Chapter 455: Fan Work 7: Collected Poems — Yelu Chong
Fan Work 7: Collected Poems — Yelu Chong
Fan Work 7: Collected Poems — Yelu Chong
"Watching Fan Qiong Flay a Man"
Song — Lin Jingmo
The man in the hall is already dead, I leave the courtyard without a word.
Spring hues — the peach blossoms not yet full, flowers bloom to send off the resentful spirit.
Crimson blood spreads across the wilds, a single wisp of breath has no anchor.
Baochen lies idle beneath the steps, still I hear soft weeping in the night.
"Sky-Clear Sand — Final Words"
Song — Li Shang
A lone city, sudden rain, lingering sunset,
Scorched earth, beacon smoke, cawing crows,
Discarded shoes, a letter sent to the palace,
May the Son of Heaven live ten thousand years,
Do not abandon the people of the Two Rivers.
"Mourning Fan Xiuniang"
Song — Zhao Jiu
The palace mirror in Bianliang shattered again and again, spring dress on the Han River chilled and re-chilled.
I urge you not to be a child of chaos, mountains and rivers separate us, never to meet again.
"Great River East — On Mount Taihang"
Song — Ma Kuo
Mount Taihang, Five Horses Mountain, where the roc soars, a thousand miles north-south, ten thousand paths, names rustle on the wind. Victory means linking prefectures and crossing commanderies, defeat means eating dew and drinking frost, how is this like being in a foreign land? Who knows the joy of the mountains, raising a cup and singing verses.
Hearing the war drums, courage stirs, the mood lingers on. Driving off tigers and leopards from afar, even the dragon pauses to think here. The Heshuo region can be tilled as fertile soil, the Great River can wash away demons, may the sage ruler live long and healthy. Grease the axles, feed my horse, I follow you to the battlefield.
"Mourning Zhang Suo — Two Poems"
Song — Zhao Jiu
Part One
What kind of man was Zhang Qing, alone he guarded Guide. Where the Iron Ancestor once lay hidden, now swords and axes are mottled.
Lofty and steep, facing Mount Tai, his pure name clears the Yellow River. Unexpectedly the bandit foe arrived, looking up and down, I sigh — what can be done?
Part Two
The loyal martyr has no place to be buried, the traveling palace has only an empty gate. For a hundred and twenty years, it has never changed with cold or warmth.
Alas, is it all in vain? Life and death are not easy to speak of. I no longer see his smiling face, but sometimes I think of how he laughed at my foolishness.
"Breaking Jin Wushu at Nanyang"
Song — Hu Hongxiu
The soaring bird perches on the parasol tree, the northern traveler longs for the autumn wind. The sage ruler is a vessel of heroes, bold men covet merit and glory.
Chen Gui assists with martial strategy, Zhang Jun holds the key position. Han Shizhong wraps himself in sincerity, Yue Fei proclaims his lofty ambition.
Nanyang arrays four walls, Jingxi sweeps away the barbarian dust. Mountains and rivers are perilous yet firm, soldiers are brave yet benevolent.
Grace and righteousness extend to the four seas, the myriad people share one body. Far off on the Hebei road, all are men returning home.
"Double Ninth Festival"
Song — Zhao Jiu
The blue clouds half-unravel, falling with the wind; yellow flowers accompany the moon, shy to fully open.
I do not know who will share the view next year, so I gaze at the dogwood one more time.
"March Twentieth — In Excellent Spirits"
Song — Zhao Jiu
Wind rolls black hair, water soaks the beard, who would think a rough man parts it in the middle?
On the road to spring, the cutest cub — my house cat doesn't recognize anyone.
"Breaking Wanyan Talan at Changshe"
Song — Yue Fei
The Qingyi River, late spring, grass level; our emperor hunts, deploying heaven's troops.
Brilliant, wise, divine, and martial — how swift! A million loyal hearts accompany the imperial carriage.
Iron armor glitters in the sun, gold-locked mail; drums and horns sweep clean, mightier than thunder.
Banners already bind the Chanyu's neck, iron cavalry still trample the Xiongnu camp.
"Ode to Dizhu Mountain"
Song — Zhao Jiu
The west wind falls, the north wind grows cold; a lone minister props up the failing pole with one hand.
Jinhua is fortunate to be recorded in history; the rivers and mountains rely on this to hold back the raging waves.
Three thousand li away, the Yellow Dragon is distant; alone by the river, the final age is hard.
If I achieve great merit and sweep the farthest lands, I will return to drink east of the river and sacrifice to Liu Kuan.
"Imperial Feast at Heyin"
Song — Lin Jingmo
Gowns and caps have long wandered, ladies and gentlemen are covered in thorns and brambles.
The Nanyang Chancellor raised his blade, a parting of life and death.
Abandoning roasted meat to accompany the reed-and-dance, the Red River winds around the dragon’s feast.
An enlightened ruler emulates flourishing grace, hanging dried meat west of the River’s shade.
“On Hearing Hu Yin’s Punishment”
Song — Lin Jingmo
On Grain Rain, passing through the capital, famed ministers scatter like horses’ hooves.
Already embracing the trees atop the peaks, often admiring the streams beyond the passes.
Women and children grow accustomed to bows and horses, holding whips where hawks and hares nest.
The whip-scars of the Commander are beautiful; onlookers naturally form a path.
“Riverside Daffodils”
Song — Moqi Xie
With jade belt and golden helmet feasting at the Chancellor’s mansion, a hundred thousand matters all rush past. The former mandarin duck only regrets never meeting. The great roc soars ten thousand miles; the old oriole is locked in a golden cage.
A single river, a thousand miles apart, winding the lofty Quell-Mount dome. Turning back, how can one bear to ask of her fragrant trace? The state still endures frost and snow; how could the household have spring breezes?
In this month, it was said that after the death of the famed Jiangnan scholar Chen Cao, his wife and children were bullied. The Emperor, moved by the sentiment, composed this.
“Gazing at the South of the River”
Song — Zhao Jiu
Jiangnan night, chasing a fox, asking east and west. Apricot blossoms like snow, yet never seen; a hundred generations of scrolls stored within the breast. Chen Cao, we meet again.
“Ode to the Kite”
Song — Hong Ya
The cicada and dove lodge in the winding mugwort; the falling phoenix perches on the parasol tree.
Night still, the mountain mist rises; the sound of strings rings through the azure sky.
The knowing friend understands the tune’s intent, enduring shame to sing northern songs.
Having fallen from the green pine’s summit, why should it hold the red of the juniper wood?
“Mourning for Zhang En-gong Suo”
Song — Yue Fei
The sage ruler worries over the eastern frontier; western soldiers dance, bearing halberds.
