It has not yet been a full month since I returned to the mountain, and edicts have come one after another, lea…
It has not yet been a full month since I returned to the mountain, and edicts have come one after another, leaving me not a single day's peace. Who could have guessed that our move to block Flying Dragon would instead draw the Khitans' notice? They have offered gold and silver, fine horses with gilded saddles, and even tried to lure me with rank and title. I may have no great talent, but even I know that once dead, a man is nothing more than dry bones. How then could I go on living only to bow my head and serve those barbarian invaders? Now my native land has been laid waste, and the danger is as urgent as trying to save something from the flames. I have long been worn down by old ailments, and the cough has sunk deep into my chest. I am nothing but a withered scrap of wood, and would gladly trade this life of mine for that of the barbarian king. Yet my martial uncle is trapped in the enemy camp, shut away in captivity, with no certainty of living to see the next dawn. A thousand times, ten thousand times, I have wished to take his place. And yet, when all others are gone, I am left standing here alone. If sorrow truly could wear a man down, I should not hope to live out my years.
Only yesterday I heard that Peng too has returned to the mountain, and then I knew how urgent matters had become. Those muddled fools at the crimson court have gone so far as to hand the roster of the disciples outside the mountain over to the enemy. With no one to trust, I have sent hawks and falcons carrying letters, calling all the disciples back to the mountain. This sick body of mine is useless, and I even coughed blood onto the letter. So be it. I think of Emperor Wang's loyal heart. If there is still anything left to rely on, then calling all the disciples back to the mountain may yet serve some purpose.
For a thousand years the Mohists have endured. Now the master is trapped, the disciples are dead, the nest is overturned, and the eggs are smashed. If Heaven does not repent of the disasters it sends, then who else could have wrought such ruin? Innocent and guiltless alike are thrown into this chaos.
If this is what they call Heaven's will, then we of this school will place no faith in such a way.