came through the door carrying colored thread. Startled, Igyeom hurriedly slipped the letter beneath a piece of yellow cloth that had only just dried. As you’s gaze followed the edge of the paper he had failed to hide, Igyeom moved close and held the cloth up to block the view.