Once upon a time, on a tiny emerald island wrapped in soft ocean mist, there lived a Korean princess named Ji-yeon. She was eight years old, with long black hair that danced like silk ribbons when she ran, and a smile bright enough to light the palace lanterns.
Ji-yeon’s home was a hidden retreat, far from the noisy capital. Her school was small and secret, tucked inside a bamboo grove where only twelve children studied—princesses, young scholars, and even a dragon trainer’s daughter. Everyone loved Ji-yeon because she shared her colored pencils, listened to every story, and never laughed when someone spelled “chrysanthemum” wrong.
August crept closer, warm and golden. Ji-yeon’s birthday was August 4th, but this year she felt a tiny tug of worry. “I’ll be eight and a half soon,” she told her pet turtle, Bokshiri. “What if birthdays stop being special?”
She kept going to school, helping her friend Min-ji practice flute, trading peach candies with Tae-joon, and reading poetry under the lotus pond. She never guessed what was happening behind the bamboo curtain.
Every afternoon, when Ji-yeon napped on the veranda, her classmates tiptoed past with glittery boxes. The cook stirred secret recipes. The garden keeper clipped night-blooming jasmine. Even the palace cat, Momo, carried ribbons in her mouth.
August 4th arrived like a sunrise made of honey. Ji-yeon woke to an ordinary morning—or so she thought. Her tutor canceled lessons. Her mother said, “Wear your favorite hanbok, the one with tiny silver stars.”
At school, the gate was locked. A sign read: CLOSED FOR DRAGON TRAINING. Ji-yeon’s heart sank. “No one remembered,” she whispered.
But then—music! A cheerful beat leaked through the bamboo. Ji-yeon pushed the gate. It swung open on silent hinges.
Inside the courtyard, the world had turned into a dream. Paper lanterns floated like fireflies. A disco ball spun rainbows across the lotus pond. Tables sparkled with fancy food: star-shaped kimbap, rainbow macarons, and golden sweet-potato cakes dusted with sugar snow.
And the tea! Delicate cups steamed with lotus-blossom tea, pale pink and fragrant as a summer wish.
“Kkamjjak-iya!” shouted twelve voices. Her classmates rushed forward wearing paper crowns. Min-ji played a birthday song on her flute. Tae-joon spun the disco ball faster. The dragon trainer’s daughter released tiny paper dragons that fluttered overhead, breathing safe sparks of light.
Ji-yeon’s eyes grew wide as moons. “You… you did this for me?”
“We wanted the coolest party on the island,” said Min-ji, hugging her. “Because you make every day cool for us.”
They danced until the stars came out. Ji-yeon sipped lotus tea that tasted like flowers and friendship. She blew out eight candles plus one for luck, and the breeze carried her wish across the sea.
When the lanterns dimmed, her friends gave her a scrapbook filled with drawings, poems, and pressed lotus petals—one page for every memory they’d shared.
That night, tucked under a quilt stitched with constellations, Ji-yeon whispered to Bokshiri, “Birthdays don’t stop being special. They just get bigger, like love.”
And on her island retreat, under a sky full of quiet wonders, the princess fell asleep smiling, dreaming of disco lights and lotus tea forever.
The end. Sweet dreams, little star.