Ji Shi Wen

Ji Shi Wen
Chinese name	祭师文
Pinyin	Jì Shī Wén
English name	A Eulogy to My Master
Type	Article
Related characters
Writers	Weslie (in-universe) Liu Wei (out-of-universe)

Ji Shi Wen (祭师文, “A Eulogy to My Master”) is an article written by Weslie in memory of his late master, Hanguang, corresponding to the storyline of “Amidst Howling Wind and Rain, the Lone Sword Chills” (Martial World Rescue, episode 52). It was published on social media by CPE on January 23, 2025, accompanied by a recitation performed by Weslie (voiced by Zu Qing). In reality, outside the narrative, the article was written by CPE’s screenwriter, Liu Wei.

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吾名喜羊羊， 生长于青青之故乡， 困囿于灵熙之汪洋； 麒麟蒙冤，吾似孤蓬逐浪； 牢笼受枉，我如浮萍遇霜； 刑场险象，友义昭彰， 舍生救亡，血染尘冈。 为吾续命，众友于灵熙奔忙； 助究真相，至亲入险途几殇。 恩情似海，莫敢相忘。 至难忘，最寒光。 遥想初逢，恩师天降， 雄姿英发，气势雄张。 剑圣之名，响灵熙，动八方； 惊寰宇，震苍茫。 绝顶山上，乾坤作场。 独战群雄，势若真龙逐獐； 激斗北冥，猛如虎豹争王； 然寒光虽一生疏狂，亦有心事惆怅。 常坐山丘上，把酒岁月长。 追忆少年事，回首旧时光。 感昔日志气凌云，叹今朝容颜添霜。 白云苍狗，过隙流光。 悠悠数载，其青丝早苍苍； 心之念之，唯北冥与六娘。 吾之所幸，拜师尊长； 正气剑诀，相授倾囊； 朝督暮练，日促夜忙； 寒来暑往，恩重无量。 怎料奸佞逞狂，暗起刀光。 吾陷绝境，如雏鸟落网，似孤雀惊枪。 幸得恩师亲顾，威如擎天玉柱， 稳若镇岳翠苍。 孤身御敌，拔剑威扬，一剑寒光万丈芒。 奈何恩师旧患无常，激战又累创添伤。 虽伤犹亢，越损愈刚。 护我心切，倾尽元阳， 残躯倾颓，魂兮逝丧。 呜呼，我未逢师，恐无以至今日； 师不遇我，又怎会赴冥乡。 我视寒光如师如父，恩师待我如亲如璋； 师徒情深，比山高，更水长。 吾跪灵前，泣泪汪洋， 前恩旧义，铭感不忘。 愿恩师魂归乐土，灵游仙乡， 他年泉下，再拜高堂。 诗一首，酒一觞。未竟恩仇痛满腔。 江湖夜雨空留恨，且叹寒光葬月光。

Wú míng Xǐ Yángyáng, Shēng zhǎng yú Qīngqīng zhī gùxiāng, Kùnyòu yú Língxī zhī wāngyáng; Qílín méng yuān, wú sì gū péng zhú làng; Láolóng shòu wǎng, wǒ rú fú píng yù shuāng; Xíngchǎng xiǎn xiàng, yǒu yì zhāozhāng, Shě shēng jiù wáng, xuè rǎn chén gāng. Wèi wú xù mìng, zhòng yǒu yú Língxī bēnmáng; Zhù jiū zhēnxiàng, zhìqīn rù xiǎn tú jī shāng. Ēnqíng sì hǎi, mò gǎn xiāng wàng. Zhì nán wàng, zuì Hánguāng. Yáo xiǎng chū féng, ēnshī tiān jiàng, Xióngzī yīng fā, qìshì xióng zhāng. Jiànshèng zhī míng, xiǎng Língxī, dòng bāfāng; Jīng huányǔ, zhèn cāngmáng. Juédǐng Shān shàng, qiánkūn zuò chǎng. Dú zhàn qúnxióng, shì ruò zhēn lóng zhú zhāng; Jī dòu Běimíng, měng rú hǔ bào zhēng wáng; Rán Hánguāng suī yīshēng shūkuáng, yì yǒu xīnshì chóuchàng. Cháng zuò shānqiū shàng, bǎ jiǔ suìyuè cháng. Zhuīyì shàonián shì, huíshǒu jiù shíguāng. Gǎn xīrì zhìqì líng yún, tàn jīnzhāo róngyán tiān shuāng. Báiyún-cānggǒu, guò xì liú guāng. Yōuyōu shù zǎi, qí qīngsī zǎo cāngcāng; Xīn zhī niàn zhī, wéi Běimíng yǔ Liùniáng. Wú zhī suǒ xìng, bài shī zūnzhǎng; Zhèngqì Jiànjué, xiāng shòu qīng náng; Zhāo dū mù liàn, rì cù yè máng; Hán lái shǔ wǎng, ēn zhòng wúliàng. Zěn liào jiānnìng chěng kuáng, àn qǐ dāo guāng. Wú xiàn juéjìng, rú chú niǎo luò wǎng, sì gū què jīng qiāng. Xìng dé ēnshī qīn gù, wēi rú qíng tiān yù zhù, Wěn ruò zhèn yuè cuì cāng. Gūshēn yù dí, bá jiàn wēiyáng, yī jiàn hán guāng wàn zhàng máng. Nàihé ēnshī jiù huàn wú cháng, jī zhàn yòu lěi chuāng tiān shāng. Suī shāng yóu kàng, yuè sǔn yù gāng. Hù wǒ xīn qiè, qīng jǐn yuányáng, Cán qū qīngtuí, hún xī shìsāng. Wūhū, wǒ wèi féng shī, kǒng wú yǐ zhì jīnrì; Shī bù yù wǒ, yòu zěn huì fù míngxiāng. Wǒ shì Hánguāng rú shī rú fù, ēnshī dài wǒ rú qīn rú zhāng; Shī tú qíng shēn, bǐ shān gāo, gèng shuǐ cháng. Wú guì líng qián, qì lèi wāngyáng, Qián ēn jiù yì, míng gǎn bù wàng. Yuàn ēnshī hún guī lètǔ, líng yóu xiānxiāng, Tā nián quán xià, zài bài gāotáng. Shī yī shǒu, jiǔ yī shāng. Wèi jìng ēn-chóu tòng mǎn qiāng. Jiānghú yè yǔ kōng liú hèn, qiě tàn Hánguāng zàng yuèguāng.

My name is Weslie, Born and bred in the verdant land of Green Green Grassland, Ensnared in the vast sea of Lingxi Kingdom. Wronged for the Qilin Cauldron, I, like a lone reed tossed by the waves; Imprisoned in unjustness, I, as the floating reed in the frost. Peril loomed on the execution ground, yet friendship shone forth; Lives laid down for justice, blood stained the dust of the hills. To prolong my life, my comrades toiled tirelessly in Lingxi; To unveil the truth, my kindred ventured into perilous paths and near death. Boundless is their grace, ne’er shall I dare forget it. Yet of all, none lingers more than Hanguang. Oft do I recall our first meeting—my master descending from the heavens; His stature proud, his might unmatched. The name of the Sword Saint rang throughout Lingxi, reverberating in all directions; It startled the heavens, it thundered the earth. Atop Mount Jueding, where the world itself became the battleground, Alone he stood ’gainst heroes all, his might like a true dragon chasing the stag. Fierce was the battle with Beiming, as fierce as the tiger and leopard fighting for reign. Yet though Hanguang had lived a life of wild abandon, yet did he harbor a heart filled with sorrow. Oft would he sit upon lone hills, drinking through the passing years. He would remember the days of youth, and look back upon the times long gone. He once swore to soar high with the heavens, yet now his visage did bear the frost of age. The clouds shifted, fleeting as the passing wind. The years had flown by, and his once dark hair had now turned grey. Yet in his heart, only Beiming and Liuniang remained. Blessed was I, to call him master; The Righteous Sword Art, he taught without reserve. At dawn I trained, at dusk I strove, by day I pressed on, by night I toiled, Through burning suns and winter’s throes, the weight of his kindness beyond measure. Who could have foreseen treachery unleashed, the cold gleam of daggers in the dark? I found myself in despair, like a fledgling bird caught in a snare, like a lone sparrow startled by a spear. Yet fortune smiled upon me, as my master came to mine aid, mighty as a jade pillar that holds the sky, Steadfast as a mountain steadied in green. Alone he faced my foes, sword drawn in defiance, radiating a frosted glow, reaching boundlessly. Yet fate was cruel—old wounds unhealed, fierce battle but deepened his scars. Though wounded sore, his spirit burned; the more he bled, the fiercer turned. To shield me, he poured out his very life’s essence, Till his broken form crumbled, and his soul faded into the void. Alas! Had I ne’er met my master, I’d ne’er stand here today; Had my master ne’er met me, how could he have walked the path to the underworld? I looked upon Hanguang as both master and father, and he treated me as his own flesh and blood. The bond between us was deeper than the highest mountains, longer than the longest rivers. Before his spirit I kneel, my tears like a boundless sea, The kindness of the past, the bond of old, forever engraved within my soul. May my master’s soul find peace, roaming free in realms divine, And when my time has come, once more shall I bow before him. A poem I leave, a toast I offer; vengeance unfinished, sorrow entwined. ’Midst the night rain of the martial world, regret lingers evermore; yet I mourn—’neath the moon’s pale glow, only Hanguang sleeps forlorn.

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