No Return from the Jianghu, So I Ask My Sword to Defend All Mankind

For twenty years I hid my blade among the clouds; now I sing with sword in hand, shaking the capital. The winds of Yishui chill the blood of heroes; beneath the frosty sky, vermilion grows cold and still. I trade my fur coat for wine to toast the stars, cast broken jade into the dust, and forget my name. Miasma clouds seek to shroud the hero’s grave; evening rain falls, wetting the banners of old friends. My lone boat carries me away with the setting sun; all things change as the waters flow by. I return with a smile and straighten my old blue robe; drunk, I still call out to the bright white moon. Let wine spill down like night rain; come see lotuses bloom in the shallow marsh. The jianghu is but a crossing in this fleeting life; a leaf rides the wind through life and death. Half a lifetime of storms, a sword’s worth of joy: that is the jianghu.