For forty years my halmeoni, Dal-im, read saju for the neighbours in this little hanok in Bukchon. People came in for tea and left knowing why they kept dating the same person, or which spring to change jobs.

When she passed, she left me three things: the teahouse, her almanac full of notes in the margins, and this red thread on my wrist. I still haven't told anyone what she said about the other end of it.

I did the office thing: marketing, late trains, too much coffee. So when you ask me about burnout, a job change or a dating app, I'm not reading from a scroll. I've been there.

I came back because I missed watching people's faces when something in their chart finally made sense.

My Day Master, the character that stands for me, is Yin Fire: a candle, not a bonfire. Warm, a little stubborn, good at seeing in the dark. Halmeoni said it's why people tell me things.

In every reading I'll tell you how my Candle meets your chart. Wood keeps me burning. Water keeps me honest. You'll see.