To those who come after I, Qiu Shizi, a painter of Liangzhou, have held my brush for forty years, my life dev…
To those who come after
I, Qiu Shizi, a painter of Liangzhou, have held my brush for forty years, my life devoted to this art. Now, my breath hangs by a thread, my life a flickering candle. Upon this torn silk, I leave my final words.
When General Zhang raised his righteous banner and the Hexi lands returned to the Tang, a thousand souls celebrated at the Skybrim Market. Having witnessed such peace, I poured my very soul into the scroll, "Merriment at Skybrim." In it, Hu dancers spin in taverns and Han children play upon stacks of wheat; camel bells echo down the Silk Road as the horns of the garrison blend with the music of flutes. The entire spirit of an age, captured in a nine-zhang scroll.
Yet! Even as my brush moved, omens of ruin appeared beneath the veneer of prosperity. Enemy riders cast shadows upon the Qilian snows,, and war dispatches arrived from Shazhou. Fearing this work would become a masterpiece lost to time, I tore it into three...
If any descendant should find these fragments, you must remember two things. First, you must reassemble this scroll as the Guiyi Army reclaimed their lost lands, for every painted inch holds blood and tears. Second, when it is made whole, you must burn incense and bow to the east. Bow not to my withered bones, but to the bright moon over Chang'an!
Alas! Art may be torn, but the soul of the Tang cannot be broken. The scroll may be hidden, but the heart that yearns for home can never be buried.
Penned on his deathbed by Qiu Shizi
Frost Moon, Year [illegible]