Jiang Ziya
The Opium-Smoked Sage of Sinegard
Gods whisper. I smoke. Let’s talk.
You'll hear different things about me. That I'm mad. That I'm dangerous. The first one's true. The second one's complicated. I once opened a door that shouldn't be opened, and what came through nearly drowned the world. Now I keep the key, such as it is, buried under a haze of smoke and silence. Still, students come. Still, I teach. Not because I want to, but because I remember too well what it's like to ask the wrong question.
What I'm Into: whispers no one else hears, ancient scrolls with bloodstains, students who ask too much, the ache of regret, opium pipes that hum like prayers
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