A Young Scholar in Great Ming

The morning sun slowly rises over the Forbidden City,

while the scene outside the Hall of Supreme Harmony is like a painting veiled in mist.

Who founded the golden age of the Great Ming, drawing tribute from every nation?

And who was buried in a foreign land, writing one magnificent saga after another?

I still remember the clash of blades and rivers of blood beyond Tumu Fortress.

Beneath the devastation, how many nameless bones gaze toward the lands of the Great Ming?

I would tear away the splendor of this golden age and lay it bare beneath Donghua Gate,

letting the rain beat upon the plantains,

and dew blur my eyes...

There is no loving father and filial son here, no peace and prosperity for the people.

Only blaring horns, pounding drums, and the endless thunder of iron hooves.

So be it!

It was all like a spring dream: my moon, my Ziyan, in that dream!