軍帖十二卷，字如刀，筆如刃

名落阿爺名，血脈註定天命未可分

東市買我馬，西市配我鞍

南北不再是街市，是我命運的棋陣

三日備裝備，母親不語淚潸潸

姊姊繡香囊，弟弟磨刀寒

一聲不回首，我將家門別斷弦

笑說不過遠行，心卻重如山

昨夜夢裡 有人喚我「蘭」

模糊聲音 如火燙心間

我不知他是誰，也不知我是誰

只知這場征途，彷彿魂曾經此路牽

軍帖為令，軍帖如繩

縛我此身入萬里風塵

若我不歸，誰替我說

這段未醒的夢？這抹未明的魂？

我不是男兒身，不是戰場神

我只是無法再沉默的靈魂

我騎馬而行，名繡甲中紋

這不是偽裝，是詩，是傷，是認真

[Interlude – 火光閃爍，夢中低語：

「妳已走過七次了，蘭……還願意嗎？」]

夜半書信短，爐火將未燃

我留字給母親：「我安、勿念」

可我知這不是安，是戰，是斷

是七世的記憶，在這一夜點燃

這不是第一次出征

也不是第一次愛人

若命運欺我七回

我這一回，將以劍作筆，重寫乾坤

軍帖十二卷，一卷為孝

一卷為義，其餘十卷——為未說出口的我

我踏霜雪馬道，離家萬里無言

只留詩一句：

木蘭不為誰戰，只為靈魂點燃

風息馬遠，紙信落地，鏡中無人，霧起

......................................................................................................

Emotive, cinematic, poetic rendering

Twelve scrolls sealed in iron ink

each letter a blade, each name a binding.

His name is etched. Mine, unwritten.

I buy my horse beneath quiet bells.

The world is no longer streets

it is a battlefield in disguise.

Three days, I prepare in silence.

Mother’s tears speak louder than farewell.

My sister sews a charm in silk.

My brother sharpens a blade for broth.

I do not look back.。

I leave like a note,

cut from the thread of home.

Last night, someone called my name.。

“Lan.”“

The voice burns like memory I don’t own.

I don’t know who he is,

nor who I was

only that my feet know this path

as if they’ve walked it in another life.

Orders bind like rope.

They pull me into the storm.

If I don’t return

who will remember

this dream I never finished?

I’m no man, no god of war.。

I’m a soul that refuses to stay silent.

I ride forward,

my name stitched beneath steel.

This is no disguise

it is poem. It is wound. It is truth.

“You’ve walked this road seven times.“

Will you still walk it for love?”

By night, I write a letter small as my courage.

I tell my mother: “I am safe, don’t worry.”

But it’s a lie.

This isn’t safety.

It’s war.

It’s the fracture of my seventh life,

beginning to burn.

This isn’t my first war.

Nor my first love.

If fate broke me seven times

then this time,

I’ll wield a blade like a pen

and rewrite the stars.

Twelve scrolls.

One for loyalty. One for duty.

Ten more for everything I’ve never said.

I ride through frost and silence.

No tears.

Only a verse remains:

Mulan doesn’t fight for glory

she fights for her soul to stay on fire.

Wind hushes. Hooves vanish into silence.

The letter drops. The mirror is empty.

And then—fog begins to rise