One.

---

---

 

 

“The King is dead! Long live the Queen! The King is dead! Long live the Queen!”

 

“Long live the Queen!”

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Once upon a time, she was a Princess; beautiful and silent, captivating in her beauty and famous in her poetic croons. She used to stand in front of the glamorous guests in balls and parties thrown by her parents, basking in their awe. She was the glittering jewel of Silla, the symbol of beauty in her motherland, and always, always second to her eldest brother, the Crown Prince. She was a Princess—the Princess—beautiful and quiet and married well.

 

“Long live the Queen!”

 

The universe seems to shift the moment she blinks. Mirroring the masked disbelief in her eyes is the woman in the mirror, staring right back at her through the seven chains of jade raining down from her headpiece. These are proof that the Princess in her had shriveled and died, crushed under the weight of her new responsibility. The one she took with a heavy mind and heavier heart.

 

“The King is dead! Long live the Queen!”

 

The room shifts once more, and she moves.

 

She stops a moment after, and suddenly in front of her, in a perfect half-circle, sit the Councilmen, eyes intense and mouths set in barely-concealed dislike. It hits her harder than ever before that this is a world of men; one she is not meant to meddle with. Yet.

 

Yet Yunho trusted her with this. Yunho trusted her with his Nation, his legacy, and she would die before she would betray that trust.

 

Straightening herself, she lifts a gloved hand to reach for the brush lain next to the thick piece of parchment she has in front of her. The Councilmen’s eyes follow her every movement; it is almost like she can hear their disdainful thoughts—her femininity offends them, she knows, yet this knowledge gives her strength. She her signature down on the parchment, movement slow and certain; final.

 

As soon as she sets her brush down, Councilman Jang reaches for the parchment, bowing to her lowly before taking a step forward, back ramrod straight and voice professionally sure. “With the power bestowed upon me by the Kingdom of Goguryeo, as Chief of the Royal Council, I present to you,” he pauses, taking a breath and releasing it in two drawn-out seconds; steeling himself for the finality his next words would bring:

 

 

“Her Royal Majesty the Queen, Queen Boa of Goguryeo.”

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

“Aunt,” Kibum greets as he makes his way into the Queen’s private quarters. He watches his aunt for a moment, silently observing the way her eyes trace the parchment clutched in her hands. She hums her acknowledgment, though her focus doesn’t falter one bit. Kibum is quite used to this, despite his impatient nature, though mostly due to the fact that his aunt always has many interesting trinkets around her personal space; enough to keep him interested. “I finished the books you have recommended, although the last one is certainly not to my liking. I have told you, time and time again, that I am not interested in—”

 

“—military strategies, I remember,” Boa interrupts, an amused, unrestrained quirk of her lips a sure tell that her concentration is thoroughly broken. “I thought it might help you get better at chess.”

 

“Slander,” Kibum waves his hand dismissively, reaching for an intricate wood carving, depicting a dragon—or at least the West’s interpretation of a dragon. “I am wonderful at chess.” He puts the dragon down and takes his seat in front of his aunt’s worktable, pursing his lips at the scattered parchments filled with reports and numbers from various parts of the land.

 

“I take it you are not here to simply seek my company?” Boa asks, amusement still coloring her voice. Kibum smiles at her indulgingly, raising an eyebrow. Fondness blooms in her at the sight of her nephew—the closest to a child she would ever have. Kibum seems to be able to read this particular train of thought, because his eyes soften considerably. “What is it, Kibum?”

 

For a moment, Kibum seems to weigh his words, cautious as Boa has ever seen him be.

 

“King Yunho did not appoint an heir,” he begins, all traces of casualness gone, replaced by his brand of efficient formality. The lightness of the moment seems to shatter like glass, and Boa freezes in surprise, heart jumping to at the unexpected and, to some measure, taboo topic Kibum is bringing up. “Which means that responsibility had fallen to you, Your Majesty, as his successor.”

 

“Indeed,” Boa answers, keeping her tone still and neutral. Kibum knows her well enough, but he does not yet know everything—that knowledge belonged to Yunho, and only Yunho—and Boa uses it to her advantage; Kibum must not know her personal stance in this issue, whatever proposal he is planning on making at this time.

