A hundred years of history cannot bear these sorrows. I still remember the Marquis of Changle from long ago.
His hall was filled with flowers, and three thousand guests were drunk. With a single sword, frost chilled fifty provinces!
Does Heaven know the world's afflictions? The green hills laugh at me as the clouds beckon.
I breathe in the beauty of a woman among the flowers, and beneath the moon, I take my enemies' heads with ease!
Victories, defeats, kindness, and vengeance all dissolve in a heart-wrenching cup of wine, then become a single song of Changle.
Lend me your ear, my friend. Let us drink together and remain drunk for a thousand autumns!
