"At thirty, I yielded to the pressure of my clan.
I agreed to marry—not out of desire, nor weakness,
but because duty demanded it."
Yi Sun-sin stepped into the ceremonial hall.
At thirty, he was already a respected general of the Joseon dynasty, known for his austerity and unyielding discipline, living by the Confucian code with relentless rigor.
He advanced into the pavilion, tall and imposing, his features hardened by years of campaign. The crimson and gold silks shimmered around him. His steps were heavy, his jaw set.
"It was on that day that I saw her for the first time."
A young noblewoman of seventeen bowed deeply before him. Daughter of a scholarly clan, frail and delicate, her beauty seemed almost unreal. She lowered her eyes, her face flushed with timidity and fear, nearly hidden beneath the heavy ornaments of marriage.
"Fragile. Delicate. A camellia in bloom. And yet… a stranger, so young, imposed upon me."
When the ritual ended, their eyes met. She—fragile, barely out of childhood. He—an unyielding rock, impassive.
And in that silence, his first words to her fell like a decree, voice dry and sharp:
— "From this day forth, you are my wife. It is not love that binds us, but duty. I will do what is required… nothing more."