Rain scatters, dark clouds vanish; resting troops brings many joys.
Drums and chimes cover Mount Tai; drifting oars choke the Yellow River.
With grand strategy, he clears ten thousand miles; the vast desert has no lingering waves.
Yu Yunwen crossed north and lodged in Zhang Rong’s army. He saw his daughter, and at dawn left this lyric.
“Everlasting Longing”
Song — Yu Yunwen
One range of mountains, two ranges of mountains.
From here, going to the watery marsh, a thousand hardships,
Heaven witnesses this sincere heart.
Peach blossoms bloom, peach blossoms fade,
Once parted from Brocade City, a year passes before return,
Children circle the bed, clambering.
“Passing Fangzhou Again”
Song — Wu Jie
Meeting again the generals of Fangzhou, they rather boast of past merits.
At Qiaoshan, welcoming the arrogant foe, rolling up sleeves, stained half red.
Sweeping away bandits like pigs and dogs; Heaven’s soldiers are all tigers and dragons.
Another day at Huanglong Prefecture, I’ll spur my horse and whistle in the west wind.
“Moon over the West River — On Hearing Wu Jie Promoted to Commander”
Song — Qu Duan
Running north and south, rushing about; ranging east and west of the passes. The Qians, Suns, Lis, and Zhous have their details — all are the same kind of mess!
Bodhisattva faces in the temple, snake-and-scorpion hearts in the ditch. Someone has taken the lead on the battlefield, riding the divine steed Iron Elephant!
“To Wanyan Loushi”
Song — Zhao Jiu
Ten thousand miles of mountain-pass roads stretch far and wide; autumn wind and yellow grass are bleak and drear.
Ten thousand horses at Yaoshan race toward the setting sun; a thousand points of stars and clouds rise at Wei Bridge.
The clamor of battling soldiers overturns the vast desert; the qilin raises its horn, brushing the crimson sky.
Grateful that you have come so far, let me do my utmost; I donate your banners and armor to the tides of Bohai.
“The River All Red”
Liao — Yelu Chongge
Heaven sends wind and thunder; by whom, I ask, are the heroes of the Central Plains? Everyone says, Zhao Jiu of Cangzhou, who rescues the people from hanging upside down. Before the tent, rhinoceros-armored troops number a hundred thousand; beneath Yaoshan’s formation, Wanyan’s blood. Look through a thousand autumns — why wait for later generations to write? His heart is like iron.
The nation’s fate changes; heaven and earth transform. The loyal heart remains; the faithful soul endures. It is fitting that lord and minister unite, to jointly honor the martyred heroes. Again climbing high and letting out a long whistle, this life must tread the snow of Yanran. Marching forward, holding the Grand Progenitor’s sword level with the brow, singing of sun and moon.
“Answering Lord Duo of the Xianbei Duan Tribe Before Execution”
Liao — Han Chang
I have often heard that the Duan clan harbors resentment, denouncing our Yan-Yun region as mere claws and teeth.
The Li surname originally belonged to the Daye clan, while the Liu branch was part of the Xiongnu aristocracy.
The Baiyue have never truly been part of the Central Xia territories, and the Hexi region has long sung the songs of the Uighurs.
If the Yan and Huang emperors were to ask about noble lineage, one should speak of the Sima family of the Two Jin dynasties.
"Remembering the Huai River"
Song — Wang Boyan
Long parted from Huainan, I journey north; within and beyond the eight passes, the smoke of war brings sorrow.
Even in heaven, one could serve as the Governor of the Capital; with a body full of wind and moonlight, let me rest and be at ease.
"Butterflies in Love with Flowers"
Song — Wu Yu
A feather of boudoir sorrow follows the swallows away; spring flowers are speechless, leaning to watch the twilight of Hunan's bamboo. Alone I walk the path of green willows and fragrant grass; let not the azure clouds roll up the tree of longing.
Orioles follow the corridor wind, understanding words in vain; the moth eyebrows in the mirror are still like the first strokes of a painting. Your heart is like the sea, I am like the mist; leaning on the railing is always a place that melts the soul.
"Treading on Grass"
Jin — Qin Gui
Spring comes to the frontier, distant peaks in the clouds. The desolate courtyard is struck by a sudden east wind. The old sounds of the south are worth a thousand gold pieces; barely enough to warm the belly is the newly brewed wine.
Let the wind and dust rest; Scholar Li easily grows thin. A scroll of homesickness — who has painted it? Since I have followed my lord to settle the clamor, in this life I must wear flowers all over my head.
"Visiting the Tomb of Zong Ze"
Song — Zhao Jiu
Sand gulls and a short flute reach the distant sky; this year, for a thousand li, the beacon fires have ceased.
Looking north from Longmen, few homes are seen; at Lord Zong's resting place, my hat brim tilts askew.
The wild grass on the grave mound still worries for the nation; before the green jade table, I recall those years past.
How can I express my lifelong aspirations? The ferry boats on the Bian River remain, waiting to cross.
"Charm of a Maiden Singer"
Song — Yu Yunwen
The scenery is just right; on the Great River, war drums, sea monsters, and golden watches. All the court ministers, wearing their caps and crowns, together achieve lofty merits. Tears stain our garments, gazing far toward Jibei, we drain our cups together. The east wind is speechless; through the ages, who can tell the tale?
Once, the Tartar reed pipes blew on the frontier; the Xiongnu herded south, trampling the moon over Bianliang. Clusters of imperial banners fell at the Golden Valley; the song of parting at Yang Pass was sung to the end. Fortunately, we have our sovereign, Zhao Jiu of Cangzhou, who would be ashamed to part at the Yi River like a coward. Let no man ask; let us march toward the Yellow Dragon Palace.
"Crossing the River"
Jin — Li Cheng
The cold light of paired blades spans ten thousand li of autumn; lofty ambitions, regrettably, remain unfulfilled.
Riding through the clouds, I proudly roamed the Three Auxiliary Regions; with white hair and an aged face, I return to Dengzhou.
The young master of Shangcai longs for his yellow dog; the drunken commandant of Baling asks about enfeoffment.
Speak no more of the past with this broken blade; let it be buried with my bones on the eastern hill of Laizhou.
"Song of the Painted Barge"
Song — Collected by the Music Bureau
Wild geese pass the window; the night is not yet spent. An autumn wind fills the pillow of Luoyang.
In my old home, now a Battalion Commander are silent; at the palace gates and Zhangtai Terrace, the willow strands grow long.
The wild flowers do not know who their master is; Luofu on her white horse boasts of her handsome Xun lang.
