Moonlit Night on the Misty River

Swords dance over misty rivers; blades fly beneath the moonlit night. The famed Mount Ming Sword once made its name; I recall the Ancient Blade Clan's glorious past. The Divine Moon rose to power, slaughtering countless heroes of our vast martial world without cause. A thousand flowers were laid to rest; countless blossoms wept red tears in silence. Red peonies by the bridge, for whom do you bloom year after year? Lone smoke rises over the desert, the sun sinks by the long river. At last, blade's edge and sword's rain are reconciled. A pair of heroes travel together, cutting down traitors and ridding the world of evil. Their deeds are passed down through the misty rivers and moonlit nights. The struggle for power rages on; the Eastern Mountain rises again. At last, the bewildering affairs of the world are settled. When, years later, I quietly retreat from the world, wine will fill the cup, and the flute will sound as ink stains the page. Who knows the places I have traveled, supporting the lone smoke beneath the moon? Who cares for blades flying, swords dancing, or fame? (Dedicated to the most important person in my life.)