Zhu Wen the traitor stormed my sect, intent on seizing the Ten Sages' Collection. My brethren gave their lives…
Zhu Wen the traitor stormed my sect, intent on seizing the Ten Sages' Collection. My brethren gave their lives to defend it, their blood staining every stone step. That wound is carved into my soul. I will never forget it.
Now my disciples and I are kept as captives, forced to labor as stonemasons, carving merit steles for the very men who destroyed us. Each time I am made to remember, the will to die rises in me like a tide. Yet if I die now, their atrocities die with me. And so I endure. I swallow the shame and stay alive.
They have taken my brush. But my carving knife remains. Let steel serve as ink. I will inscribe the Prince of Liang's crimes into the stones of Qinchuan, into the incised backs of every stele they make us carve. Let the wind and rain wear them down. Let the years pass. Long after my bones are dust, the truth beneath my blade will come to light.