 

“I am aware that regardless of my personal preference in this matter, the choice is still yours,” Kibum continues, his expression betraying nothing. Boa wonders if he would come right out and admits that he would like to be a contender for the inevitable fight for the throne. Boa wonders if he knows she wants him to win. “However, I am saying this simply because I am used to sharing all that is significant with you, Aunt, and…,” he pauses. For the first time since he took his seat across from Boa, uncertainty bleeds into his expression.

 

“Kibum,” she calls, more to satisfy her need to say something—anything—rather than of any real purpose. Kibum looks up to meet her eyes once again.

 

“I do not want to be King,” he blurts out, finally, eyes fiery and sure, as if challenging Boa to say anything against this. Boa feels her heart drop down to the base of her stomach, disappointment and confusion making it difficult for her to form words.

 

Kibum does not want to be King.

 

Her nephew. Yunho’s nephew. The closest thing they have ever had to a son. The one person in the world Boa would have given the throne—the whole word—to; in a heartbeat if he ever so much as hints that he would be agreeable to it, truly. Yet here he is, sitting right in front of her, looking straight into her eyes.

 

Kibum does not want to be King.

 

“Kibum,” Boa begins, and then stops, because she does not know how to continue. Kibum looks at her anxiously, hands balling into fists where they rest against his thighs. Boa’s heart swells with fondness at the sight of him, despite the lingering, bitter taste of disappointment at the back of . The throne would fall to someone else—someone out of the family.

 

She would be the end of this dynasty.

 

“I would give you the moon if it would make you happy, child,” she tells him, and Kibum looks down, jaw clenching. She remembers how fiercely independent, how sharply intelligent, how unapologetically kind he is, and mourns for her kingdom. He would have been a great king, and yet, he had come forward to tell her outright that he does not desire it.

 

She thinks of what Yunho would have done, and wonders if it fits her ideal. To Yunho, his people and his responsibility comes first. Boa has never been that strong. All her life, she has put her family first, and today, as a Queen, she would still put her family first.

 

“Taking the throne is no easy decision. It requires a will stronger than the fiercest of diamonds. It asks for resilience, patience. It takes one part of you and merges it with your people. Once you become King, you do not belong to yourself.” Even as the words spill out of , Boa knows that Kibum has already understood. He has gained an understanding long ago. Still, he listens quietly, patiently; uncharacteristically reserved in his anxiousness. “Most people seek it, because they lack awareness and understanding of that fact. They see the throne and they see power, wealth, glory.”

 

“Yet amongst these people, across time, there will always be an individual unique to others. An individual who understands so well of what the Crown entails, and understands so well of his own self, that he knows it is not his destiny to seize that power. No matter how others might deem him foolish for throwing away such a prize,” she reaches across the table, resting her hand against the wood, her palm up. Kibum looks at her hand and covers it with his own. “You have always been an intelligent boy, my darling, beyond your years, and I have always trusted your judgment. You know yourself best, Kibum, and who am I to discredit that?”

 

For a moment, Kibum looks torn, the guilt creeping up his reddening face. Boa grips his hand in hers, tight and unfaltering, watching as the shame on his expression gradually dies down. “Thank you, Aunt,” he exhales, sounding immensely relieved. Boa cannot find it in her heart to be disappointed at him; not after she sees that the possibility of his ascending to the throne had weighed him down so heavily. “I apologize if this upsets you. That… is not my intention at all.”

 

“I know,” she assures, the back of his hand with her thumb. It would take a while for them to return to a happier mood, but she knows they will be just fine. Her disappointment would fade, and Kibum’s guilt would fade, and everything will settle into place once more.

 

“If the responsibility calls me, I will answer to it, but,” he takes a deep breath and once again meets Boa’s eyes, a melancholic smile gracing his lips. “I would be forever grateful if you take these words, my feelings, into consideration.” Boa nods once, firmly, and Kibum’s eyes regains some of their dimmed lights.

 

“I will,” she promises. “Of course I will.”

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

“Captain!”

 

“Cap! You’re here!”

 

“Captain Hyuk!”

 

“Captain-hyung!”

 

Several small bodies shoot past Minseok not a second after the excited yells ring out. Minseok turns to see the older children following their younger counterparts in a more sedate pace, but they look no less excited at the sight of the four soldiers currently unmounting their horses. One of them is new, Minseok notices, recognizing the stiff, slightly arrogant gait of a soldier who’s never experienced to villages like this. He puts the last box down from the cart, stacking them neatly against the wall, before wiping his hand on his trousers and pulling the tunic he knotted around his waist back on properly.

