Four hundred years of lineage came to an end,
The tripartite flame of ambition burned high.
Xizhou was praised as a strategic stronghold,
Xuande was lauded as a heroic lord.
He upheld the rightful plan to claim the throne,
Guan and Zhang toiled through battles on horseback.
Rivals vied for victory against each other,
Yet what they gained was but a trivial share.
He pondered the era's perils and safety,
This man's wisdom and insight were profound.
He bided his time, planning when to advance or retreat,
Choosing a master to serve, he wandered afar.
Upholding righteousness, he drew close to Han,
Quelling chaos, he first challenged Cao.
At Hejian, flesh and blood were slaughtered,
South of the river, he fought through wind and waves.
His noble intent was to preserve the Central Kingdom,
With a single army, he pacified the barren lands.
Who could fathom the depth of his statecraft?
His strategies and military arts were revealed.
The trust placed in him was especially weighty,
The bond between ruler and minister deserved praise.
No sooner had the southern campaign ended and armor removed,
Than the northern expedition began, with wine offered to troops.
At the Wei River, he opened camp and raised walls,
At Mount Qi, he held the commander's banner aloft.
Heaven and earth grieved over the fractured realm,
He vowed to clear away thorns and brambles.
From afar, he secured Sun Quan's alliance,
Personally, he engaged Zhongda in fierce battle.
The Liu clan could hardly rise again,
At Guo Fort, long wails already echoed.
The state and family were still prosperous,
The officials and scholars were also outstanding.
Midway, he lost the reins of strategy,
Hands tied, he became like a helpless ape.
His achievements endure for a thousand years,
His legacy and spirit still inspire admiration.
The people long for the land of Kui's son,
His temple rests by the banks of the Shu River.
Histories merely offer criticism in vain,
The Pei Stele stands firm on its own.
Paintings solemnly depict his majestic presence,
Pines and cypresses whisper in the desolate wind.
The vile foes remained a lasting scourge,
The long bow was never sheathed.
Alas, for the tactics of capture and release,
Beneath the shrine, tears soak the robes.