The grand gate is adorned with gold and bronze, with a high roof above.
Two ruts are carved in the bluestone, where carved carriages pass below.
Walls rise high on east and west, a sturdy shield against assault.
Since the days of powerful warlords, this legacy has found no fault.
Later governors built their homes, cramped and constrained in this space.
I too, upon arrival, felt the same, and dared not make a hasty change.
As years and months have deepened here, the wood has rotted, soundness rare.
Once it suddenly crumbles down, can the usurper's trace be found?
I thus corrected former deeds, ordered the old structure's fall.
The hall now stretches wide and grand, cool in summer, warm in winter's hand.
Corridors and wings all clear and bright, pleasing to the eye and ear.
The tower moved, a mansion vast, its presence over the plain is cast.
Forgotten now the toil of climb, far from the risk of tumble and grime.
Outside, to host guests and aides with grace; inside, to feast kin in ample space.
In leisure, delight in poetry and books; at festivals, stir music's strings and looks.
Nurturing truth and freeing the heart, in motion and stillness, play their part.
In vital breath, nurture is key; in ritual, think of purity.
A noble state upholds the law, thus securing blessings far and raw.
Exceeding bounds, if one escapes, in time, pursuit still seals one's fate.
My dwelling now is free from blame, where Dao and righteousness share the same aim.