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Your fan is not made of silk: Rather, it’s bearing the sharpest blade. Red are your clothes, crimson’s eyeliner: The fan’s bloody edge won’t fade. You are my salvation — saved me from the trap, And tied, — really tightly, — the enemies' hands. No time to wait till the fighting, — so harshly, — ends, Giving your sacred and honoured bow: Millions of people standing behind us now… Our bond is forever valid — we’ll return to the House of spring, — As we should have, so long ago. May your fan, oh, protect me, — our love, — with its gentle flow.7 - Silk fan (Wen Kexing/Zhou Zishu)
October 7, 2025 at 2:13 PM