[Dream of the Red Chamber] The Meeting of Wood and Stone

No blurb for now, so I'll use this in its place.

One cup drunk: Her brows furrow as she watches the flowers fall. Her tears, the tears of a daughter, never run dry. Love wears her down; her heart turns to ashes. Alas, stone and wood cannot understand.

Two cups drunk: Born graceful without and wise within, how often has she ever broken the rules for women? She has seen through worldly affairs and pondered human nature. In the end, snow melts into water.

Three cups drunk: Deep crimson walls hide the palace chambers; she trades her beauty for honor. The royal house is fickle, fans fluttering in the wind, until her spirit is blown away.

Four cups drunk: A girl in her chamber can wield a brilliant pen, and harbor lofty ambitions. They gather at Liangyuan, seeking to root out abuses and ills, yet parting in life awaits them.

Five cups drunk: Whose daughter loves her cups too much? She sleeps soundly amid the peonies. Whether troubled or content, she laughs and plays through joy and sorrow.

Six cups drunk: Red plum blossoms stain the green windows of the convent. Her jade-like body kneels forever before the Buddha. She recites every sutra, yet cannot cleanse the dust of her past lives; her pure white jade is sullied.

Seven cups drunk: Whose fault is it that a daughter is so ordinary? A helpless girl is driven on by wolves and tigers. Even with a father, she might as well have none! Her life is a broken duckweed on the water.

Eight cups drunk: Beyond this life, all there is is wealth and rank. She casts off her finery and faces the incense ashes. They laugh at my foolishness, I laugh at theirs. Let me savor the taste of emptiness.

Nine cups drunk: Bloodshed comes from among the rouge and powder, shaming even the men. She calculates every human affair, yet the lives of those she loves are lost, and she is trapped by her own schemes.

Ten cups drunk: Her family falls, and her uncle and brothers turn into wolves. How much better to be a girl born to a poor family! Born to wealth and honor, she ends in poverty and lowliness, fortunate to be surrounded by willow branches.

A hundred cups drunk: An old plum branch blooms in the warmth of spring, yet she wears a phoenix crown and bridal robes in vain. Though naturally refined, she sits alone behind deep gates. Who could keep her company?

A thousand cups drunk: When did this endless lust first bring regret? How many plans and principles have been betrayed? After enduring a sea of sin, she returns to a heaven of love. Does anyone know her story?

Ten thousand cups drunk: Blossoms fall from bare branches, their shadows askew. How many times has the wind swept away their fragrance and scattered their fading red petals? She weeps toward Jinling, leaving for a place from which she can never return. A thousand beauties, all sharing the same sorrow.