The Strange Buddha of the Dao

When Zhang Shiyu's blood had stained the mountains crimson, he dragged his weary body to the edge of Ancestor Mountain and leapt down. The splash sent waves surging a thousandfold. Who was the person holding an umbrella in the rain? Was the one who stayed by his side still happy? A heart stirred by love: immortal or demon? Ask what love is in this world. Some are fearless. Some refuse to yield. The sight of you refusing to kneel moves the heart. Will you still go? In your tattered cloak, how many times must it be mended before it is whole? What, then, is the Buddha? What could possibly earn me your true heart? In this life, I will make amends for every regret, one by one. I am Zhang Shiyu. A pair of mandarin ducks play upon the water in the rain Like longing, bittersweet through and through I ask not how many among the three thousand weak waters would mourn for me Through a hundred turns of reincarnation I ask only to continue our past bond with you Our parting is carved into the misty rain of Jiangnan Your beauty is too precious for me to sign my name beneath A shepherd's flute wrinkles the face of time I laugh at the mortal world, yet still my heart is yours Between your brows, you embroider plum blossoms to herald spring Filled with innocence that will never fade The weathered records upon the memorial arch Are they the vows you carved, waiting for me to return?