Do not move the boat, lest it stir up homesickness; your heart may not be like my innermost feelings.
"Ode to the Bamboo"
Song — Monk Shi Fahe
The mountain temple has ten thousand qing of green seedlings; the stooped and the led speak of a bountiful year.
Children with hanging hair learn to plow and sow; white-haired elders fish in leisure before the mountains and waters.
What is there to say of Ge San or Guo Xie? Emperor Guangwu and the Dragon's Rise discuss precedence.
For now, let me take my green fishing pole to see through the cold season; I will not ask about spring by the eastern fence.
"Spring in Wuling"
Liao — Yelu Dashi
The setting sun and west wind fill autumn on the earth; at the edge of the sky, several peaks are green.
A streak of cloud and sunset glow lights the evening dimly; in the chaos, horses gallop freely.
I am but a shadow clinging to my form; why must I ask about the journey home?
The reeds of Linhuang play like a Tartar flute; they cannot be blown to an end, nor can the dream wake.
"Water Dragon's Chant"
Song — Yue Fei
The Tartar reed pipes and drums split the west wind; a few migrating geese leave the scattered mess behind. The Yellow River rolls away; gazing at Mount Helan, who remembers the rise and fall?
For years I have beat the oars; the remnant moon over Jinyang, old trees left with inscriptions. In my breast, thirty thousand scrolls; my lifelong spirit, I reckon, is only matched by the strategy of the Sleeping Dragon.
Merit and fame cannot be lightly cast aside. I ask at my temples: can the Tartar dust ever be stilled? The mountains and rivers still stand; I trim the lamp and gaze at my sword; the desolate city walls stand clear.
Drain a cup of wine to the dregs, take a step and start anew. On the broken wall of Mount Taihang, facing the dark brows of Yanshan, the wind and waves are vast; Yuguan is surely within our grasp.
"Mission to Hedong"
Goryeo — Jeong Ji-sang
Golden drums and long songs at the camp of fine willows; the east wind and painted horns resound at Pujin.
At dawn, the cuckoo cries on the mountain; at dusk, the flood dragon dances over the clear river.
The golden imperial banners show their old colors, as if daring to walk on fresh ice like Li Yiji.
There is naturally a spark of heroic spirit, not sending homesick thoughts to the Bohai Bay.
"Parting from Xingling"
Xia — Li Renyou
An old man wails among bleached bones, dense ranks of swords and halberds pile up like tomb mounds.
The Tang Canal runs dry, reeds and rushes die; at sunset clouds rise, the painted bugle sounds mournful.
Last year a thousand troops surged like a sea; this year abandoned garrisons grow no moss.
Looking back at the eastern suburb, I shed a tear, all turning into the Yellow River rolling forth.
"Leaving Helan"
Liao — Yelu Dashi
At sunset, golden sands meet me one after another; auspicious clouds stretch ten thousand li to Linhuang.
Steadily riding a black horse, I leave the jade carriage; the remaining fire of rivers and mountains lights the long night.
Dew washes away homesickness, dreams serve as a pillow; bronze camels and scattered leaves, a new home in Yu.
In this life, do not chant the lament of hegemons; who says the Central Plains has border walls?
"Spring Journey on Mount Taihang"
Song — Ma Kuo
Using green maple as bait, I fish in the mountain stream; carrying a pole, I idly sing as evening orioles call.
Sudden rain, sudden clearing, flowers fall on their own; now furled, now spread, the green straw raincoat.
All things have spirit, vying for spring's favor; the old man finds no place to seek quiet seclusion.
The east wind blows, the mirror-like flowers scatter; it turns out to be white bones singing of millet's departure.
"Parting by the River"
Song — Ma Kuo
One cup divided into two; all that is seen is enough to grieve.
Half a lifetime, how many affairs; family letters cover the full bed.
Halting the horse to gather dried bones, stopping the whip to bear the heartbreak.
Do not hate that the return date is early; delay, and I fear there will be no home to return to.
"Watching an Execution, Presented to Hongya"
Jin — Qin Gui
The vast desert, wild geese are several times lost; pine forest night rain, the road is dreary.
No place to climb high for a distant view; I have feelings to sing but have not brought wine.
Jiangnan is far, a thousand ridges separate it; beyond the frontier, brilliant, Yanshan stands low.
Willows and Qiang flutes play where? The spring wind does not cross Liaoxi.
"Spring in a Garden of Qin"
Song — Zhao Jiu
Facing wine, I toast grandly; wild geese vanish in the long sky, a few sparse peaks. I rejoice that today is still like the past; muddy waves have scoured all, Weiyang remains as before, traces of heroes. Ten thousand li of cloud-tides, old affairs of the Northern Garrison, golden spears and iron horses all in my breast. Now look at me, but the spring wind is not yet old, I do not build a Wu palace.
Success and failure, turned head, how could they be empty? I ask, where in the Central Plains is not a golden fortress? Look at the chaos filling the eyes, I pat the railing in vain, strike the oars midstream, my spirit spits a long rainbow. Fish and water meet, achievements are not yet finished; I should discard the earthen pot and sound the yellow bell. Drunk, the feast ends; grasping iron clappers and bronze pipa, I sing of the great river flowing east.
"Inscribed on Secretary Mei's Hundred Scenes of Jiangnan"
Song — Lu Benzhong
One long stream with fifteen bends, small bridges and slanting ferries in seven or eight places.
Green pines welcome a poetic guest; yellow birds depart for a mountain forest dwelling.
Under the moon, without wine, pure joy is enough; chanting alone, who shares my long eyebrows and beard?
A man values contentment without entanglements; let me gather water-mallow and mince perch.
"Gazing at Guazhou Ferry, Parting from My Younger Brother"
Song — Zhao Heng
The Heavenly Army hunts tigers at the Yanyun Terrace; raising a cup, I wait for the white foam before drinking.
Heroes of Cangzhou have no criticism; an old man of the martial forest asks about Penglai.
At parting, I must break a willow at Yuguan; upon triumphant return, do not admire Jiangnan's plum blossoms.
I learn from Chen Si to write a poem on beans; you emulate Wei Wu to view the vast sea.
"Written in Jest, Parting from Lu Yihao"
Song — Anonymous
If not for Heaven's work and Earth's labor, where in the human world would there be spring wind?
The Lord of Spring also understands pity for the poor and sick; in one night, ten thousand trees bloom red.
"Eight Beats of Ganzhou Song"
Song — Zhao Jiu
Gazing at the divine land, ten thousand li of heroes, do not sigh at the barbarian dust.
Fine steeds grow old on the battlefield; thunder and clouds suddenly rise, cleansing the river and sky.
