My sanctuary lies on Cloud Mountain, with halls and fields aplenty.
In my spare time, I sit beneath the ginkgo tree, watching the mortal world drift among the clouds.
I till the soil and listen to the springs, forge swords by the furnace.
What I eat and wear is up to me, and up to Heaven.
Winter passes, and I lose track of the years;
when tribulations come, I still descend the mountain to witness the world’s sorrows and joys.
I cannot ignore injustice when I see it, yet I do not like to show myself before others.
My wine gourd hangs heavy at my waist, cold swordlight gleams behind me.
I seek neither fame nor fortune,
just to be a carefree immortal.
