Cherry Blossoms from Withered Grass

The roots of good and evil lie on the surface; the signs of life and death are written plain. When cornered, one resorts to schemes and gambits; when successful, one finds harmony between the hidden and the manifest.

Since the reign of Emperor Wu, the nation has collapsed and new systems risen; religions have flourished, then sects have perished. I look upon the people of the Seven Continents: the wealthy are loud, the poor are weak. They delight in the shifting illusions of sea mirages and disdain the roots of the Five Phases. By day, the court shines; by night, it lies in darkness. All under heaven are enemies.

Before us, a cross-shaped torch burns the earth; behind us, a northern sword draws a river to its banks. A million corpses lie in the fields, and blood flows for a thousand miles.

Thus do treacherous ministers toy with titles in the highest heavens, while the righteous wield blades and spears in the mortal world.

This novel and its characters are entirely fictional. Any resemblance is purely coincidental. Do not imitate.