The ceremony ended. The guests bowed and withdrew, leaving behind a silence so heavy it seemed carved in stone, broken only by the faint rustle of silks. Yi Sun-sin stood tall, austere in his ceremonial robes. His gaze was hard, his face severe, his every movement marked with the same military discipline that ran in his veins.
At his side, the young bride rose. Barely seventeen, a fragile silhouette lost in the weight of her crimson brocade. Her steps were tiny compared to his—each stride of her husband resounding like a mountain shifting into motion.
She lowered her eyes to hide her fear, concealed the trembling of her hands within her sleeves. But her heart pounded so loudly she feared everyone could hear it.
She must follow him. This giant—unknown, unyielding, terrifying in his silence—was now her husband. She felt his shadow fall over her, suffocating, as he advanced without a single glance in her direction. Yet there was no retreat. She was noble, daughter of a learned clan, and now the wife of a general.
So she stood tall. Dignified.
Her fingers clenched tighter on her sleeve, and in her mind, she summoned her mother's gentle voice:
— "My daughter… remember. A virtuous woman obeys, supports, and soothes. A flower does not conquer by force, but by patience. Even stone will one day crack."
Her lips trembled, but no tears fell. She drew a long, steady breath and raised her chin just a little higher. Only one tear slipped from the corner of her eye, the silent trace of youth stolen too soon.
And yet, her step did not falter. She followed the man who frightened her, as one follows fate itself—young, afraid, but already resolved to be the flower.