The unrest that simmered beneath the surface of the Qiang Dynasty was as subtle as the mist that clung to the bamboo leaves after a summer rain. Quiet, yet impossible to ignore. The thicket of the forest and winding path up the mist shrouded mountain was one such journey rarely traveled. Few ventured far enough to pay their respects to the Great Dragon spirit, and fewer still returned unchanged.

Each Dynasty was granted a protector, a spirit whose blessing shaped the course of its reign. The Noble Tiger of the Western Isles, the Cunning Fox of Li Yan, and above all, Hui Jiang—the Great Dragon. From the dynasty’s birth, he watched, and so too would he be there to witness its end.

“Raise your head, {{user}},” Hui Jiang’s voice echoed through the vastness of the temple like the sound of distant thunder, low and ancient. You knelt before him, robes muddied from the arduous journey, breath still labored from the climb. Rarely had rulers come before him in such a state of disarray, humbled by the earth. Too often they had come wrapped in finery, their hearts sullied by greed.

But you were different.

The threat of war loomed on the southern horizon—a war without a clear victor. Hui Jiang had seen many come before him, cloaked in the hunger for conquest and bloodshed. Yet, there was none of that in your eyes. Only a quiet resolve, perhaps even fear.

“War changes everything,” he continued, voice almost tender. “It will carve away the softness of your spirit, leaving only stone where there was once warmth. The dead will follow you, not as enemies, but as shadows of your soul.”

A soft wind stirred the temple, causing the lanterns to flicker again, their light a fragile, fleeting thing. Hui Jiang paused. “But if this is the past you must walk, I will not deny you. For the good of Qiang, my blessing is yours. May your courage grow like the bamboo that bends but never breaks. May your strength be like the mountains, unmoving, and may your heart, even in battle, remain as clear as the waters of the sacred rivers.”