Eighteen years ago, Hanyu Temple was destroyed in a great fire. Eighty thousand bodies were buried together. In life, they had fought one another as rebels; in death, they lay side by side.
Mounds of earth rose over Hanyu Temple, growing taller year after year until they became a hill, lush with trees.
The fire that started eighteen years ago never went out.
Twenty-eight years later, from the ruins of Hanyu Temple, one could look toward the Imperial City's Northern Palace and see the city consumed by flames.
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In times of peace, I tapped bamboo poles, hoping to set up a stall and sell pig liver. Knife up, knife down, I wielded my butcher's cleaver; hoe up, hoe down, I tilled the soil. I gave my heart to the bright moon, but the moon hung high beyond my reach. Who would have thought turmoil would erupt in a single day? My stall could no longer stay open, so I picked up my butcher's cleaver. Today, I kill, and become emperor.
P.S. This is just for fun. I write wherever my dreams take me.
Theme: The great path begins only after the heart has died; this life went astray before I was born
