Immortals Live in the Mountains and Woods

The immortals live in the mountain forests, lightly stroking the strings as they play the guqin in the rain. They listen to what sounds like a dragon's roar at midnight and watch lone birds cry as they fly over the mountains. Finding all the world dull is a kind of sickness; wondering who will ride beyond the frontier for thousands of miles is a kind of helplessness. They wait for dusk to fall over the cliffs, then take up their brushes and ponder what to paint: a fine horse and a crow, capturing the gulf between rich and poor in this mortal world. Heroes rise and fall, in the end returning to the dust. Scholars thrive for a few dynasties, then perish in the next. Parting the mist over the long river, old friends pass down their chess manuals, warming a pot of wine. Those alive today write books for the departed, while those who come after lay stones before their graves...