 

“Minseok! Hey, kid, how are ya doin’?” Hyukjae, one of the soldiers that frequent their orphanage, perks up at the sight of Minseok. Minseok grins back at him and accepts the hug with ease, thumping Hyukjae in the back twice before letting go. “I swear, you’re beefier than most of the new recruits. What type of work are you doing ‘round here?” Hyukjae proclaims loudly, feigning surprise. Minseok rolls his eyes.

 

“Harvest season, you know how that goes,” he moves to shake hands with the other soldiers, Captain Lee Donghae and Captain Cho Kyuhyun, both of whom are regular visitors. “Also, Hana just had a foal, so I’ve been taking care of them.”

 

“A foal? Splendid! I should have brought a gift. Win him over early,” Donghae exclaims, grinning widely as he extends the handshake Minseok offers and turns it into a half-hug. “Lest he grows up to be a stallion and all.”

 

“Under my care, he most certainly will.” Minseok nods at the children to head to the backyard, where the training would commerce, and he stays back a moment longer to get introduced to Major Kim Jonghyun.

 

“I have heard many good things about you,” he grins, confident and handsome, as he shakes Minseok’s hand. Minseok recognizes the noble blood immediately, what with the effortless charisma Major Kim is exuding. Plus, he certainly looks younger than even Kyuhyun, yet he outranks all of them, which indicates higher education and better breeding. “So, what is this place? It is beautiful.” Minseok watches him observe his surroundings for a while, before gesturing at him to follow.

 

“It’s an orphanage,” Minseok starts, pointing at the main house where his father and mother live with the youngest children. Minseok has lived here pretty much all his life, taken in by the famous philanthropic scholar, Shin Hyesung and his wife, Joo Gain, after his mother and grandfather were killed during a violent rebellion break out in his old village.

 

Minseok had been 9 at the time, hiding inside an abandoned, ruined old house with three younger children—his neighbors’ kids he couldn’t remember the name of, yet would still recognize in a heartbeat, even today. After the group of rebellions had dissipated—leaving behind charred bodies, ruined homes, and burnt farms—Minseok had gone to find his family, and, upon finding his mother’s limp, bloodied body laid next to the ashes of their old farm, stayed with her for two nights, shivering next to his dead mother. It was how Joo Gain had found him.

 

“Scholar Shin lives here, right?” Jonghyun asks, unaware of the throbbing pain the nostalgia brings Minseok. It isn’t his fault, though, Minseok reasons, plastering a neutral smile as he nods. “He’s really famous, even in the city and around the Palace. A good man, they said. The best. It is why I come here; wanted to see for myself.”

 

“All true,” Minseok agrees, remembering the warmth and patience his adopted father showers him with. He is a patient man, even in the face of Minseok’s unyielding ambition and stubbornness. He also seems to always have time for all of his children, however many they are; however short the day seems to end. “Here is our farm; it goes well beyond that fence over there. Next to it is the fields. We’re the supplier for most of the rice in the market here and two nearby villages. The older children take care of everything here, but Mother takes care of all the exchanges.”

 

“Sounds like a very smart system. All of you must be very self-sufficient,” Jonghyun hums, shading his eyes with a hand as he continues to peer around the farm. Some curious pigs wander over the edge of the pen to blink at them, and Jonghyun waves. “So rice, vegetables, meat, eggs, all from your own backyard?”

 

Minseok nods proudly, waiting around patiently for Jonghyun to stop marveling the chicks that have run closer to peer and peck at his boots. He wonders about the world Jonghyun is living in; wonders if he’s been in the city all his life like how Minseok has been in the rural since the day he was born.

 

“These soldiers, they come here often, do they not?” Jonghyun asks just as they steer to the backyard, where Donghae, Kyuhyun, and Hyukjae have three groups of children—segregated by age—in neat lines, all training the same moves with different intensity and speed.

 

“Many are regulars,” Minseok nods, waving at the eldest group—the ones around his age—who are in charge of supervising the young ones. They will be training with real swords today, as Donghae had promised on his last visit, and Minseok knows that all of them are highly impatient to let it commence. “Some of them are from the villages around here, some are from the city like yourself. They all bring something for us to learn, and they’ll get warm dinner and hugs from the children.”

