A post-house stands by the stream's head, where stone drums bear inscriptions.
Looking back into the stream, where are those stone drums placed?
The boat moves against the clear flow, ahead mountains loom lush and green.
A sudden stop at a bend, seeking truth in deep seclusion.
The cave-heaven's gates swing open, halls and pavilions hold divine seats.
Since Qin and Han, this mountain's been ruled by Lord Wuyi.
The curtained pavilion feasted descendants, its distant traces long concealed.
Majestic King Peak towers, the Jade Maiden stands in attendance.
Lions come from east and west, proud yet not daring to be wild.
I am a man of feathered robes, resting at this ascension ground.
I revere the immortal-seeking elder, who prepared boat and kitchen.
With companions I roam streams and hills, our discussions often linger.
The second bend is strikingly pure and rare, its beauty faces the water.
The third bend has many immortal cliffs, steep and peerless.
Boat-coffins hang in the air, neither rotting nor falling.
A brief stop at Three-Cup Stone, sitting to play with clear thoughts.
Drink three cups upon the stone, as sages of old did alike.
The fourth bend enters the clouds, flowers bloom in charming grace.
Spring light brightens terraces, mystic herbs sprout auspicious signs.
Fresh carvings on shaded cliffs, often telling ancient tales.
The fifth bend reaches level woods, an aura of timeless meaning.
At the retreat I gaze upon portraits, recite inscriptions on grand steles.
Apricot Platform stands reliant, high halls proclaim benevolence and wisdom.
Thus, in Min and Yue, it becomes a Zhu and Si.
Mighty is the Great Seclusion Screen, with Immortal Palm ranked next.
The sixth bend passes in a glance, looking up I heave a long sigh.
The seventh bend houses fishermen, rich bait cast in emerald waters.
The eighth bend passes in silence, no drums or pipes at Tower Cliff.
Seeking the depths, I reach Spirit Peak, even Xuan Du might be attained.
By the pond, several peach trees, planted by a Taoist long ago.
With emotion I turn the boat, cook fresh fare and raise the cup.
The ninth bend: mist and glow deep, crimson courts offer vast shelter.
This itself is no Peach Blossom Spring, what more need for comparison?
An immortal guest speaks of mysteries, the host is already heart-drunk.
Joyful words for a night's stay, drowsy and full of deep sleep.
At dawn, invited again, served chicken and millet.
Departing, my mind still full, fine wine brims in vessels gifted.
Downstream I gaze at layered peaks, hoping to fulfill my wish for Heavenly Roam.
Grasping vines, treading rugged paths, the ascent is truly hard.
On the summit hides a hermit's home, high terrace with a different realm.
Leaning on void, overlooking perilous rails, all layered peaks appear below.
Uneven, they seem to stir, dazzling and dizzying to the eyes.
A divine breeze comes from the sky, pines and bamboos dance in immortal robes.
With staff I return to the high ridge, lingering, unwilling to leave.
When shall I wash my dusty hat-strings, forever entrusting myself to raincoat and hat?
Returning, I compose a long poem, to record this journey.