On my first trip down the mountain to rob a fat sheep, I picked on Xin Qiji. He told me to “get lost,” so I did.
Later, I took a eunuch as my godfather, and people across the land called me shameless. I let their spit dry on its own, and in return, I got military pay and weapons.
Later still, Black Ox slapped the table. “My brother can write poetry too!” My face turned the color of pig liver as I struggled to come up with, “Bright moonlight before my bed.”
Years later, Xin Qiji wrote an anonymous ci poem. I set sail for the open sea with my fleet.
