A carefree wanderer who has attained the Way, singing wildly and passing his days in joy. Alone, his nature is clear and true. Pure as the moon above the Three Isles, leisurely as clouds in the highest heavens. His words leave behind the world's dreams; his heart is free of even a speck of dust. He roams through the seasons, delighting in a hundred flowers. Within his gourd, the sky knows no night; beyond the world, the scenery is forever spring. Now, let us see the dream of millet that King Ye of the Western Wilderness had yesterday.