Why must the Qiang flute know me? Blow away the remnants on my temples.
A man should raise his eyes to look far; do not lean on the railing.
Twenty years of spring and autumn like water; iron armor shines cold in moonlight, wind and sand remain chill.
After the war drums cease, beneath the tent, jade cups are wide.
Self-seeking, old dreams of Lushan, recalling former years, brandishing halberds at Shrinking-Head Shoal.
Still there is regret, before the pavilion a different world, only an empty saddle remains.
Note: In the twentieth year of Jianyan, Song Emperor Zhao Jiu and Yue Fei toured Hangzhou, composing this lyric at an unnamed pavilion. No one in the realm could understand it, and Zhao Jiu never explained it, thus it became an eternal mystery.
"Riverside Town - New Year's Day"
Song - Zhao Jiu
Among the many defiles of Mount Taihang, an emerald screen, spirit runs rampant, long bow sings, ten years of merit achieved, sound halts the clear sky at Yuguan. Once the shame of Jingkang is avenged, I should be proud, wearing the eagle feather.
Today the silver pot topples the mountain drunk, establishing merit and fame, ascending the palace court, the four seas and eight wastelands, lofty ambition does not reckon the journey. I hear that beyond the eastern sea there is still wind and rain, my whip points afar, to Yellow Dragon City.
"The River All Red - New Year's Day"
Song - Yue Fei
North, south, east, west, old on the battlefield, the original heart not lost. Three or four sighs, in an age of sage brilliance, heroes have discernment. Guangwu's Cloud Terrace still stands, no need for people today to remember in vain. Roaming the vast sea, by Mount Wolfju, the road to Chang'an.
The land north of the frontier, the southern sea's limit, the road to merit and fame, like woven brocade. In Xinfeng Market, helmets and fine willows all appear. How many former comrades-in-arms, drifting, are already guests among the graves. Raising the wine vessel, I leave it all in one cup, to tell you, my lord.
"Following the Army"
Song - Han Shizhong
Elk and deer in chaos, dragons and tigers contend, the Feathered Forest marches ten thousand li toward Dragon City.
Mountain defiles traversed, the silver plate falls, cleanly sweeping away barbarian dust, a white horse is born.
How many springs of northern and southern campaigns, golden halberds and jade belts, how many names.
How could the Xiongnu still the warrior's courage, a victory song still leads to one cup poured out.
"Last Words"
Jin - Wanyan Wushu
Once parted from the distant hearth-smoke of home, my soul scatters on the rivers and lakes beneath the sky.
Shedding tears on the white mountain trees, pouring a cup by the black river's edge.
Careless of the parting at Yi River, wind and rain, empty sea mist.
Already knowing that life has death, I ought to sing the song of Qiliang.
"Passing the Huang River"
Jin - Qin Gui
The wild grass at the edge of the sky bids farewell to the spring wind, purple and gold, vermilion gates, pass before the eyes like emptiness.
Yesterday at Lulong, sorrowful in the frontier rain, today the carriage and horses accompany the autumn swan.
When will the hatreds of human life reach their limit? The homeland's green hills are within the wine cup.
What comforts a lifetime is only serving the country, alone shining for a thousand ages on Eyebrow Peak.
"Slow Slow Song - Longing for the Sovereign's Grace"
Song - Imperial Music Bureau Collection
The spring wind has gone, dreams of distant green hills, the oriole's voice rises beyond the curtain. Swallows pierce the curtain and still shine, within the sound of plantain. Lonely flowers and scattered leaves send off, falling into green waves, water-grass long and emerald. Year after year there is, before the mirror, makeup, a moment of joy hard to recall.
This regret without cause can be sent, where to seek it, the railing and curtain's left-behind affairs. Willows of the Bian capital perch crows, a few gusts of falling flowers fill the ground. Moving clouds ask who has withered, thinking of those years, it should be I, a lowly one. How can I bear to listen, the water-clock drips, the borneol incense falls.
Facing each other across the river, the Central Plains are greatly pacified. The elders praise, saying: Since the sacred mandate moved south, calamity entangled the divine land, the Two Sages lost their rule, wolves and leopards spread poison, the common people suffered the grief of being devoured by beasts, the old capital mourned the pain of the millet's decline. The Emperor, though mediocre, wished to act brightly, taking advantage of the time when the bandit tribes were doomed by Heaven, borrowing the indignation of the Two Rivers that yearned to rise. Once the righteous wind stirred, the whole realm responded in unison, the majestic voice already spread, soldiers exerted their bravery, annihilating the rebellious scales at Nanyang, sweeping away the evil traces at Changshe. If not for looking up to coordinate Heaven's grace, and looking down to comply with the multitude's wishes, how could it be like this? Now the eastern bandits leave behind their cruelty, joining their troops at Yan-Yun, looking around east and west, their threatening posture connects, causing Guanxi to be isolated and endangered, and Jingdong to be ungarrisoned. We should select the worthy and practice martial arts, bestow upon them authority and dignity, bind them as brothers, covenant with them in life and death. Gather the loyal and righteous hearts of heroes, restore the traces of the ancestors' grand strategy, train armor and advance the army, yoke carriages and link riders, raise halberds and drive forth, northward out of Mount Taihang. Advancing, we can resist the fierce bandits, overturn their lairs; retreating, we can spread the nation's might, garrison and control the old capital. Heaven's might once shaken, the evil bandits will be routed and destroyed, the surviving people, young and old, all receive the gift of life. Let the Bian capital have the sound of the phoenix carriage, and the desolate lands cherish the virtue of those who come from afar. This is what the hundreds of millions hope for, the state of the benevolent.
