The peaches were picked before they ripened; grand ambitions could not withstand a handful of dirt. Through the ages, chaos has wandered into the grave. Awakened in a single morning, it asks the ages what has passed.
Laughter, curses, and anger are no concern of the world; who would have guessed that the nimble and pure would become part of the murky crowd? The mountains stir and lead away the roots of resentment. The autumn waters are her spirit, jade her bones.
Heaven’s grandeur is stripped away, and refinement is forged to the utmost. Uncut jade comes from the side of molten gold. Always reckless, always drunk: I cry, I laugh, I sing aloud.
This feeling has nothing to do with wind or moonlight; only loyalty can untangle its knots. Are the men and women of this world truly innocent? They dare to cut a true heart with a hundred blades.
An edict hunts down the crime of hoarding jade, and suddenly all hope of rising high is lost. As the burning scraps flare, the fire gradually spreads across the plains; its sudden blaze cools, scattering a gentle glow.
The soaring serpent cares nothing for the cost of showing its head; bright light hides the danger of a dying candle. There is always the bearing of a famed scholar in seclusion; who could know of the incense-scented sleep to come?
Which family’s idle young man strolls along the road? Having lost his original heart, he finds it again. Whether the hidden dragon should rise or lie low depends on fortune and disaster; why resent the shallows when fate begins?
Seven crossings, desolate, lead into the waters of Mao Pan. The music fades, and a found keepsake conceals an unrestrained spirit. A secluded heart comes from the north, shadowed by a secret fragrance; the lingering charm of the Goddess of the Luo River draws back a plain hairpin.
