At dusk I gaze from Donggao, wandering, unsure where to turn. Every tree is painted in autumn hues; every mountain holds only the setting sun.
The herdsmen drive their calves home, while hunters return on horseback with their game. We look at one another, yet know no one; I sing a long song, longing for Caiwei.
People have long said, "Lovely palace maids on the Liuyan River, and the Flowing Mist Pavilion beside its banks." The first line explains the river's name. They say its upper reaches lie where the emperor's harem is located. Each day, the concubines and maids wash their faces and bathe, and all the water mixed with their rouge is poured into the river. That is how it came to be called the Liuyan River.
The second line refers to the building called the Flowing Mist Pavilion, the largest official brothel in the capital.
Another gust of wind came then, parting his hair to either side and revealing his face.
Looking back, I suppose I was utterly captivated at the time.
How could I describe him?
People in this age often say, "A gentleman is like jade, a gentleman is refined."
I say, "A gentleman lets his hair down and rows his boat, possessing a charm all his own."
Peerless elegance.