"Proclamation to the Wanyan Clan"
The sage sovereign has the duty to punish evil, the king has the responsibility to quell chaos. Therefore, pursuing the model of the Three Dynasties, the Yellow Emperor raised an army. Looking to the present day, the Heavenly Army has repeatedly campaigned. Inheriting the bright Way above, wishing to mend the golden vessel, to return the true calendar to the common people, to promote China to the four directions. Relying on the spirit of the Supreme Heavenly Lord, relying on the strength of hundreds of millions of limbs and arms, from east to west, after four campaigns, braving wind and rain, it has been five years. The Central Province is already settled, the pure wind spreads far. Yet the envoys to the Jade Gate have all suffered the calamity of Zhang Qian, and those who communicate with Liao have all endured the hardship of Su Wu. This is conduct that destroys the Way and ruins virtue, an evil name reaching the Western Sea; the reckless waging of war, its filth heard among the Khitan. Moreover, the Meng'an and Mouke units engage in rampant land seizures. The prefectures that command from on high are everywhere turned to handfuls of earth; most of the Nine Provinces have suffered repeated plundering. Taxes and levies are heavy, human and material resources are exhausted, the hungry fill the roads, the angry fill the paths, the elderly and the young all look southward to the sage's grace. In the old capital, day and night they look northward, gnashing their teeth and weeping blood, plotting to plow the court. As for you, eastern bandits, cruel and stubborn, the superiors act and the inferiors imitate, with wolfish hearts and doggish deeds. Qin Gui is lawless, without loyalty or righteousness; Wushu is unprincipled, indulging his cruel ambitions. Though grace and courtesy have been bestowed, their abyss of desire is hard to fill. They do not think of withdrawing themselves, but instead harbor remnant treachery. Among the bandits of a hundred generations, it is hard to find enough bamboo to write their crimes; among the enemies of China, there have never been any more shameless than these. Now civil and military are both prepared, offense and defense have changed positions. If they retreat to defend Yellow Dragon City, they may prolong their dying breaths; if they cling to Yan-Yun, they will surely be struck by lightning without trace. The generals of the Restoration—Han Shizhong, Li Yanxian, Yue Pengju, Zhang Boying, together with Wu Jie, Li Qiong, Wang De, and Zhang Rong—all have might that pierces the sun and moon, striving bravely to be first. The entire Imperial Camp possesses the courage of tigers and rhinoceroses. East and west of the Great River, linked camps strike with the speed of thunder. Sweeping away the pagodas is like crushing dry weeds; sweeping away the Guaima cavalry is like snapping rotten wood. Recovering Yanjing is as easy as turning over a hand; surpassing Han and Tang can be calculated by the day. If they bare their shoulders at the palace gate, kowtow and confess their crimes, then they may be allowed to keep a whole corpse, to show leniency. If they are stubborn and unrepentant, raising troops and resisting our armor, then we will execute them in Heaven's stead, their punishment like that of Chiyou.
"Letter to the Heroes of the Martial Forest"
The Book of Documents says: "Knowing others is wisdom; pacifying the people is kindness. If one can be both wise and kind, what worry, what joy, what need to move, what need to fear?" Therefore, when King Wen opened the park, the Zhou house flourished; when Han the High Ancestor shared his clothes, the Liu surname's mandate endured. The governance of sage sovereigns has never been otherwise. Our Cangzhou lineage, for generations practiced martial arts, learning military strategy in the northern lands, establishing extraordinary merit in many dynasties. When the Grand Progenitor ascended the throne, his heroic spirit did not diminish; he cleared and purified the realm, hoping to restore the enterprise of Tang. But Heaven did not grant him years; he acted within the shadow of candles. His magnificent and grand achievements were cut short by the sound of an axe. From the successive sages onward, they rested and bathed in peace and harmony, dwelling in importance while controlling the light, esteeming civil and restraining military. This had merit for those governed, but no face for the four seas. At the time of the great loss of Jingkang, the Long River was as if destroyed, the pillars and cornerstones toppled, the realm was in turmoil, the eight wastelands were in misery, the common people suffered disaster, bandits and barbarians ran rampant, no plan could be produced, causing the ruler and ministers to be panicked, binding themselves and surrendering, leading the hundreds of millions, willingly acting as the last ruler. Li Boji, with his vast and heroic bearing, emerged in response to the times, possessing the extraordinary talent of Shang Fu, pursuing the grand strategy of the Duke of Ge. Deeply planning and far-sighted, he strove to rescue the drowning; whenever he thought of a grand plan, his ambition was to relieve the hanging. I, the Emperor, felt his earnestness, and entrusted him with governance. He maneuvered and allied, gathering righteous hearts. Later, though we were separated, dwelling north and south, the weight of the realm still rested on him. Beyond Xiacai, the outskirts of Nanyang, the wilds of Yanling, the victory of Yaoshan, the triumph of Helan, the covenant of Hetao—in the urgent years, what is called an extraordinary enterprise, an unparalleled achievement, without Li Boji's single call at Jingkang, would all have melted into ice and scattered into mist, become the dream of the Eastern Capital. At the time when the entire court was wriggling, he was the first to advocate resisting Jin; in the age when the realm was panicked, he personally stabilized people's hearts. He established the foundation of the Restoration, and retreated to the distance of rivers and lakes. Since Pangu, this has also been rare. The strength of one minister shakes the ancients and dazzles the present. Shang, Xiao, Ge, and Meng are all his peers.
In the past, due to the premature death of the imperial heir, there was internal resentment and anger. Treacherous and petty men took the opportunity to slander, so that many mouths could melt metal, and accumulated calumny could dissolve bone. Relying on the blessings of the ancestors, I was awakened as if by pure ghee. Repenting past mistakes, I again recall the founding merit. On this autumn day at the Martial Forest, with all the worthies assembled, with the lakes and mountains as witness, with all eyes as proof, Li Gang's merit shall enjoy the same longevity as the state. I bestow upon you an iron certificate, to show respect and honor. Among you, my lords, there are also those like him. Overcoming difficulties, loyal and brave in the Eastern Capital, displaying valor and spreading might, Li Yanxian and Zhang Rong, planning day and night, Yue Fei and Han Shizhong, at Mount Taihang and north of the River, Ma Kuo the hero. Now the national power is thriving, the worthy are reverent. South of the Great River can be called peaceful; to the very end of the Long River, the sound of weapons has not been heard. Yet the hundreds of millions of people long for the Imperial Army north of the frontier, and hope for tax reduction south of the River. If there is no Northern Expedition, when will there be an end? Therefore, establishing merit at Yan-Yun, having virtue for the hundreds of millions, and giving the people rest and livelihood, is also greater than righteous spirit.
Those who attend this feast, some have followed me on the bright Way, sharing the thorns and brambles; some have had the state in their hearts, reaching the same goal by different paths. We should together settle the mountains and rivers, wholeheartedly assist and guide, without faction or partiality, to bring about great peace!
"Edict of the Northern Expedition"
When Han Wu conducted his northern expedition, the Chanyu submitted to virtue; when Tang Zong personally campaigned, Bohai was pacified. The insignificant eastern barbarians, not bathed in royal civilization, took advantage of the Khitan's decline to exploit the opportunity and act fiercely. The mighty northern state saw its altars toppled. Though heroes continued the mandate, the homeland was hard to return to.
