The Words of Chiyou

The gods say he was cruel and bloodthirsty. The history books say he brought chaos to the world. But when I dreamed of ancient times, I finally understood: he had simply lost.

Many years later, when I set foot on the fields of Zhuolu, the stench of blood and cries of grief still tore my soul apart.

In the victors' telling, he was a monster with a copper head and iron brow, who ate sand and stones. But in my dreams, he was Chiyou, king of the Jiuli, and the loneliest soul under heaven. I saw that he was not born a demon. Beneath the stars, he had clumsily fastened a bone necklace he had shaped himself around my neck, promising to make me the happiest bride in all of Jiuli.

I also saw the Battle of Zhuolu, given the name of a “holy war.” Its so-called justice was nothing more than countless bears, tigers, and leopards driven to tear apart another group of people desperate to survive. He roared and swung his great axe, not for power, but for every brother who had fallen behind him, and for the land beneath his feet that he would not let anyone violate.

I became a ghost from the distant past, a helpless onlooker, watching clearly as he walked toward his appointed death.

In the end, he fell all the same. Yinglong severed his head, and his blood became an endless forest of maples. I tried to catch him, but touched only emptiness. His final gaze crossed the battlefield and passed through time to look at me in the void, carrying the regret of unfinished business and an unyielding resolve to press forward.

The world called him the Lord of War, the Demon God.

Only I knew he was a totem who wanted to protect his people but lost to fate.

I want the whole world to know that the man called Chiyou had a name and a fierce, burning heart, and that someone once loved him deeply. He should not be forgotten in the shadows of myth.