In the misty southern mountains, the grass grows, orioles chirp, butterflies play in the valley, flowers fall in front of the Chexi River, where there is the sound of the piano in the calmness, there is the Yinniang Tomb.
The person who hides her mother is Mo Qing. The surname cannot be verified, and no one knows his life experience. The toes are marked by restraints, and the pavilion where he is writing is misty, and the clothes are flowing, and the rustle is only the moon. I bow to the clouds in the western mountains and pillow the moon in the hidden spring. With a quick stroke, the hero disrupts the world; with a brush, he outlines the colors of the world.
I have always said that I have four idiots: turning the world upside down, writing and ink for no reason; indulging in time, taking leisure and comfort as my own advantage; loving reading, falling in the Fengyin Pavilion at night, playing the piano in a leisurely manner, and returning to Liuquan Pavilion at night. The game of pen and ink lingers through the present and ancient times. The living do not know their life, and the dead do not know their death. Wandering in the world of mortals, coming and going.
In a certain era, when wars were frequent, Yinniang took her harp to a field and played it on the skeletons, saying: "Don't be sad, don't be happy, don't be happy." A great man looked at it and said nothing. The man sat on the floor and knocked on the tiles, and Yinniang played the harp to harmonize with it. He laughed and asked about the name of the song. Reported to Liang Fu, often drifted away.
In the twelfth year of Jianxing's reign, I watched a star fall in the five-foot-long autumn wind, and I kept shouting, "I have no voice now, please let me die." Not long after, he suddenly fell asleep.
Over the past few generations, there have been people who lived in the mountain without dust. They saw weeds covering the tombs and the inscriptions were blurred. They repaired and renovated them. Attract white butterflies as companions, and attract falling flowers as neighbors. Feeling moved, he bowed and said: "I have writings on my body, which are scattered in the world. Now I pay to you, sir, to fulfill my infatuated thoughts. Absolutely."
Wuchen responded and wrote the inscription to remember it.