I dream of mountains and rivers, and autumn turns cold again, as rain and wind buffet the realm.
Waves rise without end as stars wheel overhead; the splendor of history leaves me forlorn.
Across the ages, the heavens remain vast and clear. Where can we gaze toward Fusang?
The dark sky is hard to brighten; the qilin of old is nowhere to be found.
Bright candlelight urges us awake. Half the realm is swept into the currents of human affairs.
A mournful sigh for broken branches and wilted fluff, for palaces stripped of their splendor.
The emperor's favor turns to smoke; hidden flowers bleed red.
Rain and thunder perform together as raging waves toss the dragon about.
The imperial seal gleams with a gentle luster, like a soft breeze, like a pale rosy cloud. Four inches square, it bears five dragons on top and the eight carved characters: “By Heaven's mandate, may the emperor live long and prosper.” As radiant as the sun, as exalted as the heavens, yet as weighty as the realm itself.
It was a legend a thousand years old, gradually buried in the river of time, like yellow sand stirred up by the heavy tread of horses, quietly dispersing on the horizon...
In the final years of the Hao Dynasty, the realm was torn by strife. Heroes rose from every direction, and the doctrines of alliances and coalitions returned. Conflict and friendship existed side by side, making it seem as though another Warring States era had begun. The realm of Huaxia could never escape its fate of division and reunification.
The Golden House rises, and the moon rabbit falls once more. Year after year, the heavens' cycles rise and fall as they watch over the mortal world. Loyalty, righteousness, benevolence, and love are written across the soft clouds and brilliant stars.