 

Jonghyun laughs, loud and clear, and thumps Minseok in the back. “All in exchange for knowledge?”

 

Minseok grins back at him and shrugs. “Always.”

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Secrets have always been the forte of the most powerful ones.

 

Boa understands now, as she takes several steps forward, deeper into the Red Dragon Chamber. It is a room she never knew existed, despite all these years of exchanging secrets with her husband. Some things are simply not to be shared, she supposes, swallowing the emotion that rises at the back of as memories of her husband pushes against the wall she has been trying to build.

 

High Priest Choe had requested an audience with her that morning, with highest priority. She had readied herself for a long session of spiritual and political advises, much like the one she endured with her mother-in-law, the Queen Dowager. To say that the High Priest had surprised her would be a severe understanding, because not only he refused to answer any of her questions, he had refused to speak at all. The only thing he did was hand her a key and a piece of parchment that shows the floor plan of a basement located deep underneath the center wing of the Palace, far under the throne room.

 

As soon as he had risen, Boa had requested the presence of her trusted guards to accompany her to the room drawn in the parchment. At this, the High Priest had shaken his head, warning in his eyes, and Boa had been too stunned to hide her surprise.

 

“I must go alone,” she had said. The High Priest had nodded. “No one else must know of this,” he continued, and the High Priest nodded again.

 

Then he had left her alone with her thoughts, and, refusing to dwell on various thoughts and possibilities when she could be confirming them instead, Boa had moved.

 

Whatever it is she had expected to come across, it certainly is not this. The room is filled to the brim with rows of bookshelves, stacked high with rolls of parchment. On the walls are paintings of the late kings and queens, and in the middle of the room is a table with carvings so intricate Boa wonders if it was carved by the Gods’ own hands.

 

She takes a step forward and her breath catches as her eyes fall upon the newest painting, hung proudly on one far corner of the rectangular room. In it, Yunho’s handsome face is painted in beautiful hues of blues and greens to match his spiritual aura. He looks as he always does; collected and composed, and Boa misses him fiercely.

 

Pushing the melancholy aside, she begins to wonder what Yunho did when he first came into this room. The sight of a young king with unbridled curiosity and a seamless, constantly-working mind clouds Boa’s vision, urging her to get her hands on everything she could, immediately.

 

 

*

 

 

Hours later, a thought dawns on her, bringing in the realization that she must have other things she has been scheduled to do other than explore this room! Boa lets out a gasp and scrambles up, nearly stumbling in her haste. She is immensely glad that no one else is around to witness the unacceptable slip up, yet the relief is incredibly short-lived as she again remembers her duties.

 

She does not need to add another weapon for the Council and the House of Lords to use against her; they are already quite convinced that she is nowhere near an acceptable ruler, after all.

 

“Gods’ heaven—” she makes her way out of the rows of shelves she had been drowning herself in. She only had gotten to the last decade of important books and scrolls released during the late King Gyungshik’s—Yunho’s father—reign. She still has so much to shift through, but there will always be another day.

 

As she reaches the end of the shelf, her sleeve catches on the edge of the shelf. She exhales her impatience out and carefully tugs the fabric away. She straightens herself and pauses as she catches a glimpse of a book, smaller than all the other books pressed to its sides. The book is pushed back so far that she has difficulties pulling it out. After a moment of pushing her finger between the books in order to hook her nail around the top of the book cover, she finally manages to get enough momentum to pull it out from between the row.

 

Just as she thinks her fingernail would snap off its bed, the book moves, sliding between its enclosed space in the row, and out onto Boa’s waiting hand. She opens a random page, only to find it empty. Blinking in surprise, she begins to shift through the pages, excitement for another significant finding making her mind sing. As she reaches the end of the book, a parchment, thicker than any of the others, stops her movement.

 

Taking it out, Boa holds it between her index and middle finger, eyeing it for a moment. It is folded, she realizes. Putting the book down, she unfolds the parchment and begins reading its content.

 

 

My darling Yunho,

 

I do not know if you would ever receive this letter. You have not replied to the ones I sent before, and I am certain it is not a choice you made on your own will. I know I am in your heart as you are in mine, and I will forever be thankful for that.

I heard that you are marrying the Princess you told me about before. I have seen her, Yunho, and she is beautiful. I hope she will take care of you, because you deserve the world, my love. If I were a more fortunate woman, I would certainly grant you it, and everything else within, but the Gods’ favor is not upon us in this manner. Perhaps we will have better luck on our next life. I could wait. I would wait. I would live a thousand lives if only to meet you again, my Sun.

There is another matter I wish to inform you of through this letter. A matter much more urgent than my lasting devotion for you. It is a matter of our son. We have a son, Yunho.

I know that this must surprise you, but the a few days after we were forced to separate, after my family went back to our old lands, I found out that I was with child. Your child, my love.

I have not mentioned this pregnancy before because I did not want to weigh your mind heavily with it. Each of your letters prior tell me the hardship you are facing, and I do not want you to worry about something I can handle myself. Please do not be too upset with me.

He is a beautiful boy, Yunho. Healthy and handsome. He has your eyes. I named him Choi Minho, after my father and his father.

We will always be waiting for you, my love. If not in this life, then perhaps the next.

 

With all my heart,

 

Siyoon

 

 

The world tilts in its axis, making everything askew. Boa feels her knees give out from under her, yet she does nothing to stop herself from falling. Her head is spinning, and tears prickle at the back of her eyes as emotions bubble up and spill over the threshold of her mind, ripping a choked sob out of her.

 

A son.

 

Yunho had a son. Somewhere in the lands. Alive and possibly unaware of his father’s identity.

 

Yunho had a son. A boy he never met. A boy he would never meet.

 

For the first time ever, Boa lets herself mourn. For herself, for Yunho, and for all the lost chances he would never get to make up.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

20 years ago. The book is dated twenty years ago. She wonders if the letter is the same.

 

Boa sits in her bed that night, after a long, difficult day of tedious meetings. She had issued her first decree today; the forming of the Royal House of Administration, where any and all important, relevant paperwork would be stored properly for the people to see. She clutches the letter close to her chest. No more secrets.

 

No more.

 

—I heard that you are marrying the Princess you told me about before.

 

Yunho had told her about Boa. He had told his lover about the woman he was set to marry. Boa’s heart aches with a heartbreak that is not hers. She pictures a woman, no older than she was when she married Yunho; with flawless skin and a beautiful smile. She pictures her pain, her tears, her desperation, her resignation. She pictures her life; alone in a village, gazing upon a towering Palace where the man she loves lived with another woman.

 

—We have a son, Yunho.

 

She had given birth to his son. Yunho’s son. Boa’s husband’s son. Her best friend’s son. Boa wonders if Siyoon has told her son the truth about his father. She wonders if Minho ever asked her. She wonders whether they were alive, still; whether they are living a prosperous life. She wonders if Minho hates her, the woman who took his father away, though unknowingly.

 

—A few days after we were forced to separate, after my family went back to our old lands, I found out that I was with child.

 

The first time she had met Yunho, over 20 years ago, he had had a shadow in his eyes. Dark and unreadable. He had looked like he was in immense pain and turmoil, and for the years to come, he had let Boa hear him cry in his sleep; the nightmares plaguing him each night that he refuse to speak of. She understands now what he was going through; heartbreak. He was heartbroken when he met her, and she had mended him, bit by tiny bit, through her friendship.

 

Yunho had always been unyieldingly loyal. His eyes never move to stray to another woman, despite the untraditional terms of his relationship with Boa. Boa understands now, he was not only loyal to her as his Queen. He was keeping his loyalty to his beloved.

 

He was keeping his loyalty to the mother of his child.

 

The only child he ever had.

 

The only—

 

“Goodness gracious!”

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

“Aunt, I do not follow—” Kibum tries, lifting a hand to pause Boa in her tirade. She cannot seem to stop, however, saying ‘heir’ and ‘unknown’ and ‘a boy’ and ’20 years ago’ over and over in many different combinations. Kibum’s mind is still foggy with sleep, after he was rudely awakened by his personal guards, notifying him that the Queen had summoned him to her private chambers.

 

Imagine his surprise when he walks in, only to see his aunt sitting with the Queen Mother, both looking tense as if a war had broken out.

 

“—this, Kibum,” she hands him the parchment, the same one she has been clutching since Kibum walked in. Kibum’s eyes fly over the page, getting wider and wider with each sentence he absorbs. The moment he reaches the end of the letter, he rereads it, over and over until his head spins. When he looks up, the Queen Mother is looking at him, sadness, so stark it tears Kibum’s heart, cloud over her eyes.

 

“25 years ago, my son met a girl,” she begins, her voice heavy and thick with tears. Kibum watches his aunt reach for her mother-in-law’s hand, and the Queen Mother squeezes it, holding on. “He liked to travel to the villages, meeting all the knights and lower ranking courts, as well as the people.”

 

“This girl is the daughter of one of the knighted scholars. Smart and sweet, my son would describe. He had fallen in love with her,” the Queen Mother pauses as the tears make their way down her face. She closes her eyes for a moment, as if in physical pain. “His father and I both thought it a phase. He would get over it, eventually. We were so certain.”

 

“But then, as the years passed, we realized we were wrong.” Kibum looks over to his aunt, watching the way the moonlight dances on her face. Her eyes are full of grief and regret, and Kibum wonders if his would look the same if he ever catches a glimpse of a mirror. “He keeps meeting her, for years, and he keeps rejecting the suitors that came for his hand. After a while, he became brave enough to ask his father if he could marry this girl.”

 

Kibum has heard stories about King Gyungshik; a stern, formidable force of a king. Very traditional and strict, and recognized the significance of social classes as much as any other nobilities and royals of his generation. Somehow with this knowledge, he cannot imagine that conversation going well at all. Kibum smiles bitterly.

 

“My husband said no, of course. She was a lowly knight’s daughter, and Yunho’s suitors were Princes and Princesses from strategic, prosperous neighboring countries.” The Queen Mother pulls her hand away from Boa’s hand suddenly, and Kibum watches with wary eyes as she stands up, walking over to the window. Her voice carries over to where they were seated, but it is faint. “So Yunho did the only thing he could; he ran away, and eloped to marry this girl.”

 

“They were married?” Boa asks, looking surprised at her own outburst. Kibum turns to her, watching the emotions play on her face. The Queen Mother nods.

 

“Briefly. My husband sent out a search party to bring Yunho home. Though not before he annulled the marriage.” Kibum hears the sharp intake of breath, then the shaky exhale as the Queen Mother seems to be trying to regain her composure. “Yunho was then married off to his best suitor—you—and this girl was never heard of again. I believe I heard my husband mentioned an exile. He also… I have reasons to believe that he had taken away her father’s knighthood and lands, as well.”

 

“Oh,” Kibum breathes, taking a ragged breath to fill his aching chest with some air. It is harder than he expected, and he feels as if he is suffocating. He feels a pain that is not his; yet it is great enough to immobilize him.

 

“They have a son together,” Boa says, sounding numb. Her eyes are glassy with unshed tears, and they are so unfocused Kibum wonders if she is at all there, or if her mind has flown somewhere far away. “Mother, Yunho had a child. An heir.”

 

“An heir,” Kibum repeats. He closes his eyes as the memory of his conversation with his aunt begins to replay itself in his mind. Shaking it off, Kibum looks up to meet his aunt’s eyes. “We must find him.”

 

“How?” the Queen Mother turns around, looking at them with an anxious frown on her forehead. She bites her lip, face still wet with tear tracks, but there is a glint of determination in her eyes that was not present before. “This letter is the only thing we have got left.”

 

“Do you remember the village His Majesty used to frequent?” Kibum asks her. The Queen Mother nods.

 

“Incheon. It is close—barely four hours of carriage ride away from the city. Is it possible it might be her home?” she moves back towards them as Kibum nods, going over the letter once more. “I wish I could remember her father’s name. It would have made the search easier.”

 

Boa takes a deep breath and shakes her head, eyes bright and jaws set. “We have her name, and her son’s. We can find them.”

 

The Queen Mother watches her for a moment, and for the first time that night, she lets herself smile. “We will find them.”

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

 

A/N: Hi, I hope you enjoyed this introduction, even though there's no 2min yet. Hehe. Anyway, the aesthetic I am using in this fanfiction is inspired by Tang dynasty style attire in 7th century China, therefore the attires will be described as Hanfu as opposed to Hanbok. Here is a Pinterest board if you're interested! Lastly, please tell me what you think. I love you!!!