Meditation on Divine Love

“Why do I love our people?” he asks her, looking out across the plains. He remembers when even the sky was red with blood, the stench of death seeping into his skin, the gold stone in his hands stained a flat black with ichor that dripped from the gods he plunged his spear into over and over until they fell. He can see where Guizhong hid their people — the temples that have fallen into ruins, the steles where she wrote their laws. Where she died.

Zhongli is asked a tricky question by the Traveler, and visits old friends to see what their thoughts are on the matter.