"To whomever opposes me this game:
Your ancestor groped monkeys and your plum trees will wither, may your mulberry trees poison your worms, wild dogs steal your produce, and the sea itself fail to give you salt, You are the son of a pig of a dog of a goat of a rat and I will hide rotten longans around your property line.
May your flock wander to the four winds and your soil hiss with venom, May your legs grow weak before you wander, your staff crack in your hand, and the road run from you, May your hens go barren and your sows ravage their young. May your fields choke with weeds, your plow shatter on stones, and may weevils grow fat on your stores. May your wine go sour within the day and your bread sink like a stone in a well. Your kin shall cross themselves as you walk past, and your forebears shall hurl their displeasure from on high. May your scythe grow dull from lack of use and your silos be as empty as your hearth. Let never the sun shine kindly on you, only in thirsting excess or frigid absence.
May your home be full first with drafts and second with vermin. May lonesome babes colic as you draw near and maidens ever tense, may your outhouse overflow in storms and your basin go dry in droughts. "

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