hard-working. The other workers couldn’t stand the wail and tried to throw tools at her to shut her up. One even
offered to be her second husband so she would shut up and let them concentrate on their work, or else their fate
would be just like the soldiers. She refused to pipe down and became hysterical. To solve this little problem we
have here, I ‘accidentally’ let a bit of myself slip over again, so she fell onto the barren ground also; Fan on the
left and Meng on the right, exactly separated by me. Her fall wasn’t a pretty sight either, spilling blood on my
newly constructed side. The plaster wasn’t properly fixed, so that side just collapsed, revealing even more skulls.
She desperately tried to find her husband’s one, but never did manage to do it. Legend says I collapsed out of
pity, but a legend’s just a legend. They just bought too much annoyance to me so I decided to do this. Cruel?
Maybe, but imagine a young girl preaching day and night for the return of his husband. Mind you, she knew he
was already dead. Enthusiasm? Probably. Annoying? Definitely.
So that’s the story of Meng and Fan told from my perspective. Until today, many people still flock to the
temple built by unrelated people to commemorate the couple. Nobody knows it was me who caused their deaths.
So as a final reminder for those tourists who want to experience ‘culture’ with me, please learn how to read the
signs stuck all over me – no vandalism, no graffiti – before actually experiencing ‘culture’.
* * *