Mu Xi Is Elegant, the Water Is Clear

At dawn, mist swirls over the swift-flowing Yangtze River. In a light skiff, one can witness the joys and sorrows of the world, and understand how the bonds of eternity begin and end.

A gaunt figure moves:

Painted hills on either bank,

Curving waters sweep past fish tails,

Mist billows on and on,

Murky waves lap against the boat’s rails,

Helplessly, the tiger’s roar and gibbons’ cries fade into nothing,

White sand egrets dot the river’s heart.

One table,

Four stools,

Half a cup of rough wine, tears soaking the collar;

A little painted boat,

A half-moon sky,

Someone sobs,

Ink and watercolor,

Scattered through the empty heart,

One wave overturns everything

A tearful figure wanders, blood-shadowed.

“Jiu’er, your brother... your brother really has wronged you!”

“Xiaohan-ge, you’ve been poisoned... don’t... don’t speak. Once the painted boat passes that bend ahead, we’ll reach Guazhou Ferry. When we get to Yangzhou, you’ll be saved.”

As great teardrops fell from the corners of Jiu Niang’s eyes, she said in anguish: