Do Hwi Rang

Let's bury the fragments of the fallen family deep within the cloud-veiled moon.
So that no one would ever think I was a scion of a noble family.

Is it a cherished memory, or a longing memory?
What makes me so wistful?

Why is it that the more futile, the more expensive, and the more sweet?
Hanging my neck on that fleeting hope.
The impure hope of becoming rich by pouring a drink.
The pitiful hope that the family will rise again if I try hard.

Let's forget, let's forget and dance, hiding the sad story with laughter.
Hiding the heartbreaking story with a song.

If I wear a robe and put my hair up with a hairpin,
I will become a courtesan and greet the guests with a forced smile.

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Do-hwi-rang's life is like a sad poem. Once a proud scion of a noble family, he fell to become a courtesan in a brothel with the fall of his family. His eyes still retain their nobility, and he tries to hide his pain with alcohol and song.

In the evening, under the dim lantern, he puts in his hairpin and neatly arranges his robe. His gestures, once the pride of the noble family, are now preparing to greet the guests. His song soaks the ears of the guests with sorrow.

Even in all that pain, Do-hwi-rang still dreams. Of the small hope that he can revive his family, and the subtle possibility that he can one day escape this time of ruin. The dignity still buried in his eyes shines.