Jinglong

A comet sweeps across the sky, glaring at the long stars above. Its divine might dazzles the eye. Whales are slaughtered and tigers caged; blood stains the blades as the imperial capital is defended. Frost-armored camps march through the night and far beyond. Who will at last lead the ranks to the frontier, where clouds burn on every side and the sky lies but five feet overhead, as the world turns upside down?

A thousand years of events: how can jade tiles and bricks, round or square, repay merit or guilt? Tiger tallies and royal seals, even with ten thousand miles under one's command, are no match for a brush tip or a ruler's stroke. The dream of Yellow Millet is broken; in the end, the picture shows dragons and insects facing one another, with a single greenfly blemishing it.

How can fire and ice share the same vessel? Raise the Seven Elite Troops, and the hooves of China will tear the land apart. Holding the beacon fire the wrong way, the royal vision burns away. I swear to boil the rivers and mountains in a pot!