"On that day, the harp donned the king's blood-stained cloak, using the fingers that plucked its strings to conduct the brutal battlefield, and with her enchanting music, she defeated the enemy nation..."
"The nation celebrated. The skies were clear for miles. Yet the king's cloak draped over the harp was inexplicably soaked by crystal beads of dew..."
"Every night, the harp would play to the night sky, hoping the king in heaven could hear. And every early morning, she would collect scattered dew drops everywhere, knowing they were the king's response of love to her."
"Finally, many years later, until the day she slept forever and never woke again, people poured all 5,213,344 bottles of dew the harp collected in her lifetime at the place where she lay."
"At the moment the last drop touched the ground, a miracle happened. A clear spring surged beside the harp, embracing her body. From spring to stream, from stream to river, from river to sea..."
