Peach Blossoms and Kite Birds, Dew on the Jade Terrace

I want to cross the endless sea of people to meet you

I want to traverse the boundless forest to know you

I want to sail past a thousand ships beneath sunken sails to be with you

I want this to bear witness to the love we once shared

----What are you doing here? This way is blocked! I'm busy!

----I'm here to make you face reality. You're in love with me.

The rain has passed, the skies have cleared, and the lamps have just come on. The scene is like a painting, like a dream.

But it isn't the lanterns that are beautiful.

It's you, smiling at me through my eyes.

Dusk gathers, and the setting sun lingers, delicate as silk, like an illusion.

But it isn't the sunset that is beautiful.

It's you, born to nobility, as I see you through my eyes.

Drizzling rain fills my vision with dazzling sights, leaving me dazed and entranced.

But it isn't the rain that is beautiful.

It's you, graceful and charming, as I see you through my eyes.

----Your heart is bigger than the entire Forbidden City.

----No, it only has room for one person.

The flowers I once planted have withered away, year after year.

The green leaves I once looked up at have turned to mud, season after season.

The snow I once walked across has melted away, flake by flake.

The people I once knew have all become strangers, one by one.

Everything I once touched has parted from me, step by step.

----I have nothing left. I have nothing left to give you.

----That's not true. You still have me, and you still have yourself to give me.

Go everywhere together

Look up at the stars together

Walk out of the forest together

Savor memories together

Misunderstand and envy each other together

Wait together for the skies to clear after the rain

----I would ascend the Ninefold Palace with you, and descend into the Eighteenth Hell with you!

----You fool.

(Edited, but not original.) (Awkward... ignore this if you don't get it.)

The jade shuttle flies, weaving strands of silk; raindrops of tears weave nine looms. The spring breeze knows nothing of sorrow's verses. Weary, I lean against my shadow and toy with my tattered clothes.

First Loom. The dusk curtain is tightly drawn, willows veiled in mist. The breeze shapes the buds of longing. By the riverbank, blossoms cast shadows; branches dance in shade, as stars and moon follow one another.

Second Loom. The evening chill still lingers on the willow's fragrant branches. Stars shine bright, the moon is faint, and flowers gather tears. Our feelings are deep and enduring; we swore an oath as mandarin ducks, and none know our hearts better than we do.

Third Loom. My brush sweeps like a dragon, engraving my passion. Beyond the shadowed window, flowering branches glow green. Drifting clouds are caught in a drunken embrace; precious jewels carry a secret message. Helplessly, we both linger.

Fourth Loom. I long to weave a pair of mandarin ducks, but the shuttle snaps. What can the east wind do when so few blossoms remain? Beyond the lattice window, in the courtyard, purple bamboo chokes back its sobs. Every note speaks of our understanding.

Fifth Loom. On the eastern outskirts, the water clock sounds faintly. I wait in vain, gazing up from the jade steps beaded with white dew. Who knows the fragrance of the lotus? Spring is cold in Jingfu; I lie withered in a sorrowful, endless sleep.

Sixth Loom. In the morning chill, the water clock falls silent; faint voices murmur. The cold swing resounds with grievances in the autumn air. The dark mountains begin to understand; red candlelight sways. May our wish come true, so we may dwell together.

Seventh Loom. Morning and night, the rain falls in a fine mist. Peach blossoms set fruit, bringing peace and ease. The mountains and forests are distant dreams; I have struck the jade pot until it is empty. I weave these silken words on the jeweled loom.

Eighth Loom. My heart, inch by inch, answers your understanding. A faint melody drifts through the dreamlike mountains. We sing into the night over golden cups; moonlight slants across the window paper. In a dream, I am drunk in the orchid pond.

Ninth Loom. I try wine to ease my sorrow, but night comes late. Across the distant heavens, there is no way. Clouds and rain fill the painted tower; this beautiful night is desolate and still. One dream ends in the dust.

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