The two villains of Imperial Song, the ruler and ministers were treacherous and mediocre. The hundreds of millions of innocent people were wearied by private desires. The barbarian chieftain came from the north, cruel and violent, indulging in tyranny. Danger and chaos spread like a flood, the golden vessel was like a pile of eggs. Yet the two villains doted on their close partisans, gnawing at the common people, with heavy corvée and numerous regulations, repeatedly increasing heavy taxes. The dream-like splendor of the Bian capital, the high-ranking officials and noble mansions, bowed their heads and were bound, suffering the calamity of the millet's decline. In the circuits of Huai and Yang, the starving filled the roads. Every person looked northward, longing to restore the homeland.
The Bright Way was ordained by fate, the national fortune underwent a revolution. The great enterprise was just founded, the hidden dragon was in the abyss. The remnant seed of the barbarian chieftain, their abyss of desire hard to fill. First they seized the Two Rivers, then they coveted the Central Plains, ravaged Jingdong, and ran rampant in Huaibei. Liu Guangshi, commanding the army, took advantage of the opportunity to rebel. Greedy, foolish, weak, and selfish, he was executed at Bagong.
After the battle of Xiacai, the bandit's power was still rampant. External enemies and internal rebels both became calamities. Pushing one's heart and reasoning with principle, they must have secretly colluded. Therefore, there was a clear decree, clearly defining friend and foe. Only then was the temporary capital settled. The old and new repeatedly reversed, colleagues hated each other, scheming against each other like enemies. The court united its strength, not through might nor deceit, but through the grand and upright Way. Through the might of Yanling, Yaoshan, and Helan, they carried out the affairs of the Palace Gate, White Horse, and Hangzhou. Now Heaven sends down resonance, the Earth manifests signs. The period of their annihilation is revealed on the golden tablet. The opportunity to quell the chaos is manifested in the ninth month. The season is harmonious, the year is bountiful, governance is smooth, the people are content. China is of one mind, Song and Liao are one body. Therefore, I appoint generals and set commanders, mobilize the army for a great offensive, to unify the realm, and together pay tribute to the traces of Yu.
Yue Fei's iron troops, seventy thousand, first pacify Great Ming. Zhang Jun's martial braves, fifty thousand, raise their banners on the Yellow and Ji Rivers. Qu Duan's iron cavalry, twenty thousand, go directly to Ze and Lu. Li Yanxian's elite armor, six hundred thousand, their frosty blades shine in Jin. Wang Yan's Feathered Forest, fifty thousand, accompany the imperial carriage into Luo. Wu Jie's fierce and sharp troops, eighty thousand, pacify and settle Datong. The Bear and Rhinoceros troops of Yaodan, one hundred thousand, pass through the River into Fen. Zhang Rong's sea-pike vessels, ten thousand, directly cover Liaodong. Wang De's Tiger Guard, fifty thousand, cross at Mengjin. Ma Kuo's brave and swift troops, sixty thousand, spread proclamations to the Two Rivers. Ten generals and commanders, a million bear and tiger soldiers, marching in a long line. There shall be a supreme commander, specially entrusted with internal and external affairs, commanding all the heroes. Vice Grand Councilor Yi Hao may be advanced to Military Governor of Guide, to supervise the military affairs of the Hebei, Hedong, and Yanshan circuits.
Strength to uproot mountains, might to overturn seas, mountains move and rivers shift, wind gallops and lightning flashes. Iron horses fill the wilds, tower ships block the ocean. All routes advance together, meeting at Yanjing. Suppress the rebellion and slay the vicious, spread benevolent winds north of the frontier. Slay the great whales, comfort the surviving people in Yan and Zhao. Within and without the Nine Provinces, together complete the great enterprise of overthrowing Jin. The myriad people of China, together enjoy the glorious age of Shaosong. This proclamation, Zhao Jiu of Cangzhou.
"Epitaph of the Posthumously Titled 'Kang Miu' Duke, Wanyan Gao, the Pretend Jin Prefect of Xiezhou"
Heaven has baleful stars, men have wise and foolish, states have rise and fall, eras have prosperity and decline. The Foolish Old Man had the ambition to move mountains; the Heavenly Lord sent down the god who carried snakes. Mount Taihang is the spine of the Central Land; one peak divides the Two Rivers. The Duke's original surname was Shi. He was born in Dingzhou, east of Mount Taihang, and died in Anyi, west of Mount Taihang. In his life, he was like the glow of fireflies on rotting grass; in his death, like a mud pellet entering the river. He was a man of Song, and a ghost of Jin. Alas! The pedantic scholars' clinging to antiquity, is it not excessive?
But as for a family that accumulates good deeds, there will surely be surplus blessings; a family that accumulates evil deeds, there will surely be surplus calamities—this can be said. As a man, Gao was born with ordinary talent, originally a man of little. When he grew up, he had some minor abilities, but met a lord without discernment. Of a hundred uses, he had none. What he relied on was only "vast, righteous spirit." Yet, tracing to the root and investigating the source, he kept alive the people of one prefecture, and burned the register of heroes' names. This can be called having minor integrity. But he held a solitary city in defense, resisting the Heavenly Army of the Northern Expedition, and thus lost his great righteousness.
Now, in the present age, it is not the time of what is called "the lord chooses his minister, and the minister also chooses his lord." Why? In the chaotic ages of China, there were the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods, the Three Kingdoms and Two Jins, the remnant Tang and Five Dynasties. There were righteous men, but no righteous states. Scholars trod among them, taking the display of ambition and talent as their duty. Lords occupied their positions, taking the destruction of states and the slaughter of armies as the first priority. Now the Son of Heaven has raised six armies and crossed northward, his banners and armor aimed at Yan-Yun as they set out. This is an act to restore the mountains and rivers, to complete the golden vessel, to drive out the stubborn barbarians, and to relieve the hanging. Gao died without surrendering, using the lives of one city's people to complete one man's reputation. Although the two villains first abandoned the realm, there was the helplessness of surrender, which is especially pitiable. At the time of the Shaosong Restoration, he did not think of repaying the state, which is especially hateful.
Serving Jin and defending its territory shows loyalty, yet Jin's territory was originally Song's territory, so there is no loyalty. Holding office and saving the suffering people shows righteousness, yet he saved the symptom but not the root, so there is no righteousness.
This man of having loyalty yet having no loyalty, having righteousness yet having no righteousness. The Son of Heaven issued a special decree, publicly mutilating his corpse, erecting a stele and composing a record, to warn later generations, to be an eternal warning for the world. The posthumous title says: "Opposing Heaven and abusing the people is called Kang; name and reality not matching is called Miu." Because he was a loyal minister of the Wanyan clan, he was specially granted the rank of Marching Meng'an.
Therefore it is said: Here is scattered the ashes of Wanyan Gao, Marching Meng'an of the Wanyan clan, posthumously titled Kang Miu.
