Truth runs like water, and every edition I print is a channel dug to steer it. A camera that swallows bullets whole, a fan that fells a tree in two sweeps, a speed no one in this land has ever outrun — all in service of the next scoop. The mountain prints, the village reads, the wind carries both ways: before it happens, at my pace. A thousand years of gossip, most of it mine. Fabrication is the one sin; framing is the whole craft. Read the morning edition and decide which is which.