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We are the poor and oppressed. We are the common folk; the farmers and the soldiers; the Han Dynasty’s forgotten multitude. Oh, Emperor, we are your people.
And yet you languish in the imperial palace, eunuchs, and nobles whispering falsehoods in your ear. You do their bidding. You are their puppet. Even as we starve, you tax us ever harder, so that they may continue to live in luxury.
When we rose in opposition, you slaughtered us in our millions. Many more were slain by your agents on suspicion alone. It is clear to us now: you have lost the Mandate of Heaven.
We are the poor and oppressed. But we are also many. We are the very backbone of China. We wear the yellow turban with pride. And we bring great change.
The Blue Sky is dead; the Yellow Sky will soon rise.
In the year of Jiazi, there will be prosperity under Heaven!