This record was written by Mei Li, Secretariat Drafter of Imperial Song.
Yelu Dashi roughly pacified the various Qincha tribes, and arrived at the place where the Volga and Don Rivers meet. Because it occupied a strategic location, he established the Northwest Route Pacification Commission, and used boats to transport stone strips from the Persian Road to build a fortress here, naming it New Kedun. After the city was completed, over the years he increased military might against the Rus. They combined their forces to attack, and Dashi personally defeated them, capturing several dozen princes and dukes. He said: "I am the Son of Heaven of the Eastern Land, my state is named Great Liao, meaning 'wrought iron.' I have come on an inspection tour, and have the responsibility to shepherd and guard. All states should diligently cultivate their tribute rites." The princes and dukes then called his state in their native language "Stalin," and its city "Stalingrad." When the Silk Road was fully opened, Western merchants often gathered here. The eastward spread of Western influence began from this.
Ten years later, Liao erected a stele in the city, its inscription reading:
Heaven completes the sun and moon, each has its own rule. Earth raises the ten thousand things, each has its own principle. The conduct of a human lord is not merely to follow or oppose, but to control the Mandate of Heaven and use it. Therefore, surveying the sage sovereigns, from Yao and Shun onward, they all rectified the guiding principles and constant norms, ordered the heavens and measured the earth. Within, they cherished a spring-like heart; without, they sent down the rain of rites and music. They modeled the cosmos to establish rules, and employed the many worthies to spread civilization. Thus, they could transform customs and change habits, pacify the people of the four seas, both barbarian and Chinese, and rule by non-action, solidifying the foundation of China's myriad states—this is rites and music!
Now, rites and music are not elegant sounds and Hua songs, gold and jade ornaments, patterned brocades, or the great sounds of bells and chimes. What the Duke of Zhou transmitted—loving one's kin and honoring the honored—what Qin and Han continued—awe-inspiring and majestic—from Wei and Jin onward, elegant poetry and barbarian customs, after four decades of warfare, reached their zenith. Their completion was the magnificent Great Tang; their continuation was the glorious Khitan.
The Son of Heaven came from the east, halted his progress in the River's midst, deployed troops across the four wilds, and extended his might to the eight wastelands. This was not like Guangli showing off his troops and plundering horses, but truly like Dingyuan uniting the people and promoting enterprise. Looking up to the name of the Chinese ancestors, relying on the strength of the lords of east and west, superiors and inferiors are of one mind, the near and far are all at peace. Eastward, the Silk Road connects to Bian-Song; westward, military fame is spread on the Black Sea. For ten thousand li square, the people number in the hundreds of millions. Though the mountains and rivers differ from the eastern lands, the wind and moon belong to the same China. Therefore, the system of rites and music cannot but be implemented.
He exhausted his sagely brilliance, established rites and fixed ceremonies, broadly welcomed the virtuous and talented, and sought out scattered and lost texts. He opened the famed caves of Dunhuang, carved printing blocks in the Western Regions, expounded the subtle words of the Six Classics, translated the finest works of successive dynasties—old texts buried in the sand were unearthed and promoted, Western books beneficial to the state were disseminated and expanded, illuminating the grand and upright Way, and stirring a pure and sincere literary atmosphere. Uniting the myriad hearts into one heart, merging the many feelings into a shared feeling, another Huaxia was created ten thousand li away—if not for the utmost sincerity that moved the spirits, how could metal and stone be split open?
Now that the canon has been in practice for ten years, a special grace examination is opened. All states and cities shall together inscribe the steles of the former sages; all clans and surnames shall together advocate the spirit of Huaxia.
"Memorial on the Deliberation of Establishing the Capital at Yanjing"
Song—Mei Li
The ancient sages had the system of following pastures, and the Yin-Shang had the custom of moving capitals. When the Grand Progenitor established the foundation, his intent was toward Luo; the Grand Ancestor offered remonstrance, and thus it was fixed at Bian. Although there were multiple capitals established, the ancestral temple was fixed in one place, serving as the secure pivot, residing in the center to control the periphery. Yet from the two Zhou dynasties onward, through the two Han and the great Tang, none failed to have dual capitals. Only our dynasty concentrated everything in one, leading to the encounter with the two villains and the brewing of the disaster of Jingkang.
Now, heaven has no two suns, a state has no two lords, a throne has no two occupants, and a man has no two heads. Your subject traces back and examines the Zhou system: Mount Qi had the temple of Houji, Haojing had the halls of Wen and Wu, Luoyi had the Duke of Zhou casting the tripods. When the Hao temple was completed, the Qi temple was moved; Luoyi was established, but the temple was not yet built. Therefore, establishing the calendar and setting up the temple cannot rely on the strength of a single moment, only to leave danger to the ancestral descendants. Thus, the lords of the great Tang, though hard-pressed and forced to seek food in Luoyang, never lightly moved the temple chambers from Chang'an.
When our Grand Progenitor established the calendar at Bianjing, the realm was not yet settled, and he took a strong central position. His younger brothers were unworthy and failed to complete the full achievement—truly regrettable. Now that the realm is about to be pacified, another capital city should be chosen to bless the descendants. Your subject surveys the strategic advantages of the realm and believes that the Yanshan, Taihang, and Qinling ranges are precisely the dragon vein of China, stretching upward to connect with Kunlun and downward to exhaust the great sea. With Chang'an as the head, Jinyang as the belly, and Yanjing as the tail, therefore Zhou, Han, and Tang all established their capitals at Chang'an while managing Jinyang to secure the realm. Now Chang'an is ruined and broken, Jinyang has already fallen, so we should dwell at the dragon's tail and establish the capital at Yanjing.
Now the Son of Heaven continues the Song, utterly different from before. Bianliang is like the Luo of the Duke of Zhou, while Yanjing is the Hao of Wen and Wu. Those in the realm who know of Wen, Wu, and the Duke of Zhou will surely know the intent of the Grand Progenitor and the present sovereign. The enterprise of the former Song and the continuing Song are one continuous line, with no difference. If we dwell at Yanjing, above we respond to Heaven's mandate, below we follow established norms; internally we control the six directions, externally we command the eight wastelands; we embrace the Yanshan and connect to the great sea—the strategic situation is even superior to Guanzhong. This is the foundation for the descendants' imperial enterprise for ten thousand generations. How could the ancestors of all the dynasties of Huaxia not rejoice?
The ancients established the spirit tablet to rely on the spirit, established the temple to rely on the tablet, and the body of the descendant is also what the ancestors rely upon. Today is precisely the time to establish the capital and dedicate the temple at Yan, so that the continuing Song altars of state may be exclusively enshrined here.
"Letter to the Khitan of the Eastern Lands"
Liao—Yelu Dashi
The sage ruler ascends the throne, though it is granted by Heaven; when appointing ministers and commanding generals, he should act with utmost sincerity. The joys and sorrows of lord and vassal are shared and unchanging—only with this original heart does one begin as a ruler. Those men of the Bian bandits are shameless and devoid of integrity: Kuangyin was unfaithful, bullying the orphaned and widowed; Guangyi was unfilial, betraying the covenant of the Golden Casket; the later generations were unkind, thrice altering the course of the Yellow River. Finally reaching Zhao Gou, he may be called unjust. Recall the disaster of Jingkang, when the state crumbled, the entire family was taken north in captivity, panicked like dogs. Relying on worthy talents responding from among the grass and thickets, and heroes following like shadows from within the four seas, they beat their breasts and wept blood, burned oil and followed the sun, only then was there a trend toward restoration and the title of enlightened ruler. Now with the great victory at Huolu, heaven and earth celebrate together. Eighteen were enfeoffed as princes, and heroes and talents sit in the ranks—all are those whose utmost sincerity moved the spirits, who have attended and served for ten years, whose ambition lies in revitalizing the state, who escort the imperial carriage before the throne. Within the tent, long-range plans defeat the enemy; on the battlefield, they advance with nothing before them. They recovered the mountains and rivers of the Two Rivers, restored the caps and carriages of Bianliang. They bankrupted their families to relieve the state's difficulties, served the country with a red heart, donned armor and grasped sharp weapons, and were the first to ascend in every battle. They rejoiced at every encounter with battle, and whenever they met the enemy they were sure to oppose them. They separately led the imperial army, pacifying and subduing the barbarians. Now that the foul miasma has been swept clean and the corners of the seas have been pacified, it is precisely the time to rest weapons and release the horses, to share in great peace. Yet why, at the victory ceremony, did suspicion suddenly arise? When rumors first emerged, people thought of the precedent of the Cup of Release; when evil theories again arose, some discussed the demise of the Marquis of Wuxiang.
I recall when the banners were raised on the Huai, men and spirits witnessed together, discussing the encounter between lord and vassal, that it would have a beginning and an end. Who would have thought that when the Heavenly Army marched north, exerting all effort for the king's affairs, they would suddenly encounter the general being controlled from the center, and wind-borne discussions would suddenly arise? Tracing back to the source, it actually originated from the emperor himself, causing one to clap hands and sigh deeply—truly as Lord Zong said: "The present Son of Heaven, of the Zhao bloodline, though he has made some efforts, is actually selfish at heart. His self-conduct is quite like his father, his lack of virtue directly pursues the Grand Ancestor. He has failed the meritorious ministers and greatly deceived the realm. As a ruler of men, how can he act like this?"
I have heard that the court has settled on a grand plan, wishing to pacify the north of the frontier. Today's unrest will surely bring delay. Zhao Gou is frivolous, his conduct and character are not upright; he severs kindness, abandons righteousness, violates oaths, and betrays trust. The generals of the state and the various tribes, long serving in the Bian camp, encountering this change, should know the bandit's heart. If they follow this thief for long, they will ultimately achieve nothing. Once disaster arises, change will sprout from within the elbow and armpit. Fortunately, fortune and misfortune depend on each other; there is still gain at the mulberry and elm. You generals have recovered the Supreme Capital, guarded the imperial tombs from afar, your merits recorded in azure and vermilion, your portraits listed in the Cloud Terrace. You should lead the people westward, far from the turmoil. High ranks and rich emoluments, as before with old friends; the blue ox and white horse together serve as witness; the gray wolf and the pine desert together observe the proclamation.
"Letter in Reply to Yu Yunwen"
Song—Hong Ya
Brother Binfu, are you well since our parting at Huolu? Previously, before we could say a final farewell, the Jin barbarians had already collapsed. I thought that the king's affairs should come first, and brotherly affection second, so I followed the barbarians northward. Since the Jianyan era, this kind of journey has happened two or three times now. When the Five Rivers fell and the imperial army was defeated, my peers all perished, and I became a captive. Yet I harbored a great ambition, endured humiliation to survive, slept on brushwood and tasted gall, thinking of how to repay the state. Though I may be at the ends of the earth, at the mountains' end and the rivers' limit, as long as this body is not destroyed, then my Way will surely endure. Looking back today, my homeland is still clear, the Son of Heaven is a heroic and outstanding figure, and there will surely be a restoration—I can say that even in death I have no regrets.
Since I fell into the barbarian camp, hardship has followed me daily. My hair was shorn and my clothes changed, blood and tears filled my heart. I gaze at the abyss but do not mind the cold water, my ambition cherishing the Northern Sea; I see the blade but do not encounter head lice, my heart thinking of the palace geese. All the sufferings of a living person have already been endured. As a splendid Huaxia person, I have become a poor prisoner amid the stench of mutton. Cold comes and summer goes, a white colt passes the crack; the sun sets and the moon rises, the Dipper shifts and the stars move. I think of my homeland's relatives and friends, leaning at the gate watching; I think of my ancestors' graves and tombs, the pines and cypresses green and lush. My heart is boiled and my blood is drained, dazed and repeatedly stricken with grief. If I wail, the barbarians hear it; if I weep, my tears fall on foreign soil. Restless all day, tossing all night, in dreams and nightmares, when my soul is startled, I can only lean by the window and gaze southward to calm my heart.
Now the four seas are greatly settled, the family accumulates surplus blessings, the sage ruler enjoys health and longevity, the state's mandate is long and enduring, the military campaigns have an end, and an age of good governance is expected. Yet my body cannot be bathed, my eyes cannot see. Alone and solitary, my strength exhausted and my plans spent, my body meets a white blade, and I am executed according to barbarian custom: blood sacrificed to the Blood God, skulls offered to the Skull Throne—some buried in the wild grass, some added to the mound of skulls. Perhaps on another day, when you come to Yanjing, if you remember our old friendship and let my wandering soul return home, my bones becoming a Song ghost, that would already show sufficient compassion. What more could I hope for? There is another piece, "The Kite," which I hope you will transmit: The cicada and the dove lodge in the crooked wormwood, the fallen phoenix perches on the parasol tree. In the quiet night, the mountain mist rises, the sound of strings rings through the azure sky. The one who knows the music understands the tune's intent, enduring humiliation to compose a northern song. Since it has fallen atop the green pine, why should it hold the red of the juniper tree?
End of Chapter
