In Xiang region, mountains abound;
Along the banks, like ten thousand horses camped.
The slopes dare not rise high,
As if yielding to the lofty peak's esteem.
At dawn I reach Wangyun Pavilion;
All hills bow like walls around.
Suddenly thick mists drift and sway,
Piled emerald floats above the clouds.
Heavenly Pillar already steep and extreme,
Zhurong is even higher and colder.
Purple Canopy lush in the midst,
Ridge lines surge like collapsing torrents.
Towering as Red Emperor's Peak,
Straight down to palace walls it stands.
Corner towers hold twin gate towers,
Round and square, modeling the nine gates.
The flame tally pacifies the revival;
The Southern Director truly oversees heaven.
Plants and trees are imbued with harmonious ether;
Mountains and forests settle divine and sinister.
To appease the spirits, offerings are prepared;
Dragon banners and phoenix flags displayed.
I, unworthy, serve as Guilin's chief;
With the deity, we head south together.
To pay respects is also fitting,
For the state, worrying for the common people.
The mind empty, fortune and misfortune are mere signs;
Like an ancient well, cold and without ripples.
No need to cast the divination blocks,
I only wish to return to fields and gardens.
It's said the wall paintings are fine;
I wipe away the dust that dims them.
Swords and bows stand with mighty warriors;
Jade pendants line the spiritual officials.
In the rear palace, places of pleasure,
Graceful cloud-like hairdos, a thousand fair.
On brocade ground, they dance under moonlight day;
Behind beaded lattices, they wait in spring leisure.
Lady Wu's brushwork is already lost,
Yet the outline remains clear and lovely.
Turning the carriage, I leave the temple,
Rather tired of the mountain market's noise.
Victory Fruit invites guests to roam;
A path leads to Jixian Pass arrayed.
Buddhist shelves dazzle with varied designs;
Monk's staffs clang with ancient rings.
Taking shelter from rain at Shengye Pavilion,
At dusk, clear skies let me lean on the rail.
Stone Granary mirrors Gouloft Peak;
The view adds layers to the rugged face.
Shangfeng Temple, remote and solitary;
Nantai Terrace half in clouds and mist.
Green peaks hold magic herbs;
Zhu Ling nests cave immortals.
Sick and weary, I lazily avoid deep exploration;
Mountain monks chisel my stubbornness.
Pines twist with branches from Tang's end;
Cypresses crouch with roots from Sui's start.
Marvels too many to record all;
On a second visit, I'll discuss in detail.