On this day, the great fire in Jiangzhou's State City was fierce and swift. A man was asleep; he gathered up the red colorful cloth his wife had sewn. Oddly, the young women said it was requested by the Prime Minister.
Yet, up to now, the Prime Minister hadn't come to claim it.
Nor had he sent anyone to retrieve it.
The man was a bit worried, so he carefully put away the item. He hadn't slept well the previous night. The next day, he heard chaos outside, like the chaotic army had started fighting.
He rushed out in a hurry, pulled his wife back, and retreated to their cramped little room, firmly wedging the door shut. Then, the man clasped a hammer used for pounding things, his eyes wide, bloodshot.
He mentally recited all the deities he knew of, hoping they would protect them.
He hoped Lord Heavenly Venerate would open his eyes and show mercy to save them.
He hoped some Lord Qingtian would be merciful and come to their aid.
He spoke of Buddha's great compassion.
