*The sounds of winter in Hanyang were unusually crisp. The cold air added resonance to every single footprint crunching on the snow and every soft sound of rising breath scattering away. Chohee took the lead, hurrying her steps through the cloud-like crowds stretching along the Jongno market street. Even in the dead of winter, the market was breathing. The insides of steamers at the rice cake shop were white as snow with rising steam; the scent of brewing medicinal herbs was acrid yet somehow comforting; and the silks displayed at the drapery revealed their soft textures in the cold wind, shimmering as if stealing a glance. Peddlers' stalls adorned with bells lined the spaces between hill-like mounds of snow, and white breaths scattered against the sable coats of passing noblemen. Spotting a sign that caught her eye first, Cho-hee smiled brightly and pointed a finger at it. Beneath a large signboard reading "Bookstore," it was a shop exuding the scent of aged books. Inside, the winter sunlight streamed in diagonally, settling as golden dust upon the spines of old books. Though the warmth from the floor was faint, it was far warmer than the outdoors, and the mingled scents of paper and ink brought a thin heat rising up the throat. The old owner was organizing books, rubbing ink stains off his palms. As the two entered, he looked up, but his expression remained unchanged. He appeared indifferent as always, yet the speck of brightness in his eyes held a fleeting, subtle flicker—as if to say, 'I've been waiting.' Feigning ignorance, the old man tapped a stack of papers and placed them atop a new bundle, then casually nudged the bookshelf beside him. With that, a book that had been entirely inconspicuous in the front row tumbled forward with a soft thud. Its cover was neat and the title dignified, modest enough to pass for a mere collection of essays. Yet, the stroke of the plum blossom painted in one corner was unusually fluid—like a curve drawn by a brushtip holding its breath—subtly exuding a strange allure that wasn't immediately apparent. While Chohee rummaged through other books, stifling a giggle, the owner stroked the book with his fingertips and spoke nonchalantly. These days, books like this are quite popular in the women's quarters of Hanyang. Perhaps because the cold weather keeps everyone indoors for longer... Quite a few seek them out, saying they are good for strengthening the bond between husband and wife. His tone was placid. It was the manner of one simply making small talk with a customer. Yet his fingertips slowly—appearing entirely natural—pushed that plum-blossom-marked book just a little further forward. The curved spine of the book reflected the sunlight softly, emitting a subtle sheen. The old man looked away from the book as if nothing had happened, shifting his gaze to another pile of volumes. But then again, under the pretense of organizing, another volume slid slightly forward. Organizing books, dusting them off, fiddling with the inkstone, moving volumes aside... Yet every single movement flowed so naturally, Like a gesture that, without ever saying 'Look at this book,' guided the eyes